CANTO XXXI.:
LAKSHMAN'S PRAYER.When Lakshman, who had joined them there,Had heard the converse of the pair,His mien was changed, his eyes o'erflowed,His breast no more could bear its load.The son of Raghu, sore distressed,His brother's feet with fervour pressed,While thus to Sita he complained.And him by lofty vows enchained:'If thou wilt make the woods thy home,Where elephant and roebuck roam,I too this day will take my bowAnd in the path before thee go.Our way will lie through forest groundWhere countless birds and beasts are found,I heed not homes of Gods on high,I heed not life that cannot die,Nor would I wish, with thee away,O'er the three worlds to stretch my sway.'
Thus Lakshman spake, with earnest prayerHis brother's woodland life to share.As Rama still his prayer deniedWith soothing words, again he cried:'When leave at first thou didst accord,Why dost thou stay me now, my lord?Thou art my refuge: O, be kind,Leave me not, dear my lord, behind.Thou canst not, brother, if thou chooseThat I still live, my wish refuse.'
The glorious chief his speech renewedTo faithful Lakshman as he sued,And on the eyes of Ráma gazedLonging to load, with hands upraised:'Thou art a hero just and dear,Whose steps to virtue's path adhere,Loved as my life till life shall end.My faithful brother and my friend.If to the woods thou take thy wayWith Sítá and with me to-day,Who for Kaus'alyá will provide,And guard the good Sumitra's side?The lord of earth, of mighty power,Who sends good things in plenteous shower,As Indra pours the grateful rain,A captive lies in passion's chain.The power imperial for her sonHas As'vapati's daughter 1 won,And she, proud queen, will little heedHer miserable rivals' need.
So Bharat, ruler of the land,By Queen Kaikeyí's side will stand,Nor of those two will ever think.While grieving in despair they sink.Now, Lakshman, as thy love decrees,Or else the monarch's heart to please,Follow this counsel and protectMy honoured mother from neglect.So thou, while not to me aloneThy great affection will be shown,To highest duty wilt adhereBy serving those thou shouldst revere.Now, son of Raghu, for my sakeObey this one request I make,Or, of her darling son bereft,Kausaly'á has no comfort left.'
The faithful Lakshman, thus addressedIn gentle words which love expressed,To him in lore of language learned,His answer, eloquent, returned:'Nay, through thy might each queen will shareAttentive Bharat's love and care.Should Bharat, raised as king to swayThis noblest realm, his trust betray,Nor for their safety well provide,Seduced by ill-suggesting pride,Doubt not my vengeful hand shall killThe cruel wretch who counsels ill--Kill him and all who lend him aid,And the three worlds in league arrayed.And good Kausaly'á well can feeA thousand champions like to me.A thousand hamlets rich in grainThe station of that queen maintain.She may, and my dear mother too,Live on the ample revenue.Then let me follow thee: hereinIs naught that may resemble sin.So shall I in my wish suceed,And aid, perhaps, my brother's need.My bow and quiver well suppliedWith arrows hanging at my side,My hands shall spade and basket bear,And for thy feet the way prepare.I'll bring thee roots and berries sweet.And woodland fare which hermits eat.Thou shall with thy Videhan spouseRecline upon the mountain's brows:Be mine the toil, be mine to keepWatch o'er thee waking or asleep.'
Filled by his speech with joy and prideRáma to Lakshman thus replied:'Go then, my brother, bid adieuTo all thy friends and retinue.And those two bows of fearful might,Celestial, which, at that famed rite,Lord Varun gave to Janak, kingOf fair Videha with thee bring,With heavenly coats of sword-proof mail,Quivers, whose arrows never fail,
And golden-hilted swords so keen,The rivals of the sun in sheen.Tended with care these arms are allPreserved in my preceptor's hall.With speed, O Lakshman, go, produce,And bring them hither for our use.'So on a woodland life intent,To see his faithful friends he went,And brought the heavenly arms which layBy Ráma's teacher stored away,And Raghu's son to Ráma showedThose wondrous arms which gleamed and glowed,Well kept, adorned with many a wreathOf flowers on case, and hilt, and sheath.The prudent Ráma at the sightAddressed his brother with delight:'Well art thou come, my brother dear.For much I longed to see thee here.For with thine aid, before I go,I would my gold and wealth bestowUpon the Bráhmans sage, who schoolTheir lives by stern devotion's rule.And for all those who ever dwellWithin my house and serve me well,Devoted servants, true and good,Will I provide a livelihood. Quick, go and summon to this place The good Vas'ishtha's son, Suyajna, of the Bráhman race The first and holiest one. To all the Bráhmans wise and good Will I due reverence pay, Then to the solitary wood With thee will take my way.'
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Footnotes131:1 Kaikeyi.
CANTO XXXII.:
Thus Lakshman spake, with earnest prayerHis brother's woodland life to share.As Rama still his prayer deniedWith soothing words, again he cried:'When leave at first thou didst accord,Why dost thou stay me now, my lord?Thou art my refuge: O, be kind,Leave me not, dear my lord, behind.Thou canst not, brother, if thou chooseThat I still live, my wish refuse.'
The glorious chief his speech renewedTo faithful Lakshman as he sued,And on the eyes of Ráma gazedLonging to load, with hands upraised:'Thou art a hero just and dear,Whose steps to virtue's path adhere,Loved as my life till life shall end.My faithful brother and my friend.If to the woods thou take thy wayWith Sítá and with me to-day,Who for Kaus'alyá will provide,And guard the good Sumitra's side?The lord of earth, of mighty power,Who sends good things in plenteous shower,As Indra pours the grateful rain,A captive lies in passion's chain.The power imperial for her sonHas As'vapati's daughter 1 won,And she, proud queen, will little heedHer miserable rivals' need.
So Bharat, ruler of the land,By Queen Kaikeyí's side will stand,Nor of those two will ever think.While grieving in despair they sink.Now, Lakshman, as thy love decrees,Or else the monarch's heart to please,Follow this counsel and protectMy honoured mother from neglect.So thou, while not to me aloneThy great affection will be shown,To highest duty wilt adhereBy serving those thou shouldst revere.Now, son of Raghu, for my sakeObey this one request I make,Or, of her darling son bereft,Kausaly'á has no comfort left.'
The faithful Lakshman, thus addressedIn gentle words which love expressed,To him in lore of language learned,His answer, eloquent, returned:'Nay, through thy might each queen will shareAttentive Bharat's love and care.Should Bharat, raised as king to swayThis noblest realm, his trust betray,Nor for their safety well provide,Seduced by ill-suggesting pride,Doubt not my vengeful hand shall killThe cruel wretch who counsels ill--Kill him and all who lend him aid,And the three worlds in league arrayed.And good Kausaly'á well can feeA thousand champions like to me.A thousand hamlets rich in grainThe station of that queen maintain.She may, and my dear mother too,Live on the ample revenue.Then let me follow thee: hereinIs naught that may resemble sin.So shall I in my wish suceed,And aid, perhaps, my brother's need.My bow and quiver well suppliedWith arrows hanging at my side,My hands shall spade and basket bear,And for thy feet the way prepare.I'll bring thee roots and berries sweet.And woodland fare which hermits eat.Thou shall with thy Videhan spouseRecline upon the mountain's brows:Be mine the toil, be mine to keepWatch o'er thee waking or asleep.'
Filled by his speech with joy and prideRáma to Lakshman thus replied:'Go then, my brother, bid adieuTo all thy friends and retinue.And those two bows of fearful might,Celestial, which, at that famed rite,Lord Varun gave to Janak, kingOf fair Videha with thee bring,With heavenly coats of sword-proof mail,Quivers, whose arrows never fail,
And golden-hilted swords so keen,The rivals of the sun in sheen.Tended with care these arms are allPreserved in my preceptor's hall.With speed, O Lakshman, go, produce,And bring them hither for our use.'So on a woodland life intent,To see his faithful friends he went,And brought the heavenly arms which layBy Ráma's teacher stored away,And Raghu's son to Ráma showedThose wondrous arms which gleamed and glowed,Well kept, adorned with many a wreathOf flowers on case, and hilt, and sheath.The prudent Ráma at the sightAddressed his brother with delight:'Well art thou come, my brother dear.For much I longed to see thee here.For with thine aid, before I go,I would my gold and wealth bestowUpon the Bráhmans sage, who schoolTheir lives by stern devotion's rule.And for all those who ever dwellWithin my house and serve me well,Devoted servants, true and good,Will I provide a livelihood. Quick, go and summon to this place The good Vas'ishtha's son, Suyajna, of the Bráhman race The first and holiest one. To all the Bráhmans wise and good Will I due reverence pay, Then to the solitary wood With thee will take my way.'
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Footnotes131:1 Kaikeyi.
CANTO XXXII.:
THE GIFT OF THE TREASURES.That speech so noble which conveyedHis friendly wish, the chief obeyed.With steps made swift by anxious thoughtThe wise Suyajna's home he sought,Him in the hall of Fire 1 he found.And bent before him to the ground:'O friend, to Rama's house return,Who now performs a task most stern.'He, when his noonday rites were done.Went forth with fair Sumitra's son,And came to Ráma's bright abodeRich in the love which Lakshmi showed.The son of Raghu with his dame.With joined hands met him as he came,Showing to him who Scripture knewThe worship that is Agni's due.
With armlets, bracelets, collars, rings,With costly pearls on golden strings,With many a gem for neck and limbThe son of Raghu honoured him.Then Ráma, at his wife's request,The wise Suyajna thus addressed;'Accept a necklace too to deckWith golden strings thy spouse's neck.And Sítá here, my friend, were gladA girdle to her gift to add.And many a bracelet wrought with care,And many an armlet rich and rare,My wife to thine is fain to give,Departing in the wood to live.A bed by skilful workmen made,With gold and various gems inlaid--This too, before she goes, would shePresent, O saintly friend, to thee.Thine be my elephant, so famed,My uncle's present. Victor named;And let a thousand coins of gold,Great Brahman, with the gift be told.'Thus Ráma spoke: nor he declinedThe noble gitts for him designed.On Ráma, Lakshman, Sítá heInvoked all high felicity.
In pleasant words then Ráma gaveHis hest to Lakshman prompt and brave,As Brahmá speaks for Him to hearWho rules the Gods' celestial sphere:'To the two best of Bráhmans run;Agastya bring, and Kus'ik's son,And precious gifts upon them rain,Like fostering floods upon the grain.O long-armed Prince of Raghu's line,Delight them with a thousand kine,And many a fair and costly gem,With gold and silver, give to them.To him, so deep in Scripture, who,To Queen Kaus'alyá, ever true,Serves her with blessing and respect,Chief of the Taittiriya sect 1b--To him. with women-slaves, presentA chariot rich with ornament,And costly robes of silk beside,Until the sage be satisfied.On Chitraratha. true aud dear,My tuneful bard and charioteer,Gems, robes, and plenteous wealth confer--Mine ancient friend and minister.And these who go with staff in hand,Grammarians trained, a numerous band.Who their deep study only prize,Nor think of other exercise,Who toil not, loving dainty fare,Whose praises e'en the good declare--On these be eighty cars bestowed,And each with precious treasures load.
A thousand bulls for them suffice,Two hundred elephants of price,And let a thousand kine besideThe dainties of each meal provide.The throng who sacred girdles wear,And on Káusalyá wait with care--A thousand golden coins shall please,Son of Sumitrá, each of these.Let all, dear Lakshman, of the trainThese special gifts of honour gain;My mother will rejoice to knowHer Bráhmans have been cherished so.'
Then Raghu's son addressed the crowdWho round him stood and wept aloud,When he to all who thronged the courtHad dealt his wealth for their support:'In Lakshman's house and mine remain,And guard them till I come again,'To all his people sad with grief.In loving ords thus spoke their chief,Then bade his treasure-keeper bringGold, silver, and each precious thing.Then straight the servants went and boreBack to their chief the wealth in store,Before the people's eyes it shone,A glorious pile to look upon.The prince of men with Lakshman's aidParted the treasuures there displaved,Gave to the poor, the young, the old,And twice-born men, the gems and gold. A Bráhman, long in evil case.Named Trijat, born of Garga's race,Earned ever toiling in a woodWith spade and plough his livelihood.The youthful wife, his babes who bore,Their indigence felt more and more.Thus to the aged man she spake:'Hear this my word: my counsel take.Come, throw thy spade and plough away;To virtuous Ráma go to-day.And somewhat of his kindness pray.' He heard the word she spoke: aroundHis limbs his ragged cloth he wound.And took his journey by the roadThat led to Ráma's fair abode.To the fifth court be made his way;Nor met the Bráhman check or stay.Brighu, Angiras 1 could not beBrighter with saintly light than Vie,To Ráma's presence on he pressed.And thus the noble chief addressed:'O Ráma, poor and weak am I,And many children round me cry.Scant living in the woods I earn:On me thine eye of pity turn.'And Ráma, bent on sport and jest,The suppliant Bráhman thus addressed:
'O aged man, one thousand kine,Yet undistributed, are mine.The cows on thee will I bestowAs far as thou thy staff canst throw. The Bráhman heard. In eager hasteHe bound his cloth around his waist.Then round his head his staff he whirled,And forth with mightiest effort hurled.Cast from his hand it flew, and sankTo earth on Sarjú's farther bank,Where herds of kine in thousands fedNear to the well-stocked bullock shed.And all the cows that wandered o'erThe meadow, far as Sarjú's shore.At Ráma's word the herdsmen droveTo Trijat's cottage in the grove.He drew the Bráhman to his breast,And thus with calming words addressed:'Now be not angry, Sire. I pray:This jest of mine was meant in play.These thousand kine, but not alone.Their herdsmen too, are all thine own.And wealth beside I give thee: speak.Thine shall be all thy heart can seek.' Thus Ráma spake. And Trijat prayedFor means his sacrifice to aid.And Rama gave much wealth, requiredTo speed his offering as desired.
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Footnotes132:1 The chapel where the sacred fire used in worship is kept.
132:1b The students and teachers of the Taittiríya portion of the Yajur Veda.
133:1 Two of the divine persaonnges called prejápatis and *Brahmadikas* who were first created by Brahmá.
CANTO XXXIII.:
With armlets, bracelets, collars, rings,With costly pearls on golden strings,With many a gem for neck and limbThe son of Raghu honoured him.Then Ráma, at his wife's request,The wise Suyajna thus addressed;'Accept a necklace too to deckWith golden strings thy spouse's neck.And Sítá here, my friend, were gladA girdle to her gift to add.And many a bracelet wrought with care,And many an armlet rich and rare,My wife to thine is fain to give,Departing in the wood to live.A bed by skilful workmen made,With gold and various gems inlaid--This too, before she goes, would shePresent, O saintly friend, to thee.Thine be my elephant, so famed,My uncle's present. Victor named;And let a thousand coins of gold,Great Brahman, with the gift be told.'Thus Ráma spoke: nor he declinedThe noble gitts for him designed.On Ráma, Lakshman, Sítá heInvoked all high felicity.
In pleasant words then Ráma gaveHis hest to Lakshman prompt and brave,As Brahmá speaks for Him to hearWho rules the Gods' celestial sphere:'To the two best of Bráhmans run;Agastya bring, and Kus'ik's son,And precious gifts upon them rain,Like fostering floods upon the grain.O long-armed Prince of Raghu's line,Delight them with a thousand kine,And many a fair and costly gem,With gold and silver, give to them.To him, so deep in Scripture, who,To Queen Kaus'alyá, ever true,Serves her with blessing and respect,Chief of the Taittiriya sect 1b--To him. with women-slaves, presentA chariot rich with ornament,And costly robes of silk beside,Until the sage be satisfied.On Chitraratha. true aud dear,My tuneful bard and charioteer,Gems, robes, and plenteous wealth confer--Mine ancient friend and minister.And these who go with staff in hand,Grammarians trained, a numerous band.Who their deep study only prize,Nor think of other exercise,Who toil not, loving dainty fare,Whose praises e'en the good declare--On these be eighty cars bestowed,And each with precious treasures load.
A thousand bulls for them suffice,Two hundred elephants of price,And let a thousand kine besideThe dainties of each meal provide.The throng who sacred girdles wear,And on Káusalyá wait with care--A thousand golden coins shall please,Son of Sumitrá, each of these.Let all, dear Lakshman, of the trainThese special gifts of honour gain;My mother will rejoice to knowHer Bráhmans have been cherished so.'
Then Raghu's son addressed the crowdWho round him stood and wept aloud,When he to all who thronged the courtHad dealt his wealth for their support:'In Lakshman's house and mine remain,And guard them till I come again,'To all his people sad with grief.In loving ords thus spoke their chief,Then bade his treasure-keeper bringGold, silver, and each precious thing.Then straight the servants went and boreBack to their chief the wealth in store,Before the people's eyes it shone,A glorious pile to look upon.The prince of men with Lakshman's aidParted the treasuures there displaved,Gave to the poor, the young, the old,And twice-born men, the gems and gold. A Bráhman, long in evil case.Named Trijat, born of Garga's race,Earned ever toiling in a woodWith spade and plough his livelihood.The youthful wife, his babes who bore,Their indigence felt more and more.Thus to the aged man she spake:'Hear this my word: my counsel take.Come, throw thy spade and plough away;To virtuous Ráma go to-day.And somewhat of his kindness pray.' He heard the word she spoke: aroundHis limbs his ragged cloth he wound.And took his journey by the roadThat led to Ráma's fair abode.To the fifth court be made his way;Nor met the Bráhman check or stay.Brighu, Angiras 1 could not beBrighter with saintly light than Vie,To Ráma's presence on he pressed.And thus the noble chief addressed:'O Ráma, poor and weak am I,And many children round me cry.Scant living in the woods I earn:On me thine eye of pity turn.'And Ráma, bent on sport and jest,The suppliant Bráhman thus addressed:
'O aged man, one thousand kine,Yet undistributed, are mine.The cows on thee will I bestowAs far as thou thy staff canst throw. The Bráhman heard. In eager hasteHe bound his cloth around his waist.Then round his head his staff he whirled,And forth with mightiest effort hurled.Cast from his hand it flew, and sankTo earth on Sarjú's farther bank,Where herds of kine in thousands fedNear to the well-stocked bullock shed.And all the cows that wandered o'erThe meadow, far as Sarjú's shore.At Ráma's word the herdsmen droveTo Trijat's cottage in the grove.He drew the Bráhman to his breast,And thus with calming words addressed:'Now be not angry, Sire. I pray:This jest of mine was meant in play.These thousand kine, but not alone.Their herdsmen too, are all thine own.And wealth beside I give thee: speak.Thine shall be all thy heart can seek.' Thus Ráma spake. And Trijat prayedFor means his sacrifice to aid.And Rama gave much wealth, requiredTo speed his offering as desired.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes132:1 The chapel where the sacred fire used in worship is kept.
132:1b The students and teachers of the Taittiríya portion of the Yajur Veda.
133:1 Two of the divine persaonnges called prejápatis and *Brahmadikas* who were first created by Brahmá.
CANTO XXXIII.:
THE PEOPLE'S LAMENT.Thus Sitá and the princes braveMuch wealth to all the Bráhmans gaveThen to the monarch's house the threeWent forth the aged king to see.The princes from two servants tookThose heavenly arms of glorious look,Adorned with garland and with bandBy Sitá's beautifying hand.On each high house a mournful throngHad gathered ere they passed along,Who gzed in pure unselfish woeFrom turret, root, and portico.So dense the crowd that blocked the ways,The rest, unable there to gaze,Were fain each terrace to ascend.And thence their eyes on Ráma bend.Then as the gathered multitudeOn foot their well-loved Ráma viewed.No royal shade to screen his head.Such words, disturbed in grief they said:'O look, our hero, wont to rideLeading a host in perfect pride--Now Lakshman, sole of all his friends,With Sitá on his steps attends.Though he has known the sweets of power,And poured his gifts in liberal shower,From duty's path he will not swerve,
But, still his father's truth preserve.And she whose form so soft and fairWas veiled from spirits of the air,Now walks unsheltered from the day,Seen by the crowds who throng the way.Ah, for that gently-nurtured form!How will it fade with sun and storm!How will the rain, the cold, the heatMar fragrant breast and tinted feet!Surely some demon has possessedHis sire, and speaks within his breast,Or how could one that is a kingThus send his dear son wandering?It were a deed unkindly doneTo banish e'en a worthless son:But what, when his pure life has gainedThe hearts of all, by love enchained?Six sovereign virtues join to graceRáma the foremost of his race:Tender and kind and pure is he,Docile, religious, passion-free.Hence misery strikes not him alone:In bitterest grief the people moan,Like creatures of the stream, when dryIn the great heat the channels lie.The world is mournful with the griefThat falls on its beloved chief,As, when the root is hewn away,Tree, fruit, and flower, and bud decay.The soul of duty, bright to see,He is the root of you and me;And all of us, who share his grief,His branches, blossom, fruit, and leaf.Now like the faithful Lakshman, weWill follow and be true as he;Our wives and kinsmen call with speed,And hasten where our lord shall lead.Yes, we will leave each well-loved spot,The field, the garden, and the cot,And, sharers of his weal and woe,Behind the pious Ráma go.Our houses, empty of their stores,With ruined courts and broken doors,With all their treasures borne away.And gear that made them bright and gay:O'errun by rats, with dust o'erspread,Shrines, whence the deities have fled,Where not a hand the water pours,Or sweeps the long-neglected floors,No incense loads the evening air,No Bráhmans chant the text and prayer,No fire of sacrifice is bright,No gift is known, no sacred rite;With floors which broken vessels strew,As if our woes had crushed them too--Of these be stern Kaikeyí queen,And rule o'er homes where we have been.The wood where Ráma's feet may roamShall be our city and our home,And this fair city we forsake,Our flight a wilderness shall make.Each serpent from his hole shall hie,The birds and beasts from mountain fly,Lions and elephants in fearShall quit the woods when we come near,Yield the broad wilds for us to range,And take our city in exchange.With Ráma will we hence, contentIf, where he is, our days be spent.'
Such were the varied words the crowdOf all conditions spoke aloud.And Ráma heard their speeches, yetChanged not his purpose firmly set.His father's palace soon he neared,That like Kailása's hill appeared.Like a wild elephant he strodeRight onward to the bright abode.Within the palace court he stepped,Where ordered bands their station kept,And saw Sumantra standing nearWith down-cast eye and gloomy cheer.
CANTO XXXIV.:
But, still his father's truth preserve.And she whose form so soft and fairWas veiled from spirits of the air,Now walks unsheltered from the day,Seen by the crowds who throng the way.Ah, for that gently-nurtured form!How will it fade with sun and storm!How will the rain, the cold, the heatMar fragrant breast and tinted feet!Surely some demon has possessedHis sire, and speaks within his breast,Or how could one that is a kingThus send his dear son wandering?It were a deed unkindly doneTo banish e'en a worthless son:But what, when his pure life has gainedThe hearts of all, by love enchained?Six sovereign virtues join to graceRáma the foremost of his race:Tender and kind and pure is he,Docile, religious, passion-free.Hence misery strikes not him alone:In bitterest grief the people moan,Like creatures of the stream, when dryIn the great heat the channels lie.The world is mournful with the griefThat falls on its beloved chief,As, when the root is hewn away,Tree, fruit, and flower, and bud decay.The soul of duty, bright to see,He is the root of you and me;And all of us, who share his grief,His branches, blossom, fruit, and leaf.Now like the faithful Lakshman, weWill follow and be true as he;Our wives and kinsmen call with speed,And hasten where our lord shall lead.Yes, we will leave each well-loved spot,The field, the garden, and the cot,And, sharers of his weal and woe,Behind the pious Ráma go.Our houses, empty of their stores,With ruined courts and broken doors,With all their treasures borne away.And gear that made them bright and gay:O'errun by rats, with dust o'erspread,Shrines, whence the deities have fled,Where not a hand the water pours,Or sweeps the long-neglected floors,No incense loads the evening air,No Bráhmans chant the text and prayer,No fire of sacrifice is bright,No gift is known, no sacred rite;With floors which broken vessels strew,As if our woes had crushed them too--Of these be stern Kaikeyí queen,And rule o'er homes where we have been.The wood where Ráma's feet may roamShall be our city and our home,And this fair city we forsake,Our flight a wilderness shall make.Each serpent from his hole shall hie,The birds and beasts from mountain fly,Lions and elephants in fearShall quit the woods when we come near,Yield the broad wilds for us to range,And take our city in exchange.With Ráma will we hence, contentIf, where he is, our days be spent.'
Such were the varied words the crowdOf all conditions spoke aloud.And Ráma heard their speeches, yetChanged not his purpose firmly set.His father's palace soon he neared,That like Kailása's hill appeared.Like a wild elephant he strodeRight onward to the bright abode.Within the palace court he stepped,Where ordered bands their station kept,And saw Sumantra standing nearWith down-cast eye and gloomy cheer.
CANTO XXXIV.:
RÁMA IN THE PALACE.The dark incomparable chiefWhose eye was like a lotus leaf,Cried to the mournful charioteer,'Go tell my sire that I am here.'
Sumantra, sad and all dismayed,The chieftain's order swift obeyed.Within the palace doors he hiedAnd saw the king, who wept and sighed.Like the great sun when wrapped in shadeLike fire by ashes overlaid,Or like a pool with waters dried,So lay the world's great lord and pride,A while the wise Sumantra gazedOn him whose senses woe has dazed,Grieving for Ráma. Near he drewWith hands upraised in reverence due.With blessing first his king he hailed;Then with a voice that well-nigh failed,In trembling accents soft and lowAddressed the monarch in his woe:'The prince of men, thy Ráma, waitsBefore thee at the palace gates.His wealth to Bráhmans he has dealt,And all whom in his home have dwelt.Admit thy son. His friends have heardHis kind farewell and parting word,He longs to see thee first, and thenWill seek the wilds, O King of men.He, with each princely virtue's blaze,Shines as the sun engirt by rays.'
The truthful King who loved to keepThe law profound as Ocean's deep,And stainless as the dark blue sky,Thus to Sumantra made reply:
'Go then, Sumantra, go and callMy wives and ladies one and all.Drawn round me shall they fill the placeWhen I behold my Ráma's face.'
Quick to the inner rooms he sped,And thus to all the women said,'Come, at the summons of the king:Come all, and make no tarrying.'
Their husband's word, by him conveyed,Soon as they heard, the dames obeyed,And following his guidance allCame thronging to the regal hall.ln number half seven hundred, they,All lovely dames, in long array,With their bright eyes for weeping red,To stand round Queen Kaus'alyá, sped.They gathered, and the monarch viewedOne moment all the multitude,Then to Sumantra spoke and said:'Now let my son be hither led.'
Sumantra went. Then Ráma came,And Lakshman, and the Maithil dame,And, as he led them on, their guideStraight to the monarch's presence hied.When yet far off the father sawHis son with raised palms toward him draw,Girt by his ladies, sick with woes,Swift from his royal seat he rose.With all his strength the aged manTo meet his darling Ráma ran,But trembling, wild with dark despair,Fell on the ground and fainted there.And Lakshman, wont in cars to ride,And Ráma, threw them by the sideOf the poor miserable king,Half lifeless with his sorrow's sting.Throughout the spacious hall up wentA thousand women's wild lament:'Ah Ráma!' thus they wailed and wept,And anklets tinkled as they stepped.Around his body, weeping, threwTheir loving arms the brothers two,And then, with Sitá's gentle aid,The king upon a couch was laid.At length to earth's imperial lord,When life and knowledge were restored,Though seas of woe went o'er his head,With suppliant hand, thus Ráma said:'Lord ot us all, great King, thou art:Bid me farewell before we part,To Dandak wood this day I go:One blessing and one look bestow.Let Lakshman my companion be,And Sítá also follow me.With truthful pleas I sought to bendTheir purpose; but no ear they lend.Now cast this sorrow from thy heart,And let us all, great King, depart.As Brahmá sends his children, soLet Lakshman, me, and Sítá go.'
He stood unmoved, and watched intentUntil the king should grant consent.Upon his son his eyes he cast,And thus the monarch spake at last:'O Ráma, by her arts enslaved,I gave the boons Kaikeyí craved,Unfit to reign, by her misled:Be ruler in thy father's stead.'
Thus by the lord of men addressed,Ráma, of virtue's friends the best,In lore of language duly learned,His answer, reverent, thus returned:'A thousand years, O King, remainO'er this our city still to reign.I in the woods my life will lead:The lust of rule no more I heed.Nine years and five I there will spend,And when the portioned days shall end,Will come, my vows and exile o'er,And clasp thy feet, my King, once more.'
A captive in the snare of truth,Weeping, distressed with woe and ruth,Thus spake the monarch, while the queenKaikeyí urged him on unseen:'Go then, O Ráma, and beginThy course unvext by fear and sin:Go, my beloved son, and earnSuccess, and joy, and safe return.So fast the bonds of duty bind.O Raghu's son, thy truthful mind,That naught can turn thee back, or guideThy will so strongly fortified.But 0, a little longer stay.Nor turn thy steps this night away,That I one little day--alas!One only--with my son may pass.Me and thy mother do not slight,But stay, my son, with me to-night;With every dainty please thy taste,And seek to-morrow morn the wasteHard is thy task, O Raghu's son,Dire is the toil thou wilt not shun,Far to the lonely wood to flee,And leave thy friends for love of me.I swear it by my truth, believe,For thee, my son, I deeply grieve,Misguided by the traitress dameWith hidden guile like smouldering flame.Now, by her wicked counsel stirred,Thou fain wouldst keep my plighted word.No marvel that my eldest bornWould hold me true when I have sworn.'
Then Ráma having calmly heardHis wretched father speak each word,With Lakshman standing br his sideThus, humbly, to the King replied:'If dainties now my taste regale,To-morrow must those dainties fail.This day departure I preferTo all that wealth can minister.O'er this fair land, no longer mine,Which I, with all her realms, resign,
Her multitudes of men, her grain,Her stores of wealth, let Bharat reign.And let the promised boon which thouWast pleased to grant the queen ere now,Be hers in full. Be true, O King,Kind giver of each precious thing.Thy spoken word I still will heed,Obeying all thy lips decreed:And fourteen years in woods will dwellWith those who live in glade and dell.No hopes of power my heart can touch,No selfish joys attract so muchAs son of Raghu, to fulfilWith heart and soul my father's will.Dismiss, dismiss thy needless woe,Nor let those drowning torrents flow:The Lord of Rivers in his prideKeeps to the banks that bar his tide.Here in thy presence I declare;By thy good deeds, thy truth, I swear;Nor lordship, joy, nor lands I prize;Life, heaven, all blessings I despise.I wish to see thee still remainMost true, O King, and free from stain.It must not, Sire, it must not be:I cannot rest one hour with thee.Then bring this sorrow to an end,For naught my settled will can bend.I gave a pledge that binds me too,And to that pledge I still am true.Kaikeyí bade me speed away:She prayed me, and I answered yea.Pine not for me, and weep no more;The wood for us has joy in store,Filled with the wild deer's peaceful herdsAnd voices of a thousand birds.A father is the God of each,Yea, e'en of Gods, so Scriptures teach:And I will keep my sire's decree,For as a God I honour thee.O best of men, the time is nigh,The fourteen years will soon pass byAnd to thine eyes thy son restore:Be comforted, and weep no more.Thou with thy firmness shouldst supportThese weeping crowds who throng the court;Then why, O chief of high renown,So troubled, and thy soul cast down?'
CANTO XXXV.:
Sumantra, sad and all dismayed,The chieftain's order swift obeyed.Within the palace doors he hiedAnd saw the king, who wept and sighed.Like the great sun when wrapped in shadeLike fire by ashes overlaid,Or like a pool with waters dried,So lay the world's great lord and pride,A while the wise Sumantra gazedOn him whose senses woe has dazed,Grieving for Ráma. Near he drewWith hands upraised in reverence due.With blessing first his king he hailed;Then with a voice that well-nigh failed,In trembling accents soft and lowAddressed the monarch in his woe:'The prince of men, thy Ráma, waitsBefore thee at the palace gates.His wealth to Bráhmans he has dealt,And all whom in his home have dwelt.Admit thy son. His friends have heardHis kind farewell and parting word,He longs to see thee first, and thenWill seek the wilds, O King of men.He, with each princely virtue's blaze,Shines as the sun engirt by rays.'
The truthful King who loved to keepThe law profound as Ocean's deep,And stainless as the dark blue sky,Thus to Sumantra made reply:
'Go then, Sumantra, go and callMy wives and ladies one and all.Drawn round me shall they fill the placeWhen I behold my Ráma's face.'
Quick to the inner rooms he sped,And thus to all the women said,'Come, at the summons of the king:Come all, and make no tarrying.'
Their husband's word, by him conveyed,Soon as they heard, the dames obeyed,And following his guidance allCame thronging to the regal hall.ln number half seven hundred, they,All lovely dames, in long array,With their bright eyes for weeping red,To stand round Queen Kaus'alyá, sped.They gathered, and the monarch viewedOne moment all the multitude,Then to Sumantra spoke and said:'Now let my son be hither led.'
Sumantra went. Then Ráma came,And Lakshman, and the Maithil dame,And, as he led them on, their guideStraight to the monarch's presence hied.When yet far off the father sawHis son with raised palms toward him draw,Girt by his ladies, sick with woes,Swift from his royal seat he rose.With all his strength the aged manTo meet his darling Ráma ran,But trembling, wild with dark despair,Fell on the ground and fainted there.And Lakshman, wont in cars to ride,And Ráma, threw them by the sideOf the poor miserable king,Half lifeless with his sorrow's sting.Throughout the spacious hall up wentA thousand women's wild lament:'Ah Ráma!' thus they wailed and wept,And anklets tinkled as they stepped.Around his body, weeping, threwTheir loving arms the brothers two,And then, with Sitá's gentle aid,The king upon a couch was laid.At length to earth's imperial lord,When life and knowledge were restored,Though seas of woe went o'er his head,With suppliant hand, thus Ráma said:'Lord ot us all, great King, thou art:Bid me farewell before we part,To Dandak wood this day I go:One blessing and one look bestow.Let Lakshman my companion be,And Sítá also follow me.With truthful pleas I sought to bendTheir purpose; but no ear they lend.Now cast this sorrow from thy heart,And let us all, great King, depart.As Brahmá sends his children, soLet Lakshman, me, and Sítá go.'
He stood unmoved, and watched intentUntil the king should grant consent.Upon his son his eyes he cast,And thus the monarch spake at last:'O Ráma, by her arts enslaved,I gave the boons Kaikeyí craved,Unfit to reign, by her misled:Be ruler in thy father's stead.'
Thus by the lord of men addressed,Ráma, of virtue's friends the best,In lore of language duly learned,His answer, reverent, thus returned:'A thousand years, O King, remainO'er this our city still to reign.I in the woods my life will lead:The lust of rule no more I heed.Nine years and five I there will spend,And when the portioned days shall end,Will come, my vows and exile o'er,And clasp thy feet, my King, once more.'
A captive in the snare of truth,Weeping, distressed with woe and ruth,Thus spake the monarch, while the queenKaikeyí urged him on unseen:'Go then, O Ráma, and beginThy course unvext by fear and sin:Go, my beloved son, and earnSuccess, and joy, and safe return.So fast the bonds of duty bind.O Raghu's son, thy truthful mind,That naught can turn thee back, or guideThy will so strongly fortified.But 0, a little longer stay.Nor turn thy steps this night away,That I one little day--alas!One only--with my son may pass.Me and thy mother do not slight,But stay, my son, with me to-night;With every dainty please thy taste,And seek to-morrow morn the wasteHard is thy task, O Raghu's son,Dire is the toil thou wilt not shun,Far to the lonely wood to flee,And leave thy friends for love of me.I swear it by my truth, believe,For thee, my son, I deeply grieve,Misguided by the traitress dameWith hidden guile like smouldering flame.Now, by her wicked counsel stirred,Thou fain wouldst keep my plighted word.No marvel that my eldest bornWould hold me true when I have sworn.'
Then Ráma having calmly heardHis wretched father speak each word,With Lakshman standing br his sideThus, humbly, to the King replied:'If dainties now my taste regale,To-morrow must those dainties fail.This day departure I preferTo all that wealth can minister.O'er this fair land, no longer mine,Which I, with all her realms, resign,
Her multitudes of men, her grain,Her stores of wealth, let Bharat reign.And let the promised boon which thouWast pleased to grant the queen ere now,Be hers in full. Be true, O King,Kind giver of each precious thing.Thy spoken word I still will heed,Obeying all thy lips decreed:And fourteen years in woods will dwellWith those who live in glade and dell.No hopes of power my heart can touch,No selfish joys attract so muchAs son of Raghu, to fulfilWith heart and soul my father's will.Dismiss, dismiss thy needless woe,Nor let those drowning torrents flow:The Lord of Rivers in his prideKeeps to the banks that bar his tide.Here in thy presence I declare;By thy good deeds, thy truth, I swear;Nor lordship, joy, nor lands I prize;Life, heaven, all blessings I despise.I wish to see thee still remainMost true, O King, and free from stain.It must not, Sire, it must not be:I cannot rest one hour with thee.Then bring this sorrow to an end,For naught my settled will can bend.I gave a pledge that binds me too,And to that pledge I still am true.Kaikeyí bade me speed away:She prayed me, and I answered yea.Pine not for me, and weep no more;The wood for us has joy in store,Filled with the wild deer's peaceful herdsAnd voices of a thousand birds.A father is the God of each,Yea, e'en of Gods, so Scriptures teach:And I will keep my sire's decree,For as a God I honour thee.O best of men, the time is nigh,The fourteen years will soon pass byAnd to thine eyes thy son restore:Be comforted, and weep no more.Thou with thy firmness shouldst supportThese weeping crowds who throng the court;Then why, O chief of high renown,So troubled, and thy soul cast down?'
CANTO XXXV.:
KAIKEYÍ REPROACHED.Wild with the rage he could not calm,Sumantra, grinding palm on palm,His head in quick impatience shook,And sighed with woe he could not brook.He gnashed his teeth, his eyes were red,From his changed face the colour fled.In rage and grief that knew no law,The temper of the king he saw.With his word-arrows swift and keenHe shook the bosom of the queen.With scorn, as though its lightning strokeWould blast her body, thus he spoke:'Thou, who, of no dread sin afraid,Hast Das'aratha's self betrayed,Lord of the world, whose might sustainsEach thing that moves or fixed remains,What direr crime is left thee now?Death to thy lord and house art thou,Whose cruel deeds the king distress,Mahendra's peer in mightiness,Firm as the mountain's rooted steep,Enduring as the Ocean's deep.Despise not Das'aratha, heIs a kind lord and friend to thee.A loving wife in worth outrunsThe mother of ten million sons.Kings, when their sires have passed away,Succeed by birthright to the sway.Ikshváku's son still rules the state,Yet thou this rule wouldst violate.Yea, let thy son, Kaikeyí, reign,Let Bharat rule his sire's domain.Thy will, O Queen, shall none oppose:We all will go where Ráma goes.No Bráhman, scorning thee, will restWithin the realm thou governest,But all will fly indignant hence:So great thy trespass and offence.I marvel, when thy crime I see.Earth yawns not quick to swallow thee;And that the Bráhman saints prepareNo burning scourge thy soul to scare,With cries of shame to smite thee, bentUpon our Ráma's banishment.The Mango tree with axes fell,And tend instead the Neem tree well,Still watered with all care the treeWill never sweet and pleasant be.Thy mother's faults to thee descend,And with thy borrowed nature blend.True is the ancient saw: the NeemCan ne'er distil a honeyed stream.Taught by the tale of long agoThy mother's hateful sin we know.A bounteous saint, as all have heard,A boon upon thy sire conferred,And all the eloquence revealedThat fills the wood, the flood, the field.No creature walked, or swam, or flew,But he its varied language knew.One morn upon his couch he heardThe chattering of a gorgeous bird.And as he marked its close intentHe laughed aloud in merriment.Thy mother furious with her lord,And fain to perish by the cord,Said to her husband: 'I would know,O Monarch, why thou laughest so.'
The king in answer spake again:'If I this laughter should explain,This very hour would be my last,For death, be sure would follow fast.'Again thy mother, flushed with ire,To Kekaya spake, thy royal sire:'Tell me the cause; then live or die:I will not brook thy laugh, not I.'Thus by his darling wife addressed,The king whose might all earth confessedTo that kind saint his story toldWho gave the wondrous gift of old.He listened to the king's complaint,And thus in answer spoke the saint:'King, let her quit thy home or die,But never with her prayer comply.'The saint's reply his trouble stilled,And all his heart with pleasure filled.Thy mother from his home he sent,And days like Lord Kuvera's spent.So thou wouldst force the king, misledBy thee, in evil paths to tread,And bent on evil wouldst begin,Through folly, this career of sin.Most true, methinks, in thee is shownThe ancient saw so widely known:The foils their fathers' worth declareAud girls their mothers' nature share.So be not thou. For pity's sakeAccept the word the monarch spake.Thy husband's will, O Queen, obey,And be the people's hope and stay.O, do not, urged by follv, drawThe king to tread on duty's law,The lord who all the world sustains,Bright as the God o'er Gods who reigns.Our glorious king, by sin unstained,Will never grant what fraud obtained;No shade of fault in him is seen:Let Ráma be anointed, Queen.Remember, Queen, undying shameWill through the world pursue thy name,If Ráma leave the king his sire,And, banished, to the wood retire.Come, from thy breast this fever fling:Of his own realm be Ráma king.None in this city e'er can dwellTo tend and love thee half so well.When Ráma sits in royal place,True to the custom of his raceOur monarch of the mighty bowA hermit to the woods will go.' 1
Sumantra thus, palm joined to palm,Poured forth his words of bane and balm,With keen reproach, with pleading kind,Striving to move Kaikeyí's mind.In vain he prayed, in vain reproved,She heard unsoftened and unmoved.Nor could the eyes that watched her viewOne yielding look, one change of hue.
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Footnotes137:1 It was the custom of the kings of the solar dynasty to resign in their extreme old age the kingdom to the heir, and spend the remainder of their days in holy meditation in the forest:
'For such through ages in their life's decline Is the good custom of Ikshváku's line.'
Raghuvans'a.
The king in answer spake again:'If I this laughter should explain,This very hour would be my last,For death, be sure would follow fast.'Again thy mother, flushed with ire,To Kekaya spake, thy royal sire:'Tell me the cause; then live or die:I will not brook thy laugh, not I.'Thus by his darling wife addressed,The king whose might all earth confessedTo that kind saint his story toldWho gave the wondrous gift of old.He listened to the king's complaint,And thus in answer spoke the saint:'King, let her quit thy home or die,But never with her prayer comply.'The saint's reply his trouble stilled,And all his heart with pleasure filled.Thy mother from his home he sent,And days like Lord Kuvera's spent.So thou wouldst force the king, misledBy thee, in evil paths to tread,And bent on evil wouldst begin,Through folly, this career of sin.Most true, methinks, in thee is shownThe ancient saw so widely known:The foils their fathers' worth declareAud girls their mothers' nature share.So be not thou. For pity's sakeAccept the word the monarch spake.Thy husband's will, O Queen, obey,And be the people's hope and stay.O, do not, urged by follv, drawThe king to tread on duty's law,The lord who all the world sustains,Bright as the God o'er Gods who reigns.Our glorious king, by sin unstained,Will never grant what fraud obtained;No shade of fault in him is seen:Let Ráma be anointed, Queen.Remember, Queen, undying shameWill through the world pursue thy name,If Ráma leave the king his sire,And, banished, to the wood retire.Come, from thy breast this fever fling:Of his own realm be Ráma king.None in this city e'er can dwellTo tend and love thee half so well.When Ráma sits in royal place,True to the custom of his raceOur monarch of the mighty bowA hermit to the woods will go.' 1
Sumantra thus, palm joined to palm,Poured forth his words of bane and balm,With keen reproach, with pleading kind,Striving to move Kaikeyí's mind.In vain he prayed, in vain reproved,She heard unsoftened and unmoved.Nor could the eyes that watched her viewOne yielding look, one change of hue.
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Footnotes137:1 It was the custom of the kings of the solar dynasty to resign in their extreme old age the kingdom to the heir, and spend the remainder of their days in holy meditation in the forest:
'For such through ages in their life's decline Is the good custom of Ikshváku's line.'
Raghuvans'a.
CANTO XXXVI.:
SIDDHÁRTH'S SPEECH.Ikshváku's son with anguish tornFor the great oath his lips had sworn,With tears and sighs of sharpest painThus to Sumantra spake again:'Prepare thou quick a perfect force,Cars, elephants, and foot, and horse,To follow Raghu's scion henceEquipped with all magnificence.Let traders with the wealth they sell,And those who charming stories tell,And dancing-women fair of face,The prince's ample chariots grace.On all the train who throng his courts,And those who share his manly sports.Great gifts of precious wealth bestow,And bid them with their master go.Let noble arms, and many a wain,And townsmen swell the prince's train;And hunters best for woodland skillTheir places in the concourse fill.While elephants and deer he slays,Drinking wood honey as he strays,And looks on streams each fairer yet,His kingdom he may chance forget.Let all my gold and wealth of cornWith Rama to the wilds be born;For it will soothe the exile's lotTo sacrifice in each pure spot,Deal ample largess forth, and meetEach hermit in his calm retreat.The wealth shall Ráma with him bear.Ayodhyá shall be Bharat's share.'
As thus Kakutstha's offspring spoke,Fear in Katiketí's breast awoke.The freshness of her face was dried,Her trembling tongue was terror-tied.Alarmed and sad, with bloodless cheek,She turned to him and scarce could speak:'Nay, Sire, but Bharat shall not gainAn empty realm where none remain.My Bharat shall not rule a wasteReft of all sweets to charm the taste--The wine-cup's dregs, all dull and dead,Whence the light foam and life are fled.' Thus in her rage the long-eyed dameSpoke her dire speech untouched by shame.
Then, answering, Das'aratha spoke:'Why. having bowed me to the yoke.Dost thou, must cruel, spur and goadMe who am struggling with the load?Why didst thou not oppose at firstThis hope, vile Queen, so fondly nursed?'
Scarce could the monarch's angry speechThe ears of the fair lady reach,When thus, with double wrath inflamed,Kaikeyí to the king exclaimed:
'Sagar, from whom thy line is traced,Drove forth his eldest son disgraced,Called Asamanj, whose fate we know:Thus should thy son to exile go.'
'Fie on thee, dame!' the monarch said;Each of her people bent his head,And stood in shame and sorrow mute:She marked not, bold and resolute.Then great Siddhárth, inflamed with rage,The good old councillor and sageOn whose wise rede the king relied,To Queen Kaikeyí thus replied:'But Asamanj the cruel laidHis hands on infants as they played,Cast them to Sarjú's flood, and smiledFor pleasure when be drowned a child.' 1The people saw, and, furious, spedStraight the the king his sire and said:'Choose us, O glory of the throne,Choose us. or Asamanj alone.''Whence comes this dread?' the monarch cried;And all the people thus replied:'In folly, King, he loves to layFierce hands upon our babes at play,Casts them to Sarjú's flood. and joysTo murder our bewildered boys.'With heedful ear the king of menHeard each complaining citizen.To please their troubled minds he strove,And from the state his son he drove.With wife and gear upon a carHe placed him quick, and sent him far.
And thus he gave commandment, 'HeShall all his days an exile be.'With basket and with plough he strayedO'er mountain heights, through pathless shade,Roaming all lands a weary time,An outcast wretch defiled with crime.Sagar, the righteous path who held,His wicked offspring thus expelled.But what has Ráma done to blame?Why should his sentence be the same?No sin his stainless name can dim;We see no fault at all in him.Pure as the moon, no darkening blotOn his sweet life has left a spot.If thou canst see one fault, e'en one,To dim the fame of Raghu's son,That fault this hour, O lady, show.And Ráma to the wood shall go.To drive the guiltless to the wild,Truth's constant lover, undefiled.Would, by defiance of the right,The glory e'en of Indra blight.Then cease, O lady, and dismissThy hope to ruin Ráma's bliss,Or all thy gain, O fair of face,Will be men's hatred, and disgrace.'
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Footnotes138:1 See Book I, Canto XXXIX. An Indian prince in more modern times appears to have diverted himself in a similar way.
It is still reported in Belgium that Appay Deasy was wont to amuse himself "by making several young and beautiful women stand side by side on a narrow balcony, without a parapet, overhanging the deep reservoir at the new palace in Nipani. He used then to pass along the line of trembling creatures, and suddenly thrusting one of them headlong into the water below, he used to watch her drowning, and derive pleasure from her dying agonies."--History of the Belgium District. By H. J. Stokes, M. S. C.
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As thus Kakutstha's offspring spoke,Fear in Katiketí's breast awoke.The freshness of her face was dried,Her trembling tongue was terror-tied.Alarmed and sad, with bloodless cheek,She turned to him and scarce could speak:'Nay, Sire, but Bharat shall not gainAn empty realm where none remain.My Bharat shall not rule a wasteReft of all sweets to charm the taste--The wine-cup's dregs, all dull and dead,Whence the light foam and life are fled.' Thus in her rage the long-eyed dameSpoke her dire speech untouched by shame.
Then, answering, Das'aratha spoke:'Why. having bowed me to the yoke.Dost thou, must cruel, spur and goadMe who am struggling with the load?Why didst thou not oppose at firstThis hope, vile Queen, so fondly nursed?'
Scarce could the monarch's angry speechThe ears of the fair lady reach,When thus, with double wrath inflamed,Kaikeyí to the king exclaimed:
'Sagar, from whom thy line is traced,Drove forth his eldest son disgraced,Called Asamanj, whose fate we know:Thus should thy son to exile go.'
'Fie on thee, dame!' the monarch said;Each of her people bent his head,And stood in shame and sorrow mute:She marked not, bold and resolute.Then great Siddhárth, inflamed with rage,The good old councillor and sageOn whose wise rede the king relied,To Queen Kaikeyí thus replied:'But Asamanj the cruel laidHis hands on infants as they played,Cast them to Sarjú's flood, and smiledFor pleasure when be drowned a child.' 1The people saw, and, furious, spedStraight the the king his sire and said:'Choose us, O glory of the throne,Choose us. or Asamanj alone.''Whence comes this dread?' the monarch cried;And all the people thus replied:'In folly, King, he loves to layFierce hands upon our babes at play,Casts them to Sarjú's flood. and joysTo murder our bewildered boys.'With heedful ear the king of menHeard each complaining citizen.To please their troubled minds he strove,And from the state his son he drove.With wife and gear upon a carHe placed him quick, and sent him far.
And thus he gave commandment, 'HeShall all his days an exile be.'With basket and with plough he strayedO'er mountain heights, through pathless shade,Roaming all lands a weary time,An outcast wretch defiled with crime.Sagar, the righteous path who held,His wicked offspring thus expelled.But what has Ráma done to blame?Why should his sentence be the same?No sin his stainless name can dim;We see no fault at all in him.Pure as the moon, no darkening blotOn his sweet life has left a spot.If thou canst see one fault, e'en one,To dim the fame of Raghu's son,That fault this hour, O lady, show.And Ráma to the wood shall go.To drive the guiltless to the wild,Truth's constant lover, undefiled.Would, by defiance of the right,The glory e'en of Indra blight.Then cease, O lady, and dismissThy hope to ruin Ráma's bliss,Or all thy gain, O fair of face,Will be men's hatred, and disgrace.'
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Footnotes138:1 See Book I, Canto XXXIX. An Indian prince in more modern times appears to have diverted himself in a similar way.
It is still reported in Belgium that Appay Deasy was wont to amuse himself "by making several young and beautiful women stand side by side on a narrow balcony, without a parapet, overhanging the deep reservoir at the new palace in Nipani. He used then to pass along the line of trembling creatures, and suddenly thrusting one of them headlong into the water below, he used to watch her drowning, and derive pleasure from her dying agonies."--History of the Belgium District. By H. J. Stokes, M. S. C.
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CANTO XXXVII.:
THE COATS OF BARK.Thus spake the virtuous sage: and thenRáma addressed the king of men.In laws of meek behaviour bred,Thus to his sire he meekly said:
'King, I renounce all earthly care,And live in woods on woodland fare.What, dead to joys, have I to doWith lordly train and retinue!Who gives his elephant and yetUpon the girths his heart will set?How can a cord attract his eyesWho gives away the nobler prize?Best of the good, with me he ledNo host, my King with banners spread.All wealth, all lordship I resign:The hermit's dress alone be mine.Before I go, have here conveyedA little basket and a spade.With these alone I go, content,For fourteen years of banishment.'
With her own hands Kaikeyí tookThe hermit coats of bark, and, 'Look,'She cried with bold unblushing browBefore the concourse, 'Dress thee now.'That lion leader of the braveTook from her hand the dress she gave,Cast his fine raiment on the ground,
And round his waist the vesture bound.Then quick the hero Lakshman tooHis garment from his shoulders threw,And, in the presence of his sire,Indued the ascetic's rough attire.But Sítá, in her silks arrayed,Threw glances, trembling and afraid,On the bark coat she had to wear,Like a shy doe that eyes the snare.Ashamed and weeping for distressFrom the queen's hand she took the dress.The fair one, by her husband's sideWho matched heaven's minstrel monarch, 1 cried:'How bind they on their woodland dress,Those hermits of the wilderness?'
There stood the pride of Janak's racePerplexed, with sad appealing face.One coat the lady's fingers grasped,One round her neck she feebly clasped,But failed again, again, confusedBy the wild garb she ne'er had used.Then quickly hastening Ráma, prideOf all who cherish virtue, tiedThe rough bark mantle on her, o'erThe silken raiment that she wore.
Then the sad women when they sawRáma the choice bark round her draw,Rained water from each tender eye,And cried aloud with bitter cry:'O, not on her, beloved, notOn Sítá falls thy mournful lot.If, faithful to thy father's will,Thou must go forth, leave Sítá still.Let Sítá still remaining hereOur hearts with her loved presence cheer.With Lakshman by thy side to aidSeek thou, dear son, the lonely shade.Unmeet, one good and fair as sheShould dwell in woods a devotee.Let not our prayers be prayed in vain:Let beauteous Sítá yet remain;For by thy love of duty tiedThou wilt not here thyself abide.'
Then the king's venerable guideVas'ishtha, when he saw each coatEnclose the lady's waist and throat,Her zeal with gentle words repressed,And Queen Kaikeyí thus addressed:'O evil-hearted sinner, shameOf royal Kekaya's race and name;Who matchless in thy sin couldst cheatThy lord the king with vile deceit;Lost to all sense of duty, knowSítá to exile shall not go.Sítá shall guard, as 'twere her own,The precious trust of Ráma's throne.
Those joined by wedlock's sweet controlHave but one self and common soul.Thus Sítá shall our empress be,For Ráma's self and soul is she.Or if she still to Ráma cleaveAnd for the woods the kingdom leave:If naught her loving heart deter,We and this town will follow her.The warders of the queen shall takeTheir wives and go for Ráma's sake,The nation with its stores of grain,The city's wealth shall swell his train.Bharat, S'atrughna both will wearBark mantles, and his lodging share,Still with their elder brother dwellIn the wild wood, and serve him well.Rest here alone, and rule thy stateUnpeopled, barren, desolate;Be empress of the land and trees,Thou sinner whom our sorrows please.The land which Ráma reigns not o'erShall bear the kingdom's name no more:The woods which Ráma wanders throughShall be our home and kingdom too.Bharat, be sure, will never deignO'er realms his father yields, to reign.Nay, if the king's true son he be,He will not, sonlike, dwell with thee.Nay, shouldst thou from the earth arise,And send thy message from the skies,To his forefathers' custom trueNo erring course would he pursue.So hast thou, by thy grievous fault,Offended him thou wouldst exalt.In all the world none draws his breathWho loves not Ráma, true to death.This day, O Queen, shalt thou beholdBirds, deer, and beasts from lea and foldTurn to the woods in Ráma's train.And naught save longing trees remain.'
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Footnotes139:1 Chitraratha, King of the celestial choristers.
CANTO XXXVIII.:
'King, I renounce all earthly care,And live in woods on woodland fare.What, dead to joys, have I to doWith lordly train and retinue!Who gives his elephant and yetUpon the girths his heart will set?How can a cord attract his eyesWho gives away the nobler prize?Best of the good, with me he ledNo host, my King with banners spread.All wealth, all lordship I resign:The hermit's dress alone be mine.Before I go, have here conveyedA little basket and a spade.With these alone I go, content,For fourteen years of banishment.'
With her own hands Kaikeyí tookThe hermit coats of bark, and, 'Look,'She cried with bold unblushing browBefore the concourse, 'Dress thee now.'That lion leader of the braveTook from her hand the dress she gave,Cast his fine raiment on the ground,
And round his waist the vesture bound.Then quick the hero Lakshman tooHis garment from his shoulders threw,And, in the presence of his sire,Indued the ascetic's rough attire.But Sítá, in her silks arrayed,Threw glances, trembling and afraid,On the bark coat she had to wear,Like a shy doe that eyes the snare.Ashamed and weeping for distressFrom the queen's hand she took the dress.The fair one, by her husband's sideWho matched heaven's minstrel monarch, 1 cried:'How bind they on their woodland dress,Those hermits of the wilderness?'
There stood the pride of Janak's racePerplexed, with sad appealing face.One coat the lady's fingers grasped,One round her neck she feebly clasped,But failed again, again, confusedBy the wild garb she ne'er had used.Then quickly hastening Ráma, prideOf all who cherish virtue, tiedThe rough bark mantle on her, o'erThe silken raiment that she wore.
Then the sad women when they sawRáma the choice bark round her draw,Rained water from each tender eye,And cried aloud with bitter cry:'O, not on her, beloved, notOn Sítá falls thy mournful lot.If, faithful to thy father's will,Thou must go forth, leave Sítá still.Let Sítá still remaining hereOur hearts with her loved presence cheer.With Lakshman by thy side to aidSeek thou, dear son, the lonely shade.Unmeet, one good and fair as sheShould dwell in woods a devotee.Let not our prayers be prayed in vain:Let beauteous Sítá yet remain;For by thy love of duty tiedThou wilt not here thyself abide.'
Then the king's venerable guideVas'ishtha, when he saw each coatEnclose the lady's waist and throat,Her zeal with gentle words repressed,And Queen Kaikeyí thus addressed:'O evil-hearted sinner, shameOf royal Kekaya's race and name;Who matchless in thy sin couldst cheatThy lord the king with vile deceit;Lost to all sense of duty, knowSítá to exile shall not go.Sítá shall guard, as 'twere her own,The precious trust of Ráma's throne.
Those joined by wedlock's sweet controlHave but one self and common soul.Thus Sítá shall our empress be,For Ráma's self and soul is she.Or if she still to Ráma cleaveAnd for the woods the kingdom leave:If naught her loving heart deter,We and this town will follow her.The warders of the queen shall takeTheir wives and go for Ráma's sake,The nation with its stores of grain,The city's wealth shall swell his train.Bharat, S'atrughna both will wearBark mantles, and his lodging share,Still with their elder brother dwellIn the wild wood, and serve him well.Rest here alone, and rule thy stateUnpeopled, barren, desolate;Be empress of the land and trees,Thou sinner whom our sorrows please.The land which Ráma reigns not o'erShall bear the kingdom's name no more:The woods which Ráma wanders throughShall be our home and kingdom too.Bharat, be sure, will never deignO'er realms his father yields, to reign.Nay, if the king's true son he be,He will not, sonlike, dwell with thee.Nay, shouldst thou from the earth arise,And send thy message from the skies,To his forefathers' custom trueNo erring course would he pursue.So hast thou, by thy grievous fault,Offended him thou wouldst exalt.In all the world none draws his breathWho loves not Ráma, true to death.This day, O Queen, shalt thou beholdBirds, deer, and beasts from lea and foldTurn to the woods in Ráma's train.And naught save longing trees remain.'
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Footnotes139:1 Chitraratha, King of the celestial choristers.
CANTO XXXVIII.:
CARE FOR KAUS'ALYÁThen when the people wroth and sadSaw Sítá in bark vesture clad,Though wedded, like some widowed thing,They cried out, 'Shame upon thee, King!'Grieved by their cry and angry lookThe lord of earth at once forsookAll hope in life that still remained,In duty, self, and fame unstained.Ikshváku's son with burning sighsOn Queen Kaikeyí bent his eyes,And said: 'But Sítá must not fleeIn garments of a devotee.My holy guide has spoken truth:Unfit is she in tender youth,
So gently nurtured, soft and fair,The hardships of the wood to share. How has she sinned, devout and true, The noblest monarch's child, That she should garb of bark indue And journey to the wild? That she should spend her youthful days Amid a hermit band, Like some poor mendicant who strays Sore troubled, through the land? Ah, let the child of Janak throw Her dress of bark aside, And let the royal lady go With royal wealth supplied. Not such the pledge I gave before, Unfit to linger here: The oath, which I the sinner swore Is kept, and leaves her clear. Won from her childlike love this too My instant death would be, As blossoms on the old bamboo Destroy the parent tree. 1If aught amiss by Ráma doneOffend thee, O thou wicked one,What least transgiession canst thou findIn her, thou worst of womankind?What shade of fault in her appears,Whose full soft eye is like the deer's?What canst thou blame in Janak's child,So gentle, modest, true, and mild?Is not one crime complete, that sentMy Ráma forth to banishment!And wilt thou other sins commit.Thou wicked one, to double it?This is the pledge and oath I swore,What thou besoughtest, and no more,Of Ráma--for I heard thee, dame--When he for consecration came.Now with this limit not content,In hell should be thy punishment,Who fain the Maithil bride wouldst pressTo clothe her limbs with hermit dress.'
Thus spake the father in his woe;And Ráma, still prepared to go,To him who sat with drooping headSpake in return these words and said:
'Just King, here stands my mother dear,Kaus'alyá, one whom all revere.Submissive, gentle, old is she,And keeps her lips from blame of thee,For her, kind lord, of me bereftA sea of whelming woe is left.O, show her in her new distressStill fonder love and tenderness.Well honoured by thine honoured handHer grief for me let her withstand,Who wrapt in constant thought of meIn me would live a devotee.
Peer of Mahendra, O, to her be kind, And treat I pray, my gentle mother so, That, when I dwell afar, her life resigned, She may not, pass, to Yama's realm for woe.'
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Footnotes140:1 It is said that the bamboo dies after flowering.
CANTO XXXIX.:
So gently nurtured, soft and fair,The hardships of the wood to share. How has she sinned, devout and true, The noblest monarch's child, That she should garb of bark indue And journey to the wild? That she should spend her youthful days Amid a hermit band, Like some poor mendicant who strays Sore troubled, through the land? Ah, let the child of Janak throw Her dress of bark aside, And let the royal lady go With royal wealth supplied. Not such the pledge I gave before, Unfit to linger here: The oath, which I the sinner swore Is kept, and leaves her clear. Won from her childlike love this too My instant death would be, As blossoms on the old bamboo Destroy the parent tree. 1If aught amiss by Ráma doneOffend thee, O thou wicked one,What least transgiession canst thou findIn her, thou worst of womankind?What shade of fault in her appears,Whose full soft eye is like the deer's?What canst thou blame in Janak's child,So gentle, modest, true, and mild?Is not one crime complete, that sentMy Ráma forth to banishment!And wilt thou other sins commit.Thou wicked one, to double it?This is the pledge and oath I swore,What thou besoughtest, and no more,Of Ráma--for I heard thee, dame--When he for consecration came.Now with this limit not content,In hell should be thy punishment,Who fain the Maithil bride wouldst pressTo clothe her limbs with hermit dress.'
Thus spake the father in his woe;And Ráma, still prepared to go,To him who sat with drooping headSpake in return these words and said:
'Just King, here stands my mother dear,Kaus'alyá, one whom all revere.Submissive, gentle, old is she,And keeps her lips from blame of thee,For her, kind lord, of me bereftA sea of whelming woe is left.O, show her in her new distressStill fonder love and tenderness.Well honoured by thine honoured handHer grief for me let her withstand,Who wrapt in constant thought of meIn me would live a devotee.
Peer of Mahendra, O, to her be kind, And treat I pray, my gentle mother so, That, when I dwell afar, her life resigned, She may not, pass, to Yama's realm for woe.'
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Footnotes140:1 It is said that the bamboo dies after flowering.
CANTO XXXIX.:
COUNSEL TO SÍTÁ.Scarce had the sire, with each dear queen,Heard Ráma's pleading voice, and seenHis darling in his hermit dressEre failed his senses for distress.Convulsed with woe, his soul that shook,On Raghu's son he could not look;Or if he looked with failing eyeHe could not to the chief reply.By pangs of bitter grief assailed,The long-armed monarch wept and wailed,Half dead a while and sore distraught,While Ráma filled his every thought.'This hand of mine in days ere nowHas reft her young from many a cow.Or living things has idly slain:Hence comes, I ween, this hour of pain.Not till the hour is come to dieCan from its shell the spirit fly.Death comes not, and Kaikeyí stillTorments the wretch she cannot kill,Who sees his son before him quitThe fine soft robes his rank that fit,And, glorious as the burning fire,In hermit garb his limbs attire.Now all the people grieve and groanThrough Queen Kaikeyí's deed alone,Who, having dared this deed of sin,Strives for herself the gain to win.'
He spoke. With tears his eyes grew dim,His senses all deserted him.He cried, O Ráma, once, then weakAnd fainting could no further speak.Unconscious there he lay: at lengthRegathering his sense and strength,While his full eyes their torrents shed,To wise Sumantra thus he said:'Yoke the light car, and hither leadFleet coursers of the noblest breed,And drive this heir of lofty fateBeyond the limit of the state.This seems the fruit that virtues bear,The meed of worth which texts declare--The sending of the brave and goodBy sire and mother to the wood.'
He heard the monarch, and obeyed,With ready feet that ne'er delayed,And brought before the palace gateThe horses and the car of state.Then to the monarch's son he sped,And raising hands of reverence said
That the light car which gold made fair,With best of steeds, was standing there.King Das'aratha called in hasteThe lord o'er all his treasures placed.And spoke, well skilled in place and time,His will to him devoid of crime:'Count all the years she has to liveAfar in forest wilds, and giveTo Sítá robes and gems of priceAs for the time may well suffice.'Quick to the treasure-room he went,Charged by that king most excellent,Brought the rich stores, and gave them allTo Sítá in the monarch's hall.The Maithil dame of high descentReceived each robe and ornament,And tricked those limbs, whose lines foretoldHigh destiny, with gems and gold.So well adorned, so fair to view,A glory through the hall she threw:So, when the Lord of Light upsprings,His radiance o'er the sky he flings.Then Queen Kaus'alyá spake at last,With loving arms about her cast,Pressed lingering kisses on her head,And to the high-souled lady said:'Ah, in this faithless world belowWhen dark misfortune comes and woe,Wives, loved and cherished every day,Neglect their lords and disobey.Yes, woman's nature still is this:--After long days of calm and blissWhen some light grief her spirit tries,She changes all her love, or flies.Young wives are thankless, false in soul,With roving hearts that spurn control.Brooding on sin and quickly changed,In one short hour their love estranged.Not glorious deed or lineage fair,Not knowledge, gift, or tender careIn chains of lasting love can bindA woman's light inconstant mind.But those good dames who still maintainWhat right, truth, Scripture, rule ordain--No holy thing in their pure eyesWith one beloved husband vies.Nor let thy lord my son, condemnedTo exile, be by thee contemned,For be he poor or wealthy, heIs as a God, dear child, to thee.'
When Sítá heard Kaus'alyá's speechHer duty and her gain to teach,She joined her palms with reverent graceAnd gave her answer face to face:'All will I do, forgetting naught,Which thou,O honoured Queen, hast taught.I know, have heard, and deep have storedThe rules of duty to my lord.Not me, good Queen, shouldst thou includeAmong the faithless multitude.Its own sweet light the moon shall leaveEre I to duty cease to cleave.The stringless lute gives forth no strain,The wheelless car is urged in vain;No joy a lordless dame, althoughBlest with a hundred sons, can know.From father, brother, and from sonA measured share of joy is won:Who would not honour, love, and blessHer lord, whose gifts are measureless?Thus trained to think, I hold in aweScripture's command and duty's law.Him can I hold in slight esteem?Her lord is woman's God, I deem.'Kaus'alyá heard the lady's speech,Nor failed those words her heart to reach.Then, pure in mind, she gave to flowThe tear that sprang of joy and woe.Then duteous Ráma forward cameAnd stood before the honoured dame,And joining reverent hands addressedThe queen in rank above the rest:'O mother, from these tears refrain;Look on my sire and still thy pain.To thee my days afar shall flyAs if sweet slumber closed thine eye,And fourteen years of exile seemTo thee, dear mother, like a dream.On me returning safe and well,Girt by my friends, thine eyes shall dwell.'
Thus for their deep affection's sakeThe hero to his mother spake,Then to the half seven hundred too.Wives of his sire, paid reverence due.Thus Das'aratha's son addressedThat crowd of matrons sore distressed:'If from these lips, while here I dwelt,One heedless taunt you e'er have felt,Forgive me, pray. And now adieu,I bid good-bye to all of you.'Then straight, like curlews' cries, upwentThe voices of their wild lament,While, as he bade farewell, the crowdOf royal women wept aloud,And through the ample hall's extent.Where erst the sound of tabour, blentWith drum and shrill-toned instrument, In joyous concert rose,Now rang the sound of wailing high,The lamentation and the cry,The shriek, the choking sob, the sigh That told the ladies' woes.
CANTO XL.:
He spoke. With tears his eyes grew dim,His senses all deserted him.He cried, O Ráma, once, then weakAnd fainting could no further speak.Unconscious there he lay: at lengthRegathering his sense and strength,While his full eyes their torrents shed,To wise Sumantra thus he said:'Yoke the light car, and hither leadFleet coursers of the noblest breed,And drive this heir of lofty fateBeyond the limit of the state.This seems the fruit that virtues bear,The meed of worth which texts declare--The sending of the brave and goodBy sire and mother to the wood.'
He heard the monarch, and obeyed,With ready feet that ne'er delayed,And brought before the palace gateThe horses and the car of state.Then to the monarch's son he sped,And raising hands of reverence said
That the light car which gold made fair,With best of steeds, was standing there.King Das'aratha called in hasteThe lord o'er all his treasures placed.And spoke, well skilled in place and time,His will to him devoid of crime:'Count all the years she has to liveAfar in forest wilds, and giveTo Sítá robes and gems of priceAs for the time may well suffice.'Quick to the treasure-room he went,Charged by that king most excellent,Brought the rich stores, and gave them allTo Sítá in the monarch's hall.The Maithil dame of high descentReceived each robe and ornament,And tricked those limbs, whose lines foretoldHigh destiny, with gems and gold.So well adorned, so fair to view,A glory through the hall she threw:So, when the Lord of Light upsprings,His radiance o'er the sky he flings.Then Queen Kaus'alyá spake at last,With loving arms about her cast,Pressed lingering kisses on her head,And to the high-souled lady said:'Ah, in this faithless world belowWhen dark misfortune comes and woe,Wives, loved and cherished every day,Neglect their lords and disobey.Yes, woman's nature still is this:--After long days of calm and blissWhen some light grief her spirit tries,She changes all her love, or flies.Young wives are thankless, false in soul,With roving hearts that spurn control.Brooding on sin and quickly changed,In one short hour their love estranged.Not glorious deed or lineage fair,Not knowledge, gift, or tender careIn chains of lasting love can bindA woman's light inconstant mind.But those good dames who still maintainWhat right, truth, Scripture, rule ordain--No holy thing in their pure eyesWith one beloved husband vies.Nor let thy lord my son, condemnedTo exile, be by thee contemned,For be he poor or wealthy, heIs as a God, dear child, to thee.'
When Sítá heard Kaus'alyá's speechHer duty and her gain to teach,She joined her palms with reverent graceAnd gave her answer face to face:'All will I do, forgetting naught,Which thou,O honoured Queen, hast taught.I know, have heard, and deep have storedThe rules of duty to my lord.Not me, good Queen, shouldst thou includeAmong the faithless multitude.Its own sweet light the moon shall leaveEre I to duty cease to cleave.The stringless lute gives forth no strain,The wheelless car is urged in vain;No joy a lordless dame, althoughBlest with a hundred sons, can know.From father, brother, and from sonA measured share of joy is won:Who would not honour, love, and blessHer lord, whose gifts are measureless?Thus trained to think, I hold in aweScripture's command and duty's law.Him can I hold in slight esteem?Her lord is woman's God, I deem.'Kaus'alyá heard the lady's speech,Nor failed those words her heart to reach.Then, pure in mind, she gave to flowThe tear that sprang of joy and woe.Then duteous Ráma forward cameAnd stood before the honoured dame,And joining reverent hands addressedThe queen in rank above the rest:'O mother, from these tears refrain;Look on my sire and still thy pain.To thee my days afar shall flyAs if sweet slumber closed thine eye,And fourteen years of exile seemTo thee, dear mother, like a dream.On me returning safe and well,Girt by my friends, thine eyes shall dwell.'
Thus for their deep affection's sakeThe hero to his mother spake,Then to the half seven hundred too.Wives of his sire, paid reverence due.Thus Das'aratha's son addressedThat crowd of matrons sore distressed:'If from these lips, while here I dwelt,One heedless taunt you e'er have felt,Forgive me, pray. And now adieu,I bid good-bye to all of you.'Then straight, like curlews' cries, upwentThe voices of their wild lament,While, as he bade farewell, the crowdOf royal women wept aloud,And through the ample hall's extent.Where erst the sound of tabour, blentWith drum and shrill-toned instrument, In joyous concert rose,Now rang the sound of wailing high,The lamentation and the cry,The shriek, the choking sob, the sigh That told the ladies' woes.
CANTO XL.:
RÁMA'S DEPARTURE.Then Ráma, Sítá, Lakshman bentAt the king's feet, and sadly went
Round him with slow steps reverent.When Ráma of the duteous heartHad gained his sire's consent to part,With Sítá by his side he paidDue reverence to the queen dismayed.And Lakshman, with affection meet,Bowed down and clasped his mother's feet.Sumitrá viewed him as he pressedHer feet, and thus her son addressed:'Neglect not Ráma wandering there,But tend him with thy faithful care.In hours of wealth, in time of woe,Him, sinless son, thy refuge know.From this good law the just ne'er swerve,That younger sons the eldest serve,And to this righteous rule inclineAll children of thine ancient line--Freely to give, reward each rite,Nor spare their bodies in the fight.Let Ráma Das'aratha be,Look upon Sítá as on me,And let the cot wherein you dwellBe thine Ayodhyá. Fare thee well."Her blessing thus Sumitrá gaveTo him whose soul to Ráma clave,Exclaiming, when her speech was done,' Go forth, O Lakshman, go, my son.Go forth, my son to win success,High victory and happiness.Go forth thy foemen to destroy,And turn again at last with joy.' As Mátali his charioteerSpeaks for the Lord of Gods to hear,Sumantra, palm to palm applied,In reverence trained, to Ráma cried:'O famous Prince, my car ascend,--May blessings on thy course attend,--And swiftly shall my horses fleeAnd place thee where thou biddest me.The fourteen years thou hast to stayFar in the wilds, begin to-day;For Oueen Kaikeyí cries, Away." Then Sítá, best of womankind,Ascended, with a tranquil mind,Soon as her toilet task was done,That chariot brilliant as the sun.Ráma and Lakshman true and boldSprang on the car adorned with gold.The king those years had counted o'er,And given Sítá robes and storeOf precious ornaments to wearWhen following her husband there.The brothers in the car found placeFor nets and weapons of the chase,There warlike arms and mail they laid,A leathern basket and a spade.Soon as Sumantra saw the threeWere seated in the chariot, heUrged on each horse of noble breed,Who matched the rushing wind in speed.As thus the son of Raghu went
Forth for his dreary banishment,Chill numbing grief the town assailed,All strength grew weak, all spirit failed,Ayodhá through her wide extentWas filled with tumult and lament:Steeds neighed and shook the bells they bore,Each elephant returned a roar.Then all the city, young and old,Wild with their sorrow uncontrolled,Rushed to the car, as, from the sunThe panting herds to water run.Before the car, behind, they clung,And there as eagerly they hung,With torrents streaming from their eyes,Called loudly with repeated cries:'Listen, Sumantra: draw thy rein;Drive gently, and thy steeds restrain.Once more on Ráma will we gaze,Now to be lost for many days.The queen his mother has, be sure,A heart of iron, to endureTo see her godlike Ráma go,Nor feel it shattered by the blow.Sítá, well done! Videha's pride,Still like his shadow by his side;Rejoicing in thy duty stillAs sunlight cleaves to Meru's hill.Thou, Lakshman, too, hast well deserved,Who from thy duty hast not swerved,Tending the peer of Gods above,Whose lips speak naught but words of love.Thy firm resolve is nobly great,And high success on thee shall wait.Yea, thou shalt win a priceless meed--Thy path with him to heaven shall lead,'As thus they spake, they could not holdThe tears that down their faces rolled,While still they followed for a spaceTheir darling of Ikshváku's race. There stood surrounded by a ringOf mournful wives the mournful king;For, 'I will see once more,' he cried,'Mine own dear son,' and forth he hied.As he came near, there rose the soundOf weeping, as the dames stood round.So the she-elephants complainWhen their great lord and guide is slain.Kakutstha's son, the king of men,The glorious sire, looked troubled then,As the full moon is when dismayedBy dark eclipse's threatening shade.Then Das'aratha's son, designedFor highest fate of lofty mind.Urged to more speed the charioteer,'Away, away! why linger here?Urge on thy horses,' Rama cried,And 'Stay, O stay,' the people sighed.Sumantra, urged to speed away,The townsmen's call must disobey,Forth as the long-armed hero went,
The dust his chariot wheels up sentWas laid by streams that ever flowedFrom their sad eyes who filled the road.Then, sprung of woe, from eyes of allThe women drops began to fall,As from each lotus on the lakeThe darting fish the water shake.When he, the king of high renown,Saw that one thought held all the town,Like some tall tree he fell and lay,Whose root the axe has hewn away.Then straight a mighty cry from thoseWho followed Ráma's car arose,Who saw their monarch fainting thereBeneath that grief too great to bear.Then 'Ráma, Ráma!" with the cryOf 'Ah, his mother!' sounded high,As all the people wept aloudAround the ladies' sorrowing crowd.When Ráma backward turned his eye,And saw the king his father lieWith troubled sense and failing limb,And the sad queen, who followed him,Like some young creature in the net,That will not, in its misery, letIts wild eyes on its mother rest,So, by the bonds of duty pressed,His mother's look he could not meet.He saw them with their weary feet,Who, used to bliss, in cars should ride,Who ne'er by sorrow should be tried,And, as one mournful look he cast,'Drive on,' he cried, 'Sumantra, fast.'As when the driver's torturing hookGoads on an elephant, the lookOf sire and mother in despairWas more than Ráma's heart could bear.As mother kine to stalls returnWhich hold the calves for whom they yearn,So to the car she tried to runAs a cow seeks her little one.Once and again the hero's eyesLooked on his mother, as with criesOf woe she called and gestures wild,'O Sítá, Lakshman, O my child!''Stay,' cried the king, 'thy chariot stay:''On, on,' cried Ráma, 'speed away.'As one between two hosts, inclinedTo neither was Sumantra's mind.But Ráma spake these words again:'A lengthened woe is bitterest pain.On, on; and if his wrath grow hot,Thine answer be, ' I heard thee not.'Sumantra, at the chief's behest,Dismissed the crowd that toward him pressed,And, as he bade, to swiftest speedUrged on his way each willing steed.The king's attendants parted thence,And paid him heart-felt reverence:In mind, and with the tears he wept,Each still his place near Ráma kept.As swift away the horses sped,His lords to Das'aratha said:'To follow him whom thou againWouldst see returning home is vain.' With failing limb and drooping mien He heard their counsel wise: Still on their son the king and queen Kept fast their lingering eyes. 1
CANTO XLI.:
Round him with slow steps reverent.When Ráma of the duteous heartHad gained his sire's consent to part,With Sítá by his side he paidDue reverence to the queen dismayed.And Lakshman, with affection meet,Bowed down and clasped his mother's feet.Sumitrá viewed him as he pressedHer feet, and thus her son addressed:'Neglect not Ráma wandering there,But tend him with thy faithful care.In hours of wealth, in time of woe,Him, sinless son, thy refuge know.From this good law the just ne'er swerve,That younger sons the eldest serve,And to this righteous rule inclineAll children of thine ancient line--Freely to give, reward each rite,Nor spare their bodies in the fight.Let Ráma Das'aratha be,Look upon Sítá as on me,And let the cot wherein you dwellBe thine Ayodhyá. Fare thee well."Her blessing thus Sumitrá gaveTo him whose soul to Ráma clave,Exclaiming, when her speech was done,' Go forth, O Lakshman, go, my son.Go forth, my son to win success,High victory and happiness.Go forth thy foemen to destroy,And turn again at last with joy.' As Mátali his charioteerSpeaks for the Lord of Gods to hear,Sumantra, palm to palm applied,In reverence trained, to Ráma cried:'O famous Prince, my car ascend,--May blessings on thy course attend,--And swiftly shall my horses fleeAnd place thee where thou biddest me.The fourteen years thou hast to stayFar in the wilds, begin to-day;For Oueen Kaikeyí cries, Away." Then Sítá, best of womankind,Ascended, with a tranquil mind,Soon as her toilet task was done,That chariot brilliant as the sun.Ráma and Lakshman true and boldSprang on the car adorned with gold.The king those years had counted o'er,And given Sítá robes and storeOf precious ornaments to wearWhen following her husband there.The brothers in the car found placeFor nets and weapons of the chase,There warlike arms and mail they laid,A leathern basket and a spade.Soon as Sumantra saw the threeWere seated in the chariot, heUrged on each horse of noble breed,Who matched the rushing wind in speed.As thus the son of Raghu went
Forth for his dreary banishment,Chill numbing grief the town assailed,All strength grew weak, all spirit failed,Ayodhá through her wide extentWas filled with tumult and lament:Steeds neighed and shook the bells they bore,Each elephant returned a roar.Then all the city, young and old,Wild with their sorrow uncontrolled,Rushed to the car, as, from the sunThe panting herds to water run.Before the car, behind, they clung,And there as eagerly they hung,With torrents streaming from their eyes,Called loudly with repeated cries:'Listen, Sumantra: draw thy rein;Drive gently, and thy steeds restrain.Once more on Ráma will we gaze,Now to be lost for many days.The queen his mother has, be sure,A heart of iron, to endureTo see her godlike Ráma go,Nor feel it shattered by the blow.Sítá, well done! Videha's pride,Still like his shadow by his side;Rejoicing in thy duty stillAs sunlight cleaves to Meru's hill.Thou, Lakshman, too, hast well deserved,Who from thy duty hast not swerved,Tending the peer of Gods above,Whose lips speak naught but words of love.Thy firm resolve is nobly great,And high success on thee shall wait.Yea, thou shalt win a priceless meed--Thy path with him to heaven shall lead,'As thus they spake, they could not holdThe tears that down their faces rolled,While still they followed for a spaceTheir darling of Ikshváku's race. There stood surrounded by a ringOf mournful wives the mournful king;For, 'I will see once more,' he cried,'Mine own dear son,' and forth he hied.As he came near, there rose the soundOf weeping, as the dames stood round.So the she-elephants complainWhen their great lord and guide is slain.Kakutstha's son, the king of men,The glorious sire, looked troubled then,As the full moon is when dismayedBy dark eclipse's threatening shade.Then Das'aratha's son, designedFor highest fate of lofty mind.Urged to more speed the charioteer,'Away, away! why linger here?Urge on thy horses,' Rama cried,And 'Stay, O stay,' the people sighed.Sumantra, urged to speed away,The townsmen's call must disobey,Forth as the long-armed hero went,
The dust his chariot wheels up sentWas laid by streams that ever flowedFrom their sad eyes who filled the road.Then, sprung of woe, from eyes of allThe women drops began to fall,As from each lotus on the lakeThe darting fish the water shake.When he, the king of high renown,Saw that one thought held all the town,Like some tall tree he fell and lay,Whose root the axe has hewn away.Then straight a mighty cry from thoseWho followed Ráma's car arose,Who saw their monarch fainting thereBeneath that grief too great to bear.Then 'Ráma, Ráma!" with the cryOf 'Ah, his mother!' sounded high,As all the people wept aloudAround the ladies' sorrowing crowd.When Ráma backward turned his eye,And saw the king his father lieWith troubled sense and failing limb,And the sad queen, who followed him,Like some young creature in the net,That will not, in its misery, letIts wild eyes on its mother rest,So, by the bonds of duty pressed,His mother's look he could not meet.He saw them with their weary feet,Who, used to bliss, in cars should ride,Who ne'er by sorrow should be tried,And, as one mournful look he cast,'Drive on,' he cried, 'Sumantra, fast.'As when the driver's torturing hookGoads on an elephant, the lookOf sire and mother in despairWas more than Ráma's heart could bear.As mother kine to stalls returnWhich hold the calves for whom they yearn,So to the car she tried to runAs a cow seeks her little one.Once and again the hero's eyesLooked on his mother, as with criesOf woe she called and gestures wild,'O Sítá, Lakshman, O my child!''Stay,' cried the king, 'thy chariot stay:''On, on,' cried Ráma, 'speed away.'As one between two hosts, inclinedTo neither was Sumantra's mind.But Ráma spake these words again:'A lengthened woe is bitterest pain.On, on; and if his wrath grow hot,Thine answer be, ' I heard thee not.'Sumantra, at the chief's behest,Dismissed the crowd that toward him pressed,And, as he bade, to swiftest speedUrged on his way each willing steed.The king's attendants parted thence,And paid him heart-felt reverence:In mind, and with the tears he wept,Each still his place near Ráma kept.As swift away the horses sped,His lords to Das'aratha said:'To follow him whom thou againWouldst see returning home is vain.' With failing limb and drooping mien He heard their counsel wise: Still on their son the king and queen Kept fast their lingering eyes. 1
CANTO XLI.:
THE CITIZENS' LAMENT.The lion chief with hands upraisedWas born from eyes that fondly gazed.But then the ladies' bower was rentWith cries of weeping and lament:'Where goes he now, our lord, the sureProtector of the friendless poor,In whom the wretched and the weakDefence and aid were wont to seek?All words of wrath he turned aside,And ne'er, when cursed, in ire replied.He shared his people's woe, and stilledThe troubled breast which rage had filled.Our chief, on lofty thoughts intent,In glorious fame preeminent:As on his own dear mother, thusHe ever looked on each of us.Where goes he now? His sire's behest,By Queen Kaikeyí's guile distressed,Has banished to the forest henceHim who was all the world's defence.Ah, senseless King, to drive awayThe hope of men, their guard and stay,To banish to the distant woodRáma the duteous, true, and good!'The royal dames, like cows bereavedOf their young calves, thus sadly grieved.The monarch heard them as they wailed,And by the fire of grief assailedFor his dear son, he bowed his head,And all his sense and memory fled. Then were no fires of worship fed,Thick darkness o'er the sun was spread.The cows their thirsty calves denied,And elephants flung their food aside.
Tris'anku, 1 Jupiter looked dread,And Mercury and Mars the red,In direful opposition met,The glory of the moon beset.The lunar stars withheld their light,The planets were no longer bright,But meteors with their horrid glare,And dire Vis'ákhás 2 lit the air.As troubled Ocean heaves and ravesWhen Doom's wild tempest sweeps the waves,Thus all Ayodhyá reeled and bentWhen Ráma to the forest went.And chilling grief and dark despairFell suddenly on all men there.Their wonted pastime all forgot,Nor thought of food, or touched it not.Crowds in the royal street were seenWith weeping eye and troubled mien:No more a people gay and glad,Each head and heart was sick and sad.No more the cool wind softly blew,The moon no more was fair to view,No more the sun with genial glowCherished the world now plunged in woe.Sons, brothers, husbands, wedded wivesForgot the ties that joined their lives;No thought for kith and kin was spared,But all for only Ráma cared.And Ráma's friends who loved him best,Their minds disordered and distressed.By the great burthen of their woesTurned not to slumber or repose. Like Earth with all her hills bereft Of Indra's guiding care. Ayodhyá in her sorrow left By him, the high souled heir. Was bowed by fear and sorrow's force, And shook with many a throe, While warrior, elephant, and horse Sent up the cry of woe.
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Footnotes143:1 'Thirty centuries have passed since he began this memorable journey. Every step of it is known and is annually traversed by thousands: hero worship is not extinct. What can Faith do! How strong are the ties of religion when entwined with the legends of a country! How many a cart creeps creaking and weary along the road from Ayodhyá to Chitrakút. It is this that gives the Rámáyan a strange interest, the story still lives.' Calcutta Review: Vol. XXIII.
CANTO XLII.:
Tris'anku, 1 Jupiter looked dread,And Mercury and Mars the red,In direful opposition met,The glory of the moon beset.The lunar stars withheld their light,The planets were no longer bright,But meteors with their horrid glare,And dire Vis'ákhás 2 lit the air.As troubled Ocean heaves and ravesWhen Doom's wild tempest sweeps the waves,Thus all Ayodhyá reeled and bentWhen Ráma to the forest went.And chilling grief and dark despairFell suddenly on all men there.Their wonted pastime all forgot,Nor thought of food, or touched it not.Crowds in the royal street were seenWith weeping eye and troubled mien:No more a people gay and glad,Each head and heart was sick and sad.No more the cool wind softly blew,The moon no more was fair to view,No more the sun with genial glowCherished the world now plunged in woe.Sons, brothers, husbands, wedded wivesForgot the ties that joined their lives;No thought for kith and kin was spared,But all for only Ráma cared.And Ráma's friends who loved him best,Their minds disordered and distressed.By the great burthen of their woesTurned not to slumber or repose. Like Earth with all her hills bereft Of Indra's guiding care. Ayodhyá in her sorrow left By him, the high souled heir. Was bowed by fear and sorrow's force, And shook with many a throe, While warrior, elephant, and horse Sent up the cry of woe.
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Footnotes143:1 'Thirty centuries have passed since he began this memorable journey. Every step of it is known and is annually traversed by thousands: hero worship is not extinct. What can Faith do! How strong are the ties of religion when entwined with the legends of a country! How many a cart creeps creaking and weary along the road from Ayodhyá to Chitrakút. It is this that gives the Rámáyan a strange interest, the story still lives.' Calcutta Review: Vol. XXIII.
CANTO XLII.:
DAS'ARATHA'S LAMENT.While yet the dust was seen afarThat marked the course of Ráma's car,The glory of Ikshváku's raceTurned not away his eager face.While yet his duteous son he sawHe could not once his gaze withdraw,But rooted to the spot remainedWith eyes that after Ráma strained.But when that dust no more he viewed,Fainting he fell by grief subdued.
To his right hand Kaus'alyá went,And ready aid the lady lent,While Bharat's loving mother triedTo raise him on the other side.The king, within whose ordered soulJustice and virtue held control,To Queen Kaikeyí turned and said,With every sense disquieted:'Touch me not, thou whose soul can plotAll sin. Kaikeyí, touch me not.No loving wife, no friend to me,I ne'er again would look on thee;Ne'er from this day have aught to doWith thee and all thy retinue;Thee whom no virtuous thoughts restrain,Whose selfish heart seeks only gain.The hand I laid in mine, O dame,The steps we took around the flame, 1bAnd all that links thy life to mineHere and hereafter I resign.If Bharat too, thy darling son,Joy in the rule thy art has won,Ne'er may the funeral offerings paidBy his false hand approach my shade.' Then while the dust upon him hung,The monarch to Kaus'alyá clung,And she with mournful steps and slowTurned to the palace, worn with woe.As one whose hand has touched the fire,Or slain a Bráhman in his ire,He felt his heart with sorrow tornStill thinking of his son forlorn.Each step was torture, as the roadThe traces of the chariot showed,And as the shadowed sun grows dimSo cure and anguish darkened him.He raised a cry, by woe distraught,As of his son again he thought.And judging that the car had spedBeyond the city, thus he said:'I still behold the foot-prints madeBy the good horses that conveyedMy son afar: these marks I see,But high-souled Ráma, where is he?Ah me, my son! my first and best,On pleasant conches wont to rest,With limbs perfumed with sandal, fannedBy many a beauty's tender hand:Where will he lie with log or stoneBeneath him for a pillow thrown,To leave at morn his earthy bed,Neglected, and with dust o'erspread,As from the flood with sigh and pantComes forth the husband elephant?The men who make the woods their homeShall see the long-armed hero roamRoused from his bed, though lord of all,In semblance of a friendless thrall.Janak's dear child who ne'er has met
With aught save joy and comfort yet,Will reach to-day the forest, wornAnd wearied with the brakes of thorn.Ah, gentle girl, of woods unskilled,How will her heart with dread be filledAt the wild beasts' deep roaring there,Whose voices lift the shuddering hair!Kaikeyí, glory in thy gain,And, widow queen, begin to reign:No will, no power to live have IWhen my brave son no more is nigh.' Thus pouring forth laments, the king,Girt by the people's crowded ring,Entered the noble bower like oneNew-bathed when funeral rites are done.Where'er he looked naught met his gazeBut empty houses, courts, and ways.Closed were the temples: countless feetNo longer trod the royal street,And thinking of his son he viewedMen weak and worn and woe-subdued.As sinks the sun into a cloud,So passed he on, and wept aloud,Within that house no more to beThe dwelling of the banished three,Brave Ráma, his Videhan bride,And Lakshman by his brother's side:Like broad still waters, when the kingOf all the birds that ply the wingHas swooped from heaven and borne awayThe glittering snakes that made them gay.With choking sobs and voice half spentThe king renewed his sad lament:With broken utterance faint and lowScarce could he speak these words of woe:'My steps to Ráma's mother guide,And place me by Kaus'alyá's side:There, only there my heart may knowSome little respite from my woe.' The warders of the palace ledThe monarch, when his words were said,To Queen Kaus'alyá's bower, and thereLaid him with reverential care.But while he rested on the bedStill was his soul disquieted.In grief he tossed his arms on highLamenting with a piteous cry:'O Ráma, Ráma,' thus said he,'My son, thou hast forsaken me.High bliss awaits those favoured menLeft living in Ayodhyá then,Whose eyes shall see my son once moreReturning when the time is o'er.'Then came the night, whose hated gloomFell on him like the night of doom.At midnight Das'aratha criedTo Queen Kaus'alyá by his side:I see thee not, Kaus'alyá; layThy gentle hand in mine, I pray.When Ráma left his home my sightWent with him, nor returns to-night.'
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Footnotes144:1 See p. 72.
144:2 Four stars of the sixteenth lunar asterism.
144:1b In the marriage service.
CANTO XLIII.:
To his right hand Kaus'alyá went,And ready aid the lady lent,While Bharat's loving mother triedTo raise him on the other side.The king, within whose ordered soulJustice and virtue held control,To Queen Kaikeyí turned and said,With every sense disquieted:'Touch me not, thou whose soul can plotAll sin. Kaikeyí, touch me not.No loving wife, no friend to me,I ne'er again would look on thee;Ne'er from this day have aught to doWith thee and all thy retinue;Thee whom no virtuous thoughts restrain,Whose selfish heart seeks only gain.The hand I laid in mine, O dame,The steps we took around the flame, 1bAnd all that links thy life to mineHere and hereafter I resign.If Bharat too, thy darling son,Joy in the rule thy art has won,Ne'er may the funeral offerings paidBy his false hand approach my shade.' Then while the dust upon him hung,The monarch to Kaus'alyá clung,And she with mournful steps and slowTurned to the palace, worn with woe.As one whose hand has touched the fire,Or slain a Bráhman in his ire,He felt his heart with sorrow tornStill thinking of his son forlorn.Each step was torture, as the roadThe traces of the chariot showed,And as the shadowed sun grows dimSo cure and anguish darkened him.He raised a cry, by woe distraught,As of his son again he thought.And judging that the car had spedBeyond the city, thus he said:'I still behold the foot-prints madeBy the good horses that conveyedMy son afar: these marks I see,But high-souled Ráma, where is he?Ah me, my son! my first and best,On pleasant conches wont to rest,With limbs perfumed with sandal, fannedBy many a beauty's tender hand:Where will he lie with log or stoneBeneath him for a pillow thrown,To leave at morn his earthy bed,Neglected, and with dust o'erspread,As from the flood with sigh and pantComes forth the husband elephant?The men who make the woods their homeShall see the long-armed hero roamRoused from his bed, though lord of all,In semblance of a friendless thrall.Janak's dear child who ne'er has met
With aught save joy and comfort yet,Will reach to-day the forest, wornAnd wearied with the brakes of thorn.Ah, gentle girl, of woods unskilled,How will her heart with dread be filledAt the wild beasts' deep roaring there,Whose voices lift the shuddering hair!Kaikeyí, glory in thy gain,And, widow queen, begin to reign:No will, no power to live have IWhen my brave son no more is nigh.' Thus pouring forth laments, the king,Girt by the people's crowded ring,Entered the noble bower like oneNew-bathed when funeral rites are done.Where'er he looked naught met his gazeBut empty houses, courts, and ways.Closed were the temples: countless feetNo longer trod the royal street,And thinking of his son he viewedMen weak and worn and woe-subdued.As sinks the sun into a cloud,So passed he on, and wept aloud,Within that house no more to beThe dwelling of the banished three,Brave Ráma, his Videhan bride,And Lakshman by his brother's side:Like broad still waters, when the kingOf all the birds that ply the wingHas swooped from heaven and borne awayThe glittering snakes that made them gay.With choking sobs and voice half spentThe king renewed his sad lament:With broken utterance faint and lowScarce could he speak these words of woe:'My steps to Ráma's mother guide,And place me by Kaus'alyá's side:There, only there my heart may knowSome little respite from my woe.' The warders of the palace ledThe monarch, when his words were said,To Queen Kaus'alyá's bower, and thereLaid him with reverential care.But while he rested on the bedStill was his soul disquieted.In grief he tossed his arms on highLamenting with a piteous cry:'O Ráma, Ráma,' thus said he,'My son, thou hast forsaken me.High bliss awaits those favoured menLeft living in Ayodhyá then,Whose eyes shall see my son once moreReturning when the time is o'er.'Then came the night, whose hated gloomFell on him like the night of doom.At midnight Das'aratha criedTo Queen Kaus'alyá by his side:I see thee not, Kaus'alyá; layThy gentle hand in mine, I pray.When Ráma left his home my sightWent with him, nor returns to-night.'
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Footnotes144:1 See p. 72.
144:2 Four stars of the sixteenth lunar asterism.
144:1b In the marriage service.
CANTO XLIII.:
KAUS'ALYÁ'S LAMENT.Kaus'alyá saw the monarch lieWith drooping frame and failing eye,And for her banished son distressedWith these sad words her lord addressed:'Kaikeyí, cruel, false, and vileHas cast the venom of her guileOn Ráma lord of men, and sheWill ravage like a snake set free;And more and more my soul alarm,Like a dire serpent bent on harm.For triumph crowns each dark intent,And Ráma to the wild is sent.Ah, were he doomed but here to strayBegging his food from day to day,Or do, enslaved, Kaikeyí's will,This were a boon, a comfort still.But she, as chose her cruel hate,Has hurled him from his high estate,As Bráhmans when the moon is newCast to the ground the demons' due. 1The long-armed hero, like the lordOf Nágas, with his bow and swordBegins, I ween, his forest lifeWith Lakshman and his faithful wife.Ah, how will fare the exiles now,Whom, moved by Queen Kaikeyí, thouHast sent in forests to abide,Bred in delights, by woe untried?Far banished when their lives are young,With the fair fruit before them hung,Deprived of all their rank that suits,How will they live on grain and roots?O, that my years of woe were passed,And the glad hour were come at lastWhen I shall see my children dear,Ráma, his wife, and Lakshman here!When shall Ayodhyá, wild with glee,Again those mighty heroes see,And decked with wreaths her banners waveTo welcome home the true and brave?When will the beautiful city viewWith happy eyes the lordly twoReturning, joyful as the mainWhen the dear moon is full again?When, like some mighty bull who leadsThe cow exulting through the meads,Will Ráma through the city ride,Strong-armed, with Sítá at his side?When will ten thousand thousand meetAnd crowd Ayodhyá's royal street,And grain in joyous welcome throwUpon my sons who tame the foe?When with delight shall youthful bandsOf Bráhman maidens in their hands
Bear fruit and flowers in goodly show,And circling round Ayodhyá go?With ripened judgment of a sage,And godlike in his blooming age,When shall my virtuous son appear,Like kindly rain, our hearts to cheer?Ah, in a former life, I ween,This hand of mine, most base and mean,Has dried the udders of the kineAnd left the thirsty calves to pine.Hence, as the lion robs the cow,Kaikeyí makes me childless now,Exulting from her feebler foeTo rend the son she cherished so.I had but him, in Scripture skilled,With every grace his soul was filled.Now not a joy has life to give,And robbed of him I would not live:Yea, all my days are dark and drearIf he, my darling, be not near,And Lakshman brave, my heart to cheer.As for my son I mourn and yearn,The quenchless flames of anguish burn And kill me with the pain,As in the summer's noontide blazeThe glorious Day-God with his rays Consumes the parching plain.´
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Footnotes145:1 The husks and chaff of the rice offered to the Gods.
CANTO XLIV.:
Bear fruit and flowers in goodly show,And circling round Ayodhyá go?With ripened judgment of a sage,And godlike in his blooming age,When shall my virtuous son appear,Like kindly rain, our hearts to cheer?Ah, in a former life, I ween,This hand of mine, most base and mean,Has dried the udders of the kineAnd left the thirsty calves to pine.Hence, as the lion robs the cow,Kaikeyí makes me childless now,Exulting from her feebler foeTo rend the son she cherished so.I had but him, in Scripture skilled,With every grace his soul was filled.Now not a joy has life to give,And robbed of him I would not live:Yea, all my days are dark and drearIf he, my darling, be not near,And Lakshman brave, my heart to cheer.As for my son I mourn and yearn,The quenchless flames of anguish burn And kill me with the pain,As in the summer's noontide blazeThe glorious Day-God with his rays Consumes the parching plain.´
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Footnotes145:1 The husks and chaff of the rice offered to the Gods.
CANTO XLIV.:
SUMITRA'S SPEECH.Kaus´alyá ceased her sad lament,Of beauteous dames most excellent.Sumitrá who to duty clave,In righteous words this answer gave:'Dear Queen, all noble virtues graceThy son, of men the first in place.Why dost thou shed these tears of woeWith bitter grief lamenting so?If Ráma, leaving royal swayHas hastened to the woods away,'Tis for his high-souled father's sakeThat he his promise may not break.He to the path of duty clingsWhich lordly fruit hereafter brings--The path to which the righteous cleave--For him, dear Queen, thou shouldst not grieve.And Lakshman too. the blameless-souled,The same high course with him will hold,And mighty bliss on him shall wait,So tenderly compassionate.And Sítá, bred with tender care,Well knows what toils await her there,But in her love she will not partFrom Ráma of the virtuous heart.Now has thy son through all the worldThe banner of his fame unfurled:True, modest, careful of his vow,What has he left to aim at now?The sun will mark his mighty soul,His wisdom, sweetness, self-control,Will spare from pain his face and limb,And with soft radiance shine for him.For him through forest glades shall springA soft auspicious breeze, and bringIts tempered heat and cold to playAround him ever night and day.The pure cold moonbeams shall delightThe hero as he sleeps at night,And soothe him with the soft caressOf a fond parent's tenderness.To him, the bravest of the brave,His heavenly arms the Bráhman gave,When fierce Suváhu dyed the plainWith his life-blood by Ráma slain.Still trusting to his own right armThy hero son will fear no harm:As in his father's palace, heIn the wild woods will dauntless be.Whene'er he lets his arrows flyHis stricken foemen fall and die:And is that prince of peerless worthToo weak to keep and sway the earth?His sweet pure soul, his beauty's charm,His hero heart, his warlike arm,Will soon redeem his rightful reignWhen from the woods he comes again.The Bráhmans on the prince's headKing-making drops shall quickly shed,And Sitá, Earth, and Fortune shareThe glories which await the heir.For him, when forth his chariot swept,The crowd that thronged Ayodhyá wept,With agonizing woe distressed.With him in hermít's mantle dressedIn guise of Sítá Lakshmí went,And none his glory may prevent.Yea, naught to him is high or hard,Before whose steps, to be his guard,Lakshman, the best who draws the bow,With spear, shaft, sword rejoiced to go.His wanderings in the forest o'er,Thine eyes shall see thy son once more.Quit thy faint heart, thy grief dispel,For this, O Queen, is truth I tell.Thy son returning, moonlike, thence,Shall at thy feet do reverence,And, blest and blameless lady, thouShalt see his head to touch them bow,Yea, thou shalt see thy son made kingWhen he returns with triumphing,And how thy happy eyes will brimWith tears of joy to look on him!Thou, blameless lady, shouldst the wholeOf the sad people here console:Why in thy tender heart allowThis bitter grief to harbour now?As the long banks of cloud distilTheir water when they see the hill,
So shall the drops of rapture runFrom thy glad eyes to see thy sonReturning, as he lowly bendsTo greet thee, girt by all his friends.' Thus soothing, kindly eloquent,With every hopeful argumentKaus'alyá's heart by sorrow rent, Fair Queen Sumitrá ceased.Kaus'alyá heard each pleasant plea,And grief began to leave her free,As the light clouds of autumn flee, Their watery stores decreased.
CANTO XLV.:
So shall the drops of rapture runFrom thy glad eyes to see thy sonReturning, as he lowly bendsTo greet thee, girt by all his friends.' Thus soothing, kindly eloquent,With every hopeful argumentKaus'alyá's heart by sorrow rent, Fair Queen Sumitrá ceased.Kaus'alyá heard each pleasant plea,And grief began to leave her free,As the light clouds of autumn flee, Their watery stores decreased.
CANTO XLV.:
THE TAMASÁ.Their tender love the people drewTo follow Ráma brave and true,The high-souled hero, as he wentForth from his home to banishment.The king himself his friends obeyed,And turned him homeward as they prayed.But yet the people turned not back,Still close on Ráma's chariot track.For they who in Ayodhyá dweltFor him such fond affection felt,Decked with all grace and glories high,The dear full moon of every eye.Though much his people prayed and wept,Kakutstha's son his purpose kept,And still his journey would pursueTo keep the king his father true.Deep in the hero's bosom sankTheir love, whose signs his glad eye drank.He spoke to cheer them, as his ownDear children, in a loving tone:'If ye would grant my fond desire,Give Bharat now that love entireAnd reverence shown to me by allWho dwell within Ayodhyá's wall.For he, Kaikeyí's darling son,His virtuous career will run,And ever bound by duty's chainConsult your weal and bliss and gain.In judgment old, in years a child,With hero virtues meek and mild,A fitting lord is he to cheerHis people and remove their fear.In him all kingly gifts abound,Wore noble than in me are found:Imperial prince, well proved and tried--Obey him as your lord and guide.And grant, I pray, the boon I ask:To please the king be still your task,That his fond heart, while I remainFar in the wood, may feel no pain.' The more he showed his will to treadThe path where filial duty led,The more the people, round him thronged,For their dear Ráma's empire longed.Still more attached his followers grew,As Ráma, with his brother, drewThe people with his virtues' ties,Lamenting all with tear-dimmed eyes.The saintly twice-born, triply oldIn glory, knowledge, seasons told,With hoary heads that shook and bowed,Their voices raised and spake aloud:'O steeds, who best and noblest are,Who whirl so swiftly Ráma's car,Go not, return: we call on you:Be to your master kind and true.For speechless things are swift to hear,And naught can match a horse's ear.O generous steeds, return, when thusYou hear the cry of all of us.Each vow he keeps most firm and sure,And duty makes his spirit pure.Back with our chief! not wood-ward hence;Back to his royal residence!' Soon as he saw the aged band.Exclaiming in their misery, stand,And their sad cries around him rang,Swift from his chariot Ráma sprang.Then, still upon his journey bent,With Sítá and with Lakshman wentThe hero by the old men's sideSuiting to theirs his shortened stride.He could not pass the twice-born throngAs weariedly they walked along:With pitying heart, with tender eye,He could not in his chariot fly.When the steps of Ráma viewedThat still his onward course pursued.Woe shook the troubled heart of each,And burnt with grief they spoke this speech-- 'With thee, O Ráma, to the woodAll Bráhmans go and Bráhmanhood:Borne on our aged shoulders, see,Our fires of worship go with thee.Bright canopies that lend their shadeIn Vajapeya 1 rites displayed,In plenteous store are borne behindLike cloudlets in the autumn wind.No shelter from the sun hast thou,And, lest his fury burn thy brow,These sacrificial shades we bearShall aid thee in the noontide glare.Our hearts, who ever loved to poreOn sacred text and Vedic lore,Now all to thee, beloved, turn,And for a life in forests yearn.Deep in our aged bosoms liesThe Vedas' lore, the wealth we prize,There still, like wives at home, shall dwell,Whose love and truth protect them well.
To follow thee our hearts are bent;We need not plan or argument.All else in duty's law we slight,For following thee is following right.O noble Prince, retrace thy way:O, hear us, Ráma, as we lay,With many tears and many prayers,Our aged heads and swan-white hairsLow in the dust before thy feet;O, hear us, Ráma, we entreat.Full many of these who with thee run,Their sacred rites had just begun.Unfinished yet those rites remain;But finished if thou turn again.All rooted life and things that moveTo thee their deep affection prove.To them, when warmed by love, they glowAnd sue to thee, some favour showEach lowly bush, each towering treeWould follow too for love of thee.Bound by its root it must remain;But--all it can--its boughs complain,As when the wild wind rushes byIt tells its woe in groan and sigh.No more through air the gay birds flit,But, foodless, melancholy sitTogether on the branch and callTo thee whose kind heart feels for all.'
As wailed the aged Bráhmans, bentTo turn him back, with wild lament,Seemed Tamasá herself to aid,Checking his progress, as they prayed.Sumantra from the chariot freedWith ready hand each weary steed;He groomed them with the utmost heed,
Their limbs he bathed and dried,Then led them forth to drink and feedAt pleasure in the grassy meadThat fringed the river side.
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Footnotes147:1 An important sacrifice at which seventeen victims were immolated.
CANTO XLVI.:
To follow thee our hearts are bent;We need not plan or argument.All else in duty's law we slight,For following thee is following right.O noble Prince, retrace thy way:O, hear us, Ráma, as we lay,With many tears and many prayers,Our aged heads and swan-white hairsLow in the dust before thy feet;O, hear us, Ráma, we entreat.Full many of these who with thee run,Their sacred rites had just begun.Unfinished yet those rites remain;But finished if thou turn again.All rooted life and things that moveTo thee their deep affection prove.To them, when warmed by love, they glowAnd sue to thee, some favour showEach lowly bush, each towering treeWould follow too for love of thee.Bound by its root it must remain;But--all it can--its boughs complain,As when the wild wind rushes byIt tells its woe in groan and sigh.No more through air the gay birds flit,But, foodless, melancholy sitTogether on the branch and callTo thee whose kind heart feels for all.'
As wailed the aged Bráhmans, bentTo turn him back, with wild lament,Seemed Tamasá herself to aid,Checking his progress, as they prayed.Sumantra from the chariot freedWith ready hand each weary steed;He groomed them with the utmost heed,
Their limbs he bathed and dried,Then led them forth to drink and feedAt pleasure in the grassy meadThat fringed the river side.
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Footnotes147:1 An important sacrifice at which seventeen victims were immolated.
CANTO XLVI.:
THE HALT.When Ráma. chief of Raghu's race,Arrived at that delightful place,He looked on Sítá first, and thenTo Lakshman spake the lord of men:'Now first the shades of night descendSince to the wilds our steps we bend.Joy to thee, brother! do not grieveFor our dear home and all we leave.The woods unpeopled seem to weepAround us, as their tenants creepOr fly to lair and den and nest,Both bird and beast, to seek their rest.Methinks Ayodhyá's royal townWhere dwells my sire of high renown,With all her men and dames to-nightWill mourn us vanished from their sight.For, by his virtues won, they clingIn fond affection to their king,And thee and me, O brave and true,And Bharat and S'atrughna too.I for my sire and mother feelDeep sorrow o'er my bosom steal,Lest mourning us, oppressed with fears,They blind their eyes with endless tears.Yet Bharat's duteous love will showSweet comfort in their hours of woe,And with kind words their hearts sustain,Suggesting duty, bliss, and gain.I mourn my parents now no more:I count dear Bharat's virtues o'er,And his kind love and care dispelThe doubts I had, and all is well.And thou thy duty wouldst not shun,And, following me, hast nobly done;Else, bravest, I should need a bandAround my wife as guard to stand.On this first night, my thirst to slake,Some water only will I take:Thus, brother, thus my will decides,Though varied store the wood provides.'
Thus having said to Lakshman, heAddressed in turn Sumantra: 'BeMost diligent to-night, my friend,And with due care thy horses tend.'The sun had set: Sumantra tiedHis noble horses side by side,Gave store of grass with liberal hand,And rested near them on the strand.Each paid the holy evening rite,And when around them fell the night,The charioteer, with Lakshman's aid,A lowly bed for Ráma laid.To Lakshman Ráma bade adieu,And then by, Sítá's side he threwHis limbs upon the leafy bedTheir care upon the bank had spread.When Lakshman saw the couple slept,Still on the strand his watch he kept,Still with Sumantra there conversed,And Ráma's varied gifts rehearsed.All night he watched, nor sought repose,Till on the earth the sun arose:With him Sumantra stayed awake,And still of Ráma's virtues spake.Thus, near the river's grassy shoreWhich herds unnumbered wandered o'er,Repose, untroubled, Ráma found,And all the people lay around.The glorious hero left his bed,Looked on the sleeping crowd, and saidTo Lakshman, whom each lucky lineMarked out for bliss with surest sign:'O brother Lakshman, look on theseReclining at the roots of trees;All care of house and home resigned,Caring for us with heart and mind,These people of the city yearn
To see us to our home return:To quit their lives will they consent,But never leave their firm intent.Come, while they all unconscious sleep,Let us upon the chariot leap,And swiftly on our journey speedWhere naught our progress may impede,That these fond citizens who roamFar from Ikshváku's ancient home,No more may sleep 'neath bush and tree,Following still for love of me.A prince with tender care should healThe self-brought woes his people feel,And never let his subjects shareThe burthen he is forced to bear.' Then Lakshman to the chief replied,Who stood like Justice by his side:'Thy rede, O sage, I well commend:Without delay the car ascend.'Then Ráma to Sumantra spoke:'Thy rapid steeds, I pray thee, yoke.Hence to the forest will I go:Away, my lord, and be not slow.' Sumantra, urged to utmost speed,Yoked to the car each generous steed,And then, with hand to hand applied,He came before the chief and cred:'Hail, Prince, whom mighty arms adorn,Hail, bravest of the chariot-borne!With Sítá and thy brother thouMayst mount: the car is ready now.' The hero clomb the car with haste:His bow and gear within were placed,And quick the eddying flood he passedOf Tamasá whose waves run fast.Soon as he touched the farther side.That strong-armed hero, glorified,He found a road both wide and clear,Where e'en the timid naught could fear.Then, that the crowd might be misled,Thus Ráma to Sumantra said:'Speed north a while, then hasten back,Returning in thy former track,That so the people may not learnThe course I follow: drive and turn.' Sumantra, at the chief's behest.Quick to the task himself addressed;Then near to Ráma came, and showedThe chariot ready for the road.With Sítá, then, the princely two,Who o'er the line of Raghu threwA glory ever bright and new, Upon the chariot stood.Sumantra fast and faster droveHis horses, who in fleetness stroveStill onward to the distant grove, The hermit-haunted wood.
CANTO XLVII.:
Thus having said to Lakshman, heAddressed in turn Sumantra: 'BeMost diligent to-night, my friend,And with due care thy horses tend.'The sun had set: Sumantra tiedHis noble horses side by side,Gave store of grass with liberal hand,And rested near them on the strand.Each paid the holy evening rite,And when around them fell the night,The charioteer, with Lakshman's aid,A lowly bed for Ráma laid.To Lakshman Ráma bade adieu,And then by, Sítá's side he threwHis limbs upon the leafy bedTheir care upon the bank had spread.When Lakshman saw the couple slept,Still on the strand his watch he kept,Still with Sumantra there conversed,And Ráma's varied gifts rehearsed.All night he watched, nor sought repose,Till on the earth the sun arose:With him Sumantra stayed awake,And still of Ráma's virtues spake.Thus, near the river's grassy shoreWhich herds unnumbered wandered o'er,Repose, untroubled, Ráma found,And all the people lay around.The glorious hero left his bed,Looked on the sleeping crowd, and saidTo Lakshman, whom each lucky lineMarked out for bliss with surest sign:'O brother Lakshman, look on theseReclining at the roots of trees;All care of house and home resigned,Caring for us with heart and mind,These people of the city yearn
To see us to our home return:To quit their lives will they consent,But never leave their firm intent.Come, while they all unconscious sleep,Let us upon the chariot leap,And swiftly on our journey speedWhere naught our progress may impede,That these fond citizens who roamFar from Ikshváku's ancient home,No more may sleep 'neath bush and tree,Following still for love of me.A prince with tender care should healThe self-brought woes his people feel,And never let his subjects shareThe burthen he is forced to bear.' Then Lakshman to the chief replied,Who stood like Justice by his side:'Thy rede, O sage, I well commend:Without delay the car ascend.'Then Ráma to Sumantra spoke:'Thy rapid steeds, I pray thee, yoke.Hence to the forest will I go:Away, my lord, and be not slow.' Sumantra, urged to utmost speed,Yoked to the car each generous steed,And then, with hand to hand applied,He came before the chief and cred:'Hail, Prince, whom mighty arms adorn,Hail, bravest of the chariot-borne!With Sítá and thy brother thouMayst mount: the car is ready now.' The hero clomb the car with haste:His bow and gear within were placed,And quick the eddying flood he passedOf Tamasá whose waves run fast.Soon as he touched the farther side.That strong-armed hero, glorified,He found a road both wide and clear,Where e'en the timid naught could fear.Then, that the crowd might be misled,Thus Ráma to Sumantra said:'Speed north a while, then hasten back,Returning in thy former track,That so the people may not learnThe course I follow: drive and turn.' Sumantra, at the chief's behest.Quick to the task himself addressed;Then near to Ráma came, and showedThe chariot ready for the road.With Sítá, then, the princely two,Who o'er the line of Raghu threwA glory ever bright and new, Upon the chariot stood.Sumantra fast and faster droveHis horses, who in fleetness stroveStill onward to the distant grove, The hermit-haunted wood.
CANTO XLVII.:
THE CITIZENS' RETURN.The people, when the morn shone fair,Arose to find no Ráma there.Then fear and numbing grief subduedThe senses of the multitude.The woe-born tears were running fastAs all around their eyes they cast,And sadly looked, but found no traceOf Ráma, searching every place.Bereft of Ráma good and wise.With drooping cheer and weeping eyes,Each woe-distracted sage gave ventTo sorrow in his wild lament:'Woe worth the sleep that stole our senseWith its beguiling influence,That now we look in vain for himOf the broad chest and stalwart limb!How could the strong-armed hero, thusDeceiving all, abandon us?His people so devoted see,Yet to the woods, a hermit, flee?How can he, wont our hearts to cheer,As a fond sire his children dear,--How can the pride of Raghu's raceFly from us to some desert place!Here let us all for death prepare,Or on the last great journey fare. 1Of Ráma our dear lord bereft,What profit in our lives is left?Huge trunks of trees around us lie,With roots and branches sere and dry.Come let us set these logs on tireAnd throw our bodies on the pyre.What shall we speak? How can we sayWe followed Ráma on his way.The mighty chief whose arm is strong,Who sweetly speaks, who thinks no wrong?Ayodhyá's town with sorrow dumb,Without our lord will see us come,And hopeless misery will strikeElder, and child, and dame alike.Forth with that peerless chief we came,Whose mighty heart is aye the same:How, reft of him we love, shall weRetuming dare that town to see?' Complaining thus with varied cryThey tossed their aged arms on high.And their sad hearts with grief were wrung.Like cows who sorrow for their young.A while they followed on the roadWhich traces of his chariot showed,But when at length those traces failed,A deep despair their hearts assailed.
The chariot marks no more discerned,The hopeless sages backward turned:'Ah, what is this? What can we more?Fate stops the way, and all is o'er.'With wearied hearts, in grief and shameThey took the road by which they came,And reached Ayodhyá's city, whereFrom side to side was naught but care.With troubled spirits quite cast downThey looked upon the royal town,And from their eyes, oppressed with woe,Their tears again began to flow.Of Ráma reft, the city woreNo look of beauty as before,Like a dull river or a lakeBy Garud robbed of every snake.Dark, dismal as the moonless sky,Or as a sea whose bed is dry,So sad, to every pleasure dead,They saw the town, disquieted.On to their houses, high and vast,Where stores of precious wealth were massed,The melancholy Bráhmans passed, Their hearts with anguish cleft:Aloof from all, they came not nearTo stranger or to kinsman dear,Showing in faces blank and drear That not one joy was left.
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Footnotes149:1 The great pilgrimage to the Himalayas, in order to die there.
CANTO XLVIII.:
The chariot marks no more discerned,The hopeless sages backward turned:'Ah, what is this? What can we more?Fate stops the way, and all is o'er.'With wearied hearts, in grief and shameThey took the road by which they came,And reached Ayodhyá's city, whereFrom side to side was naught but care.With troubled spirits quite cast downThey looked upon the royal town,And from their eyes, oppressed with woe,Their tears again began to flow.Of Ráma reft, the city woreNo look of beauty as before,Like a dull river or a lakeBy Garud robbed of every snake.Dark, dismal as the moonless sky,Or as a sea whose bed is dry,So sad, to every pleasure dead,They saw the town, disquieted.On to their houses, high and vast,Where stores of precious wealth were massed,The melancholy Bráhmans passed, Their hearts with anguish cleft:Aloof from all, they came not nearTo stranger or to kinsman dear,Showing in faces blank and drear That not one joy was left.
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Footnotes149:1 The great pilgrimage to the Himalayas, in order to die there.
CANTO XLVIII.:
THE WOMEN'S LAMENT.When those who forth with Ráma wentBack to the town their steps had bent,It seemed that death had touched and chilledThose hearts which piercing sorrow filled.Each to his several mansion came,And girt by children and his dame,From his sad eyes the water shedThat o'er his cheek in torrents spread.All joy was fled: oppressed with caresNo bustling trader showed his wares.Each shop had lost its brilliant look,Each householder forbore to cook.No hand with joy its earnings told,None cared to win a wealth of gold,And scarce the youthful mother smiledTo see her first, her new-born child.In every house a woman wailed,And her returning lord assailedWith keen taunt piercing like the steelThat bids the tusked monster kneel;'What now to them is wedded dame,What house and home and dearest aim,Or son, or bliss, or gathered store,Whose eyes on Ráma look no more!There is but one in all the earth,One man alone of real worth,Lakshman, who follows, true and good,Ráma, with Sítá, through the wood,Made holy for all time we deemEach pool and fountain, lake and stream,If great Kakutstha's son shall chooseTheir water for his bath to use.Each forest, dark with lovely trees,Shall yearn Kakutstha's son to please;Each mountain peak and woody hill,Each mighty flood and mazy rill,Each rocky height, each shady groveWhere the blest feet of Ráma rove,Shall gladly welcome with the bestOf all they have their honoured guest.The trees that clustering blossoms bear,And bright-hued buds to gem their hair,The heart of Ráma shall delight,And cheer him on the breezy height.For him the upland slopes will showThe fairest roots and fruit that grow,And all their wealth before him flingEre the due hour of ripening.For him each earth-upholding hillIts crystal water shall distil,And all its floods shall be displayedIn many a thousand-hued cascade.Where Ráma stands is naught to fear,No danger comes if he be near;For all who live on him depend,The world's support, and lord, and friend.Ere in too distant wilds he stray,Let us to Ráma speed away,For rich reward on those will waitWho serve a prince of soul so great.We will attend on Sítá there;Be Raghu's son your special care.'The city dames, with grief distressed,Thus once again their lords addressed:'Ráma shall be your guard and guide,And Sítá will for us provide.For who would care to linger here,Where all is sad and dark and drear?Who, mid the mourners, hope for blissln a poor soulless town like this?If Queen Kaikeyí's treacherous sin,Our lord expelled, the kingdom win,We heed not sons or golden store,Our life itself we prize no more.If she, seduced by lust of sway,Her lord and son could cast away,Whom would she leave unharmed, the baseDefiler of her royal race?We swear it by our children dear,We will not dwell as servants here;If Queen Kaikeyí live to reign,We will not in her realm remain.Bowed down by her oppressive hand,The helpless, lordless, godless land,Cursed for Kaikeyí's guilt will fall,And swift destruction seize it all.
For, Ráma forced from home to fly,The king his sire will surely die,And when the king has breathed his lastRuin will doubtless follow fast.Sad, robbed of merits, drug the cupAnd drink the poisoned mixture up,Or share the exiled Ráma's lot,Or seek some land that knows her not.No reason, but a false pretenceDrove Ráma, Sitá, Lakshman hence,And we to Bharat have been givenLike cattle to the shambles driven.
While in each house the women, painedAt loss of Ráma, still complained,Sank to his rest the Lord of Day,And night through all the sky held swayThe tires of worship all were cold,No text was hummed, no tale was told,And shades of midnight gloom came downEveloping the mournful town.Still, sick at heart, the women shed,As for a son or husband fled,For Ráma tears, disquieted:
No child was loved as he.And all Ayodhyá, where the feast,Music, and song, and dance had ceased, And merriment and glee,Where every merchant's store was closedThat erst its glittering wares exposed,Was like a dried up sea.
CANTO XLIX.:
For, Ráma forced from home to fly,The king his sire will surely die,And when the king has breathed his lastRuin will doubtless follow fast.Sad, robbed of merits, drug the cupAnd drink the poisoned mixture up,Or share the exiled Ráma's lot,Or seek some land that knows her not.No reason, but a false pretenceDrove Ráma, Sitá, Lakshman hence,And we to Bharat have been givenLike cattle to the shambles driven.
While in each house the women, painedAt loss of Ráma, still complained,Sank to his rest the Lord of Day,And night through all the sky held swayThe tires of worship all were cold,No text was hummed, no tale was told,And shades of midnight gloom came downEveloping the mournful town.Still, sick at heart, the women shed,As for a son or husband fled,For Ráma tears, disquieted:
No child was loved as he.And all Ayodhyá, where the feast,Music, and song, and dance had ceased, And merriment and glee,Where every merchant's store was closedThat erst its glittering wares exposed,Was like a dried up sea.
CANTO XLIX.:
THE CROSSING OF THE RIVERS.Now Ráma, ere the night was fled,O'er many a league of road had sped,Till, as his course he onward held,The morn the shades of night dispelled.The rites of holy dawn he paid,And all the country round surveyed.He saw, as still he hurried throughWth steeds which swift as arrows flew,Hamlets and groves with blossoms fair,And fields which showed the tillers' care,While from the clusteied dwellings nearThe words of peasants reached his ear:'Fie on our lord the king, whose soulIs yielded up to love's control!Fie on the vile Kaikevi! ShameOn that malicious sinful dame,Who, keenly bent on cruel deeds,No hounds of righht and virtue heeds,But with her wicked art has sentSo good a prince to banishment,Wi-o, tender-hearted, ruling wellHis senses in the woods to dwell.Ah cruel king! his heart of steelFor his own son no love could feel,
Who with the sinless Ráma parts,The darling of the people's hearts.'
These words he heard the peasants say,Who dwelt in hamlets by the way,And, lord of all the realm by right,Through Kosala pursued his flight.Through the auspicious flood, at last,Of Vesasruti's stream he passed,Aud onward to the place he spedBy Saint Agastya tenanted.Still on for many an hour he hied,And crossed the stream whose fooling tideRolls onward till she meets the sea,The herd-frequented GomatilBorne by his rapid horses o'er,He reached that river's further shore.And Syandiká's,whose svan-loved stream,Resounded with the peacock's scream.Then as he journeyed on his roadTo hvs Videhan bride he showedThe populous land which Manu oldTo King IKshvaku gave to hold.The glorious prince, the lord of menLooked on the charioteer, and thenVoiced like a wild swan, loud and clear.He spake these words and bade him hear:'When shall I, with returning feetMy father and my mother meet?When shall I lead the hunt once moreIn bloomy woods on Sarju's shore?Most eagerly I long to rideUrging the chase on Sarju's side.For royal saints have seen no blameIn this, the monarch's matchless game.'
Thus speeding on,--no reft or stay,--Ikshvaku's son pursued his way.Oft his sweet voice the silence broke,And thus on varied themes he spoke.
CANTO L.:
Who with the sinless Ráma parts,The darling of the people's hearts.'
These words he heard the peasants say,Who dwelt in hamlets by the way,And, lord of all the realm by right,Through Kosala pursued his flight.Through the auspicious flood, at last,Of Vesasruti's stream he passed,Aud onward to the place he spedBy Saint Agastya tenanted.Still on for many an hour he hied,And crossed the stream whose fooling tideRolls onward till she meets the sea,The herd-frequented GomatilBorne by his rapid horses o'er,He reached that river's further shore.And Syandiká's,whose svan-loved stream,Resounded with the peacock's scream.Then as he journeyed on his roadTo hvs Videhan bride he showedThe populous land which Manu oldTo King IKshvaku gave to hold.The glorious prince, the lord of menLooked on the charioteer, and thenVoiced like a wild swan, loud and clear.He spake these words and bade him hear:'When shall I, with returning feetMy father and my mother meet?When shall I lead the hunt once moreIn bloomy woods on Sarju's shore?Most eagerly I long to rideUrging the chase on Sarju's side.For royal saints have seen no blameIn this, the monarch's matchless game.'
Thus speeding on,--no reft or stay,--Ikshvaku's son pursued his way.Oft his sweet voice the silence broke,And thus on varied themes he spoke.
CANTO L.:
THE HALT UNDER THE INGUDÍ. 1So through the wide and fair extentOf Kosala the hero went.Then toward Ayodmá back he gazed,And cried, with supple hands upraised:
'Farewell, dear city, in this place,Protected by Kakutatlm's race 2And Gods, who in thy temples dwell,And keep thine ancient citadel!I from his debt my sire will free,Thy well-loved towers again will see,
And, coming from my wild retreat,My mother and my father meet.'
Then burning grief inflamed his eye,As his right arm he raised on high,And, while hot tears his check bedewed,Addressed the mournful multitude:'By love and tender pity moved,Your love for me you well have proved;Now turn again with joy, and winSuccess in all your hands begin'
Before the high souled chief they bent,With circling steps around him went,And then with bitter wailing, theyDeparted each his several way.Like the great sun engulfed by night,The hero sped beyond their sight,While still the people mourned his fateAnd wept aloud disconsolate.
The car-borne chieftain passed the boundOf Kos'ala's delightful ground.Where grain and riches bless the land,And people give with liberal hand:A lovely realm unvexed by fear,Where countless shrines and stakes 1 appear:Where mango-groves and gardens grow,And streams of pleasant water flow:Where dwells content a well-fed race,And countless kine the meadows grace:Filled with the voice of praise and prayer:Each hamlet worth a monarch's care.Before him three-pathed Gangá rolledHer heavenly waters bright and cold;O'er her pure breast no weeds were spread,Her banks were hermit-visited.The car-borne hero saw the tideThat ran with eddies multiplied,And thus the charioteer addressed:'Here on the bank to-day we rest.Not distant from the river, see!There grows a lofty IngudíWith blossoms thick on every spray:There rest we, charioteer, to-day.I on the queen of floods will gaze,Whose holy stream has highest praise,Where deer, and bird, and glittering snake,God, Daitya, bard their pastime take."
Sumantra, Lakshman gave assent,And with the steeds they thither went.When Ráma reached the lovely tree,With Sítá and with Lakshman, heAlighted from the car: with speedSumantra loosed each weary steed,And hand to hand in reverence laid,Stood near to Ráma in the shade.Ráma's dear friend, renowned by fame,Who of Nisháda lineage came,Guha, the mighty chief, adoredThrough all the land as sovereign lord,Soon as he heard that prince renowned
Was resting on Nisháda ground,Begirt by counsellor and peerAnd many an honoured friend drew near.Soon as the monarch came in view,Ráma and Lakshman toward him flew.Then Guha, at the sight distressed,His arms around the hero pressed,Laid both his hands upon his headBowed to those lotus feet, and said:'O Ráma, make thy wishes known,And be this kingdom as thine own.Who, mighty-armed, will ever seeA guest so dear as thou to me?'
He placed before him dainty fareOf every flavour, rich and rare,Brought forth the gift for honoured guest,And thus again the chief addressed'Welcome, dear Prince, whose arms are strong;These lands and all to thee belong.Thy servants we, our lord art thou;Begin, good king, thine empire now.See, various food before thee placed,And cups to drink and sweets to tasteFor thee soft beds are hither borne,And for thy horses grass and corn.'
To Guha as he pressed and prayed,Thus Raghu's son his answer made:''Twas aye thy care my heart to pleaseWith honour, love, and courtesies,And friendship brings thee now to greetThy guest thus humbly on thy feet.'
Again the hero spake, as roundThe king his shapely arms he wound:'Guha, I see that all is wellWith thee and those who with thee dwell;That health and bliss and wealth attendThy realm, thyself, and every friend.But all these friendly gifts of thine,Bound to refuse, I must decline.Grass, bark, and hide my only wear,And woodland roots and fruit my fare,On duty all my heart is set;I seek the woods, an anchoret.A little grass and corn to feedThe horses--this is all I need.So by this favour, King, aloneShall honour due to me be shown.For these good steeds who brought me hereAre to my sire supremely dear;And kind attention paid to theseWill honour me and highly please,'Then Guha quickly bade his trainGive water to the steeds, and grain,And Ráma, ere the night grew dark,Paid evening rites in dress of bark,And tasted water, on the strand,Drawn from the stream by Lakshman's hand.And Lakshman with observance meetBathed his beloved brother's feet,
Who rested with his Maithil spouse:Then sat him down 'neath distant boughs.And Guha with his bow sat nearTo Lakshman and the charioteer,And with the prince conversing keptHis faithful watch while Rama slept.As Das'aratha's glorious heir,Of lofty soul and wisdom rare,Reclining with his Sítá there Beside the river lay--He who no troubles e'er had seen,Whose life a life of bliss had been--That night beneath the branches green Passed pleasantly away.
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Footnotes151:1 Known to Europeans as the Goemtee.
151:2 A tree, commonly called Ingua.
152:1 Sacrificial posts to which the victims were tied.
CANTO LI.:
'Farewell, dear city, in this place,Protected by Kakutatlm's race 2And Gods, who in thy temples dwell,And keep thine ancient citadel!I from his debt my sire will free,Thy well-loved towers again will see,
And, coming from my wild retreat,My mother and my father meet.'
Then burning grief inflamed his eye,As his right arm he raised on high,And, while hot tears his check bedewed,Addressed the mournful multitude:'By love and tender pity moved,Your love for me you well have proved;Now turn again with joy, and winSuccess in all your hands begin'
Before the high souled chief they bent,With circling steps around him went,And then with bitter wailing, theyDeparted each his several way.Like the great sun engulfed by night,The hero sped beyond their sight,While still the people mourned his fateAnd wept aloud disconsolate.
The car-borne chieftain passed the boundOf Kos'ala's delightful ground.Where grain and riches bless the land,And people give with liberal hand:A lovely realm unvexed by fear,Where countless shrines and stakes 1 appear:Where mango-groves and gardens grow,And streams of pleasant water flow:Where dwells content a well-fed race,And countless kine the meadows grace:Filled with the voice of praise and prayer:Each hamlet worth a monarch's care.Before him three-pathed Gangá rolledHer heavenly waters bright and cold;O'er her pure breast no weeds were spread,Her banks were hermit-visited.The car-borne hero saw the tideThat ran with eddies multiplied,And thus the charioteer addressed:'Here on the bank to-day we rest.Not distant from the river, see!There grows a lofty IngudíWith blossoms thick on every spray:There rest we, charioteer, to-day.I on the queen of floods will gaze,Whose holy stream has highest praise,Where deer, and bird, and glittering snake,God, Daitya, bard their pastime take."
Sumantra, Lakshman gave assent,And with the steeds they thither went.When Ráma reached the lovely tree,With Sítá and with Lakshman, heAlighted from the car: with speedSumantra loosed each weary steed,And hand to hand in reverence laid,Stood near to Ráma in the shade.Ráma's dear friend, renowned by fame,Who of Nisháda lineage came,Guha, the mighty chief, adoredThrough all the land as sovereign lord,Soon as he heard that prince renowned
Was resting on Nisháda ground,Begirt by counsellor and peerAnd many an honoured friend drew near.Soon as the monarch came in view,Ráma and Lakshman toward him flew.Then Guha, at the sight distressed,His arms around the hero pressed,Laid both his hands upon his headBowed to those lotus feet, and said:'O Ráma, make thy wishes known,And be this kingdom as thine own.Who, mighty-armed, will ever seeA guest so dear as thou to me?'
He placed before him dainty fareOf every flavour, rich and rare,Brought forth the gift for honoured guest,And thus again the chief addressed'Welcome, dear Prince, whose arms are strong;These lands and all to thee belong.Thy servants we, our lord art thou;Begin, good king, thine empire now.See, various food before thee placed,And cups to drink and sweets to tasteFor thee soft beds are hither borne,And for thy horses grass and corn.'
To Guha as he pressed and prayed,Thus Raghu's son his answer made:''Twas aye thy care my heart to pleaseWith honour, love, and courtesies,And friendship brings thee now to greetThy guest thus humbly on thy feet.'
Again the hero spake, as roundThe king his shapely arms he wound:'Guha, I see that all is wellWith thee and those who with thee dwell;That health and bliss and wealth attendThy realm, thyself, and every friend.But all these friendly gifts of thine,Bound to refuse, I must decline.Grass, bark, and hide my only wear,And woodland roots and fruit my fare,On duty all my heart is set;I seek the woods, an anchoret.A little grass and corn to feedThe horses--this is all I need.So by this favour, King, aloneShall honour due to me be shown.For these good steeds who brought me hereAre to my sire supremely dear;And kind attention paid to theseWill honour me and highly please,'Then Guha quickly bade his trainGive water to the steeds, and grain,And Ráma, ere the night grew dark,Paid evening rites in dress of bark,And tasted water, on the strand,Drawn from the stream by Lakshman's hand.And Lakshman with observance meetBathed his beloved brother's feet,
Who rested with his Maithil spouse:Then sat him down 'neath distant boughs.And Guha with his bow sat nearTo Lakshman and the charioteer,And with the prince conversing keptHis faithful watch while Rama slept.As Das'aratha's glorious heir,Of lofty soul and wisdom rare,Reclining with his Sítá there Beside the river lay--He who no troubles e'er had seen,Whose life a life of bliss had been--That night beneath the branches green Passed pleasantly away.
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Footnotes151:1 Known to Europeans as the Goemtee.
151:2 A tree, commonly called Ingua.
152:1 Sacrificial posts to which the victims were tied.
CANTO LI.:
LAKSHMAN'S LAMENT.As Lakshman still his vigil heldBy unaffected love impelled,Guha, whose heart the sight distressed,With words like these the prince addressed:'Beloved youth, this pleasant bedWas brought for thee, for thee is spread;On this, my Prince, thine eyelids close,And heal fatigue with sweet repose.My men are all to labour trained,But hardship thou hast ne'er sustained.All we this night our watch will keepAnd guard Kakutstha's son asleep,In all the world there breathes not oneMore dear to me than Raghu's son.The words I speak, heroic youth.Are true: I swear it by my truth.Through his dear grace supreme renownWill, so I trust, my wishes crown.So shall my life rich store obtainOf merit, blest with joy and gain.While Raghu's son and Sítá lieEntranced in happy slumber, IWill, with my trusty bow in hand,Guard my dear friend with all my band.To me, who oft these forests range,ls naught therein or new or strange.We could with equal might opposeA four-fold army led by foes.'
Then royal Lakshman made reply:'With thee to stand as guardian nigh,Whose faithful soul regards the right,Fearless we well might rest to-night.But how, when Ráma lays his headWith Sítá on his lowly bed,--How can I sleep? how can I careFor life, or aught that's bright and fair?Behold the conquering chief, whose mightIs match for Gods and fiends in fight;With Sítá now he rests his beadAsleep on grass beneath him spread.Won by devotion, text, and prayer.And many a rite performed with care.Chief of our father's sons he shinesWell marked, like him, with favouring signs.Brief, brief the monarch's life will beNow his dear son is forced to flee;And quickly will the widowed stateMourn for her lord disconsolate.Each mourner there has wept her fill;The cries of anguish now are still:In the king's hall each dame, o'ercomeWith wearines of woe is dumb.This first sad night of grief, I ween,Will do to death each sorrowing queen:Scarce is Kaus'alyá left alive;My mother, too, can scarce survive.If when her heart is fain to break,She lingers for S'atrughna's sake,Kaus'alyá mother of the chief,Must sink beneath the chilling grief,That town which countless thousands fill,Whose hearts with love of Ráma thrill,--The world's delight, so rich and fair,--Grieved for the king, his death will share.The hopes he fondly cherished, crossed.Ayodhyá's throne to Rama lost,--With mournful cries. Too late, too late!The king my sire will meet his fate.And when my sire has passed away,Most happy in their lot are they,Allowed, with every pious care,Part in his funeral rites to bear.And O, may we with joy at last,--These years of forest exile past,--Turn to Ayodhyá's town to dwellWith him who keeps his promise well.'
While thus the hero mighty-souled,In wild lament his sorrow told,Faint with the load that on him lay,The hours of darkness passed away.As thus the prince, impelled by zealFor his loved brother, prompt to feelStrong yearnings for the people's weal, His words of truth outspake,King Guha grieved to see his woe.Heart-stricken, gave his tears to flow,Tormented by the common blow, Sad, as a wounded snake.
CANTO LII.:
Then royal Lakshman made reply:'With thee to stand as guardian nigh,Whose faithful soul regards the right,Fearless we well might rest to-night.But how, when Ráma lays his headWith Sítá on his lowly bed,--How can I sleep? how can I careFor life, or aught that's bright and fair?Behold the conquering chief, whose mightIs match for Gods and fiends in fight;With Sítá now he rests his beadAsleep on grass beneath him spread.Won by devotion, text, and prayer.And many a rite performed with care.Chief of our father's sons he shinesWell marked, like him, with favouring signs.Brief, brief the monarch's life will beNow his dear son is forced to flee;And quickly will the widowed stateMourn for her lord disconsolate.Each mourner there has wept her fill;The cries of anguish now are still:In the king's hall each dame, o'ercomeWith wearines of woe is dumb.This first sad night of grief, I ween,Will do to death each sorrowing queen:Scarce is Kaus'alyá left alive;My mother, too, can scarce survive.If when her heart is fain to break,She lingers for S'atrughna's sake,Kaus'alyá mother of the chief,Must sink beneath the chilling grief,That town which countless thousands fill,Whose hearts with love of Ráma thrill,--The world's delight, so rich and fair,--Grieved for the king, his death will share.The hopes he fondly cherished, crossed.Ayodhyá's throne to Rama lost,--With mournful cries. Too late, too late!The king my sire will meet his fate.And when my sire has passed away,Most happy in their lot are they,Allowed, with every pious care,Part in his funeral rites to bear.And O, may we with joy at last,--These years of forest exile past,--Turn to Ayodhyá's town to dwellWith him who keeps his promise well.'
While thus the hero mighty-souled,In wild lament his sorrow told,Faint with the load that on him lay,The hours of darkness passed away.As thus the prince, impelled by zealFor his loved brother, prompt to feelStrong yearnings for the people's weal, His words of truth outspake,King Guha grieved to see his woe.Heart-stricken, gave his tears to flow,Tormented by the common blow, Sad, as a wounded snake.
CANTO LII.:
THE CROSSING OF GANGÁ.Soon as the shades of night had fled,Uprising from his lowly bed,Ráma the famous, broad of chest,His brother Lakshman thus addressed:'Now swift upsprings the Lord of Light,And fled, is venerable night,
That dark-winged bird the Koïl nowIs calling from the topmost bough,And sounding from the thicket nighIs heard the peacock's early cry,Come, cross the flood that seeks the sea,The swiftly flowing Jáhnaví.' 1
King Guha heard his speech, agreed,And called his minister with speed:'A boat,' he cried, 'swift, strong, and fair,With rudder, oars, and men, prepare,And place it ready by the shoreTo bear the pilgrims quickly o'er.'Thus Guha spake: his followers allBestirred them at their master's call;Then told the king that ready mannedA gay boat waited near the strand.Then Guha, hand to hand applied.With reverence thus to Ráma cried:'The boat is ready by the shore:How, tell me, can I aid thee more?O lord of men, it waits for theeTo cross the flood that seeks the sea,O godlike keeper of thy vow,Embark: the boat is ready now.'
Then Ráma, lord of glory high,Thus to King Guha. made reply:'Thanks for thy gracious care, my lord:Now let the gear be placed on board.'Each bow-armed chief, in mail encased,Bound sword and quiver to his waist,And then with Sítá near them hiedDown the broad river's shelving side.Then with raised palms the charioteer,In lowly reverence drawing near,Cried thus to Ráma good and true:'Now what remains for me to do?' With his right hand, while answering The hero touched his friend: 'Go back,' he said, 'and on the king With watchful care attend.Thus far, Sumantra, thou wast guide;Now to Ayodhyá turn,' he cried:'Hence seek we leaving steeds and car,On foot the wood that stretches far.'
Sumantra, when, with grieving heart,He heard the hero bid him part,Thus to the bravest of the brave,Ikshváku's son, his answer gave:'In all the world men tell of naught,To match thy deed, by heroes wrought--Thus with thy brother and thy wifeThrall-like to lead a forest life.No meet reward of fruit repaysThy holy lore, thy saintlike days,Thy tender soul, thy love of truth,If woe like this afflicts thy youth.Thou, roaming under forest boughs
With thy dear brother and thy spouseShalt richer meed of glory gainThan if three worlds confessed thy reign.Sad is our fate, O Ráma: we,Abandoned and repelled by thee,Must serve as thralls Kaikeyí's will,Imperious, wicked, born to ill.'
Thus cried the faithful charioteer,As Raghu's son, in rede his peer,Was fast departing on his road,--And long his tears of anguish flowed.But Ráma, when those tears were driedHis lips with water purified,And in soft accents, sweet and clear,Again addressed the charioteer:'I find no heart, my friend, like thine,So faithful to Ikshváku's line.Still first in view this object keep,That ne'er for me my sire may weep.For he, the world's far-ruling king,Is old, and wild with sorrow's sting;With love's great burthen worn and weak:Deem this the cause that thus I speakWhate'er the high-souled king decreesHis loved Kaikeyí's heart to please,Yea, be his order what it may,Without demur thou must obey,For this alone great monarchs reign,That ne'er a wish be formed in vain.Then, O Sumantra, well provideThat by no check the king be tried:Nor let his heart in sorrow pine:This care, my faithful friend, be thineThe honoured king my father greet,And thus for me my words repeatTo him whose senses are controlled,Untired till now by grief, and old;
I, Sítá, Lakshman sorrow not,O Monarch, for our altered lot:The same to us, if here we roam,Or if Ayodhyá be our home,The fourteen years will quickly fly,The happy hour will soon be nighWhen thou, my lord, again shalt seeLakshman, the Maithlí dame, and me.Thus having soothed, O charioteer,My father and my mother dear,Let all the queens my message learn.But to Kaikeyí chiefly turn,With loving blessings from the three,From Lakshman, Sítá, and from me,My mother, Queen Kausalyá, greetWith reverence to her sacred feet.And add this prayer of mine: 'O King;Send quickly forth and Bharat bring,And set him on the royal throneWhich thy decree has made his own.When he upon the throne is placed,When thy fond arms are round him laced.Thine aged heart will cease to acheWith bitter pangs for Ráma's sake.'
And say to Bharat: 'See thou treatThe queens with all observance meet:What care the king receives, the sameShow thou alike to every dame.Obedience to thy father's willWho chooses thee the throne to fill,Will earn for thee a store of blissBoth in the world to come and this.'
Thus Ráma bade Sumantra goWith thoughtful care instructed so.Sumantra all his message heard,And spake again, by passion stirred:'O, should deep feeling mar in aughtThe speech by fond devotion taught,Forgive whate'er I wildly speak:My love is strong, my tongue is weak.How shall I, if deprived of thee,Return that mournful town to see:Where sick at heart the people areBecause their Ráma roams afar.Woe will be theirs too deep to brookWhen on the empty car they look,As when from hosts, whose chiefs are slain,One charioteer comes home again.This very day, I ween, is foodForsworn by all the multitude,Thinking that thou, with hosts to aid,Art dwelling in the wild wood's shade.The great despair, the shriek of woeThey uttered when they saw thee go.Will, when I come with none beside,A hundred-fold be multiplied.How to Kaus'alyá can I say:'O Queen, I took thy son away,And with thy brother left him well:Weep not for him; thy woe dispel?'So false a tale I cannot frame,Yet how speak truth and grieve the dame?How shall these horses, fleet and bold,Whom not a hand but mine can hold,Bear others, wont to whirl the carWherein Ikshváku's children are!Without thee, Prince, I cannot, no,I cannot to Ayodhyá go.Then deign, O Ráma, to relent,And let me share thy banishment.But if no prayers can move thy heart,If thou wilt quit me and depart,The flames shall end my car and me,Deserted thus and reft of thee.In the wild wood when foes are near,When dangers check thy vows austere,Borne in my car will I attend.All danger and all care to end.For thy dear sake I love the skillThat guides the steed and curbs his will:And soon a forest life will beAs pleasant, for my love of thee.And if these horses near thee dwell,And serve thee in the forest well,They, for their service, will not missThe due reward of highest bliss.Thine orders, as with thee I stray.Will I with heart and head obey,Prepared, for thee, without a sigh,To lose Ayodhyá or the sky.As one denied with hideous sin,I never more can pass withinAyodhyá, city of our king,Unless beside me thee I bring.One wish is mine, I ask no more,That, when thy banishment is o'erI in my car may bear my lord,Triumphant, to his home restored.The fourteen years, if spent with thee.Will swift as light-winged moments flee;But the same years, without thee told,Were magnified a hundred-fold.Do not, kind lord, thy servant leave,Who to his master's son would cleave,And the same path with him pursue,Devoted, tender, just and true.'
Again, again Sumantra madeHis varied plaint, and wept and prayed.Him Raghu's son, whose tender breastFelt for his servants, thus addressed:O faithful servant, well my heartKnows how attached and true thou art.Hear thou the words I speak, and knowWhy to the town I bid thee go.Soon as Kaikeyí, youngest queen,Thy coming to the town has seen,No doubt will then her mind oppressThat Ráma roams the wilderness.And so the dame, her heart contentWith proof of Ráma's banishment.Will doubt the virtuous king no moreAs faithless to the oath he swore.Chief of my cares is this, that she,Youngest amid the queens, may seeBharat her son securely reignO'er rich Ayodhyá's wide domain.For mine and for the monarch's sakeDo thou thy journey homeward take,And, as I bade, repeat each wordThat from my lips thou here hast heard.'
Thus spake the prince, and strove to cheerThe sad heart of the charioteer,And then to royal Guha saidThese words most wise and spirited:'Guha, dear friend, it is not meetThat people throng my calm retreat:For I must live a strict recluse,And mould my life by hermits' use.I now the ancient rule acceptBy good ascetics gladly kept.I go: bring fig-tree juice that IIn matted coils my hair may tie.'
Quick Guha hastened to produce,For the king's son, that sacred juice.Then Ráma of his long locks made,And Lakshman's too, the hermit braid.
And the two royal brothers thereWith coats of bark and matted hair,Transformed in lovely likeness stoodTo hermit saints who love the wood.So Ráma, with his brother bold,A pious anchorite enrolled,Obeyed the vow which hermits take,And to his friend, King Guha, spake:'May people, treasure, army share,And fenced forts, thy constant care:Attend to all: supremely hardThe sovereign's task, to watch and guard.'
Ikshváku's son, the good and brave,This last farewell to Guha gave,And then, with Lakshman and his bride,Determined, on his way he hied.Soon as he viewed, upon the shore,The bark prepared to waft them o'erImpetuous Gangá's rolling tide,To Lakshman thus the chieftain cried:'Brother, embark; thy hand extend,Thy gentle aid to Sítá lend:With care her trembling footsteps guide,And place the lady by thy side.'When Lakshman heard, prepared to aidHis brother's words he swift obeyed.Within the bark he placed the dame,Then to her side the hero came.Next Lakshman's elder brother, lordOf brightest glory, when on board,Breathing a prayer for blessings, meetFor priest or warrior to repeat,Then he and car-borne Lakshman bent,Well-pleased, their heads, most reverent,Their hands, with Sítá, having dipped,As Scripture bids, and water sipped,Farewell to wise Sumantra said,And Guha, with the train he led.So Ráma took, on board, his stand,And urged the vessel from the land.Then swift by vigorous arms impelledHer onward course the vessel held,And guided by the helmsman throughThe dashing waves of Gangá flew.Half way across the flood they came,When Sítá, free from spot and blame,Her reverent hands together pressed,The Goddess of the stream addressed:'May the great chieftain here who springsFrom Das'aratha, best of kings,Protected by thy care, fulfilHis prudent father's royal will.When in the forest he has spentHis fourteen years of banishment,With his dear brother and with meHis home again my lord shall see,Returning on that blissful day.I will to thee mine offerings pay,Dear Queen, whose waters gently flow,Who canst all blessed gifts bestow.For, three-pathed Queen, though wandering here,Thy waves descend from Brahmá's sphere,Spouse of the God o'er floods supreme,Though rolling here thy glorious stream.To thee, fair Queen, my head shall bend,To thee shall hymns of praise ascend,When my brave lord shall turn again,And, joyful, o'er his kingdom reign.To win thy grace, O Queen divine,A hundred thousand fairest kine,And precious robes and finest mealAmong the Bráhmans will I deal.A hundred jars of wine shall flow,When to my home, O Queen, I go;With these, and flesh, and corn, and rice,Will I, delighted, sacrifice.Each hallowed spot, each holy shrineThat stands on these fair shores of thine,Each fane and altar on thy banksShall share my offerings and thanks.With me and Lakshman, free from harm,May he the blameless, strong of arm,Reseek Ayodhyá from the wild,O blameless Lady undefiled!'
As, praying for her husband's sake,The faultless dame to Gangá spake,To the right bank the vessel flewWith her whose heart was right and true.Soon as the bark had crossed the wave,The lion leader of the brave,Leaving the vessel on the strand,With wife and brother leapt to land.Then Ráma thus the prince addressedWho filled with joy Sumitrá's breast:'Be thine alike to guard and aidIn peopled spot, in lonely shade.Do thou, Sumitrá's son, precede:Let Sítá walk where thou shalt lead.Behind you both my place shall be,To guard the Maithil dame and thee.For she, to woe a stranger yet,No toil or grief till now has met;The fair Videhan will assayThe pains of forest life to-day.To-day her tender feet must treadRough rocky wilds around her spread:No tilth is there, no gardens grow,No crowding people come and go.'
The hero ceased: and Lakshman ledObedient to the words he said:And Sítá followed him, and thenCame Raghu's pride, the lord of men.With Sítá walking o'er the sandThey sought the forest, bow in hand,But still their lingering glances threwWhere yet Sumantra stood in view.Sumantra, when his watchful eyeThe royal youths no more could spy,Turned from the spot whereon he stoodHomeward with Guha from the wood.
Still on the brothers forced their wayWhere sweet birds sang on every spray,Though scarce the eye a path could findMid flowering trees where creepers twinedFar on the princely brothers pressed,And stayed their feet at length to restBeneath a fig tree's mighty shadeWith countless pendent shoots displayed.Reclining there a while at ease,They saw, not far, beneath fair treesA lake with many a lotus brightThat bore the name of Lovely Sight.Ráma his wife's attention drew,And Lakshman's, to the charming view:'Look, brother, look how fair the floodGlows with the lotus, flower and bud.'
They drank the water fresh and clear,And with their shafts they slew a deer.A fire of boughs they made in haste,And in the flame the meat they placed.So Raghu's sons with Sítá sharedThe hunter's meal their hands prepared,Then counselled that the spreading treeTheir shelter and their home should be.
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Footnotes154:1 Daughter of Jahnu, a name of the Ganges, See p. 55.
CANTO LIII.:
That dark-winged bird the Koïl nowIs calling from the topmost bough,And sounding from the thicket nighIs heard the peacock's early cry,Come, cross the flood that seeks the sea,The swiftly flowing Jáhnaví.' 1
King Guha heard his speech, agreed,And called his minister with speed:'A boat,' he cried, 'swift, strong, and fair,With rudder, oars, and men, prepare,And place it ready by the shoreTo bear the pilgrims quickly o'er.'Thus Guha spake: his followers allBestirred them at their master's call;Then told the king that ready mannedA gay boat waited near the strand.Then Guha, hand to hand applied.With reverence thus to Ráma cried:'The boat is ready by the shore:How, tell me, can I aid thee more?O lord of men, it waits for theeTo cross the flood that seeks the sea,O godlike keeper of thy vow,Embark: the boat is ready now.'
Then Ráma, lord of glory high,Thus to King Guha. made reply:'Thanks for thy gracious care, my lord:Now let the gear be placed on board.'Each bow-armed chief, in mail encased,Bound sword and quiver to his waist,And then with Sítá near them hiedDown the broad river's shelving side.Then with raised palms the charioteer,In lowly reverence drawing near,Cried thus to Ráma good and true:'Now what remains for me to do?' With his right hand, while answering The hero touched his friend: 'Go back,' he said, 'and on the king With watchful care attend.Thus far, Sumantra, thou wast guide;Now to Ayodhyá turn,' he cried:'Hence seek we leaving steeds and car,On foot the wood that stretches far.'
Sumantra, when, with grieving heart,He heard the hero bid him part,Thus to the bravest of the brave,Ikshváku's son, his answer gave:'In all the world men tell of naught,To match thy deed, by heroes wrought--Thus with thy brother and thy wifeThrall-like to lead a forest life.No meet reward of fruit repaysThy holy lore, thy saintlike days,Thy tender soul, thy love of truth,If woe like this afflicts thy youth.Thou, roaming under forest boughs
With thy dear brother and thy spouseShalt richer meed of glory gainThan if three worlds confessed thy reign.Sad is our fate, O Ráma: we,Abandoned and repelled by thee,Must serve as thralls Kaikeyí's will,Imperious, wicked, born to ill.'
Thus cried the faithful charioteer,As Raghu's son, in rede his peer,Was fast departing on his road,--And long his tears of anguish flowed.But Ráma, when those tears were driedHis lips with water purified,And in soft accents, sweet and clear,Again addressed the charioteer:'I find no heart, my friend, like thine,So faithful to Ikshváku's line.Still first in view this object keep,That ne'er for me my sire may weep.For he, the world's far-ruling king,Is old, and wild with sorrow's sting;With love's great burthen worn and weak:Deem this the cause that thus I speakWhate'er the high-souled king decreesHis loved Kaikeyí's heart to please,Yea, be his order what it may,Without demur thou must obey,For this alone great monarchs reign,That ne'er a wish be formed in vain.Then, O Sumantra, well provideThat by no check the king be tried:Nor let his heart in sorrow pine:This care, my faithful friend, be thineThe honoured king my father greet,And thus for me my words repeatTo him whose senses are controlled,Untired till now by grief, and old;
I, Sítá, Lakshman sorrow not,O Monarch, for our altered lot:The same to us, if here we roam,Or if Ayodhyá be our home,The fourteen years will quickly fly,The happy hour will soon be nighWhen thou, my lord, again shalt seeLakshman, the Maithlí dame, and me.Thus having soothed, O charioteer,My father and my mother dear,Let all the queens my message learn.But to Kaikeyí chiefly turn,With loving blessings from the three,From Lakshman, Sítá, and from me,My mother, Queen Kausalyá, greetWith reverence to her sacred feet.And add this prayer of mine: 'O King;Send quickly forth and Bharat bring,And set him on the royal throneWhich thy decree has made his own.When he upon the throne is placed,When thy fond arms are round him laced.Thine aged heart will cease to acheWith bitter pangs for Ráma's sake.'
And say to Bharat: 'See thou treatThe queens with all observance meet:What care the king receives, the sameShow thou alike to every dame.Obedience to thy father's willWho chooses thee the throne to fill,Will earn for thee a store of blissBoth in the world to come and this.'
Thus Ráma bade Sumantra goWith thoughtful care instructed so.Sumantra all his message heard,And spake again, by passion stirred:'O, should deep feeling mar in aughtThe speech by fond devotion taught,Forgive whate'er I wildly speak:My love is strong, my tongue is weak.How shall I, if deprived of thee,Return that mournful town to see:Where sick at heart the people areBecause their Ráma roams afar.Woe will be theirs too deep to brookWhen on the empty car they look,As when from hosts, whose chiefs are slain,One charioteer comes home again.This very day, I ween, is foodForsworn by all the multitude,Thinking that thou, with hosts to aid,Art dwelling in the wild wood's shade.The great despair, the shriek of woeThey uttered when they saw thee go.Will, when I come with none beside,A hundred-fold be multiplied.How to Kaus'alyá can I say:'O Queen, I took thy son away,And with thy brother left him well:Weep not for him; thy woe dispel?'So false a tale I cannot frame,Yet how speak truth and grieve the dame?How shall these horses, fleet and bold,Whom not a hand but mine can hold,Bear others, wont to whirl the carWherein Ikshváku's children are!Without thee, Prince, I cannot, no,I cannot to Ayodhyá go.Then deign, O Ráma, to relent,And let me share thy banishment.But if no prayers can move thy heart,If thou wilt quit me and depart,The flames shall end my car and me,Deserted thus and reft of thee.In the wild wood when foes are near,When dangers check thy vows austere,Borne in my car will I attend.All danger and all care to end.For thy dear sake I love the skillThat guides the steed and curbs his will:And soon a forest life will beAs pleasant, for my love of thee.And if these horses near thee dwell,And serve thee in the forest well,They, for their service, will not missThe due reward of highest bliss.Thine orders, as with thee I stray.Will I with heart and head obey,Prepared, for thee, without a sigh,To lose Ayodhyá or the sky.As one denied with hideous sin,I never more can pass withinAyodhyá, city of our king,Unless beside me thee I bring.One wish is mine, I ask no more,That, when thy banishment is o'erI in my car may bear my lord,Triumphant, to his home restored.The fourteen years, if spent with thee.Will swift as light-winged moments flee;But the same years, without thee told,Were magnified a hundred-fold.Do not, kind lord, thy servant leave,Who to his master's son would cleave,And the same path with him pursue,Devoted, tender, just and true.'
Again, again Sumantra madeHis varied plaint, and wept and prayed.Him Raghu's son, whose tender breastFelt for his servants, thus addressed:O faithful servant, well my heartKnows how attached and true thou art.Hear thou the words I speak, and knowWhy to the town I bid thee go.Soon as Kaikeyí, youngest queen,Thy coming to the town has seen,No doubt will then her mind oppressThat Ráma roams the wilderness.And so the dame, her heart contentWith proof of Ráma's banishment.Will doubt the virtuous king no moreAs faithless to the oath he swore.Chief of my cares is this, that she,Youngest amid the queens, may seeBharat her son securely reignO'er rich Ayodhyá's wide domain.For mine and for the monarch's sakeDo thou thy journey homeward take,And, as I bade, repeat each wordThat from my lips thou here hast heard.'
Thus spake the prince, and strove to cheerThe sad heart of the charioteer,And then to royal Guha saidThese words most wise and spirited:'Guha, dear friend, it is not meetThat people throng my calm retreat:For I must live a strict recluse,And mould my life by hermits' use.I now the ancient rule acceptBy good ascetics gladly kept.I go: bring fig-tree juice that IIn matted coils my hair may tie.'
Quick Guha hastened to produce,For the king's son, that sacred juice.Then Ráma of his long locks made,And Lakshman's too, the hermit braid.
And the two royal brothers thereWith coats of bark and matted hair,Transformed in lovely likeness stoodTo hermit saints who love the wood.So Ráma, with his brother bold,A pious anchorite enrolled,Obeyed the vow which hermits take,And to his friend, King Guha, spake:'May people, treasure, army share,And fenced forts, thy constant care:Attend to all: supremely hardThe sovereign's task, to watch and guard.'
Ikshváku's son, the good and brave,This last farewell to Guha gave,And then, with Lakshman and his bride,Determined, on his way he hied.Soon as he viewed, upon the shore,The bark prepared to waft them o'erImpetuous Gangá's rolling tide,To Lakshman thus the chieftain cried:'Brother, embark; thy hand extend,Thy gentle aid to Sítá lend:With care her trembling footsteps guide,And place the lady by thy side.'When Lakshman heard, prepared to aidHis brother's words he swift obeyed.Within the bark he placed the dame,Then to her side the hero came.Next Lakshman's elder brother, lordOf brightest glory, when on board,Breathing a prayer for blessings, meetFor priest or warrior to repeat,Then he and car-borne Lakshman bent,Well-pleased, their heads, most reverent,Their hands, with Sítá, having dipped,As Scripture bids, and water sipped,Farewell to wise Sumantra said,And Guha, with the train he led.So Ráma took, on board, his stand,And urged the vessel from the land.Then swift by vigorous arms impelledHer onward course the vessel held,And guided by the helmsman throughThe dashing waves of Gangá flew.Half way across the flood they came,When Sítá, free from spot and blame,Her reverent hands together pressed,The Goddess of the stream addressed:'May the great chieftain here who springsFrom Das'aratha, best of kings,Protected by thy care, fulfilHis prudent father's royal will.When in the forest he has spentHis fourteen years of banishment,With his dear brother and with meHis home again my lord shall see,Returning on that blissful day.I will to thee mine offerings pay,Dear Queen, whose waters gently flow,Who canst all blessed gifts bestow.For, three-pathed Queen, though wandering here,Thy waves descend from Brahmá's sphere,Spouse of the God o'er floods supreme,Though rolling here thy glorious stream.To thee, fair Queen, my head shall bend,To thee shall hymns of praise ascend,When my brave lord shall turn again,And, joyful, o'er his kingdom reign.To win thy grace, O Queen divine,A hundred thousand fairest kine,And precious robes and finest mealAmong the Bráhmans will I deal.A hundred jars of wine shall flow,When to my home, O Queen, I go;With these, and flesh, and corn, and rice,Will I, delighted, sacrifice.Each hallowed spot, each holy shrineThat stands on these fair shores of thine,Each fane and altar on thy banksShall share my offerings and thanks.With me and Lakshman, free from harm,May he the blameless, strong of arm,Reseek Ayodhyá from the wild,O blameless Lady undefiled!'
As, praying for her husband's sake,The faultless dame to Gangá spake,To the right bank the vessel flewWith her whose heart was right and true.Soon as the bark had crossed the wave,The lion leader of the brave,Leaving the vessel on the strand,With wife and brother leapt to land.Then Ráma thus the prince addressedWho filled with joy Sumitrá's breast:'Be thine alike to guard and aidIn peopled spot, in lonely shade.Do thou, Sumitrá's son, precede:Let Sítá walk where thou shalt lead.Behind you both my place shall be,To guard the Maithil dame and thee.For she, to woe a stranger yet,No toil or grief till now has met;The fair Videhan will assayThe pains of forest life to-day.To-day her tender feet must treadRough rocky wilds around her spread:No tilth is there, no gardens grow,No crowding people come and go.'
The hero ceased: and Lakshman ledObedient to the words he said:And Sítá followed him, and thenCame Raghu's pride, the lord of men.With Sítá walking o'er the sandThey sought the forest, bow in hand,But still their lingering glances threwWhere yet Sumantra stood in view.Sumantra, when his watchful eyeThe royal youths no more could spy,Turned from the spot whereon he stoodHomeward with Guha from the wood.
Still on the brothers forced their wayWhere sweet birds sang on every spray,Though scarce the eye a path could findMid flowering trees where creepers twinedFar on the princely brothers pressed,And stayed their feet at length to restBeneath a fig tree's mighty shadeWith countless pendent shoots displayed.Reclining there a while at ease,They saw, not far, beneath fair treesA lake with many a lotus brightThat bore the name of Lovely Sight.Ráma his wife's attention drew,And Lakshman's, to the charming view:'Look, brother, look how fair the floodGlows with the lotus, flower and bud.'
They drank the water fresh and clear,And with their shafts they slew a deer.A fire of boughs they made in haste,And in the flame the meat they placed.So Raghu's sons with Sítá sharedThe hunter's meal their hands prepared,Then counselled that the spreading treeTheir shelter and their home should be.
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Footnotes154:1 Daughter of Jahnu, a name of the Ganges, See p. 55.
CANTO LIII.:
RÁMA'S LAMENT.When evening rites were duly paid,Reclined beneath the leafy shade,To Lakshman thus spake Ráma, bestOf those who glad a people's breast:'Now the first night has closed the dayThat saw us from our country stray,And parted from the charioteer;Yet grieve not thou, my brother dear.Henceforth by night, when others sleep,Must we our careful vigil keep,Watching for Sítá's welfare thus,For her dear life depends on us.Bring me the leaves that lie around,And spread them here upon the ground,That we on lowly beds may lie,And let in talk the night go by.'
So on the ground with leaves o'erspread,He who should press a royal bed,Ráma with Lakshman thus conversed,And many a pleasant tale rehearsed:'This night the king,' he cried, 'alas!In broken sleep will sadly pass.Kaikeyí now content should be,For mistress of her wish is she.So fiercely she for empire yearns,That when her Bharat home returns,She in her greed, may even bringDestruction on our lord the king.What can he do, in feeble eld,Reft of all aid and me expelled,His soul enslaved by love, a thrallObedient to Kaikeyí's call?As thus I muse upon his woeAnd all his wisdoms overthrow,Love is, methinks, of greater mightTo stir the heart than gain and right.For who, in wisdom's lore untaught.Could by a beauty's prayer be boughtTo quit his own obedient son,Who loves him, as my sire has done!Bharat, Kaikeyí's child, aloneWill, with his wife, enjoy the throne,And blissfully his rule maintainO'er happy Kos'ala's domain.To Bharat's single lot will fallThe kingdom and the power and all,When fails the king from length of days,And Ráma in the forest strays.Whoe'er, neglecting right and gain,Lets conquering love his soul enchain,To him, like Das'aratha's lot,Comes woe with feet that tarry not.Methinks at last the royal dame,Dear Lakshman, has secured her aim,To see at once her husband dead,Her son enthroned, and Ráma fled.Ah me! I fear, lest borne awayBy frenzy of success, she slayKaus'alyá, through her wicked hateOf me, bereft, disconsolate;Or her who aye for me has strivenSumitrá, to devotion given.Hence, Lakshman, to Avodhyá speed,Returning in the hour of need.With Sítá I my steps will bendWhere Dandak's mighty woods extend.No guardian has Kaus'alyá now:O, be her friend and guardian thou.Strong hate may vile Kaikeyí leadTo many a base unrighteous deed,Treading my mother 'neath her feetWhen Bharat holds the royal seat.Sure in some antenatal timeWere children, by Kausalyá's crime.Torn from their mothers' arms away,And hence she mourns this evil day.She for her child no toil would spareTending me long with pain and care;Now in the hour of fruitage sheHas lost that son, ah, woe is me.O Lakshman, may no matron e'erA son so doomed to sorrow bearAs I, my mother's heart who rendWith anguish that can never end.The Sáriká, 1 methinks, possessedMore love than glows in Ráma's breast.Who, as the tale is told to us.Addressed the stricken parrot thus:
'Parrot, the capturer's talons tear,While yet alone thou flutterest there.Before his mouth has closed on me:'So cried the bird, herself to free.Reft of her son, in childless woe,My mother's tears for ever flow:Ill-fated, doomed with grief to strive.What aid can she from me derive?Pressed down by care, she cannot riseFrom sorrow's flood wherein she lies.In righteous wrath my single armCould, with my bow, protect from harmAyodhyá's town and all the earth:But what is hero prowess worth?Lest breaking duty's law I sin,And lose the heaven I strive to win,The forest life today I choose,And kingly state and power refuse.'
Thus mourning in that lonely spotThe troubled chief bewailed his lot,And filled with tears, his eyes ran o'er;Then silent sat, and spake no more.To him, when ceased his loud lament,Like fire whose brilliant might is spent.Or the great sea when sleeps the wave,Thus Lakshman consolation gave:'Chief of the brave who bear the bow,E'en now Ayodhyá, sunk in woe,By thy departure reft of lightIs gloomy as the moonless night.Unfit it seems that thou, O chief.Shouldst so afflict thy soul with grief,So with thou Sítá's heart consignTo deep despair as well as mine.Not I, O Raghu's son, nor sheCould live one hour deprived of thee:We were, without thine arm to save,Like fish deserted by the wave.Although my mother dear to meet,S'atrughna and the king, were sweet,On them, or heaven, to feed mine eyeWere nothing, if thou wert not by.'
Sitting at ease, their glances fellUpon the beds, constructed well.And there the sons of virtue laidTheir limps beneath the fig tree's shade.
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Footnotes157:1 The Mainá or Gracula religiosa, a favourite cage-bird, easily taught to talk.
CANTO LIV.:
So on the ground with leaves o'erspread,He who should press a royal bed,Ráma with Lakshman thus conversed,And many a pleasant tale rehearsed:'This night the king,' he cried, 'alas!In broken sleep will sadly pass.Kaikeyí now content should be,For mistress of her wish is she.So fiercely she for empire yearns,That when her Bharat home returns,She in her greed, may even bringDestruction on our lord the king.What can he do, in feeble eld,Reft of all aid and me expelled,His soul enslaved by love, a thrallObedient to Kaikeyí's call?As thus I muse upon his woeAnd all his wisdoms overthrow,Love is, methinks, of greater mightTo stir the heart than gain and right.For who, in wisdom's lore untaught.Could by a beauty's prayer be boughtTo quit his own obedient son,Who loves him, as my sire has done!Bharat, Kaikeyí's child, aloneWill, with his wife, enjoy the throne,And blissfully his rule maintainO'er happy Kos'ala's domain.To Bharat's single lot will fallThe kingdom and the power and all,When fails the king from length of days,And Ráma in the forest strays.Whoe'er, neglecting right and gain,Lets conquering love his soul enchain,To him, like Das'aratha's lot,Comes woe with feet that tarry not.Methinks at last the royal dame,Dear Lakshman, has secured her aim,To see at once her husband dead,Her son enthroned, and Ráma fled.Ah me! I fear, lest borne awayBy frenzy of success, she slayKaus'alyá, through her wicked hateOf me, bereft, disconsolate;Or her who aye for me has strivenSumitrá, to devotion given.Hence, Lakshman, to Avodhyá speed,Returning in the hour of need.With Sítá I my steps will bendWhere Dandak's mighty woods extend.No guardian has Kaus'alyá now:O, be her friend and guardian thou.Strong hate may vile Kaikeyí leadTo many a base unrighteous deed,Treading my mother 'neath her feetWhen Bharat holds the royal seat.Sure in some antenatal timeWere children, by Kausalyá's crime.Torn from their mothers' arms away,And hence she mourns this evil day.She for her child no toil would spareTending me long with pain and care;Now in the hour of fruitage sheHas lost that son, ah, woe is me.O Lakshman, may no matron e'erA son so doomed to sorrow bearAs I, my mother's heart who rendWith anguish that can never end.The Sáriká, 1 methinks, possessedMore love than glows in Ráma's breast.Who, as the tale is told to us.Addressed the stricken parrot thus:
'Parrot, the capturer's talons tear,While yet alone thou flutterest there.Before his mouth has closed on me:'So cried the bird, herself to free.Reft of her son, in childless woe,My mother's tears for ever flow:Ill-fated, doomed with grief to strive.What aid can she from me derive?Pressed down by care, she cannot riseFrom sorrow's flood wherein she lies.In righteous wrath my single armCould, with my bow, protect from harmAyodhyá's town and all the earth:But what is hero prowess worth?Lest breaking duty's law I sin,And lose the heaven I strive to win,The forest life today I choose,And kingly state and power refuse.'
Thus mourning in that lonely spotThe troubled chief bewailed his lot,And filled with tears, his eyes ran o'er;Then silent sat, and spake no more.To him, when ceased his loud lament,Like fire whose brilliant might is spent.Or the great sea when sleeps the wave,Thus Lakshman consolation gave:'Chief of the brave who bear the bow,E'en now Ayodhyá, sunk in woe,By thy departure reft of lightIs gloomy as the moonless night.Unfit it seems that thou, O chief.Shouldst so afflict thy soul with grief,So with thou Sítá's heart consignTo deep despair as well as mine.Not I, O Raghu's son, nor sheCould live one hour deprived of thee:We were, without thine arm to save,Like fish deserted by the wave.Although my mother dear to meet,S'atrughna and the king, were sweet,On them, or heaven, to feed mine eyeWere nothing, if thou wert not by.'
Sitting at ease, their glances fellUpon the beds, constructed well.And there the sons of virtue laidTheir limps beneath the fig tree's shade.
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Footnotes157:1 The Mainá or Gracula religiosa, a favourite cage-bird, easily taught to talk.
CANTO LIV.:
BHARADVÁJA'S HERMITAGE.So there that night the heroes spentUnder the boughs that o'er them bent,And when the sun his glory spread,Upstarting, from the place they sped.On to that spot they made their way,Through the dense wood that round them lay,Where Yamuná's 1 swift waters glide
To blend with Gangá's holy tide.Charmed with the prospect ever newThe glorious heroes wandered throughFull many a spot of pleasant ground,Rejoicing as they gazed around,With eager eye and heart at ease,On countless sorts of flowery trees.And now the day was half-way spedWhen thus to Lakshman Ráma said:'There, there, dear brother, turn thine eyes;See near Prayág 1b that smoke arise:The banner of our Lord of FlamesThe dwelling of some saint proclaims.Near to the place our steps we bendWhere Yamuná and Gangá blend.I hear and mark the deafening roarWhen chafing floods together pour.See, near us on the ground are leftDry logs, by labouring woodmen cleft,And the tall trees, that blossom nearSaint Bharadvája's home, appear.'
The bow-armed princes onward passed,And as the sun was sinking fastThey reached the hermit's dwelling, setNear where the rushing waters met.The presence of the warrior scaredThe deer and birds as on he fared,And struck them vith unwonted awe:Then Bharadvája's cot they saw.The high-souled hermit soon they foundGirt by his dear disciples round:Calm saint, whose vows had well been wrought,Whose fervent rites keen sight had bought.Duly had flames of worship blazedWhen Ráma on the hermit gazed:His suppliant hands the hero raised,Drew nearer to the holy manWith his companions, and began,Declaring both his name and raceAnd why they sought that distant place;'Saint, Das'aratha's children we,Ráma and Lakshman, come to thee.This my good wife from Janak springs.The best of fair Videha's kings;Through lonely wilds, a faultless dame,To this pure grove with me she came.My younger brother follows stillMe banished by my father's will:Sumitrá's son, bound by a vow,--He roams the wood beside me now.Sent by my father forth to rove,We seek, O Saint, some holy grove,Where lives of hermits we may lead,And upon fruits and berries feed.'
When Bharadvája, prudent-souled,Had heard the prince his tale unfold,Water he bade them bring, a bull,And honour-gifts in dishes full,
And drink and food of varied taste,Berries and roots, before him placed,And then the great ascetic showedA cottage for the guests' abode.The saint these honours gladly paidTo Ráma who had thither strayed,Then compassed sat by birds and deerAnd many a hermit resting near.The prince received the service kind,And sat him down rejoiced in mind.Then Bharadvája silence broke,And thus the words of duty spoke:'Kakutstha's royal son, that thouHadst sought this grove I knew ere now.Mine ears have heard thy story, sentWithout a sin to banishment.Behold, O Prince, this ample spaceNear where the mingling floods embrace,Holy, and beautiful, and clear:Dwell with us, and be happy here.'
By Bharadvája thus addressed,Ráma whose kind and tender breastAll living things would bless and save,In gracious words his answer gave:
'My honoured lord, this tranquil spot,Fair home of hermits, suits me not:For all the neighbouring people hereWill seek us when they know me near:With eager wish to look on me,And the Videhan dame to see,A crowd of rustics will intrudeUpon the holy solitude.Provide, O gracious lord, I pray,Some quiet home that lies away,Where my Videhan spouse may dwellTasting the bliss deserved so well.'
The hermit heard the prayer he made:A while in earnest thought he stayed.And then in words like these expressedHis answer to the chief's request:'Ten leagues away there stands a hillWhere thou mayvst live, if such thy will:A holy mount, exceeding fair;Great saints have made their dwelling there:There great Langúrs 1 in thousands play,And bears amid the thickets stray;Wide-known by Chitrakúta's name,It rivals Gandhamádan's 2 fame.Long as the man that hill who seeksGazes upon its sacred peaks,To holy things his soul he givesAnd pure from thought of evil lives.There, while a hundred autumns fled,Has many a saint with hoary headSpent his pure life, and won the prize,By deep devotion, in the skies:
Best home, I ween, if such retreat,Far from the ways of men, be sweet:Or let thy yewre of exile fleeHere in this hermitage with me.'
Thus Bharadvája spake, and trainedIn lore of duty, entertainedThe princes and the dame, and pressedHie friendly gifts on every guest.
Thus to Prayág the hero went,Thus saw the saint preeminent,And varied speeches heard and said:Then holy night o'er heaven was spread.And Ráma took, by toil oppressed,With Sitá and his brother, rest;And so the night, with sweet content,In Bharadvája's grove was spent.But when the dawn dispelled the night,Ráma approached the anchorite,And thus addressed the holy sireWhose glory shone like kindled fire:'Well have we spent, O truthful Sage,The night within thy hermitage:Now let my lord his guests permitFor their new home his grove to quit.'
Then, as he saw the morning break,Ih answer Bharadvája spake:'Go forth to Chitrakúta's hill,Where berries grow, and sweets distil:Full well, I deem, that home will suitThee, Ráma, strong and resolute.Go forth, and Chitrakúta seek,Famed mountain of the Varied Peak.In the wild woods that gird him roundAll creatures of the chase are found:Thou in the glades shalt see appearVast herds of elephants and deer.With Si'ta there shalt thou delightTo gaze upon the woody height;There with expanding heart to lookOn river, table-land, and brook,And see the foaming torrent raveImpetuous from the mountain cave.Auspicious hill! where all day longThe lapwing's cry, the Koil's songMake all who listen gay:Where all is fresh and fair to see,Where elephants and deer roam free,There, as a hermit, stay.'
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Footnotes158:1 The Jumna.
158:1b The Hindu name of Allahabad.
159:1 The Langúr is a large monkey.
159:2 A mountain said to lie to the east of Meru.
CANTO LV.:
To blend with Gangá's holy tide.Charmed with the prospect ever newThe glorious heroes wandered throughFull many a spot of pleasant ground,Rejoicing as they gazed around,With eager eye and heart at ease,On countless sorts of flowery trees.And now the day was half-way spedWhen thus to Lakshman Ráma said:'There, there, dear brother, turn thine eyes;See near Prayág 1b that smoke arise:The banner of our Lord of FlamesThe dwelling of some saint proclaims.Near to the place our steps we bendWhere Yamuná and Gangá blend.I hear and mark the deafening roarWhen chafing floods together pour.See, near us on the ground are leftDry logs, by labouring woodmen cleft,And the tall trees, that blossom nearSaint Bharadvája's home, appear.'
The bow-armed princes onward passed,And as the sun was sinking fastThey reached the hermit's dwelling, setNear where the rushing waters met.The presence of the warrior scaredThe deer and birds as on he fared,And struck them vith unwonted awe:Then Bharadvája's cot they saw.The high-souled hermit soon they foundGirt by his dear disciples round:Calm saint, whose vows had well been wrought,Whose fervent rites keen sight had bought.Duly had flames of worship blazedWhen Ráma on the hermit gazed:His suppliant hands the hero raised,Drew nearer to the holy manWith his companions, and began,Declaring both his name and raceAnd why they sought that distant place;'Saint, Das'aratha's children we,Ráma and Lakshman, come to thee.This my good wife from Janak springs.The best of fair Videha's kings;Through lonely wilds, a faultless dame,To this pure grove with me she came.My younger brother follows stillMe banished by my father's will:Sumitrá's son, bound by a vow,--He roams the wood beside me now.Sent by my father forth to rove,We seek, O Saint, some holy grove,Where lives of hermits we may lead,And upon fruits and berries feed.'
When Bharadvája, prudent-souled,Had heard the prince his tale unfold,Water he bade them bring, a bull,And honour-gifts in dishes full,
And drink and food of varied taste,Berries and roots, before him placed,And then the great ascetic showedA cottage for the guests' abode.The saint these honours gladly paidTo Ráma who had thither strayed,Then compassed sat by birds and deerAnd many a hermit resting near.The prince received the service kind,And sat him down rejoiced in mind.Then Bharadvája silence broke,And thus the words of duty spoke:'Kakutstha's royal son, that thouHadst sought this grove I knew ere now.Mine ears have heard thy story, sentWithout a sin to banishment.Behold, O Prince, this ample spaceNear where the mingling floods embrace,Holy, and beautiful, and clear:Dwell with us, and be happy here.'
By Bharadvája thus addressed,Ráma whose kind and tender breastAll living things would bless and save,In gracious words his answer gave:
'My honoured lord, this tranquil spot,Fair home of hermits, suits me not:For all the neighbouring people hereWill seek us when they know me near:With eager wish to look on me,And the Videhan dame to see,A crowd of rustics will intrudeUpon the holy solitude.Provide, O gracious lord, I pray,Some quiet home that lies away,Where my Videhan spouse may dwellTasting the bliss deserved so well.'
The hermit heard the prayer he made:A while in earnest thought he stayed.And then in words like these expressedHis answer to the chief's request:'Ten leagues away there stands a hillWhere thou mayvst live, if such thy will:A holy mount, exceeding fair;Great saints have made their dwelling there:There great Langúrs 1 in thousands play,And bears amid the thickets stray;Wide-known by Chitrakúta's name,It rivals Gandhamádan's 2 fame.Long as the man that hill who seeksGazes upon its sacred peaks,To holy things his soul he givesAnd pure from thought of evil lives.There, while a hundred autumns fled,Has many a saint with hoary headSpent his pure life, and won the prize,By deep devotion, in the skies:
Best home, I ween, if such retreat,Far from the ways of men, be sweet:Or let thy yewre of exile fleeHere in this hermitage with me.'
Thus Bharadvája spake, and trainedIn lore of duty, entertainedThe princes and the dame, and pressedHie friendly gifts on every guest.
Thus to Prayág the hero went,Thus saw the saint preeminent,And varied speeches heard and said:Then holy night o'er heaven was spread.And Ráma took, by toil oppressed,With Sitá and his brother, rest;And so the night, with sweet content,In Bharadvája's grove was spent.But when the dawn dispelled the night,Ráma approached the anchorite,And thus addressed the holy sireWhose glory shone like kindled fire:'Well have we spent, O truthful Sage,The night within thy hermitage:Now let my lord his guests permitFor their new home his grove to quit.'
Then, as he saw the morning break,Ih answer Bharadvája spake:'Go forth to Chitrakúta's hill,Where berries grow, and sweets distil:Full well, I deem, that home will suitThee, Ráma, strong and resolute.Go forth, and Chitrakúta seek,Famed mountain of the Varied Peak.In the wild woods that gird him roundAll creatures of the chase are found:Thou in the glades shalt see appearVast herds of elephants and deer.With Si'ta there shalt thou delightTo gaze upon the woody height;There with expanding heart to lookOn river, table-land, and brook,And see the foaming torrent raveImpetuous from the mountain cave.Auspicious hill! where all day longThe lapwing's cry, the Koil's songMake all who listen gay:Where all is fresh and fair to see,Where elephants and deer roam free,There, as a hermit, stay.'
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Footnotes158:1 The Jumna.
158:1b The Hindu name of Allahabad.
159:1 The Langúr is a large monkey.
159:2 A mountain said to lie to the east of Meru.
CANTO LV.:
THE PASSAGE OF YAMUNÁ.The princely tamers of their foesThus passed the night in calm repose,Then to the hermit having bentWith reverence, on their way they went.High favour Rharadvája showed.And blessed them ready for the road.
With such fond looks as fathers throwOn their own sons, before they go.Then spake the saint with glory brightTo Ráma peerless in his might:'First, lords of men, direct your feetWhere Yamuna' and Gangá meet;Then to the swift Kalindi 1 go,Whose westward waves to Gangá flow.When thou shalt see her lovely shoreWorn by their feet who hasten o'er,Then, Raghu's son, a raft prepare.And cross the Sun born river there.Upon her farther bank a tree,Near to the landing wilt thou see.The blessed source of varied gifts,There her green boughs that Eig tree lifts:A tree where countless birds abide,Bv Syáma's name known far and wide.Sitá, revere that holy shade:There be thy prayers for blessing prayed.Thence for a league your way pursue,And a dark wood shall meet your view,Where tall bamboos their foliage show,The Gum tree and the Jujube grow.To Chitrakúta have I oftTrodden that path so smooth and soft,Where burning woods no traveller scare,But all is pleasant, green, and fair.'
When thus the guests their road had learned,Back to his cot the hermit turned,And Ráma, Lakshman, Sitá paidTheir reverent thanks for courteous aid.Thus Ráma spake to Lakshman, whenThe saint had left the lords of men:'Great store of bliss in sooth is oursOn whom his love the hermit showers.'As each to other wisely talked,The lion lords together walkedOn to Kálindi's woody shore;And gentle Sita went before.They reached that flood, whose waters fleeWith rapid current to the sea;Their minds a while to thought they gaveAnd counselled how to cross the wave.At length, with logs together laid,A mighty raft the brothers made.Then dry bamboos across were tied,And grass was spread from side to side.And the great hero Lakshman broughtCane and Rose Apple boughs and wrought,Trimming the branches smooth and neat,For Sitá's use a pleasant seat.And Ráma placed thereon his dameTouched with a momentary shame,Resembling in her glorious mienAll thought surpassing Fortune's QueenThen Ráma hastened to dispose.
Each in its place, the skins and bows,And by the fair Videhan laidThe coats, the ornaments, and spade.When Sitá thus was set on board,And all their gear was duly stored,The heroes each with vigorous hand,Pushed off the raft and left the land.When half its way the raft had made,Thus Sitá to Kálindi prayed:'Goddess, whose flood I traverse now,Grant that my lord may keep his vow.For thee shall bleed a thousand kine,A hundred jars shall pour their wine,When Ráma sees that town againWhere old Ikshváku's children reign."
Thus to Kálindi's stream she suedAnd prayed in suppliant attitude.Then to the river's bank the dame,Fervent in supplication, came.They left the raft that brought them o'er,And the thick wood that clothed the shore,And to the Fig-tree Syama madeTheir way, so cool with verdant shade.Then Sitá viewed that best of trees,And reverent spake in words like these:'Hail,hail, O mighty tree! AllowMy husband to complete his vow;Let us returning, I entreat,Kaus'alyá and Sumitrá meet.'Then with her hands together placedAround the tree she duly paced.When Ráma saw his blameless spouseA suppliant under holy boughs,The gentle darling of his heart,He thus to Lakshman spake apart:'Brother, by thee our way be led;Let Sitá close behind thee tread:I, best of men, will grasp my bow,And hindmost of the three will go.What fruits soe'er her fancy take,Or flowers half hidden in the brake,For Janak's child forget not thouTo gather from the brake or bough."
Thus on they fared. The tender dameAsked Ráma, as they walked, the nameOf every shrub that blossoms bore,Creeper, and tree unseen before:And Lakshman fetched, at Sitá's prayer,Boughs of each tree with clusters fair.Then Janak's daughter joyed to seeThe sand-discoloured river flee,Where the glad cry of many a bird,The sa'ras and the swan, was heard.A league the brothers travelled throughThe forest noble game they slew:Beneath the trees their meal they dressedAnd sat them down to eat and rest.A while in that delightful shadeWhere elephants unnumbered strayed.Where peacocks screamed and monkeys played.
They wandered with delight.Then by the river's side they foundA pleaaant spot of level ground,Where all was smooth and fair around, Their lodging for the night.
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Footnotes160:1 Another name of the Jumna, daughter of the Sun.
CANTO LVI.:
With such fond looks as fathers throwOn their own sons, before they go.Then spake the saint with glory brightTo Ráma peerless in his might:'First, lords of men, direct your feetWhere Yamuna' and Gangá meet;Then to the swift Kalindi 1 go,Whose westward waves to Gangá flow.When thou shalt see her lovely shoreWorn by their feet who hasten o'er,Then, Raghu's son, a raft prepare.And cross the Sun born river there.Upon her farther bank a tree,Near to the landing wilt thou see.The blessed source of varied gifts,There her green boughs that Eig tree lifts:A tree where countless birds abide,Bv Syáma's name known far and wide.Sitá, revere that holy shade:There be thy prayers for blessing prayed.Thence for a league your way pursue,And a dark wood shall meet your view,Where tall bamboos their foliage show,The Gum tree and the Jujube grow.To Chitrakúta have I oftTrodden that path so smooth and soft,Where burning woods no traveller scare,But all is pleasant, green, and fair.'
When thus the guests their road had learned,Back to his cot the hermit turned,And Ráma, Lakshman, Sitá paidTheir reverent thanks for courteous aid.Thus Ráma spake to Lakshman, whenThe saint had left the lords of men:'Great store of bliss in sooth is oursOn whom his love the hermit showers.'As each to other wisely talked,The lion lords together walkedOn to Kálindi's woody shore;And gentle Sita went before.They reached that flood, whose waters fleeWith rapid current to the sea;Their minds a while to thought they gaveAnd counselled how to cross the wave.At length, with logs together laid,A mighty raft the brothers made.Then dry bamboos across were tied,And grass was spread from side to side.And the great hero Lakshman broughtCane and Rose Apple boughs and wrought,Trimming the branches smooth and neat,For Sitá's use a pleasant seat.And Ráma placed thereon his dameTouched with a momentary shame,Resembling in her glorious mienAll thought surpassing Fortune's QueenThen Ráma hastened to dispose.
Each in its place, the skins and bows,And by the fair Videhan laidThe coats, the ornaments, and spade.When Sitá thus was set on board,And all their gear was duly stored,The heroes each with vigorous hand,Pushed off the raft and left the land.When half its way the raft had made,Thus Sitá to Kálindi prayed:'Goddess, whose flood I traverse now,Grant that my lord may keep his vow.For thee shall bleed a thousand kine,A hundred jars shall pour their wine,When Ráma sees that town againWhere old Ikshváku's children reign."
Thus to Kálindi's stream she suedAnd prayed in suppliant attitude.Then to the river's bank the dame,Fervent in supplication, came.They left the raft that brought them o'er,And the thick wood that clothed the shore,And to the Fig-tree Syama madeTheir way, so cool with verdant shade.Then Sitá viewed that best of trees,And reverent spake in words like these:'Hail,hail, O mighty tree! AllowMy husband to complete his vow;Let us returning, I entreat,Kaus'alyá and Sumitrá meet.'Then with her hands together placedAround the tree she duly paced.When Ráma saw his blameless spouseA suppliant under holy boughs,The gentle darling of his heart,He thus to Lakshman spake apart:'Brother, by thee our way be led;Let Sitá close behind thee tread:I, best of men, will grasp my bow,And hindmost of the three will go.What fruits soe'er her fancy take,Or flowers half hidden in the brake,For Janak's child forget not thouTo gather from the brake or bough."
Thus on they fared. The tender dameAsked Ráma, as they walked, the nameOf every shrub that blossoms bore,Creeper, and tree unseen before:And Lakshman fetched, at Sitá's prayer,Boughs of each tree with clusters fair.Then Janak's daughter joyed to seeThe sand-discoloured river flee,Where the glad cry of many a bird,The sa'ras and the swan, was heard.A league the brothers travelled throughThe forest noble game they slew:Beneath the trees their meal they dressedAnd sat them down to eat and rest.A while in that delightful shadeWhere elephants unnumbered strayed.Where peacocks screamed and monkeys played.
They wandered with delight.Then by the river's side they foundA pleaaant spot of level ground,Where all was smooth and fair around, Their lodging for the night.
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Footnotes160:1 Another name of the Jumna, daughter of the Sun.
CANTO LVI.:
CHITRAKUTA.Then Ráma, when the morning rose,Called Lakshman gently from repose:'Awake, the pleasant voices hearOf forest birds that warble near.Scourge of thy foes, no longer stay;The hour is come to speed away.' The slumbering prince unclosed his eyesWhen thus his brother bade him rise,Compelling, at the timely cry,Fatigue, and sleep, and rest to fly.The brothers rose and Sítá too;Pure water from the stream they drew,Paid morning rites, then followed stillThe road to Chitrakúta's hill.Then Ráma as he took the roadWith Lakshman, while the morning, glowed,To the Videhan lady cried,Sítá the fair, the lotus-eyed:'Look round thee, dear; each flowery treeTouched with the fire of morning see:The Kins'uk, now the Frosts are fled,--How glorious with his wreaths of red!The Bel-trees see, so loved of men,Hanging their boughs in every glen.O'erburthened with their fruit and flowers:A plenteous store of food is ours. See, Lakshman, in the leafy trees, Where'er they make their home. Down hangs, the work of labouring bees The ponderous honeycomb. In the fair wood before us spread The startled wild-cock cries: Hark, where the flowers are soft to tread, The peacock's voice replies. Where elephants are roaming free, And sweet birds' songs are loud, The glorious Chitrakúta see: His peaks are in the cloud. On fair smooth ground he stands displayed, Begirt by many a tree: O brother, in that holy shade How happy shall we be!' 1
Then Ráma, Lakshman, Sitá, eachSpoke raising suppliant hands this speechTo him, in woodland dwelling met,Válmiki, ancient anchoret:'O Saint, this mountain takes the mind,With creepers, trees of every kind,Vith fruit and roots abounding thus,A pleasant life it offers us:Here for a while we fain would stay,And pass a season blithe and gay.' Then the great saint, in duty trained,With honour gladly entertained:He gave his guests a welcome fair,And bade them sit and rest them there,Ráma of mighty arm and chestHis faithful Lakshman then addressed:'Brother, bring hither from the woodSelected timber strong and good,And build therewith a little cot;My heart rejoices in the spotThat lies beneath the mountain's side,Remote, with water well supplied.'Sumitrá's son his words obeyed,Brought many a tree, and deftly made,With branches in the forest cut,As Ráma bade, a leafy hut.Then Ráma, when the cottage stoodFair, firmly built, and walled with wood,To Lakshman spake, whose eager mindTo do his brother's will inclined:'Now, Lakshman as our cot is made,Must sacrifice be duly paidBy us, for lengthened life who hope,With venison of the antelope.Away, O bright-eyed Lakshman, speed:Struck by thy bow a deer must bleed:As Scripture bids, we must not slightThe duty that commands the rite.' Lakshman, the chief whose arrows laidHis foemen low, his word obeyed;And Ráma thus again addressedThe swift performer of his hest:'Prepare the venison thou hast shot,To sacrifice for this our cot.Haste, brother dear, for this the hour,And this the day of certain power.'Then glorious Lakshman took the buckHis arrow in the wood had struck;Bearing his mighty load he came,And laid it in the kindled flame.
Soon as he saw the meat was done,And that the juices ceased to runFrom the broiled carcass, Lakshman thenSpoke thus to Ráma best of men:'The carcass of the buck, entire,Is ready dressed upon the fire.Now be the sacred rites begunTo please the God, thou godlike one.'
Ráma the good, in ritual trained,Pure from the bath, with thoughts restrained,Hasted those verses to repeatWhich make the sacrifice complete.The hosts celestial came in view,And Ráma to the cot withdrew,While a sweet sense of rapture stoleThrough the unequalled hero's soul.He paid the Vis'vedevas 1 due.And Rudra's right, and Vishnu's too,Nor wonted blessings, to protectTheir new-built home, did he neglect.With voice repressed he breathed the prayer,Bathed duly in the river fair,And gave good offerings that removeThe stain of sin, as texts approve.And many an altar there he made,And shrines, to suit the holy shade,All decked with woodland chaplets sweet,And fruit and roots and roasted meat,With muttered prayer, as texts require,Water, and grass and wood and fire.So Ráma, Lakshman, Sítá paidTheir offerings to each God and shade,And entered then their pleasant cotThat bore fair signs of happy lot.They entered, the illustrious three,The well-set cottage, fair to see,Roofed with the leaves of many a tree, And fenced from wind and rain;So, at their Father Brahmá's call,The Gods of heaven, assembling all,To their own glorious council hall Advance in shining train.So, resting on that lovely hill,Near the fair lily-covered rill, The happy prince forgot,Surrounded by the birds and deer,The woe, the longing, and the fear That gloom the exile's lot.
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Footnotes161:1 'We have often looked on that green hill: it is the holiest spot of that sect of the Hindu faith who devote themselves to this incarnation, of Vishnu. The whole neighbourhood is Ráma's country. Every headland has some legend, every cavern is connected with his name; some of the wild fruits are still called Stáphal, being the reputed food of the exile. Thousands and thousands annually visit the spot, and round the hill is a raised foot-path, on which the devotee, with naked feet, treads full of pious awe.' Calcutta Review, Vol. XXIII.
CANTO LVII.:
Then Ráma, Lakshman, Sitá, eachSpoke raising suppliant hands this speechTo him, in woodland dwelling met,Válmiki, ancient anchoret:'O Saint, this mountain takes the mind,With creepers, trees of every kind,Vith fruit and roots abounding thus,A pleasant life it offers us:Here for a while we fain would stay,And pass a season blithe and gay.' Then the great saint, in duty trained,With honour gladly entertained:He gave his guests a welcome fair,And bade them sit and rest them there,Ráma of mighty arm and chestHis faithful Lakshman then addressed:'Brother, bring hither from the woodSelected timber strong and good,And build therewith a little cot;My heart rejoices in the spotThat lies beneath the mountain's side,Remote, with water well supplied.'Sumitrá's son his words obeyed,Brought many a tree, and deftly made,With branches in the forest cut,As Ráma bade, a leafy hut.Then Ráma, when the cottage stoodFair, firmly built, and walled with wood,To Lakshman spake, whose eager mindTo do his brother's will inclined:'Now, Lakshman as our cot is made,Must sacrifice be duly paidBy us, for lengthened life who hope,With venison of the antelope.Away, O bright-eyed Lakshman, speed:Struck by thy bow a deer must bleed:As Scripture bids, we must not slightThe duty that commands the rite.' Lakshman, the chief whose arrows laidHis foemen low, his word obeyed;And Ráma thus again addressedThe swift performer of his hest:'Prepare the venison thou hast shot,To sacrifice for this our cot.Haste, brother dear, for this the hour,And this the day of certain power.'Then glorious Lakshman took the buckHis arrow in the wood had struck;Bearing his mighty load he came,And laid it in the kindled flame.
Soon as he saw the meat was done,And that the juices ceased to runFrom the broiled carcass, Lakshman thenSpoke thus to Ráma best of men:'The carcass of the buck, entire,Is ready dressed upon the fire.Now be the sacred rites begunTo please the God, thou godlike one.'
Ráma the good, in ritual trained,Pure from the bath, with thoughts restrained,Hasted those verses to repeatWhich make the sacrifice complete.The hosts celestial came in view,And Ráma to the cot withdrew,While a sweet sense of rapture stoleThrough the unequalled hero's soul.He paid the Vis'vedevas 1 due.And Rudra's right, and Vishnu's too,Nor wonted blessings, to protectTheir new-built home, did he neglect.With voice repressed he breathed the prayer,Bathed duly in the river fair,And gave good offerings that removeThe stain of sin, as texts approve.And many an altar there he made,And shrines, to suit the holy shade,All decked with woodland chaplets sweet,And fruit and roots and roasted meat,With muttered prayer, as texts require,Water, and grass and wood and fire.So Ráma, Lakshman, Sítá paidTheir offerings to each God and shade,And entered then their pleasant cotThat bore fair signs of happy lot.They entered, the illustrious three,The well-set cottage, fair to see,Roofed with the leaves of many a tree, And fenced from wind and rain;So, at their Father Brahmá's call,The Gods of heaven, assembling all,To their own glorious council hall Advance in shining train.So, resting on that lovely hill,Near the fair lily-covered rill, The happy prince forgot,Surrounded by the birds and deer,The woe, the longing, and the fear That gloom the exile's lot.
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Footnotes161:1 'We have often looked on that green hill: it is the holiest spot of that sect of the Hindu faith who devote themselves to this incarnation, of Vishnu. The whole neighbourhood is Ráma's country. Every headland has some legend, every cavern is connected with his name; some of the wild fruits are still called Stáphal, being the reputed food of the exile. Thousands and thousands annually visit the spot, and round the hill is a raised foot-path, on which the devotee, with naked feet, treads full of pious awe.' Calcutta Review, Vol. XXIII.
CANTO LVII.:
SUMANTRA'S RETURN.When Ráma reached the southern bank,King Guha's heart with sorrow sank:
He with Sumantra talked, and spentWith his deep sorrow, homeward went.Sumantra, as the king decreed,Yoked to the car each noble steed,And to Ayodhyá's city spedWith his sad heart disquieted.On lake and brook and scented groveHis glances fell, as on he drove:City and village came in viewAs o'er the road his coursers flew.On the third day the charioteer,When now the hour of night was near,Came to Ayodhyá's gate, and foundThe city all in sorrow drowned.To him, in spirit quite cast down,Forsaken seemed the silent town,And by the rush of grief oppressedHe pondered in his mournful breast:'Is all Ayodhyá burnt with grief,Steed, elephant, and man, and chief?Does her loved Ráma's exile soAfflict her with the fires of woe?'Thus as he mused, his steeds flew fast,And swiftly through the gate he passed.On drove the charioteer, and thenIn hundreds, yea in thousands, menRan to the car from every side,And, 'Ráma, where is Ráma?' cried.Sumantra said: 'My chariot boreThe duteous prince to Gangá's shore;I left him there at his behest,And homeward to Ayodhyá pressed.'Soon as the anxious people knewThat he was o'er the flood they drewDeep sighs, and crying, Ráma! allWailed, and big tears began to fall.He heard the mournful words prolonged,As here and there the people thronged:'Woe, woe for us, forlorn, undone,No more to look on Raghu's son!His like again we ne'er shall see,Of heart so true, of hand so free,In gifts, in gatherings for debate,When marriage pomps we celebrate,What should we do? What earthly thingCan rest, or hope, or pleasure bring?'
Thus the sad town, which Ráma keptAs a kind father, wailed and wept.Each mansion, as the car went by,Sent forth a loud and bitter cry,As to the window every dame,Mourning for banished Ráma, came.As his sad eyes with tears o'erflowed,He sped along the royal roadTo Das'aratha's high abode.There leaping down his car he stayed;Within the gates his way he made;Through seven broad courts he onward hiedWhere people thronged on every side.From each high terrace, wild with woeThe royal Indies flocked below:
He heard them talk in gentle tone,As each for Ráma made her moan:'What will the charioteer replyTo Queen Kaus'alyá's eager cry?With Ráma from the gates he went;Homeward alone, his steps are bent.Hard is a life with woe distressed!But difficult to win is rest,If, when her son is banished, stillShe lives beneath her load of ill.'
Such was the speech Sumantra heardFrom them whom grief unfeigned had stirred.As fires of anguish burnt him through,Swift to the monarch's hall he drew,Past the eighth court; there met his sight,The sovereign in his palace bright,Still weeping for his son, forlorn,Pale, faint, and all with sorrow worn.As there he sat, Sumantra bentAnd did obeisance reverent,And to the king repeated o'erThe message he from Ráma bore.The monarch heard, and well-nigh brakeHis heart, but yet no word he spake:Fainting to earth he fell, and dumb,By grief for Ráma overcome,Rang through the hall a startling cry,And women's arms were tossed on high,When, with his senses all astray,Upon the ground the monarch lay.Kaus'alyá with Sumitrás aid,Raised from the ground her lord dismayed:'Sire, of high fate, she cried, O, whyDost thou no single word replyTo Ráma's messenger who bringsNews of his painful wanderings?The great injustice done, art thouShame-stricken for thy conduct now?Rise up, and do thy part: bestowComfort and help in this our woe.Speak freely, King; dismiss thy fear,For Queen Kaikeyí stands not near,Afraid of whom thou wouldst not seekTidings of Ráma: freely speak.'
When the sad queen had ended so,She sank, insatiate in her woe,And prostrate lay upon the ground,While her faint voice by sobs was drowned.When all the ladies in despairSaw Queen Kaus'alyá wailing there,And the poor king oppressed with pain,They flocked around and wept again.
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Footnotes162:1 Deities of a particular class in which five or ten are enumerated. They are worshipped particularly at the funeral obsequies in honour of deceased progenitors
He with Sumantra talked, and spentWith his deep sorrow, homeward went.Sumantra, as the king decreed,Yoked to the car each noble steed,And to Ayodhyá's city spedWith his sad heart disquieted.On lake and brook and scented groveHis glances fell, as on he drove:City and village came in viewAs o'er the road his coursers flew.On the third day the charioteer,When now the hour of night was near,Came to Ayodhyá's gate, and foundThe city all in sorrow drowned.To him, in spirit quite cast down,Forsaken seemed the silent town,And by the rush of grief oppressedHe pondered in his mournful breast:'Is all Ayodhyá burnt with grief,Steed, elephant, and man, and chief?Does her loved Ráma's exile soAfflict her with the fires of woe?'Thus as he mused, his steeds flew fast,And swiftly through the gate he passed.On drove the charioteer, and thenIn hundreds, yea in thousands, menRan to the car from every side,And, 'Ráma, where is Ráma?' cried.Sumantra said: 'My chariot boreThe duteous prince to Gangá's shore;I left him there at his behest,And homeward to Ayodhyá pressed.'Soon as the anxious people knewThat he was o'er the flood they drewDeep sighs, and crying, Ráma! allWailed, and big tears began to fall.He heard the mournful words prolonged,As here and there the people thronged:'Woe, woe for us, forlorn, undone,No more to look on Raghu's son!His like again we ne'er shall see,Of heart so true, of hand so free,In gifts, in gatherings for debate,When marriage pomps we celebrate,What should we do? What earthly thingCan rest, or hope, or pleasure bring?'
Thus the sad town, which Ráma keptAs a kind father, wailed and wept.Each mansion, as the car went by,Sent forth a loud and bitter cry,As to the window every dame,Mourning for banished Ráma, came.As his sad eyes with tears o'erflowed,He sped along the royal roadTo Das'aratha's high abode.There leaping down his car he stayed;Within the gates his way he made;Through seven broad courts he onward hiedWhere people thronged on every side.From each high terrace, wild with woeThe royal Indies flocked below:
He heard them talk in gentle tone,As each for Ráma made her moan:'What will the charioteer replyTo Queen Kaus'alyá's eager cry?With Ráma from the gates he went;Homeward alone, his steps are bent.Hard is a life with woe distressed!But difficult to win is rest,If, when her son is banished, stillShe lives beneath her load of ill.'
Such was the speech Sumantra heardFrom them whom grief unfeigned had stirred.As fires of anguish burnt him through,Swift to the monarch's hall he drew,Past the eighth court; there met his sight,The sovereign in his palace bright,Still weeping for his son, forlorn,Pale, faint, and all with sorrow worn.As there he sat, Sumantra bentAnd did obeisance reverent,And to the king repeated o'erThe message he from Ráma bore.The monarch heard, and well-nigh brakeHis heart, but yet no word he spake:Fainting to earth he fell, and dumb,By grief for Ráma overcome,Rang through the hall a startling cry,And women's arms were tossed on high,When, with his senses all astray,Upon the ground the monarch lay.Kaus'alyá with Sumitrás aid,Raised from the ground her lord dismayed:'Sire, of high fate, she cried, O, whyDost thou no single word replyTo Ráma's messenger who bringsNews of his painful wanderings?The great injustice done, art thouShame-stricken for thy conduct now?Rise up, and do thy part: bestowComfort and help in this our woe.Speak freely, King; dismiss thy fear,For Queen Kaikeyí stands not near,Afraid of whom thou wouldst not seekTidings of Ráma: freely speak.'
When the sad queen had ended so,She sank, insatiate in her woe,And prostrate lay upon the ground,While her faint voice by sobs was drowned.When all the ladies in despairSaw Queen Kaus'alyá wailing there,And the poor king oppressed with pain,They flocked around and wept again.
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Footnotes162:1 Deities of a particular class in which five or ten are enumerated. They are worshipped particularly at the funeral obsequies in honour of deceased progenitors
CANTO LVIII.:
RÁMA'S MESSAGE.The king a while had senseless lain,When care brought memory back again.Then straight he called, the news to hearOf Ráma, for the charioteer,With reverent hand to hand appliedHe waited by the old man's side,Whose mind with anguish was distraughtLike a great elephant newly caught.The king with bitter pain distressedThe faithful charioteer addressed,Who, sad of mien, with flooded eye,And dust upon his limbs, stood by:'Where will be Ráma's dwelling now,At some tree's foot, beneath the bough;Ah, what will be the exile's food.Bred up with kind solicitude?Can he, long lapped in pleasant rest,Unmeet for pain, by pain oppressed,Son of earth's king, his sad night spendEarth-couched, as one that has no friend?Behind him, when abroad he sped,Cars, elephant, and foot were led:Then how shall Ráma dwell afarIn the wild woods where no men are?How, tell me, did the princes there,With Sítá good and soft and fair,Alighting from the chariot, treadThe forest wilds around them spread?A happy lot is thine, I ween,Whose eyes my two dear sons have seenSeeking on foot the forest shade,Like the bright Twins to view displayed,The heavenly As'vins, when they seekThe woods that hang 'neath Mandar's peak,What words, Sumantra, quickly tell,From Ráma, Lakshman. Sítá fell?How in the wood did Ráma eat?What was his bed, and what his seat?Full answer to my questions give,For I on thy replies shall live,As with the saints Yayáti heldSweet converse, from the skies expelled.'
Urged by the lord of men to speak,Whose sobbing voice came faint and weak,Thus he, while tears his utterance broke,In answer to the monarch spoke;'Hear then the words that Ráma said,Resolved in duty's path to tread.Joining his hands, his head he bent,And gave this message, reverent:'Sumantra, to my father go,Whose lofty mind all people know:Bow down before him, as is meet,And in my stead salute his feet.Then to the queen my mother bend,And give the greeting that I send:Ne'er may her steps from duty err,And may it still be well with her.And add this word: 'O Queen, pursueThy vows with faithful heart and true;And ever at due season turnWhere holy fires of worship burn.And, lady, on our lord bestow
Such honour as to Gods we owe.Be kind to every queen: let prideAnd thought of self be cast aside.In the king's fond opinion raiseKaikeyí, by respect and praise.Let the young Bharat ever beLoved, honoured as the king by thee:Thy king-ward duty ne'er forget:High over all are monarchs set.'
And Bharat, too, for me address:Pray that all health his life may bless.Let every royal lady share,As justice bids, his love and care.Say to the strong-armed chief who bringsJoy to Iksváku's line of kings:'As ruling prince thy care be shownOf him, our sire, who holds the throne.Stricken in years he feels their weight;But leave him in his royal state.As regent heir content thee still,Submissive to thy father's will.'Ráma again his charge renewed,As the hot flood his cheek bedewed:'Hold as thine own my mother dearWho drops for me the longing tear.'Then Lakshman, with his soul on fire,Spake breathing fast these words of ire:'Say, for what sin, for what offenceWas royal Ráma banished thence?He is the cause, the king: poor slaveTo the light charge Kaikeyí gave.Let right or wrong the motive be,The author of our woe is he.Whether the exile were decreedThrough foolish faith or guilty greed,For promises or empire, stillThe king has wrought a grievous ill.Grant that the Lord of all saw fitTo prompt the deed and sanction it,In Ráma's life no cause I seeFor which the king should bid him flee.His blinded eye refused to scanThe guilt and folly of the plan,And from the weakness of the kingHere and hereafter woe shall spring.No more my sire: the ties that usedTo bind me to the king are loosed.My brother Ráma, Raghu's son.To me is lord, friend, sire in one.The love of men how can he win,Deserting, by the cruel sin,Their joy, whose heart is swift to feelA pleasure in the people's weal?Shall he whose mandate could expelThe virtuous Ráma, loved so well,To whom his subjects' fond hearts cling--Shall he in spite of them be king?'
But Janak's child, my lord, stood by,And oft the votaress heaved a sigh.She seemed with dull and wandering sense,Beneath a spirit's influence.The noble princess, pained with woeWhich till that hour she ne'er could know,Tears in her heavy trouble shed,But not a word to me she said.She raised her face which grief had driedAnd tenderly her husband eyed,Gazed on him as he turned to goWhile tear chased tear in rapid flow.'
CANTO LIX:
Urged by the lord of men to speak,Whose sobbing voice came faint and weak,Thus he, while tears his utterance broke,In answer to the monarch spoke;'Hear then the words that Ráma said,Resolved in duty's path to tread.Joining his hands, his head he bent,And gave this message, reverent:'Sumantra, to my father go,Whose lofty mind all people know:Bow down before him, as is meet,And in my stead salute his feet.Then to the queen my mother bend,And give the greeting that I send:Ne'er may her steps from duty err,And may it still be well with her.And add this word: 'O Queen, pursueThy vows with faithful heart and true;And ever at due season turnWhere holy fires of worship burn.And, lady, on our lord bestow
Such honour as to Gods we owe.Be kind to every queen: let prideAnd thought of self be cast aside.In the king's fond opinion raiseKaikeyí, by respect and praise.Let the young Bharat ever beLoved, honoured as the king by thee:Thy king-ward duty ne'er forget:High over all are monarchs set.'
And Bharat, too, for me address:Pray that all health his life may bless.Let every royal lady share,As justice bids, his love and care.Say to the strong-armed chief who bringsJoy to Iksváku's line of kings:'As ruling prince thy care be shownOf him, our sire, who holds the throne.Stricken in years he feels their weight;But leave him in his royal state.As regent heir content thee still,Submissive to thy father's will.'Ráma again his charge renewed,As the hot flood his cheek bedewed:'Hold as thine own my mother dearWho drops for me the longing tear.'Then Lakshman, with his soul on fire,Spake breathing fast these words of ire:'Say, for what sin, for what offenceWas royal Ráma banished thence?He is the cause, the king: poor slaveTo the light charge Kaikeyí gave.Let right or wrong the motive be,The author of our woe is he.Whether the exile were decreedThrough foolish faith or guilty greed,For promises or empire, stillThe king has wrought a grievous ill.Grant that the Lord of all saw fitTo prompt the deed and sanction it,In Ráma's life no cause I seeFor which the king should bid him flee.His blinded eye refused to scanThe guilt and folly of the plan,And from the weakness of the kingHere and hereafter woe shall spring.No more my sire: the ties that usedTo bind me to the king are loosed.My brother Ráma, Raghu's son.To me is lord, friend, sire in one.The love of men how can he win,Deserting, by the cruel sin,Their joy, whose heart is swift to feelA pleasure in the people's weal?Shall he whose mandate could expelThe virtuous Ráma, loved so well,To whom his subjects' fond hearts cling--Shall he in spite of them be king?'
But Janak's child, my lord, stood by,And oft the votaress heaved a sigh.She seemed with dull and wandering sense,Beneath a spirit's influence.The noble princess, pained with woeWhich till that hour she ne'er could know,Tears in her heavy trouble shed,But not a word to me she said.She raised her face which grief had driedAnd tenderly her husband eyed,Gazed on him as he turned to goWhile tear chased tear in rapid flow.'
CANTO LIX:
DAS'ARATHA'S LAMENT.As thus Sumantra, best of peers,Told his sad tale with many tears,The monarch cried, 'I pray thee, tellAt length again what there befell.'Sumantra, at the king's behest,Striving with sobs he scarce repressed,His trembling voice at last controlled,And thus his further tidings told:'Their locks in votive coils they wound,Their coats of bark upon them bound,To Gangá's farther shore they went,Thence to Prayág their steps were bent.I saw that Lakshman walked aheadTo guard the path the two should tread.So far I saw, no more could learn,Forced by the hero to return.Retracing slow my homeward course,Scarce could I move each stubborn horse:Shedding hot tears of grief he stoodWhen Ráma turned him to the wood. 1As the two princes parted thenceI raised my hands in reverence,Mounted my ready car, and boreThe grief that stung me to the core.With Guha all that day I stayed,Still by the earnest hope delayedThat Ráma, ere the time should end,Some message from the wood might send.Thy realms, great Monarch, mourn the blow,And sympathize with Ráma's woe.
Each withering tree hangs low his head,And shoot, and bud, and flower are dead.Dried are the floods that wont to fillThe lake, the river, and the rill.Drear is each grove and garden now,Dry every blossom on the bough.Each beast is still, no serpents crawl:A lethargy of woe on all.The very wood is silent: crushedWith grief for Ráma, all is hushed.Fair blossoms from the water born,Gay garlands that the earth adorn,And every fruit that gleams like gold,Have lost the scent that charmed of old.Empty is every grove I see,Or birds sit pensive on the tree.Where'er I look, its beauty o'er,The pleasance charms not as before.I drove through fair Ayodhyá's street:None flew with joy the car to meet.They saw that Ráma was not there,And turned them sighing in despair.The people in the royal wayWept tears of bitter grief, when theyBeheld me coming, from afar,No Ráma with me in the car.From palace roof and turret highEach woman bent her eager eye;She looked for Ráma, but in vain;Gazed on the car and shrieked for pain.Their long clear eyes with sorrow drownedThey, when this common grief was found,Looked each on other, friend and foe,In sympathy of levelling woe:No shade of difference betweenFoe, friend, or neutral, there was seen.Without a joy, her bosom rentWith grief for Ráma's banishment,Ayodhyá like the queen appearsWho mourns her son with many tears.' He ended: and the king, distressed.With sobbing voice that lord addressed:'Ah me, by false Kaikeyí led,Of evil race, to evil bred,I took no counsel of the sage,Nor sought advice from skill and age,I asked no lord his aid to lend,I called no citizen or friend.Rash was my deed, bereft of senseSlave to a woman's influence.Surely, my lord, a woe so greatPalls on us by the will of Fate;It lays the house of Raghu low,For Destiny will have it so.I pray thee, if I e'er have doneAn act to please thee, yea, but one,Fly, fly, and Ráma homeward lead:My life, departing, counsels speed.Fly, ere the power to bid I lack,Fly to the wood: bring Ráma back.I cannot live for even oneShort hour bereaved of my son.But ah, the prince, whose arms are strong,Has journeyed far: the way is long:Me, me upon the chariot place,And let me look on Ráma's face.Ah me, my son, mine eldest-born,Where roams he in the wood forlorn,The wielder of the mighty bow,Whose shoulders like the lion's show?O, ere the light of life be dim,Take me to Sítá and to him.O Ráma, Lakshman, and O thouDear Sítá, constant to thy vow,Beloved ones, you cannot knowThat I am dying of my woe.' The king to bitter grief a prey,That drove each wandering sense away,Sunk in affliction's sea. too wideTo traverse, in his anguish cried:'Hard, hard to pass, my Queen, this seaOf sorrow raging over me:No Ráma near to soothe mine eye,Plunged in its lowest deeps I lie.Sorrow for Ráma swells the tide,And Sítá's absence makes it wide:My tears its foamy flood distain,Made billowy by my sighs of pain:My cries its roar, the arms I throwAbout me are the fish below,Kaikeyí is the fire that feedsBeneath: my hair the tangled weeds:Its source the tears for Ráma shed:The hump-back's words its monsters dread:The boon I gave the wretch its shore,Till Ráma's banishment be o'er. 1 Ah me, that I should long to set My eager eyes to-day On Raghu's son, and he be yet With Lakshman far away!' Thus he of lofty glory wailed, And sank upon the bed. Beneath the woe his spirit failed, And all his senses fled.
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Footnotes164:1 'So in Homer the horses of Achilles lamented with many bitter tears the death of Patroclus slain by Hector:
"Ἵπποι δ᾽ Αἰακίδαο, μάχης ἀπάνευθεν ἐόντες,Κλᾶιον, ἐπειδὴ πρῶτα πυθέσθην ἡνιόχοιοἘν κονίῃσι πεσόντος ὑφ᾽ Ἕκτορος ἀνδροφόνοιο."
ILIAD. XVII. 426. Ancient poesy frequently associated nature with the joys and sorrows of man.' GORRESIO.
CANTO LX.:
Each withering tree hangs low his head,And shoot, and bud, and flower are dead.Dried are the floods that wont to fillThe lake, the river, and the rill.Drear is each grove and garden now,Dry every blossom on the bough.Each beast is still, no serpents crawl:A lethargy of woe on all.The very wood is silent: crushedWith grief for Ráma, all is hushed.Fair blossoms from the water born,Gay garlands that the earth adorn,And every fruit that gleams like gold,Have lost the scent that charmed of old.Empty is every grove I see,Or birds sit pensive on the tree.Where'er I look, its beauty o'er,The pleasance charms not as before.I drove through fair Ayodhyá's street:None flew with joy the car to meet.They saw that Ráma was not there,And turned them sighing in despair.The people in the royal wayWept tears of bitter grief, when theyBeheld me coming, from afar,No Ráma with me in the car.From palace roof and turret highEach woman bent her eager eye;She looked for Ráma, but in vain;Gazed on the car and shrieked for pain.Their long clear eyes with sorrow drownedThey, when this common grief was found,Looked each on other, friend and foe,In sympathy of levelling woe:No shade of difference betweenFoe, friend, or neutral, there was seen.Without a joy, her bosom rentWith grief for Ráma's banishment,Ayodhyá like the queen appearsWho mourns her son with many tears.' He ended: and the king, distressed.With sobbing voice that lord addressed:'Ah me, by false Kaikeyí led,Of evil race, to evil bred,I took no counsel of the sage,Nor sought advice from skill and age,I asked no lord his aid to lend,I called no citizen or friend.Rash was my deed, bereft of senseSlave to a woman's influence.Surely, my lord, a woe so greatPalls on us by the will of Fate;It lays the house of Raghu low,For Destiny will have it so.I pray thee, if I e'er have doneAn act to please thee, yea, but one,Fly, fly, and Ráma homeward lead:My life, departing, counsels speed.Fly, ere the power to bid I lack,Fly to the wood: bring Ráma back.I cannot live for even oneShort hour bereaved of my son.But ah, the prince, whose arms are strong,Has journeyed far: the way is long:Me, me upon the chariot place,And let me look on Ráma's face.Ah me, my son, mine eldest-born,Where roams he in the wood forlorn,The wielder of the mighty bow,Whose shoulders like the lion's show?O, ere the light of life be dim,Take me to Sítá and to him.O Ráma, Lakshman, and O thouDear Sítá, constant to thy vow,Beloved ones, you cannot knowThat I am dying of my woe.' The king to bitter grief a prey,That drove each wandering sense away,Sunk in affliction's sea. too wideTo traverse, in his anguish cried:'Hard, hard to pass, my Queen, this seaOf sorrow raging over me:No Ráma near to soothe mine eye,Plunged in its lowest deeps I lie.Sorrow for Ráma swells the tide,And Sítá's absence makes it wide:My tears its foamy flood distain,Made billowy by my sighs of pain:My cries its roar, the arms I throwAbout me are the fish below,Kaikeyí is the fire that feedsBeneath: my hair the tangled weeds:Its source the tears for Ráma shed:The hump-back's words its monsters dread:The boon I gave the wretch its shore,Till Ráma's banishment be o'er. 1 Ah me, that I should long to set My eager eyes to-day On Raghu's son, and he be yet With Lakshman far away!' Thus he of lofty glory wailed, And sank upon the bed. Beneath the woe his spirit failed, And all his senses fled.
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Footnotes164:1 'So in Homer the horses of Achilles lamented with many bitter tears the death of Patroclus slain by Hector:
"Ἵπποι δ᾽ Αἰακίδαο, μάχης ἀπάνευθεν ἐόντες,Κλᾶιον, ἐπειδὴ πρῶτα πυθέσθην ἡνιόχοιοἘν κονίῃσι πεσόντος ὑφ᾽ Ἕκτορος ἀνδροφόνοιο."
ILIAD. XVII. 426. Ancient poesy frequently associated nature with the joys and sorrows of man.' GORRESIO.
CANTO LX.:
KAUS'ALYÁ CONSOLED.As Queen Kaus'alyá, trembling much,As blighted by a goblin's touch,Still lying prostrate, half awokeTo consciousness,'twas thus she spoke:'Bear me away, Sumantra, far,Where Ráma, Sítá, Lakshman are.Bereft of them I have no powerTo linger on a single hour.
Again, I pray, thy steps retrace,And me in Dandak forest place,For after them I needs must go,Or sink to Yama's realms below His utterance choked by tears that rolledDown from their fountains uncontrolled,With suppliant hands the charioteerThus spake, the lady's heart to cheer:'Dismiss thy grief, despair, and dreadThat fills thy soul, of sorrow bred,For pain and anguish thrown aside.Will Rama in the wood abide.And Lakshman, with unfailing careWill guard the feet of Rama there,Earning, with governed sense, the prizeThat waits on duty in the skies.And Sita in the wild as wellAs in her own dear home will dwell;To Rama all her heart she gives,And free from doubt and terror lives.No faintest sign of care or woeThe features of the lady show:Rethinks Videha's pride was madeFor exile in the forest shade.E'en as of old she used to roveDelighted in the city's grove,Thus, even thus she joys to treadThe woodlands uninhabited.Like a young child, her face as fairAs the young moon, she wanders there.What though in lonely woods she strayStill Rama is her joy and stay:All his the heart no sorrow bends,Her very life on him depends.For, if her lord she might not see,Ayodhy'a like the wood would be.She bids him, as she roams, declareThe names of towns and hamlets there,Marks various trees that meet her eye,And many a brook that hurries by,And Janak's daughter seems homeWhen Rama or his brother spanksAnd gives the answer that she seeks.This, Lady, I remember well,Nor angry words have to tell:Reproaches at Kaikey'i shot,Such, queen, my mind remembers not.'The speech when Sita's wrath was high,Sumantra passed in silence by,That so his pleasant words mightWith sweet report Kaulay'a's ear.Her moonlike beauty suffers notThough winds be rude and suns be hot:The way, the danger, and the toilHer gentle lustre may not soil.Like the red liiy's leafy crownOr as the fair full moon looks down,So the Videhan lady's faceStill shines with undimmished grace.What if the borrowed colours throw
O'er her fine feet no row glow,Still with their natural tints they spreadA lotus glory where they tread.In sportive grace she walks the groundAnd sweet her chiming anklets sound.No jewels clasp the faultless limb:She leaves them all for love of him.If in the woods her gentle eyeA lion sees, or tiger nigh,Or elephant, she fears no illFor Rama's arm supports her still,No longer be their fate deplored,Nor thine, nor that of Kosal's lord,For conduct such as theirs shall buyWide glory that can never die.For casting grief and care away,Delighting in the forest, theyWith joyful spirits, blithe and gay,Set forward on the ancient way Where mighty saints have led:Their highest aim, their dearest careTo keep their father's honour fair,Observing still the oath he sware, They roam, on wild fruit fed.'Thus with persuasive art he triedTo turn her from her grief aside, By soothing fancies won.But still she gave her sorrow vent:'Ah Rama,' was her shrill lament,'My love, my son, my son!'
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Footnotes165:1 The lines containing this heap of forced metaphors are marked as spurious by Schlegel.
CANTO LXI.:
Again, I pray, thy steps retrace,And me in Dandak forest place,For after them I needs must go,Or sink to Yama's realms below His utterance choked by tears that rolledDown from their fountains uncontrolled,With suppliant hands the charioteerThus spake, the lady's heart to cheer:'Dismiss thy grief, despair, and dreadThat fills thy soul, of sorrow bred,For pain and anguish thrown aside.Will Rama in the wood abide.And Lakshman, with unfailing careWill guard the feet of Rama there,Earning, with governed sense, the prizeThat waits on duty in the skies.And Sita in the wild as wellAs in her own dear home will dwell;To Rama all her heart she gives,And free from doubt and terror lives.No faintest sign of care or woeThe features of the lady show:Rethinks Videha's pride was madeFor exile in the forest shade.E'en as of old she used to roveDelighted in the city's grove,Thus, even thus she joys to treadThe woodlands uninhabited.Like a young child, her face as fairAs the young moon, she wanders there.What though in lonely woods she strayStill Rama is her joy and stay:All his the heart no sorrow bends,Her very life on him depends.For, if her lord she might not see,Ayodhy'a like the wood would be.She bids him, as she roams, declareThe names of towns and hamlets there,Marks various trees that meet her eye,And many a brook that hurries by,And Janak's daughter seems homeWhen Rama or his brother spanksAnd gives the answer that she seeks.This, Lady, I remember well,Nor angry words have to tell:Reproaches at Kaikey'i shot,Such, queen, my mind remembers not.'The speech when Sita's wrath was high,Sumantra passed in silence by,That so his pleasant words mightWith sweet report Kaulay'a's ear.Her moonlike beauty suffers notThough winds be rude and suns be hot:The way, the danger, and the toilHer gentle lustre may not soil.Like the red liiy's leafy crownOr as the fair full moon looks down,So the Videhan lady's faceStill shines with undimmished grace.What if the borrowed colours throw
O'er her fine feet no row glow,Still with their natural tints they spreadA lotus glory where they tread.In sportive grace she walks the groundAnd sweet her chiming anklets sound.No jewels clasp the faultless limb:She leaves them all for love of him.If in the woods her gentle eyeA lion sees, or tiger nigh,Or elephant, she fears no illFor Rama's arm supports her still,No longer be their fate deplored,Nor thine, nor that of Kosal's lord,For conduct such as theirs shall buyWide glory that can never die.For casting grief and care away,Delighting in the forest, theyWith joyful spirits, blithe and gay,Set forward on the ancient way Where mighty saints have led:Their highest aim, their dearest careTo keep their father's honour fair,Observing still the oath he sware, They roam, on wild fruit fed.'Thus with persuasive art he triedTo turn her from her grief aside, By soothing fancies won.But still she gave her sorrow vent:'Ah Rama,' was her shrill lament,'My love, my son, my son!'
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Footnotes165:1 The lines containing this heap of forced metaphors are marked as spurious by Schlegel.
CANTO LXI.:
KAUSLAYA'S LAMENT.When, best of all who give delight,her rama wandered for from sight,Kausaaly'a weeping, sore distressed,The king her husband thus addressed;'Thy name, O Monarch, far and wid?Through the three worlds is glorified:Yet Rama has the praying mind. *His speed is true, his heart is kind.How will thy sons, good lord, sustainWith Sita, all their care and pain?How in the wild endure distress,Nursed in the lap of tenderness?How will the dear Videhan bearThe heat and cold when wandering thereBred in the bliss of princely state,So young and fair find delicate?The large-eyed lady, wont to eatThe best of finely seasoned meat--How will she now her life sustainWith woodland fare of self-sown grain?Will she, with joys encompassed long,Who loved the music and the song,In the wild wood endure to hearThe ravening lion's voice of fear?Where sleeps my strong-armed hero, where
Like Lord Mahendra's standard, fair?Where is, by Lakshman's side, his bed,His club-like arm beneath his head?When shall I see his flower-like eyes,And face that with the lotus vies,Feel his sweet lily breath, and viewHis glorious hair and lotus hue?The heart within my breast, I feel,Is adamant or hardest steel,Or, in a thousand fragments split,The loss of him had shattered it,When those I love, who should be blest,Are wandering in the wood distressed,Condemned their wretched lives to leadIn exile, by thy ruthless deed.If, when the fourteen years are past,Ráma reseeks his home at last,I think not Bharat will consentTo yield the wealth and government.At funeral feasts some mourners dealTo kith and kin the solemn meal,And having duly fed them allSome Bráhmans to the banquet call.The best of Bráhmans, good and wise,The tardy summoning despise,And, equal to the Gods, disdainCups, e'en of Amrit, thus to drain,Nay e'en when Brámans first have fed,They loathe the meal for others spread,And from the leavings turn with scorn,As bulls avoid a fractured horn.So Ráma, sovereign lord of men,Will spurn the sullied kingship then:He born the eldest and the best,His younger's leavings will detest,Turning from tasted food away,As tigers scorn another's prey.The sacred post is used not twice,Nor elements, in sacrifice.But once the sacred grass is spread,But once with oil the flame is fed:So Ráma's pride will ne'er receiveThe royal power which others leave,Like wine when tasteless dregs are leftOr rites of Soma juice bereft,Be sure the pride of Raghu's raceWill never stoop to such disgrace:Ths lordly lion will not bearThat man should beard him in his lair.Were all the worlds against him rangedHis dauntless soul were still unchanged:He, dutiful, in duty strong,Would purge the impious world from wrong.Could not the hero, brave and bold,The archer, with his shafts of gold,Burn up the very seas, as doomWill in the end all life consume!Of lion's might, eyed like a bull,A prince so brave and beautiful,Thou hast with wicked hate pursued,Like sea-born tribes who eat their brood.If thou, O Monarch, hadst but knownThe duty all the Twice-born own,If the good laws had touched thy mind,Which sages in the Scriptures find,Thou ne'er hadst driven forth to pineThis brave, this duteous son of thine.First on her lord the wife depends,Next on her son and last on friends:These three supports in life has she,And not a fourth for her may be.Thy heart, O King, I have not won;In wild woods roams my banished son;Far are my friends: ah, hapless me,Quite ruined and destroyed by thee.'
CANTO LXII.:
Like Lord Mahendra's standard, fair?Where is, by Lakshman's side, his bed,His club-like arm beneath his head?When shall I see his flower-like eyes,And face that with the lotus vies,Feel his sweet lily breath, and viewHis glorious hair and lotus hue?The heart within my breast, I feel,Is adamant or hardest steel,Or, in a thousand fragments split,The loss of him had shattered it,When those I love, who should be blest,Are wandering in the wood distressed,Condemned their wretched lives to leadIn exile, by thy ruthless deed.If, when the fourteen years are past,Ráma reseeks his home at last,I think not Bharat will consentTo yield the wealth and government.At funeral feasts some mourners dealTo kith and kin the solemn meal,And having duly fed them allSome Bráhmans to the banquet call.The best of Bráhmans, good and wise,The tardy summoning despise,And, equal to the Gods, disdainCups, e'en of Amrit, thus to drain,Nay e'en when Brámans first have fed,They loathe the meal for others spread,And from the leavings turn with scorn,As bulls avoid a fractured horn.So Ráma, sovereign lord of men,Will spurn the sullied kingship then:He born the eldest and the best,His younger's leavings will detest,Turning from tasted food away,As tigers scorn another's prey.The sacred post is used not twice,Nor elements, in sacrifice.But once the sacred grass is spread,But once with oil the flame is fed:So Ráma's pride will ne'er receiveThe royal power which others leave,Like wine when tasteless dregs are leftOr rites of Soma juice bereft,Be sure the pride of Raghu's raceWill never stoop to such disgrace:Ths lordly lion will not bearThat man should beard him in his lair.Were all the worlds against him rangedHis dauntless soul were still unchanged:He, dutiful, in duty strong,Would purge the impious world from wrong.Could not the hero, brave and bold,The archer, with his shafts of gold,Burn up the very seas, as doomWill in the end all life consume!Of lion's might, eyed like a bull,A prince so brave and beautiful,Thou hast with wicked hate pursued,Like sea-born tribes who eat their brood.If thou, O Monarch, hadst but knownThe duty all the Twice-born own,If the good laws had touched thy mind,Which sages in the Scriptures find,Thou ne'er hadst driven forth to pineThis brave, this duteous son of thine.First on her lord the wife depends,Next on her son and last on friends:These three supports in life has she,And not a fourth for her may be.Thy heart, O King, I have not won;In wild woods roams my banished son;Far are my friends: ah, hapless me,Quite ruined and destroyed by thee.'
CANTO LXII.:
DAS'ARATHA CONSOLED.The queen's stern speech the monarch heard,As rage and grief her bosom stirred,And by his anguish sore oppressedReflected in his secret breast.Fainting and sad, with woe distraught.He wandered in a maze of thought;At length the queller of the foeGrew conscious, rallying from his woe.When consciousness returned anewLong burning sighs the monarch drew.Again immersed in thought he eyedKaus'alyá standing by his side.Back to his pondering soul was broughtThe direful deed his hand had wrought,When, guiltless of the wrong intent,His arrow at a sound was sent.Distracted by his memory's sting,And mourning for his son, the kingTo two consuming griefs a prey,A miserable victim lay.The double woe devoured him fast,As on the ground his eyes he cast,Joined suppliant hands, her heart to touch.And spake in the answer, trembling much:'Kaus'alyá, for thy grace I sue,Joining these hands as suppliants do.Thou e'en to foes hast ever beenA gentle, good, and loving queen.Her lord, with noble virtues graced,Her lord, by lack of all debased,Is still a God in woman's eyes,If duty's law she hold and prize.Thou, who the right hast aye pursued,Life's changes and its chances viewed,Shouldst never launch, though sorrow-stirred,At me distressed, one bitter word.' She listened, as with sorrow faintHe murmured forth his sad complaint:Her brimming eyes with tears ran o'er,As spouts the new fallen water pour;
His suppliant hands, with fear dismayedShe gently clasped in hers, and laid,Like a fair lotus, on her head,And faltering in her trouble said:'Forgive me; at thy feet I lie,With low bent head to thee I cry.By thee besought, thy guilty damePardon from thee can scarcely claim.She merits not the name of wifeWho cherishes perpetual strifeWith her own husband good and wise,Her lord both here and in the skies.I know the claims of duty well,I know thy lips the truth must tell.All the wild words I rashly spoke,Forth from my heart, through anguish, broke;For sorrow bends the stoutest soul,And cancels Scripture's high control.Yea, sorrow's might all else o'erthrowsThe strongest and the worst of foes.'Tis thus with all: we keenly feel,Yet bear the blows our foemen deal,But when a slender woe assailsThe manifest spirit bends and quails.The fifth long night has now begunSince the wild woods have lodged my son:To me whose joy is drowned in tears,Each day a dreary year appears.While all my thoughts on him are setGrief at my heart swells wilder yet:With doubled might thus Ocean ravesWhen rushing floods increase his waves.' As from Kaus'alyá reasoning wellThe gentle words of wisdom fell,The sun went down with dying flame,And darkness o'er the landscape came.His lady's soothing words in partRelieved the monarch's aching heart,Who, wearied out by all his woes,Yielded to sleep and took repose.
CANTO LXIII.:
His suppliant hands, with fear dismayedShe gently clasped in hers, and laid,Like a fair lotus, on her head,And faltering in her trouble said:'Forgive me; at thy feet I lie,With low bent head to thee I cry.By thee besought, thy guilty damePardon from thee can scarcely claim.She merits not the name of wifeWho cherishes perpetual strifeWith her own husband good and wise,Her lord both here and in the skies.I know the claims of duty well,I know thy lips the truth must tell.All the wild words I rashly spoke,Forth from my heart, through anguish, broke;For sorrow bends the stoutest soul,And cancels Scripture's high control.Yea, sorrow's might all else o'erthrowsThe strongest and the worst of foes.'Tis thus with all: we keenly feel,Yet bear the blows our foemen deal,But when a slender woe assailsThe manifest spirit bends and quails.The fifth long night has now begunSince the wild woods have lodged my son:To me whose joy is drowned in tears,Each day a dreary year appears.While all my thoughts on him are setGrief at my heart swells wilder yet:With doubled might thus Ocean ravesWhen rushing floods increase his waves.' As from Kaus'alyá reasoning wellThe gentle words of wisdom fell,The sun went down with dying flame,And darkness o'er the landscape came.His lady's soothing words in partRelieved the monarch's aching heart,Who, wearied out by all his woes,Yielded to sleep and took repose.
CANTO LXIII.:
THE HERMIT'S SON.But soon by rankling grief oppressedThe king awoke from troubled rest,And his sad heart was tried againWith anxious thought where all was pain.Ráma and Lakshman's mournful fateOn Das'aratha, good and greatAs Indra, pressed with crushing weight,As when the demon's might assailsThe Sun-God, and his glory pales.Ere yet the sixth long night was spent.Since Rama to the woods was sent,The king at midnight sadly thoughtOf the old crime his hand had wrought,And thus to Queen Kausalyá criedWho still for Ráma moaned and sighed:'If thou art waking, give, I pray,Attention to the words I say.Whate'er the conduct men pursue,Be good or ill the acts they do,Be sure, dear Queen, they find the meedOf wicked or of virtuous deed.A heedless child we call the manWhose feeble judgment fails to scanThe weight of what his hands may do,Its lightness, fault, and merit too.One lays the Mango garden low,And bids the gay Palás'as grow:Longing for fruit their bloom he sees,But grieves when fruit should bend the trees.Cut by my hand, my fruit-trees fell,Palás'a trees I watered well.My hopes this foolish heart deceive,And for my banished son I grieve.Kaus'alyá, in my youthful primeArmed with my bow I wrought the crime,Proud of my skill, my name renowned,An archer prince who shoots by sound.The deed this hand unwitting wroughtThis misery on my soul has brought,As children seize the deadly cupAnd blindly drink the poison up.As the unreasoning man may beCharmed with the gay Palás'a tree,I unaware have reaped the fruitOf joying at a sound to shoot.As regent prince I shared the throne.Thou wast a maid to me unknown.The early Rain-time duly came,And strengthened love's delicious flame.The sun had drained the earth that layAll glowing 'neath the summer day,And to the gloomy clime had fledWhere dwell the spirits of the dead. 1The fervent heat that moment ceased.The darkening clouds each hour increasedAnd frogs and deer and peacocks allRejoiced to see the torrents fall.Their bright wings heavy from the shower,The birds, new-bathed, had scarce the powerTo reach the branches of the treesWhose high tops swayed beneath the breeze.The fallen rain, and falling still,Hung like a sheet on every hill,Till, with glad deer, each flooded steepShowed glorious as the mighty deep.The torrents down its wooded sidePoured, some unstained, while others dyed
Gold, ashy, silver, ochre, boreThe tints of every mountain ore.In that sweet time, when all are pleased,My arrows and my bow I seized;Keen for the chase, in field or grove,Down Sarjú's bank my car I drove.I longed with all my lawless willSome elephant by night to kill,Some buffalo that came to drink,Or tiger, at the river's brink.When all around was dark and still,I heard a pitcher slowly fill,And thought, obscured in deepest shade,An elephant the sound had made.I drew a shaft that glittered bright,Fell as a serpent's venomed bite;I longed to lay the monster dead,And to the mark my arrow sped.Then in the calm of morning, clearA hermit's wailing smote my ear:'Ah me, ah me,' he cried, and sank,Pierced by my arrow, on the bank.E'en as the weapon smote his side,I heard a human voice that cried:'Why lights this shaft on one like me,A poor and harmless devotee?I came by night to fill my jarFrom this lone stream where no men are.Ah, who this deadly shaft has shotWhom have I wronged, and knew it not?Why should a boy so harmless feelThe vengeance of the winged steel?Or who should slay the guiltless sonOf hermit sire who injures none,Who dwells retired in woods, and thereSupports his life on woodland fare?Ah me, ah me, why am I slain,What booty will the murderer gain?In hermit coils I bind my hair,Coats made of skin and bark I wear.Ah, who the cruel deed can praiseWhose idle toil no fruit repays,As impious as the wretch's crimeWho dares his master's bed to climb?Nor does my parting spirit grieveBut for the life which thus I leave:Alas, my mother and my sire,--I mourn for them when I expire.Ah me, that aged, helpless pair,Long cherished by my watchful care,How will it be with them this dayWhen to the Five 1 I pass away?Pierced by the self-same dust we die,Mine aged mother, sire, and I.Whose mighty hand, whose lawless mindHas all the three to death consigned!'
When I, by love of duty stirred,That touching lamentation heard,
Pierced to the heart by sudden woe,I threw to earth my shafts and bow.My heart was full of grief and dreadAs swiftly to the place I sped,Where, by my arrow wounded sore,A hermit lay on Sarjú's shore.His matted hair was all unbound.His pitcher empty on the ground,And by the fatal arrow pained,He lay with dust and gore distained.I stood confounded and amazed:His dying eyes to mine he raised,And spoke this speech in accents stern,As though his light my soul would burn:'How have I wronged thee, King, that IStruck by thy mortal arrow die?The wood my home, this jar I brought,And water for my parents sought.This one keen shaft that strikes me throughSlays sire and aged mother too.Feeble and blind, in helpless pain,They wait for me and thirst in vain.They with parched lips their pangs must bear,And hope will end in blank despair.Ah me, there seems no fruit in storeFor holy zeal or Scripture lore,Or else ere now my sire would knowThat his dear son is lying low.Yet, if my mournful fate he knew,What could his arm so feeble do?The tree, firm-rooted, ne'er may beThe guardian of a stricken tree.Haste to my father, and relateWhile time allows, my sudden fate,Lest he consume thee as the fireBurns up the forest, in his ire.This little path, O King, pursue:My father's cot thou soon wilt view.There sue for pardon to the sage.Lest he should curse thee in his rage.First from the wound extract the dartThat kills me with its deadly smart,E'en as the flushed impetuous tideEats through the river's yielding side.'
I feared to draw the arrow out,And pondered thus in painful doubt:'Now tortured by the shaft he lies,But if I draw it forth he dies.'Helpless I stood, faint, sorely grieved:The hermit's son my thought perceived;As one o'ercome by direst painHe scarce had strength to speak again.With writhing limb and struggling breath,Nearer and ever nearer deathMy senses undisturbed remain,And fortitude has conquered pain:Now from one tear thy soul be freed.Thy hand has made a Bráhman bleed.Let not this pang thy bosom wring:No twice-born youth am I, O King,
For of a Vais'ya sire I came,Who wedded with a S'udrá dame.
These words the boy could scarcely say,As tortured by the shaft he lay.Twisting his helpless body round,Then trembling senseless on the ground.Then from his bleeding side I drewThe rankling shaft that pierced him through.With death's last fear my face he eyed,And, rich in store of penance, died.'
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Footnotes168:1 The southern region is the abode of Yama the Indian Pluto, and of departed spirits.
169:1 The five elements of which the body consists, and to which it returns.
CANTO LXIV.:
Gold, ashy, silver, ochre, boreThe tints of every mountain ore.In that sweet time, when all are pleased,My arrows and my bow I seized;Keen for the chase, in field or grove,Down Sarjú's bank my car I drove.I longed with all my lawless willSome elephant by night to kill,Some buffalo that came to drink,Or tiger, at the river's brink.When all around was dark and still,I heard a pitcher slowly fill,And thought, obscured in deepest shade,An elephant the sound had made.I drew a shaft that glittered bright,Fell as a serpent's venomed bite;I longed to lay the monster dead,And to the mark my arrow sped.Then in the calm of morning, clearA hermit's wailing smote my ear:'Ah me, ah me,' he cried, and sank,Pierced by my arrow, on the bank.E'en as the weapon smote his side,I heard a human voice that cried:'Why lights this shaft on one like me,A poor and harmless devotee?I came by night to fill my jarFrom this lone stream where no men are.Ah, who this deadly shaft has shotWhom have I wronged, and knew it not?Why should a boy so harmless feelThe vengeance of the winged steel?Or who should slay the guiltless sonOf hermit sire who injures none,Who dwells retired in woods, and thereSupports his life on woodland fare?Ah me, ah me, why am I slain,What booty will the murderer gain?In hermit coils I bind my hair,Coats made of skin and bark I wear.Ah, who the cruel deed can praiseWhose idle toil no fruit repays,As impious as the wretch's crimeWho dares his master's bed to climb?Nor does my parting spirit grieveBut for the life which thus I leave:Alas, my mother and my sire,--I mourn for them when I expire.Ah me, that aged, helpless pair,Long cherished by my watchful care,How will it be with them this dayWhen to the Five 1 I pass away?Pierced by the self-same dust we die,Mine aged mother, sire, and I.Whose mighty hand, whose lawless mindHas all the three to death consigned!'
When I, by love of duty stirred,That touching lamentation heard,
Pierced to the heart by sudden woe,I threw to earth my shafts and bow.My heart was full of grief and dreadAs swiftly to the place I sped,Where, by my arrow wounded sore,A hermit lay on Sarjú's shore.His matted hair was all unbound.His pitcher empty on the ground,And by the fatal arrow pained,He lay with dust and gore distained.I stood confounded and amazed:His dying eyes to mine he raised,And spoke this speech in accents stern,As though his light my soul would burn:'How have I wronged thee, King, that IStruck by thy mortal arrow die?The wood my home, this jar I brought,And water for my parents sought.This one keen shaft that strikes me throughSlays sire and aged mother too.Feeble and blind, in helpless pain,They wait for me and thirst in vain.They with parched lips their pangs must bear,And hope will end in blank despair.Ah me, there seems no fruit in storeFor holy zeal or Scripture lore,Or else ere now my sire would knowThat his dear son is lying low.Yet, if my mournful fate he knew,What could his arm so feeble do?The tree, firm-rooted, ne'er may beThe guardian of a stricken tree.Haste to my father, and relateWhile time allows, my sudden fate,Lest he consume thee as the fireBurns up the forest, in his ire.This little path, O King, pursue:My father's cot thou soon wilt view.There sue for pardon to the sage.Lest he should curse thee in his rage.First from the wound extract the dartThat kills me with its deadly smart,E'en as the flushed impetuous tideEats through the river's yielding side.'
I feared to draw the arrow out,And pondered thus in painful doubt:'Now tortured by the shaft he lies,But if I draw it forth he dies.'Helpless I stood, faint, sorely grieved:The hermit's son my thought perceived;As one o'ercome by direst painHe scarce had strength to speak again.With writhing limb and struggling breath,Nearer and ever nearer deathMy senses undisturbed remain,And fortitude has conquered pain:Now from one tear thy soul be freed.Thy hand has made a Bráhman bleed.Let not this pang thy bosom wring:No twice-born youth am I, O King,
For of a Vais'ya sire I came,Who wedded with a S'udrá dame.
These words the boy could scarcely say,As tortured by the shaft he lay.Twisting his helpless body round,Then trembling senseless on the ground.Then from his bleeding side I drewThe rankling shaft that pierced him through.With death's last fear my face he eyed,And, rich in store of penance, died.'
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Footnotes168:1 The southern region is the abode of Yama the Indian Pluto, and of departed spirits.
169:1 The five elements of which the body consists, and to which it returns.
CANTO LXIV.:
DAS'ARATHA'S DEATH.The son of Raghu to his queenThus far described the unequalled scene,And, as the hermit's death he rued,The mournful story thus renewed:'The deed my heedless hand had wroughtPerplexed me with remorseful thought,And all alone I pondered stillHow kindly deed might salve the ill.The pitcher from the ground I took,And filled it from that fairest brook,Then, by the path the hermit showed,I reached his sainted sire's abode.I came, I saw: the aged pair,Feeble and blind, were sitting there,Like birds with clipped wings, side by side,With none their helpless steps to guide.Their idle hours the twain beguiledWith talk of their returning child,And still the cheering hope enjoyed,The hope, alas, by me destroyed.Then spoke the sage, as drawing nearThe sound of footsteps reached his ear:'Dear son, the water quickly bring;Why hast thou made this tarrying?Thy mother thirsts, and thou hast played,And bathing in the brook delayed.She weeps because thou camest not;Haste, O my son, within the cot.If she or I have ever doneA thing to pain thee, dearest son,Dismiss the memory from thy mind:A hermit thou, be good and kind.On thee our lives, our all, depend:Thou art thy friendless parents' friend.The eyeless couple's eye art thou:Then why so cold and silent now?'
With sobbing voice and bosom wrungI scarce could move my faltering tongue,And with my spirit filled with dreadI looked upon the sage, and said,While mind, and sense, and nerve I strungTo fortify my trembling tongue,And let the aged hermit knowHis son's sad fate, my fear and woe:'High-minded Saint, not I thy child,A warrior, Das'aratha styled.I bear a grievous sorrow's weightBorn of a deed which good men hate.My lord, I came to Sarj?s shore,And in my hand my bow I boreFor elephant or beast of chaseThat seeks by night his drinking place,There from the stream a sound I heard,As if a jar the water stirred,An elephant, I thought, was nigh:I aimed, and let an arrow fly.Swift to the place I made my way,And there a wounded hermit layGasping for breath: the deadly dartStood quivering in his youthful heart.I hastened near with pain oppressed;He faltered out his last behest.And quickly, as he bade me do,From his pierced side the shaft I drew.I drew the arrow from the rent,And up to heaven the hermit went,Lamenting, as from earth he passed,His aged parents to the last.Thus, unaware, the deed was done:My hand, unwitting killed thy son.For what remains, O, let me winThy pardon for my heedless sin.'
As the sad tale of sin I toldThe hermit's grief was uncontrolled.With flooded eyes, and sorrow-faint,Thus spake the venerable saint:I stood with hand to hand applied,And listened as he spoke and sighed:'If thou, O King, hadst left unsaidBy thine own tongue this tale of dread,Thy head for hideous guilt accursedHad in a thousand pieces burst.A hermits blood by warrior spilt,In such a case, with purposed guilt,Down from his high estate would bringEven the thunder's mighty KingAnd he a dart who (illegible) sendsAgainst the devotee who spendsHis pure life by the law of heaven--That sinner's head will split in seven.Thou livest, for thy heedless handHas wrought a deed thou hast not planned,Else thou and all of Raghu's lineHad perished by this act of thine.Now guide us,' thus the hermit said,'Forth to the spot where he lies dead.Guide us, this day, O Monarch, weFor the last time our son would see:The hermit dress of skin he woreRent from his limbs distained with gore;His senseless body lying slain,His soul in Yama's dark domain.'
Alone the mourning pair I led,Their souls with woe disquieted,And let the dame and hermit lay
Their hands upon the breathless clay.The father touched his son, and pressedThe body to his aged breast;Then falling by the dead boy's side,He lifted up his voice, and cried:
'Hast thou no word, my child, to say?No greeting for thy sire to-day?Why art thou angry, darling? whyWilt thou upon the cold earth lie?If thou, my son, art wroth with me,Here, duteous child, thy mother see.What! no embrace for me, my son?No word of tender love--not one?Whose gentle voice, so soft and clear,Soothing my spirit, shall I hearWhen evening comes, with accents sweetScripture or ancient lore repeat?Who, having fed the sacred fire,And duly bathed, as texts require.Will cheer, when evening rites are done,The father mourning for his son?Who will the daily meal provideFor the poor wretch who lacks a guide,Feeding the helpless with the bestBerries and roots, like some dear guest?How can these hands subsistence findFor thy poor mother, old and blind?The wretched votaress how sustain,Who mourns her child in ceaseless pain?Stay yet a while, my darling, stay,Nor fly to Yama's realm to-day.To-morrow I thy sire and sheWho bare thee, child, will go with, thee. 1Then when I look on Yama, ITo great Vivasvat's son will cry:'Hear, King of justice, and restoreOur child to feed us, I implore.Lord of the world, of mighty fame,Faithful and just, admit my claim,And grant this single boon to freeMy soul from fear, to one like me.'Because, my son, untouched by stain,By sinful hands thou fallest slainWin, through thy truth, the sphere where thoseWho die by hostile darts repose.Seek the blest home prepared for allThe valiant who in battle fall,Who face the foe and scorn to yield,In glory dying on the field.Rise to the heaven where DhundhumarAnd Nahush, mighty heroes, are,Where Janamejay and the blestDilípa, Sagar, S'alvya, rest:
Home of all virtuous spirits, earnedBy fervent rites and Scripture learned:By those whose sacred fires have glowed.Whose liberal hands have fields bestowed:By givers of a thousand cows,By lovers of one faithful spouse:By those who serve their masters well.And cast away this earthly shell.None of my race can ever knowThe bitter pain of lasting woe.But doomed to that dire fate is heWhose guilty hand has slaughtered thee.
Thus with wild tears the aged saintMade many a time his piteous plaint,Then with his wife began to shedThe funeral water for the dead.But in a shape celestial clad,Won by the merits of the lad.The spirit from the body brakeAnd to the mourning parents spake:'A glorious home in realms aboveRewards my care and filial love.You, honoured parents, soon shall bePartakers of that home with me.'
He spake, and swiftly mounting high,With Indra near him, to the skyOn a bright car, with flame that glowed,Sublime the duteous hermit rode.
The father, with his consort's aid.The funeral rites with water paid,And thus his speech to me renewedWho stood in suppliant attitude:'Slay me this day, O, slay me, King,For death no longer has a sting.Childless am I: thy dart has doneTo death my dear, my only son.Because the boy I loved so wellSlain by thy heedless arrow fell,My curse upon thy soul shall pressWith bitter woe and heaviness.I mourn a slaughtered child, and thouShalt feel the pangs that kill me now.Bereft and suffering e'en as I,So shalt thou mourn thy son, and die.Thy hand unwitting dealt the blowThat laid a holy hermit low,And distant, therefore, is the timeWhen thou shalt suffer for the crime.The hour shall come when, crushed by woesLike these I feel, thy life shall close:A debt to pay in after daysLike his the priestly fee who pays."
This curse on me the hermit laid,Nor yet his tears and groans were stayed.Then on the pire their bodies castThe pair; and straight to heaven they passed.As in sad thought I pondered longBack to my memory came the wrongDone in wild youth, O lady dear.When 'twas my boast to shoot by ear.
The deed has borne the fruit, which nowHangs ripe upon the bending bough:Thus dainty meats the palate please,And lure the weak to swift disease.Now on my soul return with dreadThe words that noble hermit said,That I for a dear son should grieve,And of the woe my life should leave.'
Thus spake the king with many a tear;Then to his wife he cried in fear:'I cannot see thee, love; but layThy gentle hand in mine, I pray.Ah me, if Ráma touched me thus,If once, returning home to us,He bade me wealth and lordship give,Then, so I think, my soul would live.Unlike myself, unjust and meanHave been my ways with him, my Queen,But like himself is all that he,My noble son, has done to me.His son, though far from right he stray,What prudent sire would cast away?What banished son would check his ire,Nor speak reproaches of his sire?I see thee not: these eyes grow blind,And memory quits my troubled mind.Angels of Death are round me: theySummon my soul with speed away.What woe more grievous can there be,That, when from light and life I flee,I may not, ere I part, beholdMy virtuous Ráma, true and bold?Grief for my son, the brave and true,Whose joy it was my will to do,Dries up my breath, as summer driesThe last drop in the pool that lies.Not men, but blessed Gods, are theyWhose eyes shall see his face that day;See him, when fourteen years are past,With earrings decked return at last.My fainting mind forgets to think:Low and more low my spirits sink.Each from its seat, my senses steal:I cannot hear, or taste, or feel.This lethargy of soul o'ercomesEach organ, and its function numbs:So when the oil begins to fail,The torch's rays grow faint and pale.This flood of woe caused by this handDestroys me helpless and unmanned,Resistless as the floods that boreA passage through the river shore.Ah Raghu's son, ah mighty-armed,By whom my cares were soothed and charmed,My son in whom I took delight,Now vanished from thy father's sight!Kaus'alyá, ah, I cannot see;Sumitrá, gentle devotee!Alas, Kaikeyí, cruel dame,My bitter foe, thy father's shame!'
Kaus'alyá and Sumitrá keptTheir watch beside him as he wept.And Das'aratha moaned and sighed,And grieving for his darling died.
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Footnotes171:1 So dying York cries over the body of Suffolk:
'Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk! My soul shall thine keep company to heaven. Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast.' King Henry V, Act IV, 6
CANTO LXV.:
With sobbing voice and bosom wrungI scarce could move my faltering tongue,And with my spirit filled with dreadI looked upon the sage, and said,While mind, and sense, and nerve I strungTo fortify my trembling tongue,And let the aged hermit knowHis son's sad fate, my fear and woe:'High-minded Saint, not I thy child,A warrior, Das'aratha styled.I bear a grievous sorrow's weightBorn of a deed which good men hate.My lord, I came to Sarj?s shore,And in my hand my bow I boreFor elephant or beast of chaseThat seeks by night his drinking place,There from the stream a sound I heard,As if a jar the water stirred,An elephant, I thought, was nigh:I aimed, and let an arrow fly.Swift to the place I made my way,And there a wounded hermit layGasping for breath: the deadly dartStood quivering in his youthful heart.I hastened near with pain oppressed;He faltered out his last behest.And quickly, as he bade me do,From his pierced side the shaft I drew.I drew the arrow from the rent,And up to heaven the hermit went,Lamenting, as from earth he passed,His aged parents to the last.Thus, unaware, the deed was done:My hand, unwitting killed thy son.For what remains, O, let me winThy pardon for my heedless sin.'
As the sad tale of sin I toldThe hermit's grief was uncontrolled.With flooded eyes, and sorrow-faint,Thus spake the venerable saint:I stood with hand to hand applied,And listened as he spoke and sighed:'If thou, O King, hadst left unsaidBy thine own tongue this tale of dread,Thy head for hideous guilt accursedHad in a thousand pieces burst.A hermits blood by warrior spilt,In such a case, with purposed guilt,Down from his high estate would bringEven the thunder's mighty KingAnd he a dart who (illegible) sendsAgainst the devotee who spendsHis pure life by the law of heaven--That sinner's head will split in seven.Thou livest, for thy heedless handHas wrought a deed thou hast not planned,Else thou and all of Raghu's lineHad perished by this act of thine.Now guide us,' thus the hermit said,'Forth to the spot where he lies dead.Guide us, this day, O Monarch, weFor the last time our son would see:The hermit dress of skin he woreRent from his limbs distained with gore;His senseless body lying slain,His soul in Yama's dark domain.'
Alone the mourning pair I led,Their souls with woe disquieted,And let the dame and hermit lay
Their hands upon the breathless clay.The father touched his son, and pressedThe body to his aged breast;Then falling by the dead boy's side,He lifted up his voice, and cried:
'Hast thou no word, my child, to say?No greeting for thy sire to-day?Why art thou angry, darling? whyWilt thou upon the cold earth lie?If thou, my son, art wroth with me,Here, duteous child, thy mother see.What! no embrace for me, my son?No word of tender love--not one?Whose gentle voice, so soft and clear,Soothing my spirit, shall I hearWhen evening comes, with accents sweetScripture or ancient lore repeat?Who, having fed the sacred fire,And duly bathed, as texts require.Will cheer, when evening rites are done,The father mourning for his son?Who will the daily meal provideFor the poor wretch who lacks a guide,Feeding the helpless with the bestBerries and roots, like some dear guest?How can these hands subsistence findFor thy poor mother, old and blind?The wretched votaress how sustain,Who mourns her child in ceaseless pain?Stay yet a while, my darling, stay,Nor fly to Yama's realm to-day.To-morrow I thy sire and sheWho bare thee, child, will go with, thee. 1Then when I look on Yama, ITo great Vivasvat's son will cry:'Hear, King of justice, and restoreOur child to feed us, I implore.Lord of the world, of mighty fame,Faithful and just, admit my claim,And grant this single boon to freeMy soul from fear, to one like me.'Because, my son, untouched by stain,By sinful hands thou fallest slainWin, through thy truth, the sphere where thoseWho die by hostile darts repose.Seek the blest home prepared for allThe valiant who in battle fall,Who face the foe and scorn to yield,In glory dying on the field.Rise to the heaven where DhundhumarAnd Nahush, mighty heroes, are,Where Janamejay and the blestDilípa, Sagar, S'alvya, rest:
Home of all virtuous spirits, earnedBy fervent rites and Scripture learned:By those whose sacred fires have glowed.Whose liberal hands have fields bestowed:By givers of a thousand cows,By lovers of one faithful spouse:By those who serve their masters well.And cast away this earthly shell.None of my race can ever knowThe bitter pain of lasting woe.But doomed to that dire fate is heWhose guilty hand has slaughtered thee.
Thus with wild tears the aged saintMade many a time his piteous plaint,Then with his wife began to shedThe funeral water for the dead.But in a shape celestial clad,Won by the merits of the lad.The spirit from the body brakeAnd to the mourning parents spake:'A glorious home in realms aboveRewards my care and filial love.You, honoured parents, soon shall bePartakers of that home with me.'
He spake, and swiftly mounting high,With Indra near him, to the skyOn a bright car, with flame that glowed,Sublime the duteous hermit rode.
The father, with his consort's aid.The funeral rites with water paid,And thus his speech to me renewedWho stood in suppliant attitude:'Slay me this day, O, slay me, King,For death no longer has a sting.Childless am I: thy dart has doneTo death my dear, my only son.Because the boy I loved so wellSlain by thy heedless arrow fell,My curse upon thy soul shall pressWith bitter woe and heaviness.I mourn a slaughtered child, and thouShalt feel the pangs that kill me now.Bereft and suffering e'en as I,So shalt thou mourn thy son, and die.Thy hand unwitting dealt the blowThat laid a holy hermit low,And distant, therefore, is the timeWhen thou shalt suffer for the crime.The hour shall come when, crushed by woesLike these I feel, thy life shall close:A debt to pay in after daysLike his the priestly fee who pays."
This curse on me the hermit laid,Nor yet his tears and groans were stayed.Then on the pire their bodies castThe pair; and straight to heaven they passed.As in sad thought I pondered longBack to my memory came the wrongDone in wild youth, O lady dear.When 'twas my boast to shoot by ear.
The deed has borne the fruit, which nowHangs ripe upon the bending bough:Thus dainty meats the palate please,And lure the weak to swift disease.Now on my soul return with dreadThe words that noble hermit said,That I for a dear son should grieve,And of the woe my life should leave.'
Thus spake the king with many a tear;Then to his wife he cried in fear:'I cannot see thee, love; but layThy gentle hand in mine, I pray.Ah me, if Ráma touched me thus,If once, returning home to us,He bade me wealth and lordship give,Then, so I think, my soul would live.Unlike myself, unjust and meanHave been my ways with him, my Queen,But like himself is all that he,My noble son, has done to me.His son, though far from right he stray,What prudent sire would cast away?What banished son would check his ire,Nor speak reproaches of his sire?I see thee not: these eyes grow blind,And memory quits my troubled mind.Angels of Death are round me: theySummon my soul with speed away.What woe more grievous can there be,That, when from light and life I flee,I may not, ere I part, beholdMy virtuous Ráma, true and bold?Grief for my son, the brave and true,Whose joy it was my will to do,Dries up my breath, as summer driesThe last drop in the pool that lies.Not men, but blessed Gods, are theyWhose eyes shall see his face that day;See him, when fourteen years are past,With earrings decked return at last.My fainting mind forgets to think:Low and more low my spirits sink.Each from its seat, my senses steal:I cannot hear, or taste, or feel.This lethargy of soul o'ercomesEach organ, and its function numbs:So when the oil begins to fail,The torch's rays grow faint and pale.This flood of woe caused by this handDestroys me helpless and unmanned,Resistless as the floods that boreA passage through the river shore.Ah Raghu's son, ah mighty-armed,By whom my cares were soothed and charmed,My son in whom I took delight,Now vanished from thy father's sight!Kaus'alyá, ah, I cannot see;Sumitrá, gentle devotee!Alas, Kaikeyí, cruel dame,My bitter foe, thy father's shame!'
Kaus'alyá and Sumitrá keptTheir watch beside him as he wept.And Das'aratha moaned and sighed,And grieving for his darling died.
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Footnotes171:1 So dying York cries over the body of Suffolk:
'Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk! My soul shall thine keep company to heaven. Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast.' King Henry V, Act IV, 6
CANTO LXV.:
THE WOMEN'S LAMENT.And now the night had past away,And brightly dawned another day;The minstrels, trained to play and sing,Flocked to the chamber of the king:Bards, who their gayest raiment wore,And heralds famed for ancient lore:And singers, with their songs of praise,Made music in their several ways.There as they poured their blessings choice.And hailed their king with hand and voice,Their praises with a swelling roarEchoed through court and corridor.Then as the bards his glory sang,From beaten palms loud answer rang,As glad applauders clapped their hands,And told his deeds in distant lands.The swelling concert woke a throngOf sleeping birds to life and song:Some in the branches of the trees,Some caged in halls and galleries.Nor was the soft string music mute;The gentle whisper of the lute,And blessings sung by singers skilledThe palace of the monarch filled.Eunuchs and dames of life unstained,Each in the arts of waiting trained,Drew near attentive as before,And crowded to the chamber door:These skilful when and how to shedThe lustral stream o'er limb and head,Others with golden ewers stoodOf water stained with sandal wood.And many a maid, pure, young, and fair,Her load of early offerings bare,Cups of the flood which all revere,And sacred things, and toilet gear.Each several thing was duly broughtAs rule of old observance taught,And lucky signs on each impressedStamped it the fairest and the best.There anxious, in their long array,All waited till the shine of day:But when the king nor rose nor spoke,Doubt and alarm within them woke.Forthwith the dames, by duty led,Attendants on the monarch's bed,Within the royal chamber pressedTo wake their master from his rest.Skilled in the lore of dreaming, theyFirst touched the bed on which he lay.But none replied; no sound was heard.
Nor hand, nor head, nor body stirred.They trembled, and their dread increased,Fearing his breath of life had ceased,And bending low their heads, they shookLike the tall reeds that fringe the brook,In doubt and terror down they knelt,Looked on his face, his cold hand felt,And then the gloomy truth appearedOf all their hearts had darkly feared.Kaus'alyá and Sumitrá, wornWith weeping for their sons, forlorn,Woke not, but lay in slumber deepAnd still as death's unending sleep.Bowed down by grief, her colour fled,Her wonted lustre dull and dead,Kaus'alyá shone not, like a starObscured behind a cloudy bar.Beside the king's her couch was spread,And next was Queen Sumitrá's bed,Who shone no more with beauty's glow,Her face bedewed with tears of woe.There lapped in sleep each wearied queen,There as in sleep, the king was seen;And swift the troubling thought came o'erTheir spirits that he breathed no more.At once with wailing loud and highThe matrons shrieked a bitter cry,As widowed elephants bewailTheir dead lord in the woody vale.At the loud shriek that round them rang,Kaus'alyá and Sumitrá sprangAwakened from their beds, with eyesWide open in their first surprise.Quick to the monarch's side they came,And saw and touched his lifeless frame;One cry, O husband! forth they sent,And prostrate to the ground they went.The king of Kosal's daughter 1 thereWrithed, with the dust on limb and hairLustreless, as a star might lieHurled downward from the glorious sky.When the king's voice in death was stilled,The women who the chamber filledSaw, like a widow elephant slain,Kaus'alyá prostrate in her pain.Then all the monarch's ladies ledBy Queen Kaikeyí at their head,Poured forth their tears, and weeping so,Sank on the ground, consumed by woe.The cry of grief so long and loudWent up from all the royal crowd,That, doubled by the matron train,It made the palace ring again.Filled with dark fear and eager eyes,Anxiety and wild surmise;Echoing with the cries of griefOf sorrowing friends who mourned their chief,Dejected, pale with deep distress,Hurled from their height of happiness:Such was the look the palace woreWhere lay the king who breathed no more.
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Footnotes173:1 Kausalya, daughter of the king of another Kos'al.
Nor hand, nor head, nor body stirred.They trembled, and their dread increased,Fearing his breath of life had ceased,And bending low their heads, they shookLike the tall reeds that fringe the brook,In doubt and terror down they knelt,Looked on his face, his cold hand felt,And then the gloomy truth appearedOf all their hearts had darkly feared.Kaus'alyá and Sumitrá, wornWith weeping for their sons, forlorn,Woke not, but lay in slumber deepAnd still as death's unending sleep.Bowed down by grief, her colour fled,Her wonted lustre dull and dead,Kaus'alyá shone not, like a starObscured behind a cloudy bar.Beside the king's her couch was spread,And next was Queen Sumitrá's bed,Who shone no more with beauty's glow,Her face bedewed with tears of woe.There lapped in sleep each wearied queen,There as in sleep, the king was seen;And swift the troubling thought came o'erTheir spirits that he breathed no more.At once with wailing loud and highThe matrons shrieked a bitter cry,As widowed elephants bewailTheir dead lord in the woody vale.At the loud shriek that round them rang,Kaus'alyá and Sumitrá sprangAwakened from their beds, with eyesWide open in their first surprise.Quick to the monarch's side they came,And saw and touched his lifeless frame;One cry, O husband! forth they sent,And prostrate to the ground they went.The king of Kosal's daughter 1 thereWrithed, with the dust on limb and hairLustreless, as a star might lieHurled downward from the glorious sky.When the king's voice in death was stilled,The women who the chamber filledSaw, like a widow elephant slain,Kaus'alyá prostrate in her pain.Then all the monarch's ladies ledBy Queen Kaikeyí at their head,Poured forth their tears, and weeping so,Sank on the ground, consumed by woe.The cry of grief so long and loudWent up from all the royal crowd,That, doubled by the matron train,It made the palace ring again.Filled with dark fear and eager eyes,Anxiety and wild surmise;Echoing with the cries of griefOf sorrowing friends who mourned their chief,Dejected, pale with deep distress,Hurled from their height of happiness:Such was the look the palace woreWhere lay the king who breathed no more.
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Footnotes173:1 Kausalya, daughter of the king of another Kos'al.
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