Then Trijata,(958) of gentler mould Though Rakshas born, her grief consoled: "Dear Queen, thy causeless woe dispel: Thy husband lives, and all is well. Look round: in every Vanar face The light of joyful hope I trace. Not thus, believe me, shine the eyes Of warriors when their leader dies. An Army, when the chief is dead, Flies from the field dispirited. Here, undisturbed in firm array, The Vanars by the brothers stay. Love prompts my speech; no longer grieve; Ponder my counsel, and believe. These lips of mine from earliest youth Have spoken, and shall speak, the truth. Deep in my heart thy gentle grace And patient virtues hold their place. Turn, lady, turn once more thine eye: Though pierced with shafts the heroes lie, On brows and cheeks with blood-drops wet The light of beauty lingers yet. Such beauty ne'er is found in death, But vanishes with parting breath. O, trust the hope these tokens give: The heroes are not dead, but live."Ramayana 6.220 · Ramayana · 6
Ramayana 6.220
Ramayana · translated by Ralph T.H. Griffith
Themes in this passage
DeathFaithGriefHopeSpeechTruthWarCharity
Death in other traditions
The same theme, as Christianity, Islam, Taoism and Hellenism address it.
And the children of Israel spake unto Moses, saying, Behold, we die, we perish, we all perish.Numbers 17:12 · Bible · Numbers
Lo! thou wilt die, and lo! they will die;Quran 39:30 · Quran · The Companies
The people do not fear death; to what purpose is it to (try to) frighten them with death? If the people were always in awe of death, and I could always seize those who do wrong, and put them to death, who would dare to do wrong?Tao Te Ching 74.1 · Tao Te Ching
These words, attended with a shower of tears, The youth address’d to unrelenting ears: “Talk not of life, or ransom (he replies): Patroclus dead, whoever meets me, dies: In vain a single Trojan sues for grace; But least, the sons of Priam’s hateful race. Die then, my friend! what boots it to deplore? The great, the good Patroclus is no more! He, far thy better, was foredoom’d to die, And thou, dost thou bewail mortality? Seest thou not me, whom nature’s gifts adorn, Sprung from a hero, from a goddess born? The day shall come (which nothing can avert) When by the spear, the arrow, or the dart, By night, or day, by force, or by design, Impending death and certain fate are mine! Die then,”—He said; and as the word he spoke, The fainting stripling sank before the stroke: His hand forgot its grasp, and left the spear, While all his trembling frame confess’d his fear: Sudden, Achilles his broad sword display’d, And buried in his neck the reeking blade. Prone fell the youth; and panting on the land, The gushing purple dyed the thirsty sand. The victor to the stream the carcase gave, And thus insults him, floating on the wave:Iliad 21.7 · Iliad · 21
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