Ramayana on Grief

"No words of mine wouldst thou regard, And now thy bed is cold and hard. Upon the rude rough ground o'erthrown, Beneath thee naught but sand and stone. To thee the earth is dearer far Than I and my caresses are, If thou upon her breast wilt lie, And to my words make no reply. Ah my beloved, good and brave, Bold to attack and strong to save, Fate is Sugriva's thrall, and we In him our lord and master see. Lo, by thy bed, a mournful band, Thy Vanar chiefs lamenting stand. O hear thy nobles' groans and cries, O mark thy Angad's weeping eyes, O list to my entreaties, break The chains of slumber and awake. Ah me, my lord, this lowly bed Where rest thy limbs and fallen head, Is the cold couch where smitten lay Thy foemen in the bloody fray. O noble heart from blemish free, Lover of war, beloved by me. Why hast thou fled away and left Thy Tara of all hope bereft? Unwise the father who allows His child to be a warrior's spouse, For, hero, see thy consort's fate, A widow now most desolate, For ever broken is my pride, My hope of lasting bliss has died, And sinking in the lowest deep Of sorrow's sea I pine and weep. Ah, surely not of earthly mould, This stony heart is stern and cold, Or, in a hundred pieces rent, It had not lingered to lament. Dead, dead! my husband, friend, and lord In whom my loving hopes were stored, First in the field, his foemen's dread, My own victorious Bali, dead! A woman when her lord has died, Though children flourish by her side, Though stores of gold her coffers fill, Is called a lonely widow still. Alas, thy bleeding gashes make Around thy limbs a purple lake: Thus slumbering was thy wont to lie On cushions bright with crimson dye. Dark streams of welling blood besmear Thy limbs where dust and mire adhere, Nor have I strength, weighed down by woe, Mine arms about thy form to throw. The issue of this day has brought Sugriva all his wishes sought, For Rama shot one shaft and he Is freed from fear and jeopardy.

As wailed the aged Brahmans, bent To turn him back, with wild lament, Seemed Tamasa herself to aid, Checking his progress, as they prayed. Sumantra from the chariot freed With ready hand each weary steed; He groomed them with the utmost heed,

Thus Indra spoke, and Sleep fulfilled With joy his mandate, as he willed, To aid the plan the Gods proposed, The demons' eyes in sleep she closed. Then Sachi's lord, the Thousand-eyed, To the Asoka garden hied. He came and stood where Sita lay, And gently thus began to say: "Lord of the Gods who hold the sky, Dame of the lovely smile, am I. Weep no more, lady, weep no more; Thy days of woe will soon be o'er. I come, O Janak's child, to be The helper of thy lord and thee. He through my grace, with hosts to aid, This sea-girt land will soon invade. 'Tis by my art that slumbers close The eyelids of thy giant foes. Now I, with Sleep, this place have sought, Videhan lady, and have brought A gift of heaven's ambrosial food To stay thee in thy solitude. Receive it from my hand, and taste, O lady of the dainty waist: For countless ages thou shall be From pangs of thirst and hunger free."

A while the anxious throng he eyed. And "Where is Sita, where?" he cried. Thus while hot tears his utterance broke The mourning son of Raghu spoke. The deer in pity for his woes Obeyed the summons and arose. Upon his right thy stood, and raised Their sad eyes up to heaven and gazed Each to that quarter bent her look Which Ravan with his captive took. Then Raghu's son again they viewed, And toward that point their way pursued. Then Lakshman watched their looks intent As moaning on their way they went, And marked each sign which struck his sense With mute expressive influence, Then as again his sorrow woke Thus to his brother chief he spoke: "Those deer thy eager question heard And rose at once by pity stirred: See, in thy search their aid they lend, See, to the south their looks they bend. Arise, dear brother, let us go The way their eager glances show, If haply sign or trace descried Our footsteps in the search may guide."

To calm his wrath, his soul to ease, The younger spake in words like these: "Yea, from our bosoms let us cast All idle sorrow for the past. Let grief and anger be repressed: Again be firm and self-possessed. This day, O Monarch, shalt thou see The Vanar legions turn and flee, And Rama and his brother slain With their hearts' blood shall dye the plain. Yea, if the God who rules the dead, And Varun their battalions led; If Indra with the Storm-Gods came Against me, and the Lord of Flame, Still would I fight with all and slay Thy banded foes, my King, to-day. If Raghu's son this day withstand The blow of mine uplifted hand, Deep in his breast my darts shall sink, And torrents of his life-blood drink. O fear not, in my promise trust: This arm shall lay him in the dust, Shall leave the fierce Sugriva dyed With gore, and Lakshman by his side, And strike the great Hanuman down, The spoiler of our glorious town."(973)

Thus, with o'erwhelming sorrow pained, Sad Bharat by the bed complained: And thus Vasishtha, 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."

Thus pouring forth laments, the king Girt by the people's crowded ring, Entered the noble bower like one New-bathed when funeral rites are done. Where'er he looked naught met his gaze But empty houses, courts, and ways. Closed were the temples: countless feet No longer trod the royal street, And thinking of his son he viewed Men weak and worn and woe-subdued. As sinks the sun into a cloud, So passed he on, and wept aloud, Within that house no more to be The dwelling of the banished three, Brave Rama, his Vedehan bride, And Lakshman by his brother's side: Like broad still waters, when the king Of all the birds that ply the wing Has swooped from heaven and borne away The glittering snakes that made them gay. With choking sobs and voice half spent The king renewed his sad lament: With broken utterance faint and low Scarce could he speak these words of woe: "My steps to Rama's mother guide, And place me by Kausalya's side: There, only there my heart may know Some little respite from my woe."

Thus Rama spoke: then nearer came And looking on his moonbright dame, "Sita, 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 sighs Rained down the torrents from their eyes. And then the brothers of the chief With words of comfort soothed his grief: "Now to the king our sire who swayed The 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 lord With eyes from which the torrents poured. And Rama strove with tender care To soothe the weeping dame's despair, And then, with piercing woe distressed, The mournful Lakshman thus addressed: "Brother, I pray thee bring for me The 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 so Moves the funereal pomp of woe."(379)

He ceased: his finger bathed in dew Across Sugriva's eyes he drew; From dulling mist his vision freed, And spoke these words to suit the need: "No time is this for fear: away With fainting heart and weak delay. Now, e'en the tear which sorrow wrings From loving eyes destruction brings. Up, on to battle at the head Of those brave troops which Rama led. Or guardian by his side remain Till sense and strength the prince regain. Soon shall the trance-bound pair revive, And from our hearts all sorrow drive. Though prostrate on the earth he lie, Deem not that Rama's death is nigh; Deem not that Lakshmi will forget Or leave her darling champion yet. Rest here and be thy heart consoled; Ponder my words, be firm and bold. I, foremost in the battlefield, Will rally all who faint or yield. Their staring eyes betray their fear; They whisper each in other's ear. They, when they hear my cheering cry And see the friend of Rama nigh, Will cast their gloom and fears away Like faded wreaths of yesterday."

He heard the words Vasishtha spoke, And slumbering resolution woke. Then skilled in all the laws declare, He bade his friends the rites prepare. They raised the body from the oil, And placed it, dripping, on the soil; Then laid it on a bed, whereon Wrought 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 designed To part and leave thy son behind? Make Rama flee, who loves the right, And Lakshman of the arm of might? Whither, great Monarch, wilt thou go And leave this people in their woe, Mourning their hero, wild with grief, Of Rama reft, their lion chief? Ah, who will guard the people well Who in Ayodhya's city dwell, When thou, my sire, hast sought the sky, And Rama 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."

"No words have I to answer now: My deity, O Queen, art thou. But 'tis no marvel, dame, to find Such lack of sense in womankind. Throughout this world, O Maithil dame, Weak women's hearts are still the same. Inconstant, urged by envious spite, They sever friends and hate the right. I cannot brook, Videhan Queen, Thy words intolerably keen. Mine ears thy fierce reproaches pain As boiling water seethes the brain. And now to bear me witness all The dwellers in the wood I call, That, when with words of truth I plead, This harsh reply is all my meed. Ah, woe is thee! Ah, grief, that still Eager to do my brother's will, Mourning thy woman's nature, I Must see thee doubt my truth and die. I fly to Rama's side, and Oh, May bliss attend thee while I go! May all attendant wood-gods screen Thy head from harm, O large-eyed Queen! And though dire omens meet my sight And fill my soul with wild affright, May I return in peace and see The son of Raghu safe with thee!"

Then o'er the lady's soul and frame A sudden fear and trembling came, When, glowing in his youthful pride, She saw the monarch by her side. Silent she sat, her eyes depressed, Her soft arms folded o'er her breast, And,--all she could,--her beauties screened From the bold gazes of the fiend. There where the wild she-demons kept Their watch around, she sighed and wept. Then, like a severed bough, she lay Prone on the bare earth in dismay. The while her thoughts on love's fleet wings Flew to her lord the best of kings. She fell upon the ground, and there Lay struggling with her wild despair, Sad as a lady born again To misery and woe and pain, Now doomed to grief and low estate, Once noble fair and delicate: Like faded light of holy lore, Like Hope when all her dreams are o'er; Like ruined power and rank debased, Like majesty of kings disgraced: Like worship foiled by erring slips, The moon that labours in eclipse; A pool with all her lilies dead, An army when its king has fled: So sad and helpless wan and worn, She lay among the fiends forlorn.

Then having bathed, as texts ordain, To Lanka went the mourning train. Vibhishan, when his task was done, Stood by the side of Raghu's son. And Rama, freed from every foe, Unstrung at last his deadly bow, And laid the glittering shafts aside, And mail by Indra's love supplied.

Filled with dark fear and eager eyes, Anxiety and wild surmise; Echoing with the cries of grief Of sorrowing friends who mourned their chief, Dejected, pale with deep distress, Hurled from their height of happiness: Such was the look the palace wore Where lay the king who breathed no more.

Thus with disordered senses, faint With woe he poured his sad complaint, And then, a better way to teach, Wise Lakshman spoke in seemly speech: "Up, brother dear, thy grief subdue, With heart and soul thy search renew. When woes oppress and dangers threat Brave effort ne'er was fruitless yet."

When the sad queen had ended so, She sank, insatiate in her woe, And prostrate lay upon the ground, While her faint voice by sobs was drowned. When all the ladies in despair Saw Queen Kausalya wailing there, And the poor king oppressed with pain, They flocked around and wept again.

Alone the mourning pair I led, Their souls with woe disquieted, And let the dame and hermit lay Their hands upon the breathless clay. The father touched his son, and pressed The body to his aged breast; Then falling by the dead boy's side, He lifted up his voice, and cried:

Her eyes the Maithil lady raised And on the monkey speaker gazed. She looked, and trembling at the sight Wept bitter tears in wild affright. She shrank a while with fear distraught, Then, nerved again, the lady thought: "Is this a dream mine eyes have seen, This creature, by our laws unclean? O, may the Gods keep Rama, still, And Lakshman, and my sire, from ill! It is no dream: I have not slept, But, trouble-worn, have watched and wept Afar from that dear lord of mine For whom in ceaseless woe I pine, No art may soothe my wild distress Or lull me to forgetfulness. I see but him: my lips can frame No syllable but Rama's name. Each sight I see, each sound I hear, Brings Rama to mine eye or ear, The wish was in my heart, and hence The sweet illusion mocked my sense. 'Twas but a phantom of the mind, And yet the voice was soft and kind. Be glory to the Eternal Sire,(848) Be glory to the Lord of Fire, The mighty Teacher in the skies,(849) And Indra with his thousand eyes, And may they grant the truth to be E'en as the words that startled me."

Thus Sita spake, and he who knew His duty, to its orders true, Was still reluctant as the woes Of forest life before him rose. He sought to soothe her grief, to dry The torrent from each brimming eye, And then, her firm resolve to shake, These words the pious hero spake:

So thus to share his exile, she Besought him with each earnest plea, Nor could she yet her lord persuade To take her to the lonely shade. The answer of the strong-armed chief Smote the Videhan's soul with grief, And from her eyes the torrents came bathing the bosom of the dame.

Then burning grief inflamed his eye, As his right arm he raised on high, And, while hot tears his cheek bedewed, Addressed the mournful multitude: "By love and tender pity moved, Your love for me you well have proved; Now turn again with joy, and win Success in all your hands begin."

Thus Bali spake in gentlest tone: Soft arms about his neck were thrown; Then round her lord the lady went With sad steps slow and reverent. She stood in solemn guise to bless With prayers for safety and success, Then with her train her chamber sought By grief and racking fear distraught.

Then Sita joined her hands, and sighed, "O, may thy words be verified!" The car was turned, which fleet as thought The mourning queen to Lanka brought. They led her to the garden, where Again she yielded to despair, Lamenting for the chiefs who bled On earth's cold bosom with the dead.

But Tara, when her weeping eye Saw Bali, on the litter lie, Laid his dear head upon her lap, And wailed aloud her dire mishap; "O mighty Vanar, lord and king, To whose fond breast I loved to cling, Of goodly arms, wise, brave, and bold, Rise, look upon me as of old. Rise up, my sovereign, dost thou see A crowd of subjects weep for thee? Still o'er thy face, though breath has fled, The joyous light of life is spread: Thus around the sun, although he set, A crimson glory lingers yet. Death clad in Rama's form to-day Hast dragged thee from the world away. One shaft from his tremendous bow Dooms us to widowhood and woe. Hast thou, O Vanar King, no eyes Thy weeping wives to recognize, Who for the length of way unmeet Have followed thee with weary feet? Yet every moon-faced beauty here By thee, O King was counted dear. Lord of the Vanar race, hast thou No eyes to see Sugriva now? About thee stands in mournful mood A sore-afflicted multitude, And Tara and thy lords of state Around their monarch weep and wait. Arise my lord, with gentle speech, As was thy wont, dismissing each, Then in the forest will we play And love shall make our spirits gay."

The queen, by Rama thus addressed, Still with a mother's grief oppressed, While her long eyes with tears were dim, Began once more and answered him: "Not by my pleading may be stayed The firm resolve thy soul has made. My hero, thou wilt go; and none The stern commands of Fate may shun. Go forth, dear child whom naught can bend, And may all bliss thy steps attend. Thou wilt return, and that dear day Will chase mine every grief away. Thou wilt return, thy duty done, Thy vows discharged, high glory won; From filial debt wilt thou be free, And sweetest joy will come on me. My son, the will of mighty Fate At every time must dominate, If now it drives thee hence to stray Heedless of me who bid thee stay. Go, strong of arm, go forth, my boy, Go forth, again to come with joy, And thine expectant mother cheer With those sweet tones she loves to hear. O that the blessed hour were nigh When thou shalt glad this anxious eye, With matted hair and hermit dress returning from the wilderness." Kausalya's conscious soul approved, As her proud glance she bent On Rama constant and unmoved, Resolved on banishment. Such words, with happy omens fraught To her dear son she said, Invoking with each eager thought A blessing on his head.

The queen's stern speech the monarch heard, As rage and grief her bosom stirred, And by his anguish sore oppressed Reflected in his secret breast. Fainting and sad, with woe distraught, He wandered in a maze of thought; At length the queller of the foe Grew conscious, rallying from his woe. When consciousness returned anew Long burning sighs the monarch drew, Again immersed in thought he eyed Kausalya standing by his side. Back to his pondering soul was brought The direful deed his hand had wrought, When, guiltless of the wrong intent, His arrow at a sound was sent. Distracted by his memory's sting, And mourning for his son, the king To two consuming griefs a prey, A miserable victim lay. The double woe devoured him fast, As on the ground his eyes he cast, Joined suppliant hands, her heart to touch, And spake in the answer, trembling much: "Kausalya, for thy grace I sue, Joining these hands as suppliants do. Thou e'en to foes hast ever been A gentle, good, and loving queen. Her lord, with noble virtues graced, Her lord, by lack of all debased, Is still a God in woman's eyes, If duty's law she hold and prize. Thou, who the right hast aye pursued, Life's changes and its chances viewed, Shouldst never launch, though sorrow-stirred, At me distressed, one bitter word."

His pitying eyes with tears bedewed, The weeping queen again he viewed, And saw around the prisoner stand Her demon guard, a fearful band. Some earless, some with ears that hung Low as their feet and loosely swung: Some fierce with single ears and eyes, Some dwarfish, some of monstrous size: Some with their dark necks long and thin With hair upon the knotty skin: Some with wild locks, some bald and bare, Some covered o'er with bristly hair: Some tall and straight, some bowed and bent With every foul disfigurement: All black and fierce with eyes of fire, Ruthless and stern and swift to ire: Some with the jackal's jaw and nose, Some faced like boars and buffaloes: Some with the heads of goats and kine, Of elephants, and dogs, and swine: With lions' lips and horses' brows, They walked with feet of mules and cows: Swords, maces, clubs, and spears they bore In hideous hands that reeked with gore, And, never sated, turned afresh To bowls of wine and piles of flesh. Such were the awful guards who stood Round Sita in that lovely wood, While in her lonely sorrow she Wept sadly neath a spreading tree. He watched the spouse of Rama there Regardless of her tangled hair, Her jewels stripped from neck and limb, Decked only with her love of him.

For sobs and sighs he scarce could speak, And his sad voice came low and weak, As, while his eyes with tears o'erflowed, The burden of his soul he showed. Then by strong effort, bravely made, The torrent of his tears he stayed, Wiped his bright eyes, his grief subdued, And thus, more calm, his speech renewed:

"How couldst thou leave thine Angad thus, And go, for ever go, from us-- Thy child so dear in brave attire, Graced with the virtues of his sire? If e'er in want of thought, O chief, One deed of mine have caused thee grief, Forgive my folly, I entreat, And with my head I touch thy feet."

Then Rama to Vibhishan cried: "Whate'er the ritual bids, provide. Obsequial honours duly pay, And these sad mourners' grief allay." Vibhishan answered, wise and true, For duty's changeless law he knew: "Nay one who scorned all sacred vows And dared to touch another's spouse, Fell tyrant of the human race, With funeral rites I may not grace."

He saw her weep whose offspring feed In thousands over hill and mead, And knew that in a mother's eye Naught with a son, for love, can vie. He deemed her, when the tears that came From her sad eyes bedewed his frame, Laden with their celestial scent, Of living things most excellent. If she these tears of sorrow shed Who many a thousand children bred, Think what a life of woe is left Kausalya, of her Rama reft. An only son was hers and she Is 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 pay Both to my brother and my sire The rites their several fates require. Back to Ayodhya will I bring The long-armed chief, her lord and king, And to the wood myself betake Where hermit saints their dwelling make. For, sinner both in deed and thought! This hideous crime which thou hast wrought I cannot bear, or live to see The 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 Rama, 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."

"Thou bringest me," she cried again, "A mingled draught of bliss and pain: Bliss, that he wears me in his heart, Pain, that he wakes and weeps apart, O, see how Fate is king of all, Now lifts us high, now bids us fall, And leads a captive bound with cord The meanest slave, the proudest lord, Thus even now Fate's stern decree Has struck with grief my lord and me. Say, how shall Rama reach the shore Of sorrow's waves that rise and roar, A shipwrecked sailor, well nigh drowned In the wild sea that foams around? When will he smite the demon down, Lay low in dust the giants' town, And, glorious from his foes' defeat, His wife, his long-lost Sita, meet? Go, bid him speed to smite his foes Before the year shall reach its close. Ten months are fled but two remain, Then Ravan's captive must be slain. Oft has Vibhishan,(863) just and wise, Besought him to restore his prize. But deaf is Ravan's senseless ear: His brother's rede he will not hear. Vibhishan's daughter(864) loves me well: From her I learnt the tale I tell. Avindhva(865) prudent, just, and old, The giant's fall has oft foretold; But Fate impels him to despise His word on whom he most relies. In Rama's love I rest secure, For my fond heart is true and pure, And him, my noblest lord, I deem In valour, power, and might supreme."

"By Bali's conquering might oppressed, Of power and kingship dispossessed, Loaded with taunts of scorn and hate I left my realm and royal state. He tore away my consort: she Was dearer than my life to me, And many a friend to me and mine In hopeless chains was doomed to pine. With wicked thoughts, unsated still, Me whom he wrongs he yearns to kill; And spies of Vanar race, who tried To slay me, by this hand have died. Moved by this constant doubt and fear I saw thee, Prince, and came not near. When woe and peril gather round A foe in every form is found. Save Hanuman, O Raghu's son, And these, no friend is left me, none. Through their kind aid, a faithful band Who guard their lord from hostile hand, Rest when their chieftain rests and bend Their steps where'er he lists to wend,-- Through them alone, in toil and pain, My wretched life I still sustain. Enough, for thou hast heard in brief The story of my pain and grief. His mighty strength all regions know, My brother, but my deadly foe. Ah, if the proud oppressor fell, His death would all my woe dispel. Yea, on my cruel conqueror's fall My joy depends, my life, my all. This were the end and sure relief, O Rama, of my tale of grief. Fair be his lot or dark with woe, No comfort like a friend I know."

They told their lord that Rama still Lay waiting by Suvela's hill. The tyrant, flushed with angry glow, Heard of the coming of the foe, And thus with close inquiry pressed Sardula spokesman for the rest: "Why art thou sad, night-rover? speak: Has grief or terror changed thy cheek? Have the wild Vanars' hostile bands Assailed thee with their mighty hands?"

High rose the universal wail That mourned the monarch's death, and, pale With crushing woe, her hair unbound, Her eyes in floods of sorrow drowned, Forth from the inner chambers came With trembling feet each royal dame, Heedless of those who bade them stay They reached the field where Ravan lay; There falling by their husband's side, "Ah, King! ah dearest lord!" they cried. Like creepers shattered by the storm They threw them on his mangled form. One to his bleeding bosom crept And lifted up her voice and wept. About his feet one mourner clung, Around his neck another hung, One on the giant's severed head, Her pearly tears in torrents shed Fast as the drops the summer shower Pours down upon the lotus flower. "Ah, he whose arm in anger reared The King of Gods and Yama feared, While panic struck their heavenly train, Lies prostrate in the battle slain. Thy haughty heart thou wouldst not bend, Nor listen to each wiser friend. Ah, had the dame, as they implored, Been yielded to her injured lord, We had not mourned this day thy fall, And happy had it been for all. Then Rama and thy friends content In blissful peace their days had spent. Thine injured brother had not fled, Nor giant chiefs and Vanars bled. Yet for these woes we will not blame. Thy fancy for the Maithil dame, Fate, ruthless Fate, whom none may bend Has urged thee to thy hapless end."

That speech of Guha Bharat heard With 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 uptorn, In woe too grievous to be borne. When Guha saw the long-armed chief Whose eye was like a lotus leaf, With lion shoulders strong and fair, High-mettled, prostrate in despair,-- Pale, bitterly afflicted, he Reeled as in earthquake reels a tree. But when Satrughna standing nigh Saw his dear brother helpless lie, Distraught with woe his head he bowed, Embraced him oft and wept aloud. Then Bharat's mothers came, forlorn Of their dear king, with fasting worn, And stood with weeping eyes around The hero prostrate on the ground. Kausalya, by her woe oppressed, The senseless Bharat's limbs caressed, As a fond cow in love and fear Caresses oft her youngling dear: Then yielding to her woe she said, Weeping and sore disquieted: "What torments, O my son, are these Of sudden pain or swift disease? The lives of us and all the line Depend, dear child, on only thine. Rama and Lakshman forced to flee, I live by naught but seeing thee: For as the king has past away Thou art my only help to-day. Hast thou, perchance, heard evil news Of Lakshman, which thy soul subdues, Or Rama dwelling with his spouse-- My all is he--neath forest boughs?"

To him the hermit thus replied, By 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 behold Like Virtue's self in human mould."

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 day When wept the Gods in wild dismay;(397) There poured he many a tear.

Long on the ground he wept, and rolled From side to side, still unconsoled, And then, with bitter grief oppressed, His mother with these words addressed: "This joyful hope my bosom fed When 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 Rama, happy they Allowed his funeral rites to pay! The glorious monarch has not learned That 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 away The dust that on his darling lay? Quick, bear the news to Rama's ear; Tell the great chief that I am here: Brother, and sire, and friend, and all Is 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 knew Virtue 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 crave To hear the last advice he gave."

"You ne'er can raise the dead to bliss By agony of grief like this. Cease your lament, nor leave undone The funeral task you may not shun. As nature orders o'er the dead. Your tributary tears are shed, But Fate, directing each event, Is still the lord preeminent. Yes, all obey the changeless laws Of Fate the universal cause. By Fate, the lives of all proceed, That governs every word and deed, None acts, none sees his hest obeyed, But each and all by Fate are swayed. The world its ordered course maintains, And o'er that course Fate ever reigns. Fate ne'er exceeds the rule of Fate: Is ne'er too swift, is ne'er too late, And making nature its ally Forgets no life, nor passes by. No kith and kin, no power and force Can check or stay its settled course, No friend or client, grace or charm, That victor of the world disarm. So all who see with prudent eyes The hand of Fate must recognize, For virtue rules, or love, or gain, As Fate's unchanged decrees ordain. Bali has died and won the meed That waits in heaven on noble deed, Throned in the seats the brave may reach By liberal hand and gentle speech, True to a warrior's duty, bold In fight, the hero lofty-souled Deigned not to guard his life: he died, And now in heaven is glorified. Then cease these tears and wild despair: Turn to the task that claims your care, For Bali's is the glorious fate Which warriors count most fortunate."

She hastened forth, her bosom rent With anguish, weeping as she went, And striking, mastered by her woes, Her head and breast with frantic blows. She hurried to the field and found Her husband prostrate on the ground, Who quelled the hostile Vanars' might, Whose bank was never turned in flight: Whose arm a massy rock could throw As Indra hurls his bolts below: Fierce as the rushing tempest, loud As thunder from a labouring cloud: Whene'er he roared his voice of fear Struck terror on the boldest ear: Now slain, as, hungry for the prey, A tiger might a lion slay: Or when, his serpent foe to seek, Suparna(600) with his furious beak Tears up a sacred hillock, long The reverence of a village throng, Its altar with their offerings spread, And the gay flag that waved o'erhead. She looked and saw the victor stand Resting upon his bow his hand: And fierce Sugriva she descried, And Lakshman by his brother's side. She passed them by, nor stayed to view, Swift to her husband's side she flew; Then as she looked, her strength gave way, And in the dust she fell and lay. Then, as if startled ere the close Of slumber, from the earth she rose. Upon her dying husband, round Whose soul the coils of Death were wound, Her eyes in agony she bent And called him with a shrill lament. Sugriva, when he heard her cries, And saw the queen with weeping eyes, And youthful Angad standing there, His load of grief could hardly bear.

But Rama in the autumn night Stood musing on the mountain height, While grief and love that scorned control Shook with wild storms the hero's soul. Clear was the sky, without a cloud The glory of the moon to shroud. And bright with purest silver shone Each hill the soft beams looked upon. He knew Sugriva's heart was bent On pleasure, gay and negligent. He thought on Janak's child forlorn From his fond arms for ever torn. He mourned occasion slipping by, And faint with anguish heaved each sigh. He sat where many a varied streak Of rich ore marked the mountain peak. He raised his eyes the sky to view, And to his love his sad thoughts flew. He heard the Saras cry, and faint With sorrow poured his love-born plaint: "She, she who mocked the softest tone Of wild birds' voices with her own,-- Where strays she now, my love who played So happy in our hermit shade? How can my absent love behold The bright trees with their flowers of gold, And all their gleaming glory see With eyes that vainly look for me? How is it with my darling when From the deep tangles of the glen Float carols of each bird elate With rapture singing to his mate? In vain my weary glances rove From lake to hill, from stream to grove: I find no rapture in the scene, And languish for my fawn-eyed queen. Ah, does strong love with wild unrest, Born of the autumn, stir her breast? And does the gentle lady pine Till her bright eyes shall look in mine?"

"I heard," she said, "thy bitter cry, Heard Ravan's speech and thy reply, For, hiding in the thicket near, No word or tone escaped mine ear. When Ravan hastened forth I bent My steps to follow as he went, And learnt the secret cause that drove The monarch from the Asoka grove. Believe me, Queen, thou needst not weep For Rama slaughtered in his sleep. Thy lion lord of men defies By day attack, by night surprise. Can even giants slay with ease Vast hosts who fight with brandished trees, For whom, with eye that never sleeps, His constant watch thy Rama keeps? Lord of the mighty arm and chest, Of earthly warriors first and best, Whose fame through all the regions rings, Proud scion of a hundred kings; Who guards his life and loves to lend His saving succour to a friend: Whose bow no hand but his can strain,-- Thy lord, thy Rama is not slain. Obedient to his master's will, A great magician, trained in ill, With deftest art surpassing thought That marvellous illusion wrought. Let rising hope thy grief dispel: Look up and smile, for all is well, And gentle Lakshmi, Fortune's Queen, Regards thee with a favouring mien. Thy Rama with his Vanar train Has thrown a bridge athwart the main, Has led his countless legions o'er, And ranged them on this southern shore. These eyes have seen the hero stand Girt by his hosts on Lanka's strand, And breathless spies each moment bring Fresh tidings to the giant king; And every peer and lord of state Is called to counsel and debate."

He ended. To the princely youth Who loved the right and spoke the truth, Cruel, abominable came The answer of the ruthless dame: "When Gods and Titans fought of yore, Transfixed with darts and bathed in gore Two boons to me thy father gave For the dear life 'twas mine to save. Of him I claim the ancient debt, That Bharat on the throne be set, And thou, O Rama, go this day To Dandak forest far away. Now, Rama, if thou wilt maintain Thy father's faith without a stain, And thine own truth and honour clear, Then, best of men, my bidding hear. Do thou thy father's word obey, Nor from the pledge he gave me stray. Thy life in Dandak forest spend Till nine long years and five shall end. Upon my Bharat's princely head Let consecrating drops be shed, With all the royal pomp for thee Made ready by the king's decree. Seek Dandak forest and resign Rites that would make the empire thine, For twice seven years of exile wear The coat of bark and matted hair. Then in thy stead let Bharat reign Lord of his royal sire's domain, Rich in the fairest gems that shine, Cars, elephants, and steeds, and kine. The monarch mourns thy altered fate And vails his brow compassionate: Bowed down by bitter grief he lies And dares not lift to thine his eyes. Obey his word: be firm and brave, And with great truth the monarch save." While thus with cruel words she spoke, No grief the noble youth betrayed; But forth the father's anguish broke, At his dear Rama's lot dismayed.

Oppressed with sorrow, tear-distained, The royal women thus complained. Like night when not a star appears, Like a sad widow drowned in tears, Ayodhya'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.

When thus Kalindi,(248) fairest dame, With reverent supplication came, To her the holy sage replied: "Born with the poison from thy side, O happy Queen, shall spring ere long An infant fortunate and strong. Then weep no more, and check thy sighs, Sweet lady of the lotus eyes." The queen, who loved her perished lord, For meet reply, the saint adored, And, of her husband long bereaved, She bore a son by him conceived. Because her rival mixed the bane To render her conception vain, And fruit unripened to destroy, Sagar(249) she called her darling boy. To Sagar Asamanj was heir: Bright Ansuman his consort bare. Ansuman's son, Dilipa famed, Begot a son Bhagirath named. From him the great Kakutstha rose: From him came Raghu, feared by foes, Of him sprang Purushadak bold, Fierce hero of gigantic mould: Kalmashapada's name he bore, Because his feet were spotted o'er.(250) From him came Sankan, and from him Sudarsan, fair in face and limb. From beautiful Sudarsan came Prince Agnivarna, bright as flame. His son was Sighraga, for speed Unmatched; and Maru was his seed. Prasusruka was Maru's child; His son was Ambarisha styled. Nahush was Ambarisha's heir, The mighty lord of regions fair: Nahush begot Yayati: he, Nabhag of happy destiny. Son of Nabhag was Aja: his, The glorious Dasaratha is, Whose noble children boast to be Rama and Lakshman, whom we see. Thus do those kings of purest race Their lineage from Ikshvaku trace: Their hero lives the right maintained, Their lips with falsehood ne'er were stained. In Rama's and in Lakshman's name Thy daughters as their wives I claim, So shall in equal bands be tied Each peerless youth with peerless bride."

His hope the Vanar monarch told, And thus Vibhishan's grief consoled. Then to Sushen who at his side Expectant stood, Sugriva cried: "When these regain their strength and sense, Fly, bear them to Kishkindha hence. Here with my legions will I stay, The tyrant and his kinsmen slay, And, rescued from the giant king, The Maithil lady will I bring, Like Glory lost of old, restored By Sakra, heaven's almighty lord."

As to each warder beast he came And questioned all, his words the same, The honoured youth with gentle speech Drew eloquent reply from each, That fortune should his steps attend, And with the horse he home should wend. Cheered with the grateful answer, he Passed on with step more light and free, And reached with careless heart the place Where lay in ashes Sagar's race. Then sank the spirit of the chief Beneath that shock of sudden grief, And with a bitter cry of woe He mourned his kinsmen fallen so. He saw, weighed down by woe and care, The victim charger roaming there. Yet would the pious chieftain fain Oblations offer to the slain: But, needing water for the rite, He looked and there was none in sight His quick eye searching all around The uncle of his kinsmen found, King Garud, best beyond compare Of birds who wing the fields of air. Then thus unto the weeping man The son of Vinata(192) began: "Grieve not, O hero, for their fall Who died a death approved of all. Of mighty strength, they met their fate By Kapil's hand whom none can mate. Pour forth for them no earthly wave, A holier flood their spirits crave. If, daughter of the Lord of Snow, Ganga would turn her stream below, Her waves that cleanse all mortal stain Would wash their ashes pure again. Yea, when her flood whom all revere Rolls o'er the dust that moulders here, The sixty thousand, freed from sin, A home in Indra's heaven shall win. Go, and with ceaseless labour try To draw the Goddess from the sky. Return, and with thee take the steed; So shall thy grandsire's rite succeed."

The damsel's breast with fury burned: She answered, as the gift she spurned: "What time, O simple Queen, is this For idle dreams of fancied bliss? Hast thou not sense thy state to know, Engulfed in seas of whelming woe; Sick as I am with grief and pain My lips can scarce a laugh restrain To see thee hail with ill-timed joy A peril mighty to destroy. I mourn for one so fondly blind: What woman of a prudent mind Would welcome, e'en as thou hast done, The lordship of a rival's son, Rejoiced to find her secret foe Empowered, like death, to launch the blow; I see that Rama still must fear Thy Bharat, to his throne too near. Hence is my heart disquieted, For those who fear are those we dread. Lakshman, the mighty bow who draws, With all his soul serves Rama's cause; And chains as strong to Bharat bind Satrughna, with his heart and mind, Now next to Rama, lady fair, Thy Bharat is the lawful heir: And far remote, I ween, the chance That might the younger two advance. Yes, Queen, 'tis Rama that I dread, Wise, prompt, in warlike science bred; And oh, I tremble when I think Of thy dear child on ruin's brink. Blest with a lofty fate is she, Kausalya; for her son will be Placed, when the moon and Pushya meet, By Brahmans on the royal seat, Thou as a slave in suppliant guise Must wait upon Kausalya's eyes, With all her wealth and bliss secured And glorious from her foes assured. Her slave with us who serve thee, thou Wilt see thy son to Rama bow, And Sita's friends exult o'er all, While Bharat's wife shares Bharat's fall."

When Rama heard the words he spoke Again he sank beneath the stroke, And with a bosom anguish-fraught Himself the lovely river sought. There standing on the shelving side, "O Sita, where art thou?" he cried. No spirit voice an answer gave, No murmur from the trembling wave Of sweet Godavari declared The outrage which the fiend had dared. "O speak!" the pitying spirits cried, But yet the stream their prayer denied, Nor dared she, coldly mute, relate To the sad chief his darling's fate Of Ravan's awful form she thought, And the dire deed his arm had wrought, And still withheld by fear dismayed, The tale for which the mourner prayed. When hope was none, his heart to cheer, That the bright stream his cry would hear While sorrow for his darling tore His longing soul he spake once more: "Though I have sought with tears and sighs Godarvari no word replies, O say, what answer can I frame To Janak, father of my dame? Or how before her mother stand Leading no Sita by the hand? Where is my loyal love who went Forth with her lord to banishment? Her faith to me she nobly held Though from my realm and home expelled,-- A hermit, nursed on woodland fare,-- She followed still and soothed my care. Of all my friends am I bereft, Nor is my faithful consort left. How slowly will the long nights creep While comfortless I wake and weep! O, if my wife may yet be found, With humble love I'll wander round This Janasthan, Prasravan's hill, Mandakini's delightful rill. See how the deer with gentle eyes Look on my face and sympathize. I mark their soft expression: each Would soothe me, if it could, with speech."

Thus with wild tears the aged saint Made many a time his piteous plaint, Then with his wife began to shed The funeral water for the dead. But in a shape celestial clad, Won by the merits of the lad, The spirit from the body brake And to the mourning parents spake: "A glorious home in realms above Rewards my care and filial love. You, honoured parents, soon shall be Partakers of that home with me."

In suppliant tone the Vanar prayed, And Raghu's son his answer made: "By Lakshman's hand this flowery twine Was wound about thee for a sign. The wreath of giant creeper throws About thy form its brillant glows, As though about the sun were set The bright stars for a coronet. One shaft of mine this day, dear friend, Thy sorrow and thy fear shall end. And, from the bowstring freed, shall be Giver of freedom, King, to thee. Then come, Sugriva, quickly show, Where'er he lie, thy bitter foe; And let my glance the wretch descry Whose deeds, a brother's name belie. Yea, soon in dust and blood o'erthrown Shall Bali fall and gasp and groan. Once let this eye the foeman see, Then, if he live to turn and flee, Despise my puny strength, and shame With foul opprobrium Rama's name. Hast thou not seen his hand, O King, Through seven tall trees one arrow wing? Still in that strength securely trust, And deem thy foeman in the dust. In all my days, though surely tried By grief and woe, I ne'er have lied; And still by duty's law restrained Will ne'er with falsehood's charge be stained. Cast doubt away: the oath I sware Its kindly fruit shall quickly bear, As smiles the land with golden grain By mercy of the Lord of rain. Oh, warrior to the gate I defy Thy foe with shout and battle-cry, Till Bali with his chain of gold Come speeding from his royal hold. Proud hearts, with warlike fire aglow, Brook not the challenge of a foe: Each on his power and might relies, And most before his ladies eyes. King Bali loves the fray too well To linger in his citadel, And, when he hears thy battle-shout, All wild for war will hasten out."

The monster ceased: the princely pair Heard great Kabandha's eager prayer. Within a mountain cave they sped, Where kindled fire with care they fed. Then Lakshman in his mighty hands Brought ample store of lighted brands, And to a pile of logs applied The flame that ran from side to side. The spreading glow with gentle force Consumed Kabandha's mighty corse, Till the unresting flames had drunk The marrow of the monstrous trunk, As balls of butter melt away Amid the fires that o'er them play. Then from the pyre, like flame that glows Undimmed by cloudy smoke, he rose, In garments pure of spot or speck, A heavenly wreath about his neck. Resplendent in his bright attire He sprang exultant from the pyre. While from neck, arm, and foot was sent The flash of gold and ornament. High on a chariot, bright of hue, Which swans of fairest pinion drew, He filled each region of the air With splendid glow reflected there. Then in the sky he stayed his car And called to Rama from afar: "Hear, chieftain, while my lips explain The means to win thy spouse again. Six plans, O prince, the wise pursue To reach the aims we hold in view.(519) When evils ripening sorely press They load the wretch with new distress, So thou and Lakshman, tried by woe, Have felt at last a fiercer blow, And plunged in bitterest grief to-day Lament thy consort torn away. There is no course but this: attend; Make, best of friends, that chief thy friend. Unless his prospering help thou gain Thy plans and hopes must all be vain. O Rama, hear my words, and seek, Sugriva, for of him I speak. His brother Bali, Indra's son, Expelled him when the fight was won. With four great chieftains, faithful still, He dwells on Rishyamuka's hill.

When worn with toil and love I strayed With Sita through the forest shade, No trace of grief was seen in her, My kind and thoughtful comforter. How shall my faltering tongue relate To Queen Kausalya Sita's fate? How answer when in wild despair She questions, Where is Sita, where? Haste, brother, haste: to Bharat hie, On whose fond love I still rely. My life can be no longer borne, Since Sita from my side is torn."

There ceased the Vanar: Rama pressed The treasured jewel to his breast, And from his eyes the waters broke As to the Vanar king he spoke: "As o'er her babe the mother weeps, This flood of tears the jewel steeps. This gem that shone on Sita's head Was Janak's gift when we were wed, And the pure brow that wore it lent New splendour to the ornament. This gem, bright offspring of the wave, The King of Heaven to Janak gave, Whose noble sacrificial rite Had filled the God with new delight. Now, as I gaze upon the prize, Methinks I see my father's eyes. Methinks I see before me stand The ruler of Videha's land.(893) Methinks mine arms are folded now Round her who wore it on her brow. Speak, Hanuman, O say, dear friend, What message did my darling send? O speak, and let thy words impart Their gentle dew to cool my heart. Ah, 'tis the crown of woe to see This gem and ask "Where, where is she?" If for one month her heart be strong, Her days of life will yet be long. But I, with naught to lend relief, This very day must die of grief. Come, Hanuman, and quickly guide The mourner to his darling's side. O lead me--thou hast learnt the way-- I cannot and I will not stay. How can my gentle love endure, So timid, delicate, and pure, The dreadful demons fierce and vile Who watch her in the guarded isle? No more the light of beauty shines From Sita as she weeps and pines. But pain and sorrow, cloud on cloud Her moonlight glory dim and shroud. O speak, dear Hanuman, and tell Each word that from her sweet lips fell, Her words, her words alone can give The healing balm to make me live."(894)

When, of the thousand years ordained, Ten only unfulfilled remained, Thus to her son, the Thousand-eyed, The Goddess in her triumph cried: "Best of the mighty! there remain But ten short years of toil and pain; These years of penance soon will flee, And a new brother thou shalt see. Him for thy sake I'll nobly breed, And lust of war his soul shall feed; Then free from care and sorrow thou Shalt see the worlds before him bow."(212)

Such were the words the bard addressed, With weight of sage advice impressed; And, as he heard, the hapless king Felt deeper yet his sorrow's sting. At length, all joy and comfort fled, He raised his eyes with weeping red, And, mournful for his Rama's sake, The good and glorious monarch spake: "Why seek with idle praise to greet The wretch for whom no praise is meet? Thy words mine aching bosom tear, And plunge me deeper in despair."

When I, by love of duty stirred, That touching lamentation heard, Pierced to the heart by sudden woe, I threw to earth my shafts and bow. My heart was full of grief and dread As swiftly to the place I sped, Where, by my arrow wounded sore, A hermit lay on Sarju's shore. His matted hair was all unbound, His pitcher empty on the ground, And by the fatal arrow pained, He lay with dust and gore distained. I stood confounded and amazed: His dying eyes to mine he raised, And spoke this speech in accents stern, As though his light my soul would burn: "How have I wronged thee, King, that I Struck by thy mortal arrow die? The wood my home, this jar I brought, And water for my parents sought. This one keen shaft that strikes me through Slays sire and aged mother too. Feeble and blind, in helpless pain, They wait for me and thirst in vain. They with parched lips their pangs must bear, And hope will end in blank despair. Ah me, there seems no fruit in store For holy zeal or Scripture lore, Or else ere now my sire would know That his dear son is lying low. Yet, if my mournful fate he knew, What could his arm so feeble do? The tree, firm-rooted, ne'er may be The guardian of a stricken tree. Haste to my father, and relate While time allows, my sudden fate, Lest he consume thee as the fire Burns up the forest, in his ire. This little path, O King, pursue: My father's cot thou soon wilt view. There sue for pardon to the sage, Lest he should curse thee in his rage. First from the wound extract the dart That kills me with its deadly smart, E'en as the flushed impetuous tide Eats through the river's yielding side."

Thus humbly spoke in sad lament The chief in fame preeminent: Thus, by his reverent lords obeyed, At Nandigram the kingdom swayed. With hermit's dress and matted hair He dwelt with all his army there. The sandals of his brother's feet Installed 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.

But Janak's child, my lord, stood by, And oft the votaress heaved a sigh. She seemed with dull and wandering sense, Beneath a spirit's influence. The noble princess, pained with woe Which till that hour she ne'er could know, Tears in her heavy trouble shed, But not a word to me she said. She raised her face which grief had dried And tenderly her husband eyed, Gazed on him as he turned to go While tear chased tear in rapid flow."