THE EMBALMING.Kaus'alyá's eyes with tears o'erflowed.Weighed down by varied sorrows's load;On her dead lord her gaze she bent,Who lay like fire whose might is spent,Like the great deep with waters dry,Or like the clouded sun on high.Then on her lap she laid his head.And on Kaikeyí looked and said:'Triumphant now enjoy thy reignWithout a thorn thy side to pain.Thou hast pursued thy single aim,And lulled the king, O wicked dame.Far from my sight my Ráma flies,My perished lord has sought the skies.No friend, no hope my life to cheer,I cannot tread the dark path here.Who would forsake her husband, whoThat God to whom her love is due,And wish to live one hour, but sheWhose heart no duty owns, like thee?The ravenous sees no fault: his greedWill e'en on poison blindly feed.Kaikeyí, through a hump-back maid,This royal house in death has laid.King Janak, with his queen, will hearHeart rent like me the tidings drearOf Ráma banished by the king,Urged by her impious counselling.No son has he, his age is great,And sinking with the double weight,He for his darling child will pine,And pierced with woe his life resign.Sprung from Videha's monarch, sheA sad and lovely devotee,Roaming the wood, unmeet for woe,Will toil and trouble undergo.She in the gloomy night with fearThe cries of beast and bird will hear,And trembling in her wild alarmWill cling to Ráma's sheltering arm.Ah, little knows my duteous sonThat I am widowed and undone--My Ráma of the lotus eye,Gone hence, gone hence, alas, to die.Now, as a living wife and true,I, e'en this day, will perish too:Around his form these arms will throw.And to the fire with him will go.'
Clasping her husband's lifeless clayA while the weeping votaress lay,Till chamberlains removed her thence
O'ercome by sorrow's violence.Then in a cask of oil they laidHim who in life the world had swayed,And finished, as the lords desired,All rites for parted souls required.The lords, all-wise, refused to burnThe monarch ere his son's return;So for a while the corpse they setEmbalmed in oil, and waited yet.The women heard: no doubt remained,And wildly for the king they plained.With gushing tears that drowned each eyeWildly they waved their arms on high,And each her mangling nails impressedDeep in her head and knee and breast:'Of Ráma reft,--who ever spakeThe sweetest words the heart to take,Who firmly to the truth would cling,--Why dost thou leave us, mighty King?How can the consorts thou hast leftWidowed, of Raghu's son bereft,Live with our foe Kaikeyí near,The wicked queen we hate and fear?She threw away the king, her spiteDrove Ráma forth and Lakshman's might,And gentle Sítá: how will sheSpare any, whosoe'er it be?'
Oppressed with sorrow, tear-distained,The royal women thus complained.Like night when not a star appears,Like a sad widow drowned in tears,Ayodhyá's city, dark and dim,Reft of her lord was sad for him.When thus for woe the king to heaven had fled, And still on earth his lovely wives remained.With dying light the sun to rest had sped, And night triumphant o'er the landscape reigned.
CANTO LXVII.:
Clasping her husband's lifeless clayA while the weeping votaress lay,Till chamberlains removed her thence
O'ercome by sorrow's violence.Then in a cask of oil they laidHim who in life the world had swayed,And finished, as the lords desired,All rites for parted souls required.The lords, all-wise, refused to burnThe monarch ere his son's return;So for a while the corpse they setEmbalmed in oil, and waited yet.The women heard: no doubt remained,And wildly for the king they plained.With gushing tears that drowned each eyeWildly they waved their arms on high,And each her mangling nails impressedDeep in her head and knee and breast:'Of Ráma reft,--who ever spakeThe sweetest words the heart to take,Who firmly to the truth would cling,--Why dost thou leave us, mighty King?How can the consorts thou hast leftWidowed, of Raghu's son bereft,Live with our foe Kaikeyí near,The wicked queen we hate and fear?She threw away the king, her spiteDrove Ráma forth and Lakshman's might,And gentle Sítá: how will sheSpare any, whosoe'er it be?'
Oppressed with sorrow, tear-distained,The royal women thus complained.Like night when not a star appears,Like a sad widow drowned in tears,Ayodhyá's city, dark and dim,Reft of her lord was sad for him.When thus for woe the king to heaven had fled, And still on earth his lovely wives remained.With dying light the sun to rest had sped, And night triumphant o'er the landscape reigned.
CANTO LXVII.:
THE PRAISE OF KINGS.That night of sorrow passed away,And rose again the God of Day.Then all the twice-born peers of stateTogether met for high debate.Jáválí, lord of mighty fame.And Gautam, and Kátyáyan came,And Márkandeya's reverend age,And Vámadeva, glorious sage:Sprung from Mudgalya's seed the one,The other ancient Kas'yap's son.With lesser lords these Bráhmans eachSpoke in his turn his several speech,And turning to Vas'ishtha, bestOf household priests him thus addressed:The night of bitter woe has past,Which seemed a hundred years to last,Our king, in sorrow for his son,Reunion with the Five has won.His soul is where the blessed are,While Ráma roams in woods afar,And Lakshman, bright in glorious deeds,Goes where his well-loved brother leads.And Bharat and S'atrughna, theyWho smite their foes in battle fray,Far in the realm of Kekaya stay,Where their maternal grandsire's careKeeps Rájagriha's city fair.Let one of old Ikshváku's raceObtain this day the sovereign's place,Or havoc and destruction straightOur kingless land will devastate.In kingless lands no thunder's voice,No lightning wreaths the heart rejoice,Nor does Parjanya's heavenly rainDescend upon the burning plain.Where none is king, the sower's handCasts not the seed upon the land;The son against the father strives.And husbands fail to rule their wives.In kingless realms no princes callTheir friends to meet in crowded hall;No joyful citizens resortTo garden trim or sacred court.In kingless realms no Twice-born careTo sacrifice with text and prayer,Nor Bráhmans, who their vows maintain,The great solemnities ordain.The joys of happier days have ceased:No gathering, festival, or feastTogether calls the merry throngDelighted with the play and song.In kingless lands it ne'er is wellWith sons of trade who buy and sell:No men who pleasant tales repeatDelight the crowd with stories sweet.In kingless realms we ne'er beholdYoung maidens decked with gems and gold,Flock to the gardens blithe and gayTo spend their evening hours in play.No lover in the flying carRides with his love to woods afar.In kingless lands no wealthy swainWho keeps the herd and reaps the grain,Lies sleeping, blest with ample store,Securely near his open door.Upon the royal roads we seeNo tusked elephant roaming free,Of three-score years, whose head and neckSweet tinkling bells of silver deck.We hear no more the glad applauseWhen his strong bow each rival draws,No clap of hands, no eager criesThat cheer each martial exercise.In kingless realms no merchant bandsWho travel forth to distant lands,With precious wares their wagons load.
And fear no danger on the road,No sage secure in self-control,Brooding on God with mind and soul,In lonely wanderings finds his homeWhere'er at eve his feet may roam.In kingless realms no man is sureHe holds his life and wealth secure.In kingless lands no warriors smiteThe foeman's host in glorious fight.In kingless lands the wise no more.Well trained in Scripture's holy lore.In shady groves and gardens meetTo argue in their calm retreat.No longer, in religious fear,Do they who pious vows revere,Bring dainty cates and wreaths of flowersAs offerings to the heavenly powers.No longer, bright as trees in spring,Shine forth the children of the kingResplendent in the people's eyesWith aloe wood and sandal dyes.A brook where water once has been,A grove where grass no more is green,Kine with no herdsman's guiding hand--So wretched is a kingless land.The car its waving banner rears,Banner of fire the smoke appears:Our king, the banner of our pride,A God with Gods is glorified.In kingless lands no law is known,And none may call his wealth his own,Each preys on each from hour to hour,As fish the weaker fish devour.Then fearless, atheists overleapThe bounds of right the godly keep,And when no royal powers restrain,Pre?inence and lordship gain.As in the frame of man the eyeKeeps watch and ward, a careful spy,The monarch in his wide domainsProtects the truth, the right maintains.He is the right, the truth is he,Their hopes in him the well-born see.On him his people's lives depend,Mother is he, and sire, nnd friend.The world were veiled in blinding night,And none could see or know aright,Ruled there no king in any stateThe good and ill to separate.We will obey thy word and willAs if our king were living still:As keeps his bounds the faithful sea,So we observe thy high decree.O best of Brámans, first in place, Our kingless land lies desolate:Some scion of Ikshváku's race Do thou as monarch consecrate.'
CANTO LXVIII.:
And fear no danger on the road,No sage secure in self-control,Brooding on God with mind and soul,In lonely wanderings finds his homeWhere'er at eve his feet may roam.In kingless realms no man is sureHe holds his life and wealth secure.In kingless lands no warriors smiteThe foeman's host in glorious fight.In kingless lands the wise no more.Well trained in Scripture's holy lore.In shady groves and gardens meetTo argue in their calm retreat.No longer, in religious fear,Do they who pious vows revere,Bring dainty cates and wreaths of flowersAs offerings to the heavenly powers.No longer, bright as trees in spring,Shine forth the children of the kingResplendent in the people's eyesWith aloe wood and sandal dyes.A brook where water once has been,A grove where grass no more is green,Kine with no herdsman's guiding hand--So wretched is a kingless land.The car its waving banner rears,Banner of fire the smoke appears:Our king, the banner of our pride,A God with Gods is glorified.In kingless lands no law is known,And none may call his wealth his own,Each preys on each from hour to hour,As fish the weaker fish devour.Then fearless, atheists overleapThe bounds of right the godly keep,And when no royal powers restrain,Pre?inence and lordship gain.As in the frame of man the eyeKeeps watch and ward, a careful spy,The monarch in his wide domainsProtects the truth, the right maintains.He is the right, the truth is he,Their hopes in him the well-born see.On him his people's lives depend,Mother is he, and sire, nnd friend.The world were veiled in blinding night,And none could see or know aright,Ruled there no king in any stateThe good and ill to separate.We will obey thy word and willAs if our king were living still:As keeps his bounds the faithful sea,So we observe thy high decree.O best of Brámans, first in place, Our kingless land lies desolate:Some scion of Ikshváku's race Do thou as monarch consecrate.'
CANTO LXVIII.:
THE ENVOYS.Vas'ishtha heard their speech and prayer,And thus addressed the concourse there.Friends, Brámans, counsellors, and allAssembled in the palace hall:'Ye know that Bharat, free from care,Still lives in Rámagriha 1 whereThe father of his mother reigns:S'atrughna by his side remains.Let active envoys, good at need,Thither on fleetest horses speed,To bring the hero youths away:Why waste the time in dull delay?' Quick came from all the glad reply:'Vas'ishtha, let the envoys fly'He heard their speech, and thus renewedHis charge before the multitude:'Nandan, As'ok, Siddhárth, attend,Your ears, Jayanta, Vijay, lend:Be yours, what need requires, to do:I speak these words to all of you.With coursers of the fleetest breedTo Rájagriha's city speed.Then rid your bosoms of distress,And Bharat thus from me address:'The household priest and peers by usSend health to thee and greet thee thus:Come to thy father's home with haste:Thine absent time no longer waste.'But speak no word of Ráma fled,Tell not the prince his sire is dead,Nor to the royal youth the fateThat ruins Raghu's race relate.Go quickly hence, and with you bearFine silken vestures rich and rare.And gems and many a precious thingAs gifts to Bharat and the king.'
With ample stores of food supplied,Bach to his home the envoys hied,Prepared, with steeds of swiftest race,lo Kekaya's land 2 their way to trace.They made all due provision there,And every need arranged with care,Then ordered by Vas'ishtha. theyWent forth with speed upon their way.Then northward of Pralamba, westOf Apartála, on they pressed,Crossing the M'aliní that flowedWith gentle stream athwart the road.They traversed Gangás holy waves
Where she Hastinapura 1 lives,Thence to Panchala 2 westward fastThrough Kurujangal's land 3 they passed.On, on their course the envoys heldBy urgency of task impelled.Quick glancing at each lucid floodAnd sweet lake gay with flower and bud.Beyond, they passed unwearied o'er,Where glad birds fill the flood and shoreOf Saradanda racing fleetWith heavenly water clear and sweet.Thereby a tree celestial growsWhich every boon on prayer bestows:To its blest shade they humbly bent,Then to Kulinga's town they went.Then, having passed the Warrior's Wood,In Abhikala next they stood,O'er sacred Ikshumati 4 came,Their ancient kings' ancestral claim.They saw the learned Brahmans stand,Each drinking from his hollowed hand,And through Bahika 5 journeying stillThey reached at length Sudaman's hill:There Vishnu's footstep turned to see,Vipasa 6 viewed, and Salmali,And many a lake and river met,Tank, pool, and pond, and rivulet.And lions saw, and tigers near,And elephants and herds of deer,And still, by prompt obedience led,Along the ample road they sped.Then when their course so swift and long,Had worn their steeds though fleet and strong,To Girivraja's splendid townThey came by night, and lighted down.
To please their master, and to guard The royal race, the lineal right, The envoys, spent with riding hard,To that fair city came by night. 1b
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Footnotes175:1 Rámagriha, or Girivraja was the capital of As'vapati, Bharat's maternal grand father.
175:2 The Kekayas or Kaikayas in the Punjab appear amongst the chief nations in the war of the Mahábhárata; their king being a kinsman of Krishna.
176:1 Hástinapura was the capital of the kingdom of Kuru, near the modern Delhi.
176:2 "The Panchálas occupied the upper part of the Doab.
176:3 'Kurujángala and its inhabitants are frequently mentioned in the Mahábhárata, as in the Ádi-parv. 3789, 4337, et al.' WILSON'S Vishnu Purána. Vol. II. p. 176. DR. HALL'S Note.
176:4 'The Ὀξύματις of Arrian. See As. Res. Vol XV. p. 420, 421, also Indische Alterthumskunde, Vol. I. p. 602, first footnote.' WILSON'S Vishnu Purána, Vol. I, p 421. DR. HALL'S Edition. The Ikshumatí was a river in Kurukshetra.
176:5 'The Bahíkas are described in the Mahábhárata, Kama Parvan, with some detail, and comprehend the different nations of the Punjab from the Sutlej to the Indus.' WILSON S Vishnu Purana. Vol.l, p. 167.
176:6 The Beas, Hyphsis, or Bibasis.
CANTO LXIX.:
With ample stores of food supplied,Bach to his home the envoys hied,Prepared, with steeds of swiftest race,lo Kekaya's land 2 their way to trace.They made all due provision there,And every need arranged with care,Then ordered by Vas'ishtha. theyWent forth with speed upon their way.Then northward of Pralamba, westOf Apartála, on they pressed,Crossing the M'aliní that flowedWith gentle stream athwart the road.They traversed Gangás holy waves
Where she Hastinapura 1 lives,Thence to Panchala 2 westward fastThrough Kurujangal's land 3 they passed.On, on their course the envoys heldBy urgency of task impelled.Quick glancing at each lucid floodAnd sweet lake gay with flower and bud.Beyond, they passed unwearied o'er,Where glad birds fill the flood and shoreOf Saradanda racing fleetWith heavenly water clear and sweet.Thereby a tree celestial growsWhich every boon on prayer bestows:To its blest shade they humbly bent,Then to Kulinga's town they went.Then, having passed the Warrior's Wood,In Abhikala next they stood,O'er sacred Ikshumati 4 came,Their ancient kings' ancestral claim.They saw the learned Brahmans stand,Each drinking from his hollowed hand,And through Bahika 5 journeying stillThey reached at length Sudaman's hill:There Vishnu's footstep turned to see,Vipasa 6 viewed, and Salmali,And many a lake and river met,Tank, pool, and pond, and rivulet.And lions saw, and tigers near,And elephants and herds of deer,And still, by prompt obedience led,Along the ample road they sped.Then when their course so swift and long,Had worn their steeds though fleet and strong,To Girivraja's splendid townThey came by night, and lighted down.
To please their master, and to guard The royal race, the lineal right, The envoys, spent with riding hard,To that fair city came by night. 1b
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Footnotes175:1 Rámagriha, or Girivraja was the capital of As'vapati, Bharat's maternal grand father.
175:2 The Kekayas or Kaikayas in the Punjab appear amongst the chief nations in the war of the Mahábhárata; their king being a kinsman of Krishna.
176:1 Hástinapura was the capital of the kingdom of Kuru, near the modern Delhi.
176:2 "The Panchálas occupied the upper part of the Doab.
176:3 'Kurujángala and its inhabitants are frequently mentioned in the Mahábhárata, as in the Ádi-parv. 3789, 4337, et al.' WILSON'S Vishnu Purána. Vol. II. p. 176. DR. HALL'S Note.
176:4 'The Ὀξύματις of Arrian. See As. Res. Vol XV. p. 420, 421, also Indische Alterthumskunde, Vol. I. p. 602, first footnote.' WILSON'S Vishnu Purána, Vol. I, p 421. DR. HALL'S Edition. The Ikshumatí was a river in Kurukshetra.
176:5 'The Bahíkas are described in the Mahábhárata, Kama Parvan, with some detail, and comprehend the different nations of the Punjab from the Sutlej to the Indus.' WILSON S Vishnu Purana. Vol.l, p. 167.
176:6 The Beas, Hyphsis, or Bibasis.
CANTO LXIX.:
BHARAT'S DREAM.The night those messengers of stateHad past within the city's gate,In dreams the slumbering Bharat sawA sight that chilled his soul with awe.The dream that dire events foretoldLeft Bharat's heart with horror cold,
And with consuming woes distraught,Upon his aged sire he thought.His dear companions, swift to traceThe signs of anguish on his face,Drew near, his sorrow to expel,And pleasant tales began to tell.Some woke sweet music's cheering sound,And others danced in lively round.With joke and jest they strove to raiseHis spirits, quoting ancient plays;But Bharat still, the lofty-souled,Deaf to sweet tales his fellows told,Unmoved by music, dance, and jest,Sat silent, by his woe oppressed,To him, begirt by comrades near,Thus spoke the friend he held most dear:'Why ringed around by friends, art thouSo silent and so mournful now?''Hear thou,' thus Bharat made reply,'What chills my heart and dims mine eye,I dreamt I saw the king my sireSink headlong in a lake of mireDown from a mountain high in air,His body soiled, and loose his hair.Upon the miry lake he seemedTo lie and welter, as I dreamed;With hollowed hands full many a draughtOf oil he took, and loudly laughed.With head cast down I saw him makeA meal on sesamum and cake;The oil from every member dripped,And in its clammy flood he dipped.The ocean's bed was bare and dry,The moon had fallen from the sky,And all the world lay still and dead,With whelming darkness overspread.The earth was rent and opened wide,The leafy trees were scorched, and died;I saw the seated mountains split.And wreaths of rising smoke emit.The stately beast the monarch rodeHis long tusks rent and splintered showed;And flames that quenched and cold hadlainBlazed forth with kindled light again.I looked, and many a handsome dame,Arrayed in brown and sable cameAnd bore about the monarch, dressed,On iron stool, in sable vest.And then the king, of virtuous mind,A blood-red wreath around him twined,Forth on an ass-drawn chariot sped,As southward still he bent his head.Then, crimson-clad, a dame appearedWho at the monarch laughed and jeered;And a she-monster, dire to view,Her hand upon his body threw.Such is the dream I dreamt by night,Which chills me yet with wild affright:Either the king or Ráma, IOr Lakshman now must surely die.For when an ass-drawn chariot seemsTo bear away a man in dreams,Be sure above his funeral pyreThe smoke soon rears its cloudy spire.This makes my spirit low and weak.My tongue is slow and both to speak:My lips and throat are dry for dread,And all my soul disquieted.My lips, relaxed, can hardly speak,And chilling dread has changed my cheekI blame myself in aimless fears,And still no cause of blame appears,I dwell upon this dream of ill Whose changing scenes I viewed, And on the startling horror still My troubled thoughts will brood. Still to my soul these terrors cling, Reluctant to depart, And the strange vision of the king Still weighs upon my heart.'
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Footnotes176:1b It would be lost labour to attempt to verify all the towns and streams mentioned in Cantos LXVIII and LXXII. Professor Wilson observes (Vishnu Purána, p. 139. Dr. Hall's Edition) 'States, and tribes, and cities have disappeared, even from recollection; and some of the natural features of the country, especially the rivers, have undergone a total alteration.
Notwithstanding these impediments, however, we should be able to identify at least mountains and rivers, to a much greater extent than is now practicable, if our maps were not so miserably defective in their nomenclature. None of our surveyors or geographers have been oriental scholars. It may be doubted if any of them have been conversant with the spoken language of the country. They have, consequently, put down names at random, according to their own inaccurate appreciation of sounds carelessly, vulgarly, and corruptly uttered; and their maps of India are crowded with appellations which bear no similitude whatever either to past or present denominations. "We need not wonder that we cannot discover Sanskrit names in English maps, when, in the immediate vicinity of Calcutta, Barnagore represents Barahanagar, Dakshineswar is metamorphosed into Duckinsore, Ulubaria into Willoughbury.......There is scarcely a name in our Indian maps that does not afford proof of extreme indifference to accuracy in nomenclature, and of an incorrectness in estimating sounds, which is, in some degree, perhaps, a national defect.'
For further information regarding the road from Ayodhya to Rajagriha, see Additional Notes.
CANTO LXX.:
And with consuming woes distraught,Upon his aged sire he thought.His dear companions, swift to traceThe signs of anguish on his face,Drew near, his sorrow to expel,And pleasant tales began to tell.Some woke sweet music's cheering sound,And others danced in lively round.With joke and jest they strove to raiseHis spirits, quoting ancient plays;But Bharat still, the lofty-souled,Deaf to sweet tales his fellows told,Unmoved by music, dance, and jest,Sat silent, by his woe oppressed,To him, begirt by comrades near,Thus spoke the friend he held most dear:'Why ringed around by friends, art thouSo silent and so mournful now?''Hear thou,' thus Bharat made reply,'What chills my heart and dims mine eye,I dreamt I saw the king my sireSink headlong in a lake of mireDown from a mountain high in air,His body soiled, and loose his hair.Upon the miry lake he seemedTo lie and welter, as I dreamed;With hollowed hands full many a draughtOf oil he took, and loudly laughed.With head cast down I saw him makeA meal on sesamum and cake;The oil from every member dripped,And in its clammy flood he dipped.The ocean's bed was bare and dry,The moon had fallen from the sky,And all the world lay still and dead,With whelming darkness overspread.The earth was rent and opened wide,The leafy trees were scorched, and died;I saw the seated mountains split.And wreaths of rising smoke emit.The stately beast the monarch rodeHis long tusks rent and splintered showed;And flames that quenched and cold hadlainBlazed forth with kindled light again.I looked, and many a handsome dame,Arrayed in brown and sable cameAnd bore about the monarch, dressed,On iron stool, in sable vest.And then the king, of virtuous mind,A blood-red wreath around him twined,Forth on an ass-drawn chariot sped,As southward still he bent his head.Then, crimson-clad, a dame appearedWho at the monarch laughed and jeered;And a she-monster, dire to view,Her hand upon his body threw.Such is the dream I dreamt by night,Which chills me yet with wild affright:Either the king or Ráma, IOr Lakshman now must surely die.For when an ass-drawn chariot seemsTo bear away a man in dreams,Be sure above his funeral pyreThe smoke soon rears its cloudy spire.This makes my spirit low and weak.My tongue is slow and both to speak:My lips and throat are dry for dread,And all my soul disquieted.My lips, relaxed, can hardly speak,And chilling dread has changed my cheekI blame myself in aimless fears,And still no cause of blame appears,I dwell upon this dream of ill Whose changing scenes I viewed, And on the startling horror still My troubled thoughts will brood. Still to my soul these terrors cling, Reluctant to depart, And the strange vision of the king Still weighs upon my heart.'
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Footnotes176:1b It would be lost labour to attempt to verify all the towns and streams mentioned in Cantos LXVIII and LXXII. Professor Wilson observes (Vishnu Purána, p. 139. Dr. Hall's Edition) 'States, and tribes, and cities have disappeared, even from recollection; and some of the natural features of the country, especially the rivers, have undergone a total alteration.
Notwithstanding these impediments, however, we should be able to identify at least mountains and rivers, to a much greater extent than is now practicable, if our maps were not so miserably defective in their nomenclature. None of our surveyors or geographers have been oriental scholars. It may be doubted if any of them have been conversant with the spoken language of the country. They have, consequently, put down names at random, according to their own inaccurate appreciation of sounds carelessly, vulgarly, and corruptly uttered; and their maps of India are crowded with appellations which bear no similitude whatever either to past or present denominations. "We need not wonder that we cannot discover Sanskrit names in English maps, when, in the immediate vicinity of Calcutta, Barnagore represents Barahanagar, Dakshineswar is metamorphosed into Duckinsore, Ulubaria into Willoughbury.......There is scarcely a name in our Indian maps that does not afford proof of extreme indifference to accuracy in nomenclature, and of an incorrectness in estimating sounds, which is, in some degree, perhaps, a national defect.'
For further information regarding the road from Ayodhya to Rajagriha, see Additional Notes.
CANTO LXX.:
BHARAT'S DEPARTURE.While thus he spoke, the envoys borneOn horses faint and travel-wornHad gained the city fenced aroundWith a deep moat's protecting bound.An audience of the king they gained,And honours from the prince obtained;The monarch's feet they humbly pressed,To Bharat next these words addressed:'The household priest and peers by usSend health to thee and greet thee thus: Come to thy father's house with haste:Thine absent time no longer waste.Receive these vestures rich and rare,These costly gems and jewels fair,And to thy uncle here presentEach precious robe and ornament.These for the king and him suffice--Two hundred millions is their price--These, worth a hundred millions, beReserved, O large-eyed Prince, for thee.' Loving his frieuds with heart and soul,The joyful prince received thie whole,Due honour to the envoys paid,And thus in turn his answer made:'Of Das'aratha tidings tell:Is the old king my father well?Is Ráma, and is Lakshman, heOf the high-soul, from sickness free?And she who walks where duty leads,Kaus'alyá known for gracious deeds,Mother of Ráma, loving spouse,Bound to her lord by well kept vows?And Lakshman's mother too, the dameSumitrá skilled in duty's claim,Who brave S'atrughna also bore,Second in age,--her health declare.
And she, in self-conceit most sage,With selfish heart most prone to rage,My mother, fares she well? has sheSent message or command to me?' Thus Bharat spake, the mighty-souled,And they in brief their tidings told:'All they of whom thou askest dwell,O lion lord, secure and well:Thine all the smiles of fortune are:Make ready; let them yoke the car.' Thus by the royal envoys pressed,Bharat again the band addressed:'I go with you: no long delay,A single hour I bid you stay.'Thus Bharat, son of him who swayedAyodhyás realm, his answer made,And then bespoke, his heart to please,His mother's sire in words like these:'I go to see my father, King,Urged by the envoys' summoning;And when thy soul desires to seeThy grandson, will return to thee.' The king his grandsire kissed his head,And in reply to Bharat said:'Go forth, dear child: how blest is she,The mother of a son like thee!Greet well thy sire, thy mother greet,O thou whose arms the foe defeat;The household priest, and all the restAmid the Twice-born chief and best;And Ráma and brave Lakschman, whoShoot the long shaft with aim so true.' To him the king high honour showed,And store of wealth and gifts bestowed,The choicest elephants to ride,And skins and blankets deftly dyed,A thousand strings of golden beads,And sixteen hundred mettled steeds:And boundless wealth before him piledGave Kekaya to Kaikeyás child.And men of counsel, good and tried,On whose firm truth he aye relied,King As'vapati gave with speedPrince Bharat on his way to lead.And noble elephants, strong and young,From sires of Indras'ira sprung,And others tall and fair to viewOf great Airávat's lineage true:And well yoked asses fleet of limbThe prince his uncle gave to him.And dogs within the palace bred,Of body vast and massive head,With mighty fangs for battle, brave,The tiger's match in strength, he gave.Yet Bharat's bosom hardly glowedTo see the wealth the king bestowed;For he would speed that hour away,Such care upon his bosom lay:Those eager envoys urged him thence,And that sad vision's influence.He left hia court-yard, crowded thenWith elephants and steeds and men,And, peerless in immortal fame,To the great royal street he came.He saw, as farther still he went,The inner rooms most excellent,And passed the doors, to him unclosed,Where check nor bar his way oppossd.There Bharat stayed to bid adieuTo grandsire and to uncle too,Then, with S'atrughna by his side,Mounting his car, away he hied.The strong-wheeled cars were yoked, and theyMore than a hundred, rolled away:Servants, with horses, asses, kine,Followed their lord in endless line.So, guarded by his own right hand, Forth high-souled Bharat hied,Surrounded by a lordly bandOn whom the king relied.Beside him sat S'atrughna dear,The scourge of trembling foes:Thus from the light of Indra's sphereA saint made perfect goes.
CANTO LXXI.:
And she, in self-conceit most sage,With selfish heart most prone to rage,My mother, fares she well? has sheSent message or command to me?' Thus Bharat spake, the mighty-souled,And they in brief their tidings told:'All they of whom thou askest dwell,O lion lord, secure and well:Thine all the smiles of fortune are:Make ready; let them yoke the car.' Thus by the royal envoys pressed,Bharat again the band addressed:'I go with you: no long delay,A single hour I bid you stay.'Thus Bharat, son of him who swayedAyodhyás realm, his answer made,And then bespoke, his heart to please,His mother's sire in words like these:'I go to see my father, King,Urged by the envoys' summoning;And when thy soul desires to seeThy grandson, will return to thee.' The king his grandsire kissed his head,And in reply to Bharat said:'Go forth, dear child: how blest is she,The mother of a son like thee!Greet well thy sire, thy mother greet,O thou whose arms the foe defeat;The household priest, and all the restAmid the Twice-born chief and best;And Ráma and brave Lakschman, whoShoot the long shaft with aim so true.' To him the king high honour showed,And store of wealth and gifts bestowed,The choicest elephants to ride,And skins and blankets deftly dyed,A thousand strings of golden beads,And sixteen hundred mettled steeds:And boundless wealth before him piledGave Kekaya to Kaikeyás child.And men of counsel, good and tried,On whose firm truth he aye relied,King As'vapati gave with speedPrince Bharat on his way to lead.And noble elephants, strong and young,From sires of Indras'ira sprung,And others tall and fair to viewOf great Airávat's lineage true:And well yoked asses fleet of limbThe prince his uncle gave to him.And dogs within the palace bred,Of body vast and massive head,With mighty fangs for battle, brave,The tiger's match in strength, he gave.Yet Bharat's bosom hardly glowedTo see the wealth the king bestowed;For he would speed that hour away,Such care upon his bosom lay:Those eager envoys urged him thence,And that sad vision's influence.He left hia court-yard, crowded thenWith elephants and steeds and men,And, peerless in immortal fame,To the great royal street he came.He saw, as farther still he went,The inner rooms most excellent,And passed the doors, to him unclosed,Where check nor bar his way oppossd.There Bharat stayed to bid adieuTo grandsire and to uncle too,Then, with S'atrughna by his side,Mounting his car, away he hied.The strong-wheeled cars were yoked, and theyMore than a hundred, rolled away:Servants, with horses, asses, kine,Followed their lord in endless line.So, guarded by his own right hand, Forth high-souled Bharat hied,Surrounded by a lordly bandOn whom the king relied.Beside him sat S'atrughna dear,The scourge of trembling foes:Thus from the light of Indra's sphereA saint made perfect goes.
CANTO LXXI.:
BHARAT'S RETURN.Then Bharat's face was eastward bentAs from the royal town he went.He reached Sudámá's farther side,And glorious, gazed upon the tide;Passed Hládiní, and saw her tossHer westering billows hard to cross.Then old Ikshváku's famous sonO'er S'atadrú 1 his passage won,Near Ailadhána on the strand,And came to Aparparyat's land.O'er S'ilás flood he hurried fast,Akurvatí's fair stream he passed,Crossed o'er A'gneya's rapid rill,And S'alyakartan onward still.S'ilávahá's swift stream he eyed,True to his vows and purified.Then crossed the lofty hills, and stoodIn Chaitraratha's mighty wood.He reached the confluence where meetSarasvatí 2 and Gangá fleet,And through Bhárunda forest, spreadNorthward of Víramatsya, sped.He sought Kalinda's child, who fills
The soul with joy, begirt by hills,Reached Yamuná and passing o'er,Rested his army on the shore:He gave his horses food and rest,Bathed reeking limb and drooping crest.They drank their fill and bathed them there,And water for their journey bare.Thence through a mighty wood he spedAll wild and uninhabited,As in fair chariot through the skies,Most fair in shape a Storm-God flies.At Ans'udhána Gangá, hardTo cross, his onward journey barred,So turning quickly thence he cameTo Prágvat's city dear to fame.There having gained the farther sideTo Kutikoshtiká he hied:The stream he crossed, and onward thenTo Dharmavardhan brought his men.Thence, leaving Toran on the north.To Jambuprastha journeyed forth.Then onward to a pleasant groveBy fair Varúha's town he drove,And when a while he there had stayed,Went eastward from the friendly shade.Eastward of Ujjiháná whereThe Priyak trees are tall and fair,He passed, and rested there each steedKxhausted with the journey's speed.There orders to his men addressed,With quickened pace he onward pressed,A while at Sarvatirtha spent,Then o'er Uttániká he went.O'er many a stream beside he spedWith coursers on the mountains bred,And passing Hastiprishthak, tookThe road o'er Kutikás fair brook.Then, at Lohitya's village, heCrossed o'er the swift Kapívatí,Then passed, where Ekas'ála stands,The Sthánumatís flood and sands,And Gomatí of fair renownBy Vinata's delightful town.When to Kalinga near he drew,A wood of Sal trees charmed the view;That passed, the sun began to rise,And Bharat saw with happy eyes,Ayodhá's city, built and plannedBy ancient Manu's royal hand,Seven nights upon the road had passed,And when he saw the town at lastBefore him in her beauty spread,Thus Bharat to the driver said:'This glorious city from afar,Wherein pure groves and gardens are,Seems to my eager eyes to-dayA lifeless pile of yellow clay.Through all her streets where erst a throngOf men and women streamed along,Uprose the multitudinous roar:To-day I hear that sound no more.No longer do mine eyes beholdThe leading people, as of old,On elephants, cars, horses, goAbroad and homeward, to and fro.The brilliant gardens, where we heardThe wild note of each rapturous bird.Where men and women loved to meet,In pleasant shades, for pastime sweet,--These to my eyes this day appearJoyless, and desolate, and drear;Each tree that graced the garden grieves,And every path is spread with leaves.The merry cry of bird and beast,That spake aloud their joy has ceased:Still is the long melodious noteThat charmed us from each warbling throat,Why blows the blessed air no more,The incense-breathing air that boreIts sweet incomparable scentOf sandal and of aloe blent?Why are the drum and tabour mute?Why is the music of the luteThat woke responsive to the quill,Loved by the happy, hushed and still?My boding spirit gathers henceDire sins of awful consequence,And omens, crowding on my sight,Weigh down my soul with wild affrightScarce shall I find my friends who dwellHere in Ayodhyá safe and well:For surely not without a causeThis crushing dread my soul o'erawes. Heart sick, dejected, every senseConfused by terror's influence,On to the town he quickly sweptWhich King Ikshváku's children kept.He passed through Vaijayanta's gate,With weary steeds, disconsolate.And all who near their station held,His escort. crying Victory, swelled,With heart distracted still he bowedFarewell to all the following crowd,Turned to the driver and beganTo question thus the weary man:.'Why was I brought, O free from blame,So fast, unknown for what I came?Yet fear of ill my heart appals,And all my wonted courage falls.For I have heard in days gone byThe changes seen when monarchs die;And all those signs. O charioteer,I see today surround me here:Each kinsman's house looks dark and grim,No hand delights to keep it trim:The beauty vanished. and the pride,The doors, unkept, stand open wide.No morning rites are offered there,No grateful incense loads the air,And all therein, with brows o'ercast,Sit joyless on the ground and fast.Their lovely chaplets dry and dead,
Their courts unswept, with dust o'erspread,The temples of the Gods to-dayNo more look beautiful and gay.Neglected stands each holy shrine,Each image of a Lord divine.No shop where flowery wreaths are soldIs bright and busy as of old.The women and the men I markAbsorbed in fancies dull and dark,Their gloomy eyes with tears bedewed,A poor afflicted multitude.'
His mind oppressed with woe and dread,Thus Bharat to his driver said,Viewed the dire signs Ayodhyá showed,And onward to the palace rode.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes178:1 'The S'atadrú, 'the hundred-channeled' --the Zaradrus of Ptolemy, Hesydrus of Pliny--is the Sutlej.' WILSON'S Vishnu Purána, Vol. II. p. 130.
178:2 The Sarasvatí or Sursooty is a tributary of the Caggar or Guggur in Sirhind.
CANTO LXXII.:
The soul with joy, begirt by hills,Reached Yamuná and passing o'er,Rested his army on the shore:He gave his horses food and rest,Bathed reeking limb and drooping crest.They drank their fill and bathed them there,And water for their journey bare.Thence through a mighty wood he spedAll wild and uninhabited,As in fair chariot through the skies,Most fair in shape a Storm-God flies.At Ans'udhána Gangá, hardTo cross, his onward journey barred,So turning quickly thence he cameTo Prágvat's city dear to fame.There having gained the farther sideTo Kutikoshtiká he hied:The stream he crossed, and onward thenTo Dharmavardhan brought his men.Thence, leaving Toran on the north.To Jambuprastha journeyed forth.Then onward to a pleasant groveBy fair Varúha's town he drove,And when a while he there had stayed,Went eastward from the friendly shade.Eastward of Ujjiháná whereThe Priyak trees are tall and fair,He passed, and rested there each steedKxhausted with the journey's speed.There orders to his men addressed,With quickened pace he onward pressed,A while at Sarvatirtha spent,Then o'er Uttániká he went.O'er many a stream beside he spedWith coursers on the mountains bred,And passing Hastiprishthak, tookThe road o'er Kutikás fair brook.Then, at Lohitya's village, heCrossed o'er the swift Kapívatí,Then passed, where Ekas'ála stands,The Sthánumatís flood and sands,And Gomatí of fair renownBy Vinata's delightful town.When to Kalinga near he drew,A wood of Sal trees charmed the view;That passed, the sun began to rise,And Bharat saw with happy eyes,Ayodhá's city, built and plannedBy ancient Manu's royal hand,Seven nights upon the road had passed,And when he saw the town at lastBefore him in her beauty spread,Thus Bharat to the driver said:'This glorious city from afar,Wherein pure groves and gardens are,Seems to my eager eyes to-dayA lifeless pile of yellow clay.Through all her streets where erst a throngOf men and women streamed along,Uprose the multitudinous roar:To-day I hear that sound no more.No longer do mine eyes beholdThe leading people, as of old,On elephants, cars, horses, goAbroad and homeward, to and fro.The brilliant gardens, where we heardThe wild note of each rapturous bird.Where men and women loved to meet,In pleasant shades, for pastime sweet,--These to my eyes this day appearJoyless, and desolate, and drear;Each tree that graced the garden grieves,And every path is spread with leaves.The merry cry of bird and beast,That spake aloud their joy has ceased:Still is the long melodious noteThat charmed us from each warbling throat,Why blows the blessed air no more,The incense-breathing air that boreIts sweet incomparable scentOf sandal and of aloe blent?Why are the drum and tabour mute?Why is the music of the luteThat woke responsive to the quill,Loved by the happy, hushed and still?My boding spirit gathers henceDire sins of awful consequence,And omens, crowding on my sight,Weigh down my soul with wild affrightScarce shall I find my friends who dwellHere in Ayodhyá safe and well:For surely not without a causeThis crushing dread my soul o'erawes. Heart sick, dejected, every senseConfused by terror's influence,On to the town he quickly sweptWhich King Ikshváku's children kept.He passed through Vaijayanta's gate,With weary steeds, disconsolate.And all who near their station held,His escort. crying Victory, swelled,With heart distracted still he bowedFarewell to all the following crowd,Turned to the driver and beganTo question thus the weary man:.'Why was I brought, O free from blame,So fast, unknown for what I came?Yet fear of ill my heart appals,And all my wonted courage falls.For I have heard in days gone byThe changes seen when monarchs die;And all those signs. O charioteer,I see today surround me here:Each kinsman's house looks dark and grim,No hand delights to keep it trim:The beauty vanished. and the pride,The doors, unkept, stand open wide.No morning rites are offered there,No grateful incense loads the air,And all therein, with brows o'ercast,Sit joyless on the ground and fast.Their lovely chaplets dry and dead,
Their courts unswept, with dust o'erspread,The temples of the Gods to-dayNo more look beautiful and gay.Neglected stands each holy shrine,Each image of a Lord divine.No shop where flowery wreaths are soldIs bright and busy as of old.The women and the men I markAbsorbed in fancies dull and dark,Their gloomy eyes with tears bedewed,A poor afflicted multitude.'
His mind oppressed with woe and dread,Thus Bharat to his driver said,Viewed the dire signs Ayodhyá showed,And onward to the palace rode.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes178:1 'The S'atadrú, 'the hundred-channeled' --the Zaradrus of Ptolemy, Hesydrus of Pliny--is the Sutlej.' WILSON'S Vishnu Purána, Vol. II. p. 130.
178:2 The Sarasvatí or Sursooty is a tributary of the Caggar or Guggur in Sirhind.
CANTO LXXII.:
BHARAT'S INQUIRY.He entered in, he looked around,Nor in the house his father found;Then to his mother's dwelling, bentTo see her face, he quickly went.She saw her son, so long away,Returning after many a day,And from her golden seat in joySprung forward to her darling boy.Within the bower, no longer bright,Came Bharat lover of the right,And bending with observance sweetClasped his dear mother's lovely feet.Long kisses on his brow she pressed,And held her hero to her breast,Then fondly drew him to her knees,And questioned him in words like these:'How many nights have fled, since thouLeftest thy grandsire's home, till now?By flying steeds so swiftly borne,Art thou not weak and travel-worn?How fares the king my father, tell:Is Yudhájit thine uncle well?And now, my son, at length declareThe pleasure of the visit there.'
Thus to the offspring of the kingShe spake with tender questioning,And to his mother made replyYoung Bharat of the lotus eye:'The seventh night has come and fledSince from my grandsire's home I sped:My mother's sire is well, and he,Yudhájit, from all trouble free.The gold and every precious thingPresented by the conqueror king,The slower guards behind convey:I left them weary on the way.Urged by the men my father sent,My hasty course I hither bent:Now, I implore, an answer deign,And all I wish to know, explain.
Unoccupied I now beholdThis couch of thine adorned with gold,And each of King Ikshváku's raceAppears with dark and gloomy face.The king is aye, my mother dear,Most constant in his visits here.To meet my sire I sought this spot:How is it that I find him not?I long to clasp my father's feet:Say where he lingers, I entreat.Perchance the monarch may be seenWhere dwells Kaus'alyá, eldest queen.'
His father's fate, from him concealed.Kaikeyí to her son revealed:Told as glad news the story sad,For lust of sway had made her mad:'Thy father, O my darling, know,Has gone the way all life must go:Devout and famed, of lofty thought,In whom the good their refuge sought.'
When Bharat pious, pure, and true,Heard the sad words which pierced him through,Grieved for the sire he loved so wellProstrate upon the ground he fell:Down fell the strong-armed hero, highTossing his arms, and a sad cry,'Ah, woe is me, unhappy, slain!'Burst from his lips again, again,Afflicted for his father's fateBy grief's intolerable weight,With every sense amazed and cowedThe splendid hero wailed aloud:'Ah me, my royal father's bedOf old a gentle radiance shed,Like the pure sky when clouds are past,And the moon's light is o'er it cast:Ah, of its wisest lord bereft,It shows to-day faint radiance left,As when the moon has left the sky.Or mighty Ocean's depths are dry.'
With choking sobs, with many a tear.Pierced to the heart with grief sincere,The best of conquerors poured his sighs,And with his robe veiled face and eyes.Kaikeyí saw him fallen there,Godlike, afflicted, in despair,Used every art to move him thence,And tried him thus with eloquence:'Arise, arise, my dearest; whyWilt thou, famed Prince, so lowly lie?Not by such grief as this are movedGood men like thee, by all approved.The earth thy father nobly swayed,And rites to Heaven he duly paid.At length his race of life was run:Thou shouldst not mourn for him, my son.'
Long on the ground he wept, and rolledFrom side to side, still unconsoled,And then, with bitter grief oppressed,His mother with those words addressed:
'This joyful hope my bosom fedWhen from my grandsire's halls I sped--'The king will throne his eldest son,And sacrifice, as should be done.'But all is changed, my hope was vain,And this sad heart is rent in twain,For my dear father's face I miss,Who ever sought his loved ones' bliss.But in my absence, mother, say,What sickness took my sire away?Ah, happy Ráma, happy theyAllowed his funeral rites to pay!The glorious monarch has not learnedThat I his darling have returned,Or quickly had he hither sped,And pressed his kisses on my head.Where is that hand whose gentle touch,Most soft and kind I loved so much,The hand that loved to brush awayThe dust that on his darling lay?Quick, bear the news to Ráma's ear;Tell the great chief that I am here:Brother, and sire, and friend, and allIs he, and I his trusty thrall,For noble hearts, to virtue true,Their sires in elder brothers view.To clasp his feet I fain would bow:He is my hope and refuge now.What said my glorious sire, who knewVirtue and vice, so brave and true?Firm in his vows, dear lady, say,What said he ere he passed away?What was his rede to me? I craveTo hear the last advice he gave.'
Thus closely questioned by the youth,Kaikeyi spoke the mournful truth:'The high-souled monarch wept and sighed,For Ráma, Sítá, Lakshman, cried,Then, best of all who go to bliss,Passed to the world which follows this.'Ah, blessed are the people whoShall Ráma and his Sítá view, And Lakshman of the mighty arm,Returning free from scathe and harm.'Such were the words, the last of all,Thy father, ere he died, let fall,By Fate and Death's dread coils enwound,As some great elephant is bound.'
He heard, yet deeper in despair,Her lips this double woe declare,And with sad brow that showed his painQuestioned his mother thus again:'But where is he, of virtue tried,Who fills Kaus'alyá's heart with pride,Where is the noble Ráma? whereIs Lakshman brave, and Sítá fair?'
Thus pressed, the queen began to tellThe story as each thing befell,And gave her son in words like these,The mournful news she meant to please:'The prince is gone in hermit dressTo Dandak's mighty wilderness,And Lakshman brave and Sítá shareThe wanderings of the exile there.'
Then Bharat's soul with fear was stirredLest Ráma from the right had erred,And jealous for ancestral fame,He put this question to the dame:'Has Ráma grasped with lawless holdA Bráhman's house, or land, or gold?Has Ráma harmed with ill intentSome poor or wealthy innocent?Was Ráma, faithless to his vows,Enamoured of anothers spouse?Why was he sent to Dandak's wild,Like one who kills an unborn child?'
He questioned thus: and she beganTo tell her deeds and crafty plan.Deceitful-hearted, fond, and blindAs is the way of womankind:'No Bráhman's wealth has Ráma seized,No dame his wandering fancy pleased;His very eyes he ne'er allowsTo gaze upon a neighbour's spouse,But when I heard the monarch plannedTo give the realm to Ráma's hand,I prayed that Ráma hence might flee,And claimed the throne, my son, for thee.The king maintained the name he bare,And did according to my prayer.And Ráma, with his brother, sent,And Sítá, forth to banishment.When his dear son was seen no more,The lord of earth was troubled sore:Too feeble with his grief to strive,He joined the elemental Five.Up then, most dutiful! maintainThe royal state, arise, and reign.For thee, my darling son, for theeAll this was planned and wrought by me.Come, cast thy grief and pain aside,With manly courage fortified.This town and realm are all thine own,And fear and grief are here unknown.Come, with Vas'ishtha's guiding aid, And priests in ritual skilledLet the king's funeral dues be paid, And every claim fulfilled.Perform his obsequies with all That suits his rank and worth,Then give the mandate to install Thyself as lord of earth.'
CANTO LXXIII.:
Thus to the offspring of the kingShe spake with tender questioning,And to his mother made replyYoung Bharat of the lotus eye:'The seventh night has come and fledSince from my grandsire's home I sped:My mother's sire is well, and he,Yudhájit, from all trouble free.The gold and every precious thingPresented by the conqueror king,The slower guards behind convey:I left them weary on the way.Urged by the men my father sent,My hasty course I hither bent:Now, I implore, an answer deign,And all I wish to know, explain.
Unoccupied I now beholdThis couch of thine adorned with gold,And each of King Ikshváku's raceAppears with dark and gloomy face.The king is aye, my mother dear,Most constant in his visits here.To meet my sire I sought this spot:How is it that I find him not?I long to clasp my father's feet:Say where he lingers, I entreat.Perchance the monarch may be seenWhere dwells Kaus'alyá, eldest queen.'
His father's fate, from him concealed.Kaikeyí to her son revealed:Told as glad news the story sad,For lust of sway had made her mad:'Thy father, O my darling, know,Has gone the way all life must go:Devout and famed, of lofty thought,In whom the good their refuge sought.'
When Bharat pious, pure, and true,Heard the sad words which pierced him through,Grieved for the sire he loved so wellProstrate upon the ground he fell:Down fell the strong-armed hero, highTossing his arms, and a sad cry,'Ah, woe is me, unhappy, slain!'Burst from his lips again, again,Afflicted for his father's fateBy grief's intolerable weight,With every sense amazed and cowedThe splendid hero wailed aloud:'Ah me, my royal father's bedOf old a gentle radiance shed,Like the pure sky when clouds are past,And the moon's light is o'er it cast:Ah, of its wisest lord bereft,It shows to-day faint radiance left,As when the moon has left the sky.Or mighty Ocean's depths are dry.'
With choking sobs, with many a tear.Pierced to the heart with grief sincere,The best of conquerors poured his sighs,And with his robe veiled face and eyes.Kaikeyí saw him fallen there,Godlike, afflicted, in despair,Used every art to move him thence,And tried him thus with eloquence:'Arise, arise, my dearest; whyWilt thou, famed Prince, so lowly lie?Not by such grief as this are movedGood men like thee, by all approved.The earth thy father nobly swayed,And rites to Heaven he duly paid.At length his race of life was run:Thou shouldst not mourn for him, my son.'
Long on the ground he wept, and rolledFrom side to side, still unconsoled,And then, with bitter grief oppressed,His mother with those words addressed:
'This joyful hope my bosom fedWhen from my grandsire's halls I sped--'The king will throne his eldest son,And sacrifice, as should be done.'But all is changed, my hope was vain,And this sad heart is rent in twain,For my dear father's face I miss,Who ever sought his loved ones' bliss.But in my absence, mother, say,What sickness took my sire away?Ah, happy Ráma, happy theyAllowed his funeral rites to pay!The glorious monarch has not learnedThat I his darling have returned,Or quickly had he hither sped,And pressed his kisses on my head.Where is that hand whose gentle touch,Most soft and kind I loved so much,The hand that loved to brush awayThe dust that on his darling lay?Quick, bear the news to Ráma's ear;Tell the great chief that I am here:Brother, and sire, and friend, and allIs he, and I his trusty thrall,For noble hearts, to virtue true,Their sires in elder brothers view.To clasp his feet I fain would bow:He is my hope and refuge now.What said my glorious sire, who knewVirtue and vice, so brave and true?Firm in his vows, dear lady, say,What said he ere he passed away?What was his rede to me? I craveTo hear the last advice he gave.'
Thus closely questioned by the youth,Kaikeyi spoke the mournful truth:'The high-souled monarch wept and sighed,For Ráma, Sítá, Lakshman, cried,Then, best of all who go to bliss,Passed to the world which follows this.'Ah, blessed are the people whoShall Ráma and his Sítá view, And Lakshman of the mighty arm,Returning free from scathe and harm.'Such were the words, the last of all,Thy father, ere he died, let fall,By Fate and Death's dread coils enwound,As some great elephant is bound.'
He heard, yet deeper in despair,Her lips this double woe declare,And with sad brow that showed his painQuestioned his mother thus again:'But where is he, of virtue tried,Who fills Kaus'alyá's heart with pride,Where is the noble Ráma? whereIs Lakshman brave, and Sítá fair?'
Thus pressed, the queen began to tellThe story as each thing befell,And gave her son in words like these,The mournful news she meant to please:'The prince is gone in hermit dressTo Dandak's mighty wilderness,And Lakshman brave and Sítá shareThe wanderings of the exile there.'
Then Bharat's soul with fear was stirredLest Ráma from the right had erred,And jealous for ancestral fame,He put this question to the dame:'Has Ráma grasped with lawless holdA Bráhman's house, or land, or gold?Has Ráma harmed with ill intentSome poor or wealthy innocent?Was Ráma, faithless to his vows,Enamoured of anothers spouse?Why was he sent to Dandak's wild,Like one who kills an unborn child?'
He questioned thus: and she beganTo tell her deeds and crafty plan.Deceitful-hearted, fond, and blindAs is the way of womankind:'No Bráhman's wealth has Ráma seized,No dame his wandering fancy pleased;His very eyes he ne'er allowsTo gaze upon a neighbour's spouse,But when I heard the monarch plannedTo give the realm to Ráma's hand,I prayed that Ráma hence might flee,And claimed the throne, my son, for thee.The king maintained the name he bare,And did according to my prayer.And Ráma, with his brother, sent,And Sítá, forth to banishment.When his dear son was seen no more,The lord of earth was troubled sore:Too feeble with his grief to strive,He joined the elemental Five.Up then, most dutiful! maintainThe royal state, arise, and reign.For thee, my darling son, for theeAll this was planned and wrought by me.Come, cast thy grief and pain aside,With manly courage fortified.This town and realm are all thine own,And fear and grief are here unknown.Come, with Vas'ishtha's guiding aid, And priests in ritual skilledLet the king's funeral dues be paid, And every claim fulfilled.Perform his obsequies with all That suits his rank and worth,Then give the mandate to install Thyself as lord of earth.'
CANTO LXXIII.:
KAIKEYÍ REPROACHED.But when he heard the queen relateHis brothers' doom, his father's fate,Thus Bharat to his mother saidWith burning grief disquieted:
'Alas, what boots it now to reign,Struck down by grief and well-nigh slain?Ah, both are gone, my sire, and heWho was a second sire to me.Grief upon grief thy hand has made,And salt upon gashes laid:For my dear sire has died through thee,And Ráma roams a devotee.Thou camest like the night of FateThis royal house to devastate.Unwitting ill, my hapless sirePlaced in his bosom coals of fire,And through thy crimes his death he met,O thou whose heart on sin is set.Shame of thy house! thy senseless deedHas reft all joy from Raghu's seed.The truthful monarch, dear to fame,Received thee as his wedded dame,And by thy act to misery doomedHas died by flames of grief consumed.Kaus'alyá and Sumitrá tooThe coming of my mother rue.And if they live oppressed by woe,For their dear sons their sad tears flow.Was he not ever good and kind,--That hero of the duteous mind?Skilled in all filial duties, heAs a dear mother treated thee.Kaus'alyá too, the eldest queen,Who far foresees with insight keen,Did she not ever show thee allA sister's love at duty's call?And hast thou from the kingdom chasedHer son, with bark around his waist,To the wild wood, to dwell therein,And dost not sorrow for thy sin?The love bare to Raghu's sonThou knewest not, ambitious one,If thou hast wrought this impious deedFor royal sway, in lawless greed.With him and Lakshman far away,What power have I the realm to sway?What hope will fire my bosom whenI see no more these lords of men?The holy king who loved the rightRelied on Ráma's power and might,His guardian and his glory, so(illegible) Meru in his woods below.How can I bear, a steer untrained,The load his mightier strength sustained?What power have I to brook aloneThis weight on feeble shoulders thrown?For if the needful power were boughtBy strength of mind and brooding thought,No triumph shall attend the dameWho dooms her son to lasting shame.Now should no doubt that son preventFrom quitting thee on evil bent.But Ráma's love o'erpowers my will,Who holds thee as his mother still.Whence did the thought, O thou whose eyesAre turned to sinful deeds, arise--A plan our ancient sires would hate,O fallen from thy virtuous state?For in the line from which we springThe eldest is anointed king:No monarchs from the rule decline,And, least of all. lkshváku's line.Our holy sires, to virtue true,Upon our race a lustre threw,But with subversive frenzy thouHast marred our lineal honour now,Of lofty birth, a noble lineOf previous kings is also thine:Then whence this hated folly? whenceThis sudden change that steals thy sense?Thou shalt not gain thine impious will,O thou whose thoughts are bent on ill,Thou from whose guilty hand descendThese sinful blows my life to end.Now to the forest will I go,Thy cherished plans to overthrow,And bring my brother, free from stain,His people's darling, home again,And Ráma, when again he turns,Whose glory like a beacon burns,In me a faithful slave shall findTo serve him with contented mind.'
CANTO LXXIV.:
'Alas, what boots it now to reign,Struck down by grief and well-nigh slain?Ah, both are gone, my sire, and heWho was a second sire to me.Grief upon grief thy hand has made,And salt upon gashes laid:For my dear sire has died through thee,And Ráma roams a devotee.Thou camest like the night of FateThis royal house to devastate.Unwitting ill, my hapless sirePlaced in his bosom coals of fire,And through thy crimes his death he met,O thou whose heart on sin is set.Shame of thy house! thy senseless deedHas reft all joy from Raghu's seed.The truthful monarch, dear to fame,Received thee as his wedded dame,And by thy act to misery doomedHas died by flames of grief consumed.Kaus'alyá and Sumitrá tooThe coming of my mother rue.And if they live oppressed by woe,For their dear sons their sad tears flow.Was he not ever good and kind,--That hero of the duteous mind?Skilled in all filial duties, heAs a dear mother treated thee.Kaus'alyá too, the eldest queen,Who far foresees with insight keen,Did she not ever show thee allA sister's love at duty's call?And hast thou from the kingdom chasedHer son, with bark around his waist,To the wild wood, to dwell therein,And dost not sorrow for thy sin?The love bare to Raghu's sonThou knewest not, ambitious one,If thou hast wrought this impious deedFor royal sway, in lawless greed.With him and Lakshman far away,What power have I the realm to sway?What hope will fire my bosom whenI see no more these lords of men?The holy king who loved the rightRelied on Ráma's power and might,His guardian and his glory, so(illegible) Meru in his woods below.How can I bear, a steer untrained,The load his mightier strength sustained?What power have I to brook aloneThis weight on feeble shoulders thrown?For if the needful power were boughtBy strength of mind and brooding thought,No triumph shall attend the dameWho dooms her son to lasting shame.Now should no doubt that son preventFrom quitting thee on evil bent.But Ráma's love o'erpowers my will,Who holds thee as his mother still.Whence did the thought, O thou whose eyesAre turned to sinful deeds, arise--A plan our ancient sires would hate,O fallen from thy virtuous state?For in the line from which we springThe eldest is anointed king:No monarchs from the rule decline,And, least of all. lkshváku's line.Our holy sires, to virtue true,Upon our race a lustre threw,But with subversive frenzy thouHast marred our lineal honour now,Of lofty birth, a noble lineOf previous kings is also thine:Then whence this hated folly? whenceThis sudden change that steals thy sense?Thou shalt not gain thine impious will,O thou whose thoughts are bent on ill,Thou from whose guilty hand descendThese sinful blows my life to end.Now to the forest will I go,Thy cherished plans to overthrow,And bring my brother, free from stain,His people's darling, home again,And Ráma, when again he turns,Whose glory like a beacon burns,In me a faithful slave shall findTo serve him with contented mind.'
CANTO LXXIV.:
BHARAT'S LAMEST.When Bharat's anger-sharpened tongueReproaches on the queen had flung,Again, with mighty rage possessed,The guilty dame he thus addressed:'Flee, cruel, wicked sinner, flee,Let not this kingdom harbour thee.Thou who hast thrown all right aside,Ween thou for me when I have died.Canst thou one charge against the king,Or the most duteous Ráma bring?The one thy sin to death has sent,The other chased to banishment.Our line's destroyer, sin defiledLike one who kills an unborn child,Ne'er with thy lord in heaven to dwell,Thy portion shall be down in hellBecause thy hand, that stayed for naught,This awful wickedness has wrought,And ruined him whom all held dear,My bosom too is stirred with fear.My father by thy sin is dead,And Ráma to the wood is fled;And of thy deed I bear the stain,And fameless in the world remain.Ambitious, evil-souled. in showMy mother, yet my direst foe.My throning ne'er thine eyes shall bless,Thy husband's wicked murderess.
Thou art not As'vapati's child,That righteous king most sage and mild,But thou wast born a fiend, a foeMy father's house to overthrow.Thou who hast made Kaus'alyá, pure,Gentle, affectionate, endureThe loss of him who was her bliss--What worlds await thee, Queen, for this?Was it not patent to thy senseThat Ráma was his friends' defence,Kaus'alyá's own true child most dear,The eldest and his father's peer?Men in the son not only traceThe father's figure, form, and face,But in his heart they also findThe offspring of the father's mind;And hence, though dear their kinsmen are,To mothers sons are dearer far.There goes an ancient legend howGood Surabhi, the God-loved cow,Saw two of her dear children strain,Drawing a plough and faint with pain.She saw them on the earth outworn,Toiling till noon from early morn,And as she viewed her children's woe,A flood of tears began to flow.As through the air beneath her sweptThe Lord of Gods, the drops she wept,Fine, laden with delicious smell,Upon his heavenly body fell,And Indra lifted up his eyesAnd saw her standing in the skies,Afflicted with her sorrow's weight,Sad, weeping, all disconsolate.The Lord of Gods in anxious moodThus spoke in suppliant attitude:'No fear disturbs our rest, and howComes this great dread upon thee now?Whence can this woe upon thee fall,Say, gentle one who lovest all?'
Thus spake the God who rules the skies,Indra, the Lord supremely wise;And gentle Surabhi, well learnedIn eloquence, this speech returned:'Not thine the fault, great God, not thineAnd guiltless are the Lords divine:I mourn two children faint with toil,Labouring hard in stubborn soil,Wasted and sad I see them now,While the sun beats on neck and brow,Still goaded by the cruel hind,--No pity in his savage mind.O Indra, from this body sprangThese children, worn with many a pang.For this sad sight I mourn, for noneIs to the mother like her son.'
He saw her weep whose offspring feedIn thousands over hill and mead,And knew that in a mother's eyeNaught with a son, for love, can vie.He deemed her, when the tears that cameFrom her sad eyes bedewed his frame,Laden with their celestial scent,Of living things most excellent,If she these tears of sorrow shedWho many a thousand children bred,Think what a life of woe is leftKaus'alyá, of her Ráma reft.An only son was hers and sheIs rendered childless now by thee.Here and hereafter, for thy crime,Woe is thy lot through endless time.And now, O Queen, without delay,With all due honour will I payBoth to my brother and my sireThe rites their several fates require.Back to Ayodhyá will I bringThe long-armed chief, her lord and king,And to the wood myself betakeWhere hermit saints their dwelling make.For, sinner both in deed and thought!This hideous crime which thou hast wroughtI cannot bear, or live to seeThe people's sad eyes bent on me.Begone, to Dandak wood retire,Or cast thy body to the fire,Or bind around thy neck the rope:No other refuge mayst thou hope.When Ráma, lord of valour true,Has gained the earth, his right and due,Then, free from duty's binding debt,My vanished sin shall I forget.'
Thus like an elephant forced to brookThe goading of the driver's hook,Quick panting like a serpent maimed,He fell to earth with rage inflamed.
CANTO LXXV.:
Thou art not As'vapati's child,That righteous king most sage and mild,But thou wast born a fiend, a foeMy father's house to overthrow.Thou who hast made Kaus'alyá, pure,Gentle, affectionate, endureThe loss of him who was her bliss--What worlds await thee, Queen, for this?Was it not patent to thy senseThat Ráma was his friends' defence,Kaus'alyá's own true child most dear,The eldest and his father's peer?Men in the son not only traceThe father's figure, form, and face,But in his heart they also findThe offspring of the father's mind;And hence, though dear their kinsmen are,To mothers sons are dearer far.There goes an ancient legend howGood Surabhi, the God-loved cow,Saw two of her dear children strain,Drawing a plough and faint with pain.She saw them on the earth outworn,Toiling till noon from early morn,And as she viewed her children's woe,A flood of tears began to flow.As through the air beneath her sweptThe Lord of Gods, the drops she wept,Fine, laden with delicious smell,Upon his heavenly body fell,And Indra lifted up his eyesAnd saw her standing in the skies,Afflicted with her sorrow's weight,Sad, weeping, all disconsolate.The Lord of Gods in anxious moodThus spoke in suppliant attitude:'No fear disturbs our rest, and howComes this great dread upon thee now?Whence can this woe upon thee fall,Say, gentle one who lovest all?'
Thus spake the God who rules the skies,Indra, the Lord supremely wise;And gentle Surabhi, well learnedIn eloquence, this speech returned:'Not thine the fault, great God, not thineAnd guiltless are the Lords divine:I mourn two children faint with toil,Labouring hard in stubborn soil,Wasted and sad I see them now,While the sun beats on neck and brow,Still goaded by the cruel hind,--No pity in his savage mind.O Indra, from this body sprangThese children, worn with many a pang.For this sad sight I mourn, for noneIs to the mother like her son.'
He saw her weep whose offspring feedIn thousands over hill and mead,And knew that in a mother's eyeNaught with a son, for love, can vie.He deemed her, when the tears that cameFrom her sad eyes bedewed his frame,Laden with their celestial scent,Of living things most excellent,If she these tears of sorrow shedWho many a thousand children bred,Think what a life of woe is leftKaus'alyá, of her Ráma reft.An only son was hers and sheIs rendered childless now by thee.Here and hereafter, for thy crime,Woe is thy lot through endless time.And now, O Queen, without delay,With all due honour will I payBoth to my brother and my sireThe rites their several fates require.Back to Ayodhyá will I bringThe long-armed chief, her lord and king,And to the wood myself betakeWhere hermit saints their dwelling make.For, sinner both in deed and thought!This hideous crime which thou hast wroughtI cannot bear, or live to seeThe people's sad eyes bent on me.Begone, to Dandak wood retire,Or cast thy body to the fire,Or bind around thy neck the rope:No other refuge mayst thou hope.When Ráma, lord of valour true,Has gained the earth, his right and due,Then, free from duty's binding debt,My vanished sin shall I forget.'
Thus like an elephant forced to brookThe goading of the driver's hook,Quick panting like a serpent maimed,He fell to earth with rage inflamed.
CANTO LXXV.:
THE ABJURATION.A while he lay: he rose at length,And slowly gathering sense and strength,With angry eyes which tears bedewed,The miserable queen he viewed,And spake with keen reproach to herBefore each lord and minister:'No lust have I for kingly sway,My mother I no more obey:Naught of this consecration knewWhich Das'aratha kept in view,I with S'atrughna all the timeWas dwelling in a distant clime:I knew of Ráma's exile naught,That hero of the noble thought:I knew not how fair Sítá went,And Lakshman, forth to banishment.'
Thus high-souled Bharat, mid the crowd,Lifted his voice and cried aloud.
Kaus'alyá heard, she raised ner head.And quickly to Sumitrá said:'Bharat, Kaikeyí's son, is here,--Hers whose fell deeds I loathe and fear:That youth of foresight keen I fainWould meet and see his face again.'Thus to Sumitrá spake the dame,And straight to Bharat's presence cameWith altered mien, neglected dress,Trembling and faint with sore distress.Bharat, S'atrughna by his side,To meet her, toward her palace hied.And when the royal dame they viewedDistressed with dire solicitude,Sad, fallen senseless on the ground,About her neck their arms they wound.The noble matron prostrate there,Embraced, with tears, the weeping pair,And with her load of grief oppressed,To Bharat then these words addressed:'Now all is thine, without a foe,This realm for which thou longest so.Ah, soon Kaikeyí's ruthless handHas won the empire of the land,And made my guiltless Ráma fleeDressed like some lonely devotee.Herein what profit has the queen,Whose eye delights in havoc, seen?Me also, me 'twere surely goodTo banish to the distant wood,To dwell amid the shades that holdMy famous son with limbs like gold.Nay, with the sacred fire to guide,Will I, Sumitrá by my side,Myself to the drear wood repairAnd seek the son of Raghu there.This land which rice and golden cornAnd wealth of every kind adorn,Car, elephant, and steed, and gem,--She makes thee lord of it and them.'
With taunts like these her bitter tongueThe heart of blameless Bharat wrungAnd direr pangs his bosom toreThan when the lancet probes a sore.With troubled senses all astrayProne at her feet he fell and lay.With loud lament a while he plained,And slowly strength and sense regained.With suppliant hand to hand appliedHe turned to her who wept and sighed,And thus bespake the queen, whose breastWith sundry woes was sore distressed:'Why these reproaches, noble dame?I, knowing naught, am free from blame.Thou knowest well what love was mineFor Ráma, chief of Raghu's line.O, never be his darkened mindTo Scripture's guiding lore inclined,By whose consent the prince who ledThe good, the truthful hero, fled.May he obey the vilest lord,Offend the sun with act abhorred, 1And strike a sleeping cow, who lentHis voice to Ráma's banishment.May the good king who all befriends,And, like his sons, the people tends,Be wronged by him who gave consentTo noble Ráma's banishment.On him that king's injustice fall,Who takes, as lord, a sixth of all,Nor guards, neglectful of his trust,His people, as a ruler must.The crime of those who swear to fee,At holy rites, some devotee,And then the promised gift deny,Be his who willed the prince should fly,When weapons clash and heroes bleed,With elephant and harnessed steed,Ne'er, like the good, be his to fightWhose heart allowed the prince's flight.Though taught with care by one expertMay he the Veda's text pervert,With impious mind on evil bent,Whose voice approved the banishment.Mav he with traitor lips revealWhate'er he promised to conceal,And bruit abroad his friend's offence,Betrayed by generous confidence.No wife of equal lineage bornThe wretch's joyless home adorn:Ne'er may he do one virtuous deed,And dying see no child succeed.When in the battle's awful dayFierce warriors stand in dread array,Let the base coward turn and fly,And smitten by the foeman, die.Long may he wander, rags his wear,Doomed in his hand a skull to bear,And like an idiot beg his bread,Who gave consent when Rama fled.His sin who holy rites forgets,Asleep when shows the sun and sets,A load upon his soul shall lieWhose will allowed the prince to fly.His sin who loves his Master's dame,His, kindler of destructive flame.His who betrays his trusting friendShall, mingled all, on him descend.By him no reverence due be paidTo blessed God or parted shade:May sire and mother's sacred nameIn vain from him obedience claim.Ne'er may he go where dwell the good,Nor win their fame and neighbourhood,But lose all hopes of bliss to day,Who willed the prince should flee away.May he deceive the poor and weakWho look to him and comfort seek,
Betray the suppliants who complain,And make the hopeful hope in vain.Long may his wife his kiss expect,And pine away in cold neglect.May he his lawful love despise,And turn on other dames his eyes,Fool, on forbidden joys intent,Whose will allowed the banishment.His sin who deadly poison throwsTo spoil the water as it flows,Lay on the wretch its burden dreadWho gave consent when Rama fled.' 1
Thus with his words he undeceivedKaus'alyá's troubled heart, who grievedFor son and husband reft away;Then prostrate on the ground he lay.Him as he lay half-senseless there,Freed by the mighty oaths he sware,Kaus'alyá, by her woe distressed,With melancholy words addressed:'Anew, my son, this sorrow springsTo rend my heart with keener stings:These awful oaths which thou hast swornMy breast with double grief have torn.Thy soul, and faithful Lakshman's too,Are still, thank Heaven! to virtue true.True to thy promise, thou shalt gainThe mansions which the good obtain.'
Then to her breast that youth she drew,Whose sweet fraternal love she knew,And there in strict embraces heldThe hero, as her tears outwelled.And Bharat's heart grew sick and faintWith grief and oft-renewed complaint,And all his senses were distraughtBy the great woe that in him wrought.Thus he lay and still bewailed With sighs and loud lamentTill all his strength and reason failed, The hours of night were spent.
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Footnotes184:1 S'úryamcha pratimehata, adversus solem mingat. An offence expressly forbidden by the Laws of Manu.
CANTO LXXVI.:
Thus high-souled Bharat, mid the crowd,Lifted his voice and cried aloud.
Kaus'alyá heard, she raised ner head.And quickly to Sumitrá said:'Bharat, Kaikeyí's son, is here,--Hers whose fell deeds I loathe and fear:That youth of foresight keen I fainWould meet and see his face again.'Thus to Sumitrá spake the dame,And straight to Bharat's presence cameWith altered mien, neglected dress,Trembling and faint with sore distress.Bharat, S'atrughna by his side,To meet her, toward her palace hied.And when the royal dame they viewedDistressed with dire solicitude,Sad, fallen senseless on the ground,About her neck their arms they wound.The noble matron prostrate there,Embraced, with tears, the weeping pair,And with her load of grief oppressed,To Bharat then these words addressed:'Now all is thine, without a foe,This realm for which thou longest so.Ah, soon Kaikeyí's ruthless handHas won the empire of the land,And made my guiltless Ráma fleeDressed like some lonely devotee.Herein what profit has the queen,Whose eye delights in havoc, seen?Me also, me 'twere surely goodTo banish to the distant wood,To dwell amid the shades that holdMy famous son with limbs like gold.Nay, with the sacred fire to guide,Will I, Sumitrá by my side,Myself to the drear wood repairAnd seek the son of Raghu there.This land which rice and golden cornAnd wealth of every kind adorn,Car, elephant, and steed, and gem,--She makes thee lord of it and them.'
With taunts like these her bitter tongueThe heart of blameless Bharat wrungAnd direr pangs his bosom toreThan when the lancet probes a sore.With troubled senses all astrayProne at her feet he fell and lay.With loud lament a while he plained,And slowly strength and sense regained.With suppliant hand to hand appliedHe turned to her who wept and sighed,And thus bespake the queen, whose breastWith sundry woes was sore distressed:'Why these reproaches, noble dame?I, knowing naught, am free from blame.Thou knowest well what love was mineFor Ráma, chief of Raghu's line.O, never be his darkened mindTo Scripture's guiding lore inclined,By whose consent the prince who ledThe good, the truthful hero, fled.May he obey the vilest lord,Offend the sun with act abhorred, 1And strike a sleeping cow, who lentHis voice to Ráma's banishment.May the good king who all befriends,And, like his sons, the people tends,Be wronged by him who gave consentTo noble Ráma's banishment.On him that king's injustice fall,Who takes, as lord, a sixth of all,Nor guards, neglectful of his trust,His people, as a ruler must.The crime of those who swear to fee,At holy rites, some devotee,And then the promised gift deny,Be his who willed the prince should fly,When weapons clash and heroes bleed,With elephant and harnessed steed,Ne'er, like the good, be his to fightWhose heart allowed the prince's flight.Though taught with care by one expertMay he the Veda's text pervert,With impious mind on evil bent,Whose voice approved the banishment.Mav he with traitor lips revealWhate'er he promised to conceal,And bruit abroad his friend's offence,Betrayed by generous confidence.No wife of equal lineage bornThe wretch's joyless home adorn:Ne'er may he do one virtuous deed,And dying see no child succeed.When in the battle's awful dayFierce warriors stand in dread array,Let the base coward turn and fly,And smitten by the foeman, die.Long may he wander, rags his wear,Doomed in his hand a skull to bear,And like an idiot beg his bread,Who gave consent when Rama fled.His sin who holy rites forgets,Asleep when shows the sun and sets,A load upon his soul shall lieWhose will allowed the prince to fly.His sin who loves his Master's dame,His, kindler of destructive flame.His who betrays his trusting friendShall, mingled all, on him descend.By him no reverence due be paidTo blessed God or parted shade:May sire and mother's sacred nameIn vain from him obedience claim.Ne'er may he go where dwell the good,Nor win their fame and neighbourhood,But lose all hopes of bliss to day,Who willed the prince should flee away.May he deceive the poor and weakWho look to him and comfort seek,
Betray the suppliants who complain,And make the hopeful hope in vain.Long may his wife his kiss expect,And pine away in cold neglect.May he his lawful love despise,And turn on other dames his eyes,Fool, on forbidden joys intent,Whose will allowed the banishment.His sin who deadly poison throwsTo spoil the water as it flows,Lay on the wretch its burden dreadWho gave consent when Rama fled.' 1
Thus with his words he undeceivedKaus'alyá's troubled heart, who grievedFor son and husband reft away;Then prostrate on the ground he lay.Him as he lay half-senseless there,Freed by the mighty oaths he sware,Kaus'alyá, by her woe distressed,With melancholy words addressed:'Anew, my son, this sorrow springsTo rend my heart with keener stings:These awful oaths which thou hast swornMy breast with double grief have torn.Thy soul, and faithful Lakshman's too,Are still, thank Heaven! to virtue true.True to thy promise, thou shalt gainThe mansions which the good obtain.'
Then to her breast that youth she drew,Whose sweet fraternal love she knew,And there in strict embraces heldThe hero, as her tears outwelled.And Bharat's heart grew sick and faintWith grief and oft-renewed complaint,And all his senses were distraughtBy the great woe that in him wrought.Thus he lay and still bewailed With sighs and loud lamentTill all his strength and reason failed, The hours of night were spent.
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Footnotes184:1 S'úryamcha pratimehata, adversus solem mingat. An offence expressly forbidden by the Laws of Manu.
CANTO LXXVI.:
THE FUNERALThe saint Vas'ishtha, best of allWhose words with moving wisdom fall,Bharat, Kaikeyí's son, addressed,Whom burning *?fires of grief distressed:'O Prince, whose fame is widely spread,Enough of grief: be comforted.The time is come: arise, and layUpon the pyre the monarch's clay.'
He heard the words Vas'ishtha spoke,And slumbering resolution woke.Then skilled in all the laws declare,He bade his friends the rites prepareThey raised, the body from the oil,And placed it, dripping, on the soil;Then laid it on a bed, whereonWrought gold and precious jewels shone.There, pallor o'er his features spread,The monarch, as in sleep, lay dead.Then Bharat sought his father's side,And lifted up his voice and cried:'O King, and has thy heart designedTo part and leave thy son behind?Make Ráma flee, who loves the right,And Lakshman of the arm of might?Whither, great Monarch, wilt thou goAnd leave this people in their woe.Mourning their hero, wild with grief,Of Ráma reft, their lion chief?Ah, who will guard the people wellWho in Ayodhyá's city dwell,When thou, my sire, hast sought the sky,And Ráma has been forced to fly?In widowed woe, bereft of thee,The land no more is fair to *see*The city, to my aching sight,Is gloomy as a moonless night.'
Thus, with o'erwhelming sorrow pained,Sad Bharat by the bed complained:And thus Vas'ishtha, holy sage,Spoke his deep anguish to assuage:'O Lord of men, no longer stay;The last remaining duties pay:Haste, mighty-armed, as I advise,The funeral rites to solemnize.'
And Bharat heard Vas'ishtha's redeWith due attention and agreed.He summoned straight from every sideChaplain, and priest, and holy guide.The sacred fires he bade them bringForth from the ohapel of the king,Wherein the priests in order due,And ministers, the offerings threw,Distraught in mind, with sob and tear,They laid the body on a bier,And servants, while their eyes brimmed o'erThe monarch from the palace bore,Another band of mourners ledThe long procession of the dead:Rich garments in the way they cast,And gold and silver, as they passed,Then other hands the corse bedewedWith fragrant juices that exudeFrom sandal, cedar, aloe, pine,And every perfume rare and fine.Then priestly hands the mighty deadUpon the pyre deposited.The sacred fires they tended next,And muttered low each funeral text;And priestly singers who rehearse
The S'aman 1 sang their holy verse.Forth from the town in litters came,Or chariots, many a royal dame,And honoured so the funeral ground,With aged followers ringed around.With steps in inverse order bent, 2The priests in sad procession wentAround the monarch's burning pyreWho well had nursed each sacred fire:With Queen Kaus'alyá and the rest,Their tender hearts with woe distressed,The voice of women, shrill and clearAs screaming curlews, smote the ear,As from a thousand voices roseThe shriek that tells of woman's woes.Then weeping, faint, with loud lament,Down Sarjú's shelving bank they went. There standing on the river side With Bharat, priest, and peer, Their lips the women purified With water fresh and clear. Returning to the royal town, Their eyes with tear-drops filled, Ten days on earth they laid them down, And wept till grief was stilled.
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Footnotes185:1 Bharat does not intend these curses for any particular person: he merely wishes to prove his own innocence by invoking them on his own head if he had any share in banishing Ráma.
CANTO LXXVII.:
He heard the words Vas'ishtha spoke,And slumbering resolution woke.Then skilled in all the laws declare,He bade his friends the rites prepareThey raised, the body from the oil,And placed it, dripping, on the soil;Then laid it on a bed, whereonWrought gold and precious jewels shone.There, pallor o'er his features spread,The monarch, as in sleep, lay dead.Then Bharat sought his father's side,And lifted up his voice and cried:'O King, and has thy heart designedTo part and leave thy son behind?Make Ráma flee, who loves the right,And Lakshman of the arm of might?Whither, great Monarch, wilt thou goAnd leave this people in their woe.Mourning their hero, wild with grief,Of Ráma reft, their lion chief?Ah, who will guard the people wellWho in Ayodhyá's city dwell,When thou, my sire, hast sought the sky,And Ráma has been forced to fly?In widowed woe, bereft of thee,The land no more is fair to *see*The city, to my aching sight,Is gloomy as a moonless night.'
Thus, with o'erwhelming sorrow pained,Sad Bharat by the bed complained:And thus Vas'ishtha, holy sage,Spoke his deep anguish to assuage:'O Lord of men, no longer stay;The last remaining duties pay:Haste, mighty-armed, as I advise,The funeral rites to solemnize.'
And Bharat heard Vas'ishtha's redeWith due attention and agreed.He summoned straight from every sideChaplain, and priest, and holy guide.The sacred fires he bade them bringForth from the ohapel of the king,Wherein the priests in order due,And ministers, the offerings threw,Distraught in mind, with sob and tear,They laid the body on a bier,And servants, while their eyes brimmed o'erThe monarch from the palace bore,Another band of mourners ledThe long procession of the dead:Rich garments in the way they cast,And gold and silver, as they passed,Then other hands the corse bedewedWith fragrant juices that exudeFrom sandal, cedar, aloe, pine,And every perfume rare and fine.Then priestly hands the mighty deadUpon the pyre deposited.The sacred fires they tended next,And muttered low each funeral text;And priestly singers who rehearse
The S'aman 1 sang their holy verse.Forth from the town in litters came,Or chariots, many a royal dame,And honoured so the funeral ground,With aged followers ringed around.With steps in inverse order bent, 2The priests in sad procession wentAround the monarch's burning pyreWho well had nursed each sacred fire:With Queen Kaus'alyá and the rest,Their tender hearts with woe distressed,The voice of women, shrill and clearAs screaming curlews, smote the ear,As from a thousand voices roseThe shriek that tells of woman's woes.Then weeping, faint, with loud lament,Down Sarjú's shelving bank they went. There standing on the river side With Bharat, priest, and peer, Their lips the women purified With water fresh and clear. Returning to the royal town, Their eyes with tear-drops filled, Ten days on earth they laid them down, And wept till grief was stilled.
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Footnotes185:1 Bharat does not intend these curses for any particular person: he merely wishes to prove his own innocence by invoking them on his own head if he had any share in banishing Ráma.
CANTO LXXVII.:
THE GATHERING OF THE ASHES.The tenth day passed: the prince againWas free from every legal stain.Ha bade them on the twelfth the greatRemaining honour celebrate.Much gold he gave, and gems, and food,To all the Bráhman multitude,And goats whose hair was white and fine,And many a thousand head of kine:Slaves, men and damsels, he bestowed,And many a car and fair abode:Such gifts he gave the Bráhman raceHis father's obsequies to grace.Then when the morning's earliest rayAppeared upon the thirteenth day,Again the hero wept and sighedDistraught and sorrow-stupefied;Drew, sobbing in his anguish, near,The last remaining debt to clear,And at the bottom of the pyre,He thus bespake his royal sire:'O father, hast thou left me so,Deserted in my friendless woe,When he to whom the charge was givenTo keep me, to the wood is driven?Her only son is forced awayWho was his helpless mother's stay:
Ah, whither, father, art thou fled;Leaving the queen uncomforted?'
He looked upon the pile where layThe bones half-burnt and ashes grey,And uttering a piteous moan,Gave way, by anguish overthrown.Then as his tears began to well,Prostrate to earth the hero fell;So from its seat the staff they drag,And cast to earth some glorious flag.The ministers approached againThe prince whom rites had freed from stain:So when Yayáti fell, each seer,In pity for his fate, drew near.S'atrughna saw him lying lowO'erwhelmed beneath the crush of woe,And as upon the king he thought,He fell upon the earth distraught.When to his loving memory cameThose noble gifts, that kingly frame,He sorrowed, by his woe distressed,As one by frenzied rage possessed:'Ah me, this surging sea of woeHas drowned us with its overflow:The source is Manthará, dire and dark,Kaikeyí is the ravening shark:And the great boons the monarch gaveLend conquering might to every wave.Ah, whither wilt thou go, and leaveThy Bharat in his woe to grieve,Whom ever 'twas thy greatest joyTo fondle as a tender boy?Didst thou not give with thoughtful careOur food, our drink, our robes to wear?Whose love will now for us provide,When thou, our king and sire, hast died?At such a time bereft, forlorn,Why is not earth in sunder torn,Missing her monarch's firm control,His love of right, his lofty soul?Ah me, for Ráma roams afar,My sire is where the Blessed are;How can I live deserted? IWill pass into the fire and die.Abandoned thus, I will not brookUpon Ayodhyá's town to look,Once guarded by Ikshváku's race:The wood shall be my dwelling place.'
Then when the princes' mournful trainHeard the sad brothers thus complain,And saw their misery, at the viewTheir grief burst wilder out anew.Faint with lamenting, sad and worn,Each like a bull with broken horn,The brothers in their wild despairLay rolling, mad with misery, there.Then old Vas'ishtha good and true,Their father's priest, all lore who knew,Raised weeping Bharat on his feet,And thus bespake with counsel meet:'Twelve days, my lord, have past away
Since flames consumed thy father's clay:Delay no more: as rules ordain,Gather what bones may yet remain.Three constant pairs are ever foundTo hem all mortal creatures round: 1Then mourn not thus, O Prince, for noneTheir close companionship may shun.' Sumantra bade S'atrughna rise,And soothed his soul with counsel wise,And skilled in truth, his hearer taughtHow all things are and come to naught,When rose each hero from the ground,A lion lord of men, renowned,He showed like Indra's flag, 2 whereonFierce rains have dashed and suns have shone.They wiped their red and weeping eyes,And gently made their sad replies:Then, urged to haste, the royal pairPerformed the rites that claimed their care.
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Footnotes186:1 The Sáma-veda, the hymns of which are chanted aloud.
186:2 Walking from right to left.
CANTO LXXVIII.:
Ah, whither, father, art thou fled;Leaving the queen uncomforted?'
He looked upon the pile where layThe bones half-burnt and ashes grey,And uttering a piteous moan,Gave way, by anguish overthrown.Then as his tears began to well,Prostrate to earth the hero fell;So from its seat the staff they drag,And cast to earth some glorious flag.The ministers approached againThe prince whom rites had freed from stain:So when Yayáti fell, each seer,In pity for his fate, drew near.S'atrughna saw him lying lowO'erwhelmed beneath the crush of woe,And as upon the king he thought,He fell upon the earth distraught.When to his loving memory cameThose noble gifts, that kingly frame,He sorrowed, by his woe distressed,As one by frenzied rage possessed:'Ah me, this surging sea of woeHas drowned us with its overflow:The source is Manthará, dire and dark,Kaikeyí is the ravening shark:And the great boons the monarch gaveLend conquering might to every wave.Ah, whither wilt thou go, and leaveThy Bharat in his woe to grieve,Whom ever 'twas thy greatest joyTo fondle as a tender boy?Didst thou not give with thoughtful careOur food, our drink, our robes to wear?Whose love will now for us provide,When thou, our king and sire, hast died?At such a time bereft, forlorn,Why is not earth in sunder torn,Missing her monarch's firm control,His love of right, his lofty soul?Ah me, for Ráma roams afar,My sire is where the Blessed are;How can I live deserted? IWill pass into the fire and die.Abandoned thus, I will not brookUpon Ayodhyá's town to look,Once guarded by Ikshváku's race:The wood shall be my dwelling place.'
Then when the princes' mournful trainHeard the sad brothers thus complain,And saw their misery, at the viewTheir grief burst wilder out anew.Faint with lamenting, sad and worn,Each like a bull with broken horn,The brothers in their wild despairLay rolling, mad with misery, there.Then old Vas'ishtha good and true,Their father's priest, all lore who knew,Raised weeping Bharat on his feet,And thus bespake with counsel meet:'Twelve days, my lord, have past away
Since flames consumed thy father's clay:Delay no more: as rules ordain,Gather what bones may yet remain.Three constant pairs are ever foundTo hem all mortal creatures round: 1Then mourn not thus, O Prince, for noneTheir close companionship may shun.' Sumantra bade S'atrughna rise,And soothed his soul with counsel wise,And skilled in truth, his hearer taughtHow all things are and come to naught,When rose each hero from the ground,A lion lord of men, renowned,He showed like Indra's flag, 2 whereonFierce rains have dashed and suns have shone.They wiped their red and weeping eyes,And gently made their sad replies:Then, urged to haste, the royal pairPerformed the rites that claimed their care.
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Footnotes186:1 The Sáma-veda, the hymns of which are chanted aloud.
186:2 Walking from right to left.
CANTO LXXVIII.:
MANTHARÁ PUNISHED.Satrughna thus to Bharat spakeWho longed the forest road to take:'He who in woe was wont to giveStrength to himself and all that live--Dear Ráma, true and pure in heart,Is banished by a woman's art.Yet here was Lakshman, brave and strong,Could not his might prevent the wrong?Could not his arm the king restrain,Or make the banished free again?One loving right and fearing crimeHad checked the monarch's sin in time,When, vassal of a woman's will,His feet approached the path of ill.' While Lakshman's younger brother, dreadS'atrughna, thus to Bharat said,Came to the fronting door, arrayedIn glittering robes, the hump-back maid.There she, with sandal-oil besmeared,In garments meet for queens appeared:And lustre to her form was lentBy many a gem and ornament.She girdled with her broidered zone,And many a chain about her thrown,Showed like a female monkey roundWhose body many a string is bound.When on that cause of evil fellThe quick eye of the sentinel,
He grasped her in his ruthless hold,And hastening in, S'atrughna told:'Here is the wicked pest,' he cried,'Through whom the king thy father died,And Ráma wanders in the wood:Do with her as thou deemest good.'The warder spoke: and every wordS'atrughna's breast to fury stirred:He called the servants all and each.And spake in wrath his hasty speech:'This is the wretch my sire who slew,And misery on my brothers drew:Let her this day obtain the meed,Vile sinner, of her cruel deed.'He spake; and moved by fury laidHis mighty hand upon the maid,Who as her fellows ringed her round.Made with her cries the hall resound,Soon as the gathered women viewedS'atrughna in his angry mood,Their hearts disturbed by sudden dread,They turned and from his presence fled.'His rage,' they cried, 'on us will fall,And ruthless, he will slay us all.Come, to Kaus'alyá let us flee:Our hope, our sure defence is she,Approved by all, of virtuous mind,Compassionate, and good, and kind.' His eyes with burning wrath aglow,S'atrughna, shatterer of the foe,Dragged on the ground the hump-back maidWho shrieked aloud and screamed for aid.This way and that with no remorseHe dragged her with resistless force,And chains and glittering trinkets burstLay here and there with gems dispersed,Till like the sky of Autumn shoneThe palace floor they sparkled on.The lord of men, supremely strong,Haled in his rage the wretch along:Where Queen Kaikeyí dwelt he came,And sternly then addressed the dame.Deep in her heart Kaikeyí feltThe stabs his keen reproaches dealt,And of S'atrughna's ire afraid,To Bharat flew and cried for aid.He looked and saw the prince inflamedWith burning rage, and thus exclaimed:'Forgive! thine angry arm restrain:A woman never may be slain,My hand Kaikeyí's blood would spill,The sinner ever bent on ill,But Ráma, long in duty tried,Would hate the impious matricide:And if he knew thy vengeful bladeHad slaughtered e'en this hump-back maid,Never again, be sure, would heSpeak friendly word to thee or me." When Bharat's speech S'atrughna heardHe calmed the rage his breast that stirred,
Releasing from her dire constraintThe trembling wretch with terror faint.Then to Kaikeyí's feet she crept,And prostrate in her misery wept.Kaikeyí on the hump-back gazed, And saw her weep and gasp.Still quivering, with her senses dazed, From fierce S'atrughna's grasp.With gentle words of pity she Assuaged her wild despair.Even as a tender hand might free A curlew from the snare.
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Footnotes187:1 Birth and death, pleasure and pain, loss and gain.
187:2 Erected upon a tree or high staff in honour of Indra.
CANTO LXXIX.:
He grasped her in his ruthless hold,And hastening in, S'atrughna told:'Here is the wicked pest,' he cried,'Through whom the king thy father died,And Ráma wanders in the wood:Do with her as thou deemest good.'The warder spoke: and every wordS'atrughna's breast to fury stirred:He called the servants all and each.And spake in wrath his hasty speech:'This is the wretch my sire who slew,And misery on my brothers drew:Let her this day obtain the meed,Vile sinner, of her cruel deed.'He spake; and moved by fury laidHis mighty hand upon the maid,Who as her fellows ringed her round.Made with her cries the hall resound,Soon as the gathered women viewedS'atrughna in his angry mood,Their hearts disturbed by sudden dread,They turned and from his presence fled.'His rage,' they cried, 'on us will fall,And ruthless, he will slay us all.Come, to Kaus'alyá let us flee:Our hope, our sure defence is she,Approved by all, of virtuous mind,Compassionate, and good, and kind.' His eyes with burning wrath aglow,S'atrughna, shatterer of the foe,Dragged on the ground the hump-back maidWho shrieked aloud and screamed for aid.This way and that with no remorseHe dragged her with resistless force,And chains and glittering trinkets burstLay here and there with gems dispersed,Till like the sky of Autumn shoneThe palace floor they sparkled on.The lord of men, supremely strong,Haled in his rage the wretch along:Where Queen Kaikeyí dwelt he came,And sternly then addressed the dame.Deep in her heart Kaikeyí feltThe stabs his keen reproaches dealt,And of S'atrughna's ire afraid,To Bharat flew and cried for aid.He looked and saw the prince inflamedWith burning rage, and thus exclaimed:'Forgive! thine angry arm restrain:A woman never may be slain,My hand Kaikeyí's blood would spill,The sinner ever bent on ill,But Ráma, long in duty tried,Would hate the impious matricide:And if he knew thy vengeful bladeHad slaughtered e'en this hump-back maid,Never again, be sure, would heSpeak friendly word to thee or me." When Bharat's speech S'atrughna heardHe calmed the rage his breast that stirred,
Releasing from her dire constraintThe trembling wretch with terror faint.Then to Kaikeyí's feet she crept,And prostrate in her misery wept.Kaikeyí on the hump-back gazed, And saw her weep and gasp.Still quivering, with her senses dazed, From fierce S'atrughna's grasp.With gentle words of pity she Assuaged her wild despair.Even as a tender hand might free A curlew from the snare.
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Footnotes187:1 Birth and death, pleasure and pain, loss and gain.
187:2 Erected upon a tree or high staff in honour of Indra.
CANTO LXXIX.:
BHARAT'S COMMANDS.Now when the sun's returning rayHad ushered in the fourteenth day,The gathered peers of state addressedTo Bharat's ear their new request:'Our lord to heaven has parted hence,Long served with deepest reverence;Ráma, the eldest, far from home,And Lakshman, in the forest roam.O Prince, of mighty fame, be thouOur guardian and our monarch now,Lest secret plot or foeman's hateAssail our unprotected stateWith longing eyes, O Lord of men,To thee look friend and citizen,And ready is each sacred thingTo consecrate our chosen king.Come, Bharat, and accept thine ownAncient hereditary throne.Thee let the priests this day installAs monarch to preserve us all.' Around the sacred gear he bentHis circling footsteps reverent,And, firm to vows he would not break,Thus to the gathered people spake:'The eldest son is ever king:So rules the house from which we spring:Nor should ye, Lords, like men unwise,With words like these to wrong advise.Ráma is eldest born, and heThe ruler of the land shall be.Now to the woods will I repair,Five years and nine to lodge me there.Assemble straight a mighty force,Cars, elephants, and foot and horse,For I will follow on his trackAnd bring my eldest brother back.Whate'er the rites of throning needPlaced on a car the way shall lead:The sacred vessels I will takeTo the wild wood for Ráma's sake,I o'er the lion prince's headThe sanctifying balm will shed,And bring him, as the fire they bringForth from the shrine, with triumphing.Nor will I let my mother's greedIn this her cherished aim succeed:In pathless wilds will I remain,And Ráma here as king shall reign.To make the rough ways smooth and clearSend workman out and pioneer:Let skilful men attend besideOur way through pathless spots to guide.'As thus the royal Bharat spake,Ordaining all for Ráma's sake,The audience gave with one accordAuspicious answer to their lord:'Be royal Fortune aye benignTo thee for this good speech of thine,Who wishest still thine elder's handTo rule with kingly sway the land.' Their glorious speech, their favouring cries Made his proud bosom swell: And from the prince's noble eyes The tears of rapture fell. 1
CANTO LXXX.:
CANTO LXXX.:
THE WAY PREPARED.All they who knew the joiner's art,Or distant ground in every part;Each busied in his several trade,To work machines or ply the spade;Deft workmen skilled to frame the wheel,Or with the ponderous engine deal;Guides of the way, and craftsmen skilled,To sink the well, make bricks, and build;And those whose hands the tree could hew,And work with slips of cut bamboo,Went forward, and to guide them, theyWhose eyes before had seen the way.Then onward in triumphant moodWent all the mighty multitude.Like the great sea whose waves leap highWhen the full moon is in the sky.Then, in his proper duty skilled,Each joined him to his several guild,And onward in advance they wentWith every tool and implement.Where bush and tangled creeper layWith trenchant steel they made the way;They felled each stump, removed each stone,And many a tree was overthrown.In other spots, on desert lands,Tall trees were reared by busy hands.Where'er the line of road they took,They plied the hatchet, axe, and hook.
Others, with all their strength applied,Cast vigorous plants and shrubs aside,In shelving valleys rooted deep,And levelled every dale and steep.Each pit and hole that stopped the wayThey filled with stones, and mud, and clay.And all the ground that rose and fellWith busy care was levelled well.They bridged ravines with ceaseless toil,And pounded fine the flinty soil.Now here, now there, to right and left,A passage through the ground they cleft,And soon the rushing flood was ledAbundant through the new-cut bed,Which by the running stream suppliedWith ocean's boundless waters vied.In dry and thirsty spots they sankFull many a well and ample tank,And altars round about them placedTo deck the station in the waste.With well-wrought plaster smoothly spread,With bloomy trees that rose o'erhead,With banners waving in the air,And wild birds singing here and there,With fragrant sandal-water wet,With many a flower beside it set,Like the Gods' heavenly pathway showedThat mighty host's imperial road.Deft workmen, chosen for their skillTo do the high-souled Bharat's will,In every pleasant spot where grewTrees of sweet fruit and fair to view,As he commanded, toiled to graceWith all delights his camping-place.And they who read the stars, and wellEach lucky sign and hour could tell,Raised carefully the tented shadeWherein high-minded Bharat stayed.With ample space of level ground,With broad deep moat encompassed round;Like Mandar in his towering pride,With streets that ran from side to side;Enwreathed with many a palace tallSurrounded by its noble wall;With roads by skilful workmen made.Where many a glorious banner played;With stately mansions, where the doveSat nestling in her cote above.Rising aloft supremely fairLike heavenly cars that float in air,Each camp in beauty and in blissMatched Indra's own metropolis. As shines the heaven on some fair night, With moon and constellations filled. The prince's royal road was bright, Adorned by art of workmen skilled.
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Footnotes188:1 I follow in this stanza the Bombay edition in preference to Schlegel's which gives the tears of joy to the courtiers.
CANTO LXXXI.:
Others, with all their strength applied,Cast vigorous plants and shrubs aside,In shelving valleys rooted deep,And levelled every dale and steep.Each pit and hole that stopped the wayThey filled with stones, and mud, and clay.And all the ground that rose and fellWith busy care was levelled well.They bridged ravines with ceaseless toil,And pounded fine the flinty soil.Now here, now there, to right and left,A passage through the ground they cleft,And soon the rushing flood was ledAbundant through the new-cut bed,Which by the running stream suppliedWith ocean's boundless waters vied.In dry and thirsty spots they sankFull many a well and ample tank,And altars round about them placedTo deck the station in the waste.With well-wrought plaster smoothly spread,With bloomy trees that rose o'erhead,With banners waving in the air,And wild birds singing here and there,With fragrant sandal-water wet,With many a flower beside it set,Like the Gods' heavenly pathway showedThat mighty host's imperial road.Deft workmen, chosen for their skillTo do the high-souled Bharat's will,In every pleasant spot where grewTrees of sweet fruit and fair to view,As he commanded, toiled to graceWith all delights his camping-place.And they who read the stars, and wellEach lucky sign and hour could tell,Raised carefully the tented shadeWherein high-minded Bharat stayed.With ample space of level ground,With broad deep moat encompassed round;Like Mandar in his towering pride,With streets that ran from side to side;Enwreathed with many a palace tallSurrounded by its noble wall;With roads by skilful workmen made.Where many a glorious banner played;With stately mansions, where the doveSat nestling in her cote above.Rising aloft supremely fairLike heavenly cars that float in air,Each camp in beauty and in blissMatched Indra's own metropolis. As shines the heaven on some fair night, With moon and constellations filled. The prince's royal road was bright, Adorned by art of workmen skilled.
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Footnotes188:1 I follow in this stanza the Bombay edition in preference to Schlegel's which gives the tears of joy to the courtiers.
CANTO LXXXI.:
THE ASSEMBLY.Ere yet the dawn had ushered inThe day should see the march begin,Herald and bard who rightly knewEach nice degree of honour due,Their loud auspicious voices raised.And royal Bharat blessed and praised.With sticks of gold the drum they smote,Which thundered out its deafening note,Blew loud the sounding shell, and blentEach high and low-toned instrument.The mingled sound of drum and hornThrough all the air was quickly borne,And as in Bharat's ear it rang,Gave the sad prince another pang. Then Bharat starting from repose,Stilled the glad sounds that round him rose,'I am not king--no more mistake:'Then to S'atrughna thus he spake:'O see what general wrongs succeedSprung from Kaikeyí's evil deed!The king my sire has died and thrownFresh miseries on me alone.The royal bliss, on duty based.Which our just high-souled father graced,Wanders in doubt and sore distressLike a tossed vessel rudderless.And he who was our lordly stayRoams in the forest far away,Expelled by this my mother, whoTo duty's law is most untrue.' As royal Bharat thus gave ventTo bitter grief in wild lament,Gazing upon his face the crowdOf pitying women wept aloud.His lamentation scarce was o'er,When Saint Vas'ishtha, skilled in loreOf royal duty, dear to fame,To join the great assembly came.Girt by disciples ever trueStill nearer to that hall he drew,Resplendent, heavenly to behold,Adorned with wealth of gems and gold:E'en so a man in duty triedDraws near to meet his virtuous bride.He reached his golden seat o'erlaidWith coverlet of rich brocade.There sat, in all the Vedas read,And called the messengers, and said:'Go forth, let Bráhman, Warrior, peer,And every captain gather here:Let all attentive hither throng:Go, hasten: we delay too long.S'atrughna, glorious Bharat bring,The noble children of the king, 1
Yudhájit 1 and Sumantra, allThe truthful and the virtuous call,' He ended: soon a mighty soundOf thickening tumult rose around,As to the hall they bent their courseWith car, and elephant, and horse,The people all with glad acclaimWelcomed Prince Bharat as he came:E'en as they loved their king to greet,Or as the Gods Lord Indra 2 meet. The vast assembly shone as fair With Bharat's kingly face As Das'aratha's self were there To glorify the place. It gleamed like some unruffled lake Where monsters huge of mould With many a snake their pastime take O'er shells, sand, gems, and gold.
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Footnotes189:1 The commentator says 'S'atrughna accompanied by the other sons of the king.'
CANTO LXXXII.:
Yudhájit 1 and Sumantra, allThe truthful and the virtuous call,' He ended: soon a mighty soundOf thickening tumult rose around,As to the hall they bent their courseWith car, and elephant, and horse,The people all with glad acclaimWelcomed Prince Bharat as he came:E'en as they loved their king to greet,Or as the Gods Lord Indra 2 meet. The vast assembly shone as fair With Bharat's kingly face As Das'aratha's self were there To glorify the place. It gleamed like some unruffled lake Where monsters huge of mould With many a snake their pastime take O'er shells, sand, gems, and gold.
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Footnotes189:1 The commentator says 'S'atrughna accompanied by the other sons of the king.'
CANTO LXXXII.:
THE DEPARTURE.The prudent prince the assembly viewedThronged with its noble multitude,Resplendent as a cloudless nightWhen the full moon is in his height;While robes of every varied hueA glory o'er the synod threw.The priest in lore of duty skilledLooked on the crowd the hall that filled,And then in accents soft and graveTo Bharat thus his counsel gave:'The king, dear son, so good and wise,Has gone from earth and gained the skies,Leaving to thee, her rightful lord,This rich wide land with foison stored.And still has faithful Ráma stoodFirm to the duty of the good,And kept his father's host aright,As the moon keeps its own dear light.Thus sire and brother yield to theeThis realm from all annoyance free:Bejoice thy lords: enjoy thine own:Anointed king, ascend the throne.Let vassal Princes hasten forthFrom distant lands, west, south, and north,From Kerala, 3 from every sea,And bring ten million gems to thee.'As thus the sage Vas'ishtha spoke,A storm of grief o'er Bharat broke.And longing to he just and true,
His thoughts to duteous Ráma flew.With sobs and sighs and broken tones,E'en as a wounded mallard moans,He mourned with deepest sorrow moved,And thus the holy priest reproved:'O, how can such as Bharat dareThe power and sway from him to tear,Wise, and devout, and true, and chaste,With Scripture lore and virtue graced?Can one of Das'aratha's seedBe guilty of so vile a deed?The realm and I are Ráma's: thou,Shouldst speak the words of justice now.For he, to claims of virtue true,Is eldest born and noblest too:Nahush, Dilîpa could not beMore famous in their lives than he.As Das'aratha ruled of right,So Ráma's is the power and right.If I should do this sinful deedAnd forfeit hope of heavenly need,My guilty act would dim the shineOf old Ikshváku's glorious line.Nay, as the sin my mother wroughtIs grievous to my inmost thought,I here, my hands together laid,Will greet him in the pathless shade,To Ráma shall my steps be bent,My King, of men most excellent,Raghu's illustrious son, whose swayMight, hell, and earth, and heaven obey.' That righteous speech, whose every wordBore virtue's, stamp, the audience heard;On Ráma every thought was set,And with glad tears each eye was wet.'Then, if the power I still should lackTo bring my noble brother back,I in the wood will dwell, and shareHis banishment with Lakshman there.By every art persuasive ITo bring him from the wood will try,And show him to your loving eyes.O Brahmans noble, good, and wise.E'en now, the road to make and clear,Each labourer pressed, and pioneerHave I sent forward to precedeThe army I resolve to lead.' Thus, by fraternal love possessed,His firm resolve the prince expressed.Then to Sumantra, deeply readIn holy texts, he turned and said:'Sumantra, rise without delay,And as I bid my words obey.Give orders for the march with speed,And all the army hither lead.' The wise Sumantra, thus addressed,Obeyed the high-souled chief's behest.He hurried forth with joy inspiredAnd gave the orders he desired.Delight each soldier's bosom filled,Aud through each chief and captain thrilled,
To hear that march proclaimed, to bringDear Ráma back from wandering.From house to house the tidings flew:Each soldier's wife the order knew,And as she listened blithe and gayHer husband urged to speed away.Captain and soldier soon declaredThe host equipped and all preparedWith chariots matching thought for speed,And wagons drawn by ox and steed.When Bharat by Vás'ishtha's side,His ready host of warriors eyed,Thus in Sumantra's ear he spoke.:'My car and horses quickly yoke.'Sumantra hastened to fulfilWith ready joy his master's will,And quickly with the chariot spedDrawn by fleet horses nobly bred.Then glorious Bharat, true, devout,Whose genuine valour none could doubt,Gave in fit words his order out;For he would seek the shadeOf the great distant wood, and thereWin his dear brother with his prayer:'Sumantra, haste! my will declare The host be all arrayed.I to the wood my way will take,To Ráma supplication make,And for the world's advantage sake, Will lead him home again.'Then, ordered thus, the charioteerWho listened with delighted ear,Went forth and gave his orders clear To captains of the train.He gave the popular chiefs the word,And with the news his friends he stirred,And not a single man deferred Preparing for the road.Then Bráhman, Warrior, Merchant, thrall,Obedient to Sumantra's call,Each in his house arose, and allYoked elephant or camel tall,Or ass or noble steed in stall, And full appointed showed.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes190:1 Not Bharat's uncle, but some councillor.
190:2 S'atakratu, Lord of a hundred sacrifices, the performance of a hundred As'vamedhas or sacrifices of a horse entitling the sacrificer to this exalted dignity.
190:3 The modern Malabar.
CANTO LXXXIII.:
His thoughts to duteous Ráma flew.With sobs and sighs and broken tones,E'en as a wounded mallard moans,He mourned with deepest sorrow moved,And thus the holy priest reproved:'O, how can such as Bharat dareThe power and sway from him to tear,Wise, and devout, and true, and chaste,With Scripture lore and virtue graced?Can one of Das'aratha's seedBe guilty of so vile a deed?The realm and I are Ráma's: thou,Shouldst speak the words of justice now.For he, to claims of virtue true,Is eldest born and noblest too:Nahush, Dilîpa could not beMore famous in their lives than he.As Das'aratha ruled of right,So Ráma's is the power and right.If I should do this sinful deedAnd forfeit hope of heavenly need,My guilty act would dim the shineOf old Ikshváku's glorious line.Nay, as the sin my mother wroughtIs grievous to my inmost thought,I here, my hands together laid,Will greet him in the pathless shade,To Ráma shall my steps be bent,My King, of men most excellent,Raghu's illustrious son, whose swayMight, hell, and earth, and heaven obey.' That righteous speech, whose every wordBore virtue's, stamp, the audience heard;On Ráma every thought was set,And with glad tears each eye was wet.'Then, if the power I still should lackTo bring my noble brother back,I in the wood will dwell, and shareHis banishment with Lakshman there.By every art persuasive ITo bring him from the wood will try,And show him to your loving eyes.O Brahmans noble, good, and wise.E'en now, the road to make and clear,Each labourer pressed, and pioneerHave I sent forward to precedeThe army I resolve to lead.' Thus, by fraternal love possessed,His firm resolve the prince expressed.Then to Sumantra, deeply readIn holy texts, he turned and said:'Sumantra, rise without delay,And as I bid my words obey.Give orders for the march with speed,And all the army hither lead.' The wise Sumantra, thus addressed,Obeyed the high-souled chief's behest.He hurried forth with joy inspiredAnd gave the orders he desired.Delight each soldier's bosom filled,Aud through each chief and captain thrilled,
To hear that march proclaimed, to bringDear Ráma back from wandering.From house to house the tidings flew:Each soldier's wife the order knew,And as she listened blithe and gayHer husband urged to speed away.Captain and soldier soon declaredThe host equipped and all preparedWith chariots matching thought for speed,And wagons drawn by ox and steed.When Bharat by Vás'ishtha's side,His ready host of warriors eyed,Thus in Sumantra's ear he spoke.:'My car and horses quickly yoke.'Sumantra hastened to fulfilWith ready joy his master's will,And quickly with the chariot spedDrawn by fleet horses nobly bred.Then glorious Bharat, true, devout,Whose genuine valour none could doubt,Gave in fit words his order out;For he would seek the shadeOf the great distant wood, and thereWin his dear brother with his prayer:'Sumantra, haste! my will declare The host be all arrayed.I to the wood my way will take,To Ráma supplication make,And for the world's advantage sake, Will lead him home again.'Then, ordered thus, the charioteerWho listened with delighted ear,Went forth and gave his orders clear To captains of the train.He gave the popular chiefs the word,And with the news his friends he stirred,And not a single man deferred Preparing for the road.Then Bráhman, Warrior, Merchant, thrall,Obedient to Sumantra's call,Each in his house arose, and allYoked elephant or camel tall,Or ass or noble steed in stall, And full appointed showed.
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Footnotes190:1 Not Bharat's uncle, but some councillor.
190:2 S'atakratu, Lord of a hundred sacrifices, the performance of a hundred As'vamedhas or sacrifices of a horse entitling the sacrificer to this exalted dignity.
190:3 The modern Malabar.
CANTO LXXXIII.:
THE JOURNEY BEGUN.Then Bharat rose at early morn,And in his noble chariot borneDrove forward at a rapid paceEager to look on Ráma's face.The priests and lords, a fair array,In sun-bright chariots led the way.Behind, a well appointed throng,Nine thousand elephants streamed along.Then sixty thousand cars, and then,With various arms, came fighting men.A hundred thousand archers showed
In lengthened line the steeds they rode--A mighty host, the march to graceOf Bharat, pride of Raghu's race.Kaikeyí and Sumitrá came,And good Kaus'alyá, dear to fame:By hopes of Ráma's coming cheeredThey in a radiant car appeared.On fared the noble host to seeRáma and Lakshman, wild with glee,And still each other's ear to please,Of Ráma spoke in words like these:'When shall our happv eyes beholdOur hero true, and pure, and bold,So lustrous dark, so strong of arm,Who keeps the world from woe and harm?The tears that now our eyeballs dimWill vanish at the sight of him,As the whole world's black shadows flyWhen the bright sun ascends the sky.' Conversing thus their way pursuedThe city's joyous multitude,And each in mutual rapture pressedA friend or neighbour to his breast.Thus every man of high renown,And every merchant of the town,And leading subjects, joyous wentToward Ráma in his banishment.And those who worked the potter's wheel,And artists skilled in gems to deal;And masters of the weaver's art,And those who shaped the sword and dart;And they who golden trinkets made,And those who plied the fuller's trade;And servants trained the bath to heat,And they who dealt in incense sweet;Physicians in their business skilled.And those who wine and mead distilled;And workmen deft in glass who wrought,And those whose snares the peacock caught;With them who bored the ear for rings,Or sawed, or fashioned ivory things:And those who knew to mix cement,Or lived by sale of precious scent;And men who washed, and men who sewed,And thralls who mid the herds abode;And fishers of the flood, and theyWho played and sang, and women gay;And virtuous Bráhmans, Scripture-wise,Of life approved in all men's eyes;These swelled the prince's lengthened train,Borne each in car or bullock wain.Fair were the robes they wore uponTheir limbs where red-hued unguents shone.These all in various modes conveyedTheir journey after Bharat made;The soldiers' hearts with rapture glowed,Following Bharat on his road,Their chief whose tender love would fainBring his dear brother home again.With elephant, and horse, and car,The vast procession travelled far,
And came where Gangá's waves belowThe town of Sringavera 1 flow.There, with his friends and kinsmen nigh,Dwelt Guha, Ráma's dear ally,Heroic guardian of the landWith dauntless heart and ready hand.There for a while the mighty forceThat followed Bharat stayed its course,Gazing on Gangá's bosom stirredBy many a graceful water-bird.When Bharat viewed his followers there,And Gangá's water, blest and fair,The prince, who lore of words possessed,His councillors and lords addressed:'The captains of the army call:Proclaim this day a halt for all,That so to-morrow, rested, weMay cross this flood that seeks the sea.Meanwhile, descending to the shore,The funeral stream I fain would pourFrom Gangá's fair auspicious tideTo him, my father glorified.' Thus Bharat spoke: each peer and lordApproved his words with one accord,And bade the weary troops reposeIn separate spots where'er they chose.There by the mighty stream that day,Most glorious in its vast arrayThe prince's wearied army lay In various groups reclined.There Bharat's hours of night were spent,While every eager thought he bentOn bringing home from banishmentHis brother, great of mind.
CANTO LXXXIV.:
In lengthened line the steeds they rode--A mighty host, the march to graceOf Bharat, pride of Raghu's race.Kaikeyí and Sumitrá came,And good Kaus'alyá, dear to fame:By hopes of Ráma's coming cheeredThey in a radiant car appeared.On fared the noble host to seeRáma and Lakshman, wild with glee,And still each other's ear to please,Of Ráma spoke in words like these:'When shall our happv eyes beholdOur hero true, and pure, and bold,So lustrous dark, so strong of arm,Who keeps the world from woe and harm?The tears that now our eyeballs dimWill vanish at the sight of him,As the whole world's black shadows flyWhen the bright sun ascends the sky.' Conversing thus their way pursuedThe city's joyous multitude,And each in mutual rapture pressedA friend or neighbour to his breast.Thus every man of high renown,And every merchant of the town,And leading subjects, joyous wentToward Ráma in his banishment.And those who worked the potter's wheel,And artists skilled in gems to deal;And masters of the weaver's art,And those who shaped the sword and dart;And they who golden trinkets made,And those who plied the fuller's trade;And servants trained the bath to heat,And they who dealt in incense sweet;Physicians in their business skilled.And those who wine and mead distilled;And workmen deft in glass who wrought,And those whose snares the peacock caught;With them who bored the ear for rings,Or sawed, or fashioned ivory things:And those who knew to mix cement,Or lived by sale of precious scent;And men who washed, and men who sewed,And thralls who mid the herds abode;And fishers of the flood, and theyWho played and sang, and women gay;And virtuous Bráhmans, Scripture-wise,Of life approved in all men's eyes;These swelled the prince's lengthened train,Borne each in car or bullock wain.Fair were the robes they wore uponTheir limbs where red-hued unguents shone.These all in various modes conveyedTheir journey after Bharat made;The soldiers' hearts with rapture glowed,Following Bharat on his road,Their chief whose tender love would fainBring his dear brother home again.With elephant, and horse, and car,The vast procession travelled far,
And came where Gangá's waves belowThe town of Sringavera 1 flow.There, with his friends and kinsmen nigh,Dwelt Guha, Ráma's dear ally,Heroic guardian of the landWith dauntless heart and ready hand.There for a while the mighty forceThat followed Bharat stayed its course,Gazing on Gangá's bosom stirredBy many a graceful water-bird.When Bharat viewed his followers there,And Gangá's water, blest and fair,The prince, who lore of words possessed,His councillors and lords addressed:'The captains of the army call:Proclaim this day a halt for all,That so to-morrow, rested, weMay cross this flood that seeks the sea.Meanwhile, descending to the shore,The funeral stream I fain would pourFrom Gangá's fair auspicious tideTo him, my father glorified.' Thus Bharat spoke: each peer and lordApproved his words with one accord,And bade the weary troops reposeIn separate spots where'er they chose.There by the mighty stream that day,Most glorious in its vast arrayThe prince's wearied army lay In various groups reclined.There Bharat's hours of night were spent,While every eager thought he bentOn bringing home from banishmentHis brother, great of mind.
CANTO LXXXIV.:
GUHA'S ANGER.King Guha saw the host spread o'erThe wide expanse of Gangá's shore,With waving flag and pennon graced,And to his followers spoke in haste:'A mighty army meets my eyes,That rivals Ocean's self in size:Where'er I look my very mindNo limit to the host can find.Sure Bharat with some evil thoughtHis army to our land has brought.See, huge of form, his flag he rears,That like an Ebony-tree appears.He comes with bonds to take and chain,Or triumph o'er our people slain:And after, Ráma will be slay,--Him whom his father drove away:The power complete he longs to gain.And--task too hard--usurp the reign.
So Bharat comes with wicked willHis brother Rama's blood to spill.But Ráma's slave and friend am I;He is my lord and dear ally.Keep here your watch in arms arrayedNear Gangá's flood to lend him aid,And let my gathered servants standAnd line with troops the river strand.Here let the river keepers meet.Who flesh and roots and berries eat;A hundred fishers man each boatOf the five hundred here afloat,And let the youthful and the strongAssemble in defensive throng.But yet, if, free from guilty thought'Gainst Ráma, he this land have sought,The prince's happy host to dayAcross the flood shall make its way.' He spoke: then bearing in a dishA gift of honey, meat, and fish,The king of the Nishadas drewToward Bharat for an interview.When Bharat's noble charioteerObserved the monarch hastening near,He duly, skilled in courteous lore,The tidings to his master bore:'This aged prince who hither bendsHis footsteps with a thousand friends,Knows, firm ally of Ráma, allThat may in Danduk wood befall:Therefore, Kakutstha's son, admitThe monarch, as is right and fit:For doubtless he can clearly tellWhere Ráma now and Lakshman dwell.' When Bharat heard Sumantra's rede,To his fair words the prince agreed:'Go quickly forth,' he cried, 'and bringBefore my face the aged king.'King Guha, with his kinsmen near,Rejoiced the summoning to hear:He nearer drew, bowed low his head,And thus to royal Bharat said:'No mansions can our country boast,And unexpected comes thy host:But what we have I give thee all:Rest in the lodging of thy thrall.See, the Nishadas here have broughtThe fruit and roots their hands have sought:And we have woodland fare beside.And store of meat both fresh and dried.To rest their weary limbs, I prayThis night at least thy host may stay:Then cheered with all we can bestowTo-morrow thou with it mayst go.'
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Footnotes192:1 Now Sungroor, in the Allahabad district.
CANTO LXXXV.:
So Bharat comes with wicked willHis brother Rama's blood to spill.But Ráma's slave and friend am I;He is my lord and dear ally.Keep here your watch in arms arrayedNear Gangá's flood to lend him aid,And let my gathered servants standAnd line with troops the river strand.Here let the river keepers meet.Who flesh and roots and berries eat;A hundred fishers man each boatOf the five hundred here afloat,And let the youthful and the strongAssemble in defensive throng.But yet, if, free from guilty thought'Gainst Ráma, he this land have sought,The prince's happy host to dayAcross the flood shall make its way.' He spoke: then bearing in a dishA gift of honey, meat, and fish,The king of the Nishadas drewToward Bharat for an interview.When Bharat's noble charioteerObserved the monarch hastening near,He duly, skilled in courteous lore,The tidings to his master bore:'This aged prince who hither bendsHis footsteps with a thousand friends,Knows, firm ally of Ráma, allThat may in Danduk wood befall:Therefore, Kakutstha's son, admitThe monarch, as is right and fit:For doubtless he can clearly tellWhere Ráma now and Lakshman dwell.' When Bharat heard Sumantra's rede,To his fair words the prince agreed:'Go quickly forth,' he cried, 'and bringBefore my face the aged king.'King Guha, with his kinsmen near,Rejoiced the summoning to hear:He nearer drew, bowed low his head,And thus to royal Bharat said:'No mansions can our country boast,And unexpected comes thy host:But what we have I give thee all:Rest in the lodging of thy thrall.See, the Nishadas here have broughtThe fruit and roots their hands have sought:And we have woodland fare beside.And store of meat both fresh and dried.To rest their weary limbs, I prayThis night at least thy host may stay:Then cheered with all we can bestowTo-morrow thou with it mayst go.'
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Footnotes192:1 Now Sungroor, in the Allahabad district.
CANTO LXXXV.:
GUHA AND BHARAT.Thus tho Nishadas' king besought:The prince with spirit wisdom-fraught
Replied in seemly words that blentDeep matter with the argument:'Thou, friend of him whom I revere,With honours high hast met me here,For thou alone wouldst entertainAud feed to-day so vast a train."In such fair words the prince replied,Then, pointing to the path he cried:'Which way aright will lead my feetTo Bharadvája's calm retreat;For all this land near Gangá's streamsPathless and hard to traverse seems?' Thus spoke the prince: King Guha heardDelighted every prudent word,And gazing on that forest wide,Raised suppliant hands, and thus replied:'My servants, all the ground who know,O glorious Prince, with thee shall goWith constant care thy way to guide,And I will journey by thy side.But this thy host so wide dispreadWakes in my heart one doubt and dread,Lest, threatening Ráma good and great,Ill thoughts thy journey stimulate." But wheu King Guha, ill at ease,Declared his fear in words like these,As pure as is the cloudless skyWith soft voice Bharat made reply:'Suspect me not: ne'er come the timeFor me to plot so foul a crime!He is my eldest brother, heIs like a father dear to me.I go to lead my brother thenceWho makes the wood his residence.No thought but this thy heart should frame:This simple truth my lips proclaim.' Then with glad cheer King Guha cried,With Bharat's answer gratified:'Blessed art thou: on earth I seeNone who may vie, O Prince, with thee,Who canst of thy free will resignThe kingdom which unsought is thine.For this, a name that ne'er shall die,Thy glory through the worlds shall fly,Who fain wouldst balm thy brother's painAnd lead the exile home again.' As Guha thus, and Bharat, eachTo other spoke in friendly speech,The Day God sank with glory dead,And night o'er all the sky was spread.Soon as King Guha's thoughtful careHad quartered all the armv there,Well honoured, Bharat laid his headBeside S'atrughna on a bed.But grief for Ráma yet oppressedHigh-minded Bharat's faithful breast--Such torment little was deservedBy him who ne'er from duty swerved.The fever raged through every veinAnd burnt him with its inward pain:So when in woods the flames leap free
The fire within consumes the tree.From heat of burning anguish sprungThe sweat upon his body hung,As when the sun with fervid glowOn high Himalaya melts the snow.As, banished from the herd, a bullWanders alone and sorrowful. Thus sighing and distressed,In misery and bitter grief,With fevered heart that mocked relief,Distracted in his mind, the chief Still mourned and found no rest.
CANTO LXXXVI.:
Replied in seemly words that blentDeep matter with the argument:'Thou, friend of him whom I revere,With honours high hast met me here,For thou alone wouldst entertainAud feed to-day so vast a train."In such fair words the prince replied,Then, pointing to the path he cried:'Which way aright will lead my feetTo Bharadvája's calm retreat;For all this land near Gangá's streamsPathless and hard to traverse seems?' Thus spoke the prince: King Guha heardDelighted every prudent word,And gazing on that forest wide,Raised suppliant hands, and thus replied:'My servants, all the ground who know,O glorious Prince, with thee shall goWith constant care thy way to guide,And I will journey by thy side.But this thy host so wide dispreadWakes in my heart one doubt and dread,Lest, threatening Ráma good and great,Ill thoughts thy journey stimulate." But wheu King Guha, ill at ease,Declared his fear in words like these,As pure as is the cloudless skyWith soft voice Bharat made reply:'Suspect me not: ne'er come the timeFor me to plot so foul a crime!He is my eldest brother, heIs like a father dear to me.I go to lead my brother thenceWho makes the wood his residence.No thought but this thy heart should frame:This simple truth my lips proclaim.' Then with glad cheer King Guha cried,With Bharat's answer gratified:'Blessed art thou: on earth I seeNone who may vie, O Prince, with thee,Who canst of thy free will resignThe kingdom which unsought is thine.For this, a name that ne'er shall die,Thy glory through the worlds shall fly,Who fain wouldst balm thy brother's painAnd lead the exile home again.' As Guha thus, and Bharat, eachTo other spoke in friendly speech,The Day God sank with glory dead,And night o'er all the sky was spread.Soon as King Guha's thoughtful careHad quartered all the armv there,Well honoured, Bharat laid his headBeside S'atrughna on a bed.But grief for Ráma yet oppressedHigh-minded Bharat's faithful breast--Such torment little was deservedBy him who ne'er from duty swerved.The fever raged through every veinAnd burnt him with its inward pain:So when in woods the flames leap free
The fire within consumes the tree.From heat of burning anguish sprungThe sweat upon his body hung,As when the sun with fervid glowOn high Himalaya melts the snow.As, banished from the herd, a bullWanders alone and sorrowful. Thus sighing and distressed,In misery and bitter grief,With fevered heart that mocked relief,Distracted in his mind, the chief Still mourned and found no rest.
CANTO LXXXVI.:
GUHA'S SPEECH.Guha the king, acquainted wellWith all that in the wood befell,To Bharat the unequalled toldThe tale of Lakshman mighty-souled:'With many an earnest word I spakeTo Lakshman as he stayed awake,And with his bow and shaft in handTo guard his brother kept his stand:'Now sleep a little, Lakshman, seeThis pleasant bed is strewn for thee:Hereon thy weary bodv lay,And strengthen thee with rest, I pray,Inured to toil are men like these,But thou hast aye been nursed in ease.Rest, duteous-minded! I will keepMy watch while Ráma lies asleep:For in the whole wide world is noneDearer to me than Raghu's son.Harbour no doubt or jealous fear:I speak the truth with heart sincere:For from the grace which he has shownWill glory on my name be thrown:Great store of merit shall I gain,And duteous, form no wish in vain.Let me enforced by many a rowOf followers, armed with shaft and bowFor well-loved Ráma's weal provideWho lies asleep by Sitá's side.For through this wood I often go,And all its shades conceal I know:And we with conquering arms can meetA four-fold host arrayed complete.'With words like these I spoke, designedTo move the high-souled Bharat's mind,But he upon his duty bent,Plied his persuasive argument:'O, how can slumber close mine eyesWhen lowly couched with Sitá liesThe royal Ráma? can I giveMy heart to joy, or even live?He whom no mighty demon, no,Nor heavenly God can overthrow,See, Guha, how he lies, alas,
With Sítá couched on gathered grass.By varied labours, long, severe,By many a prayer and rite austere,He, Das'aratha's cherished son,By Fortune stamped, from Heaven was won.Now as his son is forced to fly,The king ere long will surely die:Reft of his guardian hand, forlornIn widowed grief this land will mourn,E'en now perhaps, with toil o'erspent,The women cease their loud lament,And cries of woe no longer ringThroughout the palace of the king.But ah for sad Kaus'alyá! howFare she and mine own mothef now?How fares the king? this night, I think,Some of the three in death will sink.With hopes upon S'atrughna setMy mother may survive as yet,But the sad queen will die who boreThe hero, for her grief is sore.His cherished wish that would have madeDear Ráma king, so long delayed,'Too late! too late!' the king will cry,And conquered by his misery die.When Fate has brought the mournful dayWhich sees my father pass away,How happy in their lives are theyAllowed his funeral rites to pay.Our exile o'er, with him who ne'erTurns from the oath his lips may swear,May we returning safe and wellAgain in fair Ayodhyá dwell.'Thus Bharat stood with many a sighLamenting, and the night went by.Soon as the morning light shone fairIn votive coils both bound their hair.And then I sent them safely o'erAnd left them on the farther shore.With Sítá then they onward passed,Their coats of bark about them cast, Their locks like hermits' bound,The mighty tamers of the foe,Each with his arrows and his bow,Went over the rugged ground,Proud in their strength and undeterredLike elephants that lead the herd,And gazing oft around.
CANTO LXXXVII.:
With Sítá couched on gathered grass.By varied labours, long, severe,By many a prayer and rite austere,He, Das'aratha's cherished son,By Fortune stamped, from Heaven was won.Now as his son is forced to fly,The king ere long will surely die:Reft of his guardian hand, forlornIn widowed grief this land will mourn,E'en now perhaps, with toil o'erspent,The women cease their loud lament,And cries of woe no longer ringThroughout the palace of the king.But ah for sad Kaus'alyá! howFare she and mine own mothef now?How fares the king? this night, I think,Some of the three in death will sink.With hopes upon S'atrughna setMy mother may survive as yet,But the sad queen will die who boreThe hero, for her grief is sore.His cherished wish that would have madeDear Ráma king, so long delayed,'Too late! too late!' the king will cry,And conquered by his misery die.When Fate has brought the mournful dayWhich sees my father pass away,How happy in their lives are theyAllowed his funeral rites to pay.Our exile o'er, with him who ne'erTurns from the oath his lips may swear,May we returning safe and wellAgain in fair Ayodhyá dwell.'Thus Bharat stood with many a sighLamenting, and the night went by.Soon as the morning light shone fairIn votive coils both bound their hair.And then I sent them safely o'erAnd left them on the farther shore.With Sítá then they onward passed,Their coats of bark about them cast, Their locks like hermits' bound,The mighty tamers of the foe,Each with his arrows and his bow,Went over the rugged ground,Proud in their strength and undeterredLike elephants that lead the herd,And gazing oft around.
CANTO LXXXVII.:
GUHA'S STORY.That speech of Guha Bharat heardWith grief and tender pity stirred,And as his ears the story drank,Deep in his thoughtful heart it sank.His large full eyes in anguish rolled,His trembling limbs grew stiff and cold;Then fell he, like a tree upturn,In woe too grievous to be borne.When Guha saw the long-armed chiefWhose eye was like a lotus leaf,With lion shoulders strong and fair,High-mettled, prostrate in despair,--Pale, bitterly afflicted, heReeled as in earthquake reels a tree.But when S'atrughna standing nighSaw his dear brother helpless lie,Distraught with woe his head he bowed,Embraced him oft and wept aloud.Then Bharat's mothers came, forlornOf their dear king, with fasting worn,And stood with weeping eyes aroundThe hero prostrate on the ground.Kaus'alyá, by her woe oppressed,The senseless Bharat's limbs caressedAs a fond cow in love and fearCaresses oft her youngling dear:Then yielding to her woe she said,Weeping and sore disquieted:'What torments, O my son, are theseOf sudden pain or swift disease?The lives of us and all the lineDepend, dear child, on only thine.Ráma and Lakshman forced to flee,I live by naught but seeing thee:For as the king has past awayThou art my only help to-day.Hast thou, perchance, heard evil newsOf Lakshman, which thy soul subdues,Or Ráma dwelling with his spouse--My all is he--neath forest boughs?' Then slowly gathering sense and strengthThe weeping hero rose at length,And words like these to Guha spake,That bade Kaus'alyá comfort take:'Where lodged the prince that night? and whereLakshman the brave, and Sítá fair?Show me the couch whereon he lay,Tell me the food he ate, I pray.' Then Guha the Nishádas' kingReplied to Bharat's questioning:'Of all I had I brought the bestTo serve my good and honoured guestFood of each varied kind I chose,And every fairest fruit that grows.Ráma the hero truly braveDeclined the gift I humbly gave:His Warrior part he ne'er forgot,And what I brought accepted not:'No gifts, my friend, may we accept:Our law is, Give, and must be kept."'The high-souled chief, O Monarch, thusWith gracious words persuaded us.Then calm and still, absorbed in thought,He drank the water Lakshman brought,And then, obedient to his vows,He fasted with his gentle spouse.So Lakshman too from food abstained,
And sipped the water that remained:Then with ruled lips, devoutly staid,The three 1 their evening worship paid.Then Lakshman with unwearied careBrought heaps of sacred grass, and thereWith his own hands he quickly spread,For Ráma's rest, a pleasant bed,And faithful Sitá's too, where theyReclining each by other lay.Then Lakshman bathed their feet, and drewA little distance from the two.Here stands the tree which lent them shade,Here is the grass beneath it laid,Where Ráma and his consort spentThe night together ere they went.Lakshman, whose arms the foeman quell,Watched all the night as sentinel, And kept his great bow strung:His hand was gloved, his arm waa braced,Two well-filled quivers at his waist, With deadly arrows, hung.I took my shafts and trusty bow,And with that tamer of the foe Stood ever wakeful near,And with my followers, bow in hand,Behind me ranged, a ready band, Kept watch o'er Indra's peer.'
CANTO LXXXVIII.:
And sipped the water that remained:Then with ruled lips, devoutly staid,The three 1 their evening worship paid.Then Lakshman with unwearied careBrought heaps of sacred grass, and thereWith his own hands he quickly spread,For Ráma's rest, a pleasant bed,And faithful Sitá's too, where theyReclining each by other lay.Then Lakshman bathed their feet, and drewA little distance from the two.Here stands the tree which lent them shade,Here is the grass beneath it laid,Where Ráma and his consort spentThe night together ere they went.Lakshman, whose arms the foeman quell,Watched all the night as sentinel, And kept his great bow strung:His hand was gloved, his arm waa braced,Two well-filled quivers at his waist, With deadly arrows, hung.I took my shafts and trusty bow,And with that tamer of the foe Stood ever wakeful near,And with my followers, bow in hand,Behind me ranged, a ready band, Kept watch o'er Indra's peer.'
CANTO LXXXVIII.:
THE INGUDÍ TREE.When Bharat with each friend and peerHad heard that tale so full and clear,They went together to the treeThe bed which Ráma pressed to see.Then Bharat to his mothers said:'Behold the high-souled hero's bed:These tumbled heaps of grass betrayWhere he that night with Sitá lay:Unmeet, the heir of fortune highThus on the cold bare earth should lie,The monarch's son, in counsel sage,Of old imperial lineage.That lion-lord whose noble bedWith finest skins of deer was spread,--How can he now endure to pressThe bare earth, cold and comfortless!This sudden fall from bliss to griefAppears untrue, beyond belief:My senses are distraught: I seemTo view the fancies of a dream.There is no deity so great,No power in heaven can master Fate,If Ráma, Das'aratha's heir,Lay on the ground and slumbered there;And lovely Sitá, she who springsFrom fair Videha's ancient kings,
Ráma's dear wife, by all adored,Lay on the earth beside her lord.Here was his couch, upon this heapHe tossed and turned in restless sleep:On the hard soil each manly limbHas stamped the grass with signs of him,That night, it seems, fair Sitá spentArrayed in every ornament,For here and there my eyes beholdSmall particles of glistering gold.She laid her outer garment here,For still some silken threads appear,How dear in her devoted eyesMust be the bed where Ráma lies,Where she so tender could reposeAnd by his side forget her woes.Alas, unhappy, guilty me!For whom the prince was forced to flee,And chief of Raghu's sons and best,A bed like this with Sitá pressed.Son of a royal sire whose handRuled paramount o'er every land,Could he who every joy bestows,Whose body like the lotus shows,The friend of all, who charms the sight,Whose flashing eyes are darkly bright.Leave the dear kingdom, his by right,Unmeet for woe, the heir of bliss,And lie upon a bed like this?Great joy and happy fate are thine,O Lakshman, marked with each fair sign,Whose faithful footsteps follow stillThy brother in his hour of ill.And blest is Sitá, nobly good,Who dwells with Ráma in the wood.Ours is, alas, a doubtful fateOf Ráma reft and desolate.My royal sire has gained the skies,In woods the high-souled hero lies;The state is wrecked and tempest-tossed,A vessel with her rudder lost.Yet none in secret thought has plannedWith hostile might to seize the land:Though forced in distant wilds to dwell,The hero's arm protects it well.Unguarded, with deserted wall,No elephant or steed in stall,My father's royal city showsHer portals open to her foes,Of bold protectors reft and bare,Defenceless in her dark despair:But still her foes the wish restrain,As men from poisoned cates refrain.I from this hour my nights will passCouched on the earth or gathered grass,Eat only fruit and roots, and wearA coat of bark, and matted hair.I in the woods will pass, content,For him the term of banishment;So shall I still unbroken saveThe promise which the hero gave.
While I remain for Ráma there,S'atrnghna will my exile share,And Ráma in his home again,With Lakshman, o'er Ayodhyá reign,for him, to rule and guard the state,The twice-born men shall consecrate.O, may the Gods I serve inclineTo grant this earnest wish of mine!If when I bow before his feetAnd with all moving arts entreat, He still deny my prayer,Then with my brother will I live:He must, he must permission give, Roaming in forests there.'
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Footnotes195:1 Ráma, Lakshman, and Sumantra.
CANTO LXXXIX.:
Ráma's dear wife, by all adored,Lay on the earth beside her lord.Here was his couch, upon this heapHe tossed and turned in restless sleep:On the hard soil each manly limbHas stamped the grass with signs of him,That night, it seems, fair Sitá spentArrayed in every ornament,For here and there my eyes beholdSmall particles of glistering gold.She laid her outer garment here,For still some silken threads appear,How dear in her devoted eyesMust be the bed where Ráma lies,Where she so tender could reposeAnd by his side forget her woes.Alas, unhappy, guilty me!For whom the prince was forced to flee,And chief of Raghu's sons and best,A bed like this with Sitá pressed.Son of a royal sire whose handRuled paramount o'er every land,Could he who every joy bestows,Whose body like the lotus shows,The friend of all, who charms the sight,Whose flashing eyes are darkly bright.Leave the dear kingdom, his by right,Unmeet for woe, the heir of bliss,And lie upon a bed like this?Great joy and happy fate are thine,O Lakshman, marked with each fair sign,Whose faithful footsteps follow stillThy brother in his hour of ill.And blest is Sitá, nobly good,Who dwells with Ráma in the wood.Ours is, alas, a doubtful fateOf Ráma reft and desolate.My royal sire has gained the skies,In woods the high-souled hero lies;The state is wrecked and tempest-tossed,A vessel with her rudder lost.Yet none in secret thought has plannedWith hostile might to seize the land:Though forced in distant wilds to dwell,The hero's arm protects it well.Unguarded, with deserted wall,No elephant or steed in stall,My father's royal city showsHer portals open to her foes,Of bold protectors reft and bare,Defenceless in her dark despair:But still her foes the wish restrain,As men from poisoned cates refrain.I from this hour my nights will passCouched on the earth or gathered grass,Eat only fruit and roots, and wearA coat of bark, and matted hair.I in the woods will pass, content,For him the term of banishment;So shall I still unbroken saveThe promise which the hero gave.
While I remain for Ráma there,S'atrnghna will my exile share,And Ráma in his home again,With Lakshman, o'er Ayodhyá reign,for him, to rule and guard the state,The twice-born men shall consecrate.O, may the Gods I serve inclineTo grant this earnest wish of mine!If when I bow before his feetAnd with all moving arts entreat, He still deny my prayer,Then with my brother will I live:He must, he must permission give, Roaming in forests there.'
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Footnotes195:1 Ráma, Lakshman, and Sumantra.
CANTO LXXXIX.:
THE PASSAGE OF GANGÁ.That night the son of Raghu layOn Gangá's bank till break of day:Then with the earliest light he wokeAnd thus to brave S'atrughna spoke.'Rise up, S'atrughna, from thy bed:Why sleepest thou the night is fled.See how the sun who chases nightWakes every lotus with his light.Arise, arise, and first of allThe lord of S'ringavera call,For he his friendly aid will lendOur army o'er the flood to send.' Thus urged, S'atrughna answered: 'I,Remembering Ráma, sleepless lie.'As thus the brothers, each to each,The lion-mettled, ended speech,Came Guha, the Nishádas' king,And spoke with kindly questioning:'Hast thou in comfort passed,' he cried,'The night upon the river side?With thee how fares it? and are these,Thy soldiers, health and at ease?'Thus the Nishádas' lord inquiredIn gentle words which love inspired,And Bharat, Ráma's faithful slave,Thus to the king his answer gave:'The night has sweetly passed, and weAre highly honoured, King, by thee.Now let thy servants boats prepare,Our army o'er the stream to bear.' The speech of Bharat Guha heard,And swift to do his bidding stirred.Within the town the monarch spedAnd to his ready kinsmen said:'Awake, each kinsman, rise, each friend!May every joy your lives attend.Gather each boat upon the shoreAnd ferry all the army o'er.'Thus Guha spoke: nor they delayed,But, rising quick, their lord obeyed,And soon, from every side secured,Five hundred boats were ready moored.Some reared aloft the mystic sign, 1And mighty bells were hung in line:Of firmest build, gay flags they bore,And sailors for the helm and oar.One such King Guha chose, whereon,Of fair white cloth, an awning shone,And sweet musicians charmed the ear,--And bade his servants urge it near.Then Bharat swiftly sprang on board,And then S'atrughna, famous lord,To whom, with many a royal dame,Kaus'alyá and Sumitrá came.The household priest went first in place,The elders, and the Brahman race,And after them the monarch's trainOf women borne in many a wain,Then high to heaven the shouts of thoseWho fired the army's huts, 2 arose,With theirs who bathed along the shore,Or to the boats the baggage bore.Full freighted with that mighty forceThe boats sped swiftly on their coarse,By royal Guha's servants manned,And gentle gales the banners fanned.Some boats a crowd of dames conveyed,In others noble coursers neighed;Some chariots and their cattle bore,Some precious wealth and golden store.Across the stream each boat was rowed,There duly disembarked its load,And then returning on its way,Sped here and there in merry play.Then swimming elephants appearedWith flying pennons high upreared.And as the drivers urged them o'er,The look of winged mountains wore.Some men in barges reached the strand,Others on rafts came safe to land:Some buoyed with pitchers crossed the tide,And others on their arms relied.Thus with the help the monarch gaveThe army crossed pure Gangá's wave:Then in auspicious hour it stoodWithin Prayuga's famous wood.The prince with cheering words addressedHis weary mem, and bade them rest Where'er they chose and he,With priest and deacon by his side,To Bharadvaja's dwelling hied That best of saints to see.
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Footnotes196:1 The svastika, a little cross with a transverse line at each extremity.
196:2 When an army marched it was customary to burn the huts in which it had spent the night.
CANTO XC.:
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Footnotes196:1 The svastika, a little cross with a transverse line at each extremity.
196:2 When an army marched it was customary to burn the huts in which it had spent the night.
CANTO XC.:
THE HERMITAGE.The prince of men a league awaySaw where the hermit's dwelling lay,Then with his lords his path pursued,And left his warrior multitude.On foot, as duty taught his mind,He left his warlike gear behind:Two robes of linen cloth he wore,And bade Vas'ishtha walk before.Then Bharat from his lords withdrewWhen Bharadvája came in view,And toward the holy hermit wentBehind Vas'ishtha, reverent.When Bharadvája, saint austere,Saw good Vis'ishtha drawing near,He cried, upspringing from his seat,'The grace-gift bring, my friend to greet.'When Saint Vas'ishtha near him drew,And Bharat paid the reverence due,The glorious hermit was awareThat Das'aratha's son was there.The grace-gift, water for their feetHe gave, and offered fruit to eat;Then, duty-skilled, with friendly speechIn seemly order questioned each:'How fares it in Ayodhvá nowWith treasury and army? howWith kith and kin and friends most dear,With councillor, and prince, and peer?'But, for be knew the king was dead,Of Das'aratha naught he said.Vas'ishtha and the prince in turnWould of the hermits welfare learn:Of holy fires they fain would hear,Of pupils, trees, and birds, and deer.The glorious saint his answer madeThat all was well in holy shade:Then love of Ráma moved his breast,And thus he questioned of his guest:Why art thou here, O Prince, whose bandWith kingly sway protects the land;Declare the cause, explain the whole.For yet some doubt disturbs my soul.He whom Kaus'alyá bare, whose mightThe foemen slays, his line's delight,He who with wife and brother sentAfar now roam in banishment.Famed prince, to whom his father spakeThis order for a woman's sake:'Away! and in the forest spendThy life till fourteen years shall end'--Has thou the wish to harm him, bentOn sin against the innocent?Wouldst thou thine elder's realm enjoyWithout a thorn that can annoy?' With sobbing voice and tearful eyeThus Bharat sadly made reply:'Ah lost am I, if thou, O Saint,
Canst thus in thought my heart attaint:No warning charge from thee I need;Ne'er could such crime from me proceed.The words my guilty mother spakeWhen fondly jealous for my sake--Think not that I, to triumph moved,Those words approve or e'er approved.O Hermit, I have sought this placeTo win the lordly hero's grace,To throw me at my brother's feetAnd lead him to his royal seat.To this, my journey's aim and end,Thou shouldst, O Saint, thy favour lend:Where is the lord of earth? do thou,Most holy, say, where roams he now? Then, by the saint Vas'ishtha pressed, And all the gathered priests beside, To Bharat's dutiful request The hermit graciously replied:'Worthy of thee, O Prince, this deed,True son of Raghu's ancient seed.I know thee reverent, well-controlled,The glory of the good of old.I grant thy prayer: in this pursuitI know thy heart is resolute.'Tis for thy sake those words I saidThat wider still thy fame may spread.I know where Ráma, duty-tried,His brother, and his wife abide.Where Chitrakúta's heights ariseThy brother Ráma's dwelling lies.Go thither with the morning's light,And stay with all thy lords tonight:For I would show thee honour high,And do not thou my wish deny.'
CANTO XCI.:
Canst thus in thought my heart attaint:No warning charge from thee I need;Ne'er could such crime from me proceed.The words my guilty mother spakeWhen fondly jealous for my sake--Think not that I, to triumph moved,Those words approve or e'er approved.O Hermit, I have sought this placeTo win the lordly hero's grace,To throw me at my brother's feetAnd lead him to his royal seat.To this, my journey's aim and end,Thou shouldst, O Saint, thy favour lend:Where is the lord of earth? do thou,Most holy, say, where roams he now? Then, by the saint Vas'ishtha pressed, And all the gathered priests beside, To Bharat's dutiful request The hermit graciously replied:'Worthy of thee, O Prince, this deed,True son of Raghu's ancient seed.I know thee reverent, well-controlled,The glory of the good of old.I grant thy prayer: in this pursuitI know thy heart is resolute.'Tis for thy sake those words I saidThat wider still thy fame may spread.I know where Ráma, duty-tried,His brother, and his wife abide.Where Chitrakúta's heights ariseThy brother Ráma's dwelling lies.Go thither with the morning's light,And stay with all thy lords tonight:For I would show thee honour high,And do not thou my wish deny.'
CANTO XCI.:
BHARADVÁJA'S FEAST.Soon as he saw the prince's mindTo rest that day was well inclined,He sought Kaikeyí's son to pleaseWith hospitable courtesies.Then Bharat to the saint replied:'Our wants are more than satisfied.The gifts which honoured strangers greet,And water for our weary feetHast thou bestowed with friendly care,And every choice of woodland fare.' Then Bharadvája spoke, a smilePlaying upon his lips the while:'I know, dear Prince, thy friendly mindWill any fare sufficient find,But gladly would I entertainAnd banquet all thine armed train:Such is my earnest wish: do thouThis longing of my heart allow,Why host thou hither bent thy way,And made thy troops-behind thee stay?
Why unattended? couldst thou notWith friends and army seek this spot?' Bhharat, with reverent hands raised high,To that great hermit made reply:'My troops, for awe of thee, O Sage,I brought not to thy hermitage:Troops of a king or monarch's sonA hermit's home should ever shun.Behind me comes a mighty trainWide spreading o'er the ample plain,Where every chief and captain leadsMen, elephants, and mettled steedsI feared, O reverend Sage, lest theseMight harm the holy ground and trees,Springs might be marred and cots o'er-thrown,So with the priests I came alone.' 'Bring all thy host,' the hermit cried,And Bharat, to his joy, complied.Then to the chapel went the sire,Where ever burnt the sacred fire,And first, in order due, with sipsOf water purified his lips:To Visvakarmá, then he prayed,His hospitable feast to aid:'Let Vis'vakarmá hear my call,The God who forms and fashions all:A mighty banquet I provide,Be all my wants this day supplied.Lord Indra at their head, the three 1Who guard the worlds I call to me:A mighty host this day I feed,Be now supplied my every need.Let all the streams that eastward go,And those whose waters westering flow,Both on the earth and in the sky,Flow hither and my wants supply.Be some with ardent liquor filled,And some with wine from flowers distilled,While some their fresh cool streams retainSweet as the juice of sugar-cane,I call the Gods I call the bandOf minstrels that around them stand:I call the Háhá and Huhú,I call the sweet Vis'vásaI call the heavenly wives of theseWith all the bright Apsarases,Alambushe of beauty rare,The charmer of the tangled hair,Ghritáchí And Vis'váchi fair,Hemá and Bhímá sweet to view,And lovely Nágadantá too,And all the sweetest nymphs who standBy Indra or by Brahmá's hand--I summon these with all their trainAnd Tumburu to lead the strain.Here let Kuvera's garden riseWhich far in Northern Kuru 2 lies:
For leaves let cloth and gems entwine,And let its fruit be nymphs divine.Let Soma 1b give the noblest foodTo feed the mighty multitude,Of every kind, for tooth and lip,To chew, to lick, to suck, and sip.Let wreaths, where fairest flowers abound,Spring from the trees that bloom around.Each sort of wine to woo the taste,And meats of every kind be placed.' Thus spake the hermit sulf-restrained,With proper tone by rules ordained,On deepest meditation bent,In holy might predominent.Then as with hands in reverence raisedAbsorbed in thought he eastward gazed,The deities be thus addreasedCame each in semblance manifest.Delicious gales that cooled the frameFrom Malaya and Dardar came,That kissed those scented hills and threwAuspicious fragrance where they blew.Then falling fast in sweetest showersCame from the sky immortal flowers,And all the airy region roundWith heavenly drums was made to sound.Then breathed a soft celestial breeze,Then danced the bright Apsarases,The minstrels and the Gods advanced,And warbling lutes the soul entranced.The earth and sky that music filled,And through each ear it softly thrilled,As from the heavenly quills it fellWith time and tune attempered well.Soon as the minstrels ceased to playAnd airs celestial died away.The troops of Bharat saw amazedWhat Vis'vakarmá's art had raised.On every side, five leagues around,All smooth and level lay the ground,With fresh green grass that charmed the sightLike sapphires blent with lazulite.There the Wood-apple hung the head,The Mango and the Citron glowedThe Bel and scented Jak were there,And Amlá with fruitage fair.There, brought from Northern Kuru, stoodRich in delights, the glorious wood,And many a stream was seen to glide
With flowering trees along its side.There mansions rose with four wide halls,And elephants and chargers' stalls,And many a house of royal state,Triumphal are and bannered gate.With noble doorways, sought the sky,Like a pale cloud, a palace high,Which far and wide rare fragrance shed,With wreaths of white engarlanded.Square was its shape, its halls were wide,With many a seat and couch supplied,Drink of all kinds, and every meatSuch as celestial Gods might eat.Then at the bidding of the seerKaikeyi''s strong-armed son drew near.And passed within that fair abodeWhich with the noblest jewels glowed.Then, as Vas'ishtha led the way,The councillors, in due array.Followed delighted and amazedAnd on the glorious structure gazed.Then Bharat, Raghu's son, drew nearThe kingly throne, with prince and peer,Whereby the chouri in the shadeOf the white canopy was laid.Before the throne he humbly bentAnd honoured Ráma, reverent,Then in his hand the chouri bore,And sat where sits a councillor,His ministers and household priestSat by degrees from chief to least,Then sat the captain of the hostAnd all the men he honoured most.Then when the saint his order gave,Each river with enchanted waveRolled milk and curds divinely sweetBefore the princely Bharat's feet;And dwellings fair on either side,With gay white plaster beautified.Their heavenly roofs were seen to lift,The Bra'hman Bharady'aja's gift,Then straight by Lord Kuvera sent,Gay with celestial ornamentOf bright attire and jewels' shine.Came twenty thousand nymphs divine:The man on whom those beauties glancedThat moment felt his soul entranced.With them from Nandan's blissful shadesCame twenty thousand heavenly maids.Tumburu, Na'rad, Gopa came,And Sutanu, like radiant flame.The kings of the Gandharva throng,And ravished Bharat with their song.Then spoke the saint, and swift obeyedAlambusb'a, the fairest maid,And Mis'rakes'i bright to view,Ramana, Pundarik'a too,And danced to him with graceful easeThe dances of Apsarases.All deplete that by Gods are worn,Or Chaitraratha's graves adorn,
Bloomed by the saint's command arrayedOn branches in Praya'ga's shade.When at the saint's command the breezeMade music with the Vilva trees,To wave in rhythmic beat beganThe boughs of each Myrobolan,And holy fig-trees wore the lookOf dancers, as their leaflets shook.The fair Tama'la, palm, and pine,With trees that tower and plants that twine,The sweetly varying forms displayedOf stately dame or bending maid.Here men the foaming winecup quaffed,Here drank of milk full many a draught,And tasted meats of every kind,Well dressed, whatever pleased their mind.Then beauteous women, seven or eight,Stood ready by each man to wait:Beside the stream his limbs they strippedAnd in the cooling water dipped.And then the fair ones, sparkling eyed,With soft hands rubbed his limbs and dried.And sitting on the lovely bankHeld up the winecup as he drank.Nor did the grooms forget to feedCamel and mule and ox and steed,For there were stores of roasted grain,Of honey and of sugar-cane.So fast the wild excitement spreadAmong the warriors Bharat led,That all the mighty army throughThe groom no more his charger knew,And he who drove might seek in vainTo tell his elephant again.With every joy and rapture fired,Entranced with all the heart desired,The myriads of the host that nightRevelled delirious with delight.Urged by the damsels at their sideIn wild delight the warriors cried:'Ne'er will we seek Ayodhya', no,Nor yet to Dandak forest go:Here will we stay: may happy fateOn Bharat and on Ráma wait'Thus cried the army gay and freeExulting in their lawless glee,Both infantry and those who rodeOn elephants, or steeds bestrode,Ten thousand voices shouting, 'ThisIs heaven indeed for perfect bliss.'With garlands decked they idly strayed,And danced and laughed and sang and played.At length as every soldier eyed,With food like Amrit satisfied.Bach dainty cate and tempting meat,No longer had he care to eat.Thus soldier, servant, dame, and slaveReceived whate'er the wish might crave.As each in new-wrought clothes arrayedEnjoyed the feast before him laid.
Each man was seen in white attireUnstained by spot or speck of mire:None was athirst or hungry there,And none had dust upon his hair.On every side in woody dellsWas milky food in bubbling wells,And there were all-supplying cowsAnd honey dropping from the boughs.Nor wanted lakes of flower-made drinkWith piles of meat upon the brink,boiled, stewed, and roasted, varied cheer,Peachick and jungle-fowl and deer,There was the flesh of kid and boar,And dainty sauce in endless store,With juice of flowers concocted well,And soup that charmed the taste and smell,And pounded fruits of bitter taste,And many a bath was ready placedDown by each river's shelving sideThere stood great basins well supplied,And laid therein, of dazzling sheen,White brushes for the teeth were seen,And many a covered box whereinWas sandal powdered for the skin.And mirrors bright with constant care,And piles of new attire were there,And store of sandals and of shoes,Thousands of pairs, for all to choose:Eye-unguents, combs for hair and beard,Umbrellas fair and bows appeared.Lakes gleamed, that lent digestive aid, 1And some for pleasant bathing made,With waters fair, and smooth inclineFor camels, horses, mules, and kine.There saw they barley heaped on highThe coutless cattle to supply:The golden grain shone fair and brightAs sapphires or the lazulite.To all the gathered host it seemedAs if that magic scene they dreamed,And wonder, as they gazed, increasedAt Bharadvája's glorious feast. Thus in the hermit's grove they spentThat night in joy and merriment,Blest as the Gods who take their easeUnder the shade of Nandan's trees.Each minstrel bade the saint adieu,And to his blissful mansion flew,Aiid every stream and heavenly dameKtturned as swiftly as she came.
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Footnotes198:1 Yama, Varuna and Kuvera.
198:2 A happy land in the remote north where the inhabitants enjoy a natural pefection attended with complete happiness obtained without exertion. There is there no vicissitude, nor decrepitude, nor death, nor fear: no distinction of virtue and vice, none of the inequalities denoted by the words best, worst, and intermediate, nor any change resulting from the succssion of the four Yugas.' Sea MUIR'S. Sanskrit Texts, Vol I, p. 402.
198:1b The Moon.
CANTO XCII.:
Why unattended? couldst thou notWith friends and army seek this spot?' Bhharat, with reverent hands raised high,To that great hermit made reply:'My troops, for awe of thee, O Sage,I brought not to thy hermitage:Troops of a king or monarch's sonA hermit's home should ever shun.Behind me comes a mighty trainWide spreading o'er the ample plain,Where every chief and captain leadsMen, elephants, and mettled steedsI feared, O reverend Sage, lest theseMight harm the holy ground and trees,Springs might be marred and cots o'er-thrown,So with the priests I came alone.' 'Bring all thy host,' the hermit cried,And Bharat, to his joy, complied.Then to the chapel went the sire,Where ever burnt the sacred fire,And first, in order due, with sipsOf water purified his lips:To Visvakarmá, then he prayed,His hospitable feast to aid:'Let Vis'vakarmá hear my call,The God who forms and fashions all:A mighty banquet I provide,Be all my wants this day supplied.Lord Indra at their head, the three 1Who guard the worlds I call to me:A mighty host this day I feed,Be now supplied my every need.Let all the streams that eastward go,And those whose waters westering flow,Both on the earth and in the sky,Flow hither and my wants supply.Be some with ardent liquor filled,And some with wine from flowers distilled,While some their fresh cool streams retainSweet as the juice of sugar-cane,I call the Gods I call the bandOf minstrels that around them stand:I call the Háhá and Huhú,I call the sweet Vis'vásaI call the heavenly wives of theseWith all the bright Apsarases,Alambushe of beauty rare,The charmer of the tangled hair,Ghritáchí And Vis'váchi fair,Hemá and Bhímá sweet to view,And lovely Nágadantá too,And all the sweetest nymphs who standBy Indra or by Brahmá's hand--I summon these with all their trainAnd Tumburu to lead the strain.Here let Kuvera's garden riseWhich far in Northern Kuru 2 lies:
For leaves let cloth and gems entwine,And let its fruit be nymphs divine.Let Soma 1b give the noblest foodTo feed the mighty multitude,Of every kind, for tooth and lip,To chew, to lick, to suck, and sip.Let wreaths, where fairest flowers abound,Spring from the trees that bloom around.Each sort of wine to woo the taste,And meats of every kind be placed.' Thus spake the hermit sulf-restrained,With proper tone by rules ordained,On deepest meditation bent,In holy might predominent.Then as with hands in reverence raisedAbsorbed in thought he eastward gazed,The deities be thus addreasedCame each in semblance manifest.Delicious gales that cooled the frameFrom Malaya and Dardar came,That kissed those scented hills and threwAuspicious fragrance where they blew.Then falling fast in sweetest showersCame from the sky immortal flowers,And all the airy region roundWith heavenly drums was made to sound.Then breathed a soft celestial breeze,Then danced the bright Apsarases,The minstrels and the Gods advanced,And warbling lutes the soul entranced.The earth and sky that music filled,And through each ear it softly thrilled,As from the heavenly quills it fellWith time and tune attempered well.Soon as the minstrels ceased to playAnd airs celestial died away.The troops of Bharat saw amazedWhat Vis'vakarmá's art had raised.On every side, five leagues around,All smooth and level lay the ground,With fresh green grass that charmed the sightLike sapphires blent with lazulite.There the Wood-apple hung the head,The Mango and the Citron glowedThe Bel and scented Jak were there,And Amlá with fruitage fair.There, brought from Northern Kuru, stoodRich in delights, the glorious wood,And many a stream was seen to glide
With flowering trees along its side.There mansions rose with four wide halls,And elephants and chargers' stalls,And many a house of royal state,Triumphal are and bannered gate.With noble doorways, sought the sky,Like a pale cloud, a palace high,Which far and wide rare fragrance shed,With wreaths of white engarlanded.Square was its shape, its halls were wide,With many a seat and couch supplied,Drink of all kinds, and every meatSuch as celestial Gods might eat.Then at the bidding of the seerKaikeyi''s strong-armed son drew near.And passed within that fair abodeWhich with the noblest jewels glowed.Then, as Vas'ishtha led the way,The councillors, in due array.Followed delighted and amazedAnd on the glorious structure gazed.Then Bharat, Raghu's son, drew nearThe kingly throne, with prince and peer,Whereby the chouri in the shadeOf the white canopy was laid.Before the throne he humbly bentAnd honoured Ráma, reverent,Then in his hand the chouri bore,And sat where sits a councillor,His ministers and household priestSat by degrees from chief to least,Then sat the captain of the hostAnd all the men he honoured most.Then when the saint his order gave,Each river with enchanted waveRolled milk and curds divinely sweetBefore the princely Bharat's feet;And dwellings fair on either side,With gay white plaster beautified.Their heavenly roofs were seen to lift,The Bra'hman Bharady'aja's gift,Then straight by Lord Kuvera sent,Gay with celestial ornamentOf bright attire and jewels' shine.Came twenty thousand nymphs divine:The man on whom those beauties glancedThat moment felt his soul entranced.With them from Nandan's blissful shadesCame twenty thousand heavenly maids.Tumburu, Na'rad, Gopa came,And Sutanu, like radiant flame.The kings of the Gandharva throng,And ravished Bharat with their song.Then spoke the saint, and swift obeyedAlambusb'a, the fairest maid,And Mis'rakes'i bright to view,Ramana, Pundarik'a too,And danced to him with graceful easeThe dances of Apsarases.All deplete that by Gods are worn,Or Chaitraratha's graves adorn,
Bloomed by the saint's command arrayedOn branches in Praya'ga's shade.When at the saint's command the breezeMade music with the Vilva trees,To wave in rhythmic beat beganThe boughs of each Myrobolan,And holy fig-trees wore the lookOf dancers, as their leaflets shook.The fair Tama'la, palm, and pine,With trees that tower and plants that twine,The sweetly varying forms displayedOf stately dame or bending maid.Here men the foaming winecup quaffed,Here drank of milk full many a draught,And tasted meats of every kind,Well dressed, whatever pleased their mind.Then beauteous women, seven or eight,Stood ready by each man to wait:Beside the stream his limbs they strippedAnd in the cooling water dipped.And then the fair ones, sparkling eyed,With soft hands rubbed his limbs and dried.And sitting on the lovely bankHeld up the winecup as he drank.Nor did the grooms forget to feedCamel and mule and ox and steed,For there were stores of roasted grain,Of honey and of sugar-cane.So fast the wild excitement spreadAmong the warriors Bharat led,That all the mighty army throughThe groom no more his charger knew,And he who drove might seek in vainTo tell his elephant again.With every joy and rapture fired,Entranced with all the heart desired,The myriads of the host that nightRevelled delirious with delight.Urged by the damsels at their sideIn wild delight the warriors cried:'Ne'er will we seek Ayodhya', no,Nor yet to Dandak forest go:Here will we stay: may happy fateOn Bharat and on Ráma wait'Thus cried the army gay and freeExulting in their lawless glee,Both infantry and those who rodeOn elephants, or steeds bestrode,Ten thousand voices shouting, 'ThisIs heaven indeed for perfect bliss.'With garlands decked they idly strayed,And danced and laughed and sang and played.At length as every soldier eyed,With food like Amrit satisfied.Bach dainty cate and tempting meat,No longer had he care to eat.Thus soldier, servant, dame, and slaveReceived whate'er the wish might crave.As each in new-wrought clothes arrayedEnjoyed the feast before him laid.
Each man was seen in white attireUnstained by spot or speck of mire:None was athirst or hungry there,And none had dust upon his hair.On every side in woody dellsWas milky food in bubbling wells,And there were all-supplying cowsAnd honey dropping from the boughs.Nor wanted lakes of flower-made drinkWith piles of meat upon the brink,boiled, stewed, and roasted, varied cheer,Peachick and jungle-fowl and deer,There was the flesh of kid and boar,And dainty sauce in endless store,With juice of flowers concocted well,And soup that charmed the taste and smell,And pounded fruits of bitter taste,And many a bath was ready placedDown by each river's shelving sideThere stood great basins well supplied,And laid therein, of dazzling sheen,White brushes for the teeth were seen,And many a covered box whereinWas sandal powdered for the skin.And mirrors bright with constant care,And piles of new attire were there,And store of sandals and of shoes,Thousands of pairs, for all to choose:Eye-unguents, combs for hair and beard,Umbrellas fair and bows appeared.Lakes gleamed, that lent digestive aid, 1And some for pleasant bathing made,With waters fair, and smooth inclineFor camels, horses, mules, and kine.There saw they barley heaped on highThe coutless cattle to supply:The golden grain shone fair and brightAs sapphires or the lazulite.To all the gathered host it seemedAs if that magic scene they dreamed,And wonder, as they gazed, increasedAt Bharadvája's glorious feast. Thus in the hermit's grove they spentThat night in joy and merriment,Blest as the Gods who take their easeUnder the shade of Nandan's trees.Each minstrel bade the saint adieu,And to his blissful mansion flew,Aiid every stream and heavenly dameKtturned as swiftly as she came.
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Footnotes198:1 Yama, Varuna and Kuvera.
198:2 A happy land in the remote north where the inhabitants enjoy a natural pefection attended with complete happiness obtained without exertion. There is there no vicissitude, nor decrepitude, nor death, nor fear: no distinction of virtue and vice, none of the inequalities denoted by the words best, worst, and intermediate, nor any change resulting from the succssion of the four Yugas.' Sea MUIR'S. Sanskrit Texts, Vol I, p. 402.
198:1b The Moon.
CANTO XCII.:
BHARAT'S FAREWELL.So Bharat with his army spentThe watches of the night content,
And gladly, with the morning's lightDrew near his host the anchorite.When Bharadvája saw him standWith hand in reverence joined to hand,When fires of worship had been fed,He looked upon the prince and said:'O blameless son, I pray thee tell,Did the past night content thee well?Say if the feast my care suppliedThy host of followers gratified.' His hands he joined, his head he bentAnd spoke in answer reverentTo the most high and radiant sageWho issued from his hermitage:'Well have I passed the night: thy feastGave joy to every man and beast;And I, great lord, and every peerWere satisfied with sumptuous cheer,Thy banquet has delighted allFrom highest chief to meanest thrall,And rich attire and drink and meatBanished the thought of toil and heat,And now, O Hermit good and great,A boon of thee I supplicate.To Ráma's side my steps I bend:Do thou with friendly eye commend.O tell me how to guide my feetTo virtuous Ráma's lone retreat:Great Hermit, I entreat thee, sayHow far from here and which the way.' Thus by fraternal love inspiredThe chieftain of the saint inquired:Then thus replied the glorious seerOf matchless might, of vows austere:'Ere the fourth league from here be passed,Amid a forest wild and vast,Stands Chitrakúta's mountain tall,Lovely with wood and waterfall.North of the mountain thou wilt seeThe beauteous stream Mandákiní,Where swarm the waterfowl below.And gay trees on the margin grow.Then will a leafy cot betweenThe river and the hill be seen:'Tis Ráma's, and the princely pairOf brothers live for certain there.Hence to the south thine army lead,And then more southward still proceed.So shall thou find his lone retreat,And there the son of Raghu meet.' Soon as the ordered march they knew,The widows of the monarch flew,Leaving their cars, most meet to ride,And flocked to Bharadvája's side.There with the good Sumitrá QueenKaus'alyá, sad and worn, was seen,Caressing, still with sorrow faint,The feet of that illustrious saint,Kaikeyí too, her longings crossed,Reproached of all, her object lost,Before the famous hermit came,
And clasped his feet, overwhelmed with shame.With circling steps she humbly wentAround the saint preëminent,And stood not far from Bharat's sideWith heart oppressed, and heavy-eyed.Then the great seer, who never brokeOne holy vow, to Bharat spoke:'Speak, Raghu's son: I fain would learnThe story of each queen in turn.'
Obedient to the high requestBy Bharadvája thus addressed,His reverent hands together laid,He, skilled in speech, his answer made:'She whom, O Saint, thou seest hereA Goddess in her form appear,Was the chief consort of the king,Now worn with fast and sorrowing.As Aditi in days of yoreThe all-preserving Vishnu bore,Kaus'alyá bore with happy fateLord Ráma of the lion's gait.She who, transfixed with torturing pangs,On her left arm so fondly hangs,As when her withering leaves decayDroops by the wood the Cassia spray,Sumitrá, pained with woe, is she,The consort second of the three:Two princely sons the lady bare,Fair as the Gods in heaven are fair.And she, the wicked dame through whomMy brothers' lives are wrapped in gloom,And mourning for his offspring dear,The king has sought his heavenly sphere,--Proud, foolish-hearted, swift to ire,Self-fancied darling of my sire,Kaikeyí, most ambitious queen,Unlovely with her lovely mien,My mother she, whose impious willIs ever bent on deeds of ill,In whom the root and spring I seeOf all this woe which crushes me.'
Quick breathing like a furious snake,With tears and sobs the hero spake,With reddened eyes aglow with rage.And Bharadvája, mighty sage,Supreme in wisdom, calm and grave,In words like these good counsel gave:'O Bharat, hear the words I say;On her the fault thou must not lay:For many a blessing yet will springFrom banished Ráma's wandering.'And Bharat, with that promise cheered,Went circling round that saint revered.He humbly bade farewell, and thenGave orders to collect his men.Prompt at the summons thousands flewTo cars which noble coursers drew,Bright-gleaming, glorious to behold,Adorned with wealth of burnished gold.Then female elephants and male,Gold-girthed, with flags that wooed the gale,Marched with their bright bells' tinkling chimeLike clouds when ends the summer time:Some cars were huge and some were light,For heavy draught or rapid flight,Of costly price, of every kind,With clouds of infantry behind.The dames, Kaus'alyá at their head,Were in the noblest chariots led,And every gentle bosom beatWith hope the banished prince to meet.The royal Bharat, glory-crowned,With all his retinue around,Borne in a beauteous litter rode,Like the young moon and sun that glowed.The army as it streamed along,Cars, elephants, in endless throng,Showed, marching on its southward way,Like autumn clouds in long array.
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Footnotes200:1 The poet does not tell us what these lakes contained.
CANTO XCIII.:
And gladly, with the morning's lightDrew near his host the anchorite.When Bharadvája saw him standWith hand in reverence joined to hand,When fires of worship had been fed,He looked upon the prince and said:'O blameless son, I pray thee tell,Did the past night content thee well?Say if the feast my care suppliedThy host of followers gratified.' His hands he joined, his head he bentAnd spoke in answer reverentTo the most high and radiant sageWho issued from his hermitage:'Well have I passed the night: thy feastGave joy to every man and beast;And I, great lord, and every peerWere satisfied with sumptuous cheer,Thy banquet has delighted allFrom highest chief to meanest thrall,And rich attire and drink and meatBanished the thought of toil and heat,And now, O Hermit good and great,A boon of thee I supplicate.To Ráma's side my steps I bend:Do thou with friendly eye commend.O tell me how to guide my feetTo virtuous Ráma's lone retreat:Great Hermit, I entreat thee, sayHow far from here and which the way.' Thus by fraternal love inspiredThe chieftain of the saint inquired:Then thus replied the glorious seerOf matchless might, of vows austere:'Ere the fourth league from here be passed,Amid a forest wild and vast,Stands Chitrakúta's mountain tall,Lovely with wood and waterfall.North of the mountain thou wilt seeThe beauteous stream Mandákiní,Where swarm the waterfowl below.And gay trees on the margin grow.Then will a leafy cot betweenThe river and the hill be seen:'Tis Ráma's, and the princely pairOf brothers live for certain there.Hence to the south thine army lead,And then more southward still proceed.So shall thou find his lone retreat,And there the son of Raghu meet.' Soon as the ordered march they knew,The widows of the monarch flew,Leaving their cars, most meet to ride,And flocked to Bharadvája's side.There with the good Sumitrá QueenKaus'alyá, sad and worn, was seen,Caressing, still with sorrow faint,The feet of that illustrious saint,Kaikeyí too, her longings crossed,Reproached of all, her object lost,Before the famous hermit came,
And clasped his feet, overwhelmed with shame.With circling steps she humbly wentAround the saint preëminent,And stood not far from Bharat's sideWith heart oppressed, and heavy-eyed.Then the great seer, who never brokeOne holy vow, to Bharat spoke:'Speak, Raghu's son: I fain would learnThe story of each queen in turn.'
Obedient to the high requestBy Bharadvája thus addressed,His reverent hands together laid,He, skilled in speech, his answer made:'She whom, O Saint, thou seest hereA Goddess in her form appear,Was the chief consort of the king,Now worn with fast and sorrowing.As Aditi in days of yoreThe all-preserving Vishnu bore,Kaus'alyá bore with happy fateLord Ráma of the lion's gait.She who, transfixed with torturing pangs,On her left arm so fondly hangs,As when her withering leaves decayDroops by the wood the Cassia spray,Sumitrá, pained with woe, is she,The consort second of the three:Two princely sons the lady bare,Fair as the Gods in heaven are fair.And she, the wicked dame through whomMy brothers' lives are wrapped in gloom,And mourning for his offspring dear,The king has sought his heavenly sphere,--Proud, foolish-hearted, swift to ire,Self-fancied darling of my sire,Kaikeyí, most ambitious queen,Unlovely with her lovely mien,My mother she, whose impious willIs ever bent on deeds of ill,In whom the root and spring I seeOf all this woe which crushes me.'
Quick breathing like a furious snake,With tears and sobs the hero spake,With reddened eyes aglow with rage.And Bharadvája, mighty sage,Supreme in wisdom, calm and grave,In words like these good counsel gave:'O Bharat, hear the words I say;On her the fault thou must not lay:For many a blessing yet will springFrom banished Ráma's wandering.'And Bharat, with that promise cheered,Went circling round that saint revered.He humbly bade farewell, and thenGave orders to collect his men.Prompt at the summons thousands flewTo cars which noble coursers drew,Bright-gleaming, glorious to behold,Adorned with wealth of burnished gold.Then female elephants and male,Gold-girthed, with flags that wooed the gale,Marched with their bright bells' tinkling chimeLike clouds when ends the summer time:Some cars were huge and some were light,For heavy draught or rapid flight,Of costly price, of every kind,With clouds of infantry behind.The dames, Kaus'alyá at their head,Were in the noblest chariots led,And every gentle bosom beatWith hope the banished prince to meet.The royal Bharat, glory-crowned,With all his retinue around,Borne in a beauteous litter rode,Like the young moon and sun that glowed.The army as it streamed along,Cars, elephants, in endless throng,Showed, marching on its southward way,Like autumn clouds in long array.
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Footnotes200:1 The poet does not tell us what these lakes contained.
CANTO XCIII.:
CHITRAKÚTA IN SIGHT.As through the woods its way pursuedThat mignty bannered multitude,Wild elephants in terror fledWith all the startled herds they led,And bears and deer were seen on hill,In forest glade, by every rill.Wide as the sea from coast to coast,The high-souled Bharat's mighty hostCovered the earth as cloudy trainsObscure the sky when fall the rains.The stately elephants he led,And countless steeds the land o'erspread,So closely crowded that betweenTheir serried ranks no ground was seen.Then when the host had travelled far,And steeds were worn who drew the car,The glorious Bharat thus addressedVas'ishtha, of his lords the best:'The spot, methinks, we now beholdOf which the holy hermit told,For, as his words described, I traceEach several feature of the place:Before us Chitrakúta shows,Mandákiní beside us flows:Afar umbrageous woods ariseLike darksome clouds that veil the skies.Now tread these mountain-beasts of mineOn Chitrakúta's fair incline.The trees their rain of blossoms shedOn table-lands beneath them spread,As from black clouds the floods descendWhen the hot days of summer end.S'atrughna, look, the mountain seeWhere heavenly minstrels wander free,
And horses browse beneath the steep.Countless as monsters in the deep.Scared by my host the mountain deerStarting with tempest speed appearLike the long lines of cloud that flyIn autumn through the windy sky.See, every warrior shows his headWith fragrant blooms engarlanded;All look like southern soldiers whoLift up their shields of azure hue.This lonely wood beneath the hill.That was so dark and drear and still,Covered with men in endless streamsNow like Ayodhyá's city seems.The dust which countless hoofs exciteObscures the sky and veils the light;But see, swift winds those clouds dispelAs if they strove to please me well.See, guided in their swift careerBy many a skilful charioteer,Those cars by fleetest coursers drawnRace onward over glade and lawn.Look, startled as the host comes nearThe lovely peacocks fly in fear,Gorgeous as if the fairest bloomsOf earth had glorified their plumes.Look where the sheltering covert showsThe trooping deer, both bucks and does,That occupy in countless herdsThis mountain populous with birds.Most lovely to my mind appearsThis place which every charm endears:Fair as the road where tread the Blest;Here holy hermits take their rest,Then let the army onward pressAnd duly search each green recessFor the two lion-lords, till weRáma once more and Lakshman see.'
Thus Bharat spoke: and hero bandsOf men with weapons in their handsEntered the tangled forest: thenA spire of smoke appeared in ken.Soon as they saw the rising smokeTo Bharat they returned and spoke:'No fire where men are not: 'tis clearThat Raghu's sons are dwelling here.Or if not here those heros dwellWhose mighty arms their foeman quell,Still other hermits here must beLike Ráma, true and good as he.'
His ears attentive Bharat lentTo their resistless argument,Then to his troops the chief who brokeHis foe's embattled armies spoke:'Here let the troops in silence stay;One step beyond they must not stray.Come Dhrishti and Sumantra, youWith me alone the path pursue.'Their leader's speech the warriors heard,And from his place no soldier stirred,And Bharat beat his eager eyesWhere curling smoke was seen to rise.
The host his order well obeyed,And halting there in silence stayedWatching where from the thicket's shade They saw the smoke appear.And joy through all the army ran,'Soon shall we meet,' thought every man, 'The prince we hold so dear.'
CANTO XCIV.:
And horses browse beneath the steep.Countless as monsters in the deep.Scared by my host the mountain deerStarting with tempest speed appearLike the long lines of cloud that flyIn autumn through the windy sky.See, every warrior shows his headWith fragrant blooms engarlanded;All look like southern soldiers whoLift up their shields of azure hue.This lonely wood beneath the hill.That was so dark and drear and still,Covered with men in endless streamsNow like Ayodhyá's city seems.The dust which countless hoofs exciteObscures the sky and veils the light;But see, swift winds those clouds dispelAs if they strove to please me well.See, guided in their swift careerBy many a skilful charioteer,Those cars by fleetest coursers drawnRace onward over glade and lawn.Look, startled as the host comes nearThe lovely peacocks fly in fear,Gorgeous as if the fairest bloomsOf earth had glorified their plumes.Look where the sheltering covert showsThe trooping deer, both bucks and does,That occupy in countless herdsThis mountain populous with birds.Most lovely to my mind appearsThis place which every charm endears:Fair as the road where tread the Blest;Here holy hermits take their rest,Then let the army onward pressAnd duly search each green recessFor the two lion-lords, till weRáma once more and Lakshman see.'
Thus Bharat spoke: and hero bandsOf men with weapons in their handsEntered the tangled forest: thenA spire of smoke appeared in ken.Soon as they saw the rising smokeTo Bharat they returned and spoke:'No fire where men are not: 'tis clearThat Raghu's sons are dwelling here.Or if not here those heros dwellWhose mighty arms their foeman quell,Still other hermits here must beLike Ráma, true and good as he.'
His ears attentive Bharat lentTo their resistless argument,Then to his troops the chief who brokeHis foe's embattled armies spoke:'Here let the troops in silence stay;One step beyond they must not stray.Come Dhrishti and Sumantra, youWith me alone the path pursue.'Their leader's speech the warriors heard,And from his place no soldier stirred,And Bharat beat his eager eyesWhere curling smoke was seen to rise.
The host his order well obeyed,And halting there in silence stayedWatching where from the thicket's shade They saw the smoke appear.And joy through all the army ran,'Soon shall we meet,' thought every man, 'The prince we hold so dear.'
CANTO XCIV.:
CHITRAKÚTA.There long the son of Raghu dweltAnd love for hill and wood he felt.Then his Videhan spouse to pleaseAnd his own heart of woe to ease,Like some Immortal--Indra soMight Swarga's charms to S'achi show--Drew her sweet eyes to each delightOf Chitrakúta's lovely height:'Though reft of power and kingly sway,Though friends and home are far away,I cannot mourn my altered lot,Enamoured of this charming spot.Look, darling, on this noble hillWhich sweet birds with their music fill.Bright with a thousand metal dyesHis lofty summits cleave the skies.See, there a silvery sheen is spread,And there like blood the rooks are red.There shows a streak of emerald green,And pink and yellow glow between.There where the higher peaks ascend,Crystal and flowers and topaz blend.And others flash their light afarLike mercury or some fair star:With such a store of metals dyedThe king of hills is glorified.There through the wild birds' populous homeThe harmless bear and tiger roam:Hyaenas range the woody slopesWith herds of deer and antelopes.See, love, the trees that clothe his sideAll lovely in their summer pride,In richest wealth of leaves arrayed,With flower and fruit and light and shade,Look where the young Rose-apple glows;What loaded boughs the Mango shows;See, waving in the western windThe light leaves of the Tamarind,And mark that giant Peepul throughThe feathery clump of tall bamboo. 1
Look, on the level lands above,Delighting in successful loveIn sweet enjoyment many a pairOf heavenly minstrels revels there,While overhanging boughs supportTheir swords and mantles as they sport:Then see that pleasant shelter wherePlay the bright Daughters of the Air. 1The mountain seems with bright cascadeAnd sweet rill bursting from the shade,Like some majestic elephant o'erWhose burning head the torrents pour.Where breathes the man who would not feelDelicious languor o'er him steal,As the young morning breeze that springsFrom the cool cave with balmy wings,Breathes round him laden with the scentOf bud and blossom dew-besprent?If many autumns here I spentWith thee, my darling innocent;And Lakshman, I should never knowThe torture of the fires of woe,This varied scene so charms my sight,This mount so fills me with delight,Where flowers in wild profusion spring,And ripe fruits glow and sweet birds sing.My beauteous one, a double goodSprings from my dwelling in the wood:Loosed is the bond my sire that tiedAnd Bharat too is gratified.My darling, dost thou feel with meDelight from every charm we see,Of which the mind and every senseFeel the enchanting influence?My fathers who have passed away,The royal saints, were wont to say
That life in woodland shades like thisSecures a king immortal bliss.See, round the hill at random thrown.Huge masses lie of rugged stoneOf every shape and many a hue,Yellow and white and red and blue.But all is fairer still by night:Each rock reflects a softer light,When the whole mount from foot to crestIn robes of lambent flame is dressed;When from a million herbs a blazeOf their own luminous glory plays,And clothed in fire each deep ravine,Each pinnacle and crag is seen.Some parts the look of mansions wear,And others are as gardens fair,While others seem a massive blockOf solid undivided rock.Behold those pleasant beds o'erlaidWith lotus leaves, for lovers made,Where mountain birch and *costus throwCool shadows on the pair below.See where the lovers in their playHave cast their flowery wreaths away,And fruit and lotus buds that crownedTheir brows lie trodden on the ground.North Kuru's realm is fair to see,Vasvaukasárá, 1b Naliní, 2bBut rich in fruit and blossom stillMore fair is Chitrakúta's hill.Here shall the years appointed glideWith thee, my beauty, by my side, And Lakshman ever near;Here shall I live in all delight,Make my ancestral fame more bright,Tread in their path who walk aright, And to my oath adhere.'
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Footnotes202:1 These ten lines are a substitution for, and not a translation of the text which Carey and Marshman thus render: 'This mountain adorned with mango,(1) jumboo,(2) usuna,(3) lodhra, (4) piala, (5) punusa, (6) dhava, (7) p. 203 unkotha, (8) bhuvya,(9) tinisha, (10) vilwa, (11) tindooka, (12) bamboo,(13) kashmaree,(14) urista,(l5) vuruna,(16) madhooka,(17) tilaka, (18) vuduree,(l9) amluka,(20) nipa,(21) vetra,(22) dhunwuna,(23) veejaka,(24) and other trees affording flowers, and fruits, and the most delightful shade, how charming does it appear!'
1 Mangifera Indica. 2 Eugenia Jambolifera, 3 Terminalialata tomentosa. 4 This tree is not ascertained. 5 Chironjia Sapida. 6 Artocarpus integrifolia. 7 Grislea tomentosa. 8 Allangium hexapetalum. 9 Averrhoa carimbola. 10 Dalbergia Oujeinensis. 11 Ægle marmelos. 12 Diospyrus melanoxylon. 13 Well known. 14 Gmelina Arborea. 15 Sapindus Saponaria. 16 Cratoeva tapia. l7 Bassia la tifolia. 18 Not yet ascertained. 19 Zizyphus jujuba. 20 Phyllanthus emblica. 21 Nauclea Orientalis. 22 Calamusrotang. 23 Echites antidysenterica. 34 The citron tree.'
203:1 Vidyadharis, Spirits of Air, sylphs.
CANTO XCV.:
Look, on the level lands above,Delighting in successful loveIn sweet enjoyment many a pairOf heavenly minstrels revels there,While overhanging boughs supportTheir swords and mantles as they sport:Then see that pleasant shelter wherePlay the bright Daughters of the Air. 1The mountain seems with bright cascadeAnd sweet rill bursting from the shade,Like some majestic elephant o'erWhose burning head the torrents pour.Where breathes the man who would not feelDelicious languor o'er him steal,As the young morning breeze that springsFrom the cool cave with balmy wings,Breathes round him laden with the scentOf bud and blossom dew-besprent?If many autumns here I spentWith thee, my darling innocent;And Lakshman, I should never knowThe torture of the fires of woe,This varied scene so charms my sight,This mount so fills me with delight,Where flowers in wild profusion spring,And ripe fruits glow and sweet birds sing.My beauteous one, a double goodSprings from my dwelling in the wood:Loosed is the bond my sire that tiedAnd Bharat too is gratified.My darling, dost thou feel with meDelight from every charm we see,Of which the mind and every senseFeel the enchanting influence?My fathers who have passed away,The royal saints, were wont to say
That life in woodland shades like thisSecures a king immortal bliss.See, round the hill at random thrown.Huge masses lie of rugged stoneOf every shape and many a hue,Yellow and white and red and blue.But all is fairer still by night:Each rock reflects a softer light,When the whole mount from foot to crestIn robes of lambent flame is dressed;When from a million herbs a blazeOf their own luminous glory plays,And clothed in fire each deep ravine,Each pinnacle and crag is seen.Some parts the look of mansions wear,And others are as gardens fair,While others seem a massive blockOf solid undivided rock.Behold those pleasant beds o'erlaidWith lotus leaves, for lovers made,Where mountain birch and *costus throwCool shadows on the pair below.See where the lovers in their playHave cast their flowery wreaths away,And fruit and lotus buds that crownedTheir brows lie trodden on the ground.North Kuru's realm is fair to see,Vasvaukasárá, 1b Naliní, 2bBut rich in fruit and blossom stillMore fair is Chitrakúta's hill.Here shall the years appointed glideWith thee, my beauty, by my side, And Lakshman ever near;Here shall I live in all delight,Make my ancestral fame more bright,Tread in their path who walk aright, And to my oath adhere.'
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Footnotes202:1 These ten lines are a substitution for, and not a translation of the text which Carey and Marshman thus render: 'This mountain adorned with mango,(1) jumboo,(2) usuna,(3) lodhra, (4) piala, (5) punusa, (6) dhava, (7) p. 203 unkotha, (8) bhuvya,(9) tinisha, (10) vilwa, (11) tindooka, (12) bamboo,(13) kashmaree,(14) urista,(l5) vuruna,(16) madhooka,(17) tilaka, (18) vuduree,(l9) amluka,(20) nipa,(21) vetra,(22) dhunwuna,(23) veejaka,(24) and other trees affording flowers, and fruits, and the most delightful shade, how charming does it appear!'
1 Mangifera Indica. 2 Eugenia Jambolifera, 3 Terminalialata tomentosa. 4 This tree is not ascertained. 5 Chironjia Sapida. 6 Artocarpus integrifolia. 7 Grislea tomentosa. 8 Allangium hexapetalum. 9 Averrhoa carimbola. 10 Dalbergia Oujeinensis. 11 Ægle marmelos. 12 Diospyrus melanoxylon. 13 Well known. 14 Gmelina Arborea. 15 Sapindus Saponaria. 16 Cratoeva tapia. l7 Bassia la tifolia. 18 Not yet ascertained. 19 Zizyphus jujuba. 20 Phyllanthus emblica. 21 Nauclea Orientalis. 22 Calamusrotang. 23 Echites antidysenterica. 34 The citron tree.'
203:1 Vidyadharis, Spirits of Air, sylphs.
CANTO XCV.:
MANDÁKINÍ.Then Ráma, like the lotus eyed,Descended from the mountain side,And to the Maithil lady showedThe lovely stream that softly flowed.And thus Ayodhyá's lord addressedHis bride, of dames the loveliest,Child of Videha's king, her faceBright with the fair moon's tender grace:'How sweetly glides, O darling, look,Mandákiní's delightful brook,Adorned with islets, blossoms gay,And s'arases and swans at play!
The trees with which her banks are linedShow flowers and fruit of every kind:The match in radiant sheen is sheOf King Kuvera's Nalini. 1My heart exults with pleasure newThe shelving hand and ford to view,Where gathering herds of thirsty deerDisturb the wave that ran so clear.Now look, those holy hermits markIn skins of deer and coats of bark;With twisted coils of matted hair,The reverend men are bathing there,And as they lift their arms on highThe Lord of Day they glorify:These best of saints, my large-eyed spouse,Are constant to their sacred vows.The mountain dances while the treesBend their proud summits to the breeze,And scatter many a flower and budFrom branches that o'erhang the flood.There flows the stream like lucid pearl,Round islets here the currents whirl,And perfect saints from middle airAre flocking to the waters there.See, there lie flowers in many a heapFrom boughs the whistling breezes sweep,And others wafted by the galeDown the swift current dance and sail.Now see that pair of wild-fowl rise,Exulting with their joyful cries:Hark, darling, wafted from afarHow soft their pleasant voices are.To gaze on Churakuta's hill,To look upon this lovely rill,To bend mine eyes on thee, dear wife,Is sweeter than my city life.Come, bathe we in the pleasant rillWhose dancing waves are never still,Stirred by those beings pure from sin,The sanctities who bathe therein:Come, dearest, to the stream descend,Approach her as a darling friend,And dip thee in the silver floodWhich lotuses and lilies stud.Let this fair hill Ayodhya seem,Its silvan things her people deem,And let these waters as they flowOur own beloved Sarju show.How blest, mine own dear love, am I;Thou, fond and true, art ever nigh,And duteous, faithful Lakshman staysBeside me, and my word obeys.Here every day I bathe me thrice,Fruit, honey, roots for food suffice,And ne'er my thoughts with longing strayTo distant home or royal sway.For who this charming brook can seeWhere herds of roedeer wander free,
And on the flowery-wooded brinkApes, elephants, and lions drink, Nor feel all sorrow fly?'Thus eloquently spoke the prideOf Raghu's children to his bride,And wandered happy by her sideWhere Chitrakuta azure-dyed Uprears his peaks on high.
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Footnotes203:1b A lake attached either to Amaravati the residence of Indra, or Alaká that of Kuvera.
203:2b The Ganges of heaven.
204:1 Nalini, as here, may be the name of any lake covered with lotuses.
CANTO XCVI.
The trees with which her banks are linedShow flowers and fruit of every kind:The match in radiant sheen is sheOf King Kuvera's Nalini. 1My heart exults with pleasure newThe shelving hand and ford to view,Where gathering herds of thirsty deerDisturb the wave that ran so clear.Now look, those holy hermits markIn skins of deer and coats of bark;With twisted coils of matted hair,The reverend men are bathing there,And as they lift their arms on highThe Lord of Day they glorify:These best of saints, my large-eyed spouse,Are constant to their sacred vows.The mountain dances while the treesBend their proud summits to the breeze,And scatter many a flower and budFrom branches that o'erhang the flood.There flows the stream like lucid pearl,Round islets here the currents whirl,And perfect saints from middle airAre flocking to the waters there.See, there lie flowers in many a heapFrom boughs the whistling breezes sweep,And others wafted by the galeDown the swift current dance and sail.Now see that pair of wild-fowl rise,Exulting with their joyful cries:Hark, darling, wafted from afarHow soft their pleasant voices are.To gaze on Churakuta's hill,To look upon this lovely rill,To bend mine eyes on thee, dear wife,Is sweeter than my city life.Come, bathe we in the pleasant rillWhose dancing waves are never still,Stirred by those beings pure from sin,The sanctities who bathe therein:Come, dearest, to the stream descend,Approach her as a darling friend,And dip thee in the silver floodWhich lotuses and lilies stud.Let this fair hill Ayodhya seem,Its silvan things her people deem,And let these waters as they flowOur own beloved Sarju show.How blest, mine own dear love, am I;Thou, fond and true, art ever nigh,And duteous, faithful Lakshman staysBeside me, and my word obeys.Here every day I bathe me thrice,Fruit, honey, roots for food suffice,And ne'er my thoughts with longing strayTo distant home or royal sway.For who this charming brook can seeWhere herds of roedeer wander free,
And on the flowery-wooded brinkApes, elephants, and lions drink, Nor feel all sorrow fly?'Thus eloquently spoke the prideOf Raghu's children to his bride,And wandered happy by her sideWhere Chitrakuta azure-dyed Uprears his peaks on high.
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Footnotes203:1b A lake attached either to Amaravati the residence of Indra, or Alaká that of Kuvera.
203:2b The Ganges of heaven.
204:1 Nalini, as here, may be the name of any lake covered with lotuses.
CANTO XCVI.
1b: THE MAGIC SHAFT.Thus Rama showed to Janak's childThe varied beauties of the wild,The hill, the brook and each fair spot,Then turned to seek their leafy cot.North of the mountain Rama foundA cavern in the sloping ground,Charming to view, its floor was strownWith many a mass of ore and stone,In secret shadow far retiredWhere gay birds sang with joy inspired,And trees their graceful branches swayedWith loads of blossom downward weighed.Soon as he saw the cave which tookEach living heart and chained the look,Thus Rama spoke to Sita, whoGazed wondering on the silvan view:'Does this fair cave beneath the height,Videhan lady, charm thy sight?Then let us resting here a whileThe languor of the way beguile.That block of stone so smooth and squareWas set for thee to rest on there,And like a thriving Kes'ar treeThis flowery shrub o'ershadows thee.'Thus Rama spoke, and Janak's child,By nature ever soft and mild,In tender words which love betrayedHer answer to the hero made:'O pride of Raghu's children, stillMy pleasure is to do thy will.Enough for me thy wish to know:Far hast thou wandered to and fro.' Thus Sita spake in gentle tone,And went obedient to the stone,Of perfect face and faultless limbPrepared to rest a while with him.And Rama, as she thus replied,Turned to his spouse again and cried:'Thou seest, love, this flowery shadeFor silvan creatures' pleasure made,How the gum streams from trees and plantsTorn by the tusks of elephants!
Through all the forest clear and highResounds the shrill cicala's cry.Hark how the kite above us moans,And calls her young in piteous tones;So may my hapless mother beStill mourning in her home for me.There mounted on that lofty SálThe loud Bhringráj 1 repeats his call:How sweetly now he tunes his throatResponsive to the Koïl's note.Or else the bird that now has sungMay be himself the Koïl's young,Linked with such winning sweetness areThe notes he pours irregular.See, round the blooming Mango clingsThat creeper with her tender rings,So in thy love, when none is near,Thine arms are thrown round me, my dear.' Thus in his joy he cried; and she,Sweet speaker, on her lover's knee,Of faultless limb and perfect face,Grew closer to her lord's embrace.Reclining in her husband's arms,A goddess in her wealth of charms,She filled his loving breast anewWith mighty joy that thrilled him through.His finger on the rock he laid,Which veins of sanguine ore displayed,And painted o'er his darling's eyesThe holy sign in mineral dyes.Bright on her brow the metal layLike the young sun's first gleaming ray,And showed her in her beauty fairAs the soft light of morning's air.Then from the Kes'ar's laden treeHe picked fair blossoms in his glee,And as he decked each lovely tress,His heart o'erflowed with happiness.So resting on that rocky seatA while they spent in pastime sweet,Then onward neath the shady boughsWent Ráma with his Maithil spouse.She roaming in the forest shadeWhere every kind of creature strayedObserved a monkey wandering near,And clung to Ráma's arm in fear.The hero Ráma fondly lacedHis mighty arms around her waist,Consoled his beauty in her dread,And scared the Monkey till he fled.That holy mark of sanguine oreThat gleamed on Sítá's brow before,Shone by that close embrace impressedUpon the hero's ample chest.Then Sítá, when the beast who ledThe monkey troop, afar had fled,Laughed loudly in light-hearted gleeThat mark on Ráma's chest to see.
A clump of bright As'okas firedThe forest in their bloom attired:The restless blossoms as they gleamedA host of threatening monkeys seemed.Then Sítá thus to Ráma cried,As longingly the flowers she eyed:'Pride of thy race, now let us goWhere those As'oka blossoms grow.'He on his darling's pleasure bentWith his fair goddess thither wentAnd roamed delighted through the woodWhere blossoming As'okas stood,As S'iva with Queen Umá rovesThrough Himaván's majestic groves.Bright with purpureal glow the pairOf happy lovers sported there,And each upon the other setA flower-inwoven coronet.There many a crown and chain they woveOf blooms from that As'oka grove,And in their graceful sport the twoFresh beauty o'er the mountain threw.The lover let his love surveyEach pleasant spot that round them lay,Then turned they to their green retreatWhere all was garnished, gay, and neat.By brotherly affection led,Sumitrá's son to meet them sped,And showed the labours of the dayDone while his brother was away.There lay ten black-deer duly slainWith arrows pure of poison stain,Piled in a mighty heap to dry,With many another carcass nigh.And Lakshman's brother saw, o'erjoyed,The work that had his hands employed,Then to his consort thus he cried:'Now be the general gifts supplied.'Then Sítá, fairest beauty, placedThe food for living things to taste,And set before the brothers meatAnd honey that the pair might eat.They ate the meal her hands supplied,Their lips with water purified:Then Janak's daughter sat at lastAnd duly made her own repast.The other venison, to be dried,Piled up in heaps was set aside,And Ráma told his wife to stayAnd drive the flocking crows away.Her husband saw her much distressedBy one more bold than all the rest,Whose wings where'er he chose could fly,Now pierce the earth, now roam the sky.Then Ráma laughed to see her stirredTo anger by the plaguing bird:Proud of his love the beauteous dameWith burning rage was all aflame.Now here, now there, again, againShe chased the crow, but all in vain,Enraging her, so quick to strike
With beak and wing find claw alike:Then how the proud lip quivered, howThe dark frown marked her angry brow!When Ráma saw her cheek aglowWith passion, he rebuked the crow.But bold in impudence the bird,With no respect for Ráma's word,Fearless again at Sítá flew:Then Ráma's wrath to fury grew.The hero of the mighty armSpoke o'er a shaft the mystic charm,Laid the dire weapon on his bowAnd launched it at the shameless crow.The bird, empowered by Gods to springThrough earth itself on rapid wing,Through the three worlds in terror fledStill followed by that arrow dread.Where'er he flew, now here now there,A cloud of weapons filled the air.Back to the high-souled prince he fledAnd bent at Ráma's feet his head,And then, as Sítá looked, beganHis speech in accents of a man:'O pardon, and for pity's sakeSpare, Ráma, spare my life to take!Where'er I turn, where'er I flee,No shelter from this shaft I see.'
The chieftain heard the crow entreatHelpless and prostrate at his feet,And while soft pity moved his breast,With wisest speech the bird addressed:'I took the troubled Sítá's part,And furious anger filled my heart.Then on the string my arrow layCharmed with a spell thy life to slay.Thou seekest now my feet, to craveForgiveness and thy life to save.So shall thy prayer have due respect:The suppliant I must still protect.But ne'er in vain this dart may flee;Yield for thy life a part of thee,What portion of thy body, say,Shall this mine arrow rend away?Thus far, O bird, thus far aloneOn thee my pity may be shown.Forfeit a part thy life to buy:'Tis better so to live than die.'Thus Ráma spoke: the bird of airPondered his speech with anxious care,And wisely deemed it good to giveOne of his eyes that he might live.To Raghu's son he made reply:'O Ráma, I will yield an eye.So let me in thy grace confideAnd live hereafter single-eyed.'Then Ráma charged the shaft, and lo,Full in the eye it smote the crow.And the Videhan lady gazedUpon the ruined eye amazed.The crow to Ráma humbly bent,Then where his fancy led he went.Ráma with Lakshman by his sideWith needful work was occupied.
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Footnotes204:1b This canto is allowed, by Indian commentators, to be an interpolation. It cannot be the work of Valmiki.
205:1 A fine bird with a strong, sweet note, and great imitative powers.
CANTO XCVII.:
Through all the forest clear and highResounds the shrill cicala's cry.Hark how the kite above us moans,And calls her young in piteous tones;So may my hapless mother beStill mourning in her home for me.There mounted on that lofty SálThe loud Bhringráj 1 repeats his call:How sweetly now he tunes his throatResponsive to the Koïl's note.Or else the bird that now has sungMay be himself the Koïl's young,Linked with such winning sweetness areThe notes he pours irregular.See, round the blooming Mango clingsThat creeper with her tender rings,So in thy love, when none is near,Thine arms are thrown round me, my dear.' Thus in his joy he cried; and she,Sweet speaker, on her lover's knee,Of faultless limb and perfect face,Grew closer to her lord's embrace.Reclining in her husband's arms,A goddess in her wealth of charms,She filled his loving breast anewWith mighty joy that thrilled him through.His finger on the rock he laid,Which veins of sanguine ore displayed,And painted o'er his darling's eyesThe holy sign in mineral dyes.Bright on her brow the metal layLike the young sun's first gleaming ray,And showed her in her beauty fairAs the soft light of morning's air.Then from the Kes'ar's laden treeHe picked fair blossoms in his glee,And as he decked each lovely tress,His heart o'erflowed with happiness.So resting on that rocky seatA while they spent in pastime sweet,Then onward neath the shady boughsWent Ráma with his Maithil spouse.She roaming in the forest shadeWhere every kind of creature strayedObserved a monkey wandering near,And clung to Ráma's arm in fear.The hero Ráma fondly lacedHis mighty arms around her waist,Consoled his beauty in her dread,And scared the Monkey till he fled.That holy mark of sanguine oreThat gleamed on Sítá's brow before,Shone by that close embrace impressedUpon the hero's ample chest.Then Sítá, when the beast who ledThe monkey troop, afar had fled,Laughed loudly in light-hearted gleeThat mark on Ráma's chest to see.
A clump of bright As'okas firedThe forest in their bloom attired:The restless blossoms as they gleamedA host of threatening monkeys seemed.Then Sítá thus to Ráma cried,As longingly the flowers she eyed:'Pride of thy race, now let us goWhere those As'oka blossoms grow.'He on his darling's pleasure bentWith his fair goddess thither wentAnd roamed delighted through the woodWhere blossoming As'okas stood,As S'iva with Queen Umá rovesThrough Himaván's majestic groves.Bright with purpureal glow the pairOf happy lovers sported there,And each upon the other setA flower-inwoven coronet.There many a crown and chain they woveOf blooms from that As'oka grove,And in their graceful sport the twoFresh beauty o'er the mountain threw.The lover let his love surveyEach pleasant spot that round them lay,Then turned they to their green retreatWhere all was garnished, gay, and neat.By brotherly affection led,Sumitrá's son to meet them sped,And showed the labours of the dayDone while his brother was away.There lay ten black-deer duly slainWith arrows pure of poison stain,Piled in a mighty heap to dry,With many another carcass nigh.And Lakshman's brother saw, o'erjoyed,The work that had his hands employed,Then to his consort thus he cried:'Now be the general gifts supplied.'Then Sítá, fairest beauty, placedThe food for living things to taste,And set before the brothers meatAnd honey that the pair might eat.They ate the meal her hands supplied,Their lips with water purified:Then Janak's daughter sat at lastAnd duly made her own repast.The other venison, to be dried,Piled up in heaps was set aside,And Ráma told his wife to stayAnd drive the flocking crows away.Her husband saw her much distressedBy one more bold than all the rest,Whose wings where'er he chose could fly,Now pierce the earth, now roam the sky.Then Ráma laughed to see her stirredTo anger by the plaguing bird:Proud of his love the beauteous dameWith burning rage was all aflame.Now here, now there, again, againShe chased the crow, but all in vain,Enraging her, so quick to strike
With beak and wing find claw alike:Then how the proud lip quivered, howThe dark frown marked her angry brow!When Ráma saw her cheek aglowWith passion, he rebuked the crow.But bold in impudence the bird,With no respect for Ráma's word,Fearless again at Sítá flew:Then Ráma's wrath to fury grew.The hero of the mighty armSpoke o'er a shaft the mystic charm,Laid the dire weapon on his bowAnd launched it at the shameless crow.The bird, empowered by Gods to springThrough earth itself on rapid wing,Through the three worlds in terror fledStill followed by that arrow dread.Where'er he flew, now here now there,A cloud of weapons filled the air.Back to the high-souled prince he fledAnd bent at Ráma's feet his head,And then, as Sítá looked, beganHis speech in accents of a man:'O pardon, and for pity's sakeSpare, Ráma, spare my life to take!Where'er I turn, where'er I flee,No shelter from this shaft I see.'
The chieftain heard the crow entreatHelpless and prostrate at his feet,And while soft pity moved his breast,With wisest speech the bird addressed:'I took the troubled Sítá's part,And furious anger filled my heart.Then on the string my arrow layCharmed with a spell thy life to slay.Thou seekest now my feet, to craveForgiveness and thy life to save.So shall thy prayer have due respect:The suppliant I must still protect.But ne'er in vain this dart may flee;Yield for thy life a part of thee,What portion of thy body, say,Shall this mine arrow rend away?Thus far, O bird, thus far aloneOn thee my pity may be shown.Forfeit a part thy life to buy:'Tis better so to live than die.'Thus Ráma spoke: the bird of airPondered his speech with anxious care,And wisely deemed it good to giveOne of his eyes that he might live.To Raghu's son he made reply:'O Ráma, I will yield an eye.So let me in thy grace confideAnd live hereafter single-eyed.'Then Ráma charged the shaft, and lo,Full in the eye it smote the crow.And the Videhan lady gazedUpon the ruined eye amazed.The crow to Ráma humbly bent,Then where his fancy led he went.Ráma with Lakshman by his sideWith needful work was occupied.
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Footnotes204:1b This canto is allowed, by Indian commentators, to be an interpolation. It cannot be the work of Valmiki.
205:1 A fine bird with a strong, sweet note, and great imitative powers.
CANTO XCVII.:
LAKSHMAN'S ANGER.Thus Ráma showed his love the rillWhose waters ran beneath the hill,Then resting on his mountain seatRefreshed her with the choicest meat.So there reposed the happy two:Then Bharat's army nearer drew:Rose to the skies a dusty cloud,The sound of trampling feet was loud.The swelling roar of marching menDrove the roused tiger from his den,And scared amain the serpent raceFlying to hole and hiding-place.The herds of deer in terror fled,The air was filled with birds o'erhead,The bear began to leave his tree,The monkey to the cave to flee.Wild elephants were all amazedAs though the wood around them blazed.The lion oped his ponderous jaw,The buffalo looked round in awe.The prince, who heard the deafening sound.And saw the silvan creatures roundFly wildly startled from their rest,The glorious Lakshman thus addressed:'Sumitrá's noble son most dear,Hark, Lakshman, what a roar I hear,The tumult of a coming crowd.Appalling, deafening, deep, and loud!The din that yet more fearful growsScares elephants and buffaloes,Or frightened by the lions, deerAre flying through the wood in fear.I fain would know who seeks this place:Comes prince or monarch for the chase?Or does some mighty beast of preyFrighten the silvan herds away?Tis hard to reach this mountain height,Yea, e'en for birds in airy flight.Then fain, O Lakshman, would I knowWhat cause disturbs the forest so.'
Lakshman in haste, the wood to view.Climbed a high Sál that near him grew,The forest all around he eyed,First gazing on the eastern side.Then northward when his eyes he bentHe saw a mighty armamentOf elephants, and cars, and horse,And men on foot, a mingled force,And banners waving in the breeze,And spoke to Ráma words like these:'Quick, quick, my lord, put out the fire,Let Sítá to the cave retire.
Thy coat of mail around thee throw,Prepare thine arrows and thy bow.'
In eager haste thus Lakshman cried,And Ráma, lion lord, replied:'Still closer be the army scanned,And say who leads the warlike band.'Lakshman his answer thus returned,As furious rage within him burned,Exciting him like kindled fireTo scorch the army in his ire:'Tis Bharat: be has made the throneBy consecrating rites his own:To gain the whole dominion thusHe comes in arms to slaughter us.I mark tree-high upon his carHis flagstaff of the Kovídár, 1I see his glittering banner glance,I see his chivalry advance:I see his eager warriors shineOn elephants in lengthened line.Now grasp we each the shafts and bow,And higher up the mountain go.Or in this place, O hero, standWith weapons in each ready hand.Perhaps beneath our might may fallThis leader of the standard tall,And Bharat I this day may seeWho brought this mighty woe on thee,Sítá, and me, who drove awayMy brother from the royal sway.Bharat our foe at length is nigh,And by this hand shall surely die:Brother, I see no sin at allIf Bharat by my weapon fall.No fault is his who slays the foeWhose hand was first to strike the blow:With Bharat now the crime beginsWho against thee and duty sins.The queen athirst for royal swayWill see her darling son to-dayFall by this hand, like some fair treeStruck by an elephant, slain by me.Kaikeyí's self shall perish tooWith kith and kin and retinue,And earth by my avenging deedShall from this mass of sin be freed.This day my wrath, too long restrained,Shall fall upon the foe, unchained,Mad as the kindled flame that speedsDestroying through the grass and reeds.This day mine arrows keen and fierceThe bodies of the foe shall pierce;The woods on Chitrakúta's sideShall run with torrents crimson-dyed.The wandering beasts of prey shall feedOn heart-cleft elephant and steed,And drag to mountain caves awayThe bodies that my arrows slay.Doubt not that Bharat and his train
Shall in this mighty wood be slain:So shall I pay the debt my bowAnd these my deadly arrows owe.
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Footnotes207:1 Bauhinea variegata, a species of ebony.
CANTO XCVIII:
Lakshman in haste, the wood to view.Climbed a high Sál that near him grew,The forest all around he eyed,First gazing on the eastern side.Then northward when his eyes he bentHe saw a mighty armamentOf elephants, and cars, and horse,And men on foot, a mingled force,And banners waving in the breeze,And spoke to Ráma words like these:'Quick, quick, my lord, put out the fire,Let Sítá to the cave retire.
Thy coat of mail around thee throw,Prepare thine arrows and thy bow.'
In eager haste thus Lakshman cried,And Ráma, lion lord, replied:'Still closer be the army scanned,And say who leads the warlike band.'Lakshman his answer thus returned,As furious rage within him burned,Exciting him like kindled fireTo scorch the army in his ire:'Tis Bharat: be has made the throneBy consecrating rites his own:To gain the whole dominion thusHe comes in arms to slaughter us.I mark tree-high upon his carHis flagstaff of the Kovídár, 1I see his glittering banner glance,I see his chivalry advance:I see his eager warriors shineOn elephants in lengthened line.Now grasp we each the shafts and bow,And higher up the mountain go.Or in this place, O hero, standWith weapons in each ready hand.Perhaps beneath our might may fallThis leader of the standard tall,And Bharat I this day may seeWho brought this mighty woe on thee,Sítá, and me, who drove awayMy brother from the royal sway.Bharat our foe at length is nigh,And by this hand shall surely die:Brother, I see no sin at allIf Bharat by my weapon fall.No fault is his who slays the foeWhose hand was first to strike the blow:With Bharat now the crime beginsWho against thee and duty sins.The queen athirst for royal swayWill see her darling son to-dayFall by this hand, like some fair treeStruck by an elephant, slain by me.Kaikeyí's self shall perish tooWith kith and kin and retinue,And earth by my avenging deedShall from this mass of sin be freed.This day my wrath, too long restrained,Shall fall upon the foe, unchained,Mad as the kindled flame that speedsDestroying through the grass and reeds.This day mine arrows keen and fierceThe bodies of the foe shall pierce;The woods on Chitrakúta's sideShall run with torrents crimson-dyed.The wandering beasts of prey shall feedOn heart-cleft elephant and steed,And drag to mountain caves awayThe bodies that my arrows slay.Doubt not that Bharat and his train
Shall in this mighty wood be slain:So shall I pay the debt my bowAnd these my deadly arrows owe.
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Footnotes207:1 Bauhinea variegata, a species of ebony.
CANTO XCVIII:
LAKSHMAN CALMED.Then Ráma nobly calm allayedThe wrath that Lakshman's bosom swayed:'What need have we the sword to wield,To bend the bow or lift the shield,If Bharat brave, and wise, and good,Himself has sought this sheltering wood?I sware my father's will to do,And if I now my brother slewWhat gain in kingship should I find,Despised and scorned by all mankind?Believe me, e'en as I would shrinkFrom poisoned meat or deadly drink,No power or treasure would I winBy fall of friend or kith or kin.Brother, believe the words I speak:For your dear sakes alone I seekDuty and pleasure, wealth and gain:A holy life, a happy reign.If royal sway my heart desires,My brothers' weal the wish inspires:Their bliss and safety is my care,By this uplifted bow I swear.'Twere not so hard for me to gainThis broad land girdled by the main,But even Indra's royal mightShould ne'er be mine in duty's spite,If any bliss my soul can seeDeprived of dear S'atrughna, thee,And Bharat, may the flame destroyWith ashy gloom the selfish joy.Far dearer than this life of mine,Knowing the custom of our line,His heart with fond affection fraught,Bharat Ayodhyá's town resought,And hearing when he came that I,With thee and Sítá, forced to flyWith matted hair and hermit dressAm wandering in the wilderness.While grief his troubled senses storms,And tender love his bosom warms,From every thought of evil clear,Is come to meet his brother here.Some grievous words perchance he spokeKaikeyí's anger to provoke,Then won the king, and comes to layBefore my feet the royal sway.Hither, methinks, in season dueComes Bharat for an interview,Nor in his secret heart has heOne evil thought 'gainst thee or me.What has he done ere now, reflect!How failed in love or due respect
To make thee doubt his faith and layThis evil to his charge to-day?Thou shouldst not join with Bharat's nameSo harsh a speech and idle blame.The blows thy tongue at Bharat deals,My sympathizing bosom feels.How, urged by stress of any ill,Should sons their father's life-blood spill,Or brother slay in impious strifeA brother dearer than his life?If thou these cruel words hast saidBy strong desire of empire led,My brother Bharat will I prayTo give to thee the kingly sway.'Give him the realm', my speech shall be,And Bharat will, methinks, agree.' Thus spoke the prince whose chief delightWas duty, and to aid the right:And Lakshman keenly felt the blame,And shrank within himself for shame:And then his answer thus returned,With downcast eye and cheek that burned:'Brother, I weep, to see thy faceOur sire himself has sought this place.'Thus Lakshman spoke and stood ashamed,And Rama saw and thus exclaimed:'It is the strong-armed monarch: heIs come, methinks, his sons to see,To bid us both the forest quitFor joys for which he deems us fit:He thinks on all our care and pain,And now would lead us home again.My glorious father hence will bearSita who claims all tender care.I see two coursers fleet as storms,Of noble breed and lovely forms.I see the beast of mountain sizeWho bears the king our father wise,The aged Victor, march this wayIn front of all the armed array.But doubt and fear within me rise,For when I look with eager eyesI see no white umbrella spread,World-famous, o'er the royal head.Now, Lakshman, from the tree descend,And to my words attention lend. Thus spoke the pious prince: and heDescended from the lofty tree,And reverent hand to hand applied,Stood humbly by his brother's side. The host, compelled by Bharat's care,The wood from trampling feet to spare,Dense crowding half a league each wayEncamped around the mountain lay.Below the tall hill's shelving sideGleamed the bright army far and wide Spread o'er the ample space,By Bharat led who firmly trueIn duty from his bosom threwAll pride, and near his brother drewTo win the hero's grace.
CANTO XCIX.:
To make thee doubt his faith and layThis evil to his charge to-day?Thou shouldst not join with Bharat's nameSo harsh a speech and idle blame.The blows thy tongue at Bharat deals,My sympathizing bosom feels.How, urged by stress of any ill,Should sons their father's life-blood spill,Or brother slay in impious strifeA brother dearer than his life?If thou these cruel words hast saidBy strong desire of empire led,My brother Bharat will I prayTo give to thee the kingly sway.'Give him the realm', my speech shall be,And Bharat will, methinks, agree.' Thus spoke the prince whose chief delightWas duty, and to aid the right:And Lakshman keenly felt the blame,And shrank within himself for shame:And then his answer thus returned,With downcast eye and cheek that burned:'Brother, I weep, to see thy faceOur sire himself has sought this place.'Thus Lakshman spoke and stood ashamed,And Rama saw and thus exclaimed:'It is the strong-armed monarch: heIs come, methinks, his sons to see,To bid us both the forest quitFor joys for which he deems us fit:He thinks on all our care and pain,And now would lead us home again.My glorious father hence will bearSita who claims all tender care.I see two coursers fleet as storms,Of noble breed and lovely forms.I see the beast of mountain sizeWho bears the king our father wise,The aged Victor, march this wayIn front of all the armed array.But doubt and fear within me rise,For when I look with eager eyesI see no white umbrella spread,World-famous, o'er the royal head.Now, Lakshman, from the tree descend,And to my words attention lend. Thus spoke the pious prince: and heDescended from the lofty tree,And reverent hand to hand applied,Stood humbly by his brother's side. The host, compelled by Bharat's care,The wood from trampling feet to spare,Dense crowding half a league each wayEncamped around the mountain lay.Below the tall hill's shelving sideGleamed the bright army far and wide Spread o'er the ample space,By Bharat led who firmly trueIn duty from his bosom threwAll pride, and near his brother drewTo win the hero's grace.
CANTO XCIX.:
BHARAT'S APPROACH.Soon as the warriors took their restObeying Bharat's high behest,Thus Bharat to Satrughna spake:'A band of soldiers with thee take,And with these hunters o'er and o'erThe thickets of the wood explore.With bow, sword, arrows in their handsLet Guba with his kindred bandsWithin this grove remaining traceThe children of Kakutstha's race.And I meanwhile on foot will throughThis neighbouring wood my way pursue,With elders and the twice-born men,And every lord and citizen.There is, I feel, no rest for meTill Rama's face again I see,Lakshman, in arms and glory great,And Sita born to happy fate:No rest, until his cheek as brightAs the fair moon rejoice my sight,No rest until I see the eyeWith which the lotus petals vie;Till on my head those dear feet restWith signs of royal rank impressed;None, till my kingly brother gainHis old hereditary reign,Till o'er his limbs and noble headThe consecrating drops be shed.How blest is Janak's daughter, trueTo every wifely duty, whoCleaves faithful to her husband's sideWhose realm is girt by Ocean's tide!This mountain too above the restE'en as the King of Hills is blest,--Whose shades Kakutstha's scion holdAs Nandan charms the Lord of Gold.Yea, happy is this tangled groveWhere savage beasts unnumbered rove,Where, glory of the Warrior race,King Rama finds a dwelling-place.' Thus Bharat, strong-armed hero spake,And walked within the pathless brake.O'er plains where gay trees bloomed he went,Through boughs in tangled net-work bent,And then from Rama's cot appearedThe banner which the flame upreared.And Bharat joyed with every friendTo mark those smokv wreaths ascend:'Here Rama dwells,' he thought; 'at lastThe ocean of our toil is passed.' Then sure that Rama's hermit cot Was on the mountain's side He stayed his army on the spot, And on with Guha hied.
CANTO C.:
CANTO C.:
THE MEETING.'Then Bharat to Satrughna showedThe spot, and eager onward strode,First bidding Saint Vasishtha bringThe widowed consorts of the king,As by fraternal love impelledHis onward course the hero held,Sumantra followed close behindSatrughra with an anxious mind:Not Bharat's self more fain could beTo look on Rama's face than he.As, speeding on, the spot he neared,Amid the hermits' homes appearedHis brother's cot with leaves o'erspread,And by its side a lowly shed.Before the shed great heaps were leftOf gathered flowers and billets cleft,And on the trees hung grass and barkRama and Lakshman's path to mark:And heaps of fuel to provideAgainst the cold stood ready dried.The long-armed chief, as on he wentIn glory's light preeminent,With joyous words like these addressedThe brave Satrughna and the rest:'This is the place, I little doubt,Which Bharadvája pointed out,Not far from where we stand must beThe woodland stream, Mandákini.Here on the mountain's woody sideRoam elephants in tusked pride,And ever with a roar and cryEach other, as they meet, defy.And see those smoke-wreaths thick and dark:The presence of the flame they mark,Which hermits in the forest striveBy every art to keep alive.O happy me! my task is done,And I shall look on Raghu's son,Like some great saint, who loves to treatHis elders with all reverence meet.'Thus Bharat reached that forest rill,Thus roamed on Chitrakuta's hill;Then pity in his breast awoke,And to his friends the hero spoke:'Woe, woe upon my life and birth!The prince of men, the lord of earthHas sought the lonely wood to dwellSequestered in a hermit's cell.Through me, through me these sorrows fallOn him the splendid lord of all:Through me resigning earthly blissHe hides him in a home like this.Now will I, by the world abhorred,Fall at the dear feet of my lord,And at fair Sitft's too, to winHis pardon for my heinous sin.'
As thus he sadly mourned and sighed,The son of Dasaratha spiedA bower of leafy branches made,Sacred and lovely in the shade,Of fair proportions large and tall,Well roofed with boughs of palm, and Sál,Arranged in order due o'erheadLike grass upor an altar spread.Two glorious bows were gleaming there,Like Indra's 1 in the rainy air,Terror of foemen. backed with gold,Meet for the mightiest hand to hold:And quivered arrows cast a blazeBright gleaming like the Day-God's rays:Thus serpents with their eyes aglowAdorn their capital below. 2Great swords adorned the cottage, laidEach in a case of gold brocade;There hung the trusty shields, whereon.With purest gold the bosses shone.The brace to bind the bowman's arm,The glove to shield his hand from harm,A lustre to the cottage lentFrom many a golden ornament:Safe was the cot from fear of menAs from wild beasts the lion's den.The fire upon the altar burned,That to the north and east was turned.Bharat his eager glances bentAnd gazed within the cot intent;In deerskin dress, with matted hair,Rama his chief was sitting there:With liou-shl ulders broad and strong,With lotus eyes, arms thick and long.The righteous sovereign, who should beLord paramount from sea to sea,High-minded, born to lofty fate,Like Brahma's self supremely great;With Lakshman by his side, and her,Fair Sita, for his minister.And Bharat gazing, overcomeBy sorrow for a while was dumb,Then, yielding to his woe, he ranTo Kama and with sobs began:'He who a royal seat should fillWith subjects round to do his will,My elder brother,--see him here,With silvan creatures waiting near.The high-souled hero, wont to wearThe costliest robes exceeding fair,Now banished, in a deerskin dress,Here keeps the path of righteousness.How brooks the son of Eaghu nowThe matted locks which load his brow,Around whose princely head were twinedSweet blossoms of the rarest kind?The prince whose merits grew, acquired
By rites performed as he desired,Would now a store of merit gainBought by his body's toil and pain.Those limbs to which pure sandal lentThe freshness of its fragrant scent,Exposed to sun. and dust, and rain,Are now defiled with many a stain.And I the wretched cause why thisFalls on the prince whose right is bliss!Ah me, that ever I was bornTo be the people's hate and scorn!' Thus Bharat cried: of anguish sprung,Great drops upon his forehead hung.He fell o'erpowered-his grief was such-Ere he is brother's feet could touch.As on the glorious prince he gazedIn vain his broken voice he raised:'Dear lord'--through tears and sobbing came,The only words his lips could frame.And brave Satrughna wept aloud,As low at Ráma's feet he bowed.Then Ráma, while his tears ran fast,His arms around his brothers cast.Guha, Sumantra came to meetThe princes in their wild retreat. Vrihaspati and Sukra bright Their greeting thus rejoice to pay To the dear Lord who brings the night, And the great God who rules the day. Then wept the dwellers of the shade, Whose eyes the princes, meet to ride On mighty elephants, surveyed; And cast all thought of joy aside.
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Footnotes209:1 The rainbow is called the bow of Indra.
209:2 Bhogavatí, the abode of the Nagas or Serpent race.
CANTO CI.:
As thus he sadly mourned and sighed,The son of Dasaratha spiedA bower of leafy branches made,Sacred and lovely in the shade,Of fair proportions large and tall,Well roofed with boughs of palm, and Sál,Arranged in order due o'erheadLike grass upor an altar spread.Two glorious bows were gleaming there,Like Indra's 1 in the rainy air,Terror of foemen. backed with gold,Meet for the mightiest hand to hold:And quivered arrows cast a blazeBright gleaming like the Day-God's rays:Thus serpents with their eyes aglowAdorn their capital below. 2Great swords adorned the cottage, laidEach in a case of gold brocade;There hung the trusty shields, whereon.With purest gold the bosses shone.The brace to bind the bowman's arm,The glove to shield his hand from harm,A lustre to the cottage lentFrom many a golden ornament:Safe was the cot from fear of menAs from wild beasts the lion's den.The fire upon the altar burned,That to the north and east was turned.Bharat his eager glances bentAnd gazed within the cot intent;In deerskin dress, with matted hair,Rama his chief was sitting there:With liou-shl ulders broad and strong,With lotus eyes, arms thick and long.The righteous sovereign, who should beLord paramount from sea to sea,High-minded, born to lofty fate,Like Brahma's self supremely great;With Lakshman by his side, and her,Fair Sita, for his minister.And Bharat gazing, overcomeBy sorrow for a while was dumb,Then, yielding to his woe, he ranTo Kama and with sobs began:'He who a royal seat should fillWith subjects round to do his will,My elder brother,--see him here,With silvan creatures waiting near.The high-souled hero, wont to wearThe costliest robes exceeding fair,Now banished, in a deerskin dress,Here keeps the path of righteousness.How brooks the son of Eaghu nowThe matted locks which load his brow,Around whose princely head were twinedSweet blossoms of the rarest kind?The prince whose merits grew, acquired
By rites performed as he desired,Would now a store of merit gainBought by his body's toil and pain.Those limbs to which pure sandal lentThe freshness of its fragrant scent,Exposed to sun. and dust, and rain,Are now defiled with many a stain.And I the wretched cause why thisFalls on the prince whose right is bliss!Ah me, that ever I was bornTo be the people's hate and scorn!' Thus Bharat cried: of anguish sprung,Great drops upon his forehead hung.He fell o'erpowered-his grief was such-Ere he is brother's feet could touch.As on the glorious prince he gazedIn vain his broken voice he raised:'Dear lord'--through tears and sobbing came,The only words his lips could frame.And brave Satrughna wept aloud,As low at Ráma's feet he bowed.Then Ráma, while his tears ran fast,His arms around his brothers cast.Guha, Sumantra came to meetThe princes in their wild retreat. Vrihaspati and Sukra bright Their greeting thus rejoice to pay To the dear Lord who brings the night, And the great God who rules the day. Then wept the dwellers of the shade, Whose eyes the princes, meet to ride On mighty elephants, surveyed; And cast all thought of joy aside.
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Footnotes209:1 The rainbow is called the bow of Indra.
209:2 Bhogavatí, the abode of the Nagas or Serpent race.
CANTO CI.:
BHARAT QUESTIONED.Then Rama gazed, and scarcely knewBharat so worn and changed in hue.He raised him, kissed him on the head,Embraced him, and thus kindly said;'Where was thy father, brother dear,That thou art come to seek me here?Unmeet, if he be living yet,Thy feet within the wood to set.I pray thee now the cause declareWhy thou hast left the kingdom there,With matted locks and deerskin dressTo roam the distant wilderness.'
Thus questioned by the prince, at lengthKaikeyi's son regained his strength,And hand to hand in reverence laid,To Rama thus his answer made:'The great-armed monarch, O my lard,Has dared to do a thing abhorred,Left us, and grieving for his son,A home among the Gods has won.
My mother Queen Kaikeyf gaveThe order to the king her slave,And at the bidding of the dameHe wrought the sin which mars his fame.Athirst for sway, her hopes are crossed,She mourns her son, her husband lost,And through her impious crime will goFor punishment to hell below.Now O my lord, forgive me all;Be gracious to thy lowly thrall:Anointed king, accept to-dayLike Iudra's self, the royal sway.Be gracious, Prince, to lord and peer,And widowed queens who seek thee hereAccept the kingdom thine by right.And so thy faithful friends delight.Let the broad land no longer beAll widowed and forlorn of thee:Let the full moon of autumn reignTriumphant o'er the night again.These lords and I before thee bend:O Rama, to Our prayer attend.O do not thou this grace deny:Thy brother, pupil, slave am I.Look on this venerable ring,Advisers of our sire the king.From age to age so honoured: thouShouldst grant their supplication now? As weeping thus the hero prayed,His head at Rama's feet he laid.Like a mad elephant he sighed:And Rama, gazed and thus replied:'How, brother, Can a man of worth,True to his vows, of noble birth-A man like me, commit a sinThe lordship of the land to win?No slightest shade of fault I see,O tamer of thy foes, in thee.But ne'er shouldst thou in childish thoughtThe queen thy mother blame in aught,O brother wise and sinless, knowThe sacred laws would have it so,That from good wife and son requireObedience to their lord and sire.And we are all the king's, for thusThe virtuous ever reckon us:Yea brother, be it known to thee,His wives, and sons, and pupils we.His is the right, if he deem fit,To bid me, throned as monarch, sit,Or in a coat of bark expel,And deerskin, in the wood to dwell.And O remember, best of allWho act as claims of duty call,As to a virtuous sire is due,Such honour claims a mother too.So they whose lives have ever beenBy duty led, the king and queen,Said,'Rama, seek the forest shade:'And I (what could I else?) obeyed.Thou must the royal power retain,
And o'er the famed Ayodhyá reign:I dressed in bark my days will spentWhere Dandak'a forest wilds extend.So Das'aratha spoke, our king,His share to each apportioningBefore his honoured servants, eyes:Then, heir of bliss, he sought the skies.The righteous monarch's honoured will,Whom all revered, must guide thee still,And thou must still enjoy the shareAssigned thee by our father's care.So I till twice seven years are spentWill roam this wood in banishment,Contented with the lot which he,My high-souled sire, has given me.The charge the monarch gave, endearedTo all mankind, by all revered, Peer of the Lord Supreme,Far better, richer far in gainOf every blessing than to reign O'er all the worlds I deem.'
CANTO CII.:
Thus questioned by the prince, at lengthKaikeyi's son regained his strength,And hand to hand in reverence laid,To Rama thus his answer made:'The great-armed monarch, O my lard,Has dared to do a thing abhorred,Left us, and grieving for his son,A home among the Gods has won.
My mother Queen Kaikeyf gaveThe order to the king her slave,And at the bidding of the dameHe wrought the sin which mars his fame.Athirst for sway, her hopes are crossed,She mourns her son, her husband lost,And through her impious crime will goFor punishment to hell below.Now O my lord, forgive me all;Be gracious to thy lowly thrall:Anointed king, accept to-dayLike Iudra's self, the royal sway.Be gracious, Prince, to lord and peer,And widowed queens who seek thee hereAccept the kingdom thine by right.And so thy faithful friends delight.Let the broad land no longer beAll widowed and forlorn of thee:Let the full moon of autumn reignTriumphant o'er the night again.These lords and I before thee bend:O Rama, to Our prayer attend.O do not thou this grace deny:Thy brother, pupil, slave am I.Look on this venerable ring,Advisers of our sire the king.From age to age so honoured: thouShouldst grant their supplication now? As weeping thus the hero prayed,His head at Rama's feet he laid.Like a mad elephant he sighed:And Rama, gazed and thus replied:'How, brother, Can a man of worth,True to his vows, of noble birth-A man like me, commit a sinThe lordship of the land to win?No slightest shade of fault I see,O tamer of thy foes, in thee.But ne'er shouldst thou in childish thoughtThe queen thy mother blame in aught,O brother wise and sinless, knowThe sacred laws would have it so,That from good wife and son requireObedience to their lord and sire.And we are all the king's, for thusThe virtuous ever reckon us:Yea brother, be it known to thee,His wives, and sons, and pupils we.His is the right, if he deem fit,To bid me, throned as monarch, sit,Or in a coat of bark expel,And deerskin, in the wood to dwell.And O remember, best of allWho act as claims of duty call,As to a virtuous sire is due,Such honour claims a mother too.So they whose lives have ever beenBy duty led, the king and queen,Said,'Rama, seek the forest shade:'And I (what could I else?) obeyed.Thou must the royal power retain,
And o'er the famed Ayodhyá reign:I dressed in bark my days will spentWhere Dandak'a forest wilds extend.So Das'aratha spoke, our king,His share to each apportioningBefore his honoured servants, eyes:Then, heir of bliss, he sought the skies.The righteous monarch's honoured will,Whom all revered, must guide thee still,And thou must still enjoy the shareAssigned thee by our father's care.So I till twice seven years are spentWill roam this wood in banishment,Contented with the lot which he,My high-souled sire, has given me.The charge the monarch gave, endearedTo all mankind, by all revered, Peer of the Lord Supreme,Far better, richer far in gainOf every blessing than to reign O'er all the worlds I deem.'
CANTO CII.:
BHARAT'S TIDINGS.He spoke: and Bharat thus replied;'If, false to every claim beside,I ne'er in kingly duties fail,What will my royal life avail?Still should the custom be observed,From which our line has never swerved,Which to the younger son ne'er givesThe kingdom while the elder lives.Now to Ayodhya rich and fairWith me, O Raghu's son, repair,And to protect and gladden allOur house, thyself as king install,A king the world's opinion deemsA man: to me a God he seems,Whose life in virtuous thoughts and deedsThe lives of other men exceeds.When I in distant Kekaya stayed,And thou hadst sought the forest shade,Our father died, the saints' delight,So constant in each holy rite.Scarce with thy wife and Lakshman thouHadst journeyed forth to keep the vow,When mourning for his son, forspent,To heavenly rest the monarch went,Then up, O lord of men, away!His funeral rites of water pay:I and S'atrughna, ere we came,Neglected not the sacred claim.But in the spirit-world, they say,That gift alone is fresh for ayeWhich best beloved hands have poured;And thou his dearest art, my lord.For thee he longed, for thee he grieved, His every thought on thee was bent,And crushed by woe, of thee bereaved, He thought of thee as hence he went.'
CANTO CIII.:
CANTO CIII.:
THE FUNERAL LIBATION.When Rama heard from Bharat eachDark sorrow of his mournful speech,And tidings of his father dead,His spirits fell, his senses fled.For the sad words his brother spokeStruck on him like a thunder stroke.Fierce as the bolt which Indra throws,The victor of his Daitya foes.Raising his arms in anguish, he,As when the woodman hews a treeWith its fair flowery branches crowned,Fainted and fell upon the ground.Lord of the earth to earth he sank.Helpless, as when a towering bankWith sudden ruin buries deepAn elephant who lay asleep.Then swift his wife and brothers flew,And water, weeping, o'er him threw.As slowly sense and strength he gained,Fast from his eyes the tears he rained,And then in accents sad and weakKakutstha's son began to speak,And mourning for the monarch dead,With righteous words to Bharat said:'What calls me home, when he, alas,Has gone the way which all must pass?Of him, the best of kings bereftWhat guardian has Ayodhya left?How may I please his spirit? howDelight the high-souled monarch now,Who wept for me and went aboveBy me ungraced with mourning love!Ah, happy brothers! you have paidDue offerings to his parting shade.E'en when my banishment is o'er,Back to my home I go no more,To look upon the widowed stateReft of her king, disconsolate.E'en then, O tamer of the foe,If to Ayodhya's town I go.Who will direct me as of old,Now other worlds our father hold?From whom, my brother, shall I hearThose words which ever charmed mine earAnd filled my bosom with delightWhene'er he saw me act aright?' Thus Rama spoke: then nearer cameAnd looking on his moonbright dame,'Sit'a, the king is gone,' he said: 'And Lakshman, know thy sire is dead,
And with the Gods on high enrolled:This mournful news has Bharat told.'He spoke: the noble youths with sighsRained down the torrents from their eyes.And then the brothers of the chiefWith words of comfort soothed his grief:'Now to the king our sire who swayedThe earth be due libations paid.'Soon as the monarch's fate she knew,Sharp pangs of grief smote Sita through:Nor could she look upon her lordWith eyes from which the torrents poured.And Rama strove with tender careTo soothe the weeping dame's despair,And then, with piercing woe distressed,The mournful Lakshman thus addressed:'Brother, I pray thee bring for meThe pressed fruit of the Ingudi,And a bark mantle fresh and new,That I may pay this offering due.First of the three shall Sita go,Next thou, and I the last: for soMoves the funereal pomp of woe.' 1 Sumantra of the noble mind,Gentle and modest, meek and kind,Who, follower of each princely youth,To Rama clung with constant truth,Now with the royal brothers' aidThe grief of Rama soothed and stayed,And lent his arm his lord to guideDown to the river's holy side.Tnat lovely stream the heroes found,With woods that ever blossomed crowned,And there in bitter sorrow bentTheir footsteps down the fair descent.Then where the stream that swiftly flowedA pure pellucid shallow showed,The funeral drops they duly shed,And 'Father, this be thine,' they said.But he, the lord who ruled the land,Filled from the stream his hollowed hand,And turning to the southern sideStretched out his arm and weeping cried:'This sacred water clear and pure,An offering which shall aye endureTo thee, O lord of kings, I give:Accept it where the spirits live!' Then, when the solemn rite was o'er,Came Rama to the river shore,And offered, with his brothers' aid,Fresh tribute to his father's shade.
With jujube fruit he mixed the seedOf Ingudis from moisture freed,And placed it on a spot o'erspreadWith sacred grass, and weeping said:'Enjoy, great King, the cake which weThy children eat and offer thee!For ne'er do blessed Gods refuseTo share the food which mortals use.' Then Rama turned him to retraceThe path that brought him to the place,And up the mountain's pleasant sideWhere lovely lawns lay fair, he hied.Soon as his cottage door he gained.His brothers to his breast he strained.From them and Sit'a in their woesSo loud the cry of weeping rose,That like the roar of lions roundThe mountain rolled the echoing sound.And Bharat's army shook with fearThe weeping of the chiefs to hear.'Bharat,' the soldiers cried, ''tis plain,His brother Rama meets again,And with these cries that round us ringThey sorrow for their sire the king.'Then leaving car and wain behind,One eager thought in every mind,Swift toward the weeping, every man,As each could find a passage, ran.Some thither bent their eager courseWith car, and elephant, and horse,And youthful captains on their feetWith longing sped their lord to meet,As though the new-come prince had beenAn exile for long years unseen.Earth beaten in their frantic zealBy clattering hoof and rumbling wheel,Sent forth a deafening noise as loudAs heaven when black with many a cloud,Then, with their consorts gathered near,Wild elephants in sudden fearRushed to a distant wood, and shedAn odour round them as they fled.And every silvan thing that dweltWithin those shades the terror felt,Deer, lion, tiger, boar and roe,Bison, wild-cow, and buffalo.And when the tumult wild they heard.With trembling pinions flew each bird,From tree, from thicket, and from lake,Swan, koil, curlew, crane, and drake.With men the ground was overspread,With startled birds the sky o'erhead.Then on his sacrificial groundThe sinless, glorious chief was found.Loading with curses deep and loudThe hump-back and the queen, the crowd.Whose checks were wet, whose eyes were dim,In fond affection ran to him.While the big tears their eyes bedewed,He looked upon the multitude,
And then as sire and mother do,His arms about his loved ones threw. Some to his feet with reverence pressed, Some in his arms he strained: Each friend, with kindly words addressed, Due share of honour gained. Then, by their mighty woe o'ercome, The weeping heroes' cry Filled, like the roar of many a drum, Hill, cavern, earth, and sky.
Footnotes212:1 'The order of the procession on these occasions is that the children precede according to age, then the women and after that the men according to age, the youngest first and the eldest last: when they descend into the water this is reversed and resumed when they come out of it.'
CAREY AND MAKSHMAN.
CANTO CIV.:
And with the Gods on high enrolled:This mournful news has Bharat told.'He spoke: the noble youths with sighsRained down the torrents from their eyes.And then the brothers of the chiefWith words of comfort soothed his grief:'Now to the king our sire who swayedThe earth be due libations paid.'Soon as the monarch's fate she knew,Sharp pangs of grief smote Sita through:Nor could she look upon her lordWith eyes from which the torrents poured.And Rama strove with tender careTo soothe the weeping dame's despair,And then, with piercing woe distressed,The mournful Lakshman thus addressed:'Brother, I pray thee bring for meThe pressed fruit of the Ingudi,And a bark mantle fresh and new,That I may pay this offering due.First of the three shall Sita go,Next thou, and I the last: for soMoves the funereal pomp of woe.' 1 Sumantra of the noble mind,Gentle and modest, meek and kind,Who, follower of each princely youth,To Rama clung with constant truth,Now with the royal brothers' aidThe grief of Rama soothed and stayed,And lent his arm his lord to guideDown to the river's holy side.Tnat lovely stream the heroes found,With woods that ever blossomed crowned,And there in bitter sorrow bentTheir footsteps down the fair descent.Then where the stream that swiftly flowedA pure pellucid shallow showed,The funeral drops they duly shed,And 'Father, this be thine,' they said.But he, the lord who ruled the land,Filled from the stream his hollowed hand,And turning to the southern sideStretched out his arm and weeping cried:'This sacred water clear and pure,An offering which shall aye endureTo thee, O lord of kings, I give:Accept it where the spirits live!' Then, when the solemn rite was o'er,Came Rama to the river shore,And offered, with his brothers' aid,Fresh tribute to his father's shade.
With jujube fruit he mixed the seedOf Ingudis from moisture freed,And placed it on a spot o'erspreadWith sacred grass, and weeping said:'Enjoy, great King, the cake which weThy children eat and offer thee!For ne'er do blessed Gods refuseTo share the food which mortals use.' Then Rama turned him to retraceThe path that brought him to the place,And up the mountain's pleasant sideWhere lovely lawns lay fair, he hied.Soon as his cottage door he gained.His brothers to his breast he strained.From them and Sit'a in their woesSo loud the cry of weeping rose,That like the roar of lions roundThe mountain rolled the echoing sound.And Bharat's army shook with fearThe weeping of the chiefs to hear.'Bharat,' the soldiers cried, ''tis plain,His brother Rama meets again,And with these cries that round us ringThey sorrow for their sire the king.'Then leaving car and wain behind,One eager thought in every mind,Swift toward the weeping, every man,As each could find a passage, ran.Some thither bent their eager courseWith car, and elephant, and horse,And youthful captains on their feetWith longing sped their lord to meet,As though the new-come prince had beenAn exile for long years unseen.Earth beaten in their frantic zealBy clattering hoof and rumbling wheel,Sent forth a deafening noise as loudAs heaven when black with many a cloud,Then, with their consorts gathered near,Wild elephants in sudden fearRushed to a distant wood, and shedAn odour round them as they fled.And every silvan thing that dweltWithin those shades the terror felt,Deer, lion, tiger, boar and roe,Bison, wild-cow, and buffalo.And when the tumult wild they heard.With trembling pinions flew each bird,From tree, from thicket, and from lake,Swan, koil, curlew, crane, and drake.With men the ground was overspread,With startled birds the sky o'erhead.Then on his sacrificial groundThe sinless, glorious chief was found.Loading with curses deep and loudThe hump-back and the queen, the crowd.Whose checks were wet, whose eyes were dim,In fond affection ran to him.While the big tears their eyes bedewed,He looked upon the multitude,
And then as sire and mother do,His arms about his loved ones threw. Some to his feet with reverence pressed, Some in his arms he strained: Each friend, with kindly words addressed, Due share of honour gained. Then, by their mighty woe o'ercome, The weeping heroes' cry Filled, like the roar of many a drum, Hill, cavern, earth, and sky.
Footnotes212:1 'The order of the procession on these occasions is that the children precede according to age, then the women and after that the men according to age, the youngest first and the eldest last: when they descend into the water this is reversed and resumed when they come out of it.'
CAREY AND MAKSHMAN.
CANTO CIV.:
THE MEETING WITH THE QUEENS.Vas'ishtha with his soul athirstTo look again on Rama, firstIn line the royal widows placed,And then the way behind them traced.The ladies moving, faint and slow,Saw the fair stream before them flow,And by the bank their steps were ledWhich the two brothers visited.Kausalya with her faded cheekArid weeping eyes began to speak,And thus in mournful tones addressedThe queen Sumitra and the rest:'See in the wood the bank's descent,Which the two orphan youths frequent,Whose noble spirits never fall,Though woes surround them, reft of all.Thy son with love that never tiresDraws water hence which mine requires,This day, for lowly toil unfit.His pious task thy son should quit.' As on the long-eyed lady strayed,On holy grass, whose points were laidDirected to the southern sky,When Rama's humble gift she spiedThus to the queens Kausalya cried:'The gift of Rama's hand behold,His tribute to the king high-souled,Offered to him, as texts require,Lord of Ikshhvaku's line, his sire!Not such I deem the funeral foodOf kings with godlike might endued.Can he who knew all pleasuies, heWho ruled the earth from sea to sea,The mighty lord of monarchs, feedOn Ingudi's extracted seed?In all the world there cannot beA woe, I ween, more sad to see,Than that my glorious son should makeHis funeral gilt of such a cake.The ancient text I oft have heardThis day is true in every word:'Ne'er do the blessed Gods refuseTo eat the food their children use.' The ladies soothed the weeping dame:
To Rama's hermitage they came,And there the hero met their eyesLike a God fallen from the skies.Him joyless, reft of all, they viewed,And tears their mournful eyes bedewed.The truthful hero left his seat,And clasped the ladies' lotus feet,And they with soft hands brushed awayThe dust that on his shoulders lay.Then Lakshman, when he saw each queenWith weeping eyes and troubled mien,Near to the royal ladies drewAnd paid them gentle reverence too.He, Das'aratha's offspring, signedThe heir of bliss by Fortune kind,Received from every dame no lessEach mark of love and tenderness.And Sita came and bent beforeThe widows, while her eyes ran o'er,And pressed their feet with many a tear.They when they saw the lady dearPale, worn with dwelling in the wild.Embraced her as a darling child:Daughter of royal Janak, brideOf Das'aratha's son, they cried,'How couldst thou, offering of a king,Endure this woe and sufferingIn the wild forest? When I traceEach sign of trouble on thy face-That lotus which the sun has dried,That lily by the tempest tried,That gold whereon the dust is spread,That moon whence all the light is fled--Sorrow assails my heart, alas!As fire consumes the wood and grass.' Then Rama, as she spoke distressed,The feet of Saint Vas'ishtha pressed, Touched them with reverential love, Then near him took his seat: Thus Indra clasps in realms above The Heavenly Teacher's 1 feet. Then with each counsellor and peer, Bharat of duteous mind, With citizens and captains near, Sat humbly down behind. When with his hands to him upraised, In devotee's attire. Bharat upon his brother gazed Whose glory shone like fire, As when the pure Maheridra bends To the great Lord of Life, Among his noble crowd of friends This anxious thought was rife: 'What words to Raghu's son to-day Will royal Bharat speak, Whose heart has been so prompt to pay Obeisance fond and meek?' Then steadfast Rama, Lakshman wise, Bharat for truth renowned,
Shone like three fires that heavenward rise With holy priests around.
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Footnotes213:1 Vrihaspati, the preceptor of the Gods.
CANTO CV.:
To Rama's hermitage they came,And there the hero met their eyesLike a God fallen from the skies.Him joyless, reft of all, they viewed,And tears their mournful eyes bedewed.The truthful hero left his seat,And clasped the ladies' lotus feet,And they with soft hands brushed awayThe dust that on his shoulders lay.Then Lakshman, when he saw each queenWith weeping eyes and troubled mien,Near to the royal ladies drewAnd paid them gentle reverence too.He, Das'aratha's offspring, signedThe heir of bliss by Fortune kind,Received from every dame no lessEach mark of love and tenderness.And Sita came and bent beforeThe widows, while her eyes ran o'er,And pressed their feet with many a tear.They when they saw the lady dearPale, worn with dwelling in the wild.Embraced her as a darling child:Daughter of royal Janak, brideOf Das'aratha's son, they cried,'How couldst thou, offering of a king,Endure this woe and sufferingIn the wild forest? When I traceEach sign of trouble on thy face-That lotus which the sun has dried,That lily by the tempest tried,That gold whereon the dust is spread,That moon whence all the light is fled--Sorrow assails my heart, alas!As fire consumes the wood and grass.' Then Rama, as she spoke distressed,The feet of Saint Vas'ishtha pressed, Touched them with reverential love, Then near him took his seat: Thus Indra clasps in realms above The Heavenly Teacher's 1 feet. Then with each counsellor and peer, Bharat of duteous mind, With citizens and captains near, Sat humbly down behind. When with his hands to him upraised, In devotee's attire. Bharat upon his brother gazed Whose glory shone like fire, As when the pure Maheridra bends To the great Lord of Life, Among his noble crowd of friends This anxious thought was rife: 'What words to Raghu's son to-day Will royal Bharat speak, Whose heart has been so prompt to pay Obeisance fond and meek?' Then steadfast Rama, Lakshman wise, Bharat for truth renowned,
Shone like three fires that heavenward rise With holy priests around.
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Footnotes213:1 Vrihaspati, the preceptor of the Gods.
CANTO CV.:
RAMA'S SPEECH.A while they sat, each lip compressed,Then Bharat thus his chief addressed:'My mother here was made content;To me was given the government.This now, my lord, I yield to thee:Enjoy it, from all trouble free.Like a great bridge the floods have rent,Impetuous in their wild descent,All other hands but thine in vainWould strive the burthen to maintain.In vain the ass with steeds would vie,With Tárkshya, 1 birds that wing the sky;So, lord of men, my power is slightTo rival thine imperial might.Great joys his happy days attendOn whom the hopes of men depend,But wretched is the life he leadsWho still the aid of others needs.And if the seed a man has sown,With care and kindly nurture grown,Rear its huge trunk and spring in timeToo bulky for a dwarf to climb,Yet, with perpetual blossom gay,No fruit upon its boughs display,Ne'er can that tree, thus nursed in vain,Approval of the virtuous gain.The simile is meant to beApplied, O mighty-armed, to thee,Because, our lord and leader, thouProtectest not thy people now.O, be the longing wish fulfilledOf every chief of house and guild,To see again their sun-bright lordVictorious to his realm restored!As thou returnest through the crowdLet roars of elephants be loud.And each fair woman lift her voiceAnd in her new-found king rejoice.' The people all with longing moved,The words that Bharat spoke approved,And crowding near to Ráma pressedThe hero with the same request.The steadfast Ráma, when he viewedHis glorious brother's mournful mood,With each ambitious thought controlled,Thus the lamenting prince consoled:'I cannot do the things I will,For Ráma is but mortal still.Fate with supreme, resistless lawThis way and that its slave will draw,All gathered heaps must waste away,All lofty lore and powers decay.
Death is the end of life, and all,Now firmly joined, apart must fall.One fear the ripened fruit must know,To fall upon the earth below;So every man who draws his breathMust fear inevitable death.The pillared mansion, high, compact,Must fall by Time's strong hand attacked;So mortal men, the gradual preyOf old and ruthless death, decay.The night that flies no more returns:Yamuná for the Ocean yearns:Swift her impetuous waters flee,But roll not backward from the sea.The days and nights pass swiftly byAnd steal our moments as they fly.E'en as the sun's unpitying raysDrink up the floods in summer blaze.Then for thyself lament and leaveFor death of other men to grieve,For if thou go or if thou stay.Thy life is shorter day by day.Death travels with us; death attendsOur steps until our journey ends.Death, when the traveller wins the goal,Returns with the returning soul.The flowing hair grown* white and thin,And wrinkles mark the altered skin.The ills of age man's strength assail:Ah, what can mortal power avail?Men joy to see the sun arise,They watch him set with joyful eyes:But ne'er reflect, too blind to see,How fast their own brief moments flee.With lovely change for ever newThe seasons' sweet return they view,Nor think with heedless hearts the whileThat lives decay as seasons smile.As haply on the boundless mainMeet drifting logs and part again.So wives and children, friends and gold,Oures for a little time we hold:Soon by resistless laws of fateTo meet no more we separate.In all this changing world not oneThe common lot of all can shun:Then why with useless tears deploreThe dead whom tears can bring no more?As one might stand upon the wayAnd to a troop of travellers say:'If ye allow it, sirs, I tooWill travel on the road with you:'So why should mortal man lamentWhen on that path his feet are bentWhich all men living needs must tread,Where sire and ancestors have led?Life flies as torrents downward fallSpeeding away without recall,So virtue should our thoughts engage,For bliss 1b is mortals' heritage,
By ceaseless care and earnest zealFor servants and for people's weal,By gifts, by duty nobly done,Our glorious sire the skies has won.Our lord the king, o'er earth who reigned,A blissful home in heaven has gainedBy wealth in ample largess spent,And many a rite magnificent:With constant joy from first to lastA long and noble life he passed,Praised by the good, no tears should dimOur eyes, O brother dear, for him.His human body, worn and triedBy length of days, he cast aside,And gained the godlike bliss to strayIn Brahma's heavenly home for aye."For such the wise as we are, deepIn Veda lore, should never weep.Those who are firm and ever wiseSpurn vain lament and idle sighs.Be self-possessed: thy grief restrain:Go, in that city dwell again.Return, O best of men, and beObedient to our sire's decree,While I with every care fulfilOur holy father's righteous will,Observing in the lonely woodHis charge approved by all the good,'
Thus Ráma of the lofty mind To Bharat spoke his righteous speech, By every argument designed Obedience to his sire to teach,
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Footnotes214:1 Garud, the king of birds.
214:1b To be won by virtue.
CANTO CVI.:
Death is the end of life, and all,Now firmly joined, apart must fall.One fear the ripened fruit must know,To fall upon the earth below;So every man who draws his breathMust fear inevitable death.The pillared mansion, high, compact,Must fall by Time's strong hand attacked;So mortal men, the gradual preyOf old and ruthless death, decay.The night that flies no more returns:Yamuná for the Ocean yearns:Swift her impetuous waters flee,But roll not backward from the sea.The days and nights pass swiftly byAnd steal our moments as they fly.E'en as the sun's unpitying raysDrink up the floods in summer blaze.Then for thyself lament and leaveFor death of other men to grieve,For if thou go or if thou stay.Thy life is shorter day by day.Death travels with us; death attendsOur steps until our journey ends.Death, when the traveller wins the goal,Returns with the returning soul.The flowing hair grown* white and thin,And wrinkles mark the altered skin.The ills of age man's strength assail:Ah, what can mortal power avail?Men joy to see the sun arise,They watch him set with joyful eyes:But ne'er reflect, too blind to see,How fast their own brief moments flee.With lovely change for ever newThe seasons' sweet return they view,Nor think with heedless hearts the whileThat lives decay as seasons smile.As haply on the boundless mainMeet drifting logs and part again.So wives and children, friends and gold,Oures for a little time we hold:Soon by resistless laws of fateTo meet no more we separate.In all this changing world not oneThe common lot of all can shun:Then why with useless tears deploreThe dead whom tears can bring no more?As one might stand upon the wayAnd to a troop of travellers say:'If ye allow it, sirs, I tooWill travel on the road with you:'So why should mortal man lamentWhen on that path his feet are bentWhich all men living needs must tread,Where sire and ancestors have led?Life flies as torrents downward fallSpeeding away without recall,So virtue should our thoughts engage,For bliss 1b is mortals' heritage,
By ceaseless care and earnest zealFor servants and for people's weal,By gifts, by duty nobly done,Our glorious sire the skies has won.Our lord the king, o'er earth who reigned,A blissful home in heaven has gainedBy wealth in ample largess spent,And many a rite magnificent:With constant joy from first to lastA long and noble life he passed,Praised by the good, no tears should dimOur eyes, O brother dear, for him.His human body, worn and triedBy length of days, he cast aside,And gained the godlike bliss to strayIn Brahma's heavenly home for aye."For such the wise as we are, deepIn Veda lore, should never weep.Those who are firm and ever wiseSpurn vain lament and idle sighs.Be self-possessed: thy grief restrain:Go, in that city dwell again.Return, O best of men, and beObedient to our sire's decree,While I with every care fulfilOur holy father's righteous will,Observing in the lonely woodHis charge approved by all the good,'
Thus Ráma of the lofty mind To Bharat spoke his righteous speech, By every argument designed Obedience to his sire to teach,
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Footnotes214:1 Garud, the king of birds.
214:1b To be won by virtue.
CANTO CVI.:
BHARAT'S SPEECH.Good Bharat, by the river side,To virtuous Ráma's speech replied,And thus with varied lore addressedThe prince, while nobles round him pressed:'In all this world whom e'er can weFind equal, scourge of foes, to thee?No ill upon thy bosom weighs.No thoughts of joy thy spirit raise.Approved art thou of sages old,To whom thy doubts are ever told.Alike in death and life, to theeThe same to be and not to be.The man who such a soul can gainCan ne'er be crushed by woe or pain.Pure as the Gods, high-minded, wise,Concealed from thee no secret lies.Such glorious gifts are all thine own,And birth and death to thee are known,That ill can ne'er thy soul depressWith all-subduing bitterness.O let my prayer, dear brother, winThy pardon for my mother's sin.Wrought for my sake who willed it notWhen absent in a distant spot.
Duty alone with binding chainsThe vengeancs due to crime restrains,Or on the sinner I should liftMy hand in retribution swift.Can I who know the right, and springFrom Das'aratha, purest king--Can I commit a heinous crime,Abhorred by all through endless time?The aged king I dare not blame,Who died so rich in holy fame,My honoured sire, my parted lord,E'en as a present God adored.Yet who in lore of duty skilledSo foul a crime has ever willed,And dared defy both gain and rightTo gratify a woman's spite?When death draws near, so people say,The sense af creatures dies away;And he has proved the ancient sawBy acting thus in spite of law.But O my honoured lord, be kind.Dismiss the trespass from thy mind,The sin the king committed, ledBy haste, his consort's wrath, and dread.For he who veils his sire's offenceWith tender care and reverence--His sons approved by all shall live:Not so their fate who ne'er forgive.Be thou, my lord, the noble son,And the vile deed my sire has done,Abhorred by all the virtuous, ne'erResent, lest thou the guilt too share.Preserve us, for on thee we call.Our sire, Kaikeyi, me and allThy citizens, thy kith and kin;Preserve us and reverse the sin.To live in woods a devoteeCan scarce with royal tasks agree,Nor can the hermit's matted hairSuit fitly with a ruler's care.Do not, my brother, do not stillPursue this life that suits thee ill.Mid duties, of a king we countHis consecration paramount,That he with ready heart and handMay keep his people and his land.What Warrior born to royal swayFrom certain good would turn away,A doubtful duty to pursue,That mocks him with the distant view?Thou wouldst to duty cleave, and gainThe meed that follows toil and pain.In thy great task no labour spare:Rule the four castes with justest care.Mid all the four, the wise preferThe order of the householder: 1
Canst thou, whose thoughts to duty cleave,The best of all the orders leave?My better thou in lore divine,My birth, my sense must yield to thine:While thou, my lord, art here to reign,How shall my hands the rule maintain?O faithful lover of the right,Take with thy friends the royal might,Let thy sires' realm, from trouble free,Obey her rightful king in thee.Here let the priests and lords of stateOur monatch duly consecrate,With prayer and holy verses blessedBy saint Vas'ishtha and the rest.Anointed king by us, againSeek fair Ayodhvá there to reign,And like imperial Indra girtBy Gods of Storm, thy might assert.From the three debts 1 acquittance earn,And with thy wrath the wicked burn,O'er all of us thy rule extend,And cheer with boons each faithful friend.Let thine enthronement, lord, this dayMake all thy lovers glad and gay,And let all those who hate thee fleeTo the ten winds for fear of thee.Dear lord, my mother's words of hateWith thy sweet virtues expiate,And from the stain of folly clearThe father whom we both revere.Brother, to me compassion show,I pray thee with my head bent low,And to these friends who on thee call,--As the Great Father pities all.But if my tears and prayers be vain,And thou in woods wilt still remain,I will with thee my path pursueAnd make my home in forests too.' Thus Bharat strove to bend his will With suppliant head, but he,Earth's lord, inexorable still Would keep his sire's decree.The firmness of the noble chief The wondering people moved,And rapture mingling with their grief, All wept and all approved.'How firm his steadfast will,' they cried, 'Who Keeps his promise thus!Ah, to Ayodhyá's town,' they sighed, 'He comes not back with us'The holy priest, the swains who tilled The earth, the sons of trade,And e'en the mournful queens were filled With joy as Bharat prayed,And bent their heads, then weeping stilled A while, his prayer to aid.
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Footnotes215:1 The four religious orders, referable to different times of life are, that of the student, that of the householder, that of the anchourite, and that of the mendicant.
216:1 To Gods, Men, and Manes.
CANTO CVII.:
Duty alone with binding chainsThe vengeancs due to crime restrains,Or on the sinner I should liftMy hand in retribution swift.Can I who know the right, and springFrom Das'aratha, purest king--Can I commit a heinous crime,Abhorred by all through endless time?The aged king I dare not blame,Who died so rich in holy fame,My honoured sire, my parted lord,E'en as a present God adored.Yet who in lore of duty skilledSo foul a crime has ever willed,And dared defy both gain and rightTo gratify a woman's spite?When death draws near, so people say,The sense af creatures dies away;And he has proved the ancient sawBy acting thus in spite of law.But O my honoured lord, be kind.Dismiss the trespass from thy mind,The sin the king committed, ledBy haste, his consort's wrath, and dread.For he who veils his sire's offenceWith tender care and reverence--His sons approved by all shall live:Not so their fate who ne'er forgive.Be thou, my lord, the noble son,And the vile deed my sire has done,Abhorred by all the virtuous, ne'erResent, lest thou the guilt too share.Preserve us, for on thee we call.Our sire, Kaikeyi, me and allThy citizens, thy kith and kin;Preserve us and reverse the sin.To live in woods a devoteeCan scarce with royal tasks agree,Nor can the hermit's matted hairSuit fitly with a ruler's care.Do not, my brother, do not stillPursue this life that suits thee ill.Mid duties, of a king we countHis consecration paramount,That he with ready heart and handMay keep his people and his land.What Warrior born to royal swayFrom certain good would turn away,A doubtful duty to pursue,That mocks him with the distant view?Thou wouldst to duty cleave, and gainThe meed that follows toil and pain.In thy great task no labour spare:Rule the four castes with justest care.Mid all the four, the wise preferThe order of the householder: 1
Canst thou, whose thoughts to duty cleave,The best of all the orders leave?My better thou in lore divine,My birth, my sense must yield to thine:While thou, my lord, art here to reign,How shall my hands the rule maintain?O faithful lover of the right,Take with thy friends the royal might,Let thy sires' realm, from trouble free,Obey her rightful king in thee.Here let the priests and lords of stateOur monatch duly consecrate,With prayer and holy verses blessedBy saint Vas'ishtha and the rest.Anointed king by us, againSeek fair Ayodhvá there to reign,And like imperial Indra girtBy Gods of Storm, thy might assert.From the three debts 1 acquittance earn,And with thy wrath the wicked burn,O'er all of us thy rule extend,And cheer with boons each faithful friend.Let thine enthronement, lord, this dayMake all thy lovers glad and gay,And let all those who hate thee fleeTo the ten winds for fear of thee.Dear lord, my mother's words of hateWith thy sweet virtues expiate,And from the stain of folly clearThe father whom we both revere.Brother, to me compassion show,I pray thee with my head bent low,And to these friends who on thee call,--As the Great Father pities all.But if my tears and prayers be vain,And thou in woods wilt still remain,I will with thee my path pursueAnd make my home in forests too.' Thus Bharat strove to bend his will With suppliant head, but he,Earth's lord, inexorable still Would keep his sire's decree.The firmness of the noble chief The wondering people moved,And rapture mingling with their grief, All wept and all approved.'How firm his steadfast will,' they cried, 'Who Keeps his promise thus!Ah, to Ayodhyá's town,' they sighed, 'He comes not back with us'The holy priest, the swains who tilled The earth, the sons of trade,And e'en the mournful queens were filled With joy as Bharat prayed,And bent their heads, then weeping stilled A while, his prayer to aid.
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Footnotes215:1 The four religious orders, referable to different times of life are, that of the student, that of the householder, that of the anchourite, and that of the mendicant.
216:1 To Gods, Men, and Manes.
CANTO CVII.:
RÁMA'S SPEECH.Thus, by his friends encompassed round,He spoke, and Ráma, far renowned,To his dear brother thus replied,Whom holy rites had purified:'O thou whom Queen Kaikeyi bareThe best of kings, thy words are fair.Our royal father, when of yoreHe wed her, to her father sworeThe best of kingdoms to confer,A noble dowry meet for her;Then, grateful, on the deadly dayOf heavenly Gods' and demons' fray,A future boon on her bestowedTo whose sweet care his life he owed.She to his mind that promise brought,And then the best of kings besoughtTo bid me to the forest flee,And give the rule, O Prince, to thee.Thus bound by oath, the king our lordGave her those boons of free accord.And bade me, O thou chief of men,Live in the woods four years and ten.I to this lonely wood have hiedWith faithful Lakshman by my side,And Si*tá by no tears deterred,Resolved to keep my father's word.And thou, my noble brother, tooShouldst keep our father's promise true:Anointed ruler of the stateMaintain his word inviolate.From his great debt, dear brother, freeOur lord the king for love of me,Thy mother's breast with joy inspire,And from all woe preserve thy sire.*Tis said, near Gayá's holy town 1bGayá, great *saint of high renown,This text recited when he paidDue rites to each ancestral shade:
'A son is born his sire to free From Put's infernal pains: Hence, saviour of his father, he The name of Puttra gains.' 2b
Thus numerous sons are sought by prayer,In Scripture trained with graces fair,
That of the number one some dayMay funeral rites at Gayá pay.The mighty saints who lived of oldThis holy doctrine ever hold.Then, best of men, our sire releaseFrom pains of hell, and give him peace.Now Bharat, to Ayodhya* speed,The brave S'atrughna with thee lead.Take with thee all the twice-born men,And please each lord and citizen.I now, O King, without delayTo Dandak* wood will bend my way,And Lakshman and the Maithil dameWill follow still, our path the same. Now, Bharat, lord of men be thou, And o'er Ayodhyá reign: The silvan world to me shall bow, King of the wild domain. Yea, let thy joyful steps be bent To that fair town to-day, And I as happy and content, To Dandak wood will stray. The white umbrella o'er thy brow Its cooling shade shall throw: I to the shadow of the bough And leafy trees will go. S'atrughna, for wise plans renowned, Shall still on thee attend; And Lakshman, ever faithful found, Be my familiar friend. Let us his sons, O brother dear, The path of right pursue, And keep the king we all revere Still to his promise true.'
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Footnotes216:1b Gayá is a very holy city in Behar. Every good Hindu ought once in his life to make funeral offerings in Gayá in honour of his ancestors.
216:2b Put is the name of that region of hell to which men are doomed who leave no son to perform the funeral rites which are necessary to ensure the happiness of the departed. Putra, the common word for a son is said by the highest authority to be derived from Put and tra deliverer.
CANTO CVIII.:
'A son is born his sire to free From Put's infernal pains: Hence, saviour of his father, he The name of Puttra gains.' 2b
Thus numerous sons are sought by prayer,In Scripture trained with graces fair,
That of the number one some dayMay funeral rites at Gayá pay.The mighty saints who lived of oldThis holy doctrine ever hold.Then, best of men, our sire releaseFrom pains of hell, and give him peace.Now Bharat, to Ayodhya* speed,The brave S'atrughna with thee lead.Take with thee all the twice-born men,And please each lord and citizen.I now, O King, without delayTo Dandak* wood will bend my way,And Lakshman and the Maithil dameWill follow still, our path the same. Now, Bharat, lord of men be thou, And o'er Ayodhyá reign: The silvan world to me shall bow, King of the wild domain. Yea, let thy joyful steps be bent To that fair town to-day, And I as happy and content, To Dandak wood will stray. The white umbrella o'er thy brow Its cooling shade shall throw: I to the shadow of the bough And leafy trees will go. S'atrughna, for wise plans renowned, Shall still on thee attend; And Lakshman, ever faithful found, Be my familiar friend. Let us his sons, O brother dear, The path of right pursue, And keep the king we all revere Still to his promise true.'
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Footnotes216:1b Gayá is a very holy city in Behar. Every good Hindu ought once in his life to make funeral offerings in Gayá in honour of his ancestors.
216:2b Put is the name of that region of hell to which men are doomed who leave no son to perform the funeral rites which are necessary to ensure the happiness of the departed. Putra, the common word for a son is said by the highest authority to be derived from Put and tra deliverer.
CANTO CVIII.:
JÁVÁLI'S SPEECH.Thus Ráma soothed his brother's grief:Then virtuous Jáváli, chiefOf twice-born sages, thus repliedIn words that virtue's law defied:'Hail, Raghu's princely son, dismissA thought so weak and vain as this.Canst thou, with lofty heart endowed,Think with the dull ignoble crowd?For what are ties of kindred? canOne profit by a brother man?Alone the babe first opes his eyes,And all alone at last he dies.The man, I ween, has little senseWho looks with foolish reverenceOn father's or on mother's name:In others, none a right may claim.E'en as a man may leave his homeAnd to a distant village roam,Then from his lodging turn awayAnd journey on the following day,Such brief possession mortals holdIn sire and mother, house and gold,And never will the good and wiseThe brief uncertain lodging prize.Nor, best of men, shouldst thou disownThy sire's hereditary throne,And tread the rough and stony groundWhere hardship, danger, woes abound.Come, let Ayodhyá rich and brightSee thee enthroned with every rite:Her tresses bound in single braid 1She waits thy coming long delayed.O come, thou royal Prince, and shareThe kingly joys that wait thee there,And live in bliss transcending priceAs Indra lives in Paradise.The parted king is naught to thee,Nor right in living man has he:The king is one; thou, Prince of men,Another art: be counselled then.Thy royal sire, O chief, has spedOn the long path we all must tread.The common lot of all is this,And thou in vain art robbed of bliss.For those--and only those--I weepWho to the path of duty keep;For here they suffer ceaseless woe,And dying to destruction go.With pious care, each solemn day,Will men their funeral offerings pay:See, how the useful food they waste:He who is dead no more can taste.If one is fed, his strength renewedWhene'er his biother takes his food,Then offerings to the parted pay;Scarce will they serve him on his way.By crafty knaves these rites were framed,And to enforce men's gifts proclaimed;'Give, worship, lead a life austere,Keep lustral rites, quit pleasures here.'There is no future life: be wise,And do, O Prince, as I advise.Enjoy, my lord, thy present bliss,And things unseen from thought dismiss.Let this advice thy bosom move,The counsel sage which all approve;To Bharat's earnest prayer incline,And take the rule so justly thine.'
CANTO CIX.:
CANTO CIX.:
THE PRAISES OF TRUTH.By sage Jáváli thus addressed,Ráma of truthful hearts the best,
With perfect skill and wisdom highThus to his speech made fit reply:'Thy words that tempt to bliss are fair.But virtue's garb they falsely wear.For he from duty's path who straysTo wander in forbidden ways,Allured by doctrine false and vain,Praise from the good can never gain.Their lives the true and boaster show,Pure and impure, and high and low.Else were no mark to judge betweenStainless and stained and high and mean;They to whose lot fair signs may fallWere but as they who lack them all,And those to virtuous thouguts inclinedWere but as men of evil mind.If in the sacred name of rightI do this wrong in duty's spite;The path of virtue meanly quit,And this polluting sin commit,What man who marks the bounds betweenVirtue and vice with insight keen,Would rank me high in after time.Stained with this soul destroying crime?Whither could I, the sinner, turn,How hope a seat in heaven to earn,If I my plighted promise break,And thus the righteous path forsake?This world of ours is ever ledTo walk the ways which others tread,And as their princes they behold,The subjects too their lives will mould.That truth and mercy still must beBeloved of kings, is Heaven's decree.Upheld by truth the monarch reigns,And truth the very world sustains.Truth evermore has been the loveOf holy saints and Gods above,And he whose lips are truthful hereWins after death the highest sphere.As from a serpent's deadly tooth,We shrink from him who scorns the truth.For holy truth is root and springOf justice and each holy thing,A might that every power transcends,Linked to high bliss that never ends.Truth is all virtue's surest base,Supreme in worth and first in place.Oblations, gifts men offer here,Vows, sacrifice, and rites austere,And Holy Writ, on truth depend:So men must still that truth defend.Truth, only truth protects the land,By truth unharmed our houses stand;Neglect of truth makes men distressed,And truth in highest heaven is blessed.Then how can I, rebellious, breakCommandments which my father spake--I ever* true and faithful found,And by my word of honour bound?My father's bridge of truth shall standUnharmed by my destructive hand:Not folly, ignorance, or greedMy darkened soul shall thus mislead.Have we not heard that God and shadeTurn from the hated offerings paidBy him whose false and fickle mindNo pledge can hold, no promise bind?Truth is all duty: as the soul,It quickens and supports the whole.The good respect this duty: henceIts sacred claims I reverence.The Warrior's duty I despiseThat seeks the wrong in virtue's guise:Those claims I shrink from, which the base,Cruel, and covetous embrace.The heart conceives the guilty thought,Then by the hand the sin is wrought,And with the pair is leagued a third,The tongue that speaks the lying word.Fortune and land and name and fameTo man's best care have right and claim;The good will aye to truth adhere,And its high laws must men revere.Base were the deed thy lips would teach,Approved as best by subtle speech.Shall I my plighted promise break,That I these woods my home would make?*Shall I, as Bharat's words advise,My father's solemn charge despise?Firm stands the oath which then beforeMy father's face I soothly swore,Which Queen Kaikeyi's anxious earBejoiced with highest joy to hear.Still in the wood will I remain,With food prescribed my life sustain,And please with fruit and roots and flowersAncestral shades and heavenly powers.Here every sense contented, stillHeeding the bounds of good and ill,My settled course will I pursue,Firm in my faith and ever true.Here in this wild and far retreatWill I my noble task complete;And Fire and Wind and *Moon shall bePartakers of its fruit with me.A hundred offerings duly wroughtHis rank o'er Gods for Indra bought,And mighty saints their heaven securedBy torturing years on earth endured.' That scoffing plea the hero spurned, And thus he spake once more, Chiding, the while his bosom burned, Jáváli's impious lore: 'Justice, and courage ne'er dismayed, Pity for all distressed, Truth, loving honour duly paid To Brahman, God, and guest-- In these, the true and virtuous say, Should lives of men be passed: They form the right and happy way That leads to heaven at last.
My father's thoughtless act I chide That gave thee honoured place,Whose soul, from virtue turned aside, Is faithless, dark, and base.We rank the Buddhist with the thief, 1 And all the impious crewWho share his sinful disbelief, And hate the right and true.Hence never should wise kings who seek To rule their people well,Admit, before their face to speak, The cursed infidel.But twice-born men in days gone by, Of other sort than thou,Have wrought good deeds, whose glories high Are fresh among us now:This world they conquered, nor in vain They strove to win the skies:The twice-born hence pure lives maintain, And fires of worship rise.Those who in virtue's path delight, And with the virtuous live,--Whose flames of holy zeal are bright, Whose hands are swift to give,Who injure none, and good and mild In every grace excel,Whose lives by sin are undefiled, We love and honour well.'Thus Rama spoke in righteous rage *J'av'ali's speech to chide,When thus again the virtuous sage In truthful words replied:'The atheist's lore I use no more, Not mine his impious creed:His words and doctrine I abhor, Assumed at time of need.E'en as I rose to speak with thee, The fit occasion cameThat bade me use the atheist's plea To turn thee from thine aim.The atheist creed I disavow, Unsay the words of sin,And use the faithful's language now Thy favour, Prince, to win.
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Footnotes217:1 It was the custom of Indian women when mourning for their absent husbands to bind their hair in a long single braid.
Carey and Marshman translate, 'the one-tailed city,'
CANTO CX.:
With perfect skill and wisdom highThus to his speech made fit reply:'Thy words that tempt to bliss are fair.But virtue's garb they falsely wear.For he from duty's path who straysTo wander in forbidden ways,Allured by doctrine false and vain,Praise from the good can never gain.Their lives the true and boaster show,Pure and impure, and high and low.Else were no mark to judge betweenStainless and stained and high and mean;They to whose lot fair signs may fallWere but as they who lack them all,And those to virtuous thouguts inclinedWere but as men of evil mind.If in the sacred name of rightI do this wrong in duty's spite;The path of virtue meanly quit,And this polluting sin commit,What man who marks the bounds betweenVirtue and vice with insight keen,Would rank me high in after time.Stained with this soul destroying crime?Whither could I, the sinner, turn,How hope a seat in heaven to earn,If I my plighted promise break,And thus the righteous path forsake?This world of ours is ever ledTo walk the ways which others tread,And as their princes they behold,The subjects too their lives will mould.That truth and mercy still must beBeloved of kings, is Heaven's decree.Upheld by truth the monarch reigns,And truth the very world sustains.Truth evermore has been the loveOf holy saints and Gods above,And he whose lips are truthful hereWins after death the highest sphere.As from a serpent's deadly tooth,We shrink from him who scorns the truth.For holy truth is root and springOf justice and each holy thing,A might that every power transcends,Linked to high bliss that never ends.Truth is all virtue's surest base,Supreme in worth and first in place.Oblations, gifts men offer here,Vows, sacrifice, and rites austere,And Holy Writ, on truth depend:So men must still that truth defend.Truth, only truth protects the land,By truth unharmed our houses stand;Neglect of truth makes men distressed,And truth in highest heaven is blessed.Then how can I, rebellious, breakCommandments which my father spake--I ever* true and faithful found,And by my word of honour bound?My father's bridge of truth shall standUnharmed by my destructive hand:Not folly, ignorance, or greedMy darkened soul shall thus mislead.Have we not heard that God and shadeTurn from the hated offerings paidBy him whose false and fickle mindNo pledge can hold, no promise bind?Truth is all duty: as the soul,It quickens and supports the whole.The good respect this duty: henceIts sacred claims I reverence.The Warrior's duty I despiseThat seeks the wrong in virtue's guise:Those claims I shrink from, which the base,Cruel, and covetous embrace.The heart conceives the guilty thought,Then by the hand the sin is wrought,And with the pair is leagued a third,The tongue that speaks the lying word.Fortune and land and name and fameTo man's best care have right and claim;The good will aye to truth adhere,And its high laws must men revere.Base were the deed thy lips would teach,Approved as best by subtle speech.Shall I my plighted promise break,That I these woods my home would make?*Shall I, as Bharat's words advise,My father's solemn charge despise?Firm stands the oath which then beforeMy father's face I soothly swore,Which Queen Kaikeyi's anxious earBejoiced with highest joy to hear.Still in the wood will I remain,With food prescribed my life sustain,And please with fruit and roots and flowersAncestral shades and heavenly powers.Here every sense contented, stillHeeding the bounds of good and ill,My settled course will I pursue,Firm in my faith and ever true.Here in this wild and far retreatWill I my noble task complete;And Fire and Wind and *Moon shall bePartakers of its fruit with me.A hundred offerings duly wroughtHis rank o'er Gods for Indra bought,And mighty saints their heaven securedBy torturing years on earth endured.' That scoffing plea the hero spurned, And thus he spake once more, Chiding, the while his bosom burned, Jáváli's impious lore: 'Justice, and courage ne'er dismayed, Pity for all distressed, Truth, loving honour duly paid To Brahman, God, and guest-- In these, the true and virtuous say, Should lives of men be passed: They form the right and happy way That leads to heaven at last.
My father's thoughtless act I chide That gave thee honoured place,Whose soul, from virtue turned aside, Is faithless, dark, and base.We rank the Buddhist with the thief, 1 And all the impious crewWho share his sinful disbelief, And hate the right and true.Hence never should wise kings who seek To rule their people well,Admit, before their face to speak, The cursed infidel.But twice-born men in days gone by, Of other sort than thou,Have wrought good deeds, whose glories high Are fresh among us now:This world they conquered, nor in vain They strove to win the skies:The twice-born hence pure lives maintain, And fires of worship rise.Those who in virtue's path delight, And with the virtuous live,--Whose flames of holy zeal are bright, Whose hands are swift to give,Who injure none, and good and mild In every grace excel,Whose lives by sin are undefiled, We love and honour well.'Thus Rama spoke in righteous rage *J'av'ali's speech to chide,When thus again the virtuous sage In truthful words replied:'The atheist's lore I use no more, Not mine his impious creed:His words and doctrine I abhor, Assumed at time of need.E'en as I rose to speak with thee, The fit occasion cameThat bade me use the atheist's plea To turn thee from thine aim.The atheist creed I disavow, Unsay the words of sin,And use the faithful's language now Thy favour, Prince, to win.
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Footnotes217:1 It was the custom of Indian women when mourning for their absent husbands to bind their hair in a long single braid.
Carey and Marshman translate, 'the one-tailed city,'
CANTO CX.:
THE SONS OF IKSHVA'KU. 2Then spake Vasishtha who perceivedThat Ráma's soul was wroth and grieved:
' Well knows the sage J'av'ali allThe changes that the world befall;And but to lead thee to revokeThy purpose were the words he spoke.Lord of the world, now hear from meHow first this world began to be.First water was, and naught beside;There earth was formed that stretches wide.Then with the Gods from out the sameThe Self-existent Brahm'a came.Then Brahm'a 1b in a boar's disguiseBade from the deep this earth arise;Then, with his sons of tranquil soul,He made the world and framed the whole,From subtlest ether Brahm'a rose:No end, no loss, no change he knows.A son had he, Mar'ichi styled,And Ka'syap was Mar'ichi's child.From him Vivasvat sprang: from himManu, whose fame shall ne'er be dim.Manu, who life to mortals gave,Begot Ikshv'aku good and brave:First of Ayodhya's kings was he,Pride of her famous dynasty.From him the glorious Kukshi sprang,Whose fame through all the regions rang,Rival of Kukshi's ancient fame.His heir the great Vikukshi came.His son was V'ana, lord of might,His Anaranya, strong in fight.No famine marred his blissful reign,No drought destroyed the kindly grain;Amid the sons of virtue chief,His happy realm ne'er held a thief,His son was Prithn, glorious name,From him the wise Tri'sanku came:Embodied to the skies he wentFor love of truth preeminent.He left a son renowned afar,Known by the name of Dhundhum'ar,His son succeeding bore the nameOf Yuvan'as'va dear to fame.He passed away. Him followed thenHis son M'andh'at'a, king of men.His son was blest in high emprise,Susandhi, fortunate and wise.Two noble sons had he, to witDhruvasandhi and Prasenajit,Bharat was Dhruvasandhi's son:His glorious arm the conquest won,Against his son King Asit, roseIn fierce array his royal foes,Haihayas, T'alajanghas styled,And S'as'ivindhus fierce and wild.
Long time he strove, but forced to yieldFled from his kingdom and the field.The wives he left had both conceived--So is the ancient tale believed:--One, of her rival's hopes afraid,Fell poison in the viands laid.It chanced that Chyavan, Bhrigu's child,Had wandered to the pathless wildWhere proud Hima'laya's lovely heightDetained him with a strange delight.Then came the other widowed queenWith lotus eyes and beauteous mien,Longing a noble son to bear,And wooed the saint with earnest prayer.When thus Kal'indi', fairest dameWith reverent supplication came,To her the holy sage replied:'O royal lady, from thy sideA glorious son shall spring ere long,Righteous and true and brave and strong;He, scourge of foes and lofty-souled,His ancient race shall still uphold.' Then round the sage the lady went,And bade farewell, most reverent.Back to her home she turned once more,And there her promised son she bore.Because her rival mixed the baneTo render her conception vain,And her unripened fruit destroy,Sagar she called her rescued boy. 1He, when he paid that solemn rite, 2Filled living creatures with affright:Obedient to his high decreeHis countless sons dug out the sea.Prince Asamanj was Sagar's child:But him with cruel sin defiledAnd loaded with the people's hateHis father banished from the state.To Asamanj his consort bareBright Ans'uma'n his valiant heir.Ans'uma'n's son, Dili'pa famed,Begot a son Bhagi'rath named.From him renowned Kakutstha came:Thou bearest still the lineal name,Kakutstha's son was Raghu: thouArt styled the son of Raghu now,From him came Purusha'dak bold,Fierce hero of gigantic mould:Kalma'shapa'da s name he bore,Because his feet were spotted o'er.Sankhan his son, to manhood grown,Died sadly with his host o'erthrown,But ere he perished sprang from himSudars'an fair in face and limb.From beautiful Sudarsa'n camePrince Agnivarna, bright as flame.His son was S'ighragn, for speedUnmatched; and Maru was his seed.
Prasusruka was Maru's child:His son was Ambari'sha styled.Nahush was Ambari'sha's heirWith hand to strike and heart to dare.His son was good Na'bha'g, from youthRenowned for piety and truth.From great Na'bha'g sprang children twoAja and Suvrat pure and true.From Aja Das'aratha came,Whose virtuous life was free from blameHis eldest son art thou: his throne,O famous Kama, is thine own.Accept the sway so justly thine.And view the world with eyes benign.For ever in Iksava'ku's raceThe eldest takes his father's place,And while he lives no son besideAs lord and king is sanctified. The rule by Raghu's children kept Thou must not spurn to-day. This realm of peerless wealth accept, And like thy father sway.'
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Footnotes219:1 The verses in a different metre with which some cantos end are all to be regarded with suspicion. Schlegel regrets that he did not exclude them all from his edition. These lines are manifestly spurious. See Additional Notes.
219:2 This genealogy is a repetition with slight variation of that given in Book I. Canto LXX.
219:1b In Gorresio's recension identified with Vishnu. See Muir's Sanskrit Texts, Vol.IV pp 29, 30.
220:1 From sa with, and aara poison.
220:2 See Book I. Canto XL.
CANTO CXI.:
' Well knows the sage J'av'ali allThe changes that the world befall;And but to lead thee to revokeThy purpose were the words he spoke.Lord of the world, now hear from meHow first this world began to be.First water was, and naught beside;There earth was formed that stretches wide.Then with the Gods from out the sameThe Self-existent Brahm'a came.Then Brahm'a 1b in a boar's disguiseBade from the deep this earth arise;Then, with his sons of tranquil soul,He made the world and framed the whole,From subtlest ether Brahm'a rose:No end, no loss, no change he knows.A son had he, Mar'ichi styled,And Ka'syap was Mar'ichi's child.From him Vivasvat sprang: from himManu, whose fame shall ne'er be dim.Manu, who life to mortals gave,Begot Ikshv'aku good and brave:First of Ayodhya's kings was he,Pride of her famous dynasty.From him the glorious Kukshi sprang,Whose fame through all the regions rang,Rival of Kukshi's ancient fame.His heir the great Vikukshi came.His son was V'ana, lord of might,His Anaranya, strong in fight.No famine marred his blissful reign,No drought destroyed the kindly grain;Amid the sons of virtue chief,His happy realm ne'er held a thief,His son was Prithn, glorious name,From him the wise Tri'sanku came:Embodied to the skies he wentFor love of truth preeminent.He left a son renowned afar,Known by the name of Dhundhum'ar,His son succeeding bore the nameOf Yuvan'as'va dear to fame.He passed away. Him followed thenHis son M'andh'at'a, king of men.His son was blest in high emprise,Susandhi, fortunate and wise.Two noble sons had he, to witDhruvasandhi and Prasenajit,Bharat was Dhruvasandhi's son:His glorious arm the conquest won,Against his son King Asit, roseIn fierce array his royal foes,Haihayas, T'alajanghas styled,And S'as'ivindhus fierce and wild.
Long time he strove, but forced to yieldFled from his kingdom and the field.The wives he left had both conceived--So is the ancient tale believed:--One, of her rival's hopes afraid,Fell poison in the viands laid.It chanced that Chyavan, Bhrigu's child,Had wandered to the pathless wildWhere proud Hima'laya's lovely heightDetained him with a strange delight.Then came the other widowed queenWith lotus eyes and beauteous mien,Longing a noble son to bear,And wooed the saint with earnest prayer.When thus Kal'indi', fairest dameWith reverent supplication came,To her the holy sage replied:'O royal lady, from thy sideA glorious son shall spring ere long,Righteous and true and brave and strong;He, scourge of foes and lofty-souled,His ancient race shall still uphold.' Then round the sage the lady went,And bade farewell, most reverent.Back to her home she turned once more,And there her promised son she bore.Because her rival mixed the baneTo render her conception vain,And her unripened fruit destroy,Sagar she called her rescued boy. 1He, when he paid that solemn rite, 2Filled living creatures with affright:Obedient to his high decreeHis countless sons dug out the sea.Prince Asamanj was Sagar's child:But him with cruel sin defiledAnd loaded with the people's hateHis father banished from the state.To Asamanj his consort bareBright Ans'uma'n his valiant heir.Ans'uma'n's son, Dili'pa famed,Begot a son Bhagi'rath named.From him renowned Kakutstha came:Thou bearest still the lineal name,Kakutstha's son was Raghu: thouArt styled the son of Raghu now,From him came Purusha'dak bold,Fierce hero of gigantic mould:Kalma'shapa'da s name he bore,Because his feet were spotted o'er.Sankhan his son, to manhood grown,Died sadly with his host o'erthrown,But ere he perished sprang from himSudars'an fair in face and limb.From beautiful Sudarsa'n camePrince Agnivarna, bright as flame.His son was S'ighragn, for speedUnmatched; and Maru was his seed.
Prasusruka was Maru's child:His son was Ambari'sha styled.Nahush was Ambari'sha's heirWith hand to strike and heart to dare.His son was good Na'bha'g, from youthRenowned for piety and truth.From great Na'bha'g sprang children twoAja and Suvrat pure and true.From Aja Das'aratha came,Whose virtuous life was free from blameHis eldest son art thou: his throne,O famous Kama, is thine own.Accept the sway so justly thine.And view the world with eyes benign.For ever in Iksava'ku's raceThe eldest takes his father's place,And while he lives no son besideAs lord and king is sanctified. The rule by Raghu's children kept Thou must not spurn to-day. This realm of peerless wealth accept, And like thy father sway.'
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Footnotes219:1 The verses in a different metre with which some cantos end are all to be regarded with suspicion. Schlegel regrets that he did not exclude them all from his edition. These lines are manifestly spurious. See Additional Notes.
219:2 This genealogy is a repetition with slight variation of that given in Book I. Canto LXX.
219:1b In Gorresio's recension identified with Vishnu. See Muir's Sanskrit Texts, Vol.IV pp 29, 30.
220:1 From sa with, and aara poison.
220:2 See Book I. Canto XL.
CANTO CXI.:
COUNSEL TO BHARAT.Thus said Vas'ishtha, and again.To Ráma spake in duteous strain:' All men the light of life who seeWith high respect should look on three:High honour ne'er must be deniedTo father, mother, holy guide.First to their sires their birth they owe,Nursed with maternal love they grow:Their holy guides fair knowledge teach:So men should love and honour each.Thy sire and thou have learned of me,The sacred guide of him and thee,And if my word thou wilt obeyThou still* wilt keep the virtuous way.See, with the chiefs of every guildAnd all thy friends, this place is filled:All these, as duty bids, protect;So still the righteous path respect.O, for thine aged mother feel,Nor spurn the virtuous dame's appeal:Obey, O Prince, thy mother dear,And still to virtue's path adhere.Yield thou to Bharat's fond request,With earnest supplication pressed,So wilt thou to thyself be true,And faith and duty still pursue.' Thus by his saintly guide addressedWith pleas in sweetest tones expressed.The lord of men in turn repliedTo wise Vas'ishtha by his side:'The fondest son's observance ne'erRepays the sire and mother's care:
The constant love that food provides.And dress, and every need besides:Their pleasant words still soft and mild,Their nurture of the helpless child:The words which Das'aratha spake,My king and sire, I ne'er will break.'
Then Bharat of the ample chestThe wise Sumantra thus addressed;'Bring sacred grass, O charioteer,And strew it on the level here.For I will sit and watch his faceUntil I win my brother's grace.Like a robbed Bráhman will I lie, 1Nor taste of food nor turn my eye,In front of Ráma's leafy cot,And till he yield will leave him not.'
When Bharat saw Sumantra's eyeLooked up to Ráma for reply,The Prince himself in eager hasteThe sacred grass in order placed.Him great and mighty Ráma, bestOf royal saints, in turn addressed:'What, Bharat, have I done, that thouBesiegest me, 2 a suppliant now?Thus streched, to force redress for wrongsTo men of Bráhman birth belongs,Not those upon whose kingly headThe consecrating drops are shed.Up, lord of men! arise, and quitThis fearful vow for thee unfit.Go, brother, seek Ayodhyá's town,Fair city ot supreme renown.'
But Bharat, as his seat he took.Cast all around an eager look:'O people, join your prayers with mine,And so his stubborn heart incline.'
And all the people answered thus:'Full well is Ráma known to us.Right is the word he speaks and heIs faithful to his sire's decree:Nor can we rushly venture nowTo turn him from his purposed vow.'
Then Ráma spoke: 'O Bharat, heedThy virtuous friends, and mark their rede.Mark well what I and these advise,And duty view with clearer eyes.Thy hand on mine, O hero, place,Touch water, and thy sin efface.'
Then Bharat rose: his hand he dipped,And purifying water sipped:'Each citizen,' he cried, 'give ear,Attend, each counsellor and peer.My mother planned, by me untaught,To win the sway I never sought:
Ne'er Raghu's son could I despise,In duty's lore supremely wise.Now if obedience to our sireThis dwelling in the woods require,I, till the destined years he spent,Will dwell alone in banishment.'
The virtuous Ráma, wonder-stirred.The faithful speech of Bharat heard,And thus the hero's feelings foundDue utterance, as he gazed around:
'Still to my father's word I hold,Whate'er he bought, or pledged, or sold:Ne'er shall his living promise beAnnulled by Bharat or by me.Not thus my task will I evade,My exile on another laid:Most wise was Queen Kaikeyí's rede,And just and good my father's deed.Dear Bharat's patient soul I know,How reverence due he loves to show;In him, high-souled and faithful found,Must each auspicious grace abound.When from the woods I turn againI with his aid shall nobly reign,With one so good, of peerless worth,A glorious lord of happy earth.Her boon Kaikeyí sought and won.I, as my father swore, have done:And O, do thou, my brother dear,The monarch's name from falsehood clear.
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Footnotes221:1 A practice which has frequently been described, under the name of dherna, by European travellers in India.
221:2 Compare Milton's 'beseeching or beseiging.'
CANTO CXII.:
The constant love that food provides.And dress, and every need besides:Their pleasant words still soft and mild,Their nurture of the helpless child:The words which Das'aratha spake,My king and sire, I ne'er will break.'
Then Bharat of the ample chestThe wise Sumantra thus addressed;'Bring sacred grass, O charioteer,And strew it on the level here.For I will sit and watch his faceUntil I win my brother's grace.Like a robbed Bráhman will I lie, 1Nor taste of food nor turn my eye,In front of Ráma's leafy cot,And till he yield will leave him not.'
When Bharat saw Sumantra's eyeLooked up to Ráma for reply,The Prince himself in eager hasteThe sacred grass in order placed.Him great and mighty Ráma, bestOf royal saints, in turn addressed:'What, Bharat, have I done, that thouBesiegest me, 2 a suppliant now?Thus streched, to force redress for wrongsTo men of Bráhman birth belongs,Not those upon whose kingly headThe consecrating drops are shed.Up, lord of men! arise, and quitThis fearful vow for thee unfit.Go, brother, seek Ayodhyá's town,Fair city ot supreme renown.'
But Bharat, as his seat he took.Cast all around an eager look:'O people, join your prayers with mine,And so his stubborn heart incline.'
And all the people answered thus:'Full well is Ráma known to us.Right is the word he speaks and heIs faithful to his sire's decree:Nor can we rushly venture nowTo turn him from his purposed vow.'
Then Ráma spoke: 'O Bharat, heedThy virtuous friends, and mark their rede.Mark well what I and these advise,And duty view with clearer eyes.Thy hand on mine, O hero, place,Touch water, and thy sin efface.'
Then Bharat rose: his hand he dipped,And purifying water sipped:'Each citizen,' he cried, 'give ear,Attend, each counsellor and peer.My mother planned, by me untaught,To win the sway I never sought:
Ne'er Raghu's son could I despise,In duty's lore supremely wise.Now if obedience to our sireThis dwelling in the woods require,I, till the destined years he spent,Will dwell alone in banishment.'
The virtuous Ráma, wonder-stirred.The faithful speech of Bharat heard,And thus the hero's feelings foundDue utterance, as he gazed around:
'Still to my father's word I hold,Whate'er he bought, or pledged, or sold:Ne'er shall his living promise beAnnulled by Bharat or by me.Not thus my task will I evade,My exile on another laid:Most wise was Queen Kaikeyí's rede,And just and good my father's deed.Dear Bharat's patient soul I know,How reverence due he loves to show;In him, high-souled and faithful found,Must each auspicious grace abound.When from the woods I turn againI with his aid shall nobly reign,With one so good, of peerless worth,A glorious lord of happy earth.Her boon Kaikeyí sought and won.I, as my father swore, have done:And O, do thou, my brother dear,The monarch's name from falsehood clear.
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Footnotes221:1 A practice which has frequently been described, under the name of dherna, by European travellers in India.
221:2 Compare Milton's 'beseeching or beseiging.'
CANTO CXII.:
THE SANDALS.High wonder mingled with delightTook the great sages at the sight.Thrilling their breasts who came to viewThe meeting of the peerless two.The saints and sages' holy trainDeparted to their home again.And high each holy voice was raised,And thus the glorious brothers praised.
'High fate is his, the sire of twoMost virtuous sous, so brave and true:With wonder and with joy intenseOur ears have heard their conference.Then the great sages, longing allTo see the ten-necked tyrant 1b fall,To Bharat, bravest of the brave,Their salutary counsel gave:
'O thou of lofty lineage born,Whom wisdom, conduct, fame adorn,Thou for thy honoured father's sakeShouldst Ráma's righteous counsel take.
All debts to Queen Kaikeyí paid,Thy sire his home in heaven has made,So virtuous Ráma we would seeFrom filial obligation free.'Thus gave each royal sage advice,High saint, and bard of Paradise;Then quickly vanishing from viewEach to his proper home withdrew.Then Ráma's face his rapture showed,And his full heart with joy o'erflowed,While, as the sages parted thence,He paid his humble reverence.
Then Bharat shook in every limbAs suppliant thus he spake to him:'The duty of a king respect,Held by our race in high respect:And O, thy gracious ear inclineTo heed my mother's prayer and mine.The mighty realm to rule and guardFor me alone is task too hard.No power have I the love to gainOf noble, citizen, and swain.All those who know thee, warrior, friend,On thee their eager glances bend,As labouring hinds who till the plainLook fondly for the Lord of Rain.O wisest Prince, thy realm secure,And make its firm foundations sure.Kakutstha's son, thy mighty armCan keep the nation free from harm.'He spoke, and fell in sorrow drownedAt Ráma's feet upon the ground,And there the hero sued and sighed,And 'Hear me, Raghu's son,' he cried.
Then Ráma raised him up, and pressedHis brother to his loving breast,And sweetly as a wild swan criedTo Bharat dark and lotus-eyed:
'So just and true thy generous soul,Thy hand may well this earth control:But many a sage his aid will lend.With counsellor, and peer, and friend:With these advise: their counsel ask,And so perform thy arduous task.The moon his beauty may forgo,The cold forsake the Hills of Snow,And Ocean o'er his banks may sweep,But I my father's word will keep.Now whether love of thee or greedThy mother led to plan the deed,Forth from thy breast the memory throw,And filial love and reverence show.'Thus spake Kaus'alyá's son: againBharat replied in humble strainTo him who matched the sun in mightAnd lovely as the young moon's light:'Put, noble brother, I entreat,These sandals on thy blessed feet:These, lord of men, with gold bedecked,The realm and people will protect.'
Then Ráma, as his brother prayedBeneath his feet the sandals laid,And these with fond affection gaveTo Bharat's hand, the good and brave.Then Bharat bowed his reverent headAnd thus again to Ráma said:'Through fourteen seasons will I wearThe hermit's dress and matted hair:With fruit and roots my life sustain,And still beyond the realm remain,Longing for thee to come again.The rule and all affairs of stateI to these shoes will delegate.And if, O tamer of thy foes,When fourteen years have reached their close,I see thee not that day return,The kindled fire my frame shall burn.
Then Ráma to his bosom drewDear Bharat and S'atrughna too:'Be never wroth,' he cried, 'with her,Kaikeyí's guardian minister:This, glory of Ikshváku's line,Is Sítá's earnest prayer and mine.'He spoke, and as the big tears fell,To his dear brother bade farewell.Round Ráma, Bharat strong and bold In humble reverence paced, When the bright sandals wrought with gold Above his brows were placed. The royal elephant who led The glorious pomp he found, And on the monster's mighty head Those sandals duly bound. Then noble Rama, born to swell The glories of his race, To all in order bade farewell With love and tender grace-- To brothers, counsellers, and peers,-- Still firm, in duty proved, Firm, as the Lord of Snow uprears His mountains unremoved. No queen, for choking sobs and sighs, Could say her last adieu: Then Ráma bowed, with flooded eyes, And to his cot withdrew.
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Footnotes221:1b Ten-headed, ten-necked, ten faced, are common epithets of Rávan the great king of Lanká.
CANTO CXIII.:
'High fate is his, the sire of twoMost virtuous sous, so brave and true:With wonder and with joy intenseOur ears have heard their conference.Then the great sages, longing allTo see the ten-necked tyrant 1b fall,To Bharat, bravest of the brave,Their salutary counsel gave:
'O thou of lofty lineage born,Whom wisdom, conduct, fame adorn,Thou for thy honoured father's sakeShouldst Ráma's righteous counsel take.
All debts to Queen Kaikeyí paid,Thy sire his home in heaven has made,So virtuous Ráma we would seeFrom filial obligation free.'Thus gave each royal sage advice,High saint, and bard of Paradise;Then quickly vanishing from viewEach to his proper home withdrew.Then Ráma's face his rapture showed,And his full heart with joy o'erflowed,While, as the sages parted thence,He paid his humble reverence.
Then Bharat shook in every limbAs suppliant thus he spake to him:'The duty of a king respect,Held by our race in high respect:And O, thy gracious ear inclineTo heed my mother's prayer and mine.The mighty realm to rule and guardFor me alone is task too hard.No power have I the love to gainOf noble, citizen, and swain.All those who know thee, warrior, friend,On thee their eager glances bend,As labouring hinds who till the plainLook fondly for the Lord of Rain.O wisest Prince, thy realm secure,And make its firm foundations sure.Kakutstha's son, thy mighty armCan keep the nation free from harm.'He spoke, and fell in sorrow drownedAt Ráma's feet upon the ground,And there the hero sued and sighed,And 'Hear me, Raghu's son,' he cried.
Then Ráma raised him up, and pressedHis brother to his loving breast,And sweetly as a wild swan criedTo Bharat dark and lotus-eyed:
'So just and true thy generous soul,Thy hand may well this earth control:But many a sage his aid will lend.With counsellor, and peer, and friend:With these advise: their counsel ask,And so perform thy arduous task.The moon his beauty may forgo,The cold forsake the Hills of Snow,And Ocean o'er his banks may sweep,But I my father's word will keep.Now whether love of thee or greedThy mother led to plan the deed,Forth from thy breast the memory throw,And filial love and reverence show.'Thus spake Kaus'alyá's son: againBharat replied in humble strainTo him who matched the sun in mightAnd lovely as the young moon's light:'Put, noble brother, I entreat,These sandals on thy blessed feet:These, lord of men, with gold bedecked,The realm and people will protect.'
Then Ráma, as his brother prayedBeneath his feet the sandals laid,And these with fond affection gaveTo Bharat's hand, the good and brave.Then Bharat bowed his reverent headAnd thus again to Ráma said:'Through fourteen seasons will I wearThe hermit's dress and matted hair:With fruit and roots my life sustain,And still beyond the realm remain,Longing for thee to come again.The rule and all affairs of stateI to these shoes will delegate.And if, O tamer of thy foes,When fourteen years have reached their close,I see thee not that day return,The kindled fire my frame shall burn.
Then Ráma to his bosom drewDear Bharat and S'atrughna too:'Be never wroth,' he cried, 'with her,Kaikeyí's guardian minister:This, glory of Ikshváku's line,Is Sítá's earnest prayer and mine.'He spoke, and as the big tears fell,To his dear brother bade farewell.Round Ráma, Bharat strong and bold In humble reverence paced, When the bright sandals wrought with gold Above his brows were placed. The royal elephant who led The glorious pomp he found, And on the monster's mighty head Those sandals duly bound. Then noble Rama, born to swell The glories of his race, To all in order bade farewell With love and tender grace-- To brothers, counsellers, and peers,-- Still firm, in duty proved, Firm, as the Lord of Snow uprears His mountains unremoved. No queen, for choking sobs and sighs, Could say her last adieu: Then Ráma bowed, with flooded eyes, And to his cot withdrew.
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Footnotes221:1b Ten-headed, ten-necked, ten faced, are common epithets of Rávan the great king of Lanká.
CANTO CXIII.:
BHARAT'S BETURN.Bearing the sandals on his headAway triumphant Bharat sped,And clomb, S'atrughna by his side,The car wherein he wont to ride.Before the mighty army wentThe lords for counsel eminent,Vas'ishtha, Vámadeva next,Jáváli, pure with prayer and text.
Then from that lovely river theyTurned eastward on their homeward way:With reverent steps from left to rightThey circled Chitrakúta's height,And viewed his peaks on every sideWith stains of thousand metals dyed.Then Bharat saw, not far away,Where Bharadwája's dwelling lay,And when the chieftain bold and sageHad reached that holy hermitage,Down from the car he sprang to greetThe saint, and bowed before his feet.High rapture filled the hermit's breast,Who thus the royal prince addressed:'Say, Bharat, is thy duty done?Hast thou with Ráma met, my son?'
The chief whose soul to virtue claveThis answer to the hermit gave:'I prayed him with our holy guide:But Raghu's son our prayer denied,And long besought by both of usHe answered Saint Vas'ishtha thus:'True to my vow, I still will beObservant of my sire's decree:Till fourteen years complete their courseThat promise shall remain in force.'The saint in highest wisdom caught,These solemn words with wisdom fraught,To him in lore of language learnedMost eloquent himself returned:'Obey my rede: let Bharat holdThis pair of sandals decked with gold:They in Ayodhyá shall ensureOur welfare, and our bliss secure.'When Ráma heard the royal priestHe rose, and looking to the eastConsigned the sandals to my handThat they for him might guard the land.Then from the high-souled chief's abodeI turned upon my homeward road,Dismissed by him, and now this pairOf sandals to Ayodhyá bear.'
To him the hermit thus replied,Bv Bharat's tidings gratified:'No marvel thoughts so just and true,Thou best of all who right pursue,Should dwell in thee, O Prince of men,As waters gather in the glen.He is not dead,we mourn in vain:Thy blessed father lives again,Whose noble son we thus beholdLike Virtue's self in human mould.'He ceased: before him Bharat fellTo clasp his feet, and said farewell:His reverent steps around him bent,And onward to Ayodhyá went.His host of followers stretching farWith many an elephant and car,Waggon and steed, and mighty train,Traversed their homeward way again.O'er holy Yamuná they sped,Fair stream, with waves engarlanded,And then once more the rivers' queen,The blessed Gangá's self was seen.Then making o'er that flood his way,Where crocodiles and monsters lay,The king to S'ringavera drewHis host and royal retinue.His onward way he thence pursued,And soon renowned Ayodhyá viewed.Then burnt by woe and sad of cheerBharat addressed the charioteer:'Ah, see, Ayodhyá dark and sad,Her glory gone, once bright and glad:Of joy and beauty reft, forlorn,In silent grief she seems to mourn.'
CANTO CXIV.:
Then from that lovely river theyTurned eastward on their homeward way:With reverent steps from left to rightThey circled Chitrakúta's height,And viewed his peaks on every sideWith stains of thousand metals dyed.Then Bharat saw, not far away,Where Bharadwája's dwelling lay,And when the chieftain bold and sageHad reached that holy hermitage,Down from the car he sprang to greetThe saint, and bowed before his feet.High rapture filled the hermit's breast,Who thus the royal prince addressed:'Say, Bharat, is thy duty done?Hast thou with Ráma met, my son?'
The chief whose soul to virtue claveThis answer to the hermit gave:'I prayed him with our holy guide:But Raghu's son our prayer denied,And long besought by both of usHe answered Saint Vas'ishtha thus:'True to my vow, I still will beObservant of my sire's decree:Till fourteen years complete their courseThat promise shall remain in force.'The saint in highest wisdom caught,These solemn words with wisdom fraught,To him in lore of language learnedMost eloquent himself returned:'Obey my rede: let Bharat holdThis pair of sandals decked with gold:They in Ayodhyá shall ensureOur welfare, and our bliss secure.'When Ráma heard the royal priestHe rose, and looking to the eastConsigned the sandals to my handThat they for him might guard the land.Then from the high-souled chief's abodeI turned upon my homeward road,Dismissed by him, and now this pairOf sandals to Ayodhyá bear.'
To him the hermit thus replied,Bv Bharat's tidings gratified:'No marvel thoughts so just and true,Thou best of all who right pursue,Should dwell in thee, O Prince of men,As waters gather in the glen.He is not dead,we mourn in vain:Thy blessed father lives again,Whose noble son we thus beholdLike Virtue's self in human mould.'He ceased: before him Bharat fellTo clasp his feet, and said farewell:His reverent steps around him bent,And onward to Ayodhyá went.His host of followers stretching farWith many an elephant and car,Waggon and steed, and mighty train,Traversed their homeward way again.O'er holy Yamuná they sped,Fair stream, with waves engarlanded,And then once more the rivers' queen,The blessed Gangá's self was seen.Then making o'er that flood his way,Where crocodiles and monsters lay,The king to S'ringavera drewHis host and royal retinue.His onward way he thence pursued,And soon renowned Ayodhyá viewed.Then burnt by woe and sad of cheerBharat addressed the charioteer:'Ah, see, Ayodhyá dark and sad,Her glory gone, once bright and glad:Of joy and beauty reft, forlorn,In silent grief she seems to mourn.'
CANTO CXIV.:
BHARAT'S DEPARTURE.Deep, pleasant was the chariot's soundAs royal Bharat, far renowned,Whirled by his mettled coursers fastWithin Ayodhyá's city passed.There dark and drear was every homeWhere cats and owls had space to roam,As when the shades of midnight fallWith blackest gloom, and cover all:As Rohiní, dear spouse of himWhom Rahu 1 hates, grows faint and dim,When, as she shines on high aloneThe demon's shade is o'er her thrown:As burnt by summer's heat a rillScarce trickling from her parent hill,With dying fish in pools half dried,And fainting birds upon her side:As sacrificial flames ariseWhen holy oil their food supplies,But when no more the fire is fedSink lustreless and cold and dead:Like some brave host that filled the plain,With harness rent and captains slain,When warrior, elephant, and steedMingled in wild confusion bleed:As when, all spent her store of worth,Rocks from her base the loosened earth:Like a sad fallen star no moreWearing the lovely light it wore:So mournful in her lost estateWas that sad town disconsolate.Then car-borne Bharat, good and brave,Thus spake to him the steeds who drave:'Why are Ayodhyá's streets so mute!Where is the voice of lyre and lute?Why sounds not, as of old, to-dayThe music of the minstrel's lay?
Where are the wreaths they used to twine?Where are the blossoms and the wine?Where is the cool refreshing scentOf sandal dust with aloe blent?The elephant's impatient roar,The din of cars, I hear no more:No more the horse's pleasant neighRings out to meet me on my way.Ayodhyá's youths, since Ráma's flight,Have lost their relish for delight:Her men roam forth no more, nor careBright garlands round their necks to wear.All grieve for banished Ráma: feast,And revelry and song have ceased:Like a black night when floods pour down,So dark and gloomy is the town.When will he come to make them gayLike some auspicious holiday?When will my brother, like a cloudAt summer's close, make glad the crowd?' Then through the streets the hero rode,And passed within his sire's abode,Like some deserted lion's den,Forsaken by the lord of men.Then to the inner bowers he came,Once happy home of many a dame, Now gloomy, sad, and drear,Dark as of old that sunless dayWhen wept the Gods in wild dismay; 1 There poured he many a tear.
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Footnotes223:1 The spouse of Rohini is the Moon: Rahu is the demon who causes eclipses.
CANTO CXV.:
Where are the wreaths they used to twine?Where are the blossoms and the wine?Where is the cool refreshing scentOf sandal dust with aloe blent?The elephant's impatient roar,The din of cars, I hear no more:No more the horse's pleasant neighRings out to meet me on my way.Ayodhyá's youths, since Ráma's flight,Have lost their relish for delight:Her men roam forth no more, nor careBright garlands round their necks to wear.All grieve for banished Ráma: feast,And revelry and song have ceased:Like a black night when floods pour down,So dark and gloomy is the town.When will he come to make them gayLike some auspicious holiday?When will my brother, like a cloudAt summer's close, make glad the crowd?' Then through the streets the hero rode,And passed within his sire's abode,Like some deserted lion's den,Forsaken by the lord of men.Then to the inner bowers he came,Once happy home of many a dame, Now gloomy, sad, and drear,Dark as of old that sunless dayWhen wept the Gods in wild dismay; 1 There poured he many a tear.
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Footnotes223:1 The spouse of Rohini is the Moon: Rahu is the demon who causes eclipses.
CANTO CXV.:
NANDIGRÁM. 2Then when the pious chief had seenLodged in her home each widowed queen,Still with his burning grief oppressedHis holy guides he thus addressed:'I go to Nandigrám: adieu,This day, my lords to all of you:I go, my load of grief to bear,Reft of the son of Raghu, there.The king my sire, alas, is dead.And Ráma to the forest fled;There will I wait till he, restored,Shall rule the realm, its lightful lord.' They heard the high-souled prince's speech,And thus with ready answer eachOf those great lords their chief addressed.
With saint Vas'ishtha and the rest:'Good are the words which thou hast said,By brotherly affection led,Like thine own self, a faithful friend,True to thy brother to the end:A heart like thine must all approve,Which naught from virtue's path can move,'
Soon as the words he loved to hearFell upon Bharat's joyful ear,Thus to the charioteer he spoke:'My car witn speed, Sumantra, yoke.'Tnen Bharat with delighted mienObeisance paid to every queen,And with S'atrughna by his sideMounting the car away he hied.With lords, and priests in long arrayTne brothers hastened on their way.And the great pomp the Bráhmans ledWith Saint Vas'ishtha at their head.Then every face was eastward bentAs on to Nundigrám they went.Behind the army followed, allUnsummoned by their leader's call,And steeds and elephants and menStreamed forth with every citizen.As Bharat in his chariot rodeHis heart with love fraternal glowed,And with the sandals on his headTo Nundigrám he quickly sped.Within the town he swiftly pressed,Alighted, and his guides addressed:'To me in trust my brother's handConsigned the lordship of the land,When he these gold-wrought sandals gaveAs emblems to protect and save.'Then Bharat bowed, and from his headThe sacred pledge deposited,And thus to all the people criedWho ringed him round on every side:'Haste, for these sandals quickly bringThe canopy that shades the king.Pay ye to them all reverence meetAs to my elder brother's feet,For they will right and law maintainUntil King Ráma come again.My brother with a loving mindThese sandals to my charge consigned:I till he come will guard with careThe sacred trust for Raghu's heir.My watchful task will soon be done,The pledge restored to Raghu's son;Then shall I see, his wanderings o'er,These sandals on his feet once more.My brother I shall meet at last,The burthen from my shoulders cast,To Ráma's hand the realm restoreAnd serve my elder as before.When Rama takes again this pairOf sandals kept with pious care,And here his glorious reign begins,I shall be cleansed from all my sins,
When the glad people's voices ringWith welcome to the new-made king,Joy will be mine four-fold as greatAs if supreme I ruled the state.'
Thus humbly spoke in sad lamentThe chief in fame preëminent:Thus, by his reverent lords obeyed,At Nandigrám the kingdom swayed.With hermit's dress and matted hairHe dwelt with all his army there.The sandals of his brother's feetInstalled upon the royal seat,He, all his powers to them referred,Affairs of state administered. In every care, in every task, When golden store was brought, He first, as though their rede to ask, Those royal sandals sought.
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Footnotes224:1 'Once,' says the Commentator Tirtha, 'in the battle between the Gods and demons the Gods were vanquished, and the sun was overthrown by Ráhu. At the request of the Gods Atri undertook the management of the sun for a week.'
224:2 Now Nundgaon, in Oudh.
CANTO CXVI.:
With saint Vas'ishtha and the rest:'Good are the words which thou hast said,By brotherly affection led,Like thine own self, a faithful friend,True to thy brother to the end:A heart like thine must all approve,Which naught from virtue's path can move,'
Soon as the words he loved to hearFell upon Bharat's joyful ear,Thus to the charioteer he spoke:'My car witn speed, Sumantra, yoke.'Tnen Bharat with delighted mienObeisance paid to every queen,And with S'atrughna by his sideMounting the car away he hied.With lords, and priests in long arrayTne brothers hastened on their way.And the great pomp the Bráhmans ledWith Saint Vas'ishtha at their head.Then every face was eastward bentAs on to Nundigrám they went.Behind the army followed, allUnsummoned by their leader's call,And steeds and elephants and menStreamed forth with every citizen.As Bharat in his chariot rodeHis heart with love fraternal glowed,And with the sandals on his headTo Nundigrám he quickly sped.Within the town he swiftly pressed,Alighted, and his guides addressed:'To me in trust my brother's handConsigned the lordship of the land,When he these gold-wrought sandals gaveAs emblems to protect and save.'Then Bharat bowed, and from his headThe sacred pledge deposited,And thus to all the people criedWho ringed him round on every side:'Haste, for these sandals quickly bringThe canopy that shades the king.Pay ye to them all reverence meetAs to my elder brother's feet,For they will right and law maintainUntil King Ráma come again.My brother with a loving mindThese sandals to my charge consigned:I till he come will guard with careThe sacred trust for Raghu's heir.My watchful task will soon be done,The pledge restored to Raghu's son;Then shall I see, his wanderings o'er,These sandals on his feet once more.My brother I shall meet at last,The burthen from my shoulders cast,To Ráma's hand the realm restoreAnd serve my elder as before.When Rama takes again this pairOf sandals kept with pious care,And here his glorious reign begins,I shall be cleansed from all my sins,
When the glad people's voices ringWith welcome to the new-made king,Joy will be mine four-fold as greatAs if supreme I ruled the state.'
Thus humbly spoke in sad lamentThe chief in fame preëminent:Thus, by his reverent lords obeyed,At Nandigrám the kingdom swayed.With hermit's dress and matted hairHe dwelt with all his army there.The sandals of his brother's feetInstalled upon the royal seat,He, all his powers to them referred,Affairs of state administered. In every care, in every task, When golden store was brought, He first, as though their rede to ask, Those royal sandals sought.
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Footnotes224:1 'Once,' says the Commentator Tirtha, 'in the battle between the Gods and demons the Gods were vanquished, and the sun was overthrown by Ráhu. At the request of the Gods Atri undertook the management of the sun for a week.'
224:2 Now Nundgaon, in Oudh.
CANTO CXVI.:
THE HERMIT'S SPEECH.When Bharat took his homeward roadStill Ráma in the wood abode:But soon he marked the fear and careThat darkened all the hermits there.For all who dwelt before the hillWere sad with dread of coming ill:Each holy brow was lined by thought,And Ráma's side they often sought.With gathering frowns the prince they eyed,And then withdrew and talked aside.
Then Raghu's son with anxious breastThe leader of the saints addressed:'Can aught that I have done displease,O reverend Sage, the devotees?Why are their loving looks, O say,Thus sadly changed or turned away?Has Lakshman through his want of heedOffended with unseemly deed!Or is the gentle Sítá, sheWho loved to honour you and me--Is she the cause of this offence,Failing in lowly reverence?'
One sage, o'er whom, exceeding old,Had many a year of penance rolled,Trembling in every aged limbThus for the rest replied to him:'How could we, O beloved, blameThy lofty-souled Videhan dame,Who in the good of all delights,And more than all of anchorites?But yet through thee a numbing dreadOf fiends among our band has spread;Obstructed by the demons' artThe trembling hermits talk apart.For Rávan's brother, overbold,Named Khara, of gigantic mould,Vexes with fury fierce and fellAll those in Janasthán 1 who dwell.Resistless in his cruel deeds,On flesh of men the monster feeds:Sinful and arrogant is he,And looks with special hate on thee.Since thou, beloved son, hast madeThy home within this holy shade,The fiends have vexed with wilder rageThe dwellers of the hermitage.In many a wild and dreadful formAround the trembling saints they swarm,With hideous shape and foul disguiseThey terrify our holy eyes.They make our loathing souls endureInsult and scorn and sights impure,And flocking round the altars stayThe holy rites we love to pay.In every spot throughout the groveWith evil thoughts the monsters rove,Assailing with their secret mightEach unsuspecting anchorite.Ladle and dish away they fling,Our fires with floods extinguishing,And when the sacred flame should burnThey trample on each water-urn.Now when they see their sacred woodPlagued by this impious brotherhood,The troubled saints away would roamAnd seek in other shades a home:Hence will we fly, O Ráma, ereThe cruel fiends our bodies tear.Not far away a forest liesRich in the roots and fruit we prize,To this will I and all repairAnd join the holy hermits there;Be wise, and with us thither fleeBefore this Khara injure thee.Mighty art thou, O Ráma, yetEach day with peril is beset.If with thy consort by thy sideThou in this wood wilt still abide.'
He ceased: the words the hero spakeThe hermit's purpose failed to break:To Raghu's son farewell he said,And blessed the chief and comforted;Then with the rest the holy sageDeparted from the hermitage.
So from the wood the saints withdrew,And Ráma bidding all adieu In lowly reverence bent:Instructed by their friendly speech,Blest with the gracious love of each, To his pure home he went.Nor would the son of Raghu strayA moment from that grove away From which the saints had fled.And many a hermit thither cameAttracted by his saintly fame And the pure life he led.
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Footnotes225:1 A part of the great Dandak forest.
CANTO CXVII.:
Then Raghu's son with anxious breastThe leader of the saints addressed:'Can aught that I have done displease,O reverend Sage, the devotees?Why are their loving looks, O say,Thus sadly changed or turned away?Has Lakshman through his want of heedOffended with unseemly deed!Or is the gentle Sítá, sheWho loved to honour you and me--Is she the cause of this offence,Failing in lowly reverence?'
One sage, o'er whom, exceeding old,Had many a year of penance rolled,Trembling in every aged limbThus for the rest replied to him:'How could we, O beloved, blameThy lofty-souled Videhan dame,Who in the good of all delights,And more than all of anchorites?But yet through thee a numbing dreadOf fiends among our band has spread;Obstructed by the demons' artThe trembling hermits talk apart.For Rávan's brother, overbold,Named Khara, of gigantic mould,Vexes with fury fierce and fellAll those in Janasthán 1 who dwell.Resistless in his cruel deeds,On flesh of men the monster feeds:Sinful and arrogant is he,And looks with special hate on thee.Since thou, beloved son, hast madeThy home within this holy shade,The fiends have vexed with wilder rageThe dwellers of the hermitage.In many a wild and dreadful formAround the trembling saints they swarm,With hideous shape and foul disguiseThey terrify our holy eyes.They make our loathing souls endureInsult and scorn and sights impure,And flocking round the altars stayThe holy rites we love to pay.In every spot throughout the groveWith evil thoughts the monsters rove,Assailing with their secret mightEach unsuspecting anchorite.Ladle and dish away they fling,Our fires with floods extinguishing,And when the sacred flame should burnThey trample on each water-urn.Now when they see their sacred woodPlagued by this impious brotherhood,The troubled saints away would roamAnd seek in other shades a home:Hence will we fly, O Ráma, ereThe cruel fiends our bodies tear.Not far away a forest liesRich in the roots and fruit we prize,To this will I and all repairAnd join the holy hermits there;Be wise, and with us thither fleeBefore this Khara injure thee.Mighty art thou, O Ráma, yetEach day with peril is beset.If with thy consort by thy sideThou in this wood wilt still abide.'
He ceased: the words the hero spakeThe hermit's purpose failed to break:To Raghu's son farewell he said,And blessed the chief and comforted;Then with the rest the holy sageDeparted from the hermitage.
So from the wood the saints withdrew,And Ráma bidding all adieu In lowly reverence bent:Instructed by their friendly speech,Blest with the gracious love of each, To his pure home he went.Nor would the son of Raghu strayA moment from that grove away From which the saints had fled.And many a hermit thither cameAttracted by his saintly fame And the pure life he led.
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Footnotes225:1 A part of the great Dandak forest.
CANTO CXVII.:
ANASÚYÁ.But dwelling in that lonely spotLeft by the hermits pleased him not.'I met the faithful Bharat here,The townsmen, and my mother dear:The painful memory lingers yet,And stings me with a vain regret.And here the host of Bharat camped,And many a courser here has stamped,And elephants with ponderous feetHave trampled through the calm retreat.'So forth to seek a home he hied,His spouse and Lakshman by his side.He came to Atri's pure retreat.Paid reverence to his holy feet,And from the saint such welcome wonAs a fond father gives his son.The noble prince with joy unfeignedAs a dear guest he entertained,And cheered the glorious Lakshman tooAnd Sítá with observance due.Then Anasúyá at the callOf him who sought the good of all,His blameless venerable spouse,Delighting in her holy vows,Came from her chamber to his side:To her the virtuous hermit cried:'Receive, I pray, with friendly graceThis dame of Maithil monarchs' race:To Ráma next made known his wife,The devotee of saintliest life:'Ten thousand years this votaress bentOn sternest rites of penance spent;She when the clouds withheld their rain,And drought ten years consumed the plain,Caused grateful roots and fruit to growAnd ordered Gangá here to flow:So from their cares the saints she freed,Nor let these checks their rites impede,She wrought in Heaven's behalf, and madeTen nights of one, the Gods to aid: 1Let holy Anasúyá beAn honoured mother, Prince, to thee.Let thy Videhan spouse draw nearTo her whom all that live revere,Stricken in years, whose loving mindIs slow to wrath and ever kind.'
He ceased: and Ráma gave assent,And said, with eyes on Sítá bent:'O Princess, thou hast heard with meThis counsel of the devotee:Now that her touch thy soul may bless,Approach the saintly votaress:
Come to the venerable dame,Far known by Anasúyá's name:The mighty things that she has doneHigh glory in the world have won.'
Thus spoke the son of Raghu: sheApproached the saintly devotee,Who with her white locks, old and frail,Shook like a plantain in the gale.To that true spouse she bowed her head,And 'Lady, I am Sítá,' said:Raised suppliant hands and prayed her tellThat all was prosperous and well.
The aged matron, when she sawFair Sítá true to duty's law,Addressed her thus: ' High fate is thineWhose thoughts to virtue still incline.Thou, lady of the noble mind,Hast kin and state and wealth resignedTo follow Ráma forced to treadWhere solitary woods are spread.Those women gain high spheres aboveWho still unchanged their husbands love,Whether they dwell in town or wood,Whether their hearts be ill or good.Though wicked, poor, or led awayIn love's forbidden paths to stray,The noble matron still will deemHer lord a deity supreme.Regarding kin and friendship, ICan see no better, holier tie,And every penance-rite is dimBeside the joy of serving him.But dark is this to her whose mindPromptings of idle fancy blind,Who led by evil thoughts awayMakes him who should command obey.Such women, O dear Maithil dame,Their virtue lose and honest fame,Enslaved by sin and folly, ledIn these unholy paths to tread.But they who good and true like theeThe present and the future see,Like men by holy deeds will riseTo mansions in the blissful skies. So keep thee pure from taint of sin, Still to thy lord be true, And fame and merit shalt thou win, To thy devotion due.'
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Footnotes226:1 When the saint Mándavya had doomed some saint's wife, who was Anasúyá's friend, to become a widow on the morrow.
CANTO CXVIII.:
He ceased: and Ráma gave assent,And said, with eyes on Sítá bent:'O Princess, thou hast heard with meThis counsel of the devotee:Now that her touch thy soul may bless,Approach the saintly votaress:
Come to the venerable dame,Far known by Anasúyá's name:The mighty things that she has doneHigh glory in the world have won.'
Thus spoke the son of Raghu: sheApproached the saintly devotee,Who with her white locks, old and frail,Shook like a plantain in the gale.To that true spouse she bowed her head,And 'Lady, I am Sítá,' said:Raised suppliant hands and prayed her tellThat all was prosperous and well.
The aged matron, when she sawFair Sítá true to duty's law,Addressed her thus: ' High fate is thineWhose thoughts to virtue still incline.Thou, lady of the noble mind,Hast kin and state and wealth resignedTo follow Ráma forced to treadWhere solitary woods are spread.Those women gain high spheres aboveWho still unchanged their husbands love,Whether they dwell in town or wood,Whether their hearts be ill or good.Though wicked, poor, or led awayIn love's forbidden paths to stray,The noble matron still will deemHer lord a deity supreme.Regarding kin and friendship, ICan see no better, holier tie,And every penance-rite is dimBeside the joy of serving him.But dark is this to her whose mindPromptings of idle fancy blind,Who led by evil thoughts awayMakes him who should command obey.Such women, O dear Maithil dame,Their virtue lose and honest fame,Enslaved by sin and folly, ledIn these unholy paths to tread.But they who good and true like theeThe present and the future see,Like men by holy deeds will riseTo mansions in the blissful skies. So keep thee pure from taint of sin, Still to thy lord be true, And fame and merit shalt thou win, To thy devotion due.'
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Footnotes226:1 When the saint Mándavya had doomed some saint's wife, who was Anasúyá's friend, to become a widow on the morrow.
CANTO CXVIII.:
ANASÚYÁ'S GIFTS.Thus by the holy dame addressedWho banished envy from her breast,Her lowly reverence Sítá paid,And softly thus her answer made:'No marvel, best of dames, thy speechThe duties of a wife should teach;
Yet I, O lady, also knowDue reverence to my lord to show.Were he the meanest of the base,Unhonoured with a single grace,My husband still I ne'er would leave,But firm through all to him would cleave:Still rather to a lord like mineWhose virtues high-exalted shine,Compassionate, of lofty soul,Vith every sense in due control,True in his love, of righteous mind,Like a dear sire and mother kind.E'en as he ever loves to treatKaus'alyá with observance meet,Has his behaviour ever beenTo every other honoured queen.Nay, more, a sonlike reverence showsThe noble Ráma e'en to thoseOn whom the king his father setHis eyes one moment, to forget.Deep in my heart the words are stored,Said by the mother of my lord,When from my home I turned awayIn the lone fearful woods to stray.The counsel of my mother deepImpressed upon my soul I keep,When by the fire I took my stand,And Ráma clasped in his my hand.And in my bosom cherished yet,My friends' advice I ne'er forget:Woman her holiest offering paysWhen she her husband's will obeys.Good Sávitrí her lord obeyed,And a high saint in heaven was made,And for the self-same virtue thouHast heaven in thy possession now.And she with whom no dame could vie,Now a bright Goddess in the sky,Sweet Rohiní the Moon's dear Queen,Without her lord is never seen:And many a faithful wife besideFor her pure love is glorified.' Thus Sítá spake: soft rapture stoleThrough Anasúyá's saintly soul:Kisses on Sítá's head she pressed,And thus the Maithil dame addressed:'I by long rites and toils enduredRich store of merit have secured:From this my wealth will I bestowA blessing ere I let thee go.So right and wise and true each wordThat from thy lips mine ears have heard,I love thee: be my pleasing taskTo grant the boon that thou shalt ask.' Then Sítá marvelled much, and whilePlayed o'er her lips a gentle smile,'All has been done, O Saint, she cried,And naught remains to wish beside. She spake; the lady's meek replySwelled Anasúyá's rapture high.'Sítá,' she said,' my gift to-dayThy sweet contentment shall repay.Accept this precious robe to wear,Of heavenly fabric, rich and rare,These gems thy limbs to ornament,This precious balsam sweet of scent.O Maithil dame, this gift of mineShall make thy limbs with beauty shine,And breathing o'er thy frame dispenseIts pure and lasting influence.This balsam on thy fair limbs spreadNew radiance on thy lord shall shed,As Lakshmí's beauty lends a graceTo Vishnu's own celestial face.' Then Sítá took the gift the dameBestowed on her in friendship's name,The balsam, gems, and robe divine,And garlands wreathed of bloomy twine;Then sat her down, with reverence meet,At saintly Anasúyá's feet.The matron rich in rites and vowsTurned her to Ráma's Maithil spouse,And questioned thus in turn to hearA pleasant tale to charm her ear:'Sítá, 'tis said that Raghu's sonThy hand, mid gathered suitors, won.I fain would hear thee, lady, tellThe story as it all befell:Do thou repeat each thing that passed,Reviewing all from first to last.' Thus spake the dame to Sítá: sheReplying to the devotee,'Then, lady, thy attention lend,'Rehearsed the story to the end: King Janak, just and brave and strong.Who loves the right and hates the wrong.Well skilled in what the law ordainsFor Warriors, o'er Videha reigns.Guiding one morn the plough, his handMarked out, for rites the sacred land,When, as the ploughshare cleft the earth,Child of the king I leapt to birth.Then as the ground he smoothed and cleared,He saw me all with dust besmeared,And on the new-found babe, amazedThe ruler of Videha gazed.In childless love the monarch pressedThe welcome infant to his breast:'My daughter,' thus he cried, 'is she:'And as his child he cared for me.Forth from the sky was heard o'erheadAs 'twere a human voice that said:'Yea, even so: great King, this childHenceforth thine own be justly styled.'Videha's monarch, virtuous souled,Rejoiced o'er me with joy untold,Delighting in his new-won prize,The darling of his heart and eyes.To his chief queen of saintly mindThe precious treasure he consigned,And by her side she saw me grow,Nursed with the love which mothers know.'
Then as he saw the seasons fly,And knew my marriage-time was nigh,My sire was vexed with care, as sadAs one who mourns the wealth he had:'Scorn on the maiden's sire must waitFrom men of high and low estate:The virgin's father all despise,Though Indra's peer, who rules the skies.'More near he saw, and still more near,The scorn that filled his soul with fear,On trouble's billowy ocean tossed,Like one whose shattered bark is lost.My father knowing how I came,No daughter of a mortal dame.In all the regions failed to seeA bridegroom meet to match with me.Each way with anxious thought he scanned,And thus at length the monarch planned:'The Bride's Election will I hold,With every rite prescribed of old.'It pleased King Varun to bestowQuiver and shafts and heavenly bowUpon my father's sire who reigned,When Daksha his great rite ordained.Where was the man might bend or liftWith utmost toil that wondrous gift?Not e'en in dreams could mortal kingStrain the great bow or draw the string.Of this tremendous bow possessed,My truthful father thus addressedThe lords of many a region, allAssembled at the monarch's call:'Whoe'er this bow can manage, heThe husband of my child shall be.'The suitors viewed with hopeless eyesThat wondrous bow of mountain size,Then to my sire they bade adieu,And all with humbled hearts withdrew.At length with Vis'vámitra cameThis son of Raghu, dear to fame,The royal sacrifice to view.Near to my father's home he drew,His brother Lakshman by his side,Ráma, in deeds heroic tried.My sire with honour entertainedThe saint in lore of duty trained,Who thus in turn addressed the king:'Ráma and Lakshman here who springFrom royal Das'aratha, longTo see thy bow so passing strong.'
Before the prince's eyes was laidThat marvel, as the Bráhman prayed.One moment on the bow he gazed,Quick to the notch the string he raised,Then, in the wandering people's view,The cord with mighty force he drew.Then with an awful crash as loudAs thunderbolts that cleave the cloud,The bow beneath the matchless strainOf arms heroic snapped in twain.Thus, giving purest water, he,My sire, to Ráma offered me.The prince the offered gift declinedTill he should learn his father's mind;So horsemen swift Ayodhyá soughtAnd back her aged monarch brought.Me then my sire to Ráma gave,Self-ruled, the bravest of the brave.And Urmilá, the next to me,Graced with all gifts, most fair to see,My sire with Raghu's house allied.And gave her to be Lakshman's bride.Thus from the princes of the landLord Ráma won my maiden hand,And him exalted high aboveHeroic chiefs I truly love.
* * * * *'
CANTO CXIX.:
Yet I, O lady, also knowDue reverence to my lord to show.Were he the meanest of the base,Unhonoured with a single grace,My husband still I ne'er would leave,But firm through all to him would cleave:Still rather to a lord like mineWhose virtues high-exalted shine,Compassionate, of lofty soul,Vith every sense in due control,True in his love, of righteous mind,Like a dear sire and mother kind.E'en as he ever loves to treatKaus'alyá with observance meet,Has his behaviour ever beenTo every other honoured queen.Nay, more, a sonlike reverence showsThe noble Ráma e'en to thoseOn whom the king his father setHis eyes one moment, to forget.Deep in my heart the words are stored,Said by the mother of my lord,When from my home I turned awayIn the lone fearful woods to stray.The counsel of my mother deepImpressed upon my soul I keep,When by the fire I took my stand,And Ráma clasped in his my hand.And in my bosom cherished yet,My friends' advice I ne'er forget:Woman her holiest offering paysWhen she her husband's will obeys.Good Sávitrí her lord obeyed,And a high saint in heaven was made,And for the self-same virtue thouHast heaven in thy possession now.And she with whom no dame could vie,Now a bright Goddess in the sky,Sweet Rohiní the Moon's dear Queen,Without her lord is never seen:And many a faithful wife besideFor her pure love is glorified.' Thus Sítá spake: soft rapture stoleThrough Anasúyá's saintly soul:Kisses on Sítá's head she pressed,And thus the Maithil dame addressed:'I by long rites and toils enduredRich store of merit have secured:From this my wealth will I bestowA blessing ere I let thee go.So right and wise and true each wordThat from thy lips mine ears have heard,I love thee: be my pleasing taskTo grant the boon that thou shalt ask.' Then Sítá marvelled much, and whilePlayed o'er her lips a gentle smile,'All has been done, O Saint, she cried,And naught remains to wish beside. She spake; the lady's meek replySwelled Anasúyá's rapture high.'Sítá,' she said,' my gift to-dayThy sweet contentment shall repay.Accept this precious robe to wear,Of heavenly fabric, rich and rare,These gems thy limbs to ornament,This precious balsam sweet of scent.O Maithil dame, this gift of mineShall make thy limbs with beauty shine,And breathing o'er thy frame dispenseIts pure and lasting influence.This balsam on thy fair limbs spreadNew radiance on thy lord shall shed,As Lakshmí's beauty lends a graceTo Vishnu's own celestial face.' Then Sítá took the gift the dameBestowed on her in friendship's name,The balsam, gems, and robe divine,And garlands wreathed of bloomy twine;Then sat her down, with reverence meet,At saintly Anasúyá's feet.The matron rich in rites and vowsTurned her to Ráma's Maithil spouse,And questioned thus in turn to hearA pleasant tale to charm her ear:'Sítá, 'tis said that Raghu's sonThy hand, mid gathered suitors, won.I fain would hear thee, lady, tellThe story as it all befell:Do thou repeat each thing that passed,Reviewing all from first to last.' Thus spake the dame to Sítá: sheReplying to the devotee,'Then, lady, thy attention lend,'Rehearsed the story to the end: King Janak, just and brave and strong.Who loves the right and hates the wrong.Well skilled in what the law ordainsFor Warriors, o'er Videha reigns.Guiding one morn the plough, his handMarked out, for rites the sacred land,When, as the ploughshare cleft the earth,Child of the king I leapt to birth.Then as the ground he smoothed and cleared,He saw me all with dust besmeared,And on the new-found babe, amazedThe ruler of Videha gazed.In childless love the monarch pressedThe welcome infant to his breast:'My daughter,' thus he cried, 'is she:'And as his child he cared for me.Forth from the sky was heard o'erheadAs 'twere a human voice that said:'Yea, even so: great King, this childHenceforth thine own be justly styled.'Videha's monarch, virtuous souled,Rejoiced o'er me with joy untold,Delighting in his new-won prize,The darling of his heart and eyes.To his chief queen of saintly mindThe precious treasure he consigned,And by her side she saw me grow,Nursed with the love which mothers know.'
Then as he saw the seasons fly,And knew my marriage-time was nigh,My sire was vexed with care, as sadAs one who mourns the wealth he had:'Scorn on the maiden's sire must waitFrom men of high and low estate:The virgin's father all despise,Though Indra's peer, who rules the skies.'More near he saw, and still more near,The scorn that filled his soul with fear,On trouble's billowy ocean tossed,Like one whose shattered bark is lost.My father knowing how I came,No daughter of a mortal dame.In all the regions failed to seeA bridegroom meet to match with me.Each way with anxious thought he scanned,And thus at length the monarch planned:'The Bride's Election will I hold,With every rite prescribed of old.'It pleased King Varun to bestowQuiver and shafts and heavenly bowUpon my father's sire who reigned,When Daksha his great rite ordained.Where was the man might bend or liftWith utmost toil that wondrous gift?Not e'en in dreams could mortal kingStrain the great bow or draw the string.Of this tremendous bow possessed,My truthful father thus addressedThe lords of many a region, allAssembled at the monarch's call:'Whoe'er this bow can manage, heThe husband of my child shall be.'The suitors viewed with hopeless eyesThat wondrous bow of mountain size,Then to my sire they bade adieu,And all with humbled hearts withdrew.At length with Vis'vámitra cameThis son of Raghu, dear to fame,The royal sacrifice to view.Near to my father's home he drew,His brother Lakshman by his side,Ráma, in deeds heroic tried.My sire with honour entertainedThe saint in lore of duty trained,Who thus in turn addressed the king:'Ráma and Lakshman here who springFrom royal Das'aratha, longTo see thy bow so passing strong.'
Before the prince's eyes was laidThat marvel, as the Bráhman prayed.One moment on the bow he gazed,Quick to the notch the string he raised,Then, in the wandering people's view,The cord with mighty force he drew.Then with an awful crash as loudAs thunderbolts that cleave the cloud,The bow beneath the matchless strainOf arms heroic snapped in twain.Thus, giving purest water, he,My sire, to Ráma offered me.The prince the offered gift declinedTill he should learn his father's mind;So horsemen swift Ayodhyá soughtAnd back her aged monarch brought.Me then my sire to Ráma gave,Self-ruled, the bravest of the brave.And Urmilá, the next to me,Graced with all gifts, most fair to see,My sire with Raghu's house allied.And gave her to be Lakshman's bride.Thus from the princes of the landLord Ráma won my maiden hand,And him exalted high aboveHeroic chiefs I truly love.
* * * * *'
CANTO CXIX.:
THE FOREST.When Anasúyá, virtuous-souled,Had heard the tale by Sítá told,She kissed the lady's brow and lacedHer loving arms around her waist.'With sweet-toned words distinct and clearThy pleasant tale has charmed mine ear,How the great king thy father heldThat Maiden's Choice unparalleled.But now the sun has sunk from sight,And left the world to holy Night.Hark! how the leafy thickets soundWith gathering birds that twitter round:They sought their food by day, and allFlock homeward when the shadows fall.See, hither comes the hermit band,Each with his pitcher in his hand:Fresh from the bath, their locks are wet,Their coats of bark are dripping yet.Here saints their fires of worship tend,And curling wreaths of smoke ascend:Borne on the flames they mount above,Dark as the brown wings of the dove.The distant trees, though well-nigh bare,Gloom thickenend by the evening air,And in the faint uncertain lightShut the horizon from our sight.The beasts that prowl in darkness roveOn every side about the grove,And the tame deer, at ease reclinedTheir shelter near the altars find.The night o'er all the sky is spread,With lunar stars engarlanded,And risen in his robes of lightThe moon is beautifully bright,Now to thy lord I bid thee go:Thy pleasant tale has charmed me so:One thing alone I needs must pray,Before me first thyself array:Here in thy heavenly raiment shine,And glad, dear love, these eyes of mine.'
Then like a heavenly Goddess shoneFair Sítá with that raiment on.She bowed her to the matron's feet,Then turned away her lord to meet.The hero prince with joy surveyedHis Sítá, in her robes arrayed,As glorious to his arms she cameWith love-gifts of the saintly dame.She told him how the saint to showHer fond affection would bestowThat garland of celestial twine,Those ornaments and robes divine.Then Ráma's heart, nor Lakshman's less,Was filled with pride and happiness,For honours high had Sítá gained,Which mortal dames have scarce obtained.There honoured by each pious sageWho dwelt within the hermitage,Beside his darling well contentThat sacred night the hero spent.
The princes, when the night had fled,Farewell to all the hermits said,Who gazed upon the distant shade,Their lustral rites and offerings paid.The saints who made their dwelling thereIn words like these addressed the pair:'O Princes, monsters fierce and fellAround that distant forest dwell:On blood from human veins they feed,And various forms assume at need,With savage beasts of fearful powerThat human flesh and blood devour.Our holy saints they rend and tearWhen met alone or unaware,And eat them in their cruel joy:These chase, O Ráma, or destroy.By this one path our hermits goTo fetch the fruits that yonder grow:By this, O Prince, thy feet should strayThrough pathless forests far away.'
Thus by the reverent saints addressed,And by their prayers auspicious blessed, He left the holy crowd:His wife and brother by his side,Within the mighty wood he hied.So sinks the Day-God in his pride Beneath a bank of cloud.
Then like a heavenly Goddess shoneFair Sítá with that raiment on.She bowed her to the matron's feet,Then turned away her lord to meet.The hero prince with joy surveyedHis Sítá, in her robes arrayed,As glorious to his arms she cameWith love-gifts of the saintly dame.She told him how the saint to showHer fond affection would bestowThat garland of celestial twine,Those ornaments and robes divine.Then Ráma's heart, nor Lakshman's less,Was filled with pride and happiness,For honours high had Sítá gained,Which mortal dames have scarce obtained.There honoured by each pious sageWho dwelt within the hermitage,Beside his darling well contentThat sacred night the hero spent.
The princes, when the night had fled,Farewell to all the hermits said,Who gazed upon the distant shade,Their lustral rites and offerings paid.The saints who made their dwelling thereIn words like these addressed the pair:'O Princes, monsters fierce and fellAround that distant forest dwell:On blood from human veins they feed,And various forms assume at need,With savage beasts of fearful powerThat human flesh and blood devour.Our holy saints they rend and tearWhen met alone or unaware,And eat them in their cruel joy:These chase, O Ráma, or destroy.By this one path our hermits goTo fetch the fruits that yonder grow:By this, O Prince, thy feet should strayThrough pathless forests far away.'
Thus by the reverent saints addressed,And by their prayers auspicious blessed, He left the holy crowd:His wife and brother by his side,Within the mighty wood he hied.So sinks the Day-God in his pride Beneath a bank of cloud.
