Ramayana on Grief

Soon as the ordered march they knew, The widows of the monarch flew, Leaving their cars, most meet to ride, And flocked to Bharadvaja's side. There with the good Sumitra Queen Kausalya, sad and worn, was seen, Caressing, still with sorrow faint, The feet of that illustrious saint, Kaikeyi too, her longings crossed, Reproached of all, her object lost, Before the famous hermit came, And clasped his feet, o'erwhelmed with shame. With circling steps she humbly went Around the saint preeminent, And stood not far from Bharat's side With heart oppressed, and heavy-eyed. Then the great seer, who never broke One holy vow, to Bharat spoke: "Speak, Raghu's son: I fain would learn The story of each queen in turn."

Thus Bali spoke in words severe; And then, unmoved by ruth or fear, Left me a single robe and sent His brother forth in banishment. He cast me out with scathe and scorn, And from my side my wife was torn. Now in great fear and ill at ease I roam this land with woods and seas, Or dwell on Rishyamuka's hill, And sorrow for my consort still. Thou hast the tale how first arose This bitter hate of brother foes. Such are the griefs neath which I pine, And all without a fault of mine. O swift to save in hour of fear, My prayer who dread this Bali, hear With gracious love assistance deign, And mine oppressor's arm restrain."

Instead of advancing the story it goes back to Canto XVII, containing a lamentation of Sita after Ravan has left her, and describes the the auspicious signs sent to cheer her, the throbbing of her left eye, arm, and side. The Canto is found in the Bengal recension. Gorresio translates it. and observes: "I think that Chapter XXVIII.--The Auspicious Signs--is an addition, a later interpolation by the Rhapsodists. It has no bond of connexion either with what precedes or follows it, and may be struck out not only without injury to, but positively to the advantage of the poem. The metre in which this chapter is written differs from that which is generally adopted in the course of the poem."]

"Fair Queen," he said, "our task is done: The foe is slain and Lanka won. Triumphant mid triumphant friends Kind words of greeting Rama sends. "Blest for thy sake, O spouse most true, My deadly foe I met and slew. Mine eyes are strangers yet to sleep: I built a bridge athwart the deep And crossed the sea to Lanka's shore To keep the mighty oath I swore. Now, gentle love, thy cares dispel, And weep no more, for all is well. Fear not in Ravan's house to stay For good Vibhishan now bears sway, For constant truth and friendship known Regard his palace as thine own." He greets thee thus thy heart to cheer, And urged by love will soon be here."

When Visvamitra, glorious saint, Had heard the boy's heart-rending plaint. He soothed his grief, his tears he dried, Then called his sons to him, and cried: "The time is come for you to show The duty and the aid bestow For which, regarding future life, A man gives children to his wife. This hermit's son, whom here you see A suppliant, refuge seeks with me. O sons, the friendless youth befriend, And, pleasing me, his life defend. For holy works you all have wrought, True to the virtuous life I taught. Go, and as victims doomed to bleed, Die, and Lord Agni's hunger feed. So shall the rite completed end, This orphan gain a saving friend, Due offerings to the Gods be paid, And your own father's voice obeyed."

But in the monarch's palace, when Sped from the bower that lord of men, Up from the weeping women went A mighty wail and wild lament: "Ah, he who ever freely did His duty ere his sire could bid, Our refuge and our sure defence, This day will go an exile hence, He on Kausalya loves to wait Most tender and affectionate, And as he treats his mother, thus From childhood has he treated us. On themes that sting he will not speak, And when reviled is calm and meek. He soothes the angry, heals offence: He goes to-day an exile hence. Our lord the king is most unwise, And looks on life with doting eyes, Who in his folly casts away The world's protection, hope, and stay."

Let this fair hill Ayodhya seem, Its silvan things her people deem, And let these waters as they flow Our own beloved Sarju show. How blest, mine own dear love, am I; Thou, fond and true, art ever nigh, And duteous, faithful Lakshman stays Beside 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 stray To distant home or royal sway. For who this charming brook can see Where herds of roedeer wander free, And on the flowery-wooded brink Apes, elephants, and lions drink, Nor feel all sorrow fly?" Thus eloquently spoke the pride Of Raghu's children to his bride, And wandered happy by her side Where Chitrakuta azure-dyed Uprears his peaks on high.

Sugriva moved by wondering awe The high-souled sons of Raghu saw, In all their glorious arms arrayed; And grief upon his spirit weighed. To every quarter of the sky He turned in fear his anxious eye, And roving still from spot to spot With troubled steps he rested not. He durst not, as he viewed the pair, Resolve to stand and meet them there; And drooping cheer and quailing breast The terror of the chief confessed. While the great fear his bosom shook, Brief counsel with his lords he took; Each gain and danger closely scanned, What hope in flight, what power to stand, While doubt and fear his bosom rent, On Raghu's sons his eyes he bent, And with a spirit ill at ease Addressed his lords in words like these:

Thus to the mighty king who broke His foemens' might, Lord Brahma spoke, And with his Gods around him rose To his own heaven of blest repose. The royal sage no more delayed, But, the libation duly paid, Home to his regal city hied With water cleansed and purified. There ruled he his ancestral state, Best of all men, most fortunate. And all the people joyed again In good Bhagirath's gentle reign. Rich, prosperous, and blest were they, And grief and sickness fled away. Thus, Rama, I at length have told How Ganga came from heaven of old. Now, for the evening passes swift, I wish thee each auspicious gift. This story of the flood's descent Will give--for 'tis most excellent-- Wealth, purity, fame, length of days, And to the skies its hearers raise"

She spoke. He took the proffered seat, And as she pressed her son to eat, Raised reverent bands, and, touched with shame, Made answer to the royal dame: "Dear lady, thou hast yet to know That danger threats, and heavy woe: A grief that will with sore distress On Sita, thee, and Lakshman press. What need of seats have such as I? This day to Dandak wood I fly. The hour is come, a time, unmeet For silken couch and gilded seat. I must to lonely wilds repair, Abstain from flesh, and living there On roots, fruit, honey, hermit's food, Pass twice seven years in solitude. To Bharat's hand the king will yield The regent power I thought to wield, And me, a hermit, will he send My days in Dandak wood to spend."

The warders of the palace led The monarch, when his words were said, To Queen Kausalya's bower, and there Laid him with reverential care. But while he rested on the bed Still was his soul disquieted. In grief he tossed his arms on high Lamenting with a piteous cry: "O Rama, Rama," thus said he, "My son, thou hast forsaken me. High bliss awaits those favoured men Left living in Ayodhya then, Whose eyes shall see my son once more Returning when the time is o'er." Then came the night, whose hated gloom Fell on him like the night of doom. At midnight Dasaratha cried To Queen Kausalya by his side: "I see thee not, Kausalya; lay Thy gentle hand in mine, I pray. When Rama left his home my sight Went with him, nor returns to-night."

The piteous tears his eye bedewed As thus his speech the bird renewed; "Alas my brother, slain in fight By Ravan's unresisted might! I, old and wingless, weak and worn, O'er his sad fate can only mourn. Fled is my youth: in life's decline My former strength no more is mine. Once on the day when Vritra(765) died, We brothers, in ambitious pride, Sought, mounting with adventurous flight, The Day-God garlanded with light. On, ever on we urged our way Where fields of ether round us lay, Till, by the fervent heat assailed, My brother's pinions flagged and failed. I marked his sinking strength, and spread My stronger wings to screen his head, Till, all my feathers burnt away, On Vindhya's hill I fell and lay. There in my lone and helpless state I heard not of my brother's fate."

Thus Lakshman, by attention stirred, To fresh attempts his brother spurred, And Rama, as he ceased, began With Lakshman's aid each spot to scan. In eager search their way they took Through wood, o'er hill, by pool and brook, They roamed each mount, nor spared to seek On ridge and crag and towering peak. They sought the dame in every spot; But all in vain; they found her not. Above, below, on every side They ranged the hill, and Rama cried, "O Lakshman, O my brother still No trace of Sita on the hill!" Then Lakshman as he roamed the wood Beside his glorious brother stood, And while fierce grief his bosom burned This answer to the chief returned: "Thou, Rama, after toil and pain Wilt meet the Maithil dame again, As Vishnu, Bali's might subdued, His empire of the earth renewed."(508)

Sore grief upon his bosom weighed As on the pyre the bird he laid, And bade the kindled flame ascend To burn the body of his friend. Then with his brother by his side The hero to the forest hied. There many a stately deer he slew, The flesh around the bird to strew. The venison into balls he made, And on fair grass before him laid. Then that the parted soul might rise And find free passage to the skies, Each solemn word and text he said Which Brahmans utter o'er the dead. Then hastening went the princely pair To bright Godavari, and there Libations of the stream they poured In honour of the vulture lord, With solemn ritual to the slain, As scripture's holy texts ordain. Thus offerings to the bird they gave And bathed their bodies in the wave.

Count thou the fiends already slain: My word is pledged, nor pledged in vain. I know the hero Rama well In whom high thoughts and valour dwell; So does Vasishtha, so do these Engaged in long austerities. If thou would do the righteous deed, And win high fame, thy virtue's meed, Fame that on earth shall last and live, To me, great King, thy Rama give. If to the words that I have said, With Saint Vasishtha at their head Thy holy men, O King, agree, Then let thy Rama go with me. Ten nights my sacrifice will last, And ere the stated time be past Those wicked fiends, those impious twain, Must fall by wondrous Rama slain. Let not the hours, I warn thee, fly, Fixt for the rite, unheeded by; Good luck have thou, O royal Chief, Nor give thy heart to needless grief."

The aged monarch fain would rest, And said within his weary breast, "Oh that I might, while living yet, My Rama o'er the kingdom set. And see, before my course be run, The hallowed drops anoint my son; See all this spacious land obey, From side to side, my first-born's sway, And then, my life and joy complete, Obtain in heaven a blissful seat!" In him the monarch saw combined The fairest form, the noblest mind, And counselled how his son might share, The throne with him as Regent Heir. For fearful signs in earth and sky, And weakness warned him death was nigh: But Rama to the world endeared By every grace his bosom cheered, The moon of every eye, whose ray Drove all his grief and fear away. So duty urged that hour to seize, Himself, his realm, to bless and please.

Then Bharat shook in every limb As suppliant thus he spake to him: "The duty of a king respect, Held by our race in high respect: And O, thy gracious ear incline To heed my mother's prayer and mine. The mighty realm to rule and guard For me alone is task too hard. No power have I the love to gain Of noble, citizen, and swain. All those who know thee, warrior, friend, On thee their eager glances bend, As labouring hinds who till the plain Look fondly for the Lord of Rain. O wisest Prince, thy realm secure, And make its firm foundations sure. Kakutstha's son, thy mighty arm Can keep the nation free from harm." He spoke, and fell in sorrow drowned At Rama's feet upon the ground, And there the hero sued and sighed, And "Hear me, Raghu's son," he cried.

Still motionless, as lie the slain, The brothers pressed the bloody plain, No sigh they drew, no breath they heaved, And lay as though of life bereaved. Proud of the deed his art had done, To Lanka's town went Ravan's son, Where, as he passed, all fear was stilled, And every heart with triumph filled. Sugriva trembled as he viewed Each fallen prince with blood bedewed, And in his eyes which overflowed With tears the flame of anger glowed. "Calm," cried Vibhishan, "calm thy fears, And stay the torrent of thy tears. Still must the chance of battle change, And victory still delight to range. Our cause again will she befriend And bring us triumph in the end. This is not death: each prince will break The spell that holds him, and awake; Nor long shall numbing magic bind The mighty arm, the lofty mind."

Then, by his grief to frenzy wrought, The captive in the grove he sought. Swift through the shady path he sped: Earth trembled at his furious tread. Fierce were his eyes: his monstrous hand Held drawn for death his glittering brand. There weeping stood the Maithil dame: She shuddered as the giant came. Near drew the rover of the night And raised his sword in act to smite; But, by his nobler heart impelled, One Rakshas lord his arm withheld: "Wilt thou, great Monarch," thus he cried, "Wilt thou, to heavenly Gods allied, Blot for all time thy glorious fame, The slayer of a gentle dame? What! shall a woman's blood be spilt To stain thee with eternal guilt, Thee deep in all the Veda's lore? Far be the thought for evermore. Ah look, and let her lovely face This fury from thy bosom chase."

"What champion, Raghu's son, may hope With thee in deadly fight to cope, Whose arrow, leaping from the bow, Cleaves tree and hill and earth below? Scarce might the Gods, arrayed for strife By Indra's self, escape, with life Assailed by thy victorious hand: And how may Bali hope to stand? All grief and care are past away, And joyous thoughts my bosom sway, Who have in thee a friend, renowned, As Varun(574) or as Indra, found. Then on! subdue,--'tis friendship's claim,-- My foe who bears a brother's name. Strike Bali down beneath thy feet: With suppliant hands I thus entreat." Sugriva ceased, and Rama pressed The grateful Vanar to his breast; And thoughts of kindred feeling woke In Lakshman's bosom, as he spoke: "On to Kishkindha, on with speed! Thou, Vanar King, our way shalt lead, Then challenge Bali forth to fight. Thy foe who scorns a brother's right."

Then Angad spake: "We Vanars well Have searched each valley, cave, and dell, And hill, and brook, and dark recess, And tangled wood, and wilderness. But all in vain: no eye has seen The robber or the Maithil queen. A dreary time has passed away, And stern is he we all obey. Come, cast your grief and sloth aside: Again be every effort tried; So haply may our toil attain The sweet success that follows pain. Laborious effort, toil, and skill, The firm resolve, the constant will Secure at last the ends we seek: Hence, O my friends, I boldly speak. Once more then, noble hearts, once more Let us to-day this wood explore, And, languor and despair subdued, Purchase success with toil renewed. Sugriva is a king austere, And Rama's wrath we needs must fear. Come, Vanars, ye think it wise, And do the thing that I advise."

To him Mahesvar thus replied: "O strong-armed hero, lotus-eyed, Thou, best of those who love the right, Hast nobly fought the wondrous fight. Dispelled by thee the doom that spread Through trembling earth and heaven is fled. The worlds exult in light and bliss, And praise thy name, O chief, for this. Now peace to Bharat's heart restore, And bid Kausalya weep no more. Thy face let Queen Kaikeyi see, Let fond Sumitra gaze on thee. The longing of thy friends relieve, The kingdom of thy sires receive. Let sons of gentle Sita born Ikshvaku's ancient line adorn. Then from all care and foemen freed Perform the offering of the steed. In pious gifts thy wealth expend, Then to the home of Gods ascend, Thy sire, this glorious king, behold, Among the blest in heaven enrolled. He comes from where the Immortals dwell: Salute him, for he loves thee well."

Again, again Sumantra made His varied plaint, and wept and prayed. Him Raghu's son, whose tender breast Felt for his servants, thus addressed: "O faithful servant, well my heart Knows how attached and true thou art. Hear thou the words I speak, and know Why to the town I bid thee go. Soon as Kaikeyi, youngest queen, Thy coming to the town has seen, No doubt will then her mind oppress That Rama roams the wilderness. And so the dame, her heart content With proof of Rama's banishment, Will doubt the virtuous king no more As faithless to the oath he swore. Chief of my cares is this, that she, Youngest amid the queens, may see Bharat her son securely reign O'er rich Ayodhya's wide domain. For mine and for the monarch's sake Do thou thy journey homeward take, And, as I bade, repeat each word That from my lips thou here hast heard."

"Whate'er a friend most wise and true, Who counsels for the best, should do, Whate'er his gentle part should be, Has been performed, dear friend, by thee. Taught by thy counsel, O my lord, I feel my native strength restored. A friend like thee is hard to gain, Most rare in time of grief and pain. Now strain thine utmost power to trace The Maithil lady's dwelling place, And aid me in my search to find Fierce Ravan of the impious mind. Trust thou, in turn, thy loyal friend, And say what aid this arm can lend To speed thy hopes, as fostering rain Quickens in earth the scattered grain. Deem not those words, that seemed to spring From pride, are false, O Vanar King. None from these lips has ever heard, None e'er shall hear, one lying word. Again I promise and declare, Yea, by my truth, dear friend, I swear."

That moment brought Vibhishan near. Sugriva knew the cause of fear, And ordered Jambavan, who led The bears, to check the hosts that fled. The king of bears his hest obeyed: The Vanars' headlong flight was stayed. A little while Vibhishan eyed The brothers fallen side by side. His giant fingers wet with dew Across the heroes' eyes he drew, Still on the pair his sad look bent, And spoke these word in wild lament: "Ah for the mighty chiefs brought low By coward hand and stealthy blow! Brave pair who loved the open fight, Slain by that rover of the night. Dishonest is the victory won By Indrajit my brother's son. I on their might for aid relied, And in my cause they fought and died. Lost is the hope that soothed each pain: I live, but live no more to reign, While Lanka's lord, untouched by ill, Exults in safe defiance still."

Rama, the noblest lord of men, Heard his fond mother's speech, and then In soothing words like these replied To the sad queen who wept and sighed: "Nay, by Kaikeyi's art beguiled, When I am banished to the wild, If thou, my mother, also fly, The aged king will surely die. When wedded dames their lords forsake, Long for the crime their souls shall ache. Thou must not e'en in thought within Thy bosom frame so dire a sin. Long as Kakutstha's son, who reigns Lord of the earth, in life remains, Thou must with love his will obey: This duty claims, supreme for aye. Yes, mother, thou and I must be Submissive to my sire's decree, King, husband, sire is he confessed, The lord of all, the worthiest. I in the wilds my days will spend Till twice seven years have reached an end, Then with great joy will come again, And faithful to thy hests remain."

As, praying for her husband's sake, The faultless dame to Ganga spake, To the right bank the vessel flew With her whose heart was right and true. Soon as the bark had crossed the wave, The lion leader of the brave, Leaving the vessel on the strand, With wife and brother leapt to land. Then Rama thus the prince addressed Who filled with joy Sumitra's breast: "Be thine alike to guard and aid In peopled spot, in lonely shade. Do thou, Sumitra's son, precede: Let Sita walk where thou shalt lead. Behind you both my place shall be, To guard the Maithil dame and thee. For she, to woe a stranger yet, No toil or grief till now has met; The fair Videhan will assay The pains of forest life to-day. To-day her tender feet must tread Rough rocky wilds around her spread: No tilth is there, no gardens grow, No crowding people come and go."

As thus the mighty Danu prayed With offer of his friendly aid, While Lakshman gazed with anxious eye, The virtuous Rama made reply: "Lakshman and I through forest shade From Janasthan a while had strayed. When none was near her, Ravan came And bore away my glorious dame, The giant's form and size unknown, I learn as yet his name alone. Not yet the power and might we know Or dwelling of the monstrous foe. With none our helpless feet to guide We wander here by sorrow tried. Let pity move thee to requite Our service in the funeral rite. Our hands shall bring the boughs that, dry Where elephants have rent them, lie, Then dig a pit, and light the fire To burn thee as the laws require. Do thou as meed of this declare Who stole my spouse, his dwelling where. O, if thou can, I pray thee say, And let this grace our deeds repay."

He ceased: and Rama thus replied: "Be not this grace, O sire, denied. Those hasty words, that curse revoke Which from thy lips in anger broke: "Kaikeyi, be no longer mine: I cast thee off, both thee and thine." O father, let no sorrow fall On her or hers: thy curse recall." "Yea, she shall live, if so thou wilt," The sire replied, "absolved from guilt." Round Lakshman then his arms he threw, And moved by love began anew: "Great store of merit shall be thine, And brightly shall thy glory shine; Secure on earth thy brother's grace. And high in heaven shall be thy place. Thy glorious king obey and fear: To him the triple world is dear. God, saint, and sage, by Indra led, To Rama bow the reverent head, Nor from the Lord, the lofty-souled, Their worship or their praise withhold. Heart of the Gods, supreme is he, The One who ne'er shall cease to be."

The hermit saw the slaughtered bird, And all his heart with ruth was stirred. The fowler's impious deed distressed His gentle sympathetic breast, And while the curlew's sad cries rang Within his ears, the hermit sang: "No fame be thine for endless time, Because, base outcast, of thy crime, Whose cruel hand was fain to slay One of this gentle pair at play!" E'en as he spoke his bosom wrought And laboured with the wondering thought What was the speech his ready tongue Had uttered when his heart was wrung. He pondered long upon the speech, Recalled the words and measured each, And thus exclaimed the saintly guide To Bharadvaja by his side: "With equal lines of even feet, With rhythm and time and tone complete, The measured form of words I spoke In shock of grief be termed a sloke."(46) And Bharadvaja, nothing slow His faithful love and zeal to show, Answered those words of wisdom, "Be The name, my lord, as pleases thee."

Then glorious Brahma,(47) Lord Most High, Creator of the earth and sky, The four-faced God, to meet the sage Came to Valmiki's hermitage. Soon as the mighty God he saw, Up sprang the saint in wondering awe. Mute, with clasped hands, his head he bent, And stood before him reverent. His honoured guest he greeted well, Who bade him of his welfare tell; Gave water for his blessed feet, Brought offerings,(48) and prepared a seat. In honoured place the God Most High Sate down, and bade the saint sit nigh. There sate before Valmiki's eyes The Father of the earth and skies; But still the hermit's thoughts were bent On one thing only, all intent On that poor curlew's mournful fate Lamenting for her slaughtered mate; And still his lips, in absent mood, The verse that told his grief, renewed: "Woe to the fowler's impious hand That did the deed that folly planned; That could to needless death devote The curlew of the tuneful throat!"

With ripened judgment of a sage, And godlike in his blooming age, When shall my virtuous son appear, Like kindly rain, our hearts to cheer? Ah, in a former life, I ween, This hand of mine, most base and mean, Has dried the udders of the kine And left the thirsty calves to pine. Hence, as the lion robs the cow, Kaikeyi makes me childless now, Exulting from her feebler foe To rend the son she cherished so. I had but him, in Scripture skilled, With every grace his soul was filled. Now not a joy has life to give, And robbed of him I would not live: Yea, all my days are dark and drear If he, my darling, be not near, And Lakshman brave, my heart to cheer. As for my son I mourn and yearn, The quenchless flames of anguish burn And kill me with the pain, As in the summer's noontide blaze The glorious Day-God with his rays Consumes the parching plain."

"Kausalya and Sumitra dear, And thou, my sweet Kaikeyi, hear. All upon Santa feast your gaze, The last time for a length of days." To Santa's arms the ladies leapt, And hung about her neck and wept, And cried, "O, happy be the life Of this great Brahman and his wife. The Wind, the Fire, the Moon on high, The Earth, the Streams, the circling Sky, Preserve thee in the wood, true spouse, Devoted to thy husband's vows. And O dear Santa, ne'er neglect To pay the dues of meek respect To the great saint, thy husband's sire, With all observance and with fire. And, sweet one, pure of spot and blame, Forget not thou thy husband's claim; In every change, in good and ill, Let thy sweet words delight him still, And let thy worship constant be: Her lord is woman's deity. To learn thy welfare, dearest friend, The king will many a Brahman send. Let happy thoughts thy spirit cheer, And be not troubled, daughter dear."

Then glorious Kasyap thus replied To Diti, as she wept and sighed: "Thy prayer is heard, dear saint! Remain Pure from all spot, and thou shalt gain A son whose arm shall take the life Of Indra in the battle strife. For full a thousand years endure Free from all stain, supremely pure; Then shall thy son and mine appear, Whom the three worlds shall serve with fear." These words the glorious Kasyap said, Then gently stroked his consort's head, Blessed her, and bade a kind adieu, And turned him to his rites anew. Soon as her lord had left her side, Her bosom swelled with joy and pride. She sought the shade of holy boughs, And there began her awful vows. While yet she wrought her rites austere, Indra, unbidden, hastened near, With sweet observance tending her, A reverential minister. Wood, water, fire, and grass he brought, Sweet roots and woodland fruit he sought, And all her wants, the Thousand-eyed, With never-failing care, supplied, With tender love and soft caress Removing pain and weariness.

Sumantra, sad and all dismayed, The chieftain's order swift obeyed. Within the palace doors he hied And saw the king, who wept and sighed. Like the great sun when wrapped in shade Like fire by ashes overlaid, Or like a pool with waters dried, So lay the world's great lord and pride, A while the wise Sumantra gazed On him whose senses woe has dazed, Grieving for Rama. Near he drew With hands upraised in reverence due. With blessing first his king he hailed; Then with a voice that well-nigh failed, In trembling accents soft and low Addressed the monarch in his woe: "The prince of men, thy Rama, waits Before thee at the palace gates. His wealth to Brahmans he has dealt, And all who in his home have dwelt. Admit thy son. His friends have heard His kind farewell and parting word, He longs to see thee first, and then Will seek the wilds, O King of men. He, with each princely virtue's blaze, Shines as the sun engirt by rays."

The tenth day passed: the prince again Was free from every legal stain. He bade them on the twelfth the great Remaining honour celebrate. Much gold he gave, and gems, and food, To all the Brahman 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 Brahman race His father's obsequies to grace. Then when the morning's earliest ray Appeared upon the thirteenth day, Again the hero wept and sighed Distraught 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 given To keep me, to the wood is driven? Her only son is forced away Who was his helpless mother's stay: Ah, whither, father, art thou fled; Leaving the queen uncomforted?"

Thus spoke the Self-existent Sire: Then swiftly from the blazing pyre The circling flames were backward rolled, And, raising in his gentle hold Alive unharmed the Maithil dame, The Lord of Fire embodied came. Fair as the morning was her sheen, And gold and gems adorned the queen. Her form in crimson robes arrayed, Her hair was bound in glossy braid. Her wreath was fresh and sweet of scent, Undimmed was every ornament. Then, standing close to Rama'a side, The universal witness cried: "From every blot and blemish free Thy faithful queen returns to thee. In word or deed, in look or mind Her heart from thee has ne'er declined. By force the giant bore away From thy lone cot his helpless prey; And in his bowers securely kept She still has longed for thee and wept. With soft temptation, bribe and threat, He bade the dame her love forget: But, nobly faithful to her lord, Her soul the giant's suit abhorred. Receive, O King, thy queen again, Pure, ever pure from spot and stain."

Thus to his mother wild with grief: Then thus to Lakshman spake the chief Of those by whom the bow is bent, Mid all who speak, most eloquent: "I know what love for me thou hast, What firm devotion unsurpassed: Thy valour and thy worth I know, And glory that appals the foe. Blest youth, my mother's woe is great, It bends her 'neath its matchless weight: No claims will she, with blinded eyes, Of truth and patience recognize. For duty is supreme in place, And truth is duty's noblest base. Obedient to my sire's behest I serve the cause of duty best. For man should truly do whate'er To mother, Brahman, sire, he sware: He must in duty's path remain, Nor let his word be pledged in vain. And, O my brother, how can I Obedience to this charge deny? Kaikeyi's tongue my purpose spurred, But 'twas my sire who gave the word. Cast these unholy thoughts aside Which smack of war and Warriors' pride; To duty's call, not wrath attend, And tread the path which I commend."

Thus Sita spake in gentle tone, And went obedient to the stone, Of perfect face and faultless limb Prepared to rest a while with him. And Rama, as she thus replied, Turned to his spouse again and cried: "Thou seest, love, this flowery shade For silvan creatures' pleasure made, How the gum streams from trees and plants Torn by the tusks of elephants! Through all the forest clear and high Resounds the shrill cicala's cry. Hark how the kite above us moans, And calls her young in piteous tones; So may my hapless mother be Still mourning in her home for me. There mounted on that lofty Sal The loud Bhringraj(375) repeats his call: How sweetly now he tunes his throat Responsive to the Koil's note. Or else the bird that now has sung May be himself the Koil's young, Linked with such winning sweetness are The notes he pours irregular. See, round the blooming Mango clings That creeper with her tender rings, So in thy love, when none is near, Thine arms are thrown round me, my dear."

He spoke: and Janak's hapless child, Scared by his speech so fierce and wild, Trembled for terror, as a frail Young plantain shivers in the gale. When Rama saw Viradha clasp Fair Sita in his mighty grasp, Thus with pale lips that terror dried The hero to his brother cried: "O see Viradha's arm enfold My darling in its cursed hold,-- The child of Janak best of kings, My spouse whose soul to virtue clings, Sweet princess, with pure glory bright, Nursed in the lap of soft delight. Now falls the blow Kaikeyi meant, Successful in her dark intent: This day her cruel soul will be Triumphant over thee and me. Though Bharat on the throne is set, Her greedy eyes look farther yet: Me from my home she dared expel, Me whom all creatures loved so well. This fatal day at length, I ween, Brings triumph to the younger queen. I see with bitterest grief and shame Another touch the Maithil dame. Not loss of sire and royal power So grieves me as this mournful hour."

Now all the giant race await, Destroyed by thee, a speedy fate, Ruled by a king so cruel-souled, Foolish in heart and uncontrolled. Think not I fear the sudden blow That threatens now to lay me low: I mourn the ruin that I see Impending o'er thy host and thee. Me first perchance will Rama kill, But soon his hand thy blood will spill. I die, and if by Rama slain And not by thee, I count it gain. Soon as the hero's face I see His angry eyes will murder me, And if on her thy hands thou lay Thy friends and thou are dead this day. If with my help thou still must dare The lady from her lord to tear, Farewell to all our days are o'er, Lanka and giants are no more. In vain, in vain, an earnest friend, I warn thee, King, and pray. Thou wilt not to my prayers attend, Or heed the words I say So men, when life is fleeting fast And death's sad hour is nigh, Heedless and blinded to the last Reject advice and die."

Still on the ground where Rama slept Their faithful watch the Vanars kept. There Angad stood o'erwhelmed with grief And many a lord and warrior chief; And, ranged in densest mass around, Their tree-armed legions held the ground. Far ranged each Vanar's eager eye, Now swept the land, now sought the sky, All fearing, if a leaf was stirred, A Rakshas in the sound they heard. The lord of Lanka in his hall, Rejoicing at his foeman's fall, Commanded and the warders came Who ever watched the Maithil dame. "Go," cried the Rakshas king, "relate To Janak's child her husband's fate. Low on the earth her Rama lies, And dark in death are Lakshman's eyes. Bring forth my car and let her ride To view the chieftains side by side. The lord to whom her fancy turned For whose dear sake my love she spurned, Lies smitten, as he fiercely led The battle, with his brother dead. Lead forth the royal lady: go Her husband's lifeless body show. Then from all doubt and terror free Her softening heart will turn to me."

Clasping her husband's lifeless clay A while the weeping votaress lay, Till chamberlains removed her thence O'ercome by sorrow's violence. Then in a cask of oil they laid Him 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 burn The monarch ere his son's return; So for a while the corpse they set Embalmed in oil, and waited yet. The women heard: no doubt remained, And wildly for the king they plained. With gushing tears that drowned each eye Wildly they waved their arms on high, And each her mangling nails impressed Deep in her head and knee and breast: "Of Rama reft,--who ever spake The 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 left Widowed, of Raghu's son bereft, Live with our foe Kaikeyi near, The wicked queen we hate and fear? She threw away the king, her spite Drove Rama forth and Lakshman's might, And gentle Sita: how will she Spare any, whosoe'er it be?"

The words that Sita uttered, spurred By truest love, the hero heard: Then he who ne'er from virtue strayed To Janak's child his answer made: "In thy wise speech, sweet love, I find True impress of thy gentle mind, Well skilled the warrior's path to trace, Thou pride of Janak's ancient race. What fitting answer shall I frame To thy good words, my honoured dame? Thou sayst the warrior bears the bow That misery's tears may cease to flow; And those pure saints who love the shade Of Dandak wood are sore dismayed. They sought me of their own accord, With suppliant prayers my aid implored: They, fed on roots and fruit, who spend Their lives where bosky wilds extend, My timid love, enjoy no rest By these malignant fiends distressed. These make the flesh of man their meat: The helpless saints they kill and eat. The hermits sought my side, the chief Of Brahman race declared their grief. I heard, and from my lips there fell The words which thou rememberest well: I listened as the hermits cried, And to their prayers I thus replied:

"Cease, O beloved, cease to blame Our royal father's second dame. Still speak of Bharat first in place Of old Ikshvaku's princely race. My heart, so firmly bent but now To dwell in woods and keep my vow, Half melting as I hear thee speak Of Bharat's love, grows soft and weak, With tender joy I bring to mind His speeches ever sweet and kind. That dear as Amrit took the sense With most enchanting influence. Ah, when shall I, no more to part, Meet Bharat of the mighty heart? When, O my brother, when shall we The good and brave Satrughna see?" Thus as he poured his fond lament The son of Raghu onward went: They reached the river, and the three Bathed them in fair Godavari. Libations of the stream they paid To every deity and shade, With hymns of praise, the Sun on high And sinless Gods to glorify. Fresh from the purifying tide Resplendent Rama came, With Lakshman ever by his side, And the sweet Maithil dame. So Rudra shines by worlds adored, In glory undefiled, When Nandi(455) stands beside his lord, And King Himalaya's child.(456)

The noble bird his glances bent On Rama as he made lament, And in low accents faint and weak With anguish thus began to speak: "Fierce Ravan, king of giant race, Stole Sita from thy dwelling-place. He calls his magic art to aid With wind and cloud and gloomy shade. When in the fight my power was spent My wearied wings he cleft and rent. Then round the dame his arms he threw, And to the southern region flew. O Raghu's son, I gasp for breath, My swimming sight is dim in death. E'en now before my vision pass Bright trees of gold with hair of grass, The hour the impious robber chose Brings on the thief a flood of woes. The giant in his haste forgot 'Twas Vinda's hour,(513) or heeded not. Those robbed at such a time obtain Their plundered store and wealth again. He, like a fish that takes the bait, In briefest time shall meet his fate. Now be thy troubled heart controlled And for thy lady's loss consoled, For thou wilt slay the fiend in fight And with thy dame have new delight."

When Bali's warrior son(979) beheld Their flight, his heart with fury swelled. He rushed, with his terrific shout, To meet the foe and stay the rout. He came, he hurled a mountain peak, And smote the giant on the cheek. His ponderous spear the giant threw: Fierce was the cast, the aim was true; But Angad, trained in war and tried, Saw ere it came, and leapt aside. Then with his open hand he smote The giant on the chest and throat. That blow the giant scarce sustained; But sense and strength were soon regained. With force which nothing might resist He caught the Vanar by the wrist, Whirled him, as if in pastime, round, And dashed him senseless on the ground. There low on earth his foe lay crushed: At King Sugriva next he rushed, Who, waiting for the charge, stood still, And heaved on high a shattered hill, He looked on Kumbhakarna dyed With streams of blood, and fiercely cried: "Great glory has thine arm achieved, And thousands of their lives bereaved. Now leave a while thy meaner foes, And brook the hill Sugriva throws."

Thus spake the queen, and wept, and sighed: Then righteous Rama thus replied: "I have no power to slight or break Commandments which my father spake. I bend my head, dear lady, low, Forgive me, for I needs must go. Once Kandu, mighty saint, who made His dwelling in the forest shade, A cow--and duty's claims he knew-- Obedient to his father, slew. And in the line from which we spring, When ordered by their sire the king, Through earth the sons of Sagar cleft, And countless things of life bereft.(289) So Jamadagni's son(290) obeyed His sire, when in the wood he laid His hand upon his axe, and smote Through Renuka his mother's throat. The deeds of these and more beside. Peers of the Gods, my steps shall guide, And resolute will I fulfil My father's word, my father's will. Nor I, O Queen, unsanctioned tread This righteous path, by duty led: The road my footsteps journey o'er Was traversed by the great of yore. This high command which all accept Shall faithfully by me be kept, For duty ne'er will him forsake Who fears his sire's command to break."

Obedient to the high request By Bharadvaja thus addressed, His reverent hands together laid, He, skilled in speech, his answer made: "She whom, O Saint, thou seest here A Goddess in her form appear, Was the chief consort of the king, Now worn with fast and sorrowing. As Aditi in days of yore The all-preserving Vishnu bore, Kausalya bore with happy fate Lord Rama of the lion's gait. She who, transfixed with torturing pangs, On her left arm so fondly hangs, As when her withering leaves decay Droops by the wood the Cassia spray, Sumitra, 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 whom My 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, Kaikeyi, most ambitious queen, Unlovely with her lovely mien, My mother she, whose impious will Is ever bent on deeds of ill, In whom the root and spring I see Of all this woe which crushes me."

The giant viewed with earnest ken The Vanars and the lords of men; Then thus, with grief and anger moved, In bitter tone the spies reproved: "Can faithful servants hope to please Their master with such fates as these? Or hope ye with wild words to wring The bosom of your lord and king? Such words were better said by those Who come arrayed our mortal foes. In vain your ears have heard the sage, And listened to the lore of age, Untaught, though lectured many a day, The first great lesson, to obey, 'Tis marvel Ravan reigns and rules Whose counsellors are blind and fools. Has death no terrors that ye dare To tempt your monarch to despair, From whose imperial mandate flow Disgrace and honour, weal and woe? Yea, forest trees, when flames are fanned About their scorching trunks, may stand; But naught can set the sinner free When kings the punishment decree. I would not in mine anger spare The traitorous foe-praising pair, But years of faithful service plead For pardon, and they shall not bleed. Henceforth to me be dead: depart, Far from my presence and my heart."

The monarch heard the mournful tale: His heart was faint, his cheek was pale; His fleeting sense at length regained, In trembling tones he thus complained: "Ah me, my son, my pride: the boast And glory of the giant host. Could Lakshman's puny might defeat The foe whom Indra feared to meet? Could not thy deadly arrows split Proud Mandar's peaks, O Indrajit, And the Destroyer's self destroy? And wast thou conquered by a boy? I will not weep: thy noble deed Has blessed thee with immortal meed Gained by each hero in the skies Who fighting for his sovereign dies. Now, fearless of all meaner foes, The guardian Gods(993) will taste repose: But earth to me, with hill and plain, Is desolate, for thou art slain. Ah, whither hast thou fled, and left Thy mother, Lanka, me bereft; Left pride and state and wives behind, And lordship over all thy kind? I fondly hoped thy hand should pay Due honours on my dying day: And couldst thou, O beloved, flee And leave thy funeral rites to me? Life has no comfort left me, none, O Indrajit my son, my son."

As Saint Vasishtha answered so, Nor let the cow of plenty go, The monarch, as a last resource, Began to drag her off by force. While the king's servants tore away Their moaning, miserable prey, Sad, sick at heart, and sore distressed, She pondered thus within her breast: "Why am I thus forsaken? why Betrayed by him of soul most high. Vasishtha, ravished by the hands Of soldiers of the monarch's bands? Ah me! what evil have I done Against the lofty-minded one, That he, so pious, can expose The innocent whose love he knows?" In her sad breast as thus she thought, And heaved deep sighs with anguish fraught, With wondrous speed away she fled, And back to Saint Vasishtha sped. She hurled by hundreds to the ground The menial crew that hemmed her round, And flying swifter than the blast Before the saint herself she cast. There Dapple-skin before the saint Stood moaning forth her sad complaint, And wept and lowed: such tones as come From wandering cloud or distant drum. "O son of Brahma," thus cried she, "Why hast thou thus forsaken me, That the king's men, before thy face, Bear off thy servant from her place?"

As the sad tale of sin I told The hermit's grief was uncontrolled. With flooded eyes, and sorrow-faint, Thus spake the venerable saint: I stood with hand to hand applied, And listened as he spoke and sighed: "If thou, O King, hadst left unsaid By thine own tongue this tale of dread, Thy head for hideous guilt accursed Had in a thousand pieces burst. A hermit's blood by warrior spilt, In such a case, with purposed guilt, Down from his high estate would bring Even the thunder's mighty King. And he a dart who conscious sends Against the devotee who spends His pure life by the law of Heaven-- That sinner's head will split in seven. Thou livest, for thy heedless hand Has wrought a deed thou hast not planned, Else thou and all of Raghu's line Had perished by this act of thine. Now guide us," thus the hermit said, "Forth to the spot where he lies dead. Guide us, this day, O Monarch, we For the last time our son would see: The hermit dress of skin he wore Rent from his limbs distained with gore; His senseless body lying slain, His soul in Yama's dark domain."

But Rama, pride of Raghu's race, Gazed tenderly on Lakshman's face, And, as the sight his spirit broke, Turned to Sushen and sadly spoke: "Where is my power and valour? how Shall I have heart for battle now, When dead before my weeping eyes My brother, noblest Lakshman, lies? My tears in blinding torrents flow, My hand unnerved has dropped my bow. The pangs of woe have blanched my cheek, My heart is sick, my strength is weak. Ah me, my brother! Ah, that I By Lakshman's side might sink and die: Life, war and conquest, all are vain If Lakshman lies in battle slain. Why will those eyes my glances shun? Hast thou no word of answer, none? Ah, is thy noble spirit flown And gone to other worlds alone? Couldst thou not let thy brother seek Those worlds with thee? O speak, O speak! Rise up once more, my brother, rise, Look on me with thy loving eyes. Were not thy steps beside me still In gloomy wood, on breezy hill? Did not thy gentle care assuage Thy brother's grief and fitful rage? Didst thou not all his troubles share, His guide and comfort in despair?"

With wondrous power and might and skill The giant fought with Rama still. Each at his foe his chariot drove, And still for death or victory strove. The warriors' steeds together dashed, And pole with pole reechoing clashed. Then Rama launching dart on dart Made Ravan's coursers swerve and start. Nor was the lord of Lanka slow To rain his arrows on the foe, Who showed, by fiery points assailed, No trace of pain, nor shook nor quailed. Dense clouds of arrows Rama shot With that strong arm which rested not, And spear and mace and club and brand Fell in dire rain from Ravan's hand. The storm of missiles fiercely cast Stirred up the oceans with its blast, And Serpent-Gods and fiends who dwell Below were troubled by the swell. The earth with hill and plain and brook And grove and garden reeled and shook: The very sun grew cold and pale, And horror stilled the rising gale. God and Gandharva, sage and saint Cried out, with grief and terror faint: "O may the prince of Raghu's line Give peace to Brahmans and to kine, And, rescuing the worlds, o'erthrow The giant king our awful foe."

When Savari had sought the skies And gained her splendid virtue's prize, Rama with Lakshman stayed to brood O'er the strange scenes their eyes had viewed. His mind upon those saints was bent, For power and might preeminent And he to musing Lakshman spoke The thoughts that in his bosom woke: "Mine eyes this wondrous home have viewed Of those great saints with souls subdued, Where peaceful tigers dwell and birds, And deer abound in heedless herds. Our feet upon the banks have stood Of those seven lakes within the wood, Where we have duly dipped, and paid Libations to each royal shade. Forgotten now are thoughts of ill And joyful hopes my bosom fill. Again my heart is light and gay And grief and care have passed away. Come, brother, let us hasten where Bright Pampa's flood is fresh and fair, And towering in their beauty near Mount Rishyamuka's heights appear, Which, offspring of the Lord of Light, Still fearing Bali's conquering might, With four brave chiefs of Vanar race Sugriva makes his dwelling-place. I long with eager heart to find That leader of the Vanar kind, For on that chief my hopes depend That this our quest have prosperous end."

Fair as Kailasa white with snow He saw a palace flash and glow, A crystal pavement gem-inlaid, And coral steps and colonnade, And glittering towers that kissed the skies, Whose dazzling splendour charmed his eyes. There pallid, with neglected dress, Watched close by fiend and giantess, Her sweet face thin with constant flow Of tears, with fasting and with woe; Pale as the young moon's crescent when The first faint light returns to men: Dim as the flame when clouds of smoke The latent glory hide and choke; Like Rohini the queen of stars Oppressed by the red planet Mars; From her dear friends and husband torn, Amid the cruel fiends, forlorn, Who fierce-eyed watch around her kept, A tender woman sat and wept. Her sobs, her sighs, her mournful mien, Her glorious eyes, proclaimed the queen. "This, this is she," the Vanar cried, "Fair as the moon and lotus-eyed, I saw the giant Ravan bear A captive through the fields of air. Such was the beauty of the dame; Her form, her lips, her eyes the same. This peerless queen whom I behold Is Rama's wife with limbs of gold. Best of the sons of men is he, And worthy of her lord is she."

"They come, they come. A rushing tide, Ten leagues they spread from side to side, And on to storm thy city press, Fierce rovers of the wilderness. Rich in each princely power and grace, The pride of Dasaratha's race, Rama and Lakshman lead their bands, And halt them on the ocean sands. O Monarch, rise, this peril meet; Risk not the danger of defeat. First let each wiser art be tried; Bribe them, or win them, or divide." Such was the counsel of the spy: And Ravan called to Suka: "Fly, Sugriva lord of Vanars seek, And thus my kingly message speak: "Great power and might and fame are thine, Brave scion of a royal line, King Riksharajas' son, in thee A brother and a friend I see. How wronged by me canst thou complain? What profit here pretend to gain? If from the wood the wife I stole Of Rama of the prudent soul, What cause hast thou to mourn the theft? Thou art not injured or bereft. Return, O King, thy steps retrace And seek thy mountain dwelling-place. No, never may thy hosts within My Lanka's walls a footing win. A mighty town whose strength defies The gathered armies of the skies."

A captive in the snare of truth, Weeping, distressed with woe and ruth, Thus spake the monarch, while the queen Kaikeyi urged him on unseen: "Go then, O Rama, and begin Thy course unvext by fear and sin: Go, my beloved son, and earn Success, and joy, and safe return. So fast the bonds of duty bind. O Raghu's son, thy truthful mind, That naught can turn thee back, or guide Thy will so strongly fortified. But O, a little longer stay, Nor turn thy steps this night away, That I one little day---alas! One only---with my son may pass. Me and thy mother do not slight, But stay, my son, with me to-night; With every dainty please thy taste, And seek to-morrow morn the waste. Hard is thy task, O Raghu's son, Dire is the toil thou wilt not shun, Far to the lonely wood to flee, And leave thy friends for love of me. I swear it by my truth, believe, For thee, my son, I deeply grieve, Misguided by the traitress dame With hidden guile like smouldering flame. Now, by her wicked counsel stirred, Thou fain wouldst keep my plighted word. No marvel that my eldest born Would hold me true when I have sworn."

Then Gadhi's son in fury threw Lord Varun's arm and Rudra's too: Indra's fierce bolt that all destroys; That which the Lord of Herds employs: The Human, that which minstrels keep, The deadly Lure, the endless Sleep: The Yawner, and the dart which charms; Lament and Torture, fearful arms: The Terrible, the dart which dries, The Thunderbolt which quenchless flies, And Fate's dread net, and Brahma's noose, And that which waits for Varun's use: The dart he loves who wields the bow Pinaka, and twin bolts that glow With fury as they flash and fly, The quenchless Liquid and the Dry: The dart of Vengeance, swift to kill: The Goblins' dart, the Curlew's Bill: The discus both of Fate and Right, And Vishnu's, of unerring flight: The Wind-God's dart, the Troubler dread, The weapon named the Horse's Head. From his fierce hand two spears were thrown, And the great mace that smashes bone; The dart of spirits of the air, And that which Fate exults to bear: The Trident dart which slaughters foes, And that which hanging skulls compose:(233) These fearful darts in fiery rain He hurled upon the saint amain, An awful miracle to view. But as the ceaseless tempest flew, The sage with wand of God-sent power Still swallowed up that fiery shower.