Ramayana on Suffering

Quick came from all the glad reply: "Vasishtha, let the envoys fly!" He heard their speech, and thus renewed His charge before the multitude: "Nandan, Asok, Siddharth, attend, Your ears, Jayanta, Vijay, lend: Be yours, what need requires, to do: I speak these words to all of you. With coursers of the fleetest breed To Rajagriha's city speed. Then rid your bosoms of distress, And Bharat thus from me address: "The household priest and peers by us Send health to thee and greet thee thus: Come to thy father's home with haste: Thine absent time no longer waste." But speak no word of Rama fled, Tell not the prince his sire is dead, Nor to the royal youth the fate That ruins Raghu's race relate. Go quickly hence, and with you bear Fine silken vestures rich and rare, And gems and many a precious thing As gifts to Bharat and the king."

Then Bali ceased: his eyeballs rolled In stress of anguish uncontrolled His massive teeth were bared to view, And from the frame the spirit flew. Their lord and leader dead, the crowd Of noblest Vanars shrieked aloud: "Since thou, O King, hast sought the skies All desolate Kishkindha lies. Her woods, where Vanars loved to rove, Are empty now, and hill and grove. From every eye the light is fled, Since thou, our mighty lord, art dead. Thine was the unwearied arm that bore The brunt of deadly fight of yore With Golabh the Gandharva, when, Lasting through five long years and ten, The dreadful conflict knew no stay In gloom of night, in glare of day; And when the fifteenth year had past Thy dire opponent fell at last. If such a foeman fell beneath Our hero's arm and awful teeth Who freed us from our terror, how Is conquering Bali fallen now?"

Think not of wretched Rama: he Is less than nothing now to thee. Stript of his glory, poor, dethroned, A wanderer by his friends disowned, On the cold earth he lays his head, Or is with toil and misery dead. And if perchance he lingers yet, His eyes on thee shall ne'er be set. Could he, that mighty monarch, who Was named Hiranyakasipu, Could he who wore the garb of gold Win Glory back from Indra's hold?(831) O lady of the lovely smile, Whose eyes the sternest heart beguile, In all thy radiant beauty dressed My heart and soul thou ravishest. What though thy robe is soiled and worn, And no bright gems thy limbs adorn, Thou unadorned art dearer far Than all my loveliest consorts are. My royal home is bright and fair; A thousand beauties meet me there, But come, my glorious love, and be The queen of all those dames and me."

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."

"Here, Lakshman, on this beauteous shore, Stands, dyed with tints of many an ore, The mountain Rishyamuka bright With flowery trees that crown each height. Sprung from the chief who, famed of yore, The name of Riksharajas bore, Sugriva, chieftain strong and dread, Dwells on that mountain's towering head. Go to him, best of men, and seek That prince of Vanars on the peak, I cannot longer brook my pain, Or, Sita lost, my life retain." Thus by the pangs of love distressed, His thoughts on Sita bent, His faithful brother he addressed, And cried in wild lament. He reached the lovely ground that lay On Pampa's wooded side, And told in anguish and dismay, The grief he could not hide. With listless footsteps faint and slow His way the chief pursued, Till Pampa with her glorious show Of flowering woods he viewed. Through shades where every bird was found The prince with Lakshman passed, And Pampa with her groves around Burst on his eyes at last.

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?"

The prince whose arm bright glory gained, O'er the whole earth as monarch reigned, And richest gifts to others gave, Is come Sugriva's help to crave; Son of a king the surest friend Of virtue, him who loved to lend His succour to the suffering weak, Is come Sugriva's aid to seek. Yes, Raghu's son whose matchless hand Protected all this sea-girt land, The virtuous prince, my holy guide, For refuge seeks Sugriva's side. His favour sent on great and small Should ever save and prosper all. He now to win Sugriva's grace Has sought his woodland dwelling-place. Son of a king of glorious fame;-- Who knows not Dasaratha's name?-- From whom all princes of the earth Received each honour due to worth;-- Heir of that best of earthly kings, Rama the prince whose glory rings Through realms below and earth and skies, For refuge to Sugriva flies. Nor should the Vanar king refuse The boon for which the suppliant sues, But with his forest legions speed To save him in his utmost need."

Scarce had the sire, with each dear queen, Heard Rama's pleading voice, and seen His darling in his hermit dress Ere failed his senses for distress. Convulsed with woe, his soul that shook, On Raghu's son he could not look; Or if he looked with failing eye He could not to the chief reply. By pangs of bitter grief assailed, The long-armed monarch wept and wailed, Half dead a while and sore distraught, While Rama filled his every thought. "This hand of mine in days ere now Has reft her young from many a cow, Or living things has idly slain: Hence comes, I ween, this hour of pain. Not till the hour is come to die Can from its shell the spirit fly. Death comes not, and Kaikeyi still Torments the wretch she cannot kill, Who sees his son before him quit The fine soft robes his rank that fit, And, glorious as the burning fire, In hermit garb his limbs attire. Now all the people grieve and groan Through Queen Kaikeyi's deed alone, Who, having dared this deed of sin, Strives for herself the gain to win."

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:

He spoke: then Lakshman's wrath rose high, And there before his brother's eye, He drew that sword which none could stay, And cleft her nose and ears away. Noseless and earless, torn and maimed, With fearful shrieks the fiend exclaimed, And frantic in her wild distress Resought the distant wilderness. Deformed, terrific, huge, and dread, As on she moved, her gashes bled, And groan succeeded groan as loud As roars, ere rain, the thunder cloud. Still on the fearful monster passed, While streams of blood kept falling fast, And with a roar, and arms outspread Within the boundless wood she fled. To Janasthan the monster flew; Fierce Khara there she found, With chieftains of the giant crew In thousands ranged around. Before his awful feet she bent And fell with piercing cries, As when a bolt in swift descent Comes flashing from the skies. There for a while with senses dazed Silent she lay and scared: At length her drooping head she raised, And all the tale declared, How Rama, Lakshman, and the dame Had reached that lonely place: Then told her injuries and shame, And showed her bleeding face.

Such were the thoughts and sad surmise Of Rama at the jackal's cries, And all his heart within him burned As to his cot his steps he turned. He pondered on the deer that led His feet to follow where it fled, And sad with many a bitter thought His home in Janasthan he sought. His soul was dark with woe and fear When flocks of birds and troops of deer Move round him from the left, and raised Discordant voices as they gazed. The omens which the chieftain viewed The terror of his soul renewed, When lo, to meet him Lakshman sped With brows whence all the light had fled. Near and more near the princes came, Each brother's heart and look the same; Alike on each sad visage lay The signs of misery and dismay, Then Rama by his terror moved His brother for his fault reproved In leaving Sita far from aid In the wild wood where giants strayed. Lakshman's left hand he took, and then In gentle tones the prince of men, Though sharp and fierce their tenour ran, Thus to his brother chief began:

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."

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.

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 Queen Kaikeyi thus obeyed The sinful counsel of her maid She sank upon the chamber floor, As sinks in anguish, wounded sore, An elephant beneath the smart Of the wild hunter's venomed dart. The lovely lady in her mind Revolved the plot her maid designed, And prompt the gain and risk to scan She step by step approved the plan. Misguided by the hump-back's guile She pondered her resolve awhile, As the fair path that bliss secured The miserable lady lured, Devoted to her queen, and swayed By hopes of gain and bliss, the maid Rejoiced, her lady's purpose known, And deemed the prize she sought her own. Then bent upon her purpose dire, Kaikeyi with her soul on fire, Upon the floor lay, languid, down, Her brows contracted in a frown. The bright-hued wreath that bound her hair, Chains, necklets, jewels rich and rare, Stripped off by her own fingers lay Spread on the ground in disarray, And to the floor a lustre lent As stars light up the firmament. Thus prostrate in the mourner's cell, In garb of woe the lady fell, Her long hair in a single braid, Like some fair nymph of heaven dismayed.(272)

Ikshvaku's son with anguish torn For the great oath his lips had sworn, With tears and sighs of sharpest pain Thus to Sumantra spake again: "Prepare thou quick a perfect force, Cars, elephants, and foot, and horse, To follow Raghu's scion hence Equipped with all magnificence. Let traders with the wealth they sell, And those who charming stories tell, And dancing-women fair of face, The prince's ample chariots grace. On all the train who throng his courts, And those who share his manly sports, Great gifts of precious wealth bestow, And bid them with their master go. Let noble arms, and many a wain, And townsmen swell the prince's train; And hunters best for woodland skill Their places in the concourse fill. While elephants and deer he slays, Drinking wood honey as he strays, And looks on streams each fairer yet, His kingdom he may chance forget. Let all my gold and wealth of corn With Rama to the wilds be borne; For it will soothe the exile's lot To sacrifice in each pure spot, Deal ample largess forth, and meet Each hermit in his calm retreat. The wealth shall Rama with him bear, Ayodhya shall be Bharat's share."

His breast with burning fury fired, Thus Khara of the fiend inquired: And then with many a tear and sigh Thus Surpanakha made reply: "'Tis Dasaratha's sons, a pair Strong, resolute, and young, and fair: In coats of dark and blackdeer's hide, And like the radiant lotus eyed: On berries roots and fruit they feed, And lives of saintly virtue lead: With ordered senses undefiled, Rama and Lakshman are they styled. Fair as the Minstrels' King(460) are they, And stamped with signs of regal sway. I know not if the heroes trace Their line from Gods or Danav(461) race. There by these wondering eyes between The noble youths a dame was seen, Fair, blooming, young, with dainty waist, And all her bright apparel graced. For her with ready heart and mind The royal pair their strength combined, And brought me to this last distress, Like some lost woman, comfortless. Perfidious wretch! my soul is fain Her foaming blood and theirs to drain. O let me head the vengeful fight, And with this hand my murderers smite. Come, brother, hasten to fulfil This longing of my eager will. On to the battle! Let me drink Their lifeblood as to earth they sink."

Thus by the gathered Gods addressed He pondered in his secret breast, And said: "One only way I find To slay this fiend of evil mind. He prayed me once his life to guard From demon, God, and heavenly bard, And spirits of the earth and air, And I consenting heard his prayer. But the proud giant in his scorn Recked not of man of woman born. None else may take his life away, But only man the fiend may slay." The Gods, with Indra at their head, Rejoiced to hear the words he said. Then crowned with glory like a flame, Lord Vishnu to the council came; His hands shell, mace, and discus bore, And saffron were the robes he wore. Riding his eagle through the crowd, As the sun rides upon a cloud, With bracelets of fine gold, he came Loud welcomed by the Gods' acclaim. His praise they sang with one consent, And cried, in lowly reverence bent: "O Lord whose hand fierce Madhu(106) slew, Be thou our refuge, firm and true; Friend of the suffering worlds art thou, We pray thee help thy suppliants now." Then Vishnu spake: "Ye Gods, declare, What may I do to grant your prayer?"

So they who changed their forms at will Thousands of Brahmans dared to kill,-- Fierce fiends who loved each cruel deed, And joyed on bleeding flesh to feed. Agastya, mighty hermit, pressed To funeral banquet like the rest, Obedient to the Gods' appeal Ate up the monster at a meal. "'Tis done, 'tis done," fierce Ilval cried, And water for his hands supplied: Then lifting up his voice he spake: "Forth, brother, from thy prison break." Then him who called the fiend, who long Had wrought the suffering Brahmans wrong, Thus thoughtful-souled Agastya, best Of hermits, with a smile addressed: "How, Rakshas, is the fiend empowered To issue forth whom I devoured? Thy brother in a ram's disguise Is gone where Yama's kingdom lies." When from the words Agastya said He knew his brother fiend was dead, His soul on fire with vengeful rage, Rushed the night-rover at the sage. One lightning glance of fury, hot As fire, the glorious hermit shot, As the fiend neared him in his stride, And straight, consumed to dust, he died. In pity for the Brahmans' plight Agastya wrought this deed of might: This grove which lakes and fair trees grace In his great brother's dwelling place."

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."

Such was the speech Sumantra heard From them whom grief unfeigned had stirred. As fires of anguish burnt him through, Swift to the monarch's hall he drew, Past the eighth court; there met his sight, The sovereign in his palace bright, Still weeping for his son, forlorn, Pale, faint, and all with sorrow worn. As there he sat, Sumantra bent And did obeisance reverent, And to the king repeated o'er The message he from Rama bore. The monarch heard, and well-nigh brake His heart, but yet no word he spake: Fainting to earth he fell, and dumb, By grief for Rama overcome. Rang through the hall a startling cry, And women's arms were tossed on high, When, with his senses all astray, Upon the ground the monarch lay. Kausalya, with Sumitra's aid, Raised from the ground her lord dismayed: "Sire, of high fate," she cried, "O, why Dost thou no single word reply To Rama's messenger who brings News of his painful wanderings? The great injustice done, art thou Shame-stricken for thy conduct now? Rise up, and do thy part: bestow Comfort and help in this our woe. Speak freely, King; dismiss thy fear, For Queen Kaikeyi stands not near, Afraid of whom thou wouldst not seek Tidings of Rama: freely speak."

"O Lakshman, thou art much to blame Leaving alone the Maithil dame, And flying hither to my side: O, may no ill my spouse betide! But ah, I know my wife is dead, And giants on her limbs have fed, So strange, so terrible are all The omens which my heart appal. O Lakshman, may we yet return The safety of my love to learn. To find the child of Janak still Alive and free from scathe and ill! Each bird with notes of warning screams, Though the hot sun still darts his beams. The moan of deer, the jackal's yell Of some o'erwhelming misery tell. O mighty brother, still may she, My princess, live from danger free! That semblance of a golden deer Allured me far away, I followed nearer and more near, And longed to take the prey. I followed where the quarry fled: My deadly arrow flew, And as the dying creature bled, The giant met my view. Great fear and pain oppress my heart That dreads the coming blow, And through my left eye keenly dart The throbs that herald woe. Ah Lakshman, all these signs dismay, My soul that sinks with dread, I know my love is torn away, Or, haply, she is dead."

Then thus the Brahman saint replied To her whose heart with woe was tried, And grieving for his favourite's sake, As to a suffering sister spake: "I leave thee not: dismiss the thought; Nor, duteous, hast thou failed in aught. This king, o'erweening in the pride Of power, has reft thee from my side. Little, I ween, my strength could do 'Gainst him, a mighty warrior too. Strong, as a soldier born and bred,-- Great, as a king whom regions dread. See! what a host the conqueror leads, With elephants, and cars, and steeds. O'er countless bands his pennons fly; So is he mightier far than I." He spoke. Then she, in lowly mood, To that high saint her speech renewed: "So judge not they who wisest are: The Brahman's might is mightier far. For Brahmans strength from Heaven derive, And warriors bow when Brahmans strive. A boundless power 'tis thine to wield: To such a king thou shouldst not yield, Who, very mighty though he be,-- So fierce thy strength,--must bow to thee. Command me, Saint. Thy power divine Has brought me here and made me thine; And I, howe'er the tyrant boast, Will tame his pride and slay his host." Then cried the glorious sage: "Create A mighty force the foe to mate."

Sumantra heard the sad reply, And saw his master's tearful eye. With reverent palm to palm applied He drew a little space aside. Then, as the king, with misery weak, With vain endeavour strove to speak, Kaikeyi, skilled in plot and plan, To sage Sumantra thus began: "The king, absorbed in joyful thought For his dear son, no rest has sought: Sleepless to him the night has past, And now o'erwatched he sinks at last. Then go, Sumantra, and with speed The glorious Rama hither lead: Go, as I pray, nor longer wait; No time is this to hesitate." "How can I go, O Lady fair, Unless my lord his will declare?" "Fain would I see him," cried the king, "Quick, quick, my beauteous Rama bring." Then rose the happy thought to cheer The bosom of the charioteer, "The king, I ween, of pious mind, The consecration has designed." Sumantra for his wisdom famed, Delighted with the thought he framed, From the calm chamber, like a bay Of crowded ocean, took his way. He turned his face to neither side, But forth he hurried straight; Only a little while he eyed The guards who kept the gate. He saw in front a gathered crowd Of men of every class, Who, parting as he came, allowed The charioteer to pass.

Sure in some antenatal time Were children, by Kausalya's crime, Torn from their mothers' arms away, And hence she mourns this evil day. She for her child no toil would spare Tending me long with pain and care; Now in the hour of fruitage she Has lost that son, ah, woe is me. O Lakshman, may no matron e'er A son so doomed to sorrow bear As I, my mother's heart who rend With anguish that can never end. The Sarika,(325) methinks, possessed More love than glows in Rama's breast. Who, as the tale is told to us, Addressed the stricken parrot thus: "Parrot, the capturer's talons tear, While yet alone thou flutterest there, Before his mouth has closed on me:" So cried the bird, herself to free. Reft of her son, in childless woe, My mother's tears for ever flow: Ill-fated, doomed with grief to strive, What aid can she from me derive? Pressed down by care, she cannot rise From sorrow's flood wherein she lies. In righteous wrath my single arm Could, with my bow, protect from harm Ayodhya's town and all the earth: But what is hero prowess worth? Lest breaking duty's law I sin, And lose the heaven I strive to win, The forest life today I choose, And kingly state and power refuse."

How fares the king? this night, I think, Some of the three in death will sink. With hopes upon Satrughna set My mother may survive as yet, But the sad queen will die who bore The hero, for her grief is sore. His cherished wish that would have made Dear Rama king, so long delayed, "Too late! too late!" the king will cry, And conquered by his misery die. When Fate has brought the mournful day Which sees my father pass away, How happy in their lives are they Allowed his funeral rites to pay. Our exile o'er, with him who ne'er Turns from the oath his lips may swear, May we returning safe and well gain in fair Ayodhya dwell." Thus Bharat stood with many a sigh Lamenting, and the night went by. Soon as the morning light shone fair In votive coils both bound their hair. And then I sent them safely o'er And left them on the farther shore. With Sita then they onward passed, Their coats of bark about them cast, Their locks like hermits' bound, The mighty tamers of the foe, Each with his arrows and his bow, Went over the rugged ground, Proud in their strength and undeterred Like elephants that lead the herd, And gazing oft around."

Thus by the high-souled prince addressed, Of Raghu's sons the chief and best, She cast all ruth and shame aside, And bold with greedy words replied: "Not wrath, O Rama, stirs the king, Nor misery stabs with sudden sting; One thought that fills his soul has he, But dares not speak for fear of thee. Thou art so dear, his lips refrain From words that might his darling pain. But thou, as duty bids, must still The promise of thy sire fulfil. He who to me in days gone by Vouchsafed a boon with honours high, Dares now, a king, his word regret, And caitiff-like disowns the debt. The lord of men his promise gave To grant the boon that I might crave, And now a bridge would idly throw When the dried stream has ceased to flow. His faith the monarch must not break In wrath, or e'en for thy dear sake. From faith, as well the righteous know, Our virtue and our merits flow. Now, be they good or be they ill, Do thou thy father's words fulfil: Swear that his promise shall not fail, And I will tell thee all the tale. Yes, Rama, when I hear that thou Hast bound thee by thy father's vow, Then, not till then, my lips shall speak, Nor will he tell what boon I seek."

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."

Complaining thus with varied cry They tossed their aged arms on high, And their sad hearts with grief were wrung, Like cows who sorrow for their young. A while they followed on the road Which traces of his chariot showed, But when at length those traces failed, A deep despair their hearts assailed. The chariot marks no more discerned, The hopeless sages backward turned: "Ah, what is this? What can we more? Fate stops the way, and all is o'er." With wearied hearts, in grief and shame They took the road by which they came, And reached Ayodhya's city, where From side to side was naught but care. With troubled spirits quite cast down They looked upon the royal town, And from their eyes, oppressed with woe, Their tears again began to flow. Of Rama reft, the city wore No look of beauty as before, Like a dull river or a lake By Garud robbed of every snake. Dark, dismal as the moonless sky, Or as a sea whose bed is dry, So sad, to every pleasure dead, They saw the town, disquieted. On to their houses, high and vast, Where stores of precious wealth were massed, The melancholy Brahmans passed, Their hearts with anguish cleft: Aloof from all, they came not near To stranger or to kinsman dear, Showing in faces blank and drear That not one joy was left.

The ladies soothed the weeping dame: To Rama's hermitage they came, And there the hero met their eyes Like a God fallen from the skies. Him joyless, reft of all, they viewed, And tears their mournful eyes bedewed. The truthful hero left his seat, And clasped the ladies' lotus feet, And they with soft hands brushed away The dust that on his shoulders lay. Then Lakshman, when he saw each queen With weeping eyes and troubled mien, Near to the royal ladies drew And paid them gentle reverence too. He, Dasaratha's offspring, signed The heir of bliss by Fortune kind, Received from every dame no less Each mark of love and tenderness. And Sita came and bent before The widows, while her eyes ran o'er, And pressed their feet with many a tear. They when they saw the lady dear Pale, worn with dwelling in the wild, Embraced her as a darling child: "Daughter of royal Janak, bride Of Dasaratha's son," they cried, "How couldst thou, offspring of a king, Endure this woe and suffering In the wild forest? When I trace Each sign of trouble on thy face-- That lotus which the sun has dried, That lily by the tempest tried, That gold whereon the dust is spread, That moon whence all the light is fled-- Sorrow assails my heart, alas! As fire consumes the wood and grass."

His hands upon his head he laid And thus again his answer made: "Not yet has Rama learnt where lies His lady of the lotus eyes, Or he like Indra from the sky To Sachi's(860) aid, to thee would fly. Soon will he hear the tale, and then, Roused to revenge, the lord of men Will to the giants' island lead Fierce myriads of the woodland breed, Bridging his conquering way, and make The town a ruin for thy sake. Believe my words, sweet dame; I swear By roots and fruit, my woodland fare, By Meru's peak and Vindhva's chain, And Mandar of the Milky Main, Soon shalt thou see thy lord, though now He waits upon Prasravan's(861) brow, Come glorious as the breaking morn, Like Indra on Airavat(862) borne. For thee he looks with longing eyes; The wood his scanty food supplies. For thee his brow is pale and worn, For thee are meat and wine forsworn. Thine image in his heart he keeps, For thee by night he wakes and weeps. Or if perchance his eyes he close And win brief respite from his woes, E'en then the name of Sita slips In anguish from his murmuring lips. If lovely flowers or fruit he sees, Which women love, upon the trees, To thee, to thee his fancy flies. And 'Sita! O my love!' he cries."

She listened, as with sorrow faint He murmured forth his sad complaint: Her brimming eyes with tears ran o'er, As spouts the new fallen water pour; His suppliant hands, with fear dismayed She gently clasped in hers, and laid, Like a fair lotus, on her head, And faltering in her trouble said: "Forgive me; at thy feet I lie, With low bent head to thee I cry. By thee besought, thy guilty dame Pardon from thee can scarcely claim. She merits not the name of wife Who cherishes perpetual strife With her own husband good and wise, Her lord both here and in the skies. I know the claims of duty well, I know thy lips the truth must tell. All the wild words I rashly spoke, Forth from my heart, through anguish, broke; For sorrow bends the stoutest soul, And cancels Scripture's high control. Yea, sorrow's might all else o'erthrows The strongest and the worst of foes. 'Tis thus with all: we keenly feel, Yet bear the blows our foemen deal, But when a slender woe assails The manliest spirit bends and quails. The fifth long night has now begun Since the wild woods have lodged my son: To me whose joy is drowned in tears, Each day a dreary year appears. While all my thoughts on him are set Grief at my heart swells wilder yet: With doubled might thus Ocean raves When rushing floods increase his waves."

Heart sick, dejected, every sense Confused by terror's influence, On to the town he quickly swept Which King Ikshvaku's children kept. He passed through Vaijayanta's gate, With weary steeds, disconsolate, And all who near their station held, His escort, crying Victory, swelled, With heart distracted still he bowed Farewell to all the following crowd, Turned to the driver and began To question thus the weary man: "Why was I brought, O free from blame, So fast, unknown for what I came? Yet fear of ill my heart appals, And all my wonted courage falls. For I have heard in days gone by The changes seen when monarchs die; And all those signs, O charioteer, I see to-day surround me here: Each kinsman's house looks dark and grim, No hand delights to keep it trim: The beauty vanished, and the pride, The doors, unkept, stand open wide. No morning rites are offered there, No grateful incense loads the air, And all therein, with brows o'ercast, Sit joyless on the ground and fast. Their lovely chaplets dry and dead, Their courts unswept, with dust o'erspread, The temples of the Gods to-day No more look beautiful and gay. Neglected stands each holy shrine, Each image of a Lord divine. No shop where flowery wreaths are sold Is bright and busy as of old. The women and the men I mark Absorbed in fancies dull and dark, Their gloomy eyes with tears bedewed, A poor afflicted multitude."

Then, all his thoughts on Sita bent, The Vanar chieftain made lament: "The queen to Rama's soul endeared, By Lakshman's pious heart revered, Lies here,--for none may strive with Fate, A captive, sad and desolate. The brothers' might full well she knows, And bravely bears the storm of woes, As swelling Ganga in the rains The rush of every flood sustains. Her lord, for her, fierce Bali slew, Viradha's monstrous might o'erthrew, For her the fourteen thousand slain In Janasthan bedewed the plain. And if for her Ikshvaku's son Destroyed the world 'twere nobly done. This, this is she, so far renowned, Who sprang from out the furrowed ground,(823) Child of the high-souled king whose sway The men of Mithila obey: The glorious lady wooed and won By Dasaratha's noblest son; And now these sad eyes look on her Mid hostile fiends a prisoner. From home and every bliss she fled By wifely love and duty led, And heedless of a wanderer's woes, A life in lonely forests chose. This, this is she so fair of mould. Whose limbs are bright as burnished gold. Whose voice was ever soft and mild, Who sweetly spoke and sweetly smiled. O, what is Rama's misery! how He longs to see his darling now! Pining for one of her fond looks As one athirst for water brooks. Absorbed in woe the lady sees No Rakshas guard, no blooming trees. Her eyes are with her thoughts, and they Are fixed on Rama far away."

Wise Visvamitra's tale was done: Then sainted Gautam's eldest son, Great Satananda, far-renowned, Whom long austerities had crowned With glory--as the news he heard The down upon his body stirred,-- Filled full of wonder at the sight Of Rama, felt supreme delight. When Satananda saw the pair Of youthful princes seated there, He turned him to the holy man Who sate at ease, and thus began: "And didst thou, mighty Sage, in truth Show clearly to this royal youth My mother, glorious far and wide, Whom penance-rites have sanctified? And did my glorious mother--she, Heiress of noble destiny-- Serve her great guest with woodland store, Whom all should honour evermore? Didst thou the tale to Rama tell Of what in ancient days befell, The sin, the misery, and the shame Of guilty God and faithless dame? And, O thou best of hermits, say, Did Rama's healing presence stay Her trial? was the wife restored Again to him, my sire and lord? Say, Hermit, did that sire of mine Receive her with a soul benign, When long austerities in time Had cleansed her from the taint of crime? And, son of Kusik, let me know, Did my great-minded father show Honour to Rama, and regard, Before he journeyed hitherward?" The hermit with attentive ear Marked all the questions of the seer: To him for eloquence far-famed, His eloquent reply he framed: "Yea, 'twas my care no task to shun, And all I had to do was done; As Renuka and Bhrigu's child, The saint and dame were reconciled."

Thus high-souled Bharat, mid the crowd, Lifted his voice and cried aloud. Kausalya heard, she raised her head, And quickly to Sumitra said: "Bharat, Kaikeyi's son is here,-- Hers whose fell deeds I loathe and fear: That youth of foresight keen I fain Would meet and see his face again." Thus to Sumitra spake the dame, And straight to Bharat's presence came With altered mien, neglected dress, Trembling and faint with sore distress. Bharat, Satrughna by his side, To meet her, toward her palace hied. And when the royal dame they viewed Distressed with dire solicitude, Sad, fallen senseless on the ground, About her neck their arms they wound. The noble matron prostrate there, Embraced, with tears, the weeping pair, And with her load of grief oppressed, To Bharat then these words addressed: "Now all is thine, without a foe, This realm for which thou longest so. Ah, soon Kaikeyi's ruthless hand Has won the empire of the land, And made my guiltless Rama flee Dressed like some lonely devotee. Herein what profit has the queen, Whose eye delights in havoc, seen? Me also, me 'twere surely good To banish to the distant wood, To dwell amid the shades that hold My famous son with limbs like gold. Nay, with the sacred fire to guide, Will I, Sumitra by my side, Myself to the drear wood repair And seek the son of Raghu there. This land which rice and golden corn And wealth of every kind adorn, Car, elephant, and steed, and gem,-- She makes thee lord of it and them."

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.

On the bare earth the lady sank, And trembling from their presence shrank Like a strayed fawn, when night is dark, And hungry wolves around her bark. Then to a shady tree she crept, And thought upon her lord and wept. By fear and bitter woe oppressed She bathed the beauties of her breast With her hot tears' incessant flow, And found no respite from her woe. As shakes a plantain in the breeze She shook, and fell on trembling knees; While at each demon's furious look Her cheek its native hue forsook. She lay and wept and made her moan In sorrow's saddest undertone, And, wild with grief, with fear appalled, On Rama and his brother called: "O dear Kausalya,(842) hear me cry! Sweet Queen Sumitra,(843) list my sigh! True is the saw the wise declare: Death comes not to relieve despair. 'Tis vain for dame or man to pray; Death will not hear before his day; Since I, from Rama's sight debarred, And tortured by my cruel guard, Still live in hopeless woe to grieve And loathe the life I may not leave, Here, like a poor deserted thing, My limbs upon the ground I fling, And, like a bark beneath the blast, Shall sink oppressed with woes at last. Ah, blest are they, supremely blest, Whose eyes upon my lord may rest; Who mark his lion port, and hear His gentle speech that charms the ear. Alas, what antenatal crime, What trespass of forgotten time Weighs on my soul, and bids me bow Beneath this load of misery now?"

As shine the heavens with autumn's moon Refulgent in the height of noon, So shone with light which Rama gave That army of the bold and brave, As from the sea it marched away In war's magnificent array, And earth was shaken by the beat And trampling of unnumbered feet. Then to the giants' ears were borne, The mingled notes of drum and horn, And clash of tambours smote the sky, And shouting and the battle cry. The sound of martial strains inspired Each chieftain, and his bosom fired: While giants from their walls replied, And answering shouts the foe defied, Then Rama looked on Lanka where Bright banners floated in the air, And, pierced with anguish at the view, His loving thoughts to Sita flew. "There, prisoned by the giant, lies My lady of the tender eyes, Like Rohini the queen of stars O'erpowered by the fiery Mars." Then turned he to his brother chief And cried in agony of grief: "See on the hill, divinely planned And built by Visvakarma's hand, The towers and domes of Lanka rise In peerless beauty to the skies. Bright from afar the city shines With gleam of palaces and shrines, Like pale clouds through the region spread By Vishnu's self inhabited. Fair gardens grow, and woods between The stately domes are fresh and green, Where trees their bloom and fruit display, And sweet birds sing on every spray. Each bird is mad with joy, and bees Sing labouring in the bloomy trees On branches by the breezes bowed, Where the gay Koil's voice is loud."

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.

The king a while had senseless lain, When care brought memory back again. Then straight he called, the news to hear Of Rama, for the charioteer, With reverent hand to hand applied He waited by the old man's side, Whose mind with anguish was distraught Like a great elephant newly caught. The king with bitter pain distressed The faithful charioteer addressed, Who, sad of mien, with flooded eye, And dust upon his limbs, stood by: "Where will be Rama's dwelling now At some tree's foot, beneath the bough; Ah, what will be the exile's food, Bred up with kind solicitude? Can he, long lapped in pleasant rest, Unmeet for pain, by pain oppressed, Son of earth's king, his sad night spend Earth-couched, as one that has no friend? Behind him, when abroad he sped, Cars, elephant, and foot were led: Then how shall Rama dwell afar In the wild woods where no men are? How, tell me, did the princes there, With Sita good and soft and fair, Alighting from the chariot, tread The forest wilds around them spread? A happy lot is thine, I ween, Whose eyes my two dear sons have seen Seeking on foot the forest shade, Like the bright Twins to view displayed, The heavenly Asvins, when they seek The woods that hang 'neath Mandar's peak. What words, Sumantra, quickly tell, From Rama, Lakshman, Sita fell? How in the wood did Rama eat? What was his bed, and what his seat? Full answer to my questions give, For I on thy replies shall live, As with the saints Yayati held Sweet converse, from the skies expelled."

While Lakshman's younger brother, dread Satrughna, thus to Bharat said, Came to the fronting door, arrayed In glittering robes, the hump-back maid. There she, with sandal-oil besmeared, In garments meet for queens appeared: And lustre to her form was lent By many a gem and ornament. She girdled with her broidered zone, And many a chain about her thrown, Showed like a female monkey round Whose body many a string is bound. When on that cause of evil fell The quick eye of the sentinel, He grasped her in his ruthless hold, And hastening in, Satrughna told: "Here is the wicked pest," he cried, "Through whom the king thy father died, And Rama wanders in the wood: Do with her as thou deemest good." The warder spoke: and every word Satrughna's breast to fury stirred: He called the servants, all and each. And spake in wrath his hasty speech: "This is the wretch my sire who slew, And misery on my brothers drew: Let her this day obtain the meed, Vile sinner, of her cruel deed." He spake; and moved by fury laid His mighty hand upon the maid, Who as her fellows ringed her round, Made with her cries the hall resound. Soon as the gathered women viewed Satrughna in his angry mood, Their hearts disturbed by sudden dread, They turned and from his presence fled. "His rage," they cried, "on us will fall, And ruthless, he will slay us all. Come, to Kausalya let us flee: Our hope, our sure defence is she, Approved by all, of virtuous mind, Compassionate, and good, and kind."

"I strove to soothe and lull to rest The fury of his troubled breast: "Well art thou come, dear lord," I cried. "By whose strong arm thy foe has died. Forlorn I languished here, but now My saviour and defence art thou. Once more receive this regal shade(565) Like the full moon in heaven displayed; And let the chouries,(566) thus restored, Wave glorious o'er the rightful lord. I kept my watch, thy word obeyed, And by the cave a year I stayed. But when I saw that stream of blood Rush from the cavern in a flood, My sad heart broken with dismay, And every wandering sense astray, I barred the entrance with a stone,-- A crag from some high mountain thrown-- Turned from the spot I watched in vain, And to Kishkindha came again. My deep distress and downcast mien By citizen and lord were seen. They made me king against my will: Forgive me if the deed was ill. True as I ever was I see My honoured king once more in thee; I only ruled a while the state When thou hadst left us desolate. This town with people, lords, and lands, Lay as a trust in guardian hands: And now, my gracious lord, accept The kingdom which thy servant kept. Forgive me, victor of the foe, Nor let thy wrath against me glow. See joining suppliant hands I pray, And at thy feet my head I lay. Believe my words: against my will The royal seat they made me fill. Unkinged they saw the city, hence They made me lord for her defence."

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?"

Thus like a helpless mourner, bent By sorrow, Rama made lament; And with wise counsel Lakshman tried To soothe his care, and thus replied: "O best of men, thy grief oppose, Nor sink beneath thy weight of woes. Not thus despond the great and pure And brave like thee, but still endure. Reflect what anguish wrings the heart When loving souls are forced to part; And, mindful of the coming pain, Thy love within thy breast restrain. For earth, though cooled by wandering streams, Lies scorched beneath the midday beams. Ravan his steps to hell may bend, Or lower yet in flight descend; But be thou sure, O Raghu's son, Avenging death he shall not shun. Rise, Rama, rise: the search begin, And track the giant foul with sin. Then shall the fiend, though far he fly, Resign his prey or surely die. Yea, though the trembling monster hide With Sita close to Diti's(535) side, E'en there, unless he yield the prize, Slain by this wrathful hand he dies. Thy heart with strength and courage stay, And cast this weakling mood away. Our fainting hopes in vain revive Unless with firm resolve we strive. The zeal that fires the toiler's breast Mid earthly powers is first and best. Zeal every check and bar defies, And wins at length the loftiest prize, In woe and danger, toil and care, Zeal never yields to weak despair. With zealous heart thy task begin, And thou once more thy spouse shalt win. Cast fruitless sorrow from thy soul, Nor let this love thy heart control. Forget not all thy sacred lore, But be thy noble self once more."

The people, when the morn shone fair, Arose to find no Rama there. Then fear and numbing grief subdued The senses of the multitude. The woe-born tears were running fast As all around their eyes they cast, And sadly looked, but found no trace Of Rama, searching every place. Bereft of Rama good and wise, With drooping cheer and weeping eyes, Each woe-distracted sage gave vent To sorrow in his wild lament: "Woe worth the sleep that stole our sense With its beguiling influence, That now we look in vain for him Of the broad chest and stalwart limb! How could the strong-armed hero, thus Deceiving all, abandon us? His people so devoted see, Yet to the woods, a hermit, flee? How can he, wont our hearts to cheer, As a fond sire his children dear,-- How can the pride of Raghu's race Fly from us to some desert place! Here let us all for death prepare, Or on the last great journey fare;(320) Of Rama our dear lord bereft, What profit in our lives is left? Huge trunks of trees around us lie, With roots and branches sere and dry, Come let us set these logs on fire And throw our bodies on the pyre. What shall we speak? How can we say We followed Rama on his way, The mighty chief whose arm is strong, Who sweetly speaks, who thinks no wrong? Ayodhya's town with sorrow dumb, Without our lord will see us come, And hopeless misery will strike Elder, and child, and dame alike. Forth with that peerless chief we came, Whose mighty heart is aye the same: How, reft of him we love, shall we Returning dare that town to see?"

He looked upon the pile where lay The bones half-burnt and ashes grey, And uttering a piteous moan, Gave way, by anguish overthrown. Then as his tears began to well, Prostrate to earth the hero fell; So from its seat the staff they drag, And cast to earth some glorious flag. The ministers approached again The prince whom rites had freed from stain; So when Yayati fell, each seer, In pity for his fate, drew near. Satrughna saw him lying low O'erwhelmed beneath the crush of woe, And as upon the king he thought, He fell upon the earth distraught. When to his loving memory came Those noble gifts, that kingly frame, He sorrowed, by his woe distressed, As one by frenzied rage possessed: "Ah me, this surging sea of woe Has drowned us with its overflow: The source is Manthara, dire and dark, Kaikeyi is the ravening shark: And the great boons the monarch gave Lend conquering might to every wave. Ah, whither wilt thou go, and leave Thy Bharat in his woe to grieve, Whom ever 'twas thy greatest joy To fondle as a tender boy? Didst thou not give with thoughtful care Our food, our drink, our robes to wear? Whose love will now for us provide, When thou, our king and sire, hast died? At such a time bereft, forlorn, Why is not earth in sunder torn, Missing her monarch's firm control, His love of right, his lofty soul? Ah me, for Rama roams afar, My sire is where the Blessed are; How can I live deserted? I Will pass into the fire and die. Abandoned thus, I will not brook Upon Ayodhya's town to look, Once guarded by Ikshvaku's race: The wood shall be my dwelling place."

When Rama heard from Bharat each Dark sorrow of his mournful speech, And tidings of his father dead, His spirits fell, his senses fled. For the sad words his brother spoke Struck on him like a thunder stroke, Fierce as the bolt which Indra throws, The victor of his Daitya foes. Raising his arms in anguish, he, As when the woodman hews a tree With its fair flowery branches crowned, Fainted and fell upon the ground. Lord of the earth to earth he sank, Helpless, as when a towering bank With sudden ruin buries deep An elephant who lay asleep. Then swift his wife and brothers flew, And water, weeping, o'er him threw. As slowly sense and strength he gained, Fast from his eyes the tears he rained, And then in accents sad and weak Kakutstha's son began to speak, And mourning for the monarch dead, With righteous words to Bharat said: "What calls me home, when he, alas, Has gone the way which all must pass? Of him, the best of kings bereft What guardian has Ayodhya left? How may I please his spirit? how Delight the high-souled monarch now, Who wept for me and went above By me ungraced with mourning love? Ah, happy brothers! you have paid Due offerings to his parting shade. E'en when my banishment is o'er, Back to my home I go no more, To look upon the widowed state Reft of her king, disconsolate. E'en then, O tamer of the foe, If to Ayodhya's town I go, Who will direct me as of old, Now other worlds our father hold? From whom, my brother, shall I hear Those words which ever charmed mine ear And filled my bosom with delight Whene'er he saw me act aright?"

Then while the dust upon him hung, The monarch to Kausalya clung, And she with mournful steps and slow Turned to the palace, worn with woe. As one whose hand has touched the fire, Or slain a Brahman in his ire, He felt his heart with sorrow torn Still thinking of his son forlorn. Each step was torture, as the road The traces of the chariot showed, And as the shadowed sun grows dim So care and anguish darkened him. He raised a cry, by woe distraught, As of his son again he thought. And judging that the car had sped Beyond the city, thus he said: "I still behold the foot-prints made By the good horses that conveyed My son afar: these marks I see, But high-souled Rama, where is he? Ah me, my son! my first and best, On pleasant couches wont to rest, With limbs perfumed with sandal, fanned By many a beauty's tender hand: Where will he lie with log or stone Beneath him for a pillow thrown, To leave at morn his earthy bed, Neglected, and with dust o'erspread, As from the flood with sigh and pant Comes forth the husband elephant? The men who make the woods their home Shall see the long-armed hero roam Roused from his bed, though lord of all, In semblance of a friendless thrall. Janak's dear child who ne'er has met With aught save joy and comfort yet, Will reach to-day the forest, worn And wearied with the brakes of thorn. Ah, gentle girl, of woods unskilled, How will her heart with dread be filled At the wild beasts' deep roaring there, Whose voices lift the shuddering hair! Kaikeyi, glory in thy gain, And, widow queen, begin to reign: No will, no power to live have I When my brave son no more is nigh."

"Thou, worst of giant blood, at length Hast shown the utmost of thy strength, And forced by greater might to bow, Thy vaunting threats are idle now. My shafts have cut thy club in twain: Useless it lies upon the plain, And all thy pride and haughty trust Lie with it levelled in the dust. The words that thou hast said to-day, That thou wouldst wipe the tears away Of all the giants I have slain, My deeds shall render void and vain. Thou meanest of the giants' breed, Evil in thought and word and deed, My hand shall take that life of thine As Garud(476) seized the juice divine. Thou, rent by shafts, this day shalt die: Low on the ground thy corse shall lie, And bubbles from the cloven neck With froth and blood thy skin shall deck. With dust and mire all rudely dyed, Thy torn arms lying by thy side, While streams of blood each limb shall steep, Thou on earth's breast shalt take thy sleep Like a fond lover when he strains The beauty whom at length he gains. Now when thy heavy eyelids close For ever in thy deep repose, Again shall Dandak forest be Safe refuge for the devotee. Thou slain, and all thy race who held The realm of Janasthan expelled, Again shall happy hermits rove, Fearing no danger, through the grove. Within those bounds, their brethren slain, No giant shall this day remain, But all shall fly with many a tear And fearing, rid the saints of fear. This bitter day shall misery bring On all the race that calls thee king. Fierce as their lord, thy dames shall know, Bereft of joys, the taste of woe. Base, cruel wretch, of evil mind, Plaguer of Brahmans and mankind, With trembling hands each devotee Feeds holy fires in dread of thee."

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.

Then royal Lakshman made reply: "With thee to stand as guardian nigh, Whose faithful soul regards the right, Fearless we well might rest to-night. But how, when Rama lays his head With Sita on his lowly bed,-- How can I sleep? how can I care For life, or aught that's bright and fair? Behold the conquering chief, whose might Is match for Gods and fiends in fight; With Sita now he rests his head Asleep on grass beneath him spread. Won by devotion, text, and prayer, And many a rite performed with care, Chief of our father's sons he shines Well marked, like him, with favouring signs. Brief, brief the monarch's life will be Now his dear son is forced to flee; And quickly will the widowed state Mourn for her lord disconsolate. Each mourner there has wept her fill; The cries of anguish now are still: In the king's hall each dame, o'ercome With weariness of woe is dumb. This first sad night of grief, I ween, Will do to death each sorrowing queen: Scarce is Kausalya left alive; My mother, too, can scarce survive. If when her heart is fain to break, She lingers for Satrughna's sake, Kausalya, mother of the chief, Must sink beneath the chilling grief. That town which countless thousands fill, Whose hearts with love of Rama thrill,-- The world's delight, so rich and fair,-- Grieved for the king, his death will share. The hopes he fondly cherished, crossed Ayodhya's throne to Rama lost,-- With mournful cries, Too late, too late! The king my sire will meet his fate. And when my sire has passed away, Most happy in their lot are they, Allowed, with every pious care, Part in his funeral rites to bear. And O, may we with joy at last,-- These years of forest exile past,-- Turn to Ayodhya's town to dwell With him who keeps his promise well!"

Then Rama stood by Lakshman's side, And mastered by his sorrow cried: "My brother dear, the heart's distress, As days wear on, grows less and less. But my deep-seated grief, alas, Grows fiercer as the seasons pass. Though for my queen my spirit longs, And broods indignant o'er my wrongs, Still wilder is my grief to know That her young life is passed in woe. Breathe, gentle gale, O breathe where she Lies prisoned, and then breathe on me, And, though my love I may not meet, Thy kiss shall be divinely sweet. Ah, by the giant's shape appalled, On her dear lord for help she called, Still in mine ears the sad cry rings And tears my heart with poison stings. Through the long daylight and the gloom Of night wild thoughts of her consume My spirit, and my love supplies The torturing flame which never dies. Leave me, my brother; I will sleep Couched on the bosom of the deep, For the cold wave may bring me peace And bid the fire of passion cease. One only thought my stay must be, That earth, one earth, holds her and me, To hear, to know my darling lives Some life-supporting comfort gives, As streams from distant fountains run O'er meadows parching in the sun. Ah when, my foeman at my feet, Shall I my queen, my glory, meet, The blossom of her dear face raise And on her eyes enraptured gaze, Press her soft lips to mine again, And drink a balm to banish pain! Alas, alas! where lies she now, My darling of the lovely brow? On the cold earth, no help at hand, Forlorn amid the Rakshas band, King Janak's child still calls on me, Her lord and love, to set her free. But soon in glory will she rise A crescent moon in autumn skies, And those dark rovers of the night, Like scattered clouds shall turn in flight."

He ceased: they scorned, with blinded eyes, The foeman and his bold allies, Raised reverent hands with one accord, And thus made answer to their lord: "Why yield thee, King, to causeless fear? A mighty host with sword and spear And mace and axe and pike and lance Waits but thy signal to advance. Art thou not he who slew of old The Serpent-Gods, and stormed their hold; Scaled Mount Kailasa and o'erthrew Kuvera(910) and his Yaksha crew, Compelling Siva's haughty friend Beneath a mightier arm to bend? Didst thou not bring from realms afar The marvel of the magic car, When they who served Kuvera fell Crushed in their mountain citadel? Attracted by thy matchless fame To thee, a suppliant, Maya came, The lord of every Danav band, And won thee with his daughter's hand. Thy arm in hell itself was felt, Where Vasuki(911) and Sankha dwelt, And they and Takshak, overthrown, Were forced thy conquering might to own. The Gods in vain their blessing gave To heroes bravest of the brave, Who strove a year and, sorely pressed, Their victor's peerless might confessed. In vain their magic arts they tried, In vain thy matchless arm defied King Varun's sons with fourfold force, Cars, elephants, and foot, and horse, But for a while thy power withstood, And, conquered, mourned their hardihood. Thou hast encountered, face to face, King Yama(912) with his murdering mace. Fierce as the wild tempestuous sea, What terror had his wrath for thee, Though death in every threatening form, And woe and torment, urged the storm? Thine arm a glorious victory won O'er the dread king who pities none; And the three worlds, from terror freed, In joyful wonder praised thy deed. The tribe of Warriors, strong and dread As Indra's self, o'er earth had spread; As giant trees that towering stand In mountain glens, they filled the land. Can Raghu's son encounter foes Fierce, numerous, and strong as those?

The monarch, as Kaikeyi pressed With cruel words her dire request, Stood for a time absorbed in thought While anguish in his bosom wrought. "Does some wild dream my heart assail? Or do my troubled senses fail? Does some dire portent scare my view? Or frenzy's stroke my soul subdue?" Thus as he thought, his troubled mind In doubt and dread no rest could find, Distressed and trembling like a deer Who sees the dreaded tigress near. On the bare ground his limbs he threw, And many a long deep sigh he drew, Like a wild snake, with fury blind, By charms within a ring confined. Once as the monarch's fury woke, "Shame on thee!" from his bosom broke, And then in sense-bewildering pain He fainted on the ground again. At length, when slowly strength returned, He answered as his eyeballs burned With the wild fury of his ire Consuming her, as 'twere, with fire: "Fell traitress, thou whose thoughts design The utter ruin of my line, What wrong have I or Rama done? Speak murderess, speak thou wicked one, Seeks he not evermore to please Thee with all sonlike courtesies? By what persuasion art thou led To bring this ruin on his head? Ah me, that fondly unaware I brought thee home my life to share, Called daughter of a king, in truth A serpent with a venomed tooth! What fault can I pretend to find In Rama praised by all mankind, That I my darling should forsake? No, take my life, my glory take: Let either queen be from me torn, But not my well-loved eldest-born. Him but to see is highest bliss, And death itself his face to miss. The world may sunless stand, the grain May thrive without the genial rain, But if my Rama be not nigh My spirit from its frame will fly. Enough, thine impious plan forgo, O thou who plottest sin and woe. My head before thy feet, I kneel, And pray thee some compassion feel. O wicked dame, what can have led Thy heart to dare a plot so dread?

How could Kaikeyi's purpose bring On me this pain and suffering, Were not her change of heart decreed By Fate whose will commands the deed? I know my filial love has been The same throughout for every queen, And with the same affection she Has treated both her son and me. Her shameful words of cruel spite To stay the consecrating rite, And drive me banished from the throne,-- These I ascribe to Fate alone, How could she, born of royal race, Whom nature decks with fairest grace, Speak like a dame of low degree Before the king to torture me? But Fate, which none may comprehend, To which all life must bow and bend, In her and me its power has shown, And all my hopes are overthrown. What man, Sumitra's darling, may Contend with Fate's resistless sway, Whose all-commanding power we find Our former deeds alone can bind? Our life and death, our joy and pain, Anger and fear, and loss and gain, Each thing that is, in every state, All is the work of none but Fate. E'en saints, inspired with rigid zeal, When once the stroke of Fate they feel, In sternest vows no more engage, And fall enslaved by love and rage. So now the sudden stroke whose weight Descends unlooked for, comes of Fate, And with unpitying might destroys The promise of commencing joys. Weigh this true counsel in thy soul: With thy firm heart thy heart control; Then, brother, thou wilt cease to grieve For hindered rites which now I leave. So cast thy needless grief away, And strictly my commands obey. Those preparations check with speed, Nor let my throning rites proceed. Those urns that stand prepared to shed King-making drops upon my head, Shall, with their pure lustrations now Inaugurate my hermit's vow. Yet what have I to do with things That touch the state and pomp of kings? These hands of mine shall water take To sanctify the vow I make. Now Lakshman, let thy heart no more My fortune changed and lost deplore.

Canst thou one moment think to please This pair who live for love and ease, And 'gainst thy peace, as foes, allied, With tenderest names their hatred hide? Now if thy judgment still refers To Fate this plot of his and hers, My mind herein can ne'er agree: And O, in this be ruled by me. Weak, void of manly pride are they Who bend to Fate's imputed sway: The choicest souls, the nobly great Disdain to bow their heads to Fate. And he who dares his Fate control With vigorous act and manly soul, Though threatening Fate his hopes assail, Unmoved through all need never quail. This day mankind shall learn aright The power of Fate and human might, So shall the gulf that lies between A man and Fate be clearly seen. The might of Fate subdued by me This hour the citizens shall see, Who saw its intervention stay Thy consecrating rites to-day. My power shall turn this Fate aside, That threatens, as, with furious stride, An elephant who scorns to feel, In rage unchecked, the driver's steel. Not the great Lords whose sleepless might Protects the worlds, shall stay the rite Though earth, hell, heaven combine their powers: And shall we fear this sire of ours? Then if their minds are idly bent To doom thee, King, to banishment, Through twice seven years of exile they Shall in the lonely forest stay. I will consume the hopes that fire The queen Kaikeyi and our sire, That to her son this check will bring Advantage, making Bharat king. The power of Fate will ne'er withstand The might that arms my vigorous hand; If danger and distress assail, My fearless strength will still prevail. A thousand circling years shall flee: The forest then thy home shall be, And thy good sons, succeeding, hold The empire which their sire controlled. The royal saints, of old who reigned, For aged kings this rest ordained: These to their sons their realm commit That they, like sires, may cherish it.

Now of the woeful change no word The fair Videhan bride had heard; The thought of that imperial rite Still filled her bosom with delight. With grateful heart and joyful thought The Gods in worship she had sought, And, well in royal duties learned, Sat longing till her lord returned, Not all unmarked by grief and shame Within his sumptuous home he came, And hurried through the happy crowd With eye dejected, gloomy-browed. Up Sita sprang, and every limb Trembled with fear at sight of him. She marked that cheek where anguish fed, Those senses care-disquieted. For, when he looked on her, no more Could his heart hide the load it bore, Nor could the pious chief control The paleness o'er his cheek that stole. His altered cheer, his brow bedewed With clammy drops, his grief she viewed, And cried, consumed with fires of woe, "What, O my lord, has changed thee so? Vrihaspati looks down benign, And the moon rests in Pushya's sign, As Brahmans sage this day declare: Then whence, my lord, this grief and care? Why does no canopy, like foam For its white beauty, shade thee home, Its hundred ribs spread wide to throw Splendour on thy fair head below? Where are the royal fans, to grace The lotus beauty of thy face, Fair as the moon or wild-swan's wing, And waving round the new-made king? Why do no sweet-toned bards rejoice To hail thee with triumphant voice? No tuneful heralds love to raise Loud music in their monarch's praise? Why do no Brahmans, Scripture-read, Pour curds and honey on thy head, Anointed, as the laws ordain, With holy rites, supreme to reign? Where are the chiefs of every guild? Where are the myriads should have filled The streets, and followed home their king With merry noise and triumphing? Why does no gold-wrought chariot lead With four brave horses, best for speed? No elephant precede the crowd Like a huge hill or thunder cloud, Marked from his birth for happy fate, Whom signs auspicious decorate?

Wild with the rage he could not calm, Sumantra, grinding palm on palm, His head in quick impatience shook, And sighed with woe he could not brook. He gnashed his teeth, his eyes were red, From his changed face the colour fled. In rage and grief that knew no law, The temper of the king he saw. With his word-arrows swift and keen He shook the bosom of the queen. With scorn, as though its lightning stroke Would blast her body, thus he spoke: "Thou, who, of no dread sin afraid, Hast Dasaratha's self betrayed, Lord of the world, whose might sustains Each thing that moves or fixed remains, What direr crime is left thee now? Death to thy lord and house art thou, Whose cruel deeds the king distress, Mahendra's peer in mightiness, Firm as the mountain's rooted steep, Enduring as the Ocean's deep. Despise not Dasaratha, he Is a kind lord and friend to thee. A loving wife in worth outruns The mother of ten million sons. Kings, when their sires have passed away, Succeed by birthright to the sway. Ikshvaku's son still rules the state, Yet thou this rule wouldst violate. Yea, let thy son, Kaikeyi, reign, Let Bharat rule his sire's domain. Thy will, O Queen, shall none oppose: We all will go where Rama goes. No Brahman, scorning thee, will rest Within the realm thou governest, But all will fly indignant hence: So great thy trespass and offence. I marvel, when thy crime I see, Earth yawns not quick to swallow thee; And that the Brahman saints prepare No burning scourge thy soul to scare, With cries of shame to smite thee, bent Upon our Rama's banishment. The Mango tree with axes fell, And tend instead the Neem tree well, Still watered with all care the tree Will never sweet and pleasant be. Thy mother's faults to thee descend, And with thy borrowed nature blend. True is the ancient saw: the Neem Can ne'er distil a honeyed stream. Taught by the tale of long ago Thy mother's hateful sin we know.

Thus cried the faithful charioteer, As Raghu's son, in rede his peer, Was fast departing on his road,-- And long his tears of anguish flowed. But Rama, when those tears were dried His lips with water purified, And in soft accents, sweet and clear, Again addressed the charioteer: "I find no heart, my friend, like thine, So faithful to Ikshvaku's line. Still first in view this object keep, That ne'er for me my sire may weep. For he, the world's far-ruling king, Is old, and wild with sorrow's sting; With love's great burthen worn and weak: Deem this the cause that thus I speak Whate'er the high-souled king decrees His loved Kaikeyi's heart to please, Yea, be his order what it may, Without demur thou must obey, For this alone great monarchs reign, That ne'er a wish be formed in vain. Then, O Sumantra, well provide That by no check the king be tried: Nor let his heart in sorrow pine: This care, my faithful friend, be thine. The honoured king my father greet, And thus for me my words repeat To him whose senses are controlled, Untired till now by grief, and old; "I, Sita, Lakshman sorrow not, O Monarch, for our altered lot: The same to us, if here we roam, Or if Ayodhya be our home, The fourteen years will quickly fly, The happy hour will soon be nigh When thou, my lord, again shalt see Lakshman, the Maithil dame, and me." Thus having soothed, O charioteer, My father and my mother dear, Let all the queens my message learn, But to Kaikeyi chiefly turn. With loving blessings from the three, From Lakshman, Sita, and from me, My mother, Queen Kausalya, greet With reverence to her sacred feet. And add this prayer of mine: "O King; Send quickly forth and Bharat bring, And set him on the royal throne Which thy decree has made his own. When he upon the throne is placed, When thy fond arms are round him laced, Thine aged heart will cease to ache With bitter pangs for Rama's sake."