Book II (part1)

  • user warning: UPDATE command denied to user 'piv1691_db'@'91.206.201.251' for table 'cache_filter' query: UPDATE cache_filter SET data = '<p>BOOK II.<br />\nCanto I. The Heir Apparent.<br />\nSo Bharat to his grandsire went<br />\nObedient to the message sent,<br />\nAnd for his fond companion chose<br />\nŚatrughna slayer of his foes.258<br />\nThere Bharat for a time remained<br />\nWith love and honour entertained,<br />\nKing Aśvapati\'s constant care,<br />\nBeloved as a son and heir.<br />\nYet ever, as they lived at ease,<br />\nWhile all around combined to please,<br />\nThe aged sire they left behind<br />\nWas present to each hero\'s mind.<br />\nNor could the king\'s fond memory stray<br />\nFrom his brave children far away,<br />\nDear Bharat and Śatrughna dear,<br />\nEach Varuṇ\'s match or Indra\'s peer.<br />\n258Śatrughna means slayer of foes, and the word is repeated as an intensive<br />\nepithet.<br />\n302<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nTo all the princes, young and brave,<br />\nHis soul with fond affection clave;<br />\nAround his loving heart they clung<br />\nLike arms from his own body sprung.259<br />\nBut best and noblest of the four,<br />\nGood as the God whom all adore,<br />\nLord of all virtues, undefiled,<br />\nHis darling was his eldest child.<br />\nFor he was beautiful and strong,<br />\nFrom envy free, the foe of wrong,<br />\nWith all his father\'s virtues blest,<br />\nAnd peerless in the world confessed.<br />\nWith placid soul he softly spoke:<br />\nNo harsh reply could taunts provoke.<br />\nHe ever loved the good and sage<br />\nRevered for virtue and for age,<br />\nAnd when his martial tasks were o\'er<br />\nSate listening to their peaceful lore.<br />\nWise, modest, pure, he honoured eld,<br />\nHis lips from lying tales withheld;<br />\nDue reverence to the Bráhmans gave,<br />\nAnd ruled each passion like a slave.<br />\nMost tender, prompt at duty\'s call,<br />\nLoved by all men he loved them all.<br />\nProud of the duties of his race,<br />\nWith spirit meet for Warrior\'s place.<br />\nHe strove to win by glorious deed,<br />\nThroned with the Gods, a priceless meed.<br />\nWith him in speech and quick reply<br />\nVrihaspati might hardly vie,<br />\nBut never would his accents flow<br />\nFor evil or for empty show.<br />\n259Alluding to the images of Vishṇu, which have four arms, the four princes<br />\nbeing portions of the substance of that God.<br />\nCanto I. The Heir Apparent.<br />\n303<br />\nIn art and science duly trained,<br />\nHis student vow he well maintained;<br />\nHe learnt the lore for princes fit,<br />\nThe Vedas and their Holy Writ,<br />\nAnd with his well-drawn bow at last<br />\nHis mighty father\'s fame surpassed.<br />\nOf birth exalted, truthful, just,<br />\nWith vigorous hand, with noble trust,<br />\nWell taught by aged twice-born men<br />\nWho gain and right could clearly ken,<br />\nFull well the claims and bounds he knew<br />\nOf duty, gain, and pleasure too:<br />\nOf memory keen, of ready tact,<br />\nIn civil business prompt to act.<br />\nReserved, his features ne\'er disclosed<br />\nWhat counsel in his heart reposed.<br />\nAll idle rage and mirth controlled,<br />\nHe knew the times to give and hold,<br />\nFirm in his faith, of steadfast will,<br />\nHe sought no wrong, he spoke no ill:<br />\nNot rashly swift, not idly slow,<br />\nHis faults and others\' keen to know.<br />\nEach merit, by his subtle sense;<br />\nHe matched with proper recompense.<br />\nHe knew the means that wealth provide,<br />\nAnd with keen eye expense could guide.<br />\nWild elephants could he reclaim,<br />\nAnd mettled steeds could mount and tame.<br />\nNo arm like his the bow could wield,<br />\nOr drive the chariot to the field.<br />\nSkilled to attack, to deal the blow,<br />\nOr lead a host against the foe:<br />\nYea, e\'en infuriate Gods would fear<br />\nTo meet his arm in full career.<br />\n304<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nAs the great sun in noontide blaze<br />\nIs glorious with his world of rays,<br />\nSo Ráma with these virtues shone<br />\nWhich all men loved to gaze upon.<br />\nThe aged monarch fain would rest,<br />\nAnd said within his weary breast,<br />\n“Oh that I might, while living yet,<br />\nMy Ráma o\'er the kingdom set.<br />\nAnd see, before my course be run,<br />\nThe hallowed drops anoint my son;<br />\nSee all this spacious land obey,<br />\nFrom side to side, my first-born\'s sway,<br />\nAnd then, my life and joy complete,<br />\nObtain in heaven a blissful seat!”<br />\nIn him the monarch saw combined<br />\nThe fairest form, the noblest mind,<br />\nAnd counselled how his son might share,<br />\nThe throne with him as Regent Heir.<br />\nFor fearful signs in earth and sky,<br />\nAnd weakness warned him death was nigh:<br />\nBut Ráma to the world endeared<br />\nBy every grace his bosom cheered,<br />\n[090]<br />\nThe moon of every eye, whose ray<br />\nDrove all his grief and fear away.<br />\nSo duty urged that hour to seize,<br />\nHimself, his realm, to bless and please.<br />\nFrom town and country, far and near,<br />\nHe summoned people, prince, and peer.<br />\nTo each he gave a meet abode,<br />\nAnd honoured all and gifts bestowed.<br />\nThen, splendid in his king\'s attire,<br />\nHe viewed them, as the general Sire,<br />\nCanto II. The People\'s Speech.<br />\n305<br />\nIn glory of a God arrayed,<br />\nLooks on the creatures he has made.<br />\nBut Kekaya\'s king he called not then<br />\nFor haste, nor Janak, lord of men;<br />\nFor after to each royal friend<br />\nThe joyful tidings he would send.<br />\nMid crowds from distant countries met<br />\nThe king upon his throne was set;<br />\nThen honoured by the people, all<br />\nThe rulers thronged into the hall.<br />\nOn thrones assigned, each king in place<br />\nLooked silent on the monarch\'s face.<br />\nThen girt by lords of high renown<br />\nAnd throngs from hamlet and from town<br />\nHe showed in regal pride,<br />\nAs, honoured by the radiant band<br />\nOf blessed Gods that round him stand,<br />\nLord Indra, Thousand-eyed.<br />\nCanto II. The People\'s Speech.<br />\nThen to the full assembly bowed<br />\nThe monarch, and addressed the crowd<br />\nWith gracious speech, in accents loud<br />\nAs heavenly drum or thunder-cloud:<br />\n306<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\n“Needs not to you who know declare<br />\nHow ever with paternal care<br />\nMy fathers of Ikshváku\'s line<br />\nHave ruled the realm which now is mine.<br />\nI too have taught my feet to tread<br />\nThe pathway of the mighty dead,<br />\nAnd with fond care that never slept<br />\nHave, as I could, my people kept.<br />\nSo toiling still, and ne\'er remiss<br />\nFor all my people\'s weal and bliss,<br />\nBeneath the white umbrella\'s260shade.<br />\nOld age is come and strength decayed.<br />\nThousands of years have o\'er me flown,<br />\nAnd generations round me grown<br />\nAnd passed away. I crave at length<br />\nRepose and ease for broken strength.<br />\nFeeble and worn I scarce can bear<br />\nThe ruler\'s toil, the judge\'s care,<br />\nWith royal dignity, a weight<br />\nThat tries the young and temperate.<br />\nI long to rest, my labour done,<br />\nAnd in my place to set my son,<br />\nIf to the twice-born gathered here<br />\nMy counsel wise and good appear.<br />\nFor greater gifts than mine adorn<br />\nRáma my son, my eldest-born.<br />\nLike Indra brave, before him fall<br />\nThe foeman\'s cities, tower and wall.<br />\nHim prince of men for power and might,<br />\nThe best maintainer of the right,<br />\nFair as the moon when nothing bars<br />\nHis glory close to Pushya\'s stars,<br />\n260Chief of the insignia of imperial dignity.<br />\nCanto II. The People\'s Speech.<br />\n307<br />\nHim with to-morrow\'s light I fain<br />\nWould throne the consort of my reign.<br />\nA worthy lord for you, I ween,<br />\nMarked as her own by Fortune\'s Queen.<br />\nThe triple world itself would be<br />\nWell ruled by such a king as he.<br />\nTo such high bliss and happy fate<br />\nWill I the country dedicate,<br />\nAnd my sad heart will cease to grieve<br />\nIf he the precious charge receive.<br />\nThus is my careful plan matured,<br />\nThus for myself is rest secured;<br />\nLieges, approve the words I say,<br />\nOr point ye out some wiser way.<br />\nDevise your prudent plan. My mind<br />\nIs fondly to this thought inclined,<br />\nBut men by keen debating move<br />\nSome middle course which all approve.”<br />\nThe monarch ceased. In answer came<br />\nThe joyous princes\' glad acclaim.<br />\nSo peacocks in the rain rejoice<br />\nAnd hail the cloud with lifted voice.<br />\nMurmurs of joy from thousands round<br />\nShook the high palace with the sound.<br />\nThen when the gathered throng had learned<br />\nHis will who right and gain discerned,<br />\nPeasant and townsman, priest and chief,<br />\nAll met in consultation brief,<br />\nAnd soon agreed with one accord<br />\nGave answer to their sovereign lord:<br />\n“King of the land, we know thee old:<br />\nThousands of years have o\'er thee rolled,<br />\nRáma thy son, we pray, anoint,<br />\n308<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nAnd at thy side his place appoint<br />\nOur gallant prince, so brave and strong,<br />\nRiding in royal state along,<br />\nOur eyes with joyful pride will see<br />\nScreened by the shade that shelters thee.”<br />\nThen spake the king again, as though<br />\nTheir hearts\' true wish he sought to know:<br />\n“These prayers for Ráma\'s rule suggest<br />\nOne question to my doubting breast.<br />\nThis thing, I pray, with truth explain:<br />\nWhy would ye, while I justly reign,<br />\nThat he, mine eldest son, should bear<br />\nHis part with me as ruling heir?”<br />\nThen all the people made reply,<br />\nPeasant and townsman, low and high:<br />\n“Each noblest gift of form and mind,<br />\n[091]<br />\nO Monarch, in thy son we find.<br />\nDo thou the godlike virtues hear<br />\nWhich Ráma to our hearts endear.<br />\nSo richly blest with graces, none<br />\nIn all the earth excels thy son:<br />\nNay, who to match with him may claim<br />\nIn truth, in justice, and in fame?<br />\nTrue to his promise, gentle, kind,<br />\nUnenvious, of grateful mind,<br />\nVersed in the law and firm of soul,<br />\nHe keeps each sense with strict control.<br />\nWith duteous care he loves to sit<br />\nBy Bráhmans skilled in Holy Writ.<br />\nHence brightest glory, ne\'er to end,<br />\nAnd matchless fame his youth attend.<br />\nSkilled in the use of spear and shield,<br />\nAnd arms which heavenly warriors wield,<br />\nSupreme in war, unconquered yet<br />\nCanto II. The People\'s Speech.<br />\n309<br />\nBy man, fiend, God in battle met,<br />\nWhene\'er in pomp of war he goes<br />\n\'Gainst town or city of the foes,<br />\nHe ever comes with Lakshmaṇ back<br />\nVictorious from the fierce attack.<br />\nReturning homeward from afar<br />\nBorne on his elephant or car,<br />\nHe ever to the townsmen bends<br />\nAnd greets them as beloved friends,<br />\nAsks how each son, each servant thrives,<br />\nHow fare our pupils, offerings, wives;<br />\nAnd like a father bids us tell,<br />\nEach for himself, that all is well.<br />\nIf pain or grief the city tries<br />\nHis heart is swift to sympathize.<br />\nWhen festive scenes our thoughts employ<br />\nHe like a father shares the joy.<br />\nHigh is the fate, O King, that gave<br />\nThy Ráma born to bless and save,<br />\nWith filial virtues fair and mild<br />\nLike Kaśyap old Maríchi\'s child.<br />\nHence to the kingdom\'s distant ends<br />\nOne general prayer for him ascends.<br />\nEach man in town and country prays<br />\nFor Ráma\'s strength, health, length of days.<br />\nWith hearts sincere, their wish the same,<br />\nThe tender girl, the aged dame,<br />\nSubject and stranger, peasant, hind,<br />\nOne thought impressed on every mind,<br />\nAt evening and at dawning day<br />\nTo all the Gods for Ráma pray.<br />\nDo thou, O King, of grace comply,<br />\nAnd hear the people\'s longing cry,<br />\nAnd let us on the throne by thee<br />\n310<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nThe lotus-tinted Ráma see.<br />\nO thou who givest boons, attend;<br />\nA gracious ear, O Monarch, lend<br />\nAnd for our weal install,<br />\nConsenting to our earnest prayer,<br />\nThy godlike Ráma Regent Heir,<br />\nWho seeks the good of all.”<br />\nCanto III. Dasaratha\'s Precepts.<br />\nThe monarch with the prayer complied<br />\nOf suppliant hands, on every side<br />\nUplifted like a lotus-bed:<br />\nAnd then these gracious words he said:<br />\n“Great joy and mighty fame are mine<br />\nBecause your loving hearts incline,<br />\nIn full assembly clearly shown<br />\nTo place my Ráma on the throne.”<br />\nThen to Vaśishṭha, standing near,<br />\nAnd Vámadeva loud and clear<br />\nThe monarch spoke that all might hear:<br />\n“\'Tis pure and lovely Chaitra now<br />\nWhen flowers are sweet on every bough;<br />\nAll needful things with haste prepare<br />\nThat Ráma be appointed heir.”<br />\nCanto III. Dasaratha\'s Precepts.<br />\n311<br />\nThen burst the people\'s rapture out<br />\nIn loud acclaim and joyful shout;<br />\nAnd when the tumult slowly ceased<br />\nThe king addressed the holy priest:<br />\n“Give order, Saint, with watchful heed<br />\nFor what the coming rite will need.<br />\nThis day let all things ready wait<br />\nMine eldest son to consecrate.”<br />\nBest of all men of second birth<br />\nVaśishṭha heard the lord of earth,<br />\nAnd gave commandment to the bands<br />\nOf servitors with lifted hands<br />\nWho waited on their master\'s eye:<br />\n“Now by to-morrow\'s dawn supply<br />\nRich gold and herbs and gems of price<br />\nAnd offerings for the sacrifice,<br />\nWreaths of white flowers and roasted rice,<br />\nAnd oil and honey, separate;<br />\nNew garments and a car of state,<br />\nAn elephant with lucky signs,<br />\nA fourfold host in ordered lines,<br />\nThe white umbrella, and a pair<br />\nOf chowries,261and a banner fair;<br />\nA hundred vases, row on row,<br />\nTo shine like fire in splendid glow,<br />\nA tiger\'s mighty skin, a bull<br />\nWith gilded horns most beautiful.<br />\nAll these, at dawn of coming day,<br />\nAround the royal shrine array,<br />\nWhere burns the fire\'s undying ray.<br />\nEach palace door, each city gate<br />\nWith wreaths of sandal decorate.<br />\n261Whisks, usually made of the long tails of the Yak.<br />\n312<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nAnd with the garlands\' fragrant scent<br />\nLet clouds of incense-smoke be blent.<br />\nLet food of noble kind and taste<br />\nBe for a hundred thousand placed;<br />\nFresh curds with streams of milk bedewed<br />\nTo feed the Bráhman multitude.<br />\n[092]<br />\nWith care be all their wants supplied.<br />\nAnd mid the twice-born chiefs divide<br />\nRich largess, with the early morn,<br />\nAnd oil and curds and roasted corn.<br />\nSoon as the sun has shown his light<br />\nPronounce the prayer to bless the rite,<br />\nAnd then be all the Bráhmans called<br />\nAnd in their ordered seats installed.<br />\nLet all musicians skilled to play,<br />\nAnd dancing-girls in bright array<br />\nStand ready in the second ring<br />\nWithin the palace of the king.<br />\nEach honoured tree, each holy shrine<br />\nWith leaves and flowery wreaths entwine,<br />\nAnd here and there beneath the shade<br />\nBe food prepared and presents laid.<br />\nThen brightly clad, in warlike guise,<br />\nWith long swords girt upon their thighs,<br />\nLet soldiers of the nobler sort<br />\nMarch to the monarch\'s splendid court.”<br />\nThus gave command the twice-born pair<br />\nTo active servants stationed there.<br />\nThen hastened to the king and said<br />\nThat all their task was duly sped,<br />\nThe king to wise Sumantra spake:<br />\n“Now quick, my lord, thy chariot take,<br />\nAnd hither with thy swiftest speed<br />\nCanto III. Dasaratha\'s Precepts.<br />\n313<br />\nMy son, my noble Ráma lead.”<br />\nSumantra, ere the word was given,<br />\nHis chariot from the court had driven,<br />\nAnd Ráma, best of all who ride<br />\nIn cars, came sitting by his side.<br />\nThe lords of men had hastened forth<br />\nFrom east and west and south and north,<br />\nÁryan and stranger, those who dwell<br />\nIn the wild wood and on the fell,<br />\nAnd as the Gods to Indra, they<br />\nShowed honour to the king that day.<br />\nLike Vásav, when his glorious form<br />\nIs circled by the Gods of storm,<br />\nGirt in his hall by kings he saw<br />\nHis car-borne Ráma near him draw,<br />\nLike him who rules the minstrel band<br />\nOf heaven;262whose valour filled the land,<br />\nOf mighty arm and stately pride<br />\nLike a wild elephant in stride,<br />\nAs fair in face as that fair stone<br />\nDear to the moon, of moonbeams grown,263<br />\nWith noble gifts and grace that took<br />\nThe hearts of all, and chained each look,<br />\nWorld-cheering as the Lord of Rain<br />\nWhen floods relieve the parching plain.<br />\nThe father, as the son came nigh,<br />\nGazed with an ever-thirstier eye.<br />\nSumantra helped the prince alight<br />\nFrom the good chariot passing bright,<br />\n262Chitraratha, King of the Gandharvas.<br />\n263The Chandrakánta or Moonstone, a sort of crystal supposed to be composed<br />\nof congealed moonbeams.<br />\n314<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nAnd as to meet his sire he went<br />\nFollowed behind him reverent.<br />\nThen Ráma clomb, the king to seek<br />\nThat terrace like Kailása\'s peak,<br />\nAnd reached the presence of the king,<br />\nSumantra closely following.<br />\nBefore his father\'s face he came,<br />\nRaised suppliant hands and named his name,264<br />\nAnd bowing lowly as is meet<br />\nPaid reverence to the monarch\'s feet.<br />\nBut soon as Daśaratha viewed<br />\nThe prince in humble attitude,<br />\nHe raised him by the hand in haste<br />\nAnd his beloved son embraced,<br />\nThen signed him to a glorious throne,<br />\nGem-decked and golden, near his own.<br />\nThen Ráma, best of Raghu\'s line,<br />\nMade the fair seat with lustre shine<br />\nAs when the orient sun upsprings<br />\nAnd his pure beam on Meru flings.<br />\nThe glory flashed on roof and wall,<br />\nAnd with strange sheen suffused the hall,<br />\nAs when the moon\'s pure rays are sent<br />\nThrough autumn\'s star-lit firmament.<br />\nThen swelled his breast with joy and pride<br />\nAs his dear son the father eyed,<br />\nE\'en as himself more fair arrayed<br />\nIn some clear mirror\'s face displayed.<br />\nThe aged monarch gazed awhile,<br />\nThen thus addressed him with a smile,<br />\nAs Kaśyap, whom the worlds revere,<br />\nSpeaks for the Lord of Gods to hear:<br />\n264A customary mark of respect to a superior.<br />\nCanto III. Dasaratha\'s Precepts.<br />\n315<br />\n“O thou of all my sons most dear,<br />\nIn virtue best, thy father\'s peer,<br />\nChild of my consort first in place,<br />\nMine equal in her pride of race,<br />\nBecause the people\'s hearts are bound<br />\nTo thee by graces in thee found,<br />\nBe thou in Pushya\'s favouring hour<br />\nMade partner of my royal power.<br />\nI know that thou by nature\'s bent<br />\nBoth modest art and excellent,<br />\nBut though thy gifts no counsel need<br />\nMy love suggests the friendly rede.<br />\nMine own dear son, be modest still,<br />\nAnd rule each sense with earnest will.<br />\nKeep thou the evils far away<br />\nThat spring from love and anger\'s sway.<br />\nThy noble course alike pursue<br />\nIn secret as in open view,<br />\nAnd every nerve, the love to gain<br />\nOf ministers and subjects, strain.<br />\nThe happy prince who sees with pride<br />\nHis thriving people satisfied;<br />\nWhose arsenals with arms are stored,<br />\nAnd treasury with golden hoard,—<br />\n[093]<br />\nHis friends rejoice as joyed the Blest<br />\nWhen Amrit crowned their eager quest.<br />\nSo well, my child, thy course maintain,<br />\nAnd from all ill thy soul refrain.”<br />\nThe friends of Ráma, gathered nigh,<br />\nLonging their lord to gratify,<br />\nRan to Kauśalyá\'s bower to tell<br />\nThe tidings that would please her well.<br />\nShe, host of dames, with many a gem,<br />\n316<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nAnd gold, and kine rewarded them.<br />\nThen Ráma paid the reverence due,<br />\nMounted the chariot, and withdrew,<br />\nAnd to his splendid dwelling drove<br />\nWhile crowds to show him honour strove.<br />\nThe people, when the monarch\'s speech<br />\nTheir willing ears had heard,<br />\nWere wild with joy as though on each<br />\nGreat gifts had been conferred.<br />\nWith meek and low salute each man<br />\nTurned to his home away,<br />\nAnd there with happy heart began<br />\nTo all the Gods to pray.<br />\nCanto IV. Ráma Summoned.<br />\nThe crowd dismissed, to high debate<br />\nThe monarch called his peers of state,<br />\nAnd, counsel from their lips obtained,<br />\nFirm in his will his will explained:<br />\n“To-morrow with auspicious ray<br />\nThe moon in Pushya\'s sign will stay;<br />\nBe that the time with happy fate<br />\nMine eldest son to consecrate,<br />\nAnd let my Ráma, lotus-eyed,<br />\nAs Regent o\'er the state preside.”<br />\nCanto IV. Ráma Summoned.<br />\n317<br />\nHe sought, within, his charioteer,<br />\nAnd cried “Again bring Ráma here.”<br />\nTo Ráma\'s home Sumantra hied<br />\nAgain to be the prince\'s guide.<br />\nHis coming, told to Ráma\'s ear,<br />\nSuggested anxious doubt and fear.<br />\nHe bade the messenger be led<br />\nThat instant in, and thus he said:<br />\n“Tell me the cause, omitting naught,<br />\nWhy thou again my house hast sought.”<br />\nThe envoy answered: “Prince, thy sire<br />\nHas sent thy presence to require.<br />\nMy sender known, \'tis thine to say<br />\nIf thou wilt go or answer nay.”<br />\nThen Ráma, when he heard his speech,<br />\nMade haste the royal court to reach.<br />\nSoon as the monarch was aware<br />\nHis dearest son was waiting there,<br />\nEager the parley to begin<br />\nHe bade them lead the prince within,<br />\nSoon as he passed the chamber door<br />\nThe hero bent him to the floor,<br />\nAnd at a distance from his seat<br />\nRaised his joined hands his sire to greet.<br />\nThe monarch raised him from the ground,<br />\nAnd loving arms about him wound,<br />\nThen pointed to a seat that shone<br />\nWith gold for him to rest upon.<br />\n“Aged am I,” he said, “and worn;<br />\nIn life\'s best joys my share have borne;<br />\nRites to the Gods, in hundreds, paid,<br />\nWith gifts of corn and largess made.<br />\nI yearned for sons: my life is blest<br />\n318<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nWith them and thee of sons the best.<br />\nNo debt to saints or Bráhmans, no,<br />\nNor spirits, Gods, or self I owe.<br />\nOne duty now remains alone,<br />\nTo set thee on thy father\'s throne.<br />\nNow therefore, Ráma, hear my rede,<br />\nAnd mark my words with duteous heed:<br />\nThis day the peoples\' general voice,<br />\nElects thee king of love and choice,<br />\nAnd I, consenting to the prayer,<br />\nWill make thee, darling, Regent Heir.<br />\nDread visions, each returning night,<br />\nWith evil omens scare my sight.<br />\nRed meteors with a fearful sound<br />\nShoot wildly downward to the ground,<br />\nWhile tempests lash the troubled air;<br />\nAnd they who read the stars declare<br />\nThat, leagued against my natal sign,<br />\nRáhu,265the Sun,266and Mars combine.<br />\nWhen portents dire as these appear,<br />\nA monarch\'s death or woe is near.<br />\nThen while my senses yet are spared,<br />\nAnd thought and will are unimpaired,<br />\nBe thou, my son, anointed king:<br />\nMen\'s fancy is a fickle thing.<br />\nTo-day the moon, in order due,<br />\nEntered the sign Punarvasu,267<br />\nTo-morrow, as the wise foretell,<br />\n265Ráhu, the ascending node, is in mythology a demon with the tail of a dragon<br />\nwhose head was severed from his body by Vishṇu, but being immortal, the<br />\nheadandtailretainedtheirseparateexistenceandbeingtransferredtothestellar<br />\nsphere became the authors of eclipses; the first especially by endeavouring to<br />\nswallow the sun and moon.<br />\n266In eclipse.<br />\n267The seventh of the lunar asterisms.<br />\nCanto IV. Ráma Summoned.<br />\n319<br />\nIn Pushya\'s favouring stars will dwell:<br />\nThen on the throne shalt thou be placed.<br />\nMy soul, prophetic, counsels haste:<br />\nThee, O my son, to-morrow I<br />\nAs Regent Heir will sanctify.<br />\nSo till the coming night be passed<br />\nDo thou and Sítá strictly fast:<br />\nFrom worldly thoughts thy soul refrain,<br />\nAnd couched on holy grass remain.<br />\n[094]<br />\nAnd let thy trusted lords attend<br />\nIn careful watch upon their friend,<br />\nFor, unexpected, check and bar<br />\nOur weightiest counsels often mar.<br />\nWhile Bharat too is far away<br />\nMaking with royal kin his stay,<br />\nI deem the fittest time of all<br />\nThee, chosen Regent, to install.<br />\nIt may be Bharat still has stood<br />\nTrue to the counsels of the good,<br />\nFaithful to thee with tender trust,<br />\nWith governed senses, pure and just.<br />\nBut human minds, too well I know,<br />\nWill sudden changes undergo,<br />\nAnd by their constant deeds alone<br />\nThe virtue of the good is shown.<br />\nNow, Ráma, go. My son, good night!<br />\nFixt is to-morrow for the rite.”<br />\nThen Ráma paid the reverence due,<br />\nAnd quickly to his home withdrew.<br />\nHe passed within, nor lingered there,<br />\nBut sought his mother\'s mansion, where<br />\nThe dame in linen robes arrayed<br />\nDevoutly in the chapel prayed<br />\n320<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nTo Fortune\'s Queen, with utterance checked,<br />\nThat she her Ráma would protect.<br />\nThere was Sumitrá too, and there<br />\nWas Lakshmaṇ led by loving care:<br />\nAnd when the royal choice they knew<br />\nSítá in haste was summoned too.<br />\nAbsorbed, with half-shut eyes, the queen<br />\nAttended by the three was seen.<br />\nShe knew that Pushya\'s lucky hour<br />\nWould raise her son to royal power,<br />\nSo fixed with bated breath each thought<br />\nOn God supreme, by all men sought.<br />\nTo her, as thus she knelt and prayed,<br />\nRáma drew near, due reverence paid,<br />\nAnd then to swell his mother\'s joy,<br />\nThus spoke her own beloved boy;<br />\n“O mother dear, my sire\'s decree<br />\nEntrusts the people\'s weal to me.<br />\nTo-morrow I, for so his will,<br />\nAnointed king, the throne shall fill.<br />\nThe few last hours till night shall end<br />\nSítá with me must fasting spend,<br />\nFor so my father has decreed,<br />\nAnd holy priests with him agreed.<br />\nWhat vows soever thou mayst deem<br />\nMy consecration\'s eve beseem,<br />\nDo thou, sweet mother, for my sake<br />\nAnd for beloved Sítá\'s make.”<br />\nWhen the glad news Kauśalyá heard,<br />\nSo long desired, so long deferred,<br />\nWhile tears of joy her utterance broke,<br />\nIn answer to her son she spoke:<br />\n“Long be thy life, my darling: now<br />\nCanto IV. Ráma Summoned.<br />\n321<br />\nThy prostrate foes before thee bow.<br />\nLive long and with thy bright success<br />\nMy friends and dear Sumitrá\'s bless.<br />\nSurely the stars were wondrous fair<br />\nWhen thee, sweet son, thy mother bare,<br />\nThat thy good gifts such love inspire<br />\nAnd win the favour of thy sire.<br />\nWith thee I travailed not in vain;<br />\nThose lotus eyes reward my pain,<br />\nAnd all the glory of the line<br />\nOf old Ikshváku will be thine.”<br />\nHe smiled, and on his brother gazed<br />\nWho sate with reverent hands upraised,<br />\nAnd said: “My brother, thou must be<br />\nJoint-ruler of this land with me.<br />\nMy second self thou, Lakshmaṇ, art,<br />\nAnd in my fortune bearest part.<br />\nBe thine, Sumitrá\'s son, to know<br />\nThe joys from regal power that flow.<br />\nMy life itself, the monarch\'s seat,<br />\nFor thy dear sake to me are sweet.”<br />\nThus Ráma to his brother said,<br />\nTo both his mothers268bowed his head,<br />\nAnd then with Sítá by his side<br />\nTo his own house the hero hied.<br />\n268Kauśalyá and Sumitrá.<br />\n322<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nCanto V. Ráma\'s Fast.<br />\nThen Saint Vaśishṭha to the king<br />\nCame ready at his summoning.<br />\n“Now go,” exclaimed the monarch, “thou<br />\nEnriched by fervent rite and vow,<br />\nFor Ráma and his wife ordain<br />\nThe fast, that joy may bless his reign.”<br />\nThe best of those who Scripture know<br />\nSaid to the king, “My lord, I go.”<br />\nTo Ráma\'s house Vaśishṭha hied,<br />\nThe hero\'s fast by rule to guide,<br />\nAnd skilled in sacred texts to tell<br />\nEach step to him instructed well.<br />\nStraight to Prince Ráma\'s high abode,<br />\nThat like a cloud pale-tinted showed,<br />\nBorne in his priestly car he rode.<br />\nTwo courts he passed, and in the third<br />\nHe stayed his car. Then Ráma heard<br />\nThe holy sage was come, and flew<br />\nTo honour him with honour due.<br />\nHe hastened to the car and lent<br />\nHis hand to aid the priest\'s descent.<br />\nThen spoke Vaśishṭha words like these,<br />\nPleased with his reverent courtesies,<br />\nWith pleasant things his heart to cheer<br />\nWho best deserved glad news to hear:<br />\n“Prince, thou hast won thy father\'s grace,<br />\nAnd thine will be the Regent\'s place:<br />\nNow with thy Sítá, as is right,<br />\nIn strictest fasting spend the night,<br />\n[095]<br />\nCanto V. Ráma\'s Fast.<br />\n323<br />\nFor when the morrow\'s dawn is fair<br />\nThe king will consecrate his heir:<br />\nSo Nahush,269as the wise relate,<br />\nYayáti joyed to consecrate.”<br />\nThus having said, Vaśishṭha next<br />\nOrdained the fast by rule and text,<br />\nFor Ráma faithful to his vows<br />\nAnd the Videhan dame his spouse.<br />\nThen from the prince\'s house he hied<br />\nWith courteous honours gratified.<br />\nRound Ráma gathered every friend<br />\nIn pleasant talk a while to spend.<br />\nHe bade good night to all at last,<br />\nAnd to his inner chamber passed.<br />\nThen Ráma\'s house shone bright and gay<br />\nWith men and maids in glad array,<br />\nAs in the morning some fair lake<br />\nWhen all her lotuses awake,<br />\nAnd every bird that loves the flood<br />\nFlits joyous round each opening bud.<br />\nForth from the house Vaśishṭha drove,<br />\nThat with the king\'s in splendour strove,<br />\nAnd all the royal street he viewed<br />\nFilled with a mighty multitude<br />\nThe eager concourse blocked each square,<br />\nEach road and lane and thoroughfare,<br />\nAnd joyous shouts on every side<br />\nRose like the roar of Ocean\'s tide,<br />\nAs streams of men together came<br />\nWith loud huzza and glad acclaim.<br />\nThe ways were watered, swept and clean,<br />\n269A king of the Lunar race, and father of Yayáti.<br />\n324<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nAnd decked with flowers and garlands green<br />\nAnd all Ayodhyá shone arrayed<br />\nWith banners on the roofs that played.<br />\nMen, women, boys with eager eyes,<br />\nExpecting when the sun should rise,<br />\nStood longing for the herald ray<br />\nOf Ráma\'s consecration day,<br />\nTo see, a source of joy to all,<br />\nThe people-honoured festival.<br />\nThe priest advancing slowly through<br />\nThe mighty crowd he cleft in two,<br />\nNear to the monarch\'s palace drew.<br />\nHe sought the terrace, by the stair,<br />\nLike a white cloud-peak high in air,<br />\nThe reverend king of men to meet<br />\nWho sate upon his splendid seat:<br />\nThus will Vṛihaspati arise<br />\nTo meet the monarch of the skies.<br />\nBut when the king his coming knew,<br />\nHe left his throne and near him drew<br />\nQuestioned by him Vaśishṭha said<br />\nThat all his task was duly sped.<br />\nThen all who sate there, honouring<br />\nVaśishṭha, rose as rose the king.<br />\nVaśishṭha bade his lord adieu,<br />\nAnd all the peers, dismissed, withdrew.<br />\nThen as a royal lion seeks<br />\nHis cave beneath the rocky peaks,<br />\nSo to the chambers where abode<br />\nHis consorts Daśaratha strode.<br />\nFull-thronged were those delightful bowers<br />\nWith women richly dressed,<br />\nAnd splendid as the radiant towers<br />\nCanto VI. The City Decorated.<br />\n325<br />\nWhere Indra loves to rest.<br />\nThen brighter flashed a thousand eyes<br />\nWith the light his presence lent,<br />\nAs, when the moon begins to rise<br />\nThe star thronged firmament.<br />\nCanto VI. The City Decorated.<br />\nThen Ráma bathed in order due,<br />\nHis mind from worldly thoughts withdrew,<br />\nAnd with his large-eyed wife besought<br />\nNáráyaṇ, as a votary ought.<br />\nUpon his head the brimming cup<br />\nOf holy oil he lifted up,<br />\nThen placed within the kindled fire<br />\nThe offering to that heavenly Sire,<br />\nAnd as he sipped the remnant prayed<br />\nTo Him for blessing and for aid.<br />\nThen with still lips and tranquil mind<br />\nWith his Videhan he reclined,<br />\nIn Vishṇu\'s chapel, on a bed<br />\nWhere holy grass was duly spread,<br />\nWhile still the prince\'s every thought<br />\nThe God supreme, Náráyaṇ, sought.<br />\nOne watch remained the night to close<br />\nWhen Ráma from his couch arose,<br />\nAnd bade the men and maids adorn<br />\nHis palace for the solemn morn.<br />\nHe heard the bards and heralds raise<br />\nAuspicious strains of joy and praise;<br />\nAnd breathed devout, with voice restrained,<br />\n326<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nThe hymn for morning rites ordained;<br />\nThen, with his head in reverence bowed,<br />\nPraised Madhu\'s conquering foe aloud,<br />\nAnd, in pure linen robes arrayed,<br />\nThe priests to raise their voices prayed.<br />\nObedient to the summons they<br />\nProclaimed to all the festal day.<br />\nThe Bráhmans\' voices, deep and sweet,<br />\nResounded through the crowded street,<br />\nAnd echoed through Ayodhyá went<br />\nBy many a loud-toned instrument.<br />\nThen all the people joyed to hear<br />\nThat Ráma with his consort dear<br />\nHad fasted till the morning light<br />\nIn preparation for the rite.<br />\nSwiftly the joyful tidings through<br />\nAyodhyá\'s crowded city flew,<br />\nAnd soon as dawn appeared, each man<br />\nTo decorate the town began.<br />\n[096]<br />\nIn all the temples bright and fair<br />\nAs white clouds towering in the air,<br />\nIn streets, and where the cross-ways met,<br />\nWhere holy fig-trees had been set,<br />\nIn open square, in sacred shade,<br />\nWhere merchants\' shops their wealth displayed,<br />\nOn all the mansions of the great,<br />\nAnd householders of wealth and state,<br />\nWhere\'er the people loved to meet,<br />\nWhere\'er a tree adorned the street,<br />\nGay banners floated to the wind,<br />\nAnd ribands round the staves were twined.<br />\nThen clear the singers\' voices rang,<br />\nAs, charming mind and ear, they sang.<br />\nHere players shone in bright attire,<br />\nCanto VI. The City Decorated.<br />\n327<br />\nThere dancing women swelled the quire.<br />\nEach with his friend had much to say<br />\nOf Ráma\'s consecration-day:<br />\nYea, even children, as they played<br />\nAt cottage doors beneath the shade.<br />\nThe royal street with flowers was strown<br />\nWhich loving hands in heaps had thrown,<br />\nAnd here and there rich incense lent<br />\nIts fragrance to the garland\'s scent;<br />\nAnd all was fresh and fair and bright<br />\nIn honour of the coming rite.<br />\nWith careful foresight to illume<br />\nWith borrowed blaze the midnight gloom,<br />\nThe crowds erected here and there<br />\nTrees in each street gay lamps to bear.<br />\nThe city thus from side to side<br />\nIn festal guise was beautified.<br />\nThe people of the town who longed<br />\nTo view the rite together thronged,<br />\nAnd filling every court and square<br />\nPraised the good king in converse there:<br />\n“Our high-souled king! He throws a grace<br />\nOn old Ikshváku\'s royal race.<br />\nHe feels his years\' increasing weight,<br />\nAnd makes his son associate.<br />\nGreat joy to us the choice will bring<br />\nOf Ráma for our lord and king.<br />\nThe good and bad to him are known,<br />\nAnd long will he protect his own.<br />\nNo pride his prudent breast may swell,<br />\nMost just, he loves his brothers well,<br />\nAnd to us all that love extends,<br />\nCherished as brothers and as friends.<br />\nLong may our lord in life remain,<br />\n328<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nGood Daśaratha, free from stain,<br />\nBy whose most gracious favour we<br />\nRáma anointed king shall see.”<br />\nSuch were the words the townsmen spoke<br />\nHeard by the gathering countryfolk,<br />\nWho from the south, north, east, and west,<br />\nStirred by the joyful tidings, pressed.<br />\nFor by their eager longing led<br />\nTo Ráma\'s consecration sped<br />\nThe villagers from every side,<br />\nAnd filled Ayodhyá\'s city wide.<br />\nThis way and that way strayed the crowd,<br />\nWhile rose a murmur long and loud,<br />\nAs when the full moon floods the skies<br />\nAnd Ocean\'s waves with thunder rise.<br />\nThat town, like Indra\'s city fair,<br />\nWhile peasants thronged her ways,<br />\nTumultuous roared like Ocean, where<br />\nEach flood-born monster plays.<br />\nCanto VII. Manthará\'s Lament.<br />\nIt chanced a slave-born handmaid, bred<br />\nWith Queen Kaikeyí, fancy-led,<br />\nMounted the stair and stood upon<br />\nThe terrace like the moon that shone.<br />\nThence Manthará at ease surveyed<br />\nAyodhyá to her eyes displayed,<br />\nWhere water cooled the royal street,<br />\nWhere heaps of flowers were fresh and sweet,<br />\nCanto VII. Manthará\'s Lament.<br />\n329<br />\nAnd costly flags and pennons hung<br />\nOn roof and tower their shadow flung;<br />\nWith covered ways prepared in haste,<br />\nAnd many an awning newly placed;<br />\nWith sandal-scented streams bedewed,<br />\nThronged by a new bathed multitude:<br />\nWhose streets were full of Bráhman bands<br />\nWith wreaths and sweetmeats in their hands.<br />\nLoud instruments their music raised,<br />\nAnd through the town, where\'er she gazed,<br />\nThe doors of temples glittered white,<br />\nAnd the maid marvelled at the sight.<br />\nOf Ráma\'s nurse who, standing by,<br />\nGazed with a joy-expanded eye,<br />\nIn robes of purest white attired,<br />\nThe wondering damsel thus inquired:<br />\n“Does Ráma\'s mother give away<br />\nRich largess to the crowds to-day,<br />\nOn some dear object fondly bent,<br />\nOr blest with measureless content?<br />\nWhat mean these signs of rare delight<br />\nOn every side that meet my sight?<br />\nSay, will the king with joy elate<br />\nSome happy triumph celebrate?”<br />\n330<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nThe nurse, with transport uncontrolled,<br />\nHer glad tale to the hump-back told:<br />\n“Our lord the king to-morrow morn<br />\nWill consecrate his eldest-born,<br />\nAnd raise, in Pushya\'s favouring hour,<br />\nPrince Ráma to the royal power.”<br />\nAs thus the nurse her tidings spoke,<br />\nRage in the hump-back\'s breast awoke.<br />\nDown from the terrace, like the head<br />\nOf high Kailása\'s hill, she sped.<br />\nSin in her thoughts, her soul aflame,<br />\nWhere Queen Kaikeyí slept, she came:<br />\n[097]<br />\n“Why sleepest thou?” she cried, “arise,<br />\nPeril is near, unclose thine eyes.<br />\nAh, heedless Queen, too blind to know<br />\nWhat floods of sin above thee flow!<br />\nThy boasts of love and grace are o\'er:<br />\nThine is the show and nothing more.<br />\nHis favour is an empty cheat,<br />\nA torrent dried by summer\'s heat.”<br />\nThus by the artful maid addressed<br />\nIn cruel words from raging breast,<br />\nThe queen, sore troubled, spoke in turn;<br />\n“What evil news have I to learn?<br />\nThat mournful eye, that altered cheek<br />\nOf sudden woe or danger speak.”<br />\nSuch were the words Kaikeyí said:<br />\nThen Manthará, her eyeballs red<br />\nWith fury, skilled with treacherous art<br />\nTo grieve yet more her lady\'s heart,<br />\nFrom Ráma, in her wicked hate,<br />\nKaikeyí\'s love to alienate,<br />\nCanto VII. Manthará\'s Lament.<br />\n331<br />\nUpon her evil purpose bent<br />\nBegan again most eloquent:<br />\n“Peril awaits thee swift and sure,<br />\nAnd utter woe defying cure;<br />\nKing Daśaratha will create<br />\nPrince Ráma Heir Associate.<br />\nPlunged in the depths of wild despair,<br />\nMy soul a prey to pain and care,<br />\nAs though the flames consumed me, zeal<br />\nHas brought me for my lady\'s weal,<br />\nThy grief, my Queen, is grief to me:<br />\nThy gain my greatest gain would be.<br />\nProud daughter of a princely line,<br />\nThe rights of consort queen are thine.<br />\nHow art thou, born of royal race,<br />\nBlind to the crimes that kings debase?<br />\nThy lord is gracious, to deceive,<br />\nAnd flatters, but thy soul to grieve,<br />\nWhile thy pure heart that thinks no sin<br />\nKnows not the snares that hem thee in.<br />\nThy husband\'s lips on thee bestow<br />\nSoft soothing word, an empty show:<br />\nThe wealth, the substance, and the power<br />\nThis day will be Kauśalyá\'s dower.<br />\nWith crafty soul thy child he sends<br />\nTo dwell among thy distant friends,<br />\nAnd, every rival far from sight,<br />\nTo Ráma gives the power and might.<br />\nAh me! for thou, unhappy dame,<br />\nDeluded by a husband\'s name,<br />\nWith more than mother\'s love hast pressed<br />\nA serpent to thy heedless breast,<br />\nAnd cherished him who works thee woe,<br />\nNo husband but a deadly foe.<br />\n332<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nFor like a snake, unconscious Queen,<br />\nOr enemy who stabs unseen,<br />\nKing Daśaratha all untrue<br />\nHas dealt with thee and Bharat too.<br />\nAh, simple lady, long beguiled<br />\nBy his soft words who falsely smiled!<br />\nPoor victim of the guileless breast,<br />\nA happier fate thou meritest.<br />\nFor thee and thine destruction waits<br />\nWhen he Prince Ráma consecrates.<br />\nUp, lady, while there yet is time;<br />\nPreserve thyself, prevent the crime.<br />\nUp, from thy careless ease, and free<br />\nThyself, O Queen, thy son, and me!”<br />\nDelighted at the words she said,<br />\nKaikeyí lifted from the bed,<br />\nLike autumn\'s moon, her radiant head,<br />\nAnd joyous at the tidings gave<br />\nA jewel to the hump-back slave;<br />\nAnd as she gave the precious toy<br />\nShe cried in her exceeding joy:<br />\n“Take this, dear maiden, for thy news<br />\nMost grateful to mine ear, and choose<br />\nWhat grace beside most fitly may<br />\nThe welcome messenger repay.<br />\nI joy that Ráma gains the throne:<br />\nKauśalyá\'s son is as mine own.”<br />\nCanto VIII. Manthará\'s Speech.<br />\nCanto VIII. Manthará\'s Speech.<br />\n333<br />\nThe damsel\'s breast with fury burned:<br />\nShe answered, as the gift she spurned:<br />\n“What time, O simple Queen, is this<br />\nFor idle dreams of fancied bliss?<br />\nHast thou not sense thy state to know,<br />\nEngulfed in seas of whelming woe;<br />\nSick as I am with grief and pain<br />\nMy lips can scarce a laugh restrain<br />\nTo see thee hail with ill-timed joy<br />\nA peril mighty to destroy.<br />\nI mourn for one so fondly blind:<br />\nWhat woman of a prudent mind<br />\nWould welcome, e\'en as thou hast done,<br />\nThe lordship of a rival\'s son,<br />\nRejoiced to find her secret foe<br />\nEmpowered, like death, to launch the blow;<br />\nI see that Ráma still must fear<br />\nThy Bharat, to his throne too near.<br />\nHence is my heart disquieted,<br />\nFor those who fear are those we dread.<br />\nLakshmaṇ, the mighty bow who draws,<br />\nWith all his soul serves Ráma\'s cause;<br />\nAnd chains as strong to Bharat bind<br />\nŚatrughna, with his heart and mind,<br />\nNow next to Ráma, lady fair,<br />\nThy Bharat is the lawful heir:<br />\nAnd far remote, I ween, the chance<br />\nThat might the younger two advance.<br />\nYes, Queen, \'tis Ráma that I dread,<br />\nWise, prompt, in warlike science bred;<br />\nAnd oh, I tremble when I think<br />\nOf thy dear child on ruin\'s brink.<br />\n[098]<br />\nBlest with a lofty fate is she,<br />\nKauśalyá; for her son will be<br />\n334<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nPlaced, when the moon and Pushya meet,<br />\nBy Bráhmans on the royal seat,<br />\nThou as a slave in suppliant guise<br />\nMust wait upon Kauśalyá\'s eyes,<br />\nWith all her wealth and bliss secured<br />\nAnd glorious from her foes assured.<br />\nHer slave with us who serve thee, thou<br />\nWilt see thy son to Ráma bow,<br />\nAnd Sítá\'s friends exult o\'er all,<br />\nWhile Bharat\'s wife shares Bharat\'s fall.”<br />\nAs thus the maid in wrath complained,<br />\nKaikeyí saw her heart was pained,<br />\nAnd answered eager in defence<br />\nOf Ráma\'s worth and excellence:<br />\n“Nay, Ráma, born the monarch\'s heir,<br />\nBy holy fathers trained with care,<br />\nVirtuous, grateful, pure, and true,<br />\nClaims royal sway as rightly due.<br />\nHe, like a sire, will long defend<br />\nEach brother, minister, and friend.<br />\nThen why, O hump-back, art thou pained<br />\nTo hear that he the throne has gained?<br />\nBe sure when Ráma\'s empire ends,<br />\nThe kingdom to my son descends,<br />\nWho, when a hundred years are flown,<br />\nShall sit upon his fathers\' throne.<br />\nWhy is thine heart thus sad to see<br />\nThe joy that is and long shall be,<br />\nThis fortune by possession sure<br />\nAnd hopes which we may count secure?<br />\nDear as the darling son I bore<br />\nIs Ráma, yea, or even more.<br />\nMost duteous to Kauśalyá, he<br />\nCanto VIII. Manthará\'s Speech.<br />\n335<br />\nIs yet more dutiful to me.<br />\nWhat though he rule, we need not fear:<br />\nHis brethren to his soul are dear.<br />\nAnd if the throne Prince Ráma fill<br />\nBharat will share the empire still.”<br />\nShe ceased. The troubled damsel sighed<br />\nSighs long and hot, and thus replied:<br />\n“What madness has possessed thy mind,<br />\nTo warnings deaf, to dangers blind?<br />\nCanst thou not see the floods of woe<br />\nThat threaten o\'er thine head to flow:<br />\nFirst Ráma will the throne acquire,<br />\nThen Ráma\'s son succeed his sire,<br />\nWhile Bharat will neglected pine<br />\nExcluded from the royal line.<br />\nNot all his sons, O lady fair,<br />\nThe kingdom of a monarch share:<br />\nAll ruling when a sovereign dies<br />\nWild tumult in the state would rise.<br />\nThe eldest, be he good or ill,<br />\nIs ruler by the father\'s will.<br />\nKnow, tender mother, that thy son<br />\nWithout a friend and all undone,<br />\nFar from the joyous ease of home<br />\nAn alien from his race will roam.<br />\nI sped to thee for whom I feel,<br />\nBut thy fond heart mistakes my zeal,<br />\nThy hand a present would bestow<br />\nBecause thy rival triumphs so.<br />\nWhen Ráma once begins his sway<br />\nWithout a foe his will to stay,<br />\nThy darling Bharat he will drive<br />\nTo distant lands if left alive.<br />\n336<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nBy thee the child was sent away<br />\nBeneath his grandsire\'s roof to stay.<br />\nEven in stocks and stones perforce<br />\nWill friendship spring from intercourse.<br />\nThe young Śatrughna too would go<br />\nWith Bharat, for he loved him so.<br />\nAs Lakshmaṇ still to Ráma cleaves,<br />\nHe his dear Bharat never leaves.<br />\nThere is an ancient tale they tell:<br />\nA tree the foresters would fell<br />\nWas saved by reeds that round it stood,<br />\nFor love that sprang of neighbourhood.<br />\nSo Lakshmaṇ Ráma will defend,<br />\nAnd each on each for aid depend.<br />\nSuch fame on earth their friendship wins<br />\nAs that which binds the Heavenly Twins.<br />\nAnd Ráma ne\'er will purpose wrong<br />\nTo Lakshmaṇ, for their love is strong.<br />\nBut Bharat, Oh, of this be sure,<br />\nMust evil at his hands endure.<br />\nCome, Ráma from his home expel<br />\nAn exile in the woods to dwell.<br />\nThe plan, O Queen, which I advise<br />\nSecures thy weal if thou be wise.<br />\nSo we and all thy kith and kin<br />\nAdvantage from thy gain shall win.<br />\nShall Bharat, meet for happier fate,<br />\nBorn to endure his rival\'s hate,<br />\nWith all his fortune ruined cower<br />\nAnd dread his brother\'s mightier power!<br />\nUp, Queen, to save thy son, arise;<br />\nProstrate at Ráma\'s feet he lies.<br />\nSo the proud elephant who leads<br />\nHis trooping consorts through the reeds<br />\nCanto IX. The Plot.<br />\n337<br />\nFalls in the forest shade beneath<br />\nThe lion\'s spring and murderous teeth.<br />\nScorned by thee in thy bliss and pride<br />\nKauśalyá was of old defied,<br />\nAnd will she now forbear to show<br />\nThe vengeful rancour of a foe?<br />\nO Queen, thy darling is undone<br />\nWhen Ráma\'s hand has once begun<br />\nAyodhyá\'s realm to sway,<br />\nCome, win the kingdom for thy child<br />\nAnd drive the alien to the wild<br />\nIn banishment to-day.”<br />\nCanto IX. The Plot.<br />\nAs fury lit Kaikeyí\'s eyes<br />\nShe spoke with long and burning sighs:<br />\n[099]<br />\n“This day my son enthroned shall see,<br />\nAnd Ráma to the woods shall flee.<br />\nBut tell me, damsel, if thou can,<br />\nA certain way, a skilful plan<br />\nThat Bharat may the empire gain,<br />\nAnd Ráma\'s hopes be nursed in vain.”<br />\nThe lady ceased. The wicked maid<br />\nThe mandate of her queen obeyed,<br />\nAnd darkly plotting Ráma\'s fall<br />\nResponded to Kaikeyí\'s call.<br />\n338<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\n“I will declare, do thou attend,<br />\nHow Bharat may his throne ascend.<br />\nDost thou forget what things befell?<br />\nOr dost thou feign, remembering well?<br />\nOr wouldst thou hear my tongue repeat<br />\nA story for thy need so meet?<br />\nGay lady, if thy will be so,<br />\nNow hear the tale of long ago,<br />\nAnd when my tongue has done its part<br />\nPonder the story in thine heart.<br />\nWhen Gods and demons fought of old,<br />\nThy lord, with royal saints enrolled,<br />\nSped to the war with thee to bring<br />\nHis might to aid the Immortals\' King.<br />\nFar to the southern land he sped<br />\nWhere Daṇḍak\'s mighty wilds are spread,<br />\nTo Vaijayanta\'s city swayed<br />\nBy Śambara, whose flag displayd<br />\nThe hugest monster of the sea.<br />\nLord of a hundred wiles was be;<br />\nWith might which Gods could never blame<br />\nAgainst the King of Heaven he came.<br />\nThen raged the battle wild and dread,<br />\nAnd mortal warriors fought and bled;<br />\nThe fiends by night with strength renewed<br />\nCharged, slew the sleeping multitude.<br />\nThy lord, King Daśaratha, long<br />\nStood fighting with the demon throng,<br />\nBut long of arm, unmatched in strength,<br />\nFell wounded by their darts at length.<br />\nThy husband, senseless, by thine aid<br />\nWas from the battle field conveyed,<br />\nAnd wounded nigh to death thy lord<br />\nWas by thy care to health restored.<br />\nCanto IX. The Plot.<br />\n339<br />\nWell pleased the grateful monarch sware<br />\nTo grant thy first and second prayer.<br />\nThou for no favour then wouldst sue,<br />\nThe gifts reserved for season due;<br />\nAnd he, thy high-souled lord, agreed<br />\nTo give the boons when thou shouldst need.<br />\nMyself I knew not what befell,<br />\nBut oft the tale have heard thee tell,<br />\nAnd close to thee in friendship knit<br />\nDeep in my heart have treasured it.<br />\nRemind thy husband of his oath,<br />\nRecall the boons and claim them both,<br />\nThat Bharat on the throne be placed<br />\nWith rites of consecration graced,<br />\nAnd Ráma to the woods be sent<br />\nFor twice seven years of banishment.<br />\nGo, Queen, the mourner\'s chamber270seek,<br />\nWith angry eye and burning cheek;<br />\nAnd with disordered robes and hair<br />\nOn the cold earth lie prostrate there.<br />\nWhen the king comes still mournful lie,<br />\nSpeak not a word nor meet his eye,<br />\nBut let thy tears in torrent flow,<br />\nAnd lie enamoured of thy woe.<br />\nWell do I know thou long hast been,<br />\nAnd ever art, his darling queen.<br />\nFor thy dear sake, O well-loved dame,<br />\nThe mighty king would brave the flame,<br />\nBut ne\'er would anger thee, or brook<br />\nTo meet his favourite\'s wrathful look.<br />\nThy loving lord would even die<br />\n270Literally the chamber of wrath, a “growlery,” a small, dark, unfurnished<br />\nroom to which it seems, the wives and ladies of the king betook themselves<br />\nwhen offended and sulky.<br />\n340<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nThy fancy, Queen, to gratify,<br />\nAnd never could he arm his breast<br />\nTo answer nay to thy request.<br />\nListen and learn, O dull of sense,<br />\nThine all-resistless influence.<br />\nGems he will offer, pearls and gold:<br />\nRefuse his gifts, be stern and cold.<br />\nThose proffered boons at length recall,<br />\nAnd claim them till he grants thee all.<br />\nAnd O my lady, high in bliss,<br />\nWith heedful thought forget not this.<br />\nWhen from the ground his queen he lifts<br />\nAnd grants again the promised gifts,<br />\nBind him with oaths he cannot break<br />\nAnd thy demands unflnching, make.<br />\nThat Ráma travel to the wild<br />\nFive years and nine from home exiled,<br />\nAnd Bharat, best of all who reign,<br />\nThe empire of the land obtain.<br />\nFor when this term of years has fled<br />\nOver the banished Ráma\'s head,<br />\nThy royal son to vigour grown<br />\nAnd rooted firm will stand alone.<br />\nThe king, I know, is well inclined,<br />\nAnd this the hour to move his mind.<br />\nBe bold: the threatened rite prevent,<br />\nAnd force the king from his intent.”<br />\nShe ceased. So counselled to her bane<br />\nDisguised beneath a show of gain,<br />\nKaikeyí in her joy and pride<br />\nTo Manthará again replied:<br />\n“Thy sense I envy, prudent maid;<br />\nWith sagest lore thy lids persuade.<br />\nCanto IX. The Plot.<br />\n341<br />\nNo hump-back maid in all the earth,<br />\nFor wise resolve, can match thy worth.<br />\nThou art alone with constant zeal<br />\nDevoted to thy lady\'s weal.<br />\nDear girl, without thy faithful aid<br />\nI had not marked the plot he laid.<br />\n[100]<br />\nFull of all guile and sin and spite<br />\nMisshapen hump-backs shock the sight:<br />\nBut thou art fair and formed to please,<br />\nBent like a lily by the breeze.<br />\nI look thee o\'er with watchful eye,<br />\nAnd in thy frame no fault can spy;<br />\nThe chest so deep, the waist so trim,<br />\nSo round the lines of breast and limb.271<br />\nThy cheeks with moonlike beauty shine,<br />\nAnd the warm wealth of youth is thine.<br />\nThy legs, my girl, are long and neat,<br />\nAnd somewhat long thy dainty feet,<br />\nWhile stepping out before my face<br />\nThou seemest like a crane to pace.<br />\nThe thousand wiles are in thy breast<br />\nWhich Śambara the fiend possessed,<br />\nAnd countless others all thine own,<br />\nO damsel sage, to thee are known.<br />\nThy very hump becomes thee too,<br />\nO thou whose face is fair to view,<br />\nFor there reside in endless store<br />\nPlots, wizard wiles, and warrior lore.<br />\nA golden chain I\'ll round it fling<br />\nWhen Ráma\'s flight makes Bharat king:<br />\nYea, polished links of finest gold,<br />\nWhen once the wished for prize I hold<br />\n271In these four lines I do not translate faithfully, and I do not venture to follow<br />\nKaikeyí farther in her eulogy of the hump-back\'s charms.<br />\n342<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nWith naught to fear and none to hate,<br />\nThy hump, dear maid, shall decorate.<br />\nA golden frontlet wrought with care,<br />\nAnd precious jewels shalt thou wear:<br />\nTwo lovely robes around thee fold,<br />\nAnd walk a Goddess to behold,<br />\nBidding the moon himself compare<br />\nHis beauty with a face so fair.<br />\nWith scent of precious sandal sweet<br />\nDown to the nails upon thy feet,<br />\nFirst of the household thou shalt go<br />\nAnd pay with scorn each battled foe.”<br />\nKaikeyí\'s praise the damsel heard,<br />\nAnd thus again her lady stirred,<br />\nWho lay upon her beauteous bed<br />\nLike fire upon the altar fed:<br />\n“Dear Queen, they build the bridge in vain<br />\nWhen swollen streams are dry again.<br />\nArise, thy glorious task complete,<br />\nAnd draw the king to thy retreat.”<br />\nThe large-eyed lady left her bower<br />\nExulting in her pride of power,<br />\nAnd with the hump-back sought the gloom<br />\nAnd silence of the mourner\'s room.<br />\nThe string of priceless pearls that hung<br />\nAround her neck to earth she flung,<br />\nWith all the wealth and lustre lent<br />\nBy precious gem and ornament.<br />\nThen, listening to her slave\'s advice,<br />\nLay, like a nymph from Paradise.<br />\nAs on the ground her limbs she laid<br />\nOnce more she cried unto the maid:<br />\nCanto IX. The Plot.<br />\n343<br />\n“Soon must thou to the monarch say<br />\nKaikeyí\'s soul has past away,<br />\nOr, Ráma banished as we planned,<br />\nMy son made king shall rule the land.<br />\nNo more for gold and gems I care,<br />\nFor brave attire or dainty fare.<br />\nIf Ráma should the throne ascend,<br />\nThat very hour my life will end.”<br />\nThe royal lady wounded through<br />\nThe bosom with the darts that flew<br />\nLaunched from the hump-back\'s tongue<br />\nPressed both her hands upon her side,<br />\nAnd o\'er and o\'er again she cried<br />\nWith wildering fury stung:<br />\n“Yes, it shall be thy task to tell<br />\nThat I have hurried hence to dwell<br />\nIn Yáma\'s realms of woe,<br />\nOr happy Bharat shall be king,<br />\nAnd doomed to years of wandering<br />\nKauśalyá\'s son shall go.<br />\nI heed not dainty viands now<br />\nFair wreaths of flowers to twine my brow,<br />\nSoft balm or precious scent:<br />\nMy very life I count as naught,<br />\nNothing on earth can claim my thought<br />\nBut Ráma\'s banishment.”<br />\nShe spoke these words of cruel ire;<br />\nThen stripping off her gay attire,<br />\nThe cold bare floor she pressed.<br />\nSo, falling from her home on high,<br />\nSome lovely daughter of the sky<br />\nUpon the ground might rest.<br />\nWith darkened brow and furious mien,<br />\n344<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nStripped of her gems and wreath, the queen<br />\nIn spotless beauty lay,<br />\nLike heaven obscured with gathering cloud,<br />\nWhen shades of midnight darkness shroud<br />\nEach star\'s expiring ray.<br />\nCanto X. Dasaratha\'s Speech.<br />\nAs Queen Kaikeyí thus obeyed<br />\nThe sinful counsel of her maid<br />\nShe sank upon the chamber floor,<br />\nAs sinks in anguish, wounded sore,<br />\nAn elephant beneath the smart<br />\nOf the wild hunter\'s venomed dart.<br />\nThe lovely lady in her mind<br />\nRevolved the plot her maid designed,<br />\nAnd prompt the gain and risk to scan<br />\nShe step by step approved the plan.<br />\nMisguided by the hump-back\'s guile<br />\nShe pondered her resolve awhile,<br />\nAs the fair path that bliss secured<br />\nThe miserable lady lured,<br />\n[101]<br />\nDevoted to her queen, and swayed<br />\nBy hopes of gain and bliss, the maid<br />\nRejoiced, her lady\'s purpose known,<br />\nAnd deemed the prize she sought her own.<br />\nThen bent upon her purpose dire,<br />\nKaikeyí with her soul on fire,<br />\nUpon the floor lay, languid, down,<br />\nHer brows contracted in a frown.<br />\nThe bright-hued wreath that bound her hair,<br />\nCanto X. Dasaratha\'s Speech.<br />\n345<br />\nChains, necklets, jewels rich and rare,<br />\nStripped off by her own fingers lay<br />\nSpread on the ground in disarray,<br />\nAnd to the floor a lustre lent<br />\nAs stars light up the firmament.<br />\nThus prostrate in the mourner\'s cell,<br />\nIn garb of woe the lady fell,<br />\nHer long hair in a single braid,<br />\nLike some fair nymph of heaven dismayed.272<br />\nThe monarch, Ráma to install,<br />\nWith thoughtful care had ordered all,<br />\nAnd now within his home withdrew,<br />\nDismissing first his retinue.<br />\nNow all the town has heard, thought he,<br />\nWhat joyful rite the morn will see.<br />\nSo turned he to her bower to cheer<br />\nWith the glad news his darling\'s ear.<br />\nMajestic, as the Lord of Night,<br />\nWhen threatened by the Dragon\'s might,<br />\nBursts radiant on the evening sky<br />\nPale with the clouds that wander by,<br />\nSo Daśaratha, great in fame,<br />\nTo Queen Kaikeyí\'s palace came.<br />\nThere parrots flew from tree to tree,<br />\nAnd gorgeous peacocks wandered free,<br />\nWhile ever and anon was heard<br />\nThe note of some glad water-bird.<br />\nHere loitered dwarf and hump-backed maid,<br />\nThere lute and lyre sweet music played.<br />\n272These verses are evidently an interpolation. They contain nothing that has<br />\nnot been already related: the words only are altered. As the whole poem could<br />\nnot be recited at once, the rhapsodists at the beginning of a fresh recitation<br />\nwould naturally remind their hearers of the events immediately preceding.<br />\n346<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nHere, rich in blossom, creepers twined<br />\nO\'er grots with wondrous art designed,<br />\nThere Champac and Aśoka flowers<br />\nHung glorious o\'er the summer bowers,<br />\nAnd mid the waving verdure rose<br />\nGold, silver, ivory porticoes.<br />\nThrough all the months in ceaseless store<br />\nThe trees both fruit and blossom bore.<br />\nWith many a lake the grounds were graced;<br />\nSeats gold and silver, here were placed;<br />\nHere every viand wooed the taste,<br />\nIt was a garden meet to vie<br />\nE\'en with the home of Gods on high.<br />\nWithin the mansion rich and vast<br />\nThe mighty Daśaratha passed:<br />\nNot there was his beloved queen<br />\nOn her fair couch reclining seen.<br />\nWith love his eager pulses beat<br />\nFor the dear wife he came to meet,<br />\nAnd in his blissful hopes deceived,<br />\nHe sought his absent love and grieved.<br />\nFor never had she missed the hour<br />\nOf meeting in her sumptuous bower,<br />\nAnd never had the king of men<br />\nEntered the empty room till then.<br />\nStill urged by love and anxious thought<br />\nNews of his favourite queen he sought,<br />\nFor never had his loving eyes<br />\nFound her or selfish or unwise.<br />\nThen spoke at length the warder maid,<br />\nWith hands upraised and sore afraid:<br />\n“My Lord and King, the queen has sought<br />\nThe mourner\'s cell with rage distraught.”<br />\nCanto X. Dasaratha\'s Speech.<br />\n347<br />\nThe words the warder maiden said<br />\nHe heard with soul disquieted,<br />\nAnd thus as fiercer grief assailed,<br />\nHis troubled senses wellnigh failed.<br />\nConsumed by torturing fires of grief<br />\nThe king, the world\'s imperial chief,<br />\nHis lady lying on the ground<br />\nIn most unqueenly posture, found.<br />\nThe aged king, all pure within,<br />\nSaw the young queen resolved on sin,<br />\nLow on the ground, his own sweet wife,<br />\nTo him far dearer than his life,<br />\nLike some fair creeping plant uptorn,<br />\nOr like a maid of heaven forlorn,<br />\nA nymph of air or Goddess sent<br />\nFrom Swarga down in banishment.<br />\nAs some wild elephant who tries<br />\nTo soothe his consort as she lies<br />\nStruck by the hunter\'s venomed dart,<br />\nSo the great king disturbed in heart,<br />\nStrove with soft hand and fond caress<br />\nTo soothe his darling queen\'s distress,<br />\nAnd in his love addressed with sighs<br />\nThe lady of the lotus eyes:<br />\n“I know not, Queen, why thou shouldst be<br />\nThus angered to the heart with me.<br />\nSay, who has slighted thee, or whence<br />\nHas come the cause of such offence<br />\nThat in the dust thou liest low,<br />\nAnd rendest my fond heart with woe,<br />\nAs if some goblin of the night<br />\nHad struck thee with a deadly blight,<br />\nAnd cast foul influence on her<br />\n348<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nWhose spells my loving bosom stir?<br />\nI have Physicians famed for skill,<br />\nEach trained to cure some special ill:<br />\nMy sweetest lady, tell thy pain,<br />\nAnd they shall make thee well again.<br />\nWhom, darling, wouldst thou punished see?<br />\nOr whom enriched with lordly fee?<br />\n[102]<br />\nWeep not, my lovely Queen, and stay<br />\nThis grief that wears thy frame away;<br />\nSpeak, and the guilty shall be freed.<br />\nThe guiltless be condemned to bleed,<br />\nThe poor enriched, the rich abased,<br />\nThe low set high, the proud disgraced.<br />\nMy lords and I thy will obey,<br />\nAll slaves who own thy sovereign sway;<br />\nAnd I can ne\'er my heart incline<br />\nTo check in aught one wish of thine.<br />\nNow by my life I pray thee tell<br />\nThe thoughts that in thy bosom dwell.<br />\nThe power and might thou knowest well,<br />\nShould from thy breast all doubt expel.<br />\nI swear by all my merit won,<br />\nSpeak, and thy pleasure shall be done.<br />\nFar as the world\'s wide bounds extend<br />\nMy glorious empire knows no end.<br />\nMine are the tribes in eastern lands,<br />\nAnd those who dwell on Sindhu\'s sands:<br />\nMine is Suráshṭra, far away,<br />\nSuvíra\'s realm admits my sway.<br />\nMy best the southern nations fear,<br />\nThe Angas and the Vangas hear.<br />\nAnd as lord paramount I reign<br />\nO\'er Magadh and the Matsyas\' plain,<br />\nCanto XI. The Queen\'s Demand.<br />\n349<br />\nKośal, and Káśi\'s wide domain:273<br />\nAll rich in treasures of the mine,<br />\nIn golden corn, sheep, goats, and kine.<br />\nChoose what thou wilt. Kaikeyí, thence:<br />\nBut tell me, O my darling, whence<br />\nArose thy grief, and it shall fly<br />\nLike hoar-frost when the sun is high.”<br />\nShe, by his loving words consoled,<br />\nLonged her dire purpose to unfold,<br />\nAnd sought with sharper pangs to wring<br />\nThe bosom of her lord the king.<br />\nCanto XI. The Queen\'s Demand.<br />\nTo him enthralled by love, and blind,<br />\nPierced by his darts who shakes the mind,274<br />\nKaikeyí with remorseless breast<br />\nHer grand purpose thus expressed:<br />\n“O King, no insult or neglect<br />\nHave I endured, or disrespect.<br />\nOne wish I have, and faith would see<br />\nThat longing granted, lord, by thee.<br />\nNow pledge thy word if thou incline<br />\nTo listen to this prayer of mine,<br />\nThen I with confidence will speak,<br />\nAnd thou shalt hear the boon I seek.”<br />\n273The śloka or distich which I have been forced to expand into these nine lines<br />\nis evidently spurious, but is found in all the commented MSS. which Schlegel<br />\nconsulted.<br />\n274Manmatha, Mind-disturber, a name of Káma or Love.<br />\n350<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nEre she had ceased, the monarch fell,<br />\nA victim to the lady\'s spell,<br />\nAnd to the deadly snare she set<br />\nSprang, like a roebuck to the net.<br />\nHer lover raised her drooping head,<br />\nSmiled, playing with her hair, and said:<br />\n“Hast thou not learnt, wild dame, till now<br />\nThat there is none so dear as thou<br />\nTo me thy loving husband, save<br />\nMy Ráma bravest of the brave?<br />\nBy him my race\'s high-souled heir,<br />\nBy him whom none can match, I swear,<br />\nNow speak the wish that on thee weighs:<br />\nBy him whose right is length of days,<br />\nWhom if my fond paternal eye<br />\nSaw not one hour I needs must die,—<br />\nI swear by Ráma my dear son,<br />\nSpeak, and thy bidding shall be done.<br />\nSpeak, darling; if thou choose, request<br />\nTo have the heart from out my breast;<br />\nRegard my words, sweet love, and name<br />\nThe wish thy mind thinks fit to frame.<br />\nNor let thy soul give way to doubt:<br />\nMy power should drive suspicion out.<br />\nYea, by my merits won I swear,<br />\nSpeak, darling, I will grant thy prayer.”<br />\nThe queen, ambitious, overjoyed<br />\nTo see him by her plot decoyed,<br />\nMore eager still her aims to reach,<br />\nSpoke her abominable speech:<br />\n“A boon thou grantest, nothing loth,<br />\nAnd swearest with repeated oath.<br />\nNow let the thirty Gods and three<br />\nCanto XI. The Queen\'s Demand.<br />\n351<br />\nMy witnesses, with Indra, be.<br />\nLet sun and moon and planets hear,<br />\nHeaven, quarters, day and night, give ear.<br />\nThe mighty world, the earth outspread,<br />\nWith bards of heaven and demons dread;<br />\nThe ghosts that walk in midnight shade,<br />\nAnd household Gods, our present aid,<br />\nA every being great and small<br />\nTo hear and mark the oath I call.”<br />\nWhen thus the archer king was bound,<br />\nWith treacherous arts and oaths enwound,<br />\nShe to her bounteous lord subdued<br />\nBy blinding love, her speech renewed:<br />\n“Remember, King, that long-past day<br />\nOf Gods\' and demons\' battle fray.<br />\nAnd how thy foe in doubtful strife<br />\nHad nigh bereft thee of thy life.<br />\nRemember, it was only I<br />\nPreserved thee when about to die,<br />\nAnd thou for watchful love and care<br />\nWouldst grant my first and second prayer.<br />\nThose offered boons, pledged with thee then,<br />\nI now demand, O King of men,<br />\n[103]<br />\nOf thee, O Monarch, good and just,<br />\nWhose righteous soul observes each trust.<br />\nIf thou refuse thy promise sworn,<br />\nI die, despised, before the morn.<br />\nThese rites in Ráma\'s name begun—<br />\nTransfer them, and enthrone my son.<br />\nThe time is come to claim at last<br />\nThe double boon of days long-past,<br />\nWhen Gods and demons met in fight,<br />\nAnd thou wouldst fain my care requite.<br />\n352<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nNow forth to Daṇḍak\'s forest drive<br />\nThy Ráma for nine years and five,<br />\nAnd let him dwell a hermit there<br />\nWith deerskin coat and matted hair.<br />\nWithout a rival let my boy<br />\nThe empire of the land enjoy,<br />\nAnd let mine eyes ere morning see<br />\nThy Ráma to the forest flee.”<br />\nCanto XII. Dasaratha\'s Lament.<br />\nThe monarch, as Kaikeyí pressed<br />\nWith cruel words her dire request,<br />\nStood for a time absorbed in thought<br />\nWhile anguish in his bosom wrought.<br />\n“Does some wild dream my heart assail?<br />\nOr do my troubled senses fail?<br />\nDoes some dire portent scare my view?<br />\nOr frenzy\'s stroke my soul subdue?”<br />\nThus as he thought, his troubled mind<br />\nIn doubt and dread no rest could find,<br />\nDistressed and trembling like a deer<br />\nWho sees the dreaded tigress near.<br />\nOn the bare ground his limbs he threw,<br />\nAnd many a long deep sigh he drew,<br />\nLike a wild snake, with fury blind,<br />\nBy charms within a ring confined.<br />\nOnce as the monarch\'s fury woke,<br />\n“Shame on thee!” from his bosom broke,<br />\nAnd then in sense-bewildering pain<br />\nHe fainted on the ground again.<br />\nCanto XII. Dasaratha\'s Lament.<br />\n353<br />\nAt length, when slowly strength returned,<br />\nHe answered as his eyeballs burned<br />\nWith the wild fury of his ire<br />\nConsuming her, as \'twere, with fire:<br />\n“Fell traitress, thou whose thoughts design<br />\nThe utter ruin of my line,<br />\nWhat wrong have I or Ráma done?<br />\nSpeak murderess, speak thou wicked one,<br />\nSeeks he not evermore to please<br />\nThee with all sonlike courtesies?<br />\nBy what persuasion art thou led<br />\nTo bring this ruin on his head?<br />\nAh me, that fondly unaware<br />\nI brought thee home my life to share,<br />\nCalled daughter of a king, in truth<br />\nA serpent with a venomed tooth!<br />\nWhat fault can I pretend to find<br />\nIn Ráma praised by all mankind,<br />\nThat I my darling should forsake?<br />\nNo, take my life, my glory take:<br />\nLet either queen be from me torn,<br />\nBut not my well-loved eldest-born.<br />\nHim but to see is highest bliss,<br />\nAnd death itself his face to miss.<br />\nThe world may sunless stand, the grain<br />\nMay thrive without the genial rain,<br />\nBut if my Ráma be not nigh<br />\nMy spirit from its frame will fly.<br />\nEnough, thine impious plan forgo,<br />\nO thou who plottest sin and woe.<br />\nMy head before thy feet, I kneel,<br />\nAnd pray thee some compassion feel.<br />\nO wicked dame, what can have led<br />\nThy heart to dare a plot so dread?<br />\n354<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nPerchance thy purpose is to sound<br />\nThe grace thy son with me has found;<br />\nPerchance the words that, all these days,<br />\nThou still hast said in Ráma\'s praise,<br />\nWere only feigned, designed to cheer<br />\nWith flatteries a father\'s ear.<br />\nSoon as thy grief, my Queen, I knew,<br />\nMy bosom felt the anguish too.<br />\nIn empty halls art thou possessed,<br />\nAnd subject to anothers\' hest?<br />\nNow on Ikshváku\'s ancient race<br />\nFalls foul disorder and disgrace,<br />\nIf thou, O Queen, whose heart so long<br />\nHas loved the good should choose the wrong.<br />\nNot once, O large-eyed dame, hast thou<br />\nBeen guilty of offence till now,<br />\nNor said a word to make me grieve,<br />\nNow will I now thy sin believe.<br />\nWith thee my Ráma used to hold<br />\nLike place with Bharat lofty-souled.<br />\nAs thou so often, when the pair<br />\nWere children yet, wouldst fain declare.<br />\nAnd can thy righteous soul endure<br />\nThat Ráma glorious, pious, pure,<br />\nShould to the distant wilds be sent<br />\nFor fourteen years of banishment?<br />\nYea, Ráma Bharat\'s self exceeds<br />\nIn love to thee and sonlike deeds,<br />\nAnd, for deserving love of thee,<br />\nAs Bharat, even so is he.<br />\nWho better than that chieftain may<br />\nObedience, love, and honour pay,<br />\nThy dignity with care protect,<br />\nThy slightest word and wish respect?<br />\nCanto XII. Dasaratha\'s Lament.<br />\n355<br />\nOf all his countless followers none<br />\nCan breathe a word against my son;<br />\nOf many thousands not a dame<br />\nCan hint reproach or whisper blame.<br />\nAll creatures feel the sweet control<br />\nOf Ráma\'s pure and gentle soul.<br />\nThe pride of Manu\'s race he binds<br />\nTo him the people\'s grateful minds.<br />\nHe wins the subjects with his truth,<br />\n[104]<br />\nThe poor with gifts and gentle ruth,<br />\nHis teachers with his docile will,<br />\nThe foemen with his archer skill.<br />\nTruth, purity, religious zeal,<br />\nThe hand to give, the heart to feel,<br />\nThe love that ne\'er betrays a friend,<br />\nThe rectitude that naught can bend,<br />\nKnowledge, and meek obedience grace<br />\nMy Ráma pride of Raghu\'s race.<br />\nCanst thou thine impious plot design<br />\n\'Gainst him in whom these virtues shine,<br />\nWhose glory with the sages vies,<br />\nPeer of the Gods who rule the skies!<br />\nFrom him no harsh or bitter word<br />\nTo pain one creature have I heard,<br />\nAnd how can I my son address,<br />\nFor thee, with words of bitterness?<br />\nHave mercy, Queen: some pity show<br />\nTo see my tears of anguish flow,<br />\nAnd listen to my mournful cry,<br />\nA poor old man who soon must die.<br />\nWhate\'er this sea-girt land can boast<br />\nOf rich and rare from coast to coast,<br />\nTo thee, my Queen, I give it all:<br />\nBut O, thy deadly words recall:<br />\n356<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nO see, my suppliant hands entreat,<br />\nAgain my lips are on thy feet:<br />\nSave Ráma, save my darling child,<br />\nNor kill me with this sin defiled.”<br />\nHe grovelled on the ground, and lay<br />\nTo burning grief a senseless prey,<br />\nAnd ever and anon, assailed<br />\nBy floods of woe he wept and wailed,<br />\nStriving with eager speed to gain<br />\nThe margent of his sea of pain.<br />\nWith fiercer words she fiercer yet<br />\nThe hapless father\'s pleading met:<br />\n“O Monarch, if thy soul repent<br />\nThe promise and thy free consent,<br />\nHow wilt thou in the world maintain<br />\nThy fame for truth unsmirched with stain?<br />\nWhen gathered kings with thee converse,<br />\nAnd bid thee all the tale rehearse,<br />\nWhat wilt thou say, O truthful King,<br />\nIn answer to their questioning?<br />\n“She to whose love my life I owe,<br />\nWho saved me smitten by the foe,<br />\nKaikeyí, for her tender care,<br />\nWas cheated of the oath I sware.”<br />\nThus wilt thou answer, and forsworn<br />\nWilt draw on thee the princes\' scorn.<br />\nLearn from that tale, the Hawk and Dove,275<br />\nHow strong for truth was Saivya\'s love.<br />\nPledged by his word the monarch gave<br />\nHis flesh the suppliant bird to save.<br />\nSo King Alarka gave his eyes,<br />\n275This story is told in the Mahábhárat. A free version of it may be found in<br />\nScenes from the Rámáyan, etc.<br />\nCanto XII. Dasaratha\'s Lament.<br />\n357<br />\nAnd gained a mansion in the skies.<br />\nThe Sea himself his promise keeps,<br />\nAnd ne\'er beyond his limit sweeps.<br />\nMy deeds of old again recall,<br />\nNor let thy bond dishonoured fall.<br />\nThe rights of truth thou wouldst forget,<br />\nThy Ráma on the throne to set,<br />\nAnd let thy days in pleasure glide,<br />\nFond King, Kauśalyá by thy side.<br />\nNow call it by what name thou wilt,<br />\nJustice, injustice, virtue, guilt,<br />\nThy word and oath remain the same,<br />\nAnd thou must yield what thus I claim.<br />\nIf Ráma be anointed, I<br />\nThis very day will surely die,<br />\nBefore thy face will poison drink,<br />\nAnd lifeless at thy feet will sink.<br />\nYea, better far to die than stay<br />\nAlive to see one single day<br />\nThe crowds before Kauśalyá stand<br />\nAnd hail her queen with reverent hand.<br />\nNow by my son, myself, I swear,<br />\nNo gift, no promise whatsoe\'er<br />\nMy steadfast soul shall now content,<br />\nBut only Ráma\'s banishment.”<br />\nSo far she spake by rage impelled,<br />\nAnd then the queen deep silence held.<br />\nHe heard her speech full fraught with ill,<br />\nBut spoke no word bewildered still,<br />\nGazed on his love once held so dear<br />\nWho spoke unlovely rede to hear;<br />\nThen as he slowly pondered o\'er<br />\nThe queen\'s resolve and oath she swore.<br />\n358<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nOnce sighing forth, Ah Ráma! he<br />\nFell prone as falls a smitten tree.<br />\nHis senses lost like one insane,<br />\nFaint as a sick man weak with pain,<br />\nOr like a wounded snake dismayed,<br />\nSo lay the king whom earth obeyed.<br />\nLong burning sighs he slowly heaved,<br />\nAs, conquered by his woe, he grieved,<br />\nAnd thus with tears and sobs between<br />\nHis sad faint words addressed the queen:<br />\n“By whom, Kaikeyí, wast thou taught<br />\nThis flattering hope with ruin fraught?<br />\nHave goblins seized thy soul, O dame,<br />\nWho thus canst speak and feel no shame?<br />\nThy mind with sin is sicklied o\'er,<br />\nFrom thy first youth ne\'er seen before.<br />\nA good and loving wife wast thou,<br />\nBut all, alas! is altered now.<br />\nWhat terror can have seized thy breast<br />\nTo make thee frame this dire request,<br />\nThat Bharat o\'er the land may reign,<br />\nAnd Ráma in the woods remain?<br />\nTurn from thine evil ways, O turn,<br />\nAnd thy perfidious counsel spurn,<br />\nIf thou would fain a favour do<br />\nTo people, lord, and Bharat too.<br />\nO wicked traitress, fierce and vile,<br />\nWho lovest deeds of sin and guile,<br />\n[105]<br />\nWhat crime or grievance dost thou see,<br />\nWhat fault in Ráma or in me?<br />\nThy son will ne\'er the throne accept<br />\nIf Ráma from his rights be kept,<br />\nFor Bharat\'s heart more firmly yet<br />\nCanto XII. Dasaratha\'s Lament.<br />\n359<br />\nThan Ráma\'s is on justice set.<br />\nHow shall I say, Go forth, and brook<br />\nUpon my Ráma\'s face to look,<br />\nSee his pale cheek and ashy lips<br />\nDimmed like the moon in sad eclipse?<br />\nHow see the plan so well prepared<br />\nWhen prudent friends my counsels shared,<br />\nAll ruined, like a host laid low<br />\nBeneath some foeman\'s murderous blow.<br />\nWhat will these gathered princes say,<br />\nFrom regions near and far away?<br />\n“O\'erlong endures the monarch\'s reign,<br />\nor now he is a child again.”<br />\nWhen many a good and holy sage<br />\nIn Scripture versed, revered for age,<br />\nShall ask for Ráma, what shall I<br />\nUnhappy, what shall I reply?<br />\n“By Queen Kaikeyí long distressed<br />\nI drove him forth and dispossessed.”<br />\nAlthough herein the truth I speak,<br />\nThey all will hold me false and weak.<br />\nWhat will Kauśalyá say when she<br />\nDemands her son exiled by me?<br />\nAlas! what answer shall I frame,<br />\nOr how console the injured dame?<br />\nShe like a slave on me attends,<br />\nAnd with a sister\'s care she blends<br />\nA mother\'s love, a wife\'s, a friend\'s.<br />\nIn spite of all her tender care,<br />\nHer noble son, her face most fair,<br />\nAnother queen I could prefer<br />\nAnd for thy sake neglected her,<br />\nBut now, O Queen, my heart is grieved<br />\nFor love and care by thee received,<br />\n360<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nE\'en as the sickening wretch repents<br />\nHis dainty meal and condiments.<br />\nAnd how will Queen Sumitrá trust<br />\nThe husband whom she finds unjust,<br />\nSeeing my Ráma driven hence<br />\nDishonoured, and for no offence?<br />\nAh! the Videhan bride will hear<br />\nA double woe, a double fear,<br />\nTwo whelming sorrows at one breath,<br />\nHer lord\'s disgrace, his father\'s death.<br />\nMine aged bosom she will wring<br />\nAnd kill me with her sorrowing,<br />\nSad as a fair nymph left to weep<br />\nDeserted on Himálaya\'s steep.<br />\nFor short will be my days, I ween,<br />\nWhen I with mournful eyes have seen<br />\nMy Ráma wandering forth alone<br />\nAnd heard dear Sítá sob and moan.<br />\nAh me! my fond belief I rue.<br />\nVile traitress, loved as good and true,<br />\nAs one who in his thirst has quaffed,<br />\nDeceived by looks, a deadly draught.<br />\nAh! thou hast slain me, murderess, while<br />\nSoothing my soul with words of guile,<br />\nAs the wild hunter kills the deer<br />\nLured from the brake his song to hear.<br />\nSoon every honest tongue will fling<br />\nReproach on the dishonest king;<br />\nThe people\'s scorn in every street<br />\nThe seller of his child will meet,<br />\nAnd such dishonour will be mine<br />\nAs whelms a Bráhman drunk with wine.<br />\nAh me, for my unhappy fate,<br />\nCompelled thy words to tolerate!<br />\nCanto XII. Dasaratha\'s Lament.<br />\n361<br />\nSuch woe is sent to scourge a crime<br />\nCommitted in some distant time.<br />\nFor many a day with sinful care<br />\nI cherished thee, thou sin and snare,<br />\nKept thee, unwitting, like a cord<br />\nDestined to bind its hapless lord.<br />\nMine hours of ease I spent with thee,<br />\nNor deemed my love my death would be,<br />\nWhile like a heedless child I played,<br />\nOn a black snake my hand I laid.<br />\nA cry from every mouth will burst<br />\nAnd all the world will hold me curst,<br />\nBecause I saw my high-souled son<br />\nUnkinged, unfathered, and undone;<br />\n“The king by power of love beguiled<br />\nIs weaker than a foolish child,<br />\nHis own beloved son to make<br />\nAn exile for a woman\'s sake.<br />\nBy chaste and holy vows restrained,<br />\nBy reverend teachers duly trained.<br />\nWhen he his virtue\'s fruit should taste<br />\nHe falls by sin and woe disgraced.”<br />\nTwo words will all his answer be<br />\nWhen I pronounce the stern decree,<br />\n“Hence, Ráma, to the woods away,”<br />\nAll he will say is, I obey.<br />\nO, if he would my will withstand<br />\nWhen banished from his home and land,<br />\nThis were a comfort in my woe;<br />\nBut he will ne\'er do this, I know.<br />\nMy Ráma to the forest fled,<br />\nAnd curses thick upon my head,<br />\nGrim Death will bear me hence away,<br />\nHis world-abominated prey.<br />\n362<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nWhen I am gone and Ráma too.<br />\nHow wilt thou those I love pursue?<br />\nWhat vengeful sin will be designed<br />\nAgainst the queens I leave behind?<br />\nWhen thou hast slain her son and me<br />\nKauśalyá soon will follow: she<br />\nWill sink beneath her sorrows\' weight,<br />\nAnd die like me disconsolate.<br />\nExist, Kaikeyí, in thy pride,<br />\nAnd let thy heart be gratified,<br />\nWhen thou my queens and me hast hurled,<br />\nAnd children, to the under world.<br />\nSoon wilt thou rule as empress o\'er<br />\nMy noble house unvext before.<br />\nBut then to wild confusion left,<br />\n[106]<br />\nOf Ráma and of me bereft.<br />\nIf Bharat to thy plan consent<br />\nAnd long for Ráma\'s banishment,<br />\nNe\'er let his hands presume to pay<br />\nThe funeral honours to my clay.<br />\nVile foe, thou cause of all mine ill,<br />\nObtain at last thy cursed will.<br />\nA widow soon shalt thou enjoy<br />\nThe sweets of empire with thy boy.<br />\nO Princess, sure some evil fate<br />\nFirst brought thee here to devastate,<br />\nIn whom the night of ruin lies<br />\nVeiled in a consort\'s fair disguise.<br />\nThe scorn of all and deepest shame<br />\nWill long pursue my hated name,<br />\nAnd dire disgrace on me will press,<br />\nMisled by thee to wickedness.<br />\nHow shall my Ráma, whom, before,<br />\nHis elephant or chariot bore,<br />\nCanto XII. Dasaratha\'s Lament.<br />\n363<br />\nNow with his feet, a wanderer, tread<br />\nThe forest wilds around him spread?<br />\nHow shall my son, to please whose taste,<br />\nThe deftest cooks, with earrings graced,<br />\nWith rivalry and jealous care<br />\nThe dainty meal and cates prepare—<br />\nHow shall he now his life sustain<br />\nWith acid fruit and woodland grain?<br />\nHe spends his time unvext by cares,<br />\nAnd robes of precious texture wears:<br />\nHow shall he, with one garment round<br />\nHis limbs recline upon the ground?<br />\nWhose was this plan, this cruel thought<br />\nUnheard till now, with ruin fraught,<br />\nTo make thy son Ayodhyá\'s king,<br />\nAnd send my Ráma wandering?<br />\nShame, shame on women! Vile, untrue,<br />\nTheir selfish ends they still pursue.<br />\nNot all of womankind I mean.<br />\nBut more than all this wicked queen.<br />\nO worthless, cruel, selfish dame,<br />\nI brought thee home, my plague and woe.<br />\nWhat fault in me hast thou to blame,<br />\nOr in my son who loves thee so?<br />\nFond wives may from their husbands flee,<br />\nAnd fathers may their sons desert,<br />\nBut all the world would rave to see<br />\nMy Ráma touched with deadly hurt.<br />\nI joy his very step to hear,<br />\nAs though his godlike form I viewed;<br />\nAnd when I see my Ráma near<br />\nI feel my youth again renewed.<br />\nThere might be life without the sun,<br />\nYea, e\'en if Indra sent no rain,<br />\n364<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nBut, were my Ráma banished, none<br />\nWould, so I think, alive remain.<br />\nA foe that longs my life to take,<br />\nI brought thee here my death to be,<br />\nCaressed thee long, a venomed snake,<br />\nAnd through my folly die. Ah me!<br />\nRáma and me and Lakshmaṇ slay,<br />\nAnd then with Bharat rule the state;<br />\nSo bring the kingdom to decay,<br />\nAnd fawn on those thy lord who hate,<br />\nPlotter of woe, for evil bred,<br />\nFor such a speech why do not all<br />\nThy teeth from out thy wicked head<br />\nSplit in a thousand pieces fall?<br />\nMy Ráma\'s words are ever kind,<br />\nHe knows not how to speak in ire:<br />\nThen how canst thou presume to find<br />\nA fault in him whom all admire?<br />\nYield to despair, go mad, or die,<br />\nOr sink within the rifted earth;<br />\nThy fell request will I deny,<br />\nThou shamer of thy royal birth.<br />\nThy longer life I scarce can bear,<br />\nThou ruin of my home and race,<br />\nWho wouldst my heart and heartstrings tear,<br />\nKeen as a razor, false and base.<br />\nMy life is gone, why speak of joy?<br />\nFor what, without my son, were sweet?<br />\nSpare, lady, him thou canst destroy;<br />\nI pray thee as I touch thy feet.”<br />\nHe fell and wept with wild complaint,<br />\nHeart-struck by her presumptuous speech,<br />\nBut could not touch, so weak and faint,<br />\nThe cruel feet he strove to reach.<br />\nCanto XIII. Dasaratha\'s Distress.<br />\n365<br />\nCanto XIII. Dasaratha\'s Distress.<br />\nUnworthy of his mournful fate,<br />\nThe mighty king, unfortunate,<br />\nLay prostrate in unseemly guise,<br />\nAs, banished from the blissful skies,<br />\nYayáti, in his evil day.<br />\nHis merit all exhausted, lay.276<br />\nThe queen, triumphant in the power<br />\nWon by her beauty\'s fatal dower,<br />\nStill terrible and unsubdued,<br />\nHer dire demand again renewed:<br />\n“Great Monarch, \'twas thy boast till now<br />\nTo love the truth and keep the vow;<br />\nThen wherefore would thy lips refuse<br />\nThe promised boon \'tis mine to choose?”<br />\nKing Daśaratha, thus addressed,<br />\nWith anger raging in his breast,<br />\nSank for a while beneath the pain,<br />\nThen to Kaikeyí spoke again:<br />\n[107]<br />\n“Childless so long, at length I won,<br />\nWith mighty toil, from Heaven a son,<br />\nRáma, the mighty-armed; and how<br />\nShall I desert my darling now?<br />\nA scholar wise, a hero bold,<br />\nOf patient mood, with wrath controlled,<br />\nHow can I bid my Ráma fly,<br />\nMy darling of the lotus eye?<br />\n276Only the highest merit obtains a home in heaven for ever. Minor degrees<br />\nof merit procure only leases of heavenly mansions terminable after periods<br />\nproportioned to the fund which buys them. King Yayáti went to heaven and<br />\nwhen his term expired was unceremoniously ejected, and thrown down to<br />\nearth.<br />\n366<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nIn heaven itself I scarce could bear,<br />\nWhen asking of my Ráma there,<br />\nTo hear the Gods his griefs declare,<br />\nAnd O, that death would take me hence<br />\nBefore I wrong his innocence!”<br />\nAs thus the monarch wept and wailed,<br />\nAnd maddening grief his heart assailed,<br />\nThe sun had sought his resting-place,<br />\nAnd night was closing round apace.<br />\nBut yet the moon-crowned night could bring<br />\nNo comfort to the wretched king.<br />\nAs still he mourned with burning sighs<br />\nAnd fixed his gaze upon the skies:<br />\n“O Night whom starry fires adorn,<br />\nI long not for the coming morn.<br />\nBe kind and show some mercy: see,<br />\nMy suppliant hands are raised to thee.<br />\nNay, rather fly with swifter pace;<br />\nNo longer would I see the face<br />\nOf Queen Kaikeyí, cruel, dread,<br />\nWho brings this woe upon mine head.”<br />\nAgain with suppliant hands he tried<br />\nTo move the queen, and wept and sighed:<br />\n“To me, unhappy me, inclined<br />\nTo good, sweet dame, thou shouldst be kind;<br />\nWhose life is well-nigh fled, who cling<br />\nTo thee for succour, me thy king.<br />\nThis, only this, is all my claim:<br />\nHave mercy, O my lovely dame.<br />\nNone else have I to take my part,<br />\nHave mercy: thou art good at heart.<br />\nHear, lady of the soft black eye,<br />\nAnd win a name that ne\'er shall die:<br />\nCanto XIV. Ráma Summoned.<br />\n367<br />\nLet Ráma rule this glorious land,<br />\nThe gift of thine imperial hand.<br />\nO lady of the dainty waist,<br />\nWith eyes and lips of beauty graced,<br />\nPlease Ráma, me, each saintly priest,<br />\nBharat, and all from chief to least.”<br />\nShe heard his wild and mournful cry,<br />\nShe saw the tears his speech that broke,<br />\nSaw her good husband\'s reddened eye,<br />\nBut, cruel still, no word she spoke.<br />\nHis eyes upon her face he bent,<br />\nAnd sought for mercy, but in vain:<br />\nShe claimed his darling\'s banishment,<br />\nHe swooned upon the ground again.<br />\nCanto XIV. Ráma Summoned.<br />\nThe wicked queen her speech renewed,<br />\nWhen rolling on the earth she viewed<br />\nIkshváku\'s son, Ayodhyá\'s king,<br />\nFor his dear Ráma sorrowing:<br />\n“Why, by a simple promise bound,<br />\nLiest thou prostrate on the ground,<br />\nAs though a grievous sin dismayed<br />\nThy spirit! Why so sore afraid?<br />\nKeep still thy word. The righteous deem<br />\nThat truth, mid duties, is supreme:<br />\nAnd now in truth and honour\'s name<br />\nI bid thee own the binding claim.<br />\nŚaivya, a king whom earth obeyed,<br />\nOnce to a hawk a promise made,<br />\n368<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nGave to the bird his flesh and bone,<br />\nAnd by his truth made heaven his own.277<br />\nAlarka, when a Bráhman famed<br />\nFor Scripture lore his promise claimed,<br />\nTore from his head his bleeding eyes<br />\nAnd unreluctant gave the prize.<br />\nHis narrow bounds prescribed restrain<br />\nThe Rivers\' Lord, the mighty main,<br />\nWho, though his waters boil and rave,<br />\nKeeps faithful to the word he gave.<br />\nTruth all religion comprehends,<br />\nThrough all the world its might extends:<br />\nIn truth alone is justice placed,<br />\nOn truth the words of God are based:<br />\nA life in truth unchanging past<br />\nWill bring the highest bliss at last.<br />\nIf thou the right would still pursue,<br />\nBe constant to thy word and true:<br />\nLet me thy promise fruitful see,<br />\nFor boons, O King, proceed from thee.<br />\nNow to preserve thy righteous fame,<br />\nAnd yielding to my earnest claim—<br />\nThrice I repeat it—send thy child,<br />\nThy Ráma, to the forest wild.<br />\nBut if the boon thou still deny,<br />\nBefore thy face, forlorn, I die.”<br />\n277See Additional Notes, THE SUPPLIANT DOVE{FNS.<br />\nCanto XIV. Ráma Summoned.<br />\n369<br />\nThus was the helpless monarch stung<br />\nBy Queen Kaikeyí\'s fearless tongue,<br />\nAs Bali strove in vain to loose<br />\nHis limbs from Indra\'s fatal noose.<br />\nDismayed in soul and pale with fear,<br />\nThe monarch, like a trembling steer<br />\nBetween the chariot\'s wheel and yoke,<br />\nAgain to Queen Kaikeyí spoke,<br />\nWith sad eyes fixt in vacant stare,<br />\nGathering courage from despair:<br />\n“That hand I took, thou sinful dame,<br />\nWith texts, before the sacred flame,<br />\nThee and thy son, I scorn and hate,<br />\nAnd all at once repudiate.<br />\n[108]<br />\nThe night is fled: the dawn is near:<br />\nSoon will the holy priests be here<br />\nTo bid me for the rite prepare<br />\nThat with my son the throne will share,<br />\nThe preparation made to grace<br />\nMy Ráma in his royal place—<br />\nWith this, e\'en this, my darling for<br />\nMy death the funeral flood shall pour.<br />\nThou and thy son at least forbear<br />\nIn offerings to my shade to share,<br />\nFor by the plot thy guile has laid<br />\nHis consecration will be stayed.<br />\nThis very day how shall I brook<br />\nTo meet each subject\'s altered look?<br />\nTo mark each gloomy joyless brow<br />\nThat was so bright and glad but now?”<br />\nWhile thus the high-souled monarch spoke<br />\nTo the stern queen, the Morning broke,<br />\nAnd holy night had slowly fled,<br />\n370<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nWith moon and stars engarlanded.<br />\nYet once again the cruel queen<br />\nSpoke words in answer fierce and keen,<br />\nStill on her evil purpose bent,<br />\nWild with her rage and eloquent:<br />\n“What speech is this? Such words as these<br />\nSeem sprung from poison-sown disease.<br />\nQuick to thy noble Ráma send<br />\nAnd bid him on his sire attend.<br />\nWhen to my son the rule is given;<br />\nWhen Ráma to the woods is driven;<br />\nWhen not a rival copes with me,<br />\nFrom chains of duty thou art free.”<br />\nThus goaded, like a generous steed<br />\nUrged by sharp spurs to double speed,<br />\n“My senses are astray,” he cried,<br />\n“And duty\'s bonds my hands have tied.<br />\nI long to see mine eldest son,<br />\nMy virtuous, my beloved one.”<br />\nAnd now the night had past away;<br />\nOut shone the Maker of the Day,<br />\nBringing the planetary hour<br />\nAnd moment of auspicious power.<br />\nVaśishṭha, virtuous, far renowned,<br />\nWhose young disciples girt him round,<br />\nWith sacred things without delay<br />\nThrough the fair city took his way.<br />\nHe traversed, where the people thronged,<br />\nAnd all for Ráma\'s coming longed,<br />\nThe town as fair in festive show<br />\nAs his who lays proud cities low.278<br />\n278Indra, called also Purandara, Town-destroyer.<br />\nCanto XIV. Ráma Summoned.<br />\n371<br />\nHe reached the palace where he heard<br />\nThe mingled notes of many a bird,<br />\nWhere crowded thick high-honoured bands<br />\nOf guards with truncheons in their hands.<br />\nBegirt by many a sage, elate,<br />\nVaśishṭha reached the royal gate,<br />\nAnd standing by the door he found<br />\nSumantra, for his form renowned,<br />\nThe king\'s illustrious charioteer<br />\nAnd noble counsellor and peer.<br />\nTo him well skilled in every part<br />\nOf his hereditary art<br />\nVaśishṭha said: “O charioteer,<br />\nInform the king that I am here,<br />\nHere ready by my side behold<br />\nThese sacred vessels made of gold,<br />\nWhich water for the rite contain<br />\nFrom Gangá and each distant main.<br />\nHere for installing I have brought<br />\nThe seat prescribed of fig-wood wrought,<br />\nAll kinds of seed and precious scent<br />\nAnd many a gem and ornament;<br />\nGrain, sacred grass, the garden\'s spoil,<br />\nHoney and curds and milk and oil;<br />\nEight radiant maids, the best of all<br />\nWar elephants that feed in stall;<br />\nA four-horse car, a bow and sword.<br />\nA litter, men to bear their lord;<br />\nA white umbrella bright and fair<br />\nThat with the moon may well compare;<br />\nTwo chouries of the whitest hair;<br />\nA golden beaker rich and rare;<br />\nA bull high-humped and fair to view,<br />\nGirt with gold bands and white of hue;<br />\n372<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nA four-toothed steed with flowing mane,<br />\nA throne which lions carved sustain;<br />\nA tiger\'s skin, the sacred fire,<br />\nFresh kindled, which the rites require;<br />\nThe best musicians skilled to play,<br />\nAnd dancing-girls in raiment gay;<br />\nKine, Bráhmans, teachers fill the court,<br />\nAnd bird and beast of purest sort.<br />\nFrom town and village, far and near,<br />\nThe noblest men are gathered here;<br />\nHere merchants with their followers crowd,<br />\nAnd men in joyful converse loud,<br />\nAnd kings from many a distant land<br />\nTo view the consecration stand.<br />\nThe dawn is come, the lucky day;<br />\nGo bid the monarch haste away,<br />\nThat now Prince Ráma may obtain<br />\nThe empire, and begin his reign.”<br />\nSoon as he heard the high behest<br />\nThe driver of the chariot pressed<br />\nWithin the chambers of the king,<br />\nHis lord with praises honouring.<br />\nAnd none of all the warders checked<br />\nHis entrance for their great respect<br />\nOf him well known, in place so high,<br />\nStill fain their king to gratify.<br />\nHe stood beside the royal chief,<br />\nUnwitting of his deadly grief,<br />\nAnd with sweet words began to sing<br />\nThe praises of his lord and king:<br />\n“As, when the sun begins to rise,<br />\nThe sparkling sea delights our eyes,<br />\nWake, calm with gentle soul, and thus<br />\n[109]<br />\nCanto XIV. Ráma Summoned.<br />\n373<br />\nGive rapture, mighty King, to us.<br />\nAs Mátali279this selfsame hour<br />\nSang lauds of old to Indra\'s power,<br />\nWhen he the Titan hosts o\'erthrew,<br />\nSo hymn I thee with praises due.<br />\nThe Vedas, with their kindred lore,<br />\nBrahmá their soul-born Lord adore,<br />\nWith all the doctrines of the wise,<br />\nAnd bid him, as I bid thee, rise.<br />\nAs, with the moon, the Lord of Day<br />\nWakes with the splendour of his ray<br />\nProlific Earth, who neath him lies,<br />\nSo, mighty King, I bid thee rise.<br />\nWith blissful words, O Lord of men,<br />\nRise, radiant in thy form, as when<br />\nThe sun ascending darts his light<br />\nFrom Meru\'s everlasting height.<br />\nMay Śiva, Agni, Sun, and Moon<br />\nBestow on thee each choicest boon,<br />\nKuvera, Varuṇa, Indra bless<br />\nKakutstha\'s son with all success.<br />\nAwake, the holy night is fled,<br />\nThe happy light abroad is spread;<br />\nAwake, O best of kings, and share<br />\nThe glorious task that claims thy care.<br />\nThe holy sage Vaśishṭha waits,<br />\nWith all his Bráhmans, at the gate.<br />\nGive thy decree, without delay,<br />\nTo consecrate thy son today.<br />\nAs armies, by no captain led,<br />\nAs flocks that feed unshepherded,<br />\nSuch is the fortune of a state<br />\n279Indra\'s charioteer.<br />\n374<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nWithout a king and desolate.”<br />\nSuch were the words the bard addressed,<br />\nWith weight of sage advice impressed;<br />\nAnd, as he heard, the hapless king<br />\nFelt deeper yet his sorrow\'s sting.<br />\nAt length, all joy and comfort fled,<br />\nHe raised his eyes with weeping red,<br />\nAnd, mournful for his Ráma\'s sake,<br />\nThe good and glorious monarch spake:<br />\n“Why seek with idle praise to greet<br />\nThe wretch for whom no praise is meet?<br />\nThy words mine aching bosom tear,<br />\nAnd plunge me deeper in despair.”<br />\nSumantra heard the sad reply,<br />\nAnd saw his master\'s tearful eye.<br />\nWith reverent palm to palm applied<br />\nHe drew a little space aside.<br />\nThen, as the king, with misery weak,<br />\nWith vain endeavour strove to speak,<br />\nKaikeyí, skilled in plot and plan,<br />\nTo sage Sumantra thus began:<br />\n“The king, absorbed in joyful thought<br />\nFor his dear son, no rest has sought:<br />\nSleepless to him the night has past,<br />\nAnd now o\'erwatched he sinks at last.<br />\nThen go, Sumantra, and with speed<br />\nThe glorious Ráma hither lead:<br />\nGo, as I pray, nor longer wait;<br />\nNo time is this to hesitate.”<br />\n“How can I go, O Lady fair,<br />\nUnless my lord his will declare?”<br />\n“Fain would I see him,” cried the king,<br />\nCanto XV. The Preparations.<br />\n375<br />\n“Quick, quick, my beauteous Ráma bring.”<br />\nThen rose the happy thought to cheer<br />\nThe bosom of the charioteer,<br />\n“The king, I ween, of pious mind,<br />\nThe consecration has designed.”<br />\nSumantra for his wisdom famed,<br />\nDelighted with the thought he framed,<br />\nFrom the calm chamber, like a bay<br />\nOf crowded ocean, took his way.<br />\nHe turned his face to neither side,<br />\nBut forth he hurried straight;<br />\nOnly a little while he eyed<br />\nThe guards who kept the gate.<br />\nHe saw in front a gathered crowd<br />\nOf men of every class,<br />\nWho, parting as he came, allowed<br />\nThe charioteer to pass.<br />\nCanto XV. The Preparations.<br />\nThere slept the Bráhmans, deeply read<br />\nIn Scripture, till the night had fled;<br />\nThen, with the royal chaplains, they<br />\nTook each his place in long array.<br />\nThere gathered fast the chiefs of trade,<br />\nNor peer nor captain long delayed,<br />\nAssembling all in order due<br />\nThe consecrating rite to view.<br />\n376<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nThe morning dawned with cloudless ray<br />\nOn Pushya\'s high auspicious day,<br />\nAnd Cancer with benignant power<br />\nLooked down on Ráma\'s natal hour.<br />\nThe twice-born chiefs, with zealous heed,<br />\nMade ready what the rite would need.<br />\nThe well-wrought throne of holy wood<br />\nAnd golden urns in order stood.<br />\nThere was the royal car whereon<br />\nA tiger\'s skin resplendent shone;<br />\nThere water, brought for sprinkling thence<br />\nWhere, in their sacred confluence,<br />\nBlend Jumná\'s waves with Gangá\'s tide,<br />\nFrom many a holy flood beside,<br />\nFrom brook and fountain far and near,<br />\nFrom pool and river, sea and mere.<br />\nAnd there were honey, curd, and oil,<br />\nParched rice and grass, the garden\'s spoil,<br />\nFresh milk, eight girls in bright attire,<br />\nAn elephant with eyes of fire;<br />\nAnd urns of gold and silver made,<br />\nWith milky branches overlaid,<br />\nAll brimming from each sacred flood,<br />\nAnd decked with many a lotus bud.<br />\n[110]<br />\nAnd dancing-women fair and free,<br />\nGay with their gems, were there to see,<br />\nWho stood in bright apparel by<br />\nWith lovely brow and witching eye.<br />\nWhite flashed the jewelled chouri there,<br />\nAnd shone like moonbeams through the air;<br />\nThe white umbrella overhead<br />\nA pale and moonlike lustre shed,<br />\nWont in pure splendour to precede,<br />\nAnd in such rites the pomp to lead.<br />\nCanto XV. The Preparations.<br />\n377<br />\nThere stood the charger by the side<br />\nOf the great bull of snow-white hide;<br />\nThere was all music soft and loud,<br />\nAnd bards and minstrels swelled the crowd.<br />\nFor now the monarch bade combine<br />\nEach custom of his ancient line<br />\nWith every rite Ayodhyá\'s state<br />\nObserved, her kings to consecrate.<br />\nThen, summoned by the king\'s behest,<br />\nThe multitudes together pressed,<br />\nAnd, missing still the royal sire,<br />\nBegan, impatient, to inquire:<br />\n“Who to our lord will tidings bear<br />\nThat all his people throng the square?<br />\nWhere is the king? the sun is bright,<br />\nAnd all is ready for the rite.”<br />\nAs thus they spoke, Sumantra, tried<br />\nIn counsel, to the chiefs replied,<br />\nGathered from lands on every side:<br />\n“To Ráma\'s house I swiftly drave,<br />\nFor so the king his mandate gave.<br />\nOur aged lord and Ráma too<br />\nIn honour high hold all of you:<br />\nI in your words (be long your days!)<br />\nWill ask him why he thus delays.”<br />\n378<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nThus spoke the peer in Scripture read,<br />\nAnd to the ladies\' bower he sped.<br />\nQuick through the gates Sumantra hied,<br />\nWhich access ne\'er to him denied.<br />\nBehind the curtained screen he drew,<br />\nWhich veiled the chamber from the view.<br />\nIn benediction loud he raised<br />\nHis voice, and thus the monarch praised:<br />\n“Sun, Moon, Kuvera, Śiva bless<br />\nKakutstha\'s son with high success!<br />\nThe Lords of air, flood, fire decree<br />\nThe victory, my King, to thee!<br />\nThe holy night has past away,<br />\nAuspicious shines the morning\'s ray.<br />\nRise, Lord of men, thy part to take<br />\nIn the great rite. Awake! awake!<br />\nBráhmans and captains, chiefs of trade,<br />\nAll wait in festive garb arrayed;<br />\nFor thee they look with eager eyes:<br />\nO Raghu\'s son, awake! arise.”<br />\nTo him in holy Scripture read,<br />\nWho hailed him thus, the monarch said,<br />\nUpraising from his sleep his head:<br />\n“Go, Ráma, hither lead as thou<br />\nWast ordered by the queen but now.<br />\nCome, tell me why my mandate laid<br />\nUpon thee thus is disobeyed.<br />\nAway! and Ráma hither bring;<br />\nI sleep not: make no tarrying.”<br />\nCanto XV. The Preparations.<br />\n379<br />\nThus gave the king command anew:<br />\nSumantra from his lord withdrew;<br />\nWith head in lowly reverence bent,<br />\nAnd filled with thoughts of joy, he went.<br />\nThe royal street he traversed, where<br />\nWaved flag and pennon to the air,<br />\nAnd, as with joy the car he drove,<br />\nHe let his eyes delighted rove.<br />\nOn every side, where\'er he came,<br />\nHe heard glad words, their theme the same,<br />\nAs in their joy the gathered folk<br />\nOf Ráma and the throning spoke.<br />\nThen saw he Ráma\'s palace bright<br />\nAnd vast as Mount Kailása\'s height,<br />\nThat glorious in its beauty showed<br />\nAs Indra\'s own supreme abode:<br />\nWith folding doors both high and wide;<br />\nWith hundred porches beautified:<br />\nWhere golden statues towering rose<br />\nO\'er gemmed and coralled porticoes.<br />\nBright like a cave in Meru\'s side,<br />\nOr clouds through Autumn\'s sky that ride:<br />\nFestooned with length of bloomy twine,<br />\nFlashing with pearls and jewels\' shine,<br />\nWhile sandal-wood and aloe lent<br />\nThe mingled riches of their scent;<br />\nWith all the odorous sweets that fill<br />\nThe breezy heights of Dardar\'s hill.<br />\nThere by the gate the Sáras screamed,<br />\nAnd shrill-toned peacocks\' plumage gleamed.<br />\nIts floors with deftest art inlaid,<br />\nIts sculptured wolves in gold arrayed,<br />\nWith its bright sheen the palace took<br />\nThe mind of man and chained the look,<br />\n380<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nFor like the sun and moon it glowed,<br />\nAnd mocked Kuvera\'s loved abode.<br />\nCircling the walls a crowd he viewed<br />\nWho stood in reverent attitude,<br />\nWith throngs of countrymen who sought<br />\nAcceptance of the gifts they brought.<br />\nThe elephant was stationed there,<br />\nAppointed Ráma\'s self to bear;<br />\nAdorned with pearls, his brow and cheek<br />\nWere sandal-dyed in many a streak,<br />\nWhile he, in stature, bulk, and pride,<br />\nWith Indra\'s own Airávat280vied.<br />\nSumantra, borne by coursers fleet,<br />\nFlashing a radiance o\'er the street,<br />\nTo Ráma\'s palace flew,<br />\nAnd all who lined the royal road,<br />\nOr thronged the prince\'s rich abode,<br />\nRejoiced as near he drew.<br />\nAnd with delight his bosom swelled<br />\nAs onward still his course he held<br />\n[111]<br />\nThrough many a sumptuous court<br />\nLike Indra\'s palace nobly made,<br />\nWhere peacocks revelled in the shade,<br />\nAnd beasts of silvan sort.<br />\nThrough many a hall and chamber wide,<br />\nThat with Kailása\'s splendour vied.<br />\nOr mansions of the Blest,<br />\nWhile Ráma\'s friends, beloved and tried,<br />\nBefore his coming stepped aside,<br />\nStill on Sumantra pressed.<br />\nHe reached the chamber door, where stood<br />\nAround his followers young and good,<br />\n280The elephant of Indra.<br />\nCanto XVI. Ráma Summoned.<br />\n381<br />\nBard, minstrel, charioteer,<br />\nWell skilled the tuneful chords to sweep,<br />\nWith soothing strain to lull to sleep,<br />\nOr laud their master dear.<br />\nThen, like a dolphin darting through<br />\nUnfathomed depths of ocean\'s blue<br />\nWith store of jewels decked,<br />\nThrough crowded halls that rock-like rose,<br />\nOr as proud hills where clouds repose,<br />\nSumantra sped unchecked—<br />\nHalls like the glittering domes on high<br />\nReared for the dwellers of the sky<br />\nBy heavenly architect.<br />\nCanto XVI. Ráma Summoned.<br />\nSo through the crowded inner door<br />\nSumantra, skilled in ancient lore,<br />\nOn to the private chambers pressed<br />\nWhich stood apart from all the rest.<br />\nThere youthful warriors, true and bold,<br />\nWhose ears were ringed with polished gold,<br />\nAll armed with trusty bows and darts,<br />\nWatched with devoted eyes and hearts.<br />\nAnd hoary men, a faithful train,<br />\nWhose aged hands held staves of cane,<br />\nThe ladies\' guard, apparelled fair<br />\nIn red attire, were stationed there.<br />\nSoon as they saw Sumantra nigh,<br />\nEach longed his lord to gratify,<br />\nAnd from his seat beside the door<br />\n382<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nUp sprang each ancient servitor.<br />\nThen to the warders quickly cried<br />\nThe skilled Sumantra, void of pride:<br />\n“Tell Ráma that the charioteer<br />\nSumantra waits for audience here.”<br />\nThe ancient men with one accord<br />\nSeeking the pleasure of their lord,<br />\nPassing with speed the chamber door<br />\nTo Ráma\'s ear the message bore.<br />\nForthwith the prince with duteous heed<br />\nCalled in the messenger with speed,<br />\nFor \'twas his sire\'s command, he knew,<br />\nThat sent him for the interview.<br />\nLike Lord Kuvera, well arrayed,<br />\nHe pressed a couch of gold,<br />\nWherefrom a covering of brocade<br />\nHung down in many a fold.<br />\nOil and the sandal\'s fragrant dust<br />\nHad tinged his body o\'er<br />\nDark as the stream the spearman\'s thrust<br />\nDrains from the wounded boar.<br />\nHim Sítá watched with tender care,<br />\nA chouri in her hand,<br />\nAs Chitrá,281ever fond in fair,<br />\nBeside the Moon will stand.<br />\nHim glorious with unborrowed light,<br />\nA liberal lord, of sunlike might,<br />\nSumantra hailed in words like these,<br />\nWell skilled in gentle courtesies,<br />\nAs, with joined hands in reverence raised,<br />\nUpon the beauteous prince he gazed:<br />\n“Happy Kauśalyá! Blest is she,<br />\n281A star in the spike of Virgo: hence the name of the mouth Chaitra or Chait.<br />\nCanto XVI. Ráma Summoned.<br />\n383<br />\nThe Mother of a son like thee.<br />\nNow rise, O Ráma, speed away.<br />\nGo to thy sire without delay:<br />\nFor he and Queen Kaikeyí seek<br />\nAn interview with thee to speak.”<br />\nThe lion-lord of men, the best<br />\nOf splendid heroes, thus addressed,<br />\nTo Sítá spake with joyful cheer:<br />\n“The king and queen, my lady dear,<br />\nTouching the throning, for my sake<br />\nSome salutary counsel take.<br />\nThe lady of the full black eye<br />\nWould fain her husband gratify,<br />\nAnd, all his purpose understood,<br />\nCounsels the monarch to my good.<br />\nA happy fate is mine, I ween,<br />\nWhen he, consulting with his queen,<br />\nSumantra on this charge, intent<br />\nUpon my gain and good, has sent.<br />\nAn envoy of so noble sort<br />\nWell suits the splendour of the court.<br />\nThe consecration rite this day<br />\nWill join me in imperial sway.<br />\nTo meet the lord of earth, for so<br />\nHis order bids me, I will go.<br />\nThou, lady, here in comfort stay,<br />\nAnd with thy maidens rest or play.”<br />\n384<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nThus Ráma spake. For meet reply<br />\nThe lady of the large black eye<br />\nAttended to the door her lord,<br />\nAnd blessings on his head implored:<br />\n“The majesty and royal state<br />\nWhich holy Bráhmans venerate,<br />\nThe consecration and the rite<br />\nWhich sanctifies the ruler\'s might,<br />\nAnd all imperial powers should be<br />\nThine by thy father\'s high decree,<br />\nAs He, the worlds who formed and planned,<br />\nThe kingship gave to Indra\'s hand.<br />\n[112]<br />\nThen shall mine eyes my king adore<br />\nWhen lustral rites and fast are o\'er,<br />\nAnd black deer\'s skin and roebuck\'s horn<br />\nThy lordly limbs and hand adorn.<br />\nMay He whose hands the thunder wield<br />\nBe in the east thy guard and shield;<br />\nMay Yáma\'s care the south befriend,<br />\nAnd Varuṇ\'s arm the west defend;<br />\nAnd let Kuvera, Lord of Gold,<br />\nThe north with firm protection hold.”<br />\nThen Ráma spoke a kind farewell,<br />\nAnd hailed the blessings as they fell<br />\nFrom Sítá\'s gentle lips; and then,<br />\nAs a young lion from his den<br />\nDescends the mountain\'s stony side,<br />\nSo from the hall the hero hied.<br />\nFirst Lakshmaṇ at the door he viewed<br />\nWho stood in reverent attitude,<br />\nThen to the central court he pressed<br />\nWhere watched the friends who loved him best.<br />\nTo all his dear companions there<br />\nCanto XVI. Ráma Summoned.<br />\n385<br />\nHe gave kind looks and greeting fair.<br />\nOn to the lofty car that glowed<br />\nLike fire the royal tiger strode.<br />\nBright as himself its silver shone:<br />\nA tiger\'s skin was laid thereon.<br />\nWith cloudlike thunder, as it rolled,<br />\nIt flashed with gems and burnished gold,<br />\nAnd, like the sun\'s meridian blaze,<br />\nBlinded the eye that none could gaze.<br />\nLike youthful elephants, tall and strong,<br />\nFleet coursers whirled the car along:<br />\nIn such a car the Thousand-eyed<br />\nBorne by swift horses loves to ride.<br />\nSo like Parjanya,282when he flies<br />\nThundering through the autumn skies,<br />\nThe hero from the palace sped,<br />\nAs leaves the moon some cloud o\'erhead.<br />\nStill close to Ráma Lakshmaṇ kept,<br />\nBehind him to the car he leapt,<br />\nAnd, watching with fraternal care,<br />\nWaved the long chouri\'s silver hair,<br />\nAs from the palace gate he came<br />\nUp rose the tumult of acclaim.<br />\nWhile loud huzza and jubilant shout<br />\nPealed from the gathered myriads out.<br />\nThen elephants, like mountains vast,<br />\nAnd steeds who all their kind surpassed,<br />\nFollowed their lord by hundreds, nay<br />\nBy thousands, led in long array.<br />\nFirst marched a band of warriors trained,<br />\nWith sandal dust and aloe stained;<br />\nWell armed was each with sword and bow,<br />\n282The Rain-God.<br />\n386<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nAnd every breast with hope aglow,<br />\nAnd ever, as they onward went,<br />\nShouts from the warrior train,<br />\nAnd every sweet-toned instrument<br />\nProlonged the minstrel strain.<br />\nOn passed the tamer of his foes,<br />\nWhile well clad dames, in crowded rows,<br />\nEach chamber lattice thronged to view,<br />\nAnd chaplets on the hero threw.<br />\nThen all, of peerless face and limb,<br />\nSang Ráma\'s praise for love of him,<br />\nAnd blent their voices, soft and sweet,<br />\nFrom palace high and crowded street:<br />\n“Now, sure, Kauśalyá\'s heart must swell<br />\nTo see the son she loves so well,<br />\nThee Ráma, thee, her joy and pride,<br />\nTriumphant o\'er the realm preside.”<br />\nThen—for they knew his bride most fair<br />\nOf all who part the soft dark hair,<br />\nHis love, his life, possessed the whole<br />\nOf her young hero\'s heart and soul:—<br />\n“Be sure the lady\'s fate repays<br />\nSome mighty vow of ancient days,283<br />\nFor blest with Ráma\'s love is she<br />\nAs, with the Moon\'s, sweet Rohiní.”284<br />\nSuch were the witching words that came<br />\nFrom lips of many a peerless dame<br />\nCrowding the palace roofs to greet<br />\nThe hero as he gained the street.<br />\n283In a former life.<br />\n284One of the lunar asterisms, represented as the favourite wife of the Moon.<br />\nSee p. 4, note.<br />\nCanto XVII. Ráma\'s Approach.<br />\n387<br />\nCanto XVII. Ráma\'s Approach.<br />\nAs Ráma, rendering blithe and gay<br />\nHis loving friends, pursued his way,<br />\nHe saw on either hand a press<br />\nOf mingled people numberless.<br />\nThe royal street he traversed, where<br />\nIncense of aloe filled the air,<br />\nWhere rose high palaces, that vied<br />\nWith paly clouds, on either side;<br />\nWith flowers of myriad colours graced.<br />\nAnd food for every varied taste,<br />\nBright as the glowing path o\'erhead<br />\nWhich feet of Gods celestial tread,<br />\nLoud benedictions, sweet to hear,<br />\nFrom countless voices soothed his ear.<br />\nWhile he to each gave due salute<br />\nHis place and dignity to suit:<br />\n“Be thou,” the joyful people cried,<br />\n“Be thou our guardian, lord and guide.<br />\nThroned and anointed king to-day,<br />\nThy feet set forth upon the way<br />\nWherein, each honoured as a God,<br />\nThy fathers and forefathers trod.<br />\nThy sire and his have graced the throne,<br />\nAnd loving care to us have shown:<br />\nThus blest shall we and ours remain,<br />\nYea still more blest in Ráma\'s reign.<br />\n[113]<br />\nNo more of dainty fare we need,<br />\nAnd but one cherished object heed,<br />\nThat we may see our prince today<br />\nInvested with imperial sway.”<br />\n388<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nSuch were the words and pleasant speech<br />\nThat Ráma heard, unmoved, from each<br />\nOf the dear friends around him spread,<br />\nAs onward through the street he sped,<br />\nFor none could turn his eye or thought<br />\nFrom the dear form his glances sought,<br />\nWith fruitless ardour forward cast<br />\nEven when Raghu\'s son had past.<br />\nAnd he who saw not Ráma nigh,<br />\nNor caught a look from Ráma\'s eye,<br />\nA mark for scorn and general blame,<br />\nReproached himself in bitter shame.<br />\nFor to each class his equal mind<br />\nWith sympathy and love inclined<br />\nMost fully of the princely four,<br />\nSo greatest love to him they bore.<br />\nHis circling course the hero bent<br />\nRound shrine and altar, reverent,<br />\nRound homes of Gods, where cross-roads met,<br />\nWhere many a sacred tree was set.<br />\nNear to his father\'s house he drew<br />\nLike Indra\'s beautiful to view,<br />\nAnd with the light his glory gave<br />\nWithin the royal palace drave.<br />\nThrough three broad courts, where bowmen kept<br />\nTheir watch and ward, his coursers swept,<br />\nThen through the two remaining went<br />\nOn foot the prince preëminent.<br />\nThrough all the courts the hero passed,<br />\nAnd gained the ladies\' bower at last;<br />\nThen through the door alone withdrew,<br />\nAnd left without his retinue.<br />\nWhen thus the monarch\'s noble boy<br />\nCanto XVIII. The Sentence.<br />\n389<br />\nHad gone his sire to meet,<br />\nThe multitude, elate with joy,<br />\nStood watching in the street,<br />\nAnd his return with eager eyes<br />\nExpected at the gates,<br />\nAs for his darling moon to rise<br />\nThe King of Rivers285waits.<br />\nCanto XVIII. The Sentence.<br />\nWith hopeless eye and pallid mien<br />\nThere sat the monarch with the queen.<br />\nHis father\'s feet with reverence due<br />\nHe clasped, and touched Kaikeyí\'s too.<br />\nThe king, with eyes still brimming o\'er,<br />\nCried Ráma! and could do no more.<br />\nHis voice was choked, his eye was dim,<br />\nHe could not speak or look on him.<br />\nThen sudden fear made Ráma shake<br />\nAs though his foot had roused a snake,<br />\nSoon as his eyes had seen the change<br />\nSo mournful, terrible, and strange.<br />\nFor there his reason well-nigh fled,<br />\nSighing, with soul disquieted,<br />\nTo torturing pangs a prey,<br />\nDismayed, despairing, and distraught,<br />\nIn a fierce whirl of wildering thought<br />\nThe hapless monarch lay,<br />\nLike Ocean wave-engarlanded<br />\n285The Sea.<br />\n390<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nStorm-driven from his tranquil bed,<br />\nThe Sun-God in eclipse,<br />\nOr like a holy seer, heart-stirred<br />\nWith anguish, when a lying word<br />\nHas passed his heedless lips.<br />\nThe sight of his dear father, pained<br />\nWith woe and misery unexplained<br />\nFilled Ráma with unrest,<br />\nAs Ocean\'s pulses rise and swell<br />\nWhen the great moon he loves so well<br />\nShines full upon his breast.<br />\nSo grieving for his father\'s sake,<br />\nTo his own heart the hero spake:<br />\n“Why will the king my sire to-day<br />\nNo kindly word of greeting say?<br />\nAt other times, though wroth he be,<br />\nHis eyes grow calm that look on me.<br />\nThen why does anguish wring his brow<br />\nTo see his well-beloved now?”<br />\nSick and perplexed, distraught with woe,<br />\nTo Queen Kaikeyí bowing low,<br />\nWhile pallor o\'er his bright cheek spread,<br />\nWith humble reverence he said:<br />\n“What have I done, unknown, amiss<br />\nTo make my father wroth like this?<br />\nDeclare it, O dear Queen, and win<br />\nHis pardon for my heedless sin.<br />\nWhy is the sire I ever find<br />\nFilled with all love to-day unkind?<br />\nWith eyes cast down and pallid cheek<br />\nThis day alone he will not speak.<br />\nOr lies he prostrate neath the blow<br />\nOf fierce disease or sudden woe?<br />\nFor all our bliss is dashed with pain,<br />\nCanto XVIII. The Sentence.<br />\n391<br />\nAnd joy unmixt is hard to gain.<br />\nDoes stroke of evil fortune smite<br />\nDear Bharat, charming to the sight,<br />\nOr on the brave Śatrughna fall,<br />\nOr consorts, for he loves them all?<br />\nAgainst his words when I rebel,<br />\nOr fail to please the monarch well,<br />\nWhen deeds of mine his soul offend,<br />\nThat hour I pray my life may end.<br />\nHow should a man to him who gave<br />\nHis being and his life behave?<br />\nThe sire to whom he owes his birth<br />\nShould be his deity on earth.<br />\nHast thou, by pride and folly moved,<br />\n[114]<br />\nWith bitter taunt the king reproved?<br />\nHas scorn of thine or cruel jest<br />\nTo passion stirred his gentle breast?<br />\nSpeak truly, Queen, that I may know<br />\nWhat cause has changed the monarch so.”<br />\nThus by the high-souled prince addressed,<br />\nOf Raghu\'s sons the chief and best,<br />\nShe cast all ruth and shame aside,<br />\nAnd bold with greedy words replied:<br />\n“Not wrath, O Ráma, stirs the king,<br />\nNor misery stabs with sudden sting;<br />\nOne thought that fills his soul has he,<br />\nBut dares not speak for fear of thee.<br />\nThou art so dear, his lips refrain<br />\nFrom words that might his darling pain.<br />\nBut thou, as duty bids, must still<br />\nThe promise of thy sire fulfil.<br />\nHe who to me in days gone by<br />\nVouchsafed a boon with honours high,<br />\n392<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nDares now, a king, his word regret,<br />\nAnd caitiff-like disowns the debt.<br />\nThe lord of men his promise gave<br />\nTo grant the boon that I might crave,<br />\nAnd now a bridge would idly throw<br />\nWhen the dried stream has ceased to flow.<br />\nHis faith the monarch must not break<br />\nIn wrath, or e\'en for thy dear sake.<br />\nFrom faith, as well the righteous know,<br />\nOur virtue and our merits flow.<br />\nNow, be they good or be they ill,<br />\nDo thou thy father\'s words fulfil:<br />\nSwear that his promise shall not fail,<br />\nAnd I will tell thee all the tale.<br />\nYes, Ráma, when I hear that thou<br />\nHast bound thee by thy father\'s vow,<br />\nThen, not till then, my lips shall speak,<br />\nNor will he tell what boon I seek.”<br />\nHe heard, and with a troubled breast<br />\nThis answer to the queen addressed:<br />\n“Ah me, dear lady, canst thou deem<br />\nThat words like these thy lips beseem?<br />\nI, at the bidding of my sire,<br />\nWould cast my body to the fire,<br />\nA deadly draught of poison drink,<br />\nOr in the waves of ocean sink:<br />\nIf he command, it shall be done,—<br />\nMy father and my king in one.<br />\nThen speak and let me know the thing<br />\nSo longed for by my lord the king.<br />\nIt shall be done: let this suffice;<br />\nRáma ne\'er makes a promise twice.”<br />\nCanto XVIII. The Sentence.<br />\n393<br />\nHe ended. To the princely youth<br />\nWho loved the right and spoke the truth,<br />\nCruel, abominable came<br />\nThe answer of the ruthless dame:<br />\n“When Gods and Titans fought of yore,<br />\nTransfixed with darts and bathed in gore<br />\nTwo boons to me thy father gave<br />\nFor the dear life \'twas mine to save.<br />\nOf him I claim the ancient debt,<br />\nThat Bharat on the throne be set,<br />\nAnd thou, O Ráma, go this day<br />\nTo Daṇḍak forest far away.<br />\nNow, Ráma, if thou wilt maintain<br />\nThy father\'s faith without a stain,<br />\nAnd thine own truth and honour clear,<br />\nThen, best of men, my bidding hear.<br />\nDo thou thy father\'s word obey,<br />\nNor from the pledge he gave me stray.<br />\nThy life in Daṇḍak forest spend<br />\nTill nine long years and five shall end.<br />\nUpon my Bharat\'s princely head<br />\nLet consecrating drops be shed,<br />\nWith all the royal pomp for thee<br />\nMade ready by the king\'s decree.<br />\nSeek Daṇḍak forest and resign<br />\nRites that would make the empire thine,<br />\nFor twice seven years of exile wear<br />\nThe coat of bark and matted hair.<br />\nThen in thy stead let Bharat reign<br />\nLord of his royal sire\'s domain,<br />\nRich in the fairest gems that shine,<br />\nCars, elephants, and steeds, and kine.<br />\nThe monarch mourns thy altered fate<br />\nAnd vails his brow compassionate:<br />\n394<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nBowed down by bitter grief he lies<br />\nAnd dares not lift to thine his eyes.<br />\nObey his word: be firm and brave,<br />\nAnd with great truth the monarch save.”<br />\nWhile thus with cruel words she spoke,<br />\nNo grief the noble youth betrayed;<br />\nBut forth the father\'s anguish broke,<br />\nAt his dear Ráma\'s lot dismayed.<br />\nCanto XIX. Ráma\'s Promise.<br />\nCalm and unmoved by threatened woe<br />\nThe noble conqueror of the foe<br />\nAnswered the cruel words she spoke,<br />\nNor quailed beneath the murderous stroke:<br />\n“Yea, for my father\'s promise sake<br />\nI to the wood my way will take,<br />\nAnd dwell a lonely exile there<br />\nIn hermit dress with matted hair.<br />\nOne thing alone I fain would learn,<br />\nWhy is the king this day so stern?<br />\nWhy is the scourge of foes so cold,<br />\nNor gives me greeting as of old?<br />\nNow let not anger flush thy cheek:<br />\nBefore thy face the truth I speak,<br />\nIn hermit\'s coat with matted hair<br />\nTo the wild wood will I repair.<br />\nHow can I fail his will to do,<br />\nFriend, master, grateful sovereign too?<br />\nOne only pang consumes my breast:<br />\nCanto XIX. Ráma\'s Promise.<br />\n395<br />\nThat his own lips have not expressed<br />\nHis will, nor made his longing known<br />\nThat Bharat should ascend the throne.<br />\n[115]<br />\nTo Bharat I would yield my wife,<br />\nMy realm and wealth, mine own dear life,<br />\nUnasked I fain would yield them all:<br />\nMore gladly at my father\'s call,<br />\nMore gladly when the gift may free<br />\nHis honour and bring joy to thee.<br />\nThus, lady, his sad heart release<br />\nFrom the sore shame, and give him peace.<br />\nBut tell me, O, I pray thee, why<br />\nThe lord of men, with downcast eye,<br />\nLies prostrate thus, and one by one<br />\nDown his pale cheek the tear-drops run.<br />\nLet couriers to thy father speed<br />\nOn horses of the swiftest breed,<br />\nAnd, by the mandate of the king,<br />\nThy Bharat to his presence bring.<br />\nMy father\'s words I will not stay<br />\nTo question, but this very day<br />\nTo Daṇḍak\'s pathless wild will fare,<br />\nFor twice seven years an exile there.”<br />\nWhen Ráma thus had made reply<br />\nKaikeyí\'s heart with joy beat high.<br />\nShe, trusting to the pledge she held,<br />\nThe youth\'s departure thus impelled:<br />\n“\'Tis well. Be messengers despatched<br />\nOn coursers ne\'er for fleetness matched,<br />\nTo seek my father\'s home and lead<br />\nMy Bharat back with all their speed.<br />\nAnd, Ráma, as I ween that thou<br />\nWilt scarce endure to linger now,<br />\n396<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nSo surely it were wise and good<br />\nThis hour to journey to the wood.<br />\nAnd if, with shame cast down and weak,<br />\nNo word to thee the king can speak,<br />\nForgive, and from thy mind dismiss<br />\nA trifle in an hour like this.<br />\nBut till thy feet in rapid haste<br />\nHave left the city for the waste,<br />\nAnd to the distant forest fled,<br />\nHe will not bathe nor call for bread.”<br />\n“Woe! woe!” from the sad monarch burst,<br />\nIn surging floods of grief immersed;<br />\nThen swooning, with his wits astray,<br />\nUpon the gold-wrought couch he lay,<br />\nAnd Ráma raised the aged king:<br />\nBut the stern queen, unpitying,<br />\nChecked not her needless words, nor spared<br />\nThe hero for all speed prepared,<br />\nBut urged him with her bitter tongue,<br />\nLike a good horse with lashes stung,<br />\nShe spoke her shameful speech. Serene<br />\nHe heard the fury of the queen,<br />\nAnd to her words so vile and dread<br />\nGently, unmoved in mind, he said:<br />\n“I would not in this world remain<br />\nA grovelling thrall to paltry gain,<br />\nBut duty\'s path would fain pursue,<br />\nTrue as the saints themselves are true.<br />\nFrom death itself I would not fly<br />\nMy father\'s wish to gratify,<br />\nWhat deed soe\'er his loving son<br />\nMay do to please him, think it done.<br />\nAmid all duties, Queen, I count<br />\nCanto XIX. Ráma\'s Promise.<br />\n397<br />\nThis duty first and paramount,<br />\nThat sons, obedient, aye fulfil<br />\nTheir honoured fathers\' word and will.<br />\nWithout his word, if thou decree,<br />\nForth to the forest will I flee,<br />\nAnd there shall fourteen years be spent<br />\nMid lonely wilds in banishment.<br />\nMethinks thou couldst not hope to find<br />\nOne spark of virtue in my mind,<br />\nIf thou, whose wish is still my lord,<br />\nHast for this grace the king implored.<br />\nThis day I go, but, ere we part,<br />\nMust cheer my Sítá\'s tender heart,<br />\nTo my dear mother bid farewell;<br />\nThen to the woods, a while to dwell.<br />\nWith thee, O Queen, the care must rest<br />\nThat Bharat hear his sire\'s behest,<br />\nAnd guard the land with righteous sway,<br />\nFor such the law that lives for aye.”<br />\nIn speechless woe the father heard,<br />\nWept with loud cries, but spoke no word.<br />\nThen Ráma touched his senseless feet,<br />\nAnd hers, for honour most unmeet;<br />\nRound both his circling steps he bent,<br />\nThen from the bower the hero went.<br />\nSoon as he reached the gate he found<br />\nHis dear companions gathered round.<br />\nBehind him came Sumitrá\'s child<br />\nWith weeping eyes so sad and wild.<br />\nThen saw he all that rich array<br />\nOf vases for the glorious day.<br />\nRound them with reverent stops he paced,<br />\nNor vailed his eye, nor moved in haste.<br />\n398<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nThe loss of empire could not dim<br />\nThe glory that encompassed him.<br />\nSo will the Lord of Cooling Rays286<br />\nOn whom the world delights to gaze,<br />\nThrough the great love of all retain<br />\nSweet splendour in the time of wane.<br />\nNow to the exile\'s lot resigned<br />\nHe left the rule of earth behind:<br />\nAs though all worldly cares he spurned<br />\nNo trouble was in him discerned.<br />\nThe chouries that for kings are used,<br />\nAnd white umbrella, he refused,<br />\nDismissed his chariot and his men,<br />\nAnd every friend and citizen.<br />\nHe ruled his senses, nor betrayed<br />\nThe grief that on his bosom weighed,<br />\nAnd thus his mother\'s mansion sought<br />\nTo tell the mournful news he brought.<br />\nNor could the gay-clad people there<br />\nWho flocked round Ráma true and fair,<br />\nOne sign of altered fortune trace<br />\nUpon the splendid hero\'s face.<br />\nNor had the chieftain, mighty-armed,<br />\nLost the bright look all hearts that charmed,<br />\n[116]<br />\nAs e\'en from autumn moons is thrown<br />\nA splendour which is all their own.<br />\nWith his sweet voice the hero spoke<br />\nSaluting all the gathered folk,<br />\nThen righteous-souled and great in fame<br />\nClose to his mother\'s house he came.<br />\nLakshmaṇ the brave, his brother\'s peer<br />\nIn princely virtues, followed near,<br />\n286The Moon.<br />\nCanto XX. Kausalyá\'s Lament.<br />\n399<br />\nSore troubled, but resolved to show<br />\nNo token of his secret woe.<br />\nThus to the palace Ráma went<br />\nWhere all were gay with hope and joy;<br />\nBut well he knew the dire event<br />\nThat hope would mar, that bliss destroy.<br />\nSo to his grief he would not yield<br />\nLest the sad change their hearts might rend,<br />\nAnd, the dread tiding unrevealed,<br />\nSpared from the blow each faithful friend.<br />\nCanto XX. Kausalyá\'s Lament.<br />\nBut in the monarch\'s palace, when<br />\nSped from the bower that lord of men,<br />\nUp from the weeping women went<br />\nA mighty wail and wild lament:<br />\n“Ah, he who ever freely did<br />\nHis duty ere his sire could bid,<br />\nOur refuge and our sure defence,<br />\nThis day will go an exile hence,<br />\nHe on Kauśalyá loves to wait<br />\nMost tender and affectionate,<br />\nAnd as he treats his mother, thus<br />\nFrom childhood has he treated us.<br />\nOn themes that sting he will not speak,<br />\nAnd when reviled is calm and meek.<br />\nHe soothes the angry, heals offence:<br />\nHe goes to-day an exile hence.<br />\nOur lord the king is most unwise,<br />\nAnd looks on life with doting eyes,<br />\n400<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nWho in his folly casts away<br />\nThe world\'s protection, hope, and stay.”<br />\nThus in their woe, like kine bereaved<br />\nOf their young calves,287the ladies grieved,<br />\nAnd ever as they wept and wailed<br />\nWith keen reproach the king assailed.<br />\nTheir lamentation, mixed with tears,<br />\nSmote with new grief the monarch\'s ears,<br />\nWho, burnt with woe too great to bear,<br />\nFell on his couch and fainted there.<br />\nThen Ráma, smitten with the pain<br />\nHis heaving heart could scarce restrain,<br />\nGroaned like an elephant and strode<br />\nWith Lakshmaṇ to the queen\'s abode.<br />\nA warder there, whose hoary eld<br />\nIn honour high by all was held,<br />\nGuarding the mansion, sat before<br />\nThe portal, girt with many more.<br />\nSwift to their feet the warders sprang,<br />\nAnd loud the acclamation rang,<br />\nHail, Ráma! as to him they bent,<br />\nOf victor chiefs preëminent.<br />\nOne court he passed, and in the next<br />\nSaw, masters of each Veda text,<br />\nA crowd of Bráhmans, good and sage,<br />\n287The comparison may to a European reader seem a homely one. But Spenser<br />\nlikens an infuriate woman to a cow “That is berobbed of her youngling dere.”<br />\nShakspeare also makes King Henry VI compare himself to the calf\'s mother<br />\nthat “Runs lowing up and down, Looking the way her harmless young one<br />\nwent.” “Cows,” says De Quincey, “are amongst the gentlest of breathing crea-<br />\ntures; none show more passionate tenderness to their young, when deprived of<br />\nthem, and, in short, I am not ashamed to profess a deep love for these gentle<br />\ncreatures.”<br />\nCanto XX. Kausalyá\'s Lament.<br />\n401<br />\nDear to the king for lore and age.<br />\nTo these he bowed his reverent head,<br />\nThence to the court beyond he sped.<br />\nOld dames and tender girls, their care<br />\nTo keep the doors, were stationed there.<br />\nAnd all, when Ráma came in view,<br />\nDelighted to the chamber flew,<br />\nTo bear to Queen Kauśalyá\'s ear<br />\nThe tidings that she loved to hear.<br />\nThe queen, on rites and prayer intent,<br />\nIn careful watch the night had spent,<br />\nAnd at the dawn, her son to aid,<br />\nTo Vishṇu holy offerings made.<br />\nFirm in her vows, serenely glad,<br />\nIn robes of spotless linen clad,<br />\nAs texts prescribe, with grace implored,<br />\nHer offerings in the fire she poured.<br />\nWithin her splendid bower he came,<br />\nAnd saw her feed the sacred flame.<br />\nThere oil, and grain, and vases stood,<br />\nWith wreaths, and curds, and cates, and wood,<br />\nAnd milk, and sesamum, and rice,<br />\nThe elements of sacrifice.<br />\nShe, worn and pale with many a fast<br />\nAnd midnight hours in vigil past,<br />\nIn robes of purest white arrayed,<br />\nTo Lakshmí Queen drink-offerings paid.<br />\nSo long away, she flew to meet<br />\nThe darling of her soul:<br />\nSo runs a mare with eager feet<br />\nTo welcome back her foal.<br />\nHe with his firm support upheld<br />\nThe queen, as near she drew,<br />\nAnd, by maternal love impelled,<br />\n402<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nHer arms around him threw.<br />\nHer hero son, her matchless boy<br />\nShe kissed upon the head:<br />\nShe blessed him in her pride and joy<br />\nWith tender words, and said:<br />\n[117]<br />\n“Be like thy royal sires of old,<br />\nThe nobly good, the lofty-souled!<br />\nTheir lengthened days and fame be thine,<br />\nAnd virtue, as beseems thy line!<br />\nThe pious king, thy father, see<br />\nTrue to his promise made to thee:<br />\nThat truth thy sire this day will show,<br />\nAnd regent\'s power on thee bestow.”<br />\nShe spoke. He took the proffered seat,<br />\nAnd as she pressed her son to eat,<br />\nRaised reverent bands, and, touched with shame,<br />\nMade answer to the royal dame:<br />\n“Dear lady, thou hast yet to know<br />\nThat danger threats, and heavy woe:<br />\nA grief that will with sore distress<br />\nOn Sítá, thee, and Lakshmaṇ press.<br />\nWhat need of seats have such as I?<br />\nThis day to Daṇḍak wood I fly.<br />\nThe hour is come, a time, unmeet<br />\nFor silken couch and gilded seat.<br />\nI must to lonely wilds repair,<br />\nAbstain from flesh, and living there<br />\nOn roots, fruit, honey, hermit\'s food,<br />\nPass twice seven years in solitude.<br />\nTo Bharat\'s hand the king will yield<br />\nThe regent power I thought to wield,<br />\nAnd me, a hermit, will he send<br />\nMy days in Daṇḍak wood to spend.”<br />\nCanto XX. Kausalyá\'s Lament.<br />\n403<br />\nAs when the woodman\'s axe has lopped<br />\nA Śal branch in the grove, she dropped:<br />\nSo from the skies a Goddess falls<br />\nEjected from her radiant halls.<br />\nWhen Ráma saw her lying low,<br />\nProstrate by too severe a blow,<br />\nAround her form his arms he wound<br />\nAnd raised her fainting from the ground.<br />\nHis hand upheld her like a mare<br />\nWho feels her load too sore to bear,<br />\nAnd sinks upon the way o\'ertoiled,<br />\nAnd all her limbs with dust are soiled.<br />\nHe soothed her in her wild distress<br />\nWith loving touch and soft caress.<br />\nShe, meet for highest fortune, eyed<br />\nThe hero watching by her side,<br />\nAnd thus, while Lakshmaṇ bent to hear,<br />\nAddressed her son with many a tear!<br />\n“If, Ráma, thou had ne\'er been born<br />\nMy child to make thy mother mourn,<br />\nThough reft of joy, a childless queen,<br />\nSuch woe as this I ne\'er had seen.<br />\nThough to the childless wife there clings<br />\nOne sorrow armed with keenest stings,<br />\n“No child have I: no child have I,”<br />\nNo second misery prompts the sigh.<br />\nWhen long I sought, alas, in vain,<br />\nMy husband\'s love and bliss to gain,<br />\nIn Ráma all my hopes I set<br />\nAnd dreamed I might be happy yet.<br />\nI, of the consorts first and best,<br />\nMust bear my rivals\' taunt and jest,<br />\nAnd brook, though better far than they,<br />\n404<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nThe soul distressing words they say.<br />\nWhat woman can be doomed to pine<br />\nIn misery more sore than mine,<br />\nWhose hopeless days must still be spent<br />\nIn grief that ends not and lament?<br />\nThey scorned me when my son was nigh;<br />\nWhen he is banished I must die.<br />\nMe, whom my husband never prized,<br />\nKaikeyí\'s retinue despised<br />\nWith boundless insolence, though she<br />\nTops not in rank nor equals me.<br />\nAnd they who do me service yet,<br />\nNor old allegiance quite forget,<br />\nWhene\'er they see Kaikeyí\'s son,<br />\nWith silent lips my glances shun.<br />\nHow, O my darling, shall I brook<br />\nEach menace of Kaikeyí\'s look,<br />\nAnd listen, in my low estate,<br />\nTo taunts of one so passionate?<br />\nFor seventeen years since thou wast born<br />\nI sat and watched, ah me, forlorn!<br />\nHoping some blessed day to see<br />\nDeliverance from my woes by thee.<br />\nNow comes this endless grief and wrong,<br />\nSo dire I cannot bear it long,<br />\nSinking, with age and sorrow worn,<br />\nBeneath my rivals\' taunts and scorn.<br />\nHow shall I pass in dark distress<br />\nMy long lone days of wretchedness<br />\nWithout my Ráma\'s face, as bright<br />\nAs the full moon to cheer my sight?<br />\nAlas, my cares thy steps to train,<br />\nAnd fasts, and vows, and prayers are vain.<br />\nHard, hard, I ween, must be this heart<br />\nCanto XXI. Kausalyá Calmed.<br />\n405<br />\nTo hear this blow nor burst apart,<br />\nAs some great river bank, when first<br />\nThe floods of Rain-time on it burst.<br />\nNo, Fate that speeds not will not slay,<br />\nNor Yama\'s halls vouchsafe me room,<br />\nOr, like a lion\'s weeping prey,<br />\nDeath now had borne me to my doom.<br />\nHard is my heart and wrought of steel<br />\nThat breaks not with the crushing blow,<br />\nOr in the pangs this day I feel<br />\nMy lifeless frame had sunk below.<br />\nDeath waits his hour, nor takes me now:<br />\nBut this sad thought augments my pain,<br />\nThat prayer and largess, fast and vow,<br />\nAnd Heavenward service are in vain.<br />\nAh me, ah me! with fruitless toil<br />\nOf rites austere a child I sought:<br />\nThus seed cast forth on barren soil<br />\nStill lifeless lies and comes to naught.<br />\nIf ever wretch by anguish grieved<br />\nBefore his hour to death had fled,<br />\nI mourning, like a cow bereaved,<br />\nHad been this day among the dead.”<br />\n[118]<br />\nCanto XXI. Kausalyá Calmed.<br />\n406<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nWhile thus Kauśalyá wept and sighed,<br />\nWith timely words sad Lakshmaṇ cried:<br />\n“O honoured Queen I like it ill<br />\nThat, subject to a woman\'s will,<br />\nRáma his royal state should quit<br />\nAnd to an exile\'s doom submit.<br />\nThe aged king, fond, changed, and weak,<br />\nWill as the queen compels him speak.<br />\nBut why should Ráma thus be sent<br />\nTo the wild woods in banishment?<br />\nNo least offence I find in him,<br />\nI see no fault his fame to dim.<br />\nNot one in all the world I know,<br />\nNot outcast wretch, not secret foe,<br />\nWhose whispering lips would dare assail<br />\nHis spotless life with slanderous tale.<br />\nGodlike and bounteous, just, sincere,<br />\nE\'en to his very foemen dear:<br />\nWho would without a cause neglect<br />\nThe right, and such a son reject?<br />\nAnd if a king such order gave,<br />\nIn second childhood, passion\'s slave,<br />\nWhat son within his heart would lay<br />\nThe senseless order, and obey?<br />\nCome, Ráma, ere this plot be known<br />\nStand by me and secure the throne.<br />\nStand like the King who rules below,<br />\nStand aided by thy brother\'s bow:<br />\nHow can the might of meaner men<br />\nResist thy royal purpose then?<br />\nMy shafts, if rebels court their fate,<br />\nShall lay Ayodhyá desolate.<br />\nThen shall her streets with blood be dyed<br />\nOf those who stand on Bharat\'s side:<br />\nCanto XXI. Kausalyá Calmed.<br />\n407<br />\nNone shall my slaughtering hand exempt,<br />\nFor gentle patience earns contempt.<br />\nIf, by Kaikeyí\'s counsel changed,<br />\nOur father\'s heart be thus estranged,<br />\nNo mercy must our arm restrain,<br />\nBut let the foe be slain, be slain.<br />\nFor should the guide, respected long,<br />\nNo more discerning right and wrong,<br />\nTurn in forbidden paths to stray,<br />\n\'Tis meet that force his steps should stay.<br />\nWhat power sufficient can he see,<br />\nWhat motive for the wish has he,<br />\nThat to Kaikeyí would resign<br />\nThe empire which is justly thine?<br />\nCan he, O conqueror of thy foes,<br />\nThy strength and mine in war oppose?<br />\nCan he entrust, in our despite,<br />\nTo Bharat\'s hand thy royal right?<br />\nI love this brother with the whole<br />\nAffection of my faithful soul.<br />\nYea Queen, by bow and truth I swear,<br />\nBy sacrifice, and gift, and prayer,<br />\nIf Ráma to the forest goes,<br />\nOr where the burning furnace glows,<br />\nFirst shall my feet the forest tread,<br />\nThe flames shall first surround my head.<br />\nMy might shall chase thy grief and tears,<br />\nAs darkness flies when morn appears.<br />\nDo thou, dear Queen, and Ráma too<br />\nBehold what power like mine can do.<br />\nMy aged father I will kill,<br />\nThe vassal of Kaikeyí\'s will,<br />\nOld, yet a child, the woman\'s thrall,<br />\nInfirm, and base, the scorn of all.”<br />\n408<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nThus Lakshmaṇ cried, the mighty-souled:<br />\nDown her sad cheeks the torrents rolled,<br />\nAs to her son Kauśalyá spake:<br />\n“Now thou hast heard thy brother, take<br />\nHis counsel if thou hold it wise,<br />\nAnd do the thing his words advise,<br />\nDo not, my son, with tears I pray,<br />\nMy rival\'s wicked word obey,<br />\nLeave me not here consumed with woe,<br />\nNor to the wood, an exile, go.<br />\nIf thou, to virtue ever true,<br />\nThy duty\'s path would still pursue,<br />\nThe highest duty bids thee stay<br />\nAnd thus thy mother\'s voice obey.<br />\nThus Kaśyap\'s great ascetic son<br />\nA seat among the Immortals won:<br />\nIn his own home, subdued, he stayed,<br />\nAnd honour to his mother paid.<br />\nIf reverence to thy sire be due,<br />\nThy mother claims like honour too,<br />\nAnd thus I charge thee, O my child,<br />\nThou must not seek the forest wild.<br />\nAh, what to me were life and bliss,<br />\nCondemned my darling son to miss?<br />\nBut with my Ráma near, to eat<br />\nThe very grass itself were sweet.<br />\nBut if thou still wilt go and leave<br />\nThy hapless mother here to grieve,<br />\nI from that hour will food abjure,<br />\nNor life without my son endure.<br />\nThen it will be thy fate to dwell<br />\nIn depth of world-detested hell.<br />\nAs Ocean in the olden time<br />\nCanto XXI. Kausalyá Calmed.<br />\n409<br />\nWas guilty of an impious crime<br />\nThat marked the lord of each fair flood<br />\nAs one who spills a Bráhman\'s blood.”288<br />\nThus spake the queen, and wept, and sighed:<br />\nThen righteous Ráma thus replied:<br />\n“I have no power to slight or break<br />\nCommandments which my father spake.<br />\nI bend my head, dear lady, low,<br />\nForgive me, for I needs must go.<br />\nOnce Kaṇdu, mighty saint, who made<br />\nHis dwelling in the forest shade,<br />\n[119]<br />\nA cow—and duty\'s claims he knew—<br />\nObedient to his father, slew.<br />\nAnd in the line from which we spring,<br />\nWhen ordered by their sire the king,<br />\nThrough earth the sons of Sagar cleft,<br />\nAnd countless things of life bereft.289<br />\nSo Jamadagní\'s son290obeyed<br />\nHis sire, when in the wood he laid<br />\nHis hand upon his axe, and smote<br />\nThrough Renuká his mother\'s throat.<br />\nThe deeds of these and more beside.<br />\nPeers of the Gods, my steps shall guide,<br />\nAnd resolute will I fulfil<br />\nMy father\'s word, my father\'s will.<br />\nNor I, O Queen, unsanctioned tread<br />\nThis righteous path, by duty led:<br />\nThe road my footsteps journey o\'er<br />\nWas traversed by the great of yore.<br />\n288The commentators say that, in a former creation, Ocean grieved his mother<br />\nand suffered in consequence the pains of hell.<br />\n289As described in Book I Canto XL.<br />\n290Parasúráma.<br />\n410<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nThis high command which all accept<br />\nShall faithfully by me be kept,<br />\nFor duty ne\'er will him forsake<br />\nWho fears his sire\'s command to break.”<br />\nThus to his mother wild with grief:<br />\nThen thus to Lakshmaṇ spake the chief<br />\nOf those by whom the bow is bent,<br />\nMid all who speak, most eloquent:<br />\n“I know what love for me thou hast,<br />\nWhat firm devotion unsurpassed:<br />\nThy valour and thy worth I know,<br />\nAnd glory that appals the foe.<br />\nBlest youth, my mother\'s woe is great,<br />\nIt bends her \'neath its matchless weight:<br />\nNo claims will she, with blinded eyes,<br />\nOf truth and patience recognize.<br />\nFor duty is supreme in place,<br />\nAnd truth is duty\'s noblest base.<br />\nObedient to my sire\'s behest<br />\nI serve the cause of duty best.<br />\nFor man should truly do whate\'er<br />\nTo mother, Bráhman, sire, he sware:<br />\nHe must in duty\'s path remain,<br />\nNor let his word be pledged in vain.<br />\nAnd, O my brother, how can I<br />\nObedience to this charge deny?<br />\nKaikeyí\'s tongue my purpose spurred,<br />\nBut \'twas my sire who gave the word.<br />\nCast these unholy thoughts aside<br />\nWhich smack of war and Warriors\' pride;<br />\nTo duty\'s call, not wrath attend,<br />\nAnd tread the path which I commend.”<br />\nCanto XXI. Kausalyá Calmed.<br />\n411<br />\nRáma by fond affection moved<br />\nHis brother Lakshmaṇ thus reproved;<br />\nThen with joined hands and reverent head<br />\nAgain to Queen Kauśalyá said:<br />\n“I needs must go—do thou consent—<br />\nTo the wild wood in banishment.<br />\nO give me, by my life I pray,<br />\nThy blessing ere I go away.<br />\nI, when the promised years are o\'er,<br />\nShall see Ayodhyá\'s town once more.<br />\nThen, mother dear, thy tears restrain,<br />\nNor let thy heart be wrung by pain:<br />\nIn time, my father\'s will obeyed,<br />\nShall I return from greenwood shade.<br />\nMy dear Videhan, thou, and I,<br />\nLakshmaṇ, Sumitrá, feel this tie,<br />\nAnd must my father\'s word obey,<br />\nAs duty bids that rules for aye.<br />\nThy preparations now forgo,<br />\nAnd lock within thy breast thy woe,<br />\nNor be my pious wish withstood<br />\nTo go an exile to the wood.”<br />\nCalm and unmoved the prince explained<br />\nHis duty\'s claim and purpose high,<br />\nThe mother life and sense regained,<br />\nLooked on her son and made reply:<br />\n“If reverence be thy father\'s due,<br />\nThe same by right and love is mine:<br />\nGo not, my charge I thus renew,<br />\nNor leave me here in woe to pine,<br />\nWhat were such lonely life to me,<br />\nRites to the shades, or deathless lot?<br />\n412<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nMore dear, my son, one hour with thee<br />\nThan all the world where thou art not.”<br />\nAs bursts to view, when brands blaze high,<br />\nSome elephant concealed by night,<br />\nSo, when he heard his mother\'s cry,<br />\nBurnt Ráma\'s grief with fiercer might.<br />\nThus to the queen, half senseless still,<br />\nAnd Lakshmaṇ, burnt with heart-felt pain,<br />\nTrue to the right, with steadfast will,<br />\nHis duteous speech he spoke again:<br />\n“Brother, I know thy loving mind,<br />\nThy valour and thy truth I know,<br />\nBut now to claims of duty blind<br />\nThou and my mother swell my woe.<br />\nThe fruits of deeds in human life<br />\nMake love, gain, duty, manifest,<br />\nDear when they meet as some fond wife<br />\nWith her sweet babes upon her breast.<br />\nBut man to duty first should turn<br />\nWhene\'er the three are not combined:<br />\nFor those who heed but gain we spurn,<br />\nAnd those to pleasure all resigned.<br />\nShall then the virtuous disobey<br />\nHosts of an aged king and sire,<br />\nThough feverous joy that father sway,<br />\nOr senseless love or causeless ire?<br />\nI have no power, commanded thus,<br />\nTo slight his promise and decree:<br />\nThe honoured sire of both of us,<br />\nMy mother\'s lord and life is he.<br />\nShall she, while yet the holy king<br />\nIs living, on the right intent,—<br />\nShall she, like some poor widowed thing,<br />\nGo forth with me to banishment?<br />\nCanto XXII. Lakshman Calmed.<br />\n413<br />\nNow, mother, speed thy parting son,<br />\nAnd let thy blessing soothe my pain,<br />\n[120]<br />\nThat I may turn, mine exile done,<br />\nLike King Yayáti, home again.<br />\nFair glory and the fruit she gives,<br />\nFor lust of sway I ne\'er will slight:<br />\nWhat, for the span a mortal lives.<br />\nWere rule of faith without the right?”<br />\nHe soothed her thus, firm to the last<br />\nHis counsel to his brother told:<br />\nThen round the queen in reverence passed,<br />\nAnd held her in his loving hold.<br />\nCanto XXII. Lakshman Calmed.<br />\nSo Ráma kept unshaken still<br />\nHis noble heart with iron will.<br />\nTo his dear brother next he turned,<br />\nWhose glaring eyes with fury burned,<br />\nIndignant, panting like a snake,<br />\nAnd thus again his counsel spake:<br />\n“Thine anger and thy grief restrain,<br />\nAnd firm in duty\'s path remain.<br />\nDear brother, lay thy scorn aside,<br />\nAnd be the right thy joy and pride.<br />\nThy ready zeal and thoughtful care<br />\nTo aid what rites should grace the heir,—<br />\nThese \'tis another\'s now to ask;<br />\nCome, gird thee for thy noble task,<br />\nThat Bharat\'s throning rites may he<br />\nGraced with the things prepared for me.<br />\n414<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nAnd with thy gentle care provide<br />\nThat her fond heart, now sorely tried<br />\nWith fear and longing for my sake,<br />\nWith doubt and dread may never ache.<br />\nTo know that thoughts of coming ill<br />\nOne hour that tender bosom fill<br />\nWith agony and dark despair<br />\nIs grief too great for me to bear.<br />\nI cannot, brother, call to mind<br />\nOne wilful fault or undesigned,<br />\nWhen I have pained in anything<br />\nMy mothers or my sire the king.<br />\nThe right my father keeps in view,<br />\nIn promise, word, and action true;<br />\nLet him then all his fear dismiss,<br />\nNor dread the loss of future bliss.<br />\nHe fears his truth herein will fail:<br />\nHence bitter thoughts his heart assail.<br />\nHe trembles lest the rites proceed,<br />\nAnd at his pangs my heart should bleed.<br />\nSo now this earnest wish is mine,<br />\nThe consecration to resign,<br />\nAnd from this city turn away<br />\nTo the wild wood with no delay.<br />\nMy banishment to-day will free<br />\nKaikeyí from her cares, that she,<br />\nAt last contented and elate,<br />\nMay Bharat\'s throning celebrate.<br />\nThen will the lady\'s trouble cease,<br />\nThen will her heart have joy and peace,<br />\nWhen wandering in the wood I wear<br />\nDeerskin, and bark, and matted hair.<br />\nNor shall by me his heart be grieved<br />\nWhose choice approved, whose mind conceived<br />\nCanto XXII. Lakshman Calmed.<br />\n415<br />\nThis counsel which I follow. No,<br />\nForth to the forest will I go.<br />\n\'Tis Fate, Sumitrás son, confess,<br />\nThat sends me to the wilderness.<br />\n\'Tis Fate alone that gives away<br />\nTo other hands the royal sway.<br />\nHow could Kaikeyí\'s purpose bring<br />\nOn me this pain and suffering,<br />\nWere not her change of heart decreed<br />\nBy Fate whose will commands the deed?<br />\nI know my filial love has been<br />\nThe same throughout for every queen,<br />\nAnd with the same affection she<br />\nHas treated both her son and me.<br />\nHer shameful words of cruel spite<br />\nTo stay the consecrating rite,<br />\nAnd drive me banished from the throne,—<br />\nThese I ascribe to Fate alone,<br />\nHow could she, born of royal race,<br />\nWhom nature decks with fairest grace,<br />\nSpeak like a dame of low degree<br />\nBefore the king to torture me?<br />\nBut Fate, which none may comprehend,<br />\nTo which all life must bow and bend,<br />\nIn her and me its power has shown,<br />\nAnd all my hopes are overthrown.<br />\nWhat man, Sumitrá\'s darling, may<br />\nContend with Fate\'s resistless sway,<br />\nWhose all-commanding power we find<br />\nOur former deeds alone can bind?<br />\nOur life and death, our joy and pain,<br />\nAnger and fear, and loss and gain,<br />\nEach thing that is, in every state,<br />\nAll is the work of none but Fate.<br />\n416<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nE\'en saints, inspired with rigid zeal,<br />\nWhen once the stroke of Fate they feel,<br />\nIn sternest vows no more engage,<br />\nAnd fall enslaved by love and rage.<br />\nSo now the sudden stroke whose weight<br />\nDescends unlooked for, comes of Fate,<br />\nAnd with unpitying might destroys<br />\nThe promise of commencing joys.<br />\nWeigh this true counsel in thy soul:<br />\nWith thy firm heart thy heart control;<br />\nThen, brother, thou wilt cease to grieve<br />\nFor hindered rites which now I leave.<br />\nSo cast thy needless grief away,<br />\nAnd strictly my commands obey.<br />\nThose preparations check with speed,<br />\nNor let my throning rites proceed.<br />\nThose urns that stand prepared to shed<br />\nKing-making drops upon my head,<br />\nShall, with their pure lustrations now<br />\nInaugurate my hermit\'s vow.<br />\n[121]<br />\nYet what have I to do with things<br />\nThat touch the state and pomp of kings?<br />\nThese hands of mine shall water take<br />\nTo sanctify the vow I make.<br />\nNow Lakshmaṇ, let thy heart no more<br />\nMy fortune changed and lost deplore.<br />\nA forest life more joys may bring<br />\nThan those that wait upon a king,<br />\nNow though her arts successful mar<br />\nMy consecrating rite,<br />\nLet not the youngest queen too far<br />\nThy jealous fear excite.<br />\nNor let one thought suggesting ill<br />\nUpon our father fall,<br />\nCanto XXIII. Lakshman\'s Anger.<br />\n417<br />\nBut let thy heart remember still<br />\nThat Fate is lord of all.”<br />\nCanto XXIII. Lakshman\'s Anger.<br />\nThus Ráma to his brother said;<br />\nAnd Lakshmaṇ bent his drooping head.<br />\nIn turns by grief and pride impelled,<br />\nA middle course of thought he held,<br />\nThen in a frown of anger, bent<br />\nHis brows that chief most excellent,<br />\nAnd like a serpent in his hole,<br />\nBreathed fierce and fast in wrath of soul.<br />\nHis threatening brows so darkly frowned,<br />\nHis eyes so fiercely glanced around,<br />\nThey made his glare, which none might brook,<br />\nLike some infuriate lion\'s look.<br />\nLike some wild elephant, full oft<br />\nHe raised and shook his hand291aloft.<br />\nNow turned his neck to left and right<br />\nNow bent, now raised its stately height.<br />\nNow in his rage that sword he felt<br />\nWhich mangling wounds to foemen dealt,<br />\nWith sidelong glance his brother eyed,<br />\nAnd thus in burning words replied:<br />\n“Thy rash resolve, thy eager haste,<br />\nThy mighty fear, are all misplaced:<br />\nNo room is here for duty\'s claim,<br />\n291The Sanskrit word hasta signifies both hand, and the trunk of “The beast<br />\nthat bears between his eyes a serpent for a head.”<br />\n418<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nNo cause to dread the people\'s blame.<br />\nCan one as brave as thou consent<br />\nTo use a coward\'s argument?<br />\nThe glory of the Warrior race<br />\nWith craven speech his lips debase?<br />\nCan one like thee so falsely speak,<br />\nExalting Fate, confessed so weak?<br />\nCanst thou, undoubting still restrain?<br />\nSuspicions of those sinful twain?<br />\nCanst thou, most duteous, fail to know<br />\nTheir hearts are set on duty\'s show?<br />\nThey with deceit have set their trains,<br />\nAnd now the fruit rewards their pains.<br />\nHad they not long ago agreed,<br />\nO Ráma, on this treacherous deed,<br />\nThat promised boon, so long retained,<br />\nHe erst had given and she had gained.<br />\nI cannot, O my brother, bear<br />\nTo see another throned as heir<br />\nWith rites which all our people hate:<br />\nThen, O, this passion tolerate.<br />\nThis vaunted duty which can guide<br />\nThy steps from wisdom\'s path aside,<br />\nAnd change the counsel of thy breast,<br />\nO lofty-hearted, I detest.<br />\nWilt thou, when power and might are thine,<br />\nSubmit to this abhorred design?<br />\nThy father\'s impious hest fulfil,<br />\nThat vassal of Kaikeyí\'s will?<br />\nBut if thou still wilt shut thine eyes,<br />\nNor see the guile herein that lies,<br />\nMy soul is sad, I deeply mourn,<br />\nAnd duty seems a thing to scorn.<br />\nCanst thou one moment think to please<br />\nCanto XXIII. Lakshman\'s Anger.<br />\n419<br />\nThis pair who live for love and ease,<br />\nAnd \'gainst thy peace, as foes, allied,<br />\nWith tenderest names their hatred hide?<br />\nNow if thy judgment still refers<br />\nTo Fate this plot of his and hers,<br />\nMy mind herein can ne\'er agree:<br />\nAnd O, in this be ruled by me.<br />\nWeak, void of manly pride are they<br />\nWho bend to Fate\'s imputed sway:<br />\nThe choicest souls, the nobly great<br />\nDisdain to bow their heads to Fate.<br />\nAnd he who dares his Fate control<br />\nWith vigorous act and manly soul,<br />\nThough threatening Fate his hopes assail,<br />\nUnmoved through all need never quail.<br />\nThis day mankind shall learn aright<br />\nThe power of Fate and human might,<br />\nSo shall the gulf that lies between<br />\nA man and Fate be clearly seen.<br />\nThe might of Fate subdued by me<br />\nThis hour the citizens shall see,<br />\nWho saw its intervention stay<br />\nThy consecrating rites to-day.<br />\nMy power shall turn this Fate aside,<br />\nThat threatens, as, with furious stride,<br />\nAn elephant who scorns to feel,<br />\nIn rage unchecked, the driver\'s steel.<br />\nNot the great Lords whose sleepless might<br />\nProtects the worlds, shall stay the rite<br />\nThough earth, hell, heaven combine their powers:<br />\nAnd shall we fear this sire of ours?<br />\nThen if their minds are idly bent<br />\nTo doom thee, King, to banishment,<br />\nThrough twice seven years of exile they<br />\n[122]<br />\n420<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nShall in the lonely forest stay.<br />\nI will consume the hopes that fire<br />\nThe queen Kaikeyí and our sire,<br />\nThat to her son this check will bring<br />\nAdvantage, making Bharat king.<br />\nThe power of Fate will ne\'er withstand<br />\nThe might that arms my vigorous hand;<br />\nIf danger and distress assail,<br />\nMy fearless strength will still prevail.<br />\nA thousand circling years shall flee:<br />\nThe forest then thy home shall be,<br />\nAnd thy good sons, succeeding, hold<br />\nThe empire which their sire controlled.<br />\nThe royal saints, of old who reigned,<br />\nFor aged kings this rest ordained:<br />\nThese to their sons their realm commit<br />\nThat they, like sires, may cherish it.<br />\nO pious soul, if thou decline<br />\nThe empire which is justly thine,<br />\nLest, while the king distracted lies,<br />\nDisorder in the state should rise,<br />\nI,—or no mansion may I find<br />\nIn worlds to hero souls assigned,—<br />\nThe guardian of thy realm will be,<br />\nAs the sea-bank protects the sea.<br />\nThen cast thine idle fears aside:<br />\nWith prosperous rites be sanctified.<br />\nThe lords of earth may strive in vain:<br />\nMy power shall all their force restrain.<br />\nMy pair of arms, my warrior\'s bow<br />\nAre not for pride or empty show:<br />\nFor no support these shafts were made;<br />\nAnd binding up ill suits my blade:<br />\nTo pierce the foe with deadly breach—<br />\nCanto XXIII. Lakshman\'s Anger.<br />\n421<br />\nThis is the work of all and each.<br />\nBut small, methinks the love I show<br />\nFor him I count my mortal foe.<br />\nSoon as my trenchant steel is bare,<br />\nFlashing its lightning through the air,<br />\nI heed no foe, nor stand aghast<br />\nThough Indra\'s self the levin cast.<br />\nThen shall the ways be hard to pass,<br />\nWhere chariots lie in ruinous mass;<br />\nWhen elephant and man and steed<br />\nCrushed in the murderous onslaught bleed,<br />\nAnd legs and heads fall, heap on heap,<br />\nBeneath my sword\'s tremendous sweep.<br />\nStruck by my keen brand\'s trenchant blade,<br />\nThine enemies shall fall dismayed,<br />\nLike towering mountains rent in twain,<br />\nOr lightning clouds that burst in rain.<br />\nWhen armed with brace and glove I stand,<br />\nAnd take my trusty bow in hand,<br />\nWho then shall vaunt his might? who dare<br />\nCount him a man to meet me there?<br />\nThen will I loose my shafts, and strike<br />\nMan, elephant, and steed alike:<br />\nAt one shall many an arrow fly,<br />\nAnd many a foe with one shall die.<br />\nThis day the world my power shall see,<br />\nThat none in arms can rival me:<br />\nMy strength the monarch shall abase,<br />\nAnd set thee, lord, in lordliest place.<br />\nThese arms which breathe the sandal\'s scent,<br />\nWhich golden bracelets ornament,<br />\nThese hands which precious gifts bestow,<br />\nWhich guard the friend and smite the foe,<br />\nA nobler service shall assay,<br />\n422<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nAnd fight in Ráma\'s cause to-day,<br />\nThe robbers of thy rights to stay.<br />\nSpeak, brother, tell thy foeman\'s name<br />\nWhom I, in conquering strife,<br />\nMay strip of followers and fame,<br />\nOf fortune, or of life.<br />\nSay, how may all this sea-girt land<br />\nBe brought to own thy sway:<br />\nThy faithful servant here I stand<br />\nTo listen and obey.”<br />\nThen strove the bride of Raghu\'s race<br />\nSad Lakshmaṇ\'s heart to cheer,<br />\nWhile slowly down the hero\'s face,<br />\nUnchecked, there rolled a tear.<br />\n“The orders of my sire,” he cried,<br />\n“My will shall ne\'er oppose:<br />\nI follow still, whate\'er betide,<br />\nThe path which duty shows.”<br />\nCanto XXIV. Kausalyá Calmed.<br />\nBut when Kauśalyásaw that he<br />\nResolved to keep his sire\'s decree,<br />\nWhile tears and sobs her utterance broke,<br />\nHer very righteous speech she spoke:<br />\n“Can he, a stranger yet to pain,<br />\nWhose pleasant words all hearts enchain,<br />\nSon of the king and me the queen,<br />\nLive on the grain his hands may glean;<br />\nCan he, whose slaves and menials eat<br />\nThe finest cakes of sifted wheat—<br />\nCanto XXIV. Kausalyá Calmed.<br />\n423<br />\nCan Ráma in the forest live<br />\nOn roots and fruit which woodlands give;<br />\nWho will believe, who will not fear<br />\nWhen the sad story smites his ear,<br />\nThat one so dear, so noble held,<br />\nIs by the king his sire expelled?<br />\nNow surely none may Fate resist,<br />\nWhich orders all as it may list,<br />\nIf, Ráma, in thy strength and grace,<br />\nThe woods become thy dwelling-place.<br />\nA childless mother long I grieved,<br />\nAnd many a sigh for offspring heaved,<br />\nWith wistful longing weak and worn<br />\nTill thou at last, my son, wast born.<br />\nFanned by the storm of that desire<br />\nDeep in my soul I felt the fire,<br />\nWhose offerings flowed from weeping eyes,<br />\nWith fuel fed of groans and sighs,<br />\n[123]<br />\nWhile round the flame the smoke grew hot<br />\nOf tears because thou camest not.<br />\nNow reft of thee, too fiery fierce<br />\nThe flame of woe my heart will pierce,<br />\nAs, when the days of spring return,<br />\nThe sun\'s hot beams the forest burn.<br />\nThe mother cow still follows near<br />\nThe wanderings of her youngling dear.<br />\nSo close to thine my feet shall be,<br />\nWhere\'er thou goest following thee.”<br />\nRáma, the noblest lord of men,<br />\nHeard his fond mother\'s speech, and then<br />\nIn soothing words like these replied<br />\nTo the sad queen who wept and sighed:<br />\n“Nay, by Kaikeyí\'s art beguiled,<br />\n424<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nWhen I am banished to the wild,<br />\nIf thou, my mother, also fly,<br />\nThe aged king will surely die.<br />\nWhen wedded dames their lords forsake,<br />\nLong for the crime their souls shall ache.<br />\nThou must not e\'en in thought within<br />\nThy bosom frame so dire a sin.<br />\nLong as Kakutstha\'s son, who reigns<br />\nLord of the earth, in life remains,<br />\nThou must with love his will obey:<br />\nThis duty claims, supreme for aye.<br />\nYes, mother, thou and I must be<br />\nSubmissive to my sire\'s decree,<br />\nKing, husband, sire is he confessed,<br />\nThe lord of all, the worthiest.<br />\nI in the wilds my days will spend<br />\nTill twice seven years have reached an end,<br />\nThen with great joy will come again,<br />\nAnd faithful to thy hests remain.”<br />\nKauśalyá by her son addressed,<br />\nWith love and passion sore distressed,<br />\nAfflicted, with her eyes bedewed,<br />\nTo Ráma thus her speech renewed:<br />\n“Nay, Ráma, but my heart will break<br />\nIf with these queens my home I make.<br />\nLead me too with thee; let me go<br />\nAnd wander like a woodland roe.”<br />\nThen, while no tear the hero shed,<br />\nThus to the weeping queen he said:<br />\n“Mother, while lives the husband, he<br />\nIs woman\'s lord and deity.<br />\nO dearest lady, thou and I<br />\nOur lord and king must ne\'er deny;<br />\nCanto XXIV. Kausalyá Calmed.<br />\n425<br />\nThe lord of earth himself have we<br />\nOur guardian wise and friend to be.<br />\nAnd Bharat, true to duty\'s call,<br />\nWhose sweet words take the hearts of all,<br />\nWill serve thee well, and ne\'er forget<br />\nThe virtuous path before him set.<br />\nBe this, I pray, thine earnest care,<br />\nThat the old king my father ne\'er,<br />\nWhen I have parted hence, may know,<br />\nGrieved for his son, a pang of woe.<br />\nLet not this grief his soul distress,<br />\nTo kill him with the bitterness.<br />\nWith duteous care, in every thing,<br />\nLove, comfort, cheer the aged king.<br />\nThough, best of womankind, a spouse<br />\nKeeps firmly all her fasts and vows,<br />\nNor yet her husband\'s will obeys,<br />\nShe treads in sin\'s forbidden ways.<br />\nShe to her husband\'s will who bends,<br />\nGoes to high bliss that never ends,<br />\nYea, though the Gods have found in her<br />\nNo reverential worshipper.<br />\nBent on his weal, a woman still<br />\nMust seek to do her husband\'s will:<br />\nFor Scripture, custom, law uphold<br />\nThis duty Heaven revealed of old.<br />\nHonour true Bráhmans for my sake,<br />\nAnd constant offerings duly make,<br />\nWith fire-oblations and with flowers,<br />\nTo all the host of heavenly powers.<br />\nLook to the coming time, and yearn<br />\nFor the glad hour of my return.<br />\nAnd still thy duteous course pursue,<br />\nAbstemious, humble, kind, and true.<br />\n426<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nThe highest bliss shalt thou obtain<br />\nWhen I from exile come again,<br />\nIf, best of those who keep the right,<br />\nThe king my sire still see the light.”<br />\nThe queen, by Ráma thus addressed,<br />\nStill with a mother\'s grief oppressed,<br />\nWhile her long eyes with tears were dim,<br />\nBegan once more and answered him:<br />\n“Not by my pleading may be stayed<br />\nThe firm resolve thy soul has made.<br />\nMy hero, thou wilt go; and none<br />\nThe stern commands of Fate may shun.<br />\nGo forth, dear child whom naught can bend,<br />\nAnd may all bliss thy steps attend.<br />\nThou wilt return, and that dear day<br />\nWill chase mine every grief away.<br />\nThou wilt return, thy duty done,<br />\nThy vows discharged, high glory won;<br />\nFrom filial debt wilt thou be free,<br />\nAnd sweetest joy will come on me.<br />\nMy son, the will of mighty Fate<br />\nAt every time must dominate,<br />\nIf now it drives thee hence to stray<br />\nHeedless of me who bid thee stay.<br />\nGo, strong of arm, go forth, my boy,<br />\nGo forth, again to come with joy,<br />\nAnd thine expectant mother cheer<br />\nWith those sweet tones she loves to hear.<br />\nO that the blessed hour were nigh<br />\nWhen thou shalt glad this anxious eye,<br />\nWith matted hair and hermit dress<br />\nreturning from the wilderness.”<br />\nKauśalyá\'s conscious soul approved,<br />\nCanto XXV. Kausalyá\'s Blessing.<br />\n427<br />\nAs her proud glance she bent<br />\nOn Ráma constant and unmoved,<br />\nResolved on banishment.<br />\nSuch words, with happy omens fraught<br />\nTo her dear son she said,<br />\nInvoking with each eager thought<br />\nA blessing on his head.<br />\n[124]<br />\nCanto XXV. Kausalyá\'s Blessing.<br />\nHer grief and woe she cast aside,<br />\nHer lips with water purified,<br />\nAnd thus her benison began<br />\nThat mother of the noblest man:<br />\n“If thou wilt hear no words of mine,<br />\nGo forth, thou pride of Raghu\'s line.<br />\nGo, darling, and return with speed,<br />\nWalking where noble spirits lead.<br />\nMay virtue on thy steps attend,<br />\nAnd be her faithful lover\'s friend.<br />\nMay Those to whom thy vows are paid<br />\nIn temple and in holy shade,<br />\nWith all the mighty saints combine<br />\nTo keep that precious life of thine.<br />\nThe arms wise Viśvámitra292gave<br />\nThy virtuous soul from danger save.<br />\nLong be thy life: thy sure defence<br />\nShall be thy truthful innocence,<br />\n292See P. 41.<br />\n428<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nAnd that obedience, naught can tire,<br />\nTo me thy mother and thy sire.<br />\nMay fanes where holy fires are fed,<br />\nAltars with grass and fuel spread,<br />\nEach sacrificial ground, each tree,<br />\nRock, lake, and mountain, prosper thee.<br />\nLet old Viráj,293and Him who made<br />\nThe universe, combine to aid;<br />\nLet Indra and each guardian Lord<br />\nWho keeps the worlds, their help afford,<br />\nAnd be thy constant friend the Sun,<br />\nLord Púshá, Bhaga, Aryuman.294<br />\nFortnights and seasons, nights and days,<br />\nYears, months, and hours, protect thy ways,<br />\nVrihaspati shall still be nigh,<br />\nThe War-God, and the Moon on high,<br />\nAnd Nárad295and the sainted seven296<br />\nShall watch thee from their starry heaven.<br />\nThe mountains, and the seas which ring<br />\nThe world, and Varuṇa the King,<br />\nSky, ether, and the wind, whate\'er<br />\nMoves not or moves, for thee shall care.<br />\nEach lunar mansion be benign,<br />\nWith happier light the planets shine;<br />\nAll gods, each light in heaven that glows,<br />\nProtect my child where\'er he goes.<br />\nThe twilight hours, the day and night,<br />\nKeep in the wood thy steps aright.<br />\nWatch, minute, instant, as they flee,<br />\nShall all bring happiness to thee.<br />\n293The first progeny of Brahmá or Brahmá himself.<br />\n294These are three names of the Sun.<br />\n295See P. 1.<br />\n296The saints who form the constellation of Ursa Major.<br />\nCanto XXV. Kausalyá\'s Blessing.<br />\n429<br />\nCelestials and the Titan brood<br />\nProtect thee in thy solitude,<br />\nAnd haunt the mighty wood to bless<br />\nThe wanderer in his hermit dress.<br />\nFear not, by mightier guardians screened,<br />\nThe giant or night-roving fiend;<br />\nNor let the cruel race who tear<br />\nMan\'s flesh for food thy bosom scare.<br />\nFar be the ape, the scorpion\'s sting,<br />\nFly, gnat, and worm, and creeping thing.<br />\nThee shall the hungry lion spare,<br />\nThe tiger, elephant, and bear:<br />\nSafe, from their furious might repose,<br />\nSafe from the horned buffaloes.<br />\nEach savage thing the forests breed,<br />\nThat love on human flesh to feed,<br />\nShall for my child its rage abate,<br />\nWhen thus its wrath I deprecate.<br />\nBlest be thy ways: may sweet success<br />\nThe valour of my darling bless.<br />\nTo all that Fortune can bestow,<br />\nGo forth, my child, my Ráma, go.<br />\nGo forth, O happy in the love<br />\nOf all the Gods below, above;<br />\nAnd in those guardian powers confide<br />\nThy paths who keep, thy steps who guide.<br />\nMay Śukra,297Yáma, Sun, and Moon,<br />\nAnd He who gives each golden boon,298<br />\nWon by mine earnest prayers, be good<br />\nTo thee, my son, in Daṇḍak wood.<br />\nFire, wind, and smoke, each text and spell<br />\nFrom mouths of holy seers that fell,<br />\n297The regent of the planet Venus.<br />\n298Kuvera.<br />\n430<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nGuard Ráma when his limbs he dips,<br />\nOr with the stream makes pure his lips!<br />\nMay the great saints and He, the Lord<br />\nWho made the worlds, by worlds adored,<br />\nAnd every God in heaven beside<br />\nMy banished Ráma keep and guide.”<br />\nThus with due praise the long-eyed dame,<br />\nEnnobled by her spotless fame,<br />\nWith wreaths of flowers and precious scent<br />\nWorshipped the Gods, most reverent.<br />\nA high-souled Bráhman lit the fire,<br />\nAnd offered, at the queen\'s desire,<br />\nThe holy oil ordained to burn<br />\nFor Ráma\'s weal and safe return.<br />\nKauśalyá best of dames, with care<br />\nSet oil, wreaths, fuel, mustard, there.<br />\nThen when the rites of fire had ceased,<br />\nFor Ráma\'s bliss and health, the priest,<br />\nStanding without gave what remained<br />\nIn general offering,299as ordained.<br />\n[125]<br />\nDealing among the twice-horn train<br />\nHoney, and curds, and oil, and grain,<br />\nHe bade each heart and voice unite<br />\nTo bless the youthful anchorite.<br />\nThen Ráma\'s mother, glorious dame<br />\nBestowed, to meet the Bráhman\'s claim,<br />\nA lordly fee for duty done:<br />\nAnd thus again addressed her son:<br />\n299Bali, or the presentation of food to all created beings, is one of the five great<br />\nsacraments of the Hindu religion: it consists in throwing a small parcel of the<br />\noffering, Ghee, or rice, or the like, into the open air at the back of the house.<br />\nCanto XXV. Kausalyá\'s Blessing.<br />\n431<br />\n“Such blessings as the Gods o\'erjoyed<br />\nPoured forth, when Vritra300was destroyed,<br />\nOn Indra of the thousand eyes,<br />\nAttend, my child, thine enterprise!<br />\nYea, such as Vinatá once gave<br />\nTo King Suparṇa301swift and brave,<br />\nWho sought the drink that cheers the skies,<br />\nAttend, my child, thine enterprise!<br />\nYea, such as, when the Amrit rose,302<br />\nAnd Indra slew his Daitya foes,<br />\nThe royal Aditi bestowed<br />\nOn Him whose hand with slaughter glowed<br />\nOf that dire brood of monstrous size,<br />\nAttend, my child, thine enterprise!<br />\nE\'en such as peerless Vishṇu graced,<br />\nWhen with his triple step he paced,<br />\nOutbursting from the dwarf\'s disguise,303<br />\nAttend, my child, thine enterprise!<br />\nFloods, isles, and seasons as they fly,<br />\nWorlds, Vedas, quarters of the sky,<br />\nCombine, O mighty-armed, to bless<br />\nThee destined heir of happiness!”<br />\nThe long-eyed lady ceased: she shed<br />\nPure scent and grain upon his head.<br />\nAnd that prized herb whose sovereign power<br />\nPreserves from dark misfortune\'s hour,<br />\nUpon the hero\'s arm she set,<br />\nTo be his faithful amulet.<br />\nWhile holy texts she murmured low,<br />\n300In mythology, a demon slain by Indra.<br />\n301Called also Garuḍ, the King of the birds, offspring of Vinatá. See p. 53.<br />\n302See P. 56.<br />\n303See P. 43.<br />\n432<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nAnd spoke glad words though crushed by woe,<br />\nConcealing with obedient tongue<br />\nThe pangs with which her heart was wrung.<br />\nShe bent, she kissed his brow, she pressed<br />\nHer darling to her troubled breast:<br />\n“Firm in thy purpose, go,” she cried,<br />\n“Go Ráma, and may bliss betide.<br />\nAttain returning safe and well,<br />\nTriumphant in Ayodhyá, dwell.<br />\nThen shall my happy eyes behold<br />\nThe empire by thy will controlled.<br />\nThen grief and care shall leave no trace,<br />\nJoy shall light up thy mother\'s face,<br />\nAnd I shall see my darling reign,<br />\nIn moonlike glory come again.<br />\nThese eyes shall fondly gaze on thee<br />\nSo faithful to thy sire\'s decree,<br />\nWhen thou the forest wild shalt quit<br />\nOn thine ancestral throne to sit.<br />\nYea, thou shalt turn from exile back,<br />\nNor choicest blessings ever lack,<br />\nThen fill with rapture ever new<br />\nMy bosom and thy consort\'s too.<br />\nTo Śiva and the heavenly host<br />\nMy worship has been paid,<br />\nTo mighty saint, to godlike ghost,<br />\nTo every wandering shade.<br />\nForth to the forest thou wilt hie,<br />\nTherein to dwell so long:<br />\nLet all the quarters of the sky<br />\nProtect my child from wrong.”<br />\nHer blessings thus the queen bestowed;<br />\nThen round him fondly paced,<br />\nAnd often, while her eyes o\'erflowed,<br />\nCanto XXVI. Alone With Sítá.<br />\n433<br />\nHer dearest son embraced.<br />\nKauśalyá\'s honoured feet he pressed,<br />\nAs round her steps she bent,<br />\nAnd radiant with her prayers that blessed,<br />\nTo Sítá\'s home he went.<br />\nCanto XXVI. Alone With Sítá.<br />\nSo Ráma, to his purpose true,<br />\nTo Queen Kauśalyá bade adieu,<br />\nReceived the benison she gave,<br />\nAnd to the path of duty clave.<br />\nAs through the crowded street he passed,<br />\nA radiance on the way he cast,<br />\nAnd each fair grace, by all approved,<br />\nThe bosoms of the people moved.<br />\nNow of the woeful change no word<br />\nThe fair Videhan bride had heard;<br />\nThe thought of that imperial rite<br />\nStill filled her bosom with delight.<br />\nWith grateful heart and joyful thought<br />\nThe Gods in worship she had sought,<br />\nAnd, well in royal duties learned,<br />\nSat longing till her lord returned,<br />\nNot all unmarked by grief and shame<br />\nWithin his sumptuous home he came,<br />\nAnd hurried through the happy crowd<br />\nWith eye dejected, gloomy-browed.<br />\nUp Sítá sprang, and every limb<br />\nTrembled with fear at sight of him.<br />\n434<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nShe marked that cheek where anguish fed,<br />\nThose senses care-disquieted.<br />\nFor, when he looked on her, no more<br />\nCould his heart hide the load it bore,<br />\nNor could the pious chief control<br />\nThe paleness o\'er his cheek that stole.<br />\nHis altered cheer, his brow bedewed<br />\nWith clammy drops, his grief she viewed,<br />\nAnd cried, consumed with fires of woe,<br />\n“What, O my lord, has changed thee so?<br />\n[126]<br />\nVrihaspati looks down benign,<br />\nAnd the moon rests in Pushya\'s sign,<br />\nAs Bráhmans sage this day declare:<br />\nThen whence, my lord, this grief and care?<br />\nWhy does no canopy, like foam<br />\nFor its white beauty, shade thee home,<br />\nIts hundred ribs spread wide to throw<br />\nSplendour on thy fair head below?<br />\nWhere are the royal fans, to grace<br />\nThe lotus beauty of thy face,<br />\nFair as the moon or wild-swan\'s wing,<br />\nAnd waving round the new-made king?<br />\nWhy do no sweet-toned bards rejoice<br />\nTo hail thee with triumphant voice?<br />\nNo tuneful heralds love to raise<br />\nLoud music in their monarch\'s praise?<br />\nWhy do no Bráhmans, Scripture-read,<br />\nPour curds and honey on thy head,<br />\nAnointed, as the laws ordain,<br />\nWith holy rites, supreme to reign?<br />\nWhere are the chiefs of every guild?<br />\nWhere are the myriads should have filled<br />\nThe streets, and followed home their king<br />\nWith merry noise and triumphing?<br />\nCanto XXVI. Alone With Sítá.<br />\n435<br />\nWhy does no gold-wrought chariot lead<br />\nWith four brave horses, best for speed?<br />\nNo elephant precede the crowd<br />\nLike a huge hill or thunder cloud,<br />\nMarked from his birth for happy fate,<br />\nWhom signs auspicious decorate?<br />\nWhy does no henchman, young and fair,<br />\nPrecede thee, and delight to bear<br />\nEntrusted to his reverent hold<br />\nThe burthen of thy throne of gold?<br />\nWhy, if the consecrating rite<br />\nBe ready, why this mournful plight?<br />\nWhy do I see this sudden change,<br />\nThis altered mien so sad and strange?”<br />\nTo her, as thus she weeping cried,<br />\nRaghu\'s illustrious son replied:<br />\n“Sítá, my honoured sire\'s decree<br />\nCommands me to the woods to flee.<br />\nO high-born lady, nobly bred<br />\nIn the good paths thy footsteps tread,<br />\nHear, Janak\'s daughter, while I tell<br />\nThe story as it all befell.<br />\nOf old my father true and brave<br />\nTwo boons to Queen Kaikeyí gave.<br />\nThrough these the preparations made<br />\nFor me to-day by her are stayed,<br />\nFor he is bound to disallow<br />\nThis promise by that earlier vow.<br />\nIn Daṇḍak forest wild and vast<br />\nMust fourteen years by me be passed.<br />\nMy father\'s will makes Bharat heir,<br />\nThe kingdom and the throne to share.<br />\nNow, ere the lonely wild I seek,<br />\n436<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nI come once more with thee to speak.<br />\nIn Bharat\'s presence, O my dame,<br />\nNe\'er speak with pride of Ráma\'s name:<br />\nAnother\'s eulogy to hear<br />\nIs hateful to a monarch\'s ear.<br />\nThou must with love his rule obey<br />\nTo whom my father yields the sway.<br />\nWith love and sweet observance learn<br />\nHis grace, and more the king\'s, to earn.<br />\nNow, that my father may not break<br />\nThe words of promise that he spake,<br />\nTo the drear wood my steps are bent:<br />\nBe firm, good Sítá, and content.<br />\nThrough all that time, my blameless spouse,<br />\nKeep well thy fasts and holy vows.<br />\nRise from thy bed at break of day,<br />\nAnd to the Gods due worship pay.<br />\nWith meek and lowly love revere<br />\nThe lord of men, my father dear,<br />\nAnd reverence to Kauśalyá show,<br />\nMy mother, worn with eld and woe:<br />\nBy duty\'s law, O best of dames,<br />\nHigh worship from thy love she claims,<br />\nNor to the other queens refuse<br />\nObservance, rendering each her dues:<br />\nBy love and fond attention shown<br />\nThey are my mothers like mine own.<br />\nLet Bharat and Śatrughna bear<br />\nIn thy sweet love a special share:<br />\nDear as my life, O let them be<br />\nLike brother and like son to thee.<br />\nIn every word and deed refrain<br />\nFrom aught that Bharat\'s soul may pain:<br />\nHe is Ayodhyá\'s king and mine,<br />\nCanto XXVII. Sítá\'s Speech.<br />\n437<br />\nThe head and lord of all our line.<br />\nFor those who serve and love them much<br />\nWith weariless endeavour, touch<br />\nAnd win the gracious hearts of kings.<br />\nWhile wrath from disobedience springs.<br />\nGreat monarchs from their presence send<br />\nTheir lawful sons who still offend,<br />\nAnd welcome to the vacant place<br />\nGood children of an alien race.<br />\nThen, best of women, rest thou here,<br />\nAnd Bharat\'s will with love revere.<br />\nObedient to thy king remain,<br />\nAnd still thy vows of truth maintain.<br />\nTo the wide wood my steps I bend:<br />\nMake thou thy dwelling here;<br />\nSee that thy conduct ne\'er offend,<br />\nAnd keep my words, my dear.”<br />\nCanto XXVII. Sítá\'s Speech.<br />\nHis sweetly-speaking bride, who best<br />\nDeserved her lord, he thus addressed.<br />\nThen tender love bade passion wake,<br />\nAnd thus the fair Videhan spake:<br />\n“What words are these that thou hast said?<br />\nContempt of me the thought has bred.<br />\nO best of heroes, I dismiss<br />\nWith bitter scorn a speech like this:<br />\n[127]<br />\n438<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nUnworthy of a warrior\'s fame<br />\nIt taints a monarch\'s son with shame,<br />\nNe\'er to be heard from those who know<br />\nThe science of the sword and bow.<br />\nMy lord, the mother, sire, and son<br />\nReceive their lots by merit won;<br />\nThe brother and the daughter find<br />\nThe portions to their deeds assigned.<br />\nThe wife alone, whate\'er await,<br />\nMust share on earth her husband\'s fate.<br />\nSo now the king\'s command which sends<br />\nThee to the wild, to me extends.<br />\nThe wife can find no refuge, none,<br />\nIn father, mother, self, or son:<br />\nBoth here, and when they vanish hence,<br />\nHer husband is her sole defence.<br />\nIf, Raghu\'s son, thy steps are led<br />\nWhere Daṇḍak\'s pathless wilds are spread,<br />\nMy foot before thine own shall pass<br />\nThrough tangled thorn and matted grass.<br />\nDismiss thine anger and thy doubt:<br />\nLike refuse water cast them out,<br />\nAnd lead me, O my hero, hence—<br />\nI know not sin—with confidence.<br />\nWhate\'er his lot, \'tis far more sweet<br />\nTo follow still a husband\'s feet<br />\nThan in rich palaces to lie,<br />\nOr roam at pleasure through the sky.<br />\nMy mother and my sire have taught<br />\nWhat duty bids, and trained each thought,<br />\nNor have I now mine ear to turn<br />\nThe duties of a wife to learn.<br />\nI\'ll seek with thee the woodland dell<br />\nAnd pathless wild where no men dwell,<br />\nCanto XXVII. Sítá\'s Speech.<br />\n439<br />\nWhere tribes of silvan creatures roam,<br />\nAnd many a tiger makes his home.<br />\nMy life shall pass as pleasant there<br />\nAs in my father\'s palace fair.<br />\nThe worlds shall wake no care in me;<br />\nMy only care be truth to thee.<br />\nThere while thy wish I still obey,<br />\nTrue to my vows with thee I\'ll stray,<br />\nAnd there shall blissful hours be spent<br />\nIn woods with honey redolent.<br />\nIn forest shades thy mighty arm<br />\nWould keep a stranger\'s life from harm,<br />\nAnd how shall Sítá think of fear<br />\nWhen thou, O glorious lord, art near?<br />\nHeir of high bliss, my choice is made,<br />\nNor can I from my will be stayed.<br />\nDoubt not; the earth will yield me roots,<br />\nThese will I eat, and woodland fruits;<br />\nAnd as with thee I wander there<br />\nI will not bring thee grief or care.<br />\nI long, when thou, wise lord, art nigh,<br />\nAll fearless, with delighted eye<br />\nTo gaze upon the rocky hill,<br />\nThe lake, the fountain, and the rill;<br />\nTo sport with thee, my limbs to cool,<br />\nIn some pure lily-covered pool,<br />\nWhile the white swan\'s and mallard\'s wings<br />\nAre plashing in the water-springs.<br />\nSo would a thousand seasons flee<br />\nLike one sweet day, if spent with thee.<br />\nWithout my lord I would not prize<br />\nA home with Gods above the skies:<br />\nWithout my lord, my life to bless,<br />\nWhere could be heaven or happiness?<br />\n440<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nForbid me not: with thee I go<br />\nThe tangled wood to tread.<br />\nThere will I live with thee, as though<br />\nThis roof were o\'er my head.<br />\nMy will for thine shall be resigned;<br />\nThy feet my steps shall guide.<br />\nThou, only thou, art in my mind:<br />\nI heed not all beside.<br />\nThy heart shall ne\'er by me be grieved;<br />\nDo not my prayer deny:<br />\nTake me, dear lord; of thee bereaved<br />\nThy Sítá swears to die.”<br />\nThese words the duteous lady spake,<br />\nNor would he yet consent<br />\nHis faithful wife with him to take<br />\nTo share his banishment.<br />\nHe soothed her with his gentle speech;<br />\nTo change her will he strove;<br />\nAnd much he said the woes to teach<br />\nOf those in wilds who rove.<br />\nCanto XXVIII. The Dangers Of The Wood.<br />\nThus Sítá spake, and he who knew<br />\nHis duty, to its orders true,<br />\nWas still reluctant as the woes<br />\nOf forest life before him rose.<br />\nHe sought to soothe her grief, to dry<br />\nThe torrent from each brimming eye,<br />\nAnd then, her firm resolve to shake,<br />\nThese words the pious hero spake:<br />\nCanto XXVIII. The Dangers Of The Wood.<br />\n441<br />\n“O daughter of a noble line,<br />\nWhose steps from virtue ne\'er decline,<br />\nRemain, thy duties here pursue,<br />\nAs my fond heart would have thee do.<br />\nNow hear me, Sítá, fair and weak,<br />\nAnd do the words that I shall speak.<br />\nAttend and hear while I explain<br />\nEach danger in the wood, each pain.<br />\nThy lips have spoken: I condemn<br />\nThe foolish words that fell from them.<br />\nThis senseless plan, this wish of thine<br />\nTo live a forest life, resign.<br />\nThe names of trouble and distress<br />\nSuit well the tangled wilderness.<br />\nIn the wild wood no joy I know,<br />\nA forest life is nought but woe.<br />\nThe lion in his mountain cave<br />\nAnswers the torrents as they rave,<br />\nAnd forth his voice of terror throws:<br />\nThe wood, my love, is full of woes.<br />\n[128]<br />\nThere mighty monsters fearless play,<br />\nAnd in their maddened onset slay<br />\nThe hapless wretch who near them goes:<br />\nThe wood, my love, is full of woes.<br />\n\'Tis hard to ford each treacherous flood,<br />\nSo thick with crocodiles and mud,<br />\nWhere the wild elephants repose:<br />\nThe wood, my love, is full of woes.<br />\nOr far from streams the wanderer strays<br />\nThrough thorns and creeper-tangled ways,<br />\nWhile round him many a wild-cock crows:<br />\nThe wood, my love, is full of woes.<br />\nOn the cold ground upon a heap<br />\nOf gathered leaves condemned to sleep,<br />\n442<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nToil-wearied, will his eyelids close:<br />\nThe wood, my love, is full of woes.<br />\nLong days and nights must he content<br />\nHis soul with scanty aliment,<br />\nWhat fruit the wind from branches blows:<br />\nThe wood, my love, is full of woes.<br />\nO Sítá, while his strength may last,<br />\nThe ascetic in the wood must fast,<br />\nCoil on his head his matted hair,<br />\nAnd bark must be his only wear.<br />\nTo Gods and spirits day by day<br />\nThe ordered worship he must pay,<br />\nAnd honour with respectful care<br />\nEach wandering guest who meets him there.<br />\nThe bathing rites he ne\'er must shun<br />\nAt dawn, at noon, at set of sun,<br />\nObedient to the law he knows:<br />\nThe wood, my love, is full of woes.<br />\nTo grace the altar must be brought<br />\nThe gift of flowers his hands have sought—<br />\nThe debt each pious hermit owes:<br />\nThe wood, my love, is full of woes.<br />\nThe devotee must be content<br />\nTo live, severely abstinent,<br />\nOn what the chance of fortune shows:<br />\nThe wood, my love, is full of woes.<br />\nHunger afflicts him evermore:<br />\nThe nights are black, the wild winds roar;<br />\nAnd there are dangers worse than those:<br />\nThe wood, my love, is full of woes.<br />\nThere creeping things in every form<br />\nInfest the earth, the serpents swarm,<br />\nAnd each proud eye with fury glows:<br />\nThe wood, my love, is full of woes.<br />\nCanto XXIX. Sítá\'s Appeal.<br />\n443<br />\nThe snakes that by the rives hide<br />\nIn sinuous course like rivers glide,<br />\nAnd line the path with deadly foes:<br />\nThe wood, my love, is full of woes.<br />\nScorpions, and grasshoppers, and flies<br />\nDisturb the wanderer as he lies,<br />\nAnd wake him from his troubled doze:<br />\nThe wood, my love, is full of woes.<br />\nTrees, thorny bushes, intertwined,<br />\nTheir branched ends together bind,<br />\nAnd dense with grass the thicket grows:<br />\nThe wood, my dear, is full of woes,<br />\nWith many ills the flesh is tried,<br />\nWhen these and countless fears beside<br />\nVex those who in the wood remain:<br />\nThe wilds are naught but grief and pain.<br />\nHope, anger must be cast aside,<br />\nTo penance every thought applied:<br />\nNo fear must be of things to fear:<br />\nHence is the wood for ever drear.<br />\nEnough, my love: thy purpose quit:<br />\nFor forest life thou art not fit.<br />\nAs thus I think on all, I see<br />\nThe wild wood is no place for thee.”<br />\nCanto XXIX. Sítá\'s Appeal.<br />\nThus Ráma spake. Her lord\'s address<br />\nThe lady heard with deep distress,<br />\nAnd, as the tear bedimmed her eye,<br />\nIn soft low accents made reply:<br />\n444<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\n“The perils of the wood, and all<br />\nThe woes thou countest to appal,<br />\nLed by my love I deem not pain;<br />\nEach woe a charm, each loss a gain.<br />\nTiger, and elephant, and deer,<br />\nBull, lion, buffalo, in fear,<br />\nSoon as thy matchless form they see,<br />\nWith every silvan beast will flee.<br />\nWith thee, O Ráma, I must go:<br />\nMy sire\'s command ordains it so.<br />\nBereft of thee, my lonely heart<br />\nMust break, and life and I must part.<br />\nWhile thou, O mighty lord, art nigh,<br />\nNot even He who rules the sky,<br />\nThough He is strongest of the strong,<br />\nWith all his might can do me wrong.<br />\nNor can a lonely woman left<br />\nBy her dear husband live bereft.<br />\nIn my great love, my lord, I ween,<br />\nThe truth of this thou mayst have seen.<br />\nIn my sire\'s palace long ago<br />\nI heard the chief of those who know,<br />\nThe truth-declaring Bráhmans, tell<br />\nMy fortune, in the wood to dwell.<br />\nI heard their promise who divine<br />\nThe future by each mark and sign,<br />\nAnd from that hour have longed to lead<br />\nThe forest life their lips decreed.<br />\nNow, mighty Ráma, I must share<br />\nThy father\'s doom which sends thee there;<br />\nIn this I will not be denied,<br />\nBut follow, love, where thou shalt guide.<br />\nO husband, I will go with thee,<br />\nObedient to that high decree.<br />\nCanto XXIX. Sítá\'s Appeal.<br />\n445<br />\nNow let the Bráhmans\' words be true,<br />\nFor this the time they had in view.<br />\nI know full well the wood has woes;<br />\nBut they disturb the lives of those<br />\nWho in the forest dwell, nor hold<br />\nTheir rebel senses well controlled.<br />\n[129]<br />\nIn my sire\'s halls, ere I was wed,<br />\nI heard a dame who begged her bread<br />\nBefore my mother\'s face relate<br />\nWhat griefs a forest life await.<br />\nAnd many a time in sport I prayed<br />\nTo seek with thee the greenwood shade,<br />\nFor O, my heart on this is set,<br />\nTo follow thee, dear anchoret.<br />\nMay blessings on thy life attend:<br />\nI long with thee my steps to bend,<br />\nFor with such hero as thou art<br />\nThis pilgrimage enchants my heart.<br />\nStill close, my lord, to thy dear side<br />\nMy spirit will be purified:<br />\nLove from all sin my soul will free:<br />\nMy husband is a God to me.<br />\nSo, love, with thee shall I have bliss<br />\nAnd share the life that follows this.<br />\nI heard a Bráhman, dear to fame,<br />\nThis ancient Scripture text proclaim:<br />\n“The woman whom on earth below<br />\nHer parents on a man bestow,<br />\nAnd lawfully their hands unite<br />\nWith water and each holy rite,<br />\nShe in this world shall be his wife,<br />\nHis also in the after life.”<br />\nThen tell me, O beloved, why<br />\nThou wilt this earnest prayer deny,<br />\n446<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nNor take me with thee to the wood,<br />\nThine own dear wife so true and good.<br />\nBut if thou wilt not take me there<br />\nThus grieving in my wild despair,<br />\nTo fire or water I will fly,<br />\nOr to the poisoned draught, and die.”<br />\nSo thus to share his exile, she<br />\nBesought him with each earnest plea,<br />\nNor could she yet her lord persuade<br />\nTo take her to the lonely shade.<br />\nThe answer of the strong-armed chief<br />\nSmote the Videhan\'s soul with grief,<br />\nAnd from her eyes the torrents came<br />\nbathing the bosom of the dame.<br />\nCanto XXX. The Triumph Of Love.<br />\nThe daughter of Videha\'s king,<br />\nWhile Ráma strove to soothe the sting<br />\nOf her deep anguish, thus began<br />\nOnce more in furtherance of her plan:<br />\nAnd with her spirit sorely tried<br />\nBy fear and anger, love and pride,<br />\nWith keenly taunting words addressed<br />\nHer hero of the stately breast:<br />\n“Why did the king my sire, who reigns<br />\nO\'er fair Videha\'s wide domains,<br />\nHail Ráma son with joy unwise,<br />\nA woman in a man\'s disguise?<br />\nNow falsely would the people say,<br />\nCanto XXX. The Triumph Of Love.<br />\n447<br />\nBy idle fancies led astray,<br />\nThat Ráma\'s own are power and might,<br />\nAs glorious as the Lord of Light.<br />\nWhy sinkest thou in such dismay?<br />\nWhat fears upon thy spirit weigh,<br />\nThat thou, O Ráma, fain wouldst flee<br />\nFrom her who thinks of naught but thee?<br />\nTo thy dear will am I resigned<br />\nIn heart and body, soul and mind,<br />\nAs Sávitrí gave all to one,<br />\nSatyaván, Dyumatsena\'s son.304<br />\nNot e\'en in fancy can I brook<br />\nTo any guard save thee to look:<br />\nLet meaner wives their houses shame,<br />\nTo go with thee is all my claim.<br />\nLike some low actor, deemst thou fit<br />\nThy wife to others to commit—<br />\nThine own, espoused in maiden youth,<br />\nThy wife so long, unblamed for truth?<br />\nDo thou, my lord, his will obey<br />\nFor whom thou losest royal sway,<br />\nTo whom thou wouldst thy wife confide—<br />\nNot me, but thee, his wish may guide.<br />\nThou must not here thy wife forsake,<br />\nAnd to the wood thy journey make,<br />\nWhether stern penance, grief, and care,<br />\nOr rule or heaven await thee there.<br />\nNor shall fatigue my limbs distress<br />\nWhen wandering in the wilderness:<br />\nEach path which near to thee I tread<br />\nShall seem a soft luxurious bed.<br />\n304The story of Sávitrí, told in the Mahábhárat, has been admirably translated<br />\nby Rückert, and elegantly epitomized by Mrs. Manning in India, Ancient and<br />\nMediæval. There is a free rendering of the story in Idylls from the Sanskrit.<br />\n448<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nThe reeds, the bushes where I pass,<br />\nThe thorny trees, the tangled grass<br />\nShall feel, if only thou be near,<br />\nSoft to my touch as skins of deer.<br />\nWhen the rude wind in fury blows,<br />\nAnd scattered dust upon me throws,<br />\nThat dust, beloved lord, to me<br />\nShall as the precious sandal be.<br />\nAnd what shall be more blest than I,<br />\nWhen gazing on the wood I lie<br />\nIn some green glade upon a bed<br />\nWith sacred grass beneath us spread?<br />\nThe root, the leaf, the fruit which thou<br />\nShalt give me from the earth or bough,<br />\nScanty or plentiful, to eat,<br />\nShall taste to me as Amrit sweet.<br />\nAs there I live on flowers and roots<br />\nAnd every season\'s kindly fruits,<br />\nI will not for my mother grieve,<br />\nMy sire, my home, or all I leave.<br />\nMy presence, love, shall never add<br />\nOne pain to make the heart more sad;<br />\n[130]<br />\nI will not cause thee grief or care,<br />\nNor be a burden hard to bear.<br />\nWith thee is heaven, where\'er the spot;<br />\nEach place is hell where thou art not.<br />\nThen go with me, O Ráma; this<br />\nIs all my hope and all my bliss.<br />\nIf thou wilt leave thy wife who still<br />\nEntreats thee with undaunted will,<br />\nThis very day shall poison close<br />\nThe life that spurns the rule of foes.<br />\nHow, after, can my soul sustain<br />\nThe bitter life of endless pain,<br />\nCanto XXX. The Triumph Of Love.<br />\n449<br />\nWhen thy dear face, my lord, I miss?<br />\nNo, death is better far than this.<br />\nNot for an hour could I endure<br />\nThe deadly grief that knows not cure,<br />\nFar less a woe I could not shun<br />\nFor ten long years, and three, and one.”<br />\nWhile fires of woe consumed her, such<br />\nHer sad appeal, lamenting much;<br />\nThen with a wild cry, anguish-wrung,<br />\nAbout her husband\'s neck she clung.<br />\nLike some she-elephant who bleeds<br />\nStruck by the hunter\'s venomed reeds,<br />\nSo in her quivering heart she felt<br />\nThe many wounds his speeches dealt.<br />\nThen, as the spark from wood is gained,305<br />\nDown rolled the tear so long restrained:<br />\nThe crystal moisture, sprung from woe,<br />\nFrom her sweet eyes began to flow,<br />\nAs runs the water from a pair<br />\nOf lotuses divinely fair.<br />\nAnd Sítá\'s face with long dark eyes,<br />\nPure as the moon of autumn skies,<br />\nFaded with weeping, as the buds<br />\nOf lotuses when sink the floods.<br />\nAround his wife his arms he strained,<br />\nWho senseless from her woe remained,<br />\nAnd with sweet words, that bade her wake<br />\nTo life again, the hero spake:<br />\n“I would not with thy woe, my Queen,<br />\nBuy heaven and all its blissful sheen.<br />\nVoid of all fear am I as He,<br />\n305Fire for sacrificial purposes is produced by the attrition of two pieces of<br />\nwood.<br />\n450<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nThe self-existent God, can be.<br />\nI knew not all thy heart till now,<br />\nDear lady of the lovely brow,<br />\nSo wished not thee in woods to dwell;<br />\nYet there mine arm can guard thee well.<br />\nNow surely thou, dear love, wast made<br />\nTo dwell with me in green wood shade.<br />\nAnd, as a high saint\'s tender mind<br />\nClings to its love for all mankind,<br />\nSo I to thee will ever cling,<br />\nSweet daughter of Videha\'s king.<br />\nThe good, of old, O soft of frame,<br />\nHonoured this duty\'s sovereign claim,<br />\nAnd I its guidance will not shun,<br />\nTrue as light\'s Queen is to the Sun.<br />\nI cannot, pride of Janak\'s line,<br />\nThis journey to the wood decline:<br />\nMy sire\'s behest, the oath he sware,<br />\nThe claims of truth, all lead me there.<br />\nOne duty, dear the same for aye,<br />\nIs sire and mother to obey:<br />\nShould I their orders once transgress<br />\nMy very life were weariness.<br />\nIf glad obedience be denied<br />\nTo father, mother, holy guide,<br />\nWhat rites, what service can be done<br />\nThat stern Fate\'s favour may be won?<br />\nThese three the triple world comprise,<br />\nO darling of the lovely eyes.<br />\nEarth has no holy thing like these<br />\nWhom with all love men seek to please.<br />\nNot truth, or gift, or bended knee,<br />\nNot honour, worship, lordly fee,<br />\nStorms heaven and wins a blessing thence<br />\nCanto XXX. The Triumph Of Love.<br />\n451<br />\nLike sonly love and reverence.<br />\nHeaven, riches, grain, and varied lore,<br />\nWith sons and many a blessing more,<br />\nAll these are made their own with ease<br />\nBy those their elders\' souls who please.<br />\nThe mighty-souled, who ne\'er forget,<br />\nDevoted sons, their filial debt,<br />\nWin worlds where Gods and minstrels are,<br />\nAnd Brahmá\'s sphere more glorious far.<br />\nNow as the orders of my sire,<br />\nWho keeps the way of truth, require,<br />\nSo will I do, for such the way<br />\nOf duty that endures for aye:<br />\nTo take thee, love, to Daṇḍak\'s wild<br />\nMy heart at length is reconciled,<br />\nFor thee such earnest thoughts impel<br />\nTo follow, and with me to dwell.<br />\nO faultless form from feet to brows,<br />\nCome with me, as my will allows,<br />\nAnd duty there with me pursue,<br />\nTrembler, whose bright eyes thrill me through.<br />\nIn all thy days, come good come ill,<br />\nPreserve unchanged such noble will,<br />\nAnd thou, dear love, wilt ever be<br />\nThe glory of thy house and me.<br />\nNow, beauteous-armed, begin the tasks<br />\nThe woodland life of hermits asks.<br />\nFor me the joys of heaven above<br />\nHave charms no more without thee, love.<br />\nAnd now, dear Sítá, be not slow:<br />\nFood on good mendicants bestow,<br />\nAnd for the holy Bráhmans bring<br />\nThy treasures and each precious thing.<br />\nThy best attire and gems collect,<br />\n452<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nThe jewels which thy beauty decked,<br />\nAnd every ornament and toy<br />\nPrepared for hours of sport and joy:<br />\nThe beds, the cars wherein I ride,<br />\nAmong our followers, next, divide.”<br />\nShe conscious that her lord approved<br />\nHer going, with great rapture moved,<br />\n[131]<br />\nHastened within, without delay,<br />\nPrepared to give their wealth away.<br />\nCanto XXXI. Lakshman\'s Prayer.<br />\nWhen Lakshmaṇ, who had joined them there,<br />\nHad heard the converse of the pair,<br />\nHis mien was changed, his eyes o\'erflowed,<br />\nHis breast no more could bear its load.<br />\nThe son of Raghu, sore distressed,<br />\nHis brother\'s feet with fervour pressed,<br />\nWhile thus to Sítá he complained,<br />\nAnd him by lofty vows enchained:<br />\n“If thou wilt make the woods thy home,<br />\nWhere elephant and roebuck roam,<br />\nI too this day will take my bow<br />\nAnd in the path before thee go.<br />\nOur way will lie through forest ground<br />\nWhere countless birds and beasts are found,<br />\nI heed not homes of Gods on high,<br />\nI heed not life that cannot die,<br />\nNor would I wish, with thee away,<br />\nO\'er the three worlds to stretch my sway.”<br />\nCanto XXXI. Lakshman\'s Prayer.<br />\n453<br />\nThus Lakshmaṇ spake, with earnest prayer<br />\nHis brother\'s woodland life to share.<br />\nAs Ráma still his prayer denied<br />\nWith soothing words, again he cried:<br />\n“When leave at first thou didst accord,<br />\nWhy dost thou stay me now, my lord?<br />\nThou art my refuge: O, be kind,<br />\nLeave me not, dear my lord, behind.<br />\nThou canst not, brother, if thou choose<br />\nThat I still live, my wish refuse.”<br />\nThe glorious chief his speech renewed<br />\nTo faithful Lakshmaṇ as he sued,<br />\nAnd on the eyes of Ráma gazed<br />\nLonging to lead, with hands upraised:<br />\n“Thou art a hero just and dear,<br />\nWhose steps to virtue\'s path adhere,<br />\nLoved as my life till life shall end,<br />\nMy faithful brother and my friend.<br />\nIf to the woods thou take thy way<br />\nWith Sítá and with me to-day,<br />\nWho for Kauśalyá will provide,<br />\nAnd guard the good Sumitrá\'s side?<br />\nThe lord of earth, of mighty power,<br />\nWho sends good things in plenteous shower,<br />\nAs Indra pours the grateful rain,<br />\nA captive lies in passion\'s chain.<br />\nThe power imperial for her son<br />\nHas Aśvapati\'s daughter306won,<br />\nAnd she, proud queen, will little heed<br />\nHer miserable rivals\' need.<br />\nSo Bharat, ruler of the land,<br />\nBy Queen Kaikeyí\'s side will stand,<br />\n306Kaikeyí.<br />\n454<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nNor of those two will ever think,<br />\nWhile grieving in despair they sink.<br />\nNow, Lakshmaṇ, as thy love decrees,<br />\nOr else the monarch\'s heart to please,<br />\nFollow this counsel and protect<br />\nMy honoured mother from neglect.<br />\nSo thou, while not to me alone<br />\nThy great affection will be shown,<br />\nTo highest duty wilt adhere<br />\nBy serving those thou shouldst revere.<br />\nNow, son of Raghu, for my sake<br />\nObey this one request I make,<br />\nOr, of her darling son bereft,<br />\nKauśalyá has no comfort left.”<br />\nThe faithful Lakshmaṇ, thus addressed<br />\nIn gentle words which love expressed,<br />\nTo him in lore of language learned,<br />\nHis answer, eloquent, returned:<br />\n“Nay, through thy might each queen will share<br />\nAttentive Bharat\'s love and care,<br />\nShould Bharat, raised as king to sway<br />\nThis noblest realm, his trust betray,<br />\nNor for their safety well provide,<br />\nSeduced by ill-suggesting pride,<br />\nDoubt not my vengeful hand shall kill<br />\nThe cruel wretch who counsels ill—<br />\nKill him and all who lend him aid,<br />\nAnd the three worlds in league arrayed.<br />\nAnd good Kauśalyá well can fee<br />\nA thousand champions like to me.<br />\nA thousand hamlets rich in grain<br />\nThe station of that queen maintain.<br />\nCanto XXXI. Lakshman\'s Prayer.<br />\n455<br />\nShe may, and my dear mother too,<br />\nLive on the ample revenue.<br />\nThen let me follow thee: herein:<br />\nIs naught that may resemble sin.<br />\nSo shall I in my wish succeed,<br />\nAnd aid, perhaps, my brother\'s need.<br />\nMy bow and quiver well supplied<br />\nWith arrows hanging at my side,<br />\nMy hands shall spade and basket bear,<br />\nAnd for thy feet the way prepare.<br />\nI\'ll bring thee roots and berries sweet.<br />\nAnd woodland fare which hermits eat.<br />\nThou shall with thy Videhan spouse<br />\nRecline upon the mountain\'s brows;<br />\nBe mine the toil, be mine to keep<br />\nWatch o\'er thee waking or asleep.”<br />\nFilled by his speech with joy and pride,<br />\nRáma to Lakshmaṇ thus replied:<br />\n“Go then, my brother, bid adieu<br />\nTo all thy friends and retinue.<br />\nAnd those two bows of fearful might,<br />\nCelestial, which, at that famed rite,<br />\nLord Varuṇ gave to Janak, king<br />\nOf fair Vedeha with thee bring,<br />\nWith heavenly coats of sword-proof mail,<br />\nQuivers, whose arrows never fail,<br />\n[132]<br />\nAnd golden-hilted swords so keen,<br />\nThe rivals of the sun in sheen.<br />\nTended with care these arms are all<br />\nPreserved in my preceptor\'s hall.<br />\nWith speed, O Lakshmaṇ, go, produce,<br />\nAnd bring them hither for our use.”<br />\nSo on a woodland life intent,<br />\n456<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nTo see his faithful friends he went,<br />\nAnd brought the heavenly arms which lay<br />\nBy Ráma\'s teacher stored away.<br />\nAnd Raghu\'s son to Ráma showed<br />\nThose wondrous arms which gleamed and glowed,<br />\nWell kept, adorned with many a wreath<br />\nOf flowers on case, and hilt, and sheath.<br />\nThe prudent Ráma at the sight<br />\nAddressed his brother with delight:<br />\n“Well art thou come, my brother dear,<br />\nFor much I longed to see thee here.<br />\nFor with thine aid, before I go,<br />\nI would my gold and wealth bestow<br />\nUpon the Bráhmans sage, who school<br />\nTheir lives by stern devotion\'s rule.<br />\nAnd for all those who ever dwell<br />\nWithin my house and serve me well,<br />\nDevoted servants, true and good,<br />\nWill I provide a livelihood.<br />\nQuick, go and summon to this place<br />\nThe good Vaśishṭha\'s son,<br />\nSuyajǹa, of the Bráhman race<br />\nThe first and holiest one.<br />\nTo all the Bráhmans wise and good<br />\nWill I due reverence pay,<br />\nThen to the solitary wood<br />\nWith thee will take my way.”<br />\nCanto XXXII. The Gift Of The Treasures.<br />\nCanto XXXII. The Gift Of The Treasures.<br />\n457<br />\nThat speech so noble which conveyed<br />\nHis friendly wish, the chief obeyed,<br />\nWith steps made swift by anxious thought<br />\nThe wise Suyajǹa\'s home he sought.<br />\nHim in the hall of Fire307he found,<br />\nAnd bent before him to the ground:<br />\n“O friend, to Ráma\'s house return,<br />\nWho now performs a task most stern.”<br />\nHe, when his noonday rites were done,<br />\nWent forth with fair Sumitrá\'s son,<br />\nAnd came to Ráma\'s bright abode<br />\nRich in the love which Lakshmí showed.<br />\nThe son of Raghu, with his dame,<br />\nWith joined hands met him as he came,<br />\nShowing to him who Scripture knew<br />\nThe worship that is Agni\'s due.<br />\nWith armlets, bracelets, collars, rings,<br />\nWith costly pearls on golden strings,<br />\nWith many a gem for neck and limb<br />\nThe son of Raghu honoured him.<br />\nThen Ráma, at his wife\'s request,<br />\nThe wise Suyajǹa thus addressed:<br />\n“Accept a necklace too to deck<br />\nWith golden strings thy spouse\'s neck.<br />\nAnd Sítá here, my friend, were glad<br />\nA girdle to her gift to add.<br />\nAnd many a bracelet wrought with care,<br />\nAnd many an armlet rich and rare,<br />\nMy wife to thine is fain to give,<br />\nDeparting in the wood to live.<br />\nA bed by skilful workmen made,<br />\nWith gold and various gems inlaid—<br />\n307The chapel where the sacred fire used in worship is kept.<br />\n458<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nThis too, before she goes, would she<br />\nPresent, O saintly friend, to thee.<br />\nThine be my elephant, so famed,<br />\nMy uncle\'s present, Victor named;<br />\nAnd let a thousand coins of gold,<br />\nGreat Bráhman, with the gift be told.”<br />\nThus Ráma spoke: nor he declined<br />\nThe noble gifts for him designed.<br />\nOn Ráma, Lakshmaṇ, Sítá he<br />\nInvoked all high felicity.<br />\nIn pleasant words then Ráma gave<br />\nHis best to Lakshmaṇ prompt and brave,<br />\nAs Brahmá speaks for Him to hear<br />\nWho rules the Gods\' celestial sphere:<br />\n“To the two best of Bráhmans run;<br />\nAgastya bring, and Kuśik\'s son,<br />\nAnd precious gifts upon them rain,<br />\nLike fostering floods upon the grain.<br />\nO long-armed Prince of Raghu\'s line,<br />\nDelight them with a thousand kine,<br />\nAnd many a fair and costly gem,<br />\nWith gold and silver, give to them.<br />\nTo him, so deep in Scripture, who,<br />\nTo Queen Kauśalyá, ever true,<br />\nServes her with blessing and respect,<br />\nChief of the Taittiríya sect308—<br />\nTo him, with women-slaves, present<br />\nA chariot rich with ornament,<br />\nAnd costly robes of silk beside,<br />\nUntil the sage be satisfied.<br />\nOn Chitraratha, true and dear,<br />\nMy tuneful bard and charioteer,<br />\n308The students and teachers of the Taittiríya portion of the Yajur Veda.<br />\nCanto XXXII. The Gift Of The Treasures.<br />\n459<br />\nGems, robes, and plenteous wealth confer—<br />\nMine ancient friend and minister.<br />\nAnd these who go with staff in hand,<br />\nGrammarians trained, a numerous band,<br />\nWho their deep study only prize,<br />\nNor think of other exercise,<br />\nWho toil not, loving dainty fare,<br />\nWhose praises e\'en the good declare—<br />\nOn these be eighty cars bestowed,<br />\nAnd each with precious treasures load.<br />\n[133]<br />\nA thousand bulls for them suffice,<br />\nTwo hundred elephants of price,<br />\nAnd let a thousand kine beside<br />\nThe dainties of each meal provide.<br />\nThe throng who sacred girdles wear,<br />\nAnd on Kauśalyá wait with care—<br />\nA thousand golden coins shall please,<br />\nSon of Sumitrá, each of these.<br />\nLet all, dear Lakshmaṇ of the train<br />\nThese special gifts of honour gain:<br />\nMy mother will rejoice to know<br />\nHer Bráhmans have been cherished so.”<br />\nThen Raghu\'s son addressed the crowd<br />\nWho round him stood and wept aloud,<br />\nWhen he to all who thronged the court<br />\nHad dealt his wealth for their support:<br />\n“In Lakshmaṇ\'s house and mine remain,<br />\nAnd guard them till I come again.”<br />\nTo all his people sad with grief,<br />\nIn loving words thus spoke their chief,<br />\nThen bade his treasure-keeper bring<br />\nGold, silver, and each precious thing.<br />\nThen straight the servants went and bore<br />\n460<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nBack to their chief the wealth in store.<br />\nBefore the people\'s eyes it shone,<br />\nA glorious pile to look upon.<br />\nThe prince of men with Lakshmaṇ\'s aid<br />\nParted the treasures there displayed,<br />\nGave to the poor, the young, the old,<br />\nAnd twice-born men, the gems and gold.<br />\nA Bráhman, long in evil case,<br />\nNamed Trijaṭ, born of Garga\'s race,<br />\nEarned ever toiling in a wood<br />\nWith spade and plough his livelihood.<br />\nThe youthful wife, his babes who bore,<br />\nTheir indigence felt more and more.<br />\nThus to the aged man she spake:<br />\n“Hear this my word: my counsel take.<br />\nCome, throw thy spade and plough away;<br />\nTo virtuous Ráma go to-day,<br />\nAnd somewhat of his kindness pray.”<br />\nHe heard the words she spoke: around<br />\nHis limbs his ragged cloth he wound,<br />\nAnd took his journey by the road<br />\nThat led to Ráma\'s fair abode.<br />\nTo the fifth court he made his way;<br />\nNor met the Bráhman check or stay.<br />\nBrighu, Angiras309could not be<br />\nBrighter with saintly light than he.<br />\nTo Ráma\'s presence on he pressed,<br />\nAnd thus the noble chief addressed:<br />\n“O Ráma, poor and weak am I,<br />\nAnd many children round me cry.<br />\n309Two of the divine personages called Prajápatis and Brahmádikas who were<br />\nfirst created by Brahmá.<br />\nCanto XXXII. The Gift Of The Treasures.<br />\n461<br />\nScant living in the woods I earn:<br />\nOn me thine eye of pity turn.”<br />\nAnd Ráma, bent on sport and jest,<br />\nThe suppliant Bráhman thus addressed:<br />\n“O aged man, one thousand kine,<br />\nYet undistributed, are mine.<br />\nThe cows on thee will I bestow<br />\nAs far as thou thy staff canst throw.”<br />\nThe Bráhman heard. In eager haste<br />\nHe bound his cloth around his waist.<br />\nThen round his head his staff he whirled,<br />\nAnd forth with mightiest effort hurled.<br />\nCast from his hand it flew, and sank<br />\nTo earth on Sarjú\'s farther bank,<br />\nWhere herds of kine in thousands fed<br />\nNear to the well-stocked bullock shed.<br />\nAnd all the cows that wandered o\'er<br />\nThe meadow, far as Sarjú\'s shore,<br />\nAt Ráma\'s word the herdsmen drove<br />\nTo Trijaṭ\'s cottage in the grove.<br />\nHe drew the Bráhman to his breast,<br />\nAnd thus with calming words addressed:<br />\n“Now be not angry, Sire. I pray:<br />\nThis jest of mine was meant in play.<br />\nThese thousand kine, but not alone.<br />\nTheir herdsmen too, are all thine own.<br />\nAnd wealth beside I give thee: speak,<br />\nThine shall be all thy heart can seek.”<br />\nThus Ráma spake. And Trijaṭ prayed<br />\nFor means his sacrifice to aid.<br />\nAnd Ráma gave much wealth, required<br />\nTo speed his offering as desired.<br />\n462<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nCanto XXXIII. The People\'s Lament.<br />\nThus Sítá and the princes brave<br />\nMuch wealth to all the Bráhmans gave.<br />\nThen to the monarch\'s house the three<br />\nWent forth the aged king to see.<br />\nThe princes from two servants took<br />\nThose heavenly arms of glorious look,<br />\nAdorned with garland and with band<br />\nBy Sítá\'s beautifying hand.<br />\nOn each high house a mournful throng<br />\nHad gathered ere they passed along,<br />\nWho gazed in pure unselfish woe<br />\nFrom turret, roof, and portico.<br />\nSo dense the crowd that blocked the ways,<br />\nThe rest, unable there to gaze,<br />\nWere fain each terrace to ascend,<br />\nAnd thence their eyes on Ráma bend.<br />\nThen as the gathered multitude<br />\nOn foot their well-loved Ráma viewed,<br />\nNo royal shade to screen his head,<br />\nSuch words, disturbed in grief, they said:<br />\n“O look, our hero, wont to ride<br />\nLeading a host in perfect pride—<br />\nNow Lakshmaṇ, sole of all his friends,<br />\nWith Sítá on his steps attends.<br />\nThough he has known the sweets of power,<br />\nAnd poured his gifts in liberal shower,<br />\nFrom duty\'s path he will not swerve,<br />\n[134]<br />\nBut, still his father\'s truth preserve.<br />\nAnd she whose form so soft and fair<br />\nWas veiled from spirits of the air,<br />\nNow walks unsheltered from the day,<br />\nSeen by the crowds who throng the way.<br />\nCanto XXXIII. The People\'s Lament.<br />\n463<br />\nAh, for that gently-nurtured form!<br />\nHow will it fade with sun and storm!<br />\nHow will the rain, the cold, the heat<br />\nMar fragrant breast and tinted feet!<br />\nSurely some demon has possessed<br />\nHis sire, and speaks within his breast,<br />\nOr how could one that is a king<br />\nThus send his dear son wandering?<br />\nIt were a deed unkindly done<br />\nTo banish e\'en a worthless son:<br />\nBut what, when his pure life has gained<br />\nThe hearts of all, by love enchained?<br />\nSix sovereign virtues join to grace<br />\nRáma the foremost of his race:<br />\nTender and kind and pure is he,<br />\nDocile, religious, passion-free.<br />\nHence misery strikes not him alone:<br />\nIn bitterest grief the people moan,<br />\nLike creatures of the stream, when dry<br />\nIn the great heat the channels lie.<br />\nThe world is mournful with the grief<br />\nThat falls on its beloved chief,<br />\nAs, when the root is hewn away,<br />\nTree, fruit, and flower, and bud decay.<br />\nThe soul of duty, bright to see,<br />\nHe is the root of you and me;<br />\nAnd all of us, who share his grief,<br />\nHis branches, blossom, fruit, and leaf.<br />\nNow like the faithful Lakshmaṇ, we<br />\nWill follow and be true as he;<br />\nOur wives and kinsmen call with speed,<br />\nAnd hasten where our lord shall lead.<br />\nYes, we will leave each well-loved spot,<br />\nThe field, the garden, and the cot,<br />\n464<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nAnd, sharers of his weal and woe,<br />\nBehind the pious Ráma go.<br />\nOur houses, empty of their stores,<br />\nWith ruined courts and broken doors,<br />\nWith all their treasures borne away.<br />\nAnd gear that made them bright and gay:<br />\nO\'errun by rats, with dust o\'erspread,<br />\nShrines, whence the deities have fled,<br />\nWhere not a hand the water pours,<br />\nOr sweeps the long-neglected floors,<br />\nNo incense loads the evening air,<br />\nNo Bráhmans chant the text and prayer,<br />\nNo fire of sacrifice is bright,<br />\nNo gift is known, no sacred rite;<br />\nWith floors which broken vessels strew,<br />\nAs if our woes had crushed them too—<br />\nOf these be stern Kaikeyí queen,<br />\nAnd rule o\'er homes where we have been.<br />\nThe wood where Ráma\'s feet may roam<br />\nShall be our city and our home,<br />\nAnd this fair city we forsake,<br />\nOur flight a wilderness shall make.<br />\nEach serpent from his hole shall hie,<br />\nThe birds and beasts from mountain fly,<br />\nLions and elephants in fear<br />\nShall quit the woods when we come near,<br />\nYield the broad wilds for us to range,<br />\nAnd take our city in exchange.<br />\nWith Ráma will we hence, content<br />\nIf, where he is, our days be spent.”<br />\nSuch were the varied words the crowd<br />\nOf all conditions spoke aloud.<br />\nAnd Ráma heard their speeches, yet<br />\nCanto XXXIV. Ráma In The Palace.<br />\n465<br />\nChanged not his purpose firmly set.<br />\nHis father\'s palace soon he neared,<br />\nThat like Kailása\'s hill appeared.<br />\nLike a wild elephant he strode<br />\nRight onward to the bright abode.<br />\nWithin the palace court he stepped,<br />\nWhere ordered bands their station kept,<br />\nAnd saw Sumantra standing near<br />\nWith down-cast eye and gloomy cheer.<br />\nCanto XXXIV. Ráma In The Palace.<br />\nThe dark incomparable chief<br />\nWhose eye was like a lotus leaf,<br />\nCried to the mournful charioteer,<br />\n“Go tell my sire that I am here.”<br />\nSumantra, sad and all dismayed,<br />\nThe chieftain\'s order swift obeyed.<br />\nWithin the palace doors he hied<br />\nAnd saw the king, who wept and sighed.<br />\nLike the great sun when wrapped in shade<br />\nLike fire by ashes overlaid,<br />\nOr like a pool with waters dried,<br />\nSo lay the world\'s great lord and pride,<br />\nA while the wise Sumantra gazed<br />\nOn him whose senses woe has dazed,<br />\nGrieving for Ráma. Near he drew<br />\nWith hands upraised in reverence due.<br />\nWith blessing first his king he hailed;<br />\nThen with a voice that well-nigh failed,<br />\n466<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nIn trembling accents soft and low<br />\nAddressed the monarch in his woe:<br />\n“The prince of men, thy Ráma, waits<br />\nBefore thee at the palace gates.<br />\nHis wealth to Bráhmans he has dealt,<br />\nAnd all who in his home have dwelt.<br />\nAdmit thy son. His friends have heard<br />\nHis kind farewell and parting word,<br />\nHe longs to see thee first, and then<br />\nWill seek the wilds, O King of men.<br />\nHe, with each princely virtue\'s blaze,<br />\nShines as the sun engirt by rays.”<br />\nThe truthful King who loved to keep<br />\nThe law profound as Ocean\'s deep,<br />\nAnd stainless as the dark blue sky,<br />\nThus to Sumantra made reply:<br />\n[135]<br />\n“Go then, Sumantra, go and call<br />\nMy wives and ladies one and all.<br />\nDrawn round me shall they fill the place<br />\nWhen I behold my Ráma\'s face.”<br />\nQuick to the inner rooms he sped,<br />\nAnd thus to all the women said,<br />\n“Come, at the summons of the king:<br />\nCome all, and make no tarrying.”<br />\nCanto XXXIV. Ráma In The Palace.<br />\n467<br />\nTheir husband\'s word, by him conveyed,<br />\nSoon as they heard, the dames obeyed,<br />\nAnd following his guidance all<br />\nCame thronging to the regal hall.<br />\nIn number half seven hundred, they,<br />\nAll lovely dames, in long array,<br />\nWith their bright eyes for weeping red,<br />\nTo stand round Queen Kauśalyá, sped.<br />\nThey gathered, and the monarch viewed<br />\nOne moment all the multitude,<br />\nThen to Sumantra spoke and said:<br />\n“Now let my son be hither led.”<br />\nSumantra went. Then Ráma came,<br />\nAnd Lakshmaṇ, and the Maithil dame,<br />\nAnd, as he led them on, their guide<br />\nStraight to the monarch\'s presence hied.<br />\nWhen yet far off the father saw<br />\nHis son with raised palms toward him draw,<br />\nGirt by his ladies, sick with woes,<br />\nSwift from his royal seat he rose.<br />\nWith all his strength the aged man<br />\nTo meet his darling Ráma ran,<br />\nBut trembling, wild with dark despair,<br />\nFell on the ground and fainted there.<br />\nAnd Lakshmaṇ, wont in cars to ride,<br />\nAnd Ráma, threw them by the side<br />\nOf the poor miserable king,<br />\nHalf lifeless with his sorrow\'s sting.<br />\nThroughout the spacious hall up went<br />\nA thousand women\'s wild lament:<br />\n“Ah Ráma!” thus they wailed and wept,<br />\nAnd anklets tinkled as they stepped<br />\nAround his body, weeping, threw<br />\n468<br />\nThe Ramayana<br />\nTheir loving arms the brothers two,<br />\nAnd then, with Sítá\'s gentle aid,<br />\nThe king upon a couch was laid.<br />\nAt length to earth\'s imperial lord,<br />\nWhen life and knowledge were restored,<br />\nThough seas of woe went o\'er his head,<br />\nWith suppliant hand, thus Ráma said:<br />\n“Lord of us all, great King, thou art:<br />\nBid me farewell before we part,<br />\nTo Daṇḍak wood this day I go:<br />\nOne blessing and one look bestow.<br />\nLet Lakshmaṇ my companion be,<br />\nAnd Sítá also follow me.<br />\nWith truthful pleas I sought to bend<br />\nTheir purpose; but no ear they lend.<br />\nNow cast this sorrow from thy heart,<br />\nAnd let us all, great King, depart.<br />\nAs Brahmá sends his children, so<br />\nLet Lakshmaṇ, me, and Sítá go.”<br />\nHe stood unmoved, and watched intent<br />\nUntil the king should grant consent.<br />\nUpon his son his eyes he cast,<br />\nAnd thus the monarch spake at last:<br />\n“O Ráma, by her arts enslaved,<br />\nI gave the boons Kaikeyí craved,<br />\nUnfit to reign, by her misled:<br />\nBe ruler in thy father\'s stead.”<br />\nCanto XXXIV. Ráma In The Palace.<br />\n469<br />\nThus by the lord of men addressed,<br />\nRáma, of virtue\'s friends the best,<br />\nIn lore of language duly learned,<br />\nHis answer, reverent, thus returned:<br />\n“A thousand years, O King, remain<br />\nO\'er this our city still to reign.<br />\nI in the woods my life will lead:<br />\nThe lust of rule no more I heed.<br />\nNine years and five I there will spend,<br />\nAnd when the portioned days shall end,<br />\nWill come, my vows and exile o\'er,<br />\nAnd clasp thy feet, my King, once more.”<br />\nA captive in the snare of truth,<br />\nWeeping, distressed with woe and ruth,<br />\nThus spake the monarch, while the queen<br />\nKaikeyí urged him on unseen:<br />\n“Go then, O Ráma, and begin<br />\nThy course unvext by fear and sin:<br />\nGo, my beloved son, and earn<br />\nSuccess, and joy, and safe return.<br />\nSo fast the bonds of duty bind.<br />\nO Raghu\'s son, thy truthful mind,<br />\nThat naught can turn thee back, or guide<br />\nThy will so strongly fortified.<br />\nBut O, a little longer stay,<br />\nNor turn thy steps this night away,<br />\nThat I one little day-—alas!<br />\nOne only—-with my son may pass.<br />\nMe and thy mother do not slight,<br />\nBut stay, my son, with me to-night;<br />\nWith every dainty please thy taste,<br />\nAnd seek to-morrow morn the waste.<br />\nHard is thy task, O Raghu\'s son,</p>\n<p><a title=\"read Book II. (part 2)\" href=\"/en/node/328\" style=\"text-decoration: underline;\">Book II (part2)</a><br />\n<a title=\"read Book II. (part 3)\" href=\"/en/node/329\" style=\"text-decoration: underline;\">Book II (part3)</a></p>\n', created = 1594068309, expire = 1594154709, headers = '', serialized = 0 WHERE cid = '2:f90ab9ce74f5e02ddbb06952022dc9ac' in /home/piv1691/theosophy-mm.net/www/includes/cache.inc on line 108.
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BOOK II.
Canto I. The Heir Apparent.
So Bharat to his grandsire went
Obedient to the message sent,
And for his fond companion chose
Śatrughna slayer of his foes.258
There Bharat for a time remained
With love and honour entertained,
King Aśvapati's constant care,
Beloved as a son and heir.
Yet ever, as they lived at ease,
While all around combined to please,
The aged sire they left behind
Was present to each hero's mind.
Nor could the king's fond memory stray
From his brave children far away,
Dear Bharat and Śatrughna dear,
Each Varuṇ's match or Indra's peer.
258Śatrughna means slayer of foes, and the word is repeated as an intensive
epithet.
302
The Ramayana
To all the princes, young and brave,
His soul with fond affection clave;
Around his loving heart they clung
Like arms from his own body sprung.259
But best and noblest of the four,
Good as the God whom all adore,
Lord of all virtues, undefiled,
His darling was his eldest child.
For he was beautiful and strong,
From envy free, the foe of wrong,
With all his father's virtues blest,
And peerless in the world confessed.
With placid soul he softly spoke:
No harsh reply could taunts provoke.
He ever loved the good and sage
Revered for virtue and for age,
And when his martial tasks were o'er
Sate listening to their peaceful lore.
Wise, modest, pure, he honoured eld,
His lips from lying tales withheld;
Due reverence to the Bráhmans gave,
And ruled each passion like a slave.
Most tender, prompt at duty's call,
Loved by all men he loved them all.
Proud of the duties of his race,
With spirit meet for Warrior's place.
He strove to win by glorious deed,
Throned with the Gods, a priceless meed.
With him in speech and quick reply
Vrihaspati might hardly vie,
But never would his accents flow
For evil or for empty show.
259Alluding to the images of Vishṇu, which have four arms, the four princes
being portions of the substance of that God.
Canto I. The Heir Apparent.
303
In art and science duly trained,
His student vow he well maintained;
He learnt the lore for princes fit,
The Vedas and their Holy Writ,
And with his well-drawn bow at last
His mighty father's fame surpassed.
Of birth exalted, truthful, just,
With vigorous hand, with noble trust,
Well taught by aged twice-born men
Who gain and right could clearly ken,
Full well the claims and bounds he knew
Of duty, gain, and pleasure too:
Of memory keen, of ready tact,
In civil business prompt to act.
Reserved, his features ne'er disclosed
What counsel in his heart reposed.
All idle rage and mirth controlled,
He knew the times to give and hold,
Firm in his faith, of steadfast will,
He sought no wrong, he spoke no ill:
Not rashly swift, not idly slow,
His faults and others' keen to know.
Each merit, by his subtle sense;
He matched with proper recompense.
He knew the means that wealth provide,
And with keen eye expense could guide.
Wild elephants could he reclaim,
And mettled steeds could mount and tame.
No arm like his the bow could wield,
Or drive the chariot to the field.
Skilled to attack, to deal the blow,
Or lead a host against the foe:
Yea, e'en infuriate Gods would fear
To meet his arm in full career.
304
The Ramayana
As the great sun in noontide blaze
Is glorious with his world of rays,
So Ráma with these virtues shone
Which all men loved to gaze upon.
The aged monarch fain would rest,
And said within his weary breast,
“Oh that I might, while living yet,
My Ráma 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 Ráma to the world endeared
By every grace his bosom cheered,
[090]
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.
From town and country, far and near,
He summoned people, prince, and peer.
To each he gave a meet abode,
And honoured all and gifts bestowed.
Then, splendid in his king's attire,
He viewed them, as the general Sire,
Canto II. The People's Speech.
305
In glory of a God arrayed,
Looks on the creatures he has made.
But Kekaya's king he called not then
For haste, nor Janak, lord of men;
For after to each royal friend
The joyful tidings he would send.
Mid crowds from distant countries met
The king upon his throne was set;
Then honoured by the people, all
The rulers thronged into the hall.
On thrones assigned, each king in place
Looked silent on the monarch's face.
Then girt by lords of high renown
And throngs from hamlet and from town
He showed in regal pride,
As, honoured by the radiant band
Of blessed Gods that round him stand,
Lord Indra, Thousand-eyed.
Canto II. The People's Speech.
Then to the full assembly bowed
The monarch, and addressed the crowd
With gracious speech, in accents loud
As heavenly drum or thunder-cloud:
306
The Ramayana
“Needs not to you who know declare
How ever with paternal care
My fathers of Ikshváku's line
Have ruled the realm which now is mine.
I too have taught my feet to tread
The pathway of the mighty dead,
And with fond care that never slept
Have, as I could, my people kept.
So toiling still, and ne'er remiss
For all my people's weal and bliss,
Beneath the white umbrella's260shade.
Old age is come and strength decayed.
Thousands of years have o'er me flown,
And generations round me grown
And passed away. I crave at length
Repose and ease for broken strength.
Feeble and worn I scarce can bear
The ruler's toil, the judge's care,
With royal dignity, a weight
That tries the young and temperate.
I long to rest, my labour done,
And in my place to set my son,
If to the twice-born gathered here
My counsel wise and good appear.
For greater gifts than mine adorn
Ráma my son, my eldest-born.
Like Indra brave, before him fall
The foeman's cities, tower and wall.
Him prince of men for power and might,
The best maintainer of the right,
Fair as the moon when nothing bars
His glory close to Pushya's stars,
260Chief of the insignia of imperial dignity.
Canto II. The People's Speech.
307
Him with to-morrow's light I fain
Would throne the consort of my reign.
A worthy lord for you, I ween,
Marked as her own by Fortune's Queen.
The triple world itself would be
Well ruled by such a king as he.
To such high bliss and happy fate
Will I the country dedicate,
And my sad heart will cease to grieve
If he the precious charge receive.
Thus is my careful plan matured,
Thus for myself is rest secured;
Lieges, approve the words I say,
Or point ye out some wiser way.
Devise your prudent plan. My mind
Is fondly to this thought inclined,
But men by keen debating move
Some middle course which all approve.”
The monarch ceased. In answer came
The joyous princes' glad acclaim.
So peacocks in the rain rejoice
And hail the cloud with lifted voice.
Murmurs of joy from thousands round
Shook the high palace with the sound.
Then when the gathered throng had learned
His will who right and gain discerned,
Peasant and townsman, priest and chief,
All met in consultation brief,
And soon agreed with one accord
Gave answer to their sovereign lord:
“King of the land, we know thee old:
Thousands of years have o'er thee rolled,
Ráma thy son, we pray, anoint,
308
The Ramayana
And at thy side his place appoint
Our gallant prince, so brave and strong,
Riding in royal state along,
Our eyes with joyful pride will see
Screened by the shade that shelters thee.”
Then spake the king again, as though
Their hearts' true wish he sought to know:
“These prayers for Ráma's rule suggest
One question to my doubting breast.
This thing, I pray, with truth explain:
Why would ye, while I justly reign,
That he, mine eldest son, should bear
His part with me as ruling heir?”
Then all the people made reply,
Peasant and townsman, low and high:
“Each noblest gift of form and mind,
[091]
O Monarch, in thy son we find.
Do thou the godlike virtues hear
Which Ráma to our hearts endear.
So richly blest with graces, none
In all the earth excels thy son:
Nay, who to match with him may claim
In truth, in justice, and in fame?
True to his promise, gentle, kind,
Unenvious, of grateful mind,
Versed in the law and firm of soul,
He keeps each sense with strict control.
With duteous care he loves to sit
By Bráhmans skilled in Holy Writ.
Hence brightest glory, ne'er to end,
And matchless fame his youth attend.
Skilled in the use of spear and shield,
And arms which heavenly warriors wield,
Supreme in war, unconquered yet
Canto II. The People's Speech.
309
By man, fiend, God in battle met,
Whene'er in pomp of war he goes
'Gainst town or city of the foes,
He ever comes with Lakshmaṇ back
Victorious from the fierce attack.
Returning homeward from afar
Borne on his elephant or car,
He ever to the townsmen bends
And greets them as beloved friends,
Asks how each son, each servant thrives,
How fare our pupils, offerings, wives;
And like a father bids us tell,
Each for himself, that all is well.
If pain or grief the city tries
His heart is swift to sympathize.
When festive scenes our thoughts employ
He like a father shares the joy.
High is the fate, O King, that gave
Thy Ráma born to bless and save,
With filial virtues fair and mild
Like Kaśyap old Maríchi's child.
Hence to the kingdom's distant ends
One general prayer for him ascends.
Each man in town and country prays
For Ráma's strength, health, length of days.
With hearts sincere, their wish the same,
The tender girl, the aged dame,
Subject and stranger, peasant, hind,
One thought impressed on every mind,
At evening and at dawning day
To all the Gods for Ráma pray.
Do thou, O King, of grace comply,
And hear the people's longing cry,
And let us on the throne by thee
310
The Ramayana
The lotus-tinted Ráma see.
O thou who givest boons, attend;
A gracious ear, O Monarch, lend
And for our weal install,
Consenting to our earnest prayer,
Thy godlike Ráma Regent Heir,
Who seeks the good of all.”
Canto III. Dasaratha's Precepts.
The monarch with the prayer complied
Of suppliant hands, on every side
Uplifted like a lotus-bed:
And then these gracious words he said:
“Great joy and mighty fame are mine
Because your loving hearts incline,
In full assembly clearly shown
To place my Ráma on the throne.”
Then to Vaśishṭha, standing near,
And Vámadeva loud and clear
The monarch spoke that all might hear:
“'Tis pure and lovely Chaitra now
When flowers are sweet on every bough;
All needful things with haste prepare
That Ráma be appointed heir.”
Canto III. Dasaratha's Precepts.
311
Then burst the people's rapture out
In loud acclaim and joyful shout;
And when the tumult slowly ceased
The king addressed the holy priest:
“Give order, Saint, with watchful heed
For what the coming rite will need.
This day let all things ready wait
Mine eldest son to consecrate.”
Best of all men of second birth
Vaśishṭha heard the lord of earth,
And gave commandment to the bands
Of servitors with lifted hands
Who waited on their master's eye:
“Now by to-morrow's dawn supply
Rich gold and herbs and gems of price
And offerings for the sacrifice,
Wreaths of white flowers and roasted rice,
And oil and honey, separate;
New garments and a car of state,
An elephant with lucky signs,
A fourfold host in ordered lines,
The white umbrella, and a pair
Of chowries,261and a banner fair;
A hundred vases, row on row,
To shine like fire in splendid glow,
A tiger's mighty skin, a bull
With gilded horns most beautiful.
All these, at dawn of coming day,
Around the royal shrine array,
Where burns the fire's undying ray.
Each palace door, each city gate
With wreaths of sandal decorate.
261Whisks, usually made of the long tails of the Yak.
312
The Ramayana
And with the garlands' fragrant scent
Let clouds of incense-smoke be blent.
Let food of noble kind and taste
Be for a hundred thousand placed;
Fresh curds with streams of milk bedewed
To feed the Bráhman multitude.
[092]
With care be all their wants supplied.
And mid the twice-born chiefs divide
Rich largess, with the early morn,
And oil and curds and roasted corn.
Soon as the sun has shown his light
Pronounce the prayer to bless the rite,
And then be all the Bráhmans called
And in their ordered seats installed.
Let all musicians skilled to play,
And dancing-girls in bright array
Stand ready in the second ring
Within the palace of the king.
Each honoured tree, each holy shrine
With leaves and flowery wreaths entwine,
And here and there beneath the shade
Be food prepared and presents laid.
Then brightly clad, in warlike guise,
With long swords girt upon their thighs,
Let soldiers of the nobler sort
March to the monarch's splendid court.”
Thus gave command the twice-born pair
To active servants stationed there.
Then hastened to the king and said
That all their task was duly sped,
The king to wise Sumantra spake:
“Now quick, my lord, thy chariot take,
And hither with thy swiftest speed
Canto III. Dasaratha's Precepts.
313
My son, my noble Ráma lead.”
Sumantra, ere the word was given,
His chariot from the court had driven,
And Ráma, best of all who ride
In cars, came sitting by his side.
The lords of men had hastened forth
From east and west and south and north,
Áryan and stranger, those who dwell
In the wild wood and on the fell,
And as the Gods to Indra, they
Showed honour to the king that day.
Like Vásav, when his glorious form
Is circled by the Gods of storm,
Girt in his hall by kings he saw
His car-borne Ráma near him draw,
Like him who rules the minstrel band
Of heaven;262whose valour filled the land,
Of mighty arm and stately pride
Like a wild elephant in stride,
As fair in face as that fair stone
Dear to the moon, of moonbeams grown,263
With noble gifts and grace that took
The hearts of all, and chained each look,
World-cheering as the Lord of Rain
When floods relieve the parching plain.
The father, as the son came nigh,
Gazed with an ever-thirstier eye.
Sumantra helped the prince alight
From the good chariot passing bright,
262Chitraratha, King of the Gandharvas.
263The Chandrakánta or Moonstone, a sort of crystal supposed to be composed
of congealed moonbeams.
314
The Ramayana
And as to meet his sire he went
Followed behind him reverent.
Then Ráma clomb, the king to seek
That terrace like Kailása's peak,
And reached the presence of the king,
Sumantra closely following.
Before his father's face he came,
Raised suppliant hands and named his name,264
And bowing lowly as is meet
Paid reverence to the monarch's feet.
But soon as Daśaratha viewed
The prince in humble attitude,
He raised him by the hand in haste
And his beloved son embraced,
Then signed him to a glorious throne,
Gem-decked and golden, near his own.
Then Ráma, best of Raghu's line,
Made the fair seat with lustre shine
As when the orient sun upsprings
And his pure beam on Meru flings.
The glory flashed on roof and wall,
And with strange sheen suffused the hall,
As when the moon's pure rays are sent
Through autumn's star-lit firmament.
Then swelled his breast with joy and pride
As his dear son the father eyed,
E'en as himself more fair arrayed
In some clear mirror's face displayed.
The aged monarch gazed awhile,
Then thus addressed him with a smile,
As Kaśyap, whom the worlds revere,
Speaks for the Lord of Gods to hear:
264A customary mark of respect to a superior.
Canto III. Dasaratha's Precepts.
315
“O thou of all my sons most dear,
In virtue best, thy father's peer,
Child of my consort first in place,
Mine equal in her pride of race,
Because the people's hearts are bound
To thee by graces in thee found,
Be thou in Pushya's favouring hour
Made partner of my royal power.
I know that thou by nature's bent
Both modest art and excellent,
But though thy gifts no counsel need
My love suggests the friendly rede.
Mine own dear son, be modest still,
And rule each sense with earnest will.
Keep thou the evils far away
That spring from love and anger's sway.
Thy noble course alike pursue
In secret as in open view,
And every nerve, the love to gain
Of ministers and subjects, strain.
The happy prince who sees with pride
His thriving people satisfied;
Whose arsenals with arms are stored,
And treasury with golden hoard,—
[093]
His friends rejoice as joyed the Blest
When Amrit crowned their eager quest.
So well, my child, thy course maintain,
And from all ill thy soul refrain.”
The friends of Ráma, gathered nigh,
Longing their lord to gratify,
Ran to Kauśalyá's bower to tell
The tidings that would please her well.
She, host of dames, with many a gem,
316
The Ramayana
And gold, and kine rewarded them.
Then Ráma paid the reverence due,
Mounted the chariot, and withdrew,
And to his splendid dwelling drove
While crowds to show him honour strove.
The people, when the monarch's speech
Their willing ears had heard,
Were wild with joy as though on each
Great gifts had been conferred.
With meek and low salute each man
Turned to his home away,
And there with happy heart began
To all the Gods to pray.
Canto IV. Ráma Summoned.
The crowd dismissed, to high debate
The monarch called his peers of state,
And, counsel from their lips obtained,
Firm in his will his will explained:
“To-morrow with auspicious ray
The moon in Pushya's sign will stay;
Be that the time with happy fate
Mine eldest son to consecrate,
And let my Ráma, lotus-eyed,
As Regent o'er the state preside.”
Canto IV. Ráma Summoned.
317
He sought, within, his charioteer,
And cried “Again bring Ráma here.”
To Ráma's home Sumantra hied
Again to be the prince's guide.
His coming, told to Ráma's ear,
Suggested anxious doubt and fear.
He bade the messenger be led
That instant in, and thus he said:
“Tell me the cause, omitting naught,
Why thou again my house hast sought.”
The envoy answered: “Prince, thy sire
Has sent thy presence to require.
My sender known, 'tis thine to say
If thou wilt go or answer nay.”
Then Ráma, when he heard his speech,
Made haste the royal court to reach.
Soon as the monarch was aware
His dearest son was waiting there,
Eager the parley to begin
He bade them lead the prince within,
Soon as he passed the chamber door
The hero bent him to the floor,
And at a distance from his seat
Raised his joined hands his sire to greet.
The monarch raised him from the ground,
And loving arms about him wound,
Then pointed to a seat that shone
With gold for him to rest upon.
“Aged am I,” he said, “and worn;
In life's best joys my share have borne;
Rites to the Gods, in hundreds, paid,
With gifts of corn and largess made.
I yearned for sons: my life is blest
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The Ramayana
With them and thee of sons the best.
No debt to saints or Bráhmans, no,
Nor spirits, Gods, or self I owe.
One duty now remains alone,
To set thee on thy father's throne.
Now therefore, Ráma, hear my rede,
And mark my words with duteous heed:
This day the peoples' general voice,
Elects thee king of love and choice,
And I, consenting to the prayer,
Will make thee, darling, Regent Heir.
Dread visions, each returning night,
With evil omens scare my sight.
Red meteors with a fearful sound
Shoot wildly downward to the ground,
While tempests lash the troubled air;
And they who read the stars declare
That, leagued against my natal sign,
Ráhu,265the Sun,266and Mars combine.
When portents dire as these appear,
A monarch's death or woe is near.
Then while my senses yet are spared,
And thought and will are unimpaired,
Be thou, my son, anointed king:
Men's fancy is a fickle thing.
To-day the moon, in order due,
Entered the sign Punarvasu,267
To-morrow, as the wise foretell,
265Ráhu, the ascending node, is in mythology a demon with the tail of a dragon
whose head was severed from his body by Vishṇu, but being immortal, the
headandtailretainedtheirseparateexistenceandbeingtransferredtothestellar
sphere became the authors of eclipses; the first especially by endeavouring to
swallow the sun and moon.
266In eclipse.
267The seventh of the lunar asterisms.
Canto IV. Ráma Summoned.
319
In Pushya's favouring stars will dwell:
Then on the throne shalt thou be placed.
My soul, prophetic, counsels haste:
Thee, O my son, to-morrow I
As Regent Heir will sanctify.
So till the coming night be passed
Do thou and Sítá strictly fast:
From worldly thoughts thy soul refrain,
And couched on holy grass remain.
[094]
And let thy trusted lords attend
In careful watch upon their friend,
For, unexpected, check and bar
Our weightiest counsels often mar.
While Bharat too is far away
Making with royal kin his stay,
I deem the fittest time of all
Thee, chosen Regent, to install.
It may be Bharat still has stood
True to the counsels of the good,
Faithful to thee with tender trust,
With governed senses, pure and just.
But human minds, too well I know,
Will sudden changes undergo,
And by their constant deeds alone
The virtue of the good is shown.
Now, Ráma, go. My son, good night!
Fixt is to-morrow for the rite.”
Then Ráma paid the reverence due,
And quickly to his home withdrew.
He passed within, nor lingered there,
But sought his mother's mansion, where
The dame in linen robes arrayed
Devoutly in the chapel prayed
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The Ramayana
To Fortune's Queen, with utterance checked,
That she her Ráma would protect.
There was Sumitrá too, and there
Was Lakshmaṇ led by loving care:
And when the royal choice they knew
Sítá in haste was summoned too.
Absorbed, with half-shut eyes, the queen
Attended by the three was seen.
She knew that Pushya's lucky hour
Would raise her son to royal power,
So fixed with bated breath each thought
On God supreme, by all men sought.
To her, as thus she knelt and prayed,
Ráma drew near, due reverence paid,
And then to swell his mother's joy,
Thus spoke her own beloved boy;
“O mother dear, my sire's decree
Entrusts the people's weal to me.
To-morrow I, for so his will,
Anointed king, the throne shall fill.
The few last hours till night shall end
Sítá with me must fasting spend,
For so my father has decreed,
And holy priests with him agreed.
What vows soever thou mayst deem
My consecration's eve beseem,
Do thou, sweet mother, for my sake
And for beloved Sítá's make.”
When the glad news Kauśalyá heard,
So long desired, so long deferred,
While tears of joy her utterance broke,
In answer to her son she spoke:
“Long be thy life, my darling: now
Canto IV. Ráma Summoned.
321
Thy prostrate foes before thee bow.
Live long and with thy bright success
My friends and dear Sumitrá's bless.
Surely the stars were wondrous fair
When thee, sweet son, thy mother bare,
That thy good gifts such love inspire
And win the favour of thy sire.
With thee I travailed not in vain;
Those lotus eyes reward my pain,
And all the glory of the line
Of old Ikshváku will be thine.”
He smiled, and on his brother gazed
Who sate with reverent hands upraised,
And said: “My brother, thou must be
Joint-ruler of this land with me.
My second self thou, Lakshmaṇ, art,
And in my fortune bearest part.
Be thine, Sumitrá's son, to know
The joys from regal power that flow.
My life itself, the monarch's seat,
For thy dear sake to me are sweet.”
Thus Ráma to his brother said,
To both his mothers268bowed his head,
And then with Sítá by his side
To his own house the hero hied.
268Kauśalyá and Sumitrá.
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The Ramayana
Canto V. Ráma's Fast.
Then Saint Vaśishṭha to the king
Came ready at his summoning.
“Now go,” exclaimed the monarch, “thou
Enriched by fervent rite and vow,
For Ráma and his wife ordain
The fast, that joy may bless his reign.”
The best of those who Scripture know
Said to the king, “My lord, I go.”
To Ráma's house Vaśishṭha hied,
The hero's fast by rule to guide,
And skilled in sacred texts to tell
Each step to him instructed well.
Straight to Prince Ráma's high abode,
That like a cloud pale-tinted showed,
Borne in his priestly car he rode.
Two courts he passed, and in the third
He stayed his car. Then Ráma heard
The holy sage was come, and flew
To honour him with honour due.
He hastened to the car and lent
His hand to aid the priest's descent.
Then spoke Vaśishṭha words like these,
Pleased with his reverent courtesies,
With pleasant things his heart to cheer
Who best deserved glad news to hear:
“Prince, thou hast won thy father's grace,
And thine will be the Regent's place:
Now with thy Sítá, as is right,
In strictest fasting spend the night,
[095]
Canto V. Ráma's Fast.
323
For when the morrow's dawn is fair
The king will consecrate his heir:
So Nahush,269as the wise relate,
Yayáti joyed to consecrate.”
Thus having said, Vaśishṭha next
Ordained the fast by rule and text,
For Ráma faithful to his vows
And the Videhan dame his spouse.
Then from the prince's house he hied
With courteous honours gratified.
Round Ráma gathered every friend
In pleasant talk a while to spend.
He bade good night to all at last,
And to his inner chamber passed.
Then Ráma's house shone bright and gay
With men and maids in glad array,
As in the morning some fair lake
When all her lotuses awake,
And every bird that loves the flood
Flits joyous round each opening bud.
Forth from the house Vaśishṭha drove,
That with the king's in splendour strove,
And all the royal street he viewed
Filled with a mighty multitude
The eager concourse blocked each square,
Each road and lane and thoroughfare,
And joyous shouts on every side
Rose like the roar of Ocean's tide,
As streams of men together came
With loud huzza and glad acclaim.
The ways were watered, swept and clean,
269A king of the Lunar race, and father of Yayáti.
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The Ramayana
And decked with flowers and garlands green
And all Ayodhyá shone arrayed
With banners on the roofs that played.
Men, women, boys with eager eyes,
Expecting when the sun should rise,
Stood longing for the herald ray
Of Ráma's consecration day,
To see, a source of joy to all,
The people-honoured festival.
The priest advancing slowly through
The mighty crowd he cleft in two,
Near to the monarch's palace drew.
He sought the terrace, by the stair,
Like a white cloud-peak high in air,
The reverend king of men to meet
Who sate upon his splendid seat:
Thus will Vṛihaspati arise
To meet the monarch of the skies.
But when the king his coming knew,
He left his throne and near him drew
Questioned by him Vaśishṭha said
That all his task was duly sped.
Then all who sate there, honouring
Vaśishṭha, rose as rose the king.
Vaśishṭha bade his lord adieu,
And all the peers, dismissed, withdrew.
Then as a royal lion seeks
His cave beneath the rocky peaks,
So to the chambers where abode
His consorts Daśaratha strode.
Full-thronged were those delightful bowers
With women richly dressed,
And splendid as the radiant towers
Canto VI. The City Decorated.
325
Where Indra loves to rest.
Then brighter flashed a thousand eyes
With the light his presence lent,
As, when the moon begins to rise
The star thronged firmament.
Canto VI. The City Decorated.
Then Ráma bathed in order due,
His mind from worldly thoughts withdrew,
And with his large-eyed wife besought
Náráyaṇ, as a votary ought.
Upon his head the brimming cup
Of holy oil he lifted up,
Then placed within the kindled fire
The offering to that heavenly Sire,
And as he sipped the remnant prayed
To Him for blessing and for aid.
Then with still lips and tranquil mind
With his Videhan he reclined,
In Vishṇu's chapel, on a bed
Where holy grass was duly spread,
While still the prince's every thought
The God supreme, Náráyaṇ, sought.
One watch remained the night to close
When Ráma from his couch arose,
And bade the men and maids adorn
His palace for the solemn morn.
He heard the bards and heralds raise
Auspicious strains of joy and praise;
And breathed devout, with voice restrained,
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The Ramayana
The hymn for morning rites ordained;
Then, with his head in reverence bowed,
Praised Madhu's conquering foe aloud,
And, in pure linen robes arrayed,
The priests to raise their voices prayed.
Obedient to the summons they
Proclaimed to all the festal day.
The Bráhmans' voices, deep and sweet,
Resounded through the crowded street,
And echoed through Ayodhyá went
By many a loud-toned instrument.
Then all the people joyed to hear
That Ráma with his consort dear
Had fasted till the morning light
In preparation for the rite.
Swiftly the joyful tidings through
Ayodhyá's crowded city flew,
And soon as dawn appeared, each man
To decorate the town began.
[096]
In all the temples bright and fair
As white clouds towering in the air,
In streets, and where the cross-ways met,
Where holy fig-trees had been set,
In open square, in sacred shade,
Where merchants' shops their wealth displayed,
On all the mansions of the great,
And householders of wealth and state,
Where'er the people loved to meet,
Where'er a tree adorned the street,
Gay banners floated to the wind,
And ribands round the staves were twined.
Then clear the singers' voices rang,
As, charming mind and ear, they sang.
Here players shone in bright attire,
Canto VI. The City Decorated.
327
There dancing women swelled the quire.
Each with his friend had much to say
Of Ráma's consecration-day:
Yea, even children, as they played
At cottage doors beneath the shade.
The royal street with flowers was strown
Which loving hands in heaps had thrown,
And here and there rich incense lent
Its fragrance to the garland's scent;
And all was fresh and fair and bright
In honour of the coming rite.
With careful foresight to illume
With borrowed blaze the midnight gloom,
The crowds erected here and there
Trees in each street gay lamps to bear.
The city thus from side to side
In festal guise was beautified.
The people of the town who longed
To view the rite together thronged,
And filling every court and square
Praised the good king in converse there:
“Our high-souled king! He throws a grace
On old Ikshváku's royal race.
He feels his years' increasing weight,
And makes his son associate.
Great joy to us the choice will bring
Of Ráma for our lord and king.
The good and bad to him are known,
And long will he protect his own.
No pride his prudent breast may swell,
Most just, he loves his brothers well,
And to us all that love extends,
Cherished as brothers and as friends.
Long may our lord in life remain,
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The Ramayana
Good Daśaratha, free from stain,
By whose most gracious favour we
Ráma anointed king shall see.”
Such were the words the townsmen spoke
Heard by the gathering countryfolk,
Who from the south, north, east, and west,
Stirred by the joyful tidings, pressed.
For by their eager longing led
To Ráma's consecration sped
The villagers from every side,
And filled Ayodhyá's city wide.
This way and that way strayed the crowd,
While rose a murmur long and loud,
As when the full moon floods the skies
And Ocean's waves with thunder rise.
That town, like Indra's city fair,
While peasants thronged her ways,
Tumultuous roared like Ocean, where
Each flood-born monster plays.
Canto VII. Manthará's Lament.
It chanced a slave-born handmaid, bred
With Queen Kaikeyí, fancy-led,
Mounted the stair and stood upon
The terrace like the moon that shone.
Thence Manthará at ease surveyed
Ayodhyá to her eyes displayed,
Where water cooled the royal street,
Where heaps of flowers were fresh and sweet,
Canto VII. Manthará's Lament.
329
And costly flags and pennons hung
On roof and tower their shadow flung;
With covered ways prepared in haste,
And many an awning newly placed;
With sandal-scented streams bedewed,
Thronged by a new bathed multitude:
Whose streets were full of Bráhman bands
With wreaths and sweetmeats in their hands.
Loud instruments their music raised,
And through the town, where'er she gazed,
The doors of temples glittered white,
And the maid marvelled at the sight.
Of Ráma's nurse who, standing by,
Gazed with a joy-expanded eye,
In robes of purest white attired,
The wondering damsel thus inquired:
“Does Ráma's mother give away
Rich largess to the crowds to-day,
On some dear object fondly bent,
Or blest with measureless content?
What mean these signs of rare delight
On every side that meet my sight?
Say, will the king with joy elate
Some happy triumph celebrate?”
330
The Ramayana
The nurse, with transport uncontrolled,
Her glad tale to the hump-back told:
“Our lord the king to-morrow morn
Will consecrate his eldest-born,
And raise, in Pushya's favouring hour,
Prince Ráma to the royal power.”
As thus the nurse her tidings spoke,
Rage in the hump-back's breast awoke.
Down from the terrace, like the head
Of high Kailása's hill, she sped.
Sin in her thoughts, her soul aflame,
Where Queen Kaikeyí slept, she came:
[097]
“Why sleepest thou?” she cried, “arise,
Peril is near, unclose thine eyes.
Ah, heedless Queen, too blind to know
What floods of sin above thee flow!
Thy boasts of love and grace are o'er:
Thine is the show and nothing more.
His favour is an empty cheat,
A torrent dried by summer's heat.”
Thus by the artful maid addressed
In cruel words from raging breast,
The queen, sore troubled, spoke in turn;
“What evil news have I to learn?
That mournful eye, that altered cheek
Of sudden woe or danger speak.”
Such were the words Kaikeyí said:
Then Manthará, her eyeballs red
With fury, skilled with treacherous art
To grieve yet more her lady's heart,
From Ráma, in her wicked hate,
Kaikeyí's love to alienate,
Canto VII. Manthará's Lament.
331
Upon her evil purpose bent
Began again most eloquent:
“Peril awaits thee swift and sure,
And utter woe defying cure;
King Daśaratha will create
Prince Ráma Heir Associate.
Plunged in the depths of wild despair,
My soul a prey to pain and care,
As though the flames consumed me, zeal
Has brought me for my lady's weal,
Thy grief, my Queen, is grief to me:
Thy gain my greatest gain would be.
Proud daughter of a princely line,
The rights of consort queen are thine.
How art thou, born of royal race,
Blind to the crimes that kings debase?
Thy lord is gracious, to deceive,
And flatters, but thy soul to grieve,
While thy pure heart that thinks no sin
Knows not the snares that hem thee in.
Thy husband's lips on thee bestow
Soft soothing word, an empty show:
The wealth, the substance, and the power
This day will be Kauśalyá's dower.
With crafty soul thy child he sends
To dwell among thy distant friends,
And, every rival far from sight,
To Ráma gives the power and might.
Ah me! for thou, unhappy dame,
Deluded by a husband's name,
With more than mother's love hast pressed
A serpent to thy heedless breast,
And cherished him who works thee woe,
No husband but a deadly foe.
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The Ramayana
For like a snake, unconscious Queen,
Or enemy who stabs unseen,
King Daśaratha all untrue
Has dealt with thee and Bharat too.
Ah, simple lady, long beguiled
By his soft words who falsely smiled!
Poor victim of the guileless breast,
A happier fate thou meritest.
For thee and thine destruction waits
When he Prince Ráma consecrates.
Up, lady, while there yet is time;
Preserve thyself, prevent the crime.
Up, from thy careless ease, and free
Thyself, O Queen, thy son, and me!”
Delighted at the words she said,
Kaikeyí lifted from the bed,
Like autumn's moon, her radiant head,
And joyous at the tidings gave
A jewel to the hump-back slave;
And as she gave the precious toy
She cried in her exceeding joy:
“Take this, dear maiden, for thy news
Most grateful to mine ear, and choose
What grace beside most fitly may
The welcome messenger repay.
I joy that Ráma gains the throne:
Kauśalyá's son is as mine own.”
Canto VIII. Manthará's Speech.
Canto VIII. Manthará's Speech.
333
The damsel's breast with fury burned:
She answered, as the gift she spurned:
“What time, O simple Queen, is this
For idle dreams of fancied bliss?
Hast thou not sense thy state to know,
Engulfed in seas of whelming woe;
Sick as I am with grief and pain
My lips can scarce a laugh restrain
To see thee hail with ill-timed joy
A peril mighty to destroy.
I mourn for one so fondly blind:
What woman of a prudent mind
Would welcome, e'en as thou hast done,
The lordship of a rival's son,
Rejoiced to find her secret foe
Empowered, like death, to launch the blow;
I see that Ráma still must fear
Thy Bharat, to his throne too near.
Hence is my heart disquieted,
For those who fear are those we dread.
Lakshmaṇ, the mighty bow who draws,
With all his soul serves Ráma's cause;
And chains as strong to Bharat bind
Śatrughna, with his heart and mind,
Now next to Ráma, lady fair,
Thy Bharat is the lawful heir:
And far remote, I ween, the chance
That might the younger two advance.
Yes, Queen, 'tis Ráma that I dread,
Wise, prompt, in warlike science bred;
And oh, I tremble when I think
Of thy dear child on ruin's brink.
[098]
Blest with a lofty fate is she,
Kauśalyá; for her son will be
334
The Ramayana
Placed, when the moon and Pushya meet,
By Bráhmans on the royal seat,
Thou as a slave in suppliant guise
Must wait upon Kauśalyá's eyes,
With all her wealth and bliss secured
And glorious from her foes assured.
Her slave with us who serve thee, thou
Wilt see thy son to Ráma bow,
And Sítá's friends exult o'er all,
While Bharat's wife shares Bharat's fall.”
As thus the maid in wrath complained,
Kaikeyí saw her heart was pained,
And answered eager in defence
Of Ráma's worth and excellence:
“Nay, Ráma, born the monarch's heir,
By holy fathers trained with care,
Virtuous, grateful, pure, and true,
Claims royal sway as rightly due.
He, like a sire, will long defend
Each brother, minister, and friend.
Then why, O hump-back, art thou pained
To hear that he the throne has gained?
Be sure when Ráma's empire ends,
The kingdom to my son descends,
Who, when a hundred years are flown,
Shall sit upon his fathers' throne.
Why is thine heart thus sad to see
The joy that is and long shall be,
This fortune by possession sure
And hopes which we may count secure?
Dear as the darling son I bore
Is Ráma, yea, or even more.
Most duteous to Kauśalyá, he
Canto VIII. Manthará's Speech.
335
Is yet more dutiful to me.
What though he rule, we need not fear:
His brethren to his soul are dear.
And if the throne Prince Ráma fill
Bharat will share the empire still.”
She ceased. The troubled damsel sighed
Sighs long and hot, and thus replied:
“What madness has possessed thy mind,
To warnings deaf, to dangers blind?
Canst thou not see the floods of woe
That threaten o'er thine head to flow:
First Ráma will the throne acquire,
Then Ráma's son succeed his sire,
While Bharat will neglected pine
Excluded from the royal line.
Not all his sons, O lady fair,
The kingdom of a monarch share:
All ruling when a sovereign dies
Wild tumult in the state would rise.
The eldest, be he good or ill,
Is ruler by the father's will.
Know, tender mother, that thy son
Without a friend and all undone,
Far from the joyous ease of home
An alien from his race will roam.
I sped to thee for whom I feel,
But thy fond heart mistakes my zeal,
Thy hand a present would bestow
Because thy rival triumphs so.
When Ráma once begins his sway
Without a foe his will to stay,
Thy darling Bharat he will drive
To distant lands if left alive.
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The Ramayana
By thee the child was sent away
Beneath his grandsire's roof to stay.
Even in stocks and stones perforce
Will friendship spring from intercourse.
The young Śatrughna too would go
With Bharat, for he loved him so.
As Lakshmaṇ still to Ráma cleaves,
He his dear Bharat never leaves.
There is an ancient tale they tell:
A tree the foresters would fell
Was saved by reeds that round it stood,
For love that sprang of neighbourhood.
So Lakshmaṇ Ráma will defend,
And each on each for aid depend.
Such fame on earth their friendship wins
As that which binds the Heavenly Twins.
And Ráma ne'er will purpose wrong
To Lakshmaṇ, for their love is strong.
But Bharat, Oh, of this be sure,
Must evil at his hands endure.
Come, Ráma from his home expel
An exile in the woods to dwell.
The plan, O Queen, which I advise
Secures thy weal if thou be wise.
So we and all thy kith and kin
Advantage from thy gain shall win.
Shall Bharat, meet for happier fate,
Born to endure his rival's hate,
With all his fortune ruined cower
And dread his brother's mightier power!
Up, Queen, to save thy son, arise;
Prostrate at Ráma's feet he lies.
So the proud elephant who leads
His trooping consorts through the reeds
Canto IX. The Plot.
337
Falls in the forest shade beneath
The lion's spring and murderous teeth.
Scorned by thee in thy bliss and pride
Kauśalyá was of old defied,
And will she now forbear to show
The vengeful rancour of a foe?
O Queen, thy darling is undone
When Ráma's hand has once begun
Ayodhyá's realm to sway,
Come, win the kingdom for thy child
And drive the alien to the wild
In banishment to-day.”
Canto IX. The Plot.
As fury lit Kaikeyí's eyes
She spoke with long and burning sighs:
[099]
“This day my son enthroned shall see,
And Ráma to the woods shall flee.
But tell me, damsel, if thou can,
A certain way, a skilful plan
That Bharat may the empire gain,
And Ráma's hopes be nursed in vain.”
The lady ceased. The wicked maid
The mandate of her queen obeyed,
And darkly plotting Ráma's fall
Responded to Kaikeyí's call.
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The Ramayana
“I will declare, do thou attend,
How Bharat may his throne ascend.
Dost thou forget what things befell?
Or dost thou feign, remembering well?
Or wouldst thou hear my tongue repeat
A story for thy need so meet?
Gay lady, if thy will be so,
Now hear the tale of long ago,
And when my tongue has done its part
Ponder the story in thine heart.
When Gods and demons fought of old,
Thy lord, with royal saints enrolled,
Sped to the war with thee to bring
His might to aid the Immortals' King.
Far to the southern land he sped
Where Daṇḍak's mighty wilds are spread,
To Vaijayanta's city swayed
By Śambara, whose flag displayd
The hugest monster of the sea.
Lord of a hundred wiles was be;
With might which Gods could never blame
Against the King of Heaven he came.
Then raged the battle wild and dread,
And mortal warriors fought and bled;
The fiends by night with strength renewed
Charged, slew the sleeping multitude.
Thy lord, King Daśaratha, long
Stood fighting with the demon throng,
But long of arm, unmatched in strength,
Fell wounded by their darts at length.
Thy husband, senseless, by thine aid
Was from the battle field conveyed,
And wounded nigh to death thy lord
Was by thy care to health restored.
Canto IX. The Plot.
339
Well pleased the grateful monarch sware
To grant thy first and second prayer.
Thou for no favour then wouldst sue,
The gifts reserved for season due;
And he, thy high-souled lord, agreed
To give the boons when thou shouldst need.
Myself I knew not what befell,
But oft the tale have heard thee tell,
And close to thee in friendship knit
Deep in my heart have treasured it.
Remind thy husband of his oath,
Recall the boons and claim them both,
That Bharat on the throne be placed
With rites of consecration graced,
And Ráma to the woods be sent
For twice seven years of banishment.
Go, Queen, the mourner's chamber270seek,
With angry eye and burning cheek;
And with disordered robes and hair
On the cold earth lie prostrate there.
When the king comes still mournful lie,
Speak not a word nor meet his eye,
But let thy tears in torrent flow,
And lie enamoured of thy woe.
Well do I know thou long hast been,
And ever art, his darling queen.
For thy dear sake, O well-loved dame,
The mighty king would brave the flame,
But ne'er would anger thee, or brook
To meet his favourite's wrathful look.
Thy loving lord would even die
270Literally the chamber of wrath, a “growlery,” a small, dark, unfurnished
room to which it seems, the wives and ladies of the king betook themselves
when offended and sulky.
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The Ramayana
Thy fancy, Queen, to gratify,
And never could he arm his breast
To answer nay to thy request.
Listen and learn, O dull of sense,
Thine all-resistless influence.
Gems he will offer, pearls and gold:
Refuse his gifts, be stern and cold.
Those proffered boons at length recall,
And claim them till he grants thee all.
And O my lady, high in bliss,
With heedful thought forget not this.
When from the ground his queen he lifts
And grants again the promised gifts,
Bind him with oaths he cannot break
And thy demands unflnching, make.
That Ráma travel to the wild
Five years and nine from home exiled,
And Bharat, best of all who reign,
The empire of the land obtain.
For when this term of years has fled
Over the banished Ráma's head,
Thy royal son to vigour grown
And rooted firm will stand alone.
The king, I know, is well inclined,
And this the hour to move his mind.
Be bold: the threatened rite prevent,
And force the king from his intent.”
She ceased. So counselled to her bane
Disguised beneath a show of gain,
Kaikeyí in her joy and pride
To Manthará again replied:
“Thy sense I envy, prudent maid;
With sagest lore thy lids persuade.
Canto IX. The Plot.
341
No hump-back maid in all the earth,
For wise resolve, can match thy worth.
Thou art alone with constant zeal
Devoted to thy lady's weal.
Dear girl, without thy faithful aid
I had not marked the plot he laid.
[100]
Full of all guile and sin and spite
Misshapen hump-backs shock the sight:
But thou art fair and formed to please,
Bent like a lily by the breeze.
I look thee o'er with watchful eye,
And in thy frame no fault can spy;
The chest so deep, the waist so trim,
So round the lines of breast and limb.271
Thy cheeks with moonlike beauty shine,
And the warm wealth of youth is thine.
Thy legs, my girl, are long and neat,
And somewhat long thy dainty feet,
While stepping out before my face
Thou seemest like a crane to pace.
The thousand wiles are in thy breast
Which Śambara the fiend possessed,
And countless others all thine own,
O damsel sage, to thee are known.
Thy very hump becomes thee too,
O thou whose face is fair to view,
For there reside in endless store
Plots, wizard wiles, and warrior lore.
A golden chain I'll round it fling
When Ráma's flight makes Bharat king:
Yea, polished links of finest gold,
When once the wished for prize I hold
271In these four lines I do not translate faithfully, and I do not venture to follow
Kaikeyí farther in her eulogy of the hump-back's charms.
342
The Ramayana
With naught to fear and none to hate,
Thy hump, dear maid, shall decorate.
A golden frontlet wrought with care,
And precious jewels shalt thou wear:
Two lovely robes around thee fold,
And walk a Goddess to behold,
Bidding the moon himself compare
His beauty with a face so fair.
With scent of precious sandal sweet
Down to the nails upon thy feet,
First of the household thou shalt go
And pay with scorn each battled foe.”
Kaikeyí's praise the damsel heard,
And thus again her lady stirred,
Who lay upon her beauteous bed
Like fire upon the altar fed:
“Dear Queen, they build the bridge in vain
When swollen streams are dry again.
Arise, thy glorious task complete,
And draw the king to thy retreat.”
The large-eyed lady left her bower
Exulting in her pride of power,
And with the hump-back sought the gloom
And silence of the mourner's room.
The string of priceless pearls that hung
Around her neck to earth she flung,
With all the wealth and lustre lent
By precious gem and ornament.
Then, listening to her slave's advice,
Lay, like a nymph from Paradise.
As on the ground her limbs she laid
Once more she cried unto the maid:
Canto IX. The Plot.
343
“Soon must thou to the monarch say
Kaikeyí's soul has past away,
Or, Ráma banished as we planned,
My son made king shall rule the land.
No more for gold and gems I care,
For brave attire or dainty fare.
If Ráma should the throne ascend,
That very hour my life will end.”
The royal lady wounded through
The bosom with the darts that flew
Launched from the hump-back's tongue
Pressed both her hands upon her side,
And o'er and o'er again she cried
With wildering fury stung:
“Yes, it shall be thy task to tell
That I have hurried hence to dwell
In Yáma's realms of woe,
Or happy Bharat shall be king,
And doomed to years of wandering
Kauśalyá's son shall go.
I heed not dainty viands now
Fair wreaths of flowers to twine my brow,
Soft balm or precious scent:
My very life I count as naught,
Nothing on earth can claim my thought
But Ráma's banishment.”
She spoke these words of cruel ire;
Then stripping off her gay attire,
The cold bare floor she pressed.
So, falling from her home on high,
Some lovely daughter of the sky
Upon the ground might rest.
With darkened brow and furious mien,
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The Ramayana
Stripped of her gems and wreath, the queen
In spotless beauty lay,
Like heaven obscured with gathering cloud,
When shades of midnight darkness shroud
Each star's expiring ray.
Canto X. Dasaratha's Speech.
As Queen Kaikeyí 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,
[101]
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,
Kaikeyí 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,
Canto X. Dasaratha's Speech.
345
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
The monarch, Ráma to install,
With thoughtful care had ordered all,
And now within his home withdrew,
Dismissing first his retinue.
Now all the town has heard, thought he,
What joyful rite the morn will see.
So turned he to her bower to cheer
With the glad news his darling's ear.
Majestic, as the Lord of Night,
When threatened by the Dragon's might,
Bursts radiant on the evening sky
Pale with the clouds that wander by,
So Daśaratha, great in fame,
To Queen Kaikeyí's palace came.
There parrots flew from tree to tree,
And gorgeous peacocks wandered free,
While ever and anon was heard
The note of some glad water-bird.
Here loitered dwarf and hump-backed maid,
There lute and lyre sweet music played.
272These verses are evidently an interpolation. They contain nothing that has
not been already related: the words only are altered. As the whole poem could
not be recited at once, the rhapsodists at the beginning of a fresh recitation
would naturally remind their hearers of the events immediately preceding.
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The Ramayana
Here, rich in blossom, creepers twined
O'er grots with wondrous art designed,
There Champac and Aśoka flowers
Hung glorious o'er the summer bowers,
And mid the waving verdure rose
Gold, silver, ivory porticoes.
Through all the months in ceaseless store
The trees both fruit and blossom bore.
With many a lake the grounds were graced;
Seats gold and silver, here were placed;
Here every viand wooed the taste,
It was a garden meet to vie
E'en with the home of Gods on high.
Within the mansion rich and vast
The mighty Daśaratha passed:
Not there was his beloved queen
On her fair couch reclining seen.
With love his eager pulses beat
For the dear wife he came to meet,
And in his blissful hopes deceived,
He sought his absent love and grieved.
For never had she missed the hour
Of meeting in her sumptuous bower,
And never had the king of men
Entered the empty room till then.
Still urged by love and anxious thought
News of his favourite queen he sought,
For never had his loving eyes
Found her or selfish or unwise.
Then spoke at length the warder maid,
With hands upraised and sore afraid:
“My Lord and King, the queen has sought
The mourner's cell with rage distraught.”
Canto X. Dasaratha's Speech.
347
The words the warder maiden said
He heard with soul disquieted,
And thus as fiercer grief assailed,
His troubled senses wellnigh failed.
Consumed by torturing fires of grief
The king, the world's imperial chief,
His lady lying on the ground
In most unqueenly posture, found.
The aged king, all pure within,
Saw the young queen resolved on sin,
Low on the ground, his own sweet wife,
To him far dearer than his life,
Like some fair creeping plant uptorn,
Or like a maid of heaven forlorn,
A nymph of air or Goddess sent
From Swarga down in banishment.
As some wild elephant who tries
To soothe his consort as she lies
Struck by the hunter's venomed dart,
So the great king disturbed in heart,
Strove with soft hand and fond caress
To soothe his darling queen's distress,
And in his love addressed with sighs
The lady of the lotus eyes:
“I know not, Queen, why thou shouldst be
Thus angered to the heart with me.
Say, who has slighted thee, or whence
Has come the cause of such offence
That in the dust thou liest low,
And rendest my fond heart with woe,
As if some goblin of the night
Had struck thee with a deadly blight,
And cast foul influence on her
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The Ramayana
Whose spells my loving bosom stir?
I have Physicians famed for skill,
Each trained to cure some special ill:
My sweetest lady, tell thy pain,
And they shall make thee well again.
Whom, darling, wouldst thou punished see?
Or whom enriched with lordly fee?
[102]
Weep not, my lovely Queen, and stay
This grief that wears thy frame away;
Speak, and the guilty shall be freed.
The guiltless be condemned to bleed,
The poor enriched, the rich abased,
The low set high, the proud disgraced.
My lords and I thy will obey,
All slaves who own thy sovereign sway;
And I can ne'er my heart incline
To check in aught one wish of thine.
Now by my life I pray thee tell
The thoughts that in thy bosom dwell.
The power and might thou knowest well,
Should from thy breast all doubt expel.
I swear by all my merit won,
Speak, and thy pleasure shall be done.
Far as the world's wide bounds extend
My glorious empire knows no end.
Mine are the tribes in eastern lands,
And those who dwell on Sindhu's sands:
Mine is Suráshṭra, far away,
Suvíra's realm admits my sway.
My best the southern nations fear,
The Angas and the Vangas hear.
And as lord paramount I reign
O'er Magadh and the Matsyas' plain,
Canto XI. The Queen's Demand.
349
Kośal, and Káśi's wide domain:273
All rich in treasures of the mine,
In golden corn, sheep, goats, and kine.
Choose what thou wilt. Kaikeyí, thence:
But tell me, O my darling, whence
Arose thy grief, and it shall fly
Like hoar-frost when the sun is high.”
She, by his loving words consoled,
Longed her dire purpose to unfold,
And sought with sharper pangs to wring
The bosom of her lord the king.
Canto XI. The Queen's Demand.
To him enthralled by love, and blind,
Pierced by his darts who shakes the mind,274
Kaikeyí with remorseless breast
Her grand purpose thus expressed:
“O King, no insult or neglect
Have I endured, or disrespect.
One wish I have, and faith would see
That longing granted, lord, by thee.
Now pledge thy word if thou incline
To listen to this prayer of mine,
Then I with confidence will speak,
And thou shalt hear the boon I seek.”
273The śloka or distich which I have been forced to expand into these nine lines
is evidently spurious, but is found in all the commented MSS. which Schlegel
consulted.
274Manmatha, Mind-disturber, a name of Káma or Love.
350
The Ramayana
Ere she had ceased, the monarch fell,
A victim to the lady's spell,
And to the deadly snare she set
Sprang, like a roebuck to the net.
Her lover raised her drooping head,
Smiled, playing with her hair, and said:
“Hast thou not learnt, wild dame, till now
That there is none so dear as thou
To me thy loving husband, save
My Ráma bravest of the brave?
By him my race's high-souled heir,
By him whom none can match, I swear,
Now speak the wish that on thee weighs:
By him whose right is length of days,
Whom if my fond paternal eye
Saw not one hour I needs must die,—
I swear by Ráma my dear son,
Speak, and thy bidding shall be done.
Speak, darling; if thou choose, request
To have the heart from out my breast;
Regard my words, sweet love, and name
The wish thy mind thinks fit to frame.
Nor let thy soul give way to doubt:
My power should drive suspicion out.
Yea, by my merits won I swear,
Speak, darling, I will grant thy prayer.”
The queen, ambitious, overjoyed
To see him by her plot decoyed,
More eager still her aims to reach,
Spoke her abominable speech:
“A boon thou grantest, nothing loth,
And swearest with repeated oath.
Now let the thirty Gods and three
Canto XI. The Queen's Demand.
351
My witnesses, with Indra, be.
Let sun and moon and planets hear,
Heaven, quarters, day and night, give ear.
The mighty world, the earth outspread,
With bards of heaven and demons dread;
The ghosts that walk in midnight shade,
And household Gods, our present aid,
A every being great and small
To hear and mark the oath I call.”
When thus the archer king was bound,
With treacherous arts and oaths enwound,
She to her bounteous lord subdued
By blinding love, her speech renewed:
“Remember, King, that long-past day
Of Gods' and demons' battle fray.
And how thy foe in doubtful strife
Had nigh bereft thee of thy life.
Remember, it was only I
Preserved thee when about to die,
And thou for watchful love and care
Wouldst grant my first and second prayer.
Those offered boons, pledged with thee then,
I now demand, O King of men,
[103]
Of thee, O Monarch, good and just,
Whose righteous soul observes each trust.
If thou refuse thy promise sworn,
I die, despised, before the morn.
These rites in Ráma's name begun—
Transfer them, and enthrone my son.
The time is come to claim at last
The double boon of days long-past,
When Gods and demons met in fight,
And thou wouldst fain my care requite.
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The Ramayana
Now forth to Daṇḍak's forest drive
Thy Ráma for nine years and five,
And let him dwell a hermit there
With deerskin coat and matted hair.
Without a rival let my boy
The empire of the land enjoy,
And let mine eyes ere morning see
Thy Ráma to the forest flee.”
Canto XII. Dasaratha's Lament.
The monarch, as Kaikeyí 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.
Canto XII. Dasaratha's Lament.
353
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 Ráma 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 Ráma 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 Ráma 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?
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The Ramayana
Perchance thy purpose is to sound
The grace thy son with me has found;
Perchance the words that, all these days,
Thou still hast said in Ráma's praise,
Were only feigned, designed to cheer
With flatteries a father's ear.
Soon as thy grief, my Queen, I knew,
My bosom felt the anguish too.
In empty halls art thou possessed,
And subject to anothers' hest?
Now on Ikshváku's ancient race
Falls foul disorder and disgrace,
If thou, O Queen, whose heart so long
Has loved the good should choose the wrong.
Not once, O large-eyed dame, hast thou
Been guilty of offence till now,
Nor said a word to make me grieve,
Now will I now thy sin believe.
With thee my Ráma used to hold
Like place with Bharat lofty-souled.
As thou so often, when the pair
Were children yet, wouldst fain declare.
And can thy righteous soul endure
That Ráma glorious, pious, pure,
Should to the distant wilds be sent
For fourteen years of banishment?
Yea, Ráma Bharat's self exceeds
In love to thee and sonlike deeds,
And, for deserving love of thee,
As Bharat, even so is he.
Who better than that chieftain may
Obedience, love, and honour pay,
Thy dignity with care protect,
Thy slightest word and wish respect?
Canto XII. Dasaratha's Lament.
355
Of all his countless followers none
Can breathe a word against my son;
Of many thousands not a dame
Can hint reproach or whisper blame.
All creatures feel the sweet control
Of Ráma's pure and gentle soul.
The pride of Manu's race he binds
To him the people's grateful minds.
He wins the subjects with his truth,
[104]
The poor with gifts and gentle ruth,
His teachers with his docile will,
The foemen with his archer skill.
Truth, purity, religious zeal,
The hand to give, the heart to feel,
The love that ne'er betrays a friend,
The rectitude that naught can bend,
Knowledge, and meek obedience grace
My Ráma pride of Raghu's race.
Canst thou thine impious plot design
'Gainst him in whom these virtues shine,
Whose glory with the sages vies,
Peer of the Gods who rule the skies!
From him no harsh or bitter word
To pain one creature have I heard,
And how can I my son address,
For thee, with words of bitterness?
Have mercy, Queen: some pity show
To see my tears of anguish flow,
And listen to my mournful cry,
A poor old man who soon must die.
Whate'er this sea-girt land can boast
Of rich and rare from coast to coast,
To thee, my Queen, I give it all:
But O, thy deadly words recall:
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The Ramayana
O see, my suppliant hands entreat,
Again my lips are on thy feet:
Save Ráma, save my darling child,
Nor kill me with this sin defiled.”
He grovelled on the ground, and lay
To burning grief a senseless prey,
And ever and anon, assailed
By floods of woe he wept and wailed,
Striving with eager speed to gain
The margent of his sea of pain.
With fiercer words she fiercer yet
The hapless father's pleading met:
“O Monarch, if thy soul repent
The promise and thy free consent,
How wilt thou in the world maintain
Thy fame for truth unsmirched with stain?
When gathered kings with thee converse,
And bid thee all the tale rehearse,
What wilt thou say, O truthful King,
In answer to their questioning?
“She to whose love my life I owe,
Who saved me smitten by the foe,
Kaikeyí, for her tender care,
Was cheated of the oath I sware.”
Thus wilt thou answer, and forsworn
Wilt draw on thee the princes' scorn.
Learn from that tale, the Hawk and Dove,275
How strong for truth was Saivya's love.
Pledged by his word the monarch gave
His flesh the suppliant bird to save.
So King Alarka gave his eyes,
275This story is told in the Mahábhárat. A free version of it may be found in
Scenes from the Rámáyan, etc.
Canto XII. Dasaratha's Lament.
357
And gained a mansion in the skies.
The Sea himself his promise keeps,
And ne'er beyond his limit sweeps.
My deeds of old again recall,
Nor let thy bond dishonoured fall.
The rights of truth thou wouldst forget,
Thy Ráma on the throne to set,
And let thy days in pleasure glide,
Fond King, Kauśalyá by thy side.
Now call it by what name thou wilt,
Justice, injustice, virtue, guilt,
Thy word and oath remain the same,
And thou must yield what thus I claim.
If Ráma be anointed, I
This very day will surely die,
Before thy face will poison drink,
And lifeless at thy feet will sink.
Yea, better far to die than stay
Alive to see one single day
The crowds before Kauśalyá stand
And hail her queen with reverent hand.
Now by my son, myself, I swear,
No gift, no promise whatsoe'er
My steadfast soul shall now content,
But only Ráma's banishment.”
So far she spake by rage impelled,
And then the queen deep silence held.
He heard her speech full fraught with ill,
But spoke no word bewildered still,
Gazed on his love once held so dear
Who spoke unlovely rede to hear;
Then as he slowly pondered o'er
The queen's resolve and oath she swore.
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The Ramayana
Once sighing forth, Ah Ráma! he
Fell prone as falls a smitten tree.
His senses lost like one insane,
Faint as a sick man weak with pain,
Or like a wounded snake dismayed,
So lay the king whom earth obeyed.
Long burning sighs he slowly heaved,
As, conquered by his woe, he grieved,
And thus with tears and sobs between
His sad faint words addressed the queen:
“By whom, Kaikeyí, wast thou taught
This flattering hope with ruin fraught?
Have goblins seized thy soul, O dame,
Who thus canst speak and feel no shame?
Thy mind with sin is sicklied o'er,
From thy first youth ne'er seen before.
A good and loving wife wast thou,
But all, alas! is altered now.
What terror can have seized thy breast
To make thee frame this dire request,
That Bharat o'er the land may reign,
And Ráma in the woods remain?
Turn from thine evil ways, O turn,
And thy perfidious counsel spurn,
If thou would fain a favour do
To people, lord, and Bharat too.
O wicked traitress, fierce and vile,
Who lovest deeds of sin and guile,
[105]
What crime or grievance dost thou see,
What fault in Ráma or in me?
Thy son will ne'er the throne accept
If Ráma from his rights be kept,
For Bharat's heart more firmly yet
Canto XII. Dasaratha's Lament.
359
Than Ráma's is on justice set.
How shall I say, Go forth, and brook
Upon my Ráma's face to look,
See his pale cheek and ashy lips
Dimmed like the moon in sad eclipse?
How see the plan so well prepared
When prudent friends my counsels shared,
All ruined, like a host laid low
Beneath some foeman's murderous blow.
What will these gathered princes say,
From regions near and far away?
“O'erlong endures the monarch's reign,
or now he is a child again.”
When many a good and holy sage
In Scripture versed, revered for age,
Shall ask for Ráma, what shall I
Unhappy, what shall I reply?
“By Queen Kaikeyí long distressed
I drove him forth and dispossessed.”
Although herein the truth I speak,
They all will hold me false and weak.
What will Kauśalyá say when she
Demands her son exiled by me?
Alas! what answer shall I frame,
Or how console the injured dame?
She like a slave on me attends,
And with a sister's care she blends
A mother's love, a wife's, a friend's.
In spite of all her tender care,
Her noble son, her face most fair,
Another queen I could prefer
And for thy sake neglected her,
But now, O Queen, my heart is grieved
For love and care by thee received,
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The Ramayana
E'en as the sickening wretch repents
His dainty meal and condiments.
And how will Queen Sumitrá trust
The husband whom she finds unjust,
Seeing my Ráma driven hence
Dishonoured, and for no offence?
Ah! the Videhan bride will hear
A double woe, a double fear,
Two whelming sorrows at one breath,
Her lord's disgrace, his father's death.
Mine aged bosom she will wring
And kill me with her sorrowing,
Sad as a fair nymph left to weep
Deserted on Himálaya's steep.
For short will be my days, I ween,
When I with mournful eyes have seen
My Ráma wandering forth alone
And heard dear Sítá sob and moan.
Ah me! my fond belief I rue.
Vile traitress, loved as good and true,
As one who in his thirst has quaffed,
Deceived by looks, a deadly draught.
Ah! thou hast slain me, murderess, while
Soothing my soul with words of guile,
As the wild hunter kills the deer
Lured from the brake his song to hear.
Soon every honest tongue will fling
Reproach on the dishonest king;
The people's scorn in every street
The seller of his child will meet,
And such dishonour will be mine
As whelms a Bráhman drunk with wine.
Ah me, for my unhappy fate,
Compelled thy words to tolerate!
Canto XII. Dasaratha's Lament.
361
Such woe is sent to scourge a crime
Committed in some distant time.
For many a day with sinful care
I cherished thee, thou sin and snare,
Kept thee, unwitting, like a cord
Destined to bind its hapless lord.
Mine hours of ease I spent with thee,
Nor deemed my love my death would be,
While like a heedless child I played,
On a black snake my hand I laid.
A cry from every mouth will burst
And all the world will hold me curst,
Because I saw my high-souled son
Unkinged, unfathered, and undone;
“The king by power of love beguiled
Is weaker than a foolish child,
His own beloved son to make
An exile for a woman's sake.
By chaste and holy vows restrained,
By reverend teachers duly trained.
When he his virtue's fruit should taste
He falls by sin and woe disgraced.”
Two words will all his answer be
When I pronounce the stern decree,
“Hence, Ráma, to the woods away,”
All he will say is, I obey.
O, if he would my will withstand
When banished from his home and land,
This were a comfort in my woe;
But he will ne'er do this, I know.
My Ráma to the forest fled,
And curses thick upon my head,
Grim Death will bear me hence away,
His world-abominated prey.
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When I am gone and Ráma too.
How wilt thou those I love pursue?
What vengeful sin will be designed
Against the queens I leave behind?
When thou hast slain her son and me
Kauśalyá soon will follow: she
Will sink beneath her sorrows' weight,
And die like me disconsolate.
Exist, Kaikeyí, in thy pride,
And let thy heart be gratified,
When thou my queens and me hast hurled,
And children, to the under world.
Soon wilt thou rule as empress o'er
My noble house unvext before.
But then to wild confusion left,
[106]
Of Ráma and of me bereft.
If Bharat to thy plan consent
And long for Ráma's banishment,
Ne'er let his hands presume to pay
The funeral honours to my clay.
Vile foe, thou cause of all mine ill,
Obtain at last thy cursed will.
A widow soon shalt thou enjoy
The sweets of empire with thy boy.
O Princess, sure some evil fate
First brought thee here to devastate,
In whom the night of ruin lies
Veiled in a consort's fair disguise.
The scorn of all and deepest shame
Will long pursue my hated name,
And dire disgrace on me will press,
Misled by thee to wickedness.
How shall my Ráma, whom, before,
His elephant or chariot bore,
Canto XII. Dasaratha's Lament.
363
Now with his feet, a wanderer, tread
The forest wilds around him spread?
How shall my son, to please whose taste,
The deftest cooks, with earrings graced,
With rivalry and jealous care
The dainty meal and cates prepare—
How shall he now his life sustain
With acid fruit and woodland grain?
He spends his time unvext by cares,
And robes of precious texture wears:
How shall he, with one garment round
His limbs recline upon the ground?
Whose was this plan, this cruel thought
Unheard till now, with ruin fraught,
To make thy son Ayodhyá's king,
And send my Ráma wandering?
Shame, shame on women! Vile, untrue,
Their selfish ends they still pursue.
Not all of womankind I mean.
But more than all this wicked queen.
O worthless, cruel, selfish dame,
I brought thee home, my plague and woe.
What fault in me hast thou to blame,
Or in my son who loves thee so?
Fond wives may from their husbands flee,
And fathers may their sons desert,
But all the world would rave to see
My Ráma touched with deadly hurt.
I joy his very step to hear,
As though his godlike form I viewed;
And when I see my Ráma near
I feel my youth again renewed.
There might be life without the sun,
Yea, e'en if Indra sent no rain,
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But, were my Ráma banished, none
Would, so I think, alive remain.
A foe that longs my life to take,
I brought thee here my death to be,
Caressed thee long, a venomed snake,
And through my folly die. Ah me!
Ráma and me and Lakshmaṇ slay,
And then with Bharat rule the state;
So bring the kingdom to decay,
And fawn on those thy lord who hate,
Plotter of woe, for evil bred,
For such a speech why do not all
Thy teeth from out thy wicked head
Split in a thousand pieces fall?
My Ráma's words are ever kind,
He knows not how to speak in ire:
Then how canst thou presume to find
A fault in him whom all admire?
Yield to despair, go mad, or die,
Or sink within the rifted earth;
Thy fell request will I deny,
Thou shamer of thy royal birth.
Thy longer life I scarce can bear,
Thou ruin of my home and race,
Who wouldst my heart and heartstrings tear,
Keen as a razor, false and base.
My life is gone, why speak of joy?
For what, without my son, were sweet?
Spare, lady, him thou canst destroy;
I pray thee as I touch thy feet.”
He fell and wept with wild complaint,
Heart-struck by her presumptuous speech,
But could not touch, so weak and faint,
The cruel feet he strove to reach.
Canto XIII. Dasaratha's Distress.
365
Canto XIII. Dasaratha's Distress.
Unworthy of his mournful fate,
The mighty king, unfortunate,
Lay prostrate in unseemly guise,
As, banished from the blissful skies,
Yayáti, in his evil day.
His merit all exhausted, lay.276
The queen, triumphant in the power
Won by her beauty's fatal dower,
Still terrible and unsubdued,
Her dire demand again renewed:
“Great Monarch, 'twas thy boast till now
To love the truth and keep the vow;
Then wherefore would thy lips refuse
The promised boon 'tis mine to choose?”
King Daśaratha, thus addressed,
With anger raging in his breast,
Sank for a while beneath the pain,
Then to Kaikeyí spoke again:
[107]
“Childless so long, at length I won,
With mighty toil, from Heaven a son,
Ráma, the mighty-armed; and how
Shall I desert my darling now?
A scholar wise, a hero bold,
Of patient mood, with wrath controlled,
How can I bid my Ráma fly,
My darling of the lotus eye?
276Only the highest merit obtains a home in heaven for ever. Minor degrees
of merit procure only leases of heavenly mansions terminable after periods
proportioned to the fund which buys them. King Yayáti went to heaven and
when his term expired was unceremoniously ejected, and thrown down to
earth.
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The Ramayana
In heaven itself I scarce could bear,
When asking of my Ráma there,
To hear the Gods his griefs declare,
And O, that death would take me hence
Before I wrong his innocence!”
As thus the monarch wept and wailed,
And maddening grief his heart assailed,
The sun had sought his resting-place,
And night was closing round apace.
But yet the moon-crowned night could bring
No comfort to the wretched king.
As still he mourned with burning sighs
And fixed his gaze upon the skies:
“O Night whom starry fires adorn,
I long not for the coming morn.
Be kind and show some mercy: see,
My suppliant hands are raised to thee.
Nay, rather fly with swifter pace;
No longer would I see the face
Of Queen Kaikeyí, cruel, dread,
Who brings this woe upon mine head.”
Again with suppliant hands he tried
To move the queen, and wept and sighed:
“To me, unhappy me, inclined
To good, sweet dame, thou shouldst be kind;
Whose life is well-nigh fled, who cling
To thee for succour, me thy king.
This, only this, is all my claim:
Have mercy, O my lovely dame.
None else have I to take my part,
Have mercy: thou art good at heart.
Hear, lady of the soft black eye,
And win a name that ne'er shall die:
Canto XIV. Ráma Summoned.
367
Let Ráma rule this glorious land,
The gift of thine imperial hand.
O lady of the dainty waist,
With eyes and lips of beauty graced,
Please Ráma, me, each saintly priest,
Bharat, and all from chief to least.”
She heard his wild and mournful cry,
She saw the tears his speech that broke,
Saw her good husband's reddened eye,
But, cruel still, no word she spoke.
His eyes upon her face he bent,
And sought for mercy, but in vain:
She claimed his darling's banishment,
He swooned upon the ground again.
Canto XIV. Ráma Summoned.
The wicked queen her speech renewed,
When rolling on the earth she viewed
Ikshváku's son, Ayodhyá's king,
For his dear Ráma sorrowing:
“Why, by a simple promise bound,
Liest thou prostrate on the ground,
As though a grievous sin dismayed
Thy spirit! Why so sore afraid?
Keep still thy word. The righteous deem
That truth, mid duties, is supreme:
And now in truth and honour's name
I bid thee own the binding claim.
Śaivya, a king whom earth obeyed,
Once to a hawk a promise made,
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The Ramayana
Gave to the bird his flesh and bone,
And by his truth made heaven his own.277
Alarka, when a Bráhman famed
For Scripture lore his promise claimed,
Tore from his head his bleeding eyes
And unreluctant gave the prize.
His narrow bounds prescribed restrain
The Rivers' Lord, the mighty main,
Who, though his waters boil and rave,
Keeps faithful to the word he gave.
Truth all religion comprehends,
Through all the world its might extends:
In truth alone is justice placed,
On truth the words of God are based:
A life in truth unchanging past
Will bring the highest bliss at last.
If thou the right would still pursue,
Be constant to thy word and true:
Let me thy promise fruitful see,
For boons, O King, proceed from thee.
Now to preserve thy righteous fame,
And yielding to my earnest claim—
Thrice I repeat it—send thy child,
Thy Ráma, to the forest wild.
But if the boon thou still deny,
Before thy face, forlorn, I die.”
277See Additional Notes, THE SUPPLIANT DOVE{FNS.
Canto XIV. Ráma Summoned.
369
Thus was the helpless monarch stung
By Queen Kaikeyí's fearless tongue,
As Bali strove in vain to loose
His limbs from Indra's fatal noose.
Dismayed in soul and pale with fear,
The monarch, like a trembling steer
Between the chariot's wheel and yoke,
Again to Queen Kaikeyí spoke,
With sad eyes fixt in vacant stare,
Gathering courage from despair:
“That hand I took, thou sinful dame,
With texts, before the sacred flame,
Thee and thy son, I scorn and hate,
And all at once repudiate.
[108]
The night is fled: the dawn is near:
Soon will the holy priests be here
To bid me for the rite prepare
That with my son the throne will share,
The preparation made to grace
My Ráma in his royal place—
With this, e'en this, my darling for
My death the funeral flood shall pour.
Thou and thy son at least forbear
In offerings to my shade to share,
For by the plot thy guile has laid
His consecration will be stayed.
This very day how shall I brook
To meet each subject's altered look?
To mark each gloomy joyless brow
That was so bright and glad but now?”
While thus the high-souled monarch spoke
To the stern queen, the Morning broke,
And holy night had slowly fled,
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The Ramayana
With moon and stars engarlanded.
Yet once again the cruel queen
Spoke words in answer fierce and keen,
Still on her evil purpose bent,
Wild with her rage and eloquent:
“What speech is this? Such words as these
Seem sprung from poison-sown disease.
Quick to thy noble Ráma send
And bid him on his sire attend.
When to my son the rule is given;
When Ráma to the woods is driven;
When not a rival copes with me,
From chains of duty thou art free.”
Thus goaded, like a generous steed
Urged by sharp spurs to double speed,
“My senses are astray,” he cried,
“And duty's bonds my hands have tied.
I long to see mine eldest son,
My virtuous, my beloved one.”
And now the night had past away;
Out shone the Maker of the Day,
Bringing the planetary hour
And moment of auspicious power.
Vaśishṭha, virtuous, far renowned,
Whose young disciples girt him round,
With sacred things without delay
Through the fair city took his way.
He traversed, where the people thronged,
And all for Ráma's coming longed,
The town as fair in festive show
As his who lays proud cities low.278
278Indra, called also Purandara, Town-destroyer.
Canto XIV. Ráma Summoned.
371
He reached the palace where he heard
The mingled notes of many a bird,
Where crowded thick high-honoured bands
Of guards with truncheons in their hands.
Begirt by many a sage, elate,
Vaśishṭha reached the royal gate,
And standing by the door he found
Sumantra, for his form renowned,
The king's illustrious charioteer
And noble counsellor and peer.
To him well skilled in every part
Of his hereditary art
Vaśishṭha said: “O charioteer,
Inform the king that I am here,
Here ready by my side behold
These sacred vessels made of gold,
Which water for the rite contain
From Gangá and each distant main.
Here for installing I have brought
The seat prescribed of fig-wood wrought,
All kinds of seed and precious scent
And many a gem and ornament;
Grain, sacred grass, the garden's spoil,
Honey and curds and milk and oil;
Eight radiant maids, the best of all
War elephants that feed in stall;
A four-horse car, a bow and sword.
A litter, men to bear their lord;
A white umbrella bright and fair
That with the moon may well compare;
Two chouries of the whitest hair;
A golden beaker rich and rare;
A bull high-humped and fair to view,
Girt with gold bands and white of hue;
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The Ramayana
A four-toothed steed with flowing mane,
A throne which lions carved sustain;
A tiger's skin, the sacred fire,
Fresh kindled, which the rites require;
The best musicians skilled to play,
And dancing-girls in raiment gay;
Kine, Bráhmans, teachers fill the court,
And bird and beast of purest sort.
From town and village, far and near,
The noblest men are gathered here;
Here merchants with their followers crowd,
And men in joyful converse loud,
And kings from many a distant land
To view the consecration stand.
The dawn is come, the lucky day;
Go bid the monarch haste away,
That now Prince Ráma may obtain
The empire, and begin his reign.”
Soon as he heard the high behest
The driver of the chariot pressed
Within the chambers of the king,
His lord with praises honouring.
And none of all the warders checked
His entrance for their great respect
Of him well known, in place so high,
Still fain their king to gratify.
He stood beside the royal chief,
Unwitting of his deadly grief,
And with sweet words began to sing
The praises of his lord and king:
“As, when the sun begins to rise,
The sparkling sea delights our eyes,
Wake, calm with gentle soul, and thus
[109]
Canto XIV. Ráma Summoned.
373
Give rapture, mighty King, to us.
As Mátali279this selfsame hour
Sang lauds of old to Indra's power,
When he the Titan hosts o'erthrew,
So hymn I thee with praises due.
The Vedas, with their kindred lore,
Brahmá their soul-born Lord adore,
With all the doctrines of the wise,
And bid him, as I bid thee, rise.
As, with the moon, the Lord of Day
Wakes with the splendour of his ray
Prolific Earth, who neath him lies,
So, mighty King, I bid thee rise.
With blissful words, O Lord of men,
Rise, radiant in thy form, as when
The sun ascending darts his light
From Meru's everlasting height.
May Śiva, Agni, Sun, and Moon
Bestow on thee each choicest boon,
Kuvera, Varuṇa, Indra bless
Kakutstha's son with all success.
Awake, the holy night is fled,
The happy light abroad is spread;
Awake, O best of kings, and share
The glorious task that claims thy care.
The holy sage Vaśishṭha waits,
With all his Bráhmans, at the gate.
Give thy decree, without delay,
To consecrate thy son today.
As armies, by no captain led,
As flocks that feed unshepherded,
Such is the fortune of a state
279Indra's charioteer.
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The Ramayana
Without a king and desolate.”
Such were the words the bard addressed,
With weight of sage advice impressed;
And, as he heard, the hapless king
Felt deeper yet his sorrow's sting.
At length, all joy and comfort fled,
He raised his eyes with weeping red,
And, mournful for his Ráma's sake,
The good and glorious monarch spake:
“Why seek with idle praise to greet
The wretch for whom no praise is meet?
Thy words mine aching bosom tear,
And plunge me deeper in despair.”
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,
Kaikeyí, 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 Ráma 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,
Canto XV. The Preparations.
375
“Quick, quick, my beauteous Ráma 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.
Canto XV. The Preparations.
There slept the Bráhmans, deeply read
In Scripture, till the night had fled;
Then, with the royal chaplains, they
Took each his place in long array.
There gathered fast the chiefs of trade,
Nor peer nor captain long delayed,
Assembling all in order due
The consecrating rite to view.
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The Ramayana
The morning dawned with cloudless ray
On Pushya's high auspicious day,
And Cancer with benignant power
Looked down on Ráma's natal hour.
The twice-born chiefs, with zealous heed,
Made ready what the rite would need.
The well-wrought throne of holy wood
And golden urns in order stood.
There was the royal car whereon
A tiger's skin resplendent shone;
There water, brought for sprinkling thence
Where, in their sacred confluence,
Blend Jumná's waves with Gangá's tide,
From many a holy flood beside,
From brook and fountain far and near,
From pool and river, sea and mere.
And there were honey, curd, and oil,
Parched rice and grass, the garden's spoil,
Fresh milk, eight girls in bright attire,
An elephant with eyes of fire;
And urns of gold and silver made,
With milky branches overlaid,
All brimming from each sacred flood,
And decked with many a lotus bud.
[110]
And dancing-women fair and free,
Gay with their gems, were there to see,
Who stood in bright apparel by
With lovely brow and witching eye.
White flashed the jewelled chouri there,
And shone like moonbeams through the air;
The white umbrella overhead
A pale and moonlike lustre shed,
Wont in pure splendour to precede,
And in such rites the pomp to lead.
Canto XV. The Preparations.
377
There stood the charger by the side
Of the great bull of snow-white hide;
There was all music soft and loud,
And bards and minstrels swelled the crowd.
For now the monarch bade combine
Each custom of his ancient line
With every rite Ayodhyá's state
Observed, her kings to consecrate.
Then, summoned by the king's behest,
The multitudes together pressed,
And, missing still the royal sire,
Began, impatient, to inquire:
“Who to our lord will tidings bear
That all his people throng the square?
Where is the king? the sun is bright,
And all is ready for the rite.”
As thus they spoke, Sumantra, tried
In counsel, to the chiefs replied,
Gathered from lands on every side:
“To Ráma's house I swiftly drave,
For so the king his mandate gave.
Our aged lord and Ráma too
In honour high hold all of you:
I in your words (be long your days!)
Will ask him why he thus delays.”
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The Ramayana
Thus spoke the peer in Scripture read,
And to the ladies' bower he sped.
Quick through the gates Sumantra hied,
Which access ne'er to him denied.
Behind the curtained screen he drew,
Which veiled the chamber from the view.
In benediction loud he raised
His voice, and thus the monarch praised:
“Sun, Moon, Kuvera, Śiva bless
Kakutstha's son with high success!
The Lords of air, flood, fire decree
The victory, my King, to thee!
The holy night has past away,
Auspicious shines the morning's ray.
Rise, Lord of men, thy part to take
In the great rite. Awake! awake!
Bráhmans and captains, chiefs of trade,
All wait in festive garb arrayed;
For thee they look with eager eyes:
O Raghu's son, awake! arise.”
To him in holy Scripture read,
Who hailed him thus, the monarch said,
Upraising from his sleep his head:
“Go, Ráma, hither lead as thou
Wast ordered by the queen but now.
Come, tell me why my mandate laid
Upon thee thus is disobeyed.
Away! and Ráma hither bring;
I sleep not: make no tarrying.”
Canto XV. The Preparations.
379
Thus gave the king command anew:
Sumantra from his lord withdrew;
With head in lowly reverence bent,
And filled with thoughts of joy, he went.
The royal street he traversed, where
Waved flag and pennon to the air,
And, as with joy the car he drove,
He let his eyes delighted rove.
On every side, where'er he came,
He heard glad words, their theme the same,
As in their joy the gathered folk
Of Ráma and the throning spoke.
Then saw he Ráma's palace bright
And vast as Mount Kailása's height,
That glorious in its beauty showed
As Indra's own supreme abode:
With folding doors both high and wide;
With hundred porches beautified:
Where golden statues towering rose
O'er gemmed and coralled porticoes.
Bright like a cave in Meru's side,
Or clouds through Autumn's sky that ride:
Festooned with length of bloomy twine,
Flashing with pearls and jewels' shine,
While sandal-wood and aloe lent
The mingled riches of their scent;
With all the odorous sweets that fill
The breezy heights of Dardar's hill.
There by the gate the Sáras screamed,
And shrill-toned peacocks' plumage gleamed.
Its floors with deftest art inlaid,
Its sculptured wolves in gold arrayed,
With its bright sheen the palace took
The mind of man and chained the look,
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The Ramayana
For like the sun and moon it glowed,
And mocked Kuvera's loved abode.
Circling the walls a crowd he viewed
Who stood in reverent attitude,
With throngs of countrymen who sought
Acceptance of the gifts they brought.
The elephant was stationed there,
Appointed Ráma's self to bear;
Adorned with pearls, his brow and cheek
Were sandal-dyed in many a streak,
While he, in stature, bulk, and pride,
With Indra's own Airávat280vied.
Sumantra, borne by coursers fleet,
Flashing a radiance o'er the street,
To Ráma's palace flew,
And all who lined the royal road,
Or thronged the prince's rich abode,
Rejoiced as near he drew.
And with delight his bosom swelled
As onward still his course he held
[111]
Through many a sumptuous court
Like Indra's palace nobly made,
Where peacocks revelled in the shade,
And beasts of silvan sort.
Through many a hall and chamber wide,
That with Kailása's splendour vied.
Or mansions of the Blest,
While Ráma's friends, beloved and tried,
Before his coming stepped aside,
Still on Sumantra pressed.
He reached the chamber door, where stood
Around his followers young and good,
280The elephant of Indra.
Canto XVI. Ráma Summoned.
381
Bard, minstrel, charioteer,
Well skilled the tuneful chords to sweep,
With soothing strain to lull to sleep,
Or laud their master dear.
Then, like a dolphin darting through
Unfathomed depths of ocean's blue
With store of jewels decked,
Through crowded halls that rock-like rose,
Or as proud hills where clouds repose,
Sumantra sped unchecked—
Halls like the glittering domes on high
Reared for the dwellers of the sky
By heavenly architect.
Canto XVI. Ráma Summoned.
So through the crowded inner door
Sumantra, skilled in ancient lore,
On to the private chambers pressed
Which stood apart from all the rest.
There youthful warriors, true and bold,
Whose ears were ringed with polished gold,
All armed with trusty bows and darts,
Watched with devoted eyes and hearts.
And hoary men, a faithful train,
Whose aged hands held staves of cane,
The ladies' guard, apparelled fair
In red attire, were stationed there.
Soon as they saw Sumantra nigh,
Each longed his lord to gratify,
And from his seat beside the door
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The Ramayana
Up sprang each ancient servitor.
Then to the warders quickly cried
The skilled Sumantra, void of pride:
“Tell Ráma that the charioteer
Sumantra waits for audience here.”
The ancient men with one accord
Seeking the pleasure of their lord,
Passing with speed the chamber door
To Ráma's ear the message bore.
Forthwith the prince with duteous heed
Called in the messenger with speed,
For 'twas his sire's command, he knew,
That sent him for the interview.
Like Lord Kuvera, well arrayed,
He pressed a couch of gold,
Wherefrom a covering of brocade
Hung down in many a fold.
Oil and the sandal's fragrant dust
Had tinged his body o'er
Dark as the stream the spearman's thrust
Drains from the wounded boar.
Him Sítá watched with tender care,
A chouri in her hand,
As Chitrá,281ever fond in fair,
Beside the Moon will stand.
Him glorious with unborrowed light,
A liberal lord, of sunlike might,
Sumantra hailed in words like these,
Well skilled in gentle courtesies,
As, with joined hands in reverence raised,
Upon the beauteous prince he gazed:
“Happy Kauśalyá! Blest is she,
281A star in the spike of Virgo: hence the name of the mouth Chaitra or Chait.
Canto XVI. Ráma Summoned.
383
The Mother of a son like thee.
Now rise, O Ráma, speed away.
Go to thy sire without delay:
For he and Queen Kaikeyí seek
An interview with thee to speak.”
The lion-lord of men, the best
Of splendid heroes, thus addressed,
To Sítá spake with joyful cheer:
“The king and queen, my lady dear,
Touching the throning, for my sake
Some salutary counsel take.
The lady of the full black eye
Would fain her husband gratify,
And, all his purpose understood,
Counsels the monarch to my good.
A happy fate is mine, I ween,
When he, consulting with his queen,
Sumantra on this charge, intent
Upon my gain and good, has sent.
An envoy of so noble sort
Well suits the splendour of the court.
The consecration rite this day
Will join me in imperial sway.
To meet the lord of earth, for so
His order bids me, I will go.
Thou, lady, here in comfort stay,
And with thy maidens rest or play.”
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The Ramayana
Thus Ráma spake. For meet reply
The lady of the large black eye
Attended to the door her lord,
And blessings on his head implored:
“The majesty and royal state
Which holy Bráhmans venerate,
The consecration and the rite
Which sanctifies the ruler's might,
And all imperial powers should be
Thine by thy father's high decree,
As He, the worlds who formed and planned,
The kingship gave to Indra's hand.
[112]
Then shall mine eyes my king adore
When lustral rites and fast are o'er,
And black deer's skin and roebuck's horn
Thy lordly limbs and hand adorn.
May He whose hands the thunder wield
Be in the east thy guard and shield;
May Yáma's care the south befriend,
And Varuṇ's arm the west defend;
And let Kuvera, Lord of Gold,
The north with firm protection hold.”
Then Ráma spoke a kind farewell,
And hailed the blessings as they fell
From Sítá's gentle lips; and then,
As a young lion from his den
Descends the mountain's stony side,
So from the hall the hero hied.
First Lakshmaṇ at the door he viewed
Who stood in reverent attitude,
Then to the central court he pressed
Where watched the friends who loved him best.
To all his dear companions there
Canto XVI. Ráma Summoned.
385
He gave kind looks and greeting fair.
On to the lofty car that glowed
Like fire the royal tiger strode.
Bright as himself its silver shone:
A tiger's skin was laid thereon.
With cloudlike thunder, as it rolled,
It flashed with gems and burnished gold,
And, like the sun's meridian blaze,
Blinded the eye that none could gaze.
Like youthful elephants, tall and strong,
Fleet coursers whirled the car along:
In such a car the Thousand-eyed
Borne by swift horses loves to ride.
So like Parjanya,282when he flies
Thundering through the autumn skies,
The hero from the palace sped,
As leaves the moon some cloud o'erhead.
Still close to Ráma Lakshmaṇ kept,
Behind him to the car he leapt,
And, watching with fraternal care,
Waved the long chouri's silver hair,
As from the palace gate he came
Up rose the tumult of acclaim.
While loud huzza and jubilant shout
Pealed from the gathered myriads out.
Then elephants, like mountains vast,
And steeds who all their kind surpassed,
Followed their lord by hundreds, nay
By thousands, led in long array.
First marched a band of warriors trained,
With sandal dust and aloe stained;
Well armed was each with sword and bow,
282The Rain-God.
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The Ramayana
And every breast with hope aglow,
And ever, as they onward went,
Shouts from the warrior train,
And every sweet-toned instrument
Prolonged the minstrel strain.
On passed the tamer of his foes,
While well clad dames, in crowded rows,
Each chamber lattice thronged to view,
And chaplets on the hero threw.
Then all, of peerless face and limb,
Sang Ráma's praise for love of him,
And blent their voices, soft and sweet,
From palace high and crowded street:
“Now, sure, Kauśalyá's heart must swell
To see the son she loves so well,
Thee Ráma, thee, her joy and pride,
Triumphant o'er the realm preside.”
Then—for they knew his bride most fair
Of all who part the soft dark hair,
His love, his life, possessed the whole
Of her young hero's heart and soul:—
“Be sure the lady's fate repays
Some mighty vow of ancient days,283
For blest with Ráma's love is she
As, with the Moon's, sweet Rohiní.”284
Such were the witching words that came
From lips of many a peerless dame
Crowding the palace roofs to greet
The hero as he gained the street.
283In a former life.
284One of the lunar asterisms, represented as the favourite wife of the Moon.
See p. 4, note.
Canto XVII. Ráma's Approach.
387
Canto XVII. Ráma's Approach.
As Ráma, rendering blithe and gay
His loving friends, pursued his way,
He saw on either hand a press
Of mingled people numberless.
The royal street he traversed, where
Incense of aloe filled the air,
Where rose high palaces, that vied
With paly clouds, on either side;
With flowers of myriad colours graced.
And food for every varied taste,
Bright as the glowing path o'erhead
Which feet of Gods celestial tread,
Loud benedictions, sweet to hear,
From countless voices soothed his ear.
While he to each gave due salute
His place and dignity to suit:
“Be thou,” the joyful people cried,
“Be thou our guardian, lord and guide.
Throned and anointed king to-day,
Thy feet set forth upon the way
Wherein, each honoured as a God,
Thy fathers and forefathers trod.
Thy sire and his have graced the throne,
And loving care to us have shown:
Thus blest shall we and ours remain,
Yea still more blest in Ráma's reign.
[113]
No more of dainty fare we need,
And but one cherished object heed,
That we may see our prince today
Invested with imperial sway.”
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The Ramayana
Such were the words and pleasant speech
That Ráma heard, unmoved, from each
Of the dear friends around him spread,
As onward through the street he sped,
For none could turn his eye or thought
From the dear form his glances sought,
With fruitless ardour forward cast
Even when Raghu's son had past.
And he who saw not Ráma nigh,
Nor caught a look from Ráma's eye,
A mark for scorn and general blame,
Reproached himself in bitter shame.
For to each class his equal mind
With sympathy and love inclined
Most fully of the princely four,
So greatest love to him they bore.
His circling course the hero bent
Round shrine and altar, reverent,
Round homes of Gods, where cross-roads met,
Where many a sacred tree was set.
Near to his father's house he drew
Like Indra's beautiful to view,
And with the light his glory gave
Within the royal palace drave.
Through three broad courts, where bowmen kept
Their watch and ward, his coursers swept,
Then through the two remaining went
On foot the prince preëminent.
Through all the courts the hero passed,
And gained the ladies' bower at last;
Then through the door alone withdrew,
And left without his retinue.
When thus the monarch's noble boy
Canto XVIII. The Sentence.
389
Had gone his sire to meet,
The multitude, elate with joy,
Stood watching in the street,
And his return with eager eyes
Expected at the gates,
As for his darling moon to rise
The King of Rivers285waits.
Canto XVIII. The Sentence.
With hopeless eye and pallid mien
There sat the monarch with the queen.
His father's feet with reverence due
He clasped, and touched Kaikeyí's too.
The king, with eyes still brimming o'er,
Cried Ráma! and could do no more.
His voice was choked, his eye was dim,
He could not speak or look on him.
Then sudden fear made Ráma shake
As though his foot had roused a snake,
Soon as his eyes had seen the change
So mournful, terrible, and strange.
For there his reason well-nigh fled,
Sighing, with soul disquieted,
To torturing pangs a prey,
Dismayed, despairing, and distraught,
In a fierce whirl of wildering thought
The hapless monarch lay,
Like Ocean wave-engarlanded
285The Sea.
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The Ramayana
Storm-driven from his tranquil bed,
The Sun-God in eclipse,
Or like a holy seer, heart-stirred
With anguish, when a lying word
Has passed his heedless lips.
The sight of his dear father, pained
With woe and misery unexplained
Filled Ráma with unrest,
As Ocean's pulses rise and swell
When the great moon he loves so well
Shines full upon his breast.
So grieving for his father's sake,
To his own heart the hero spake:
“Why will the king my sire to-day
No kindly word of greeting say?
At other times, though wroth he be,
His eyes grow calm that look on me.
Then why does anguish wring his brow
To see his well-beloved now?”
Sick and perplexed, distraught with woe,
To Queen Kaikeyí bowing low,
While pallor o'er his bright cheek spread,
With humble reverence he said:
“What have I done, unknown, amiss
To make my father wroth like this?
Declare it, O dear Queen, and win
His pardon for my heedless sin.
Why is the sire I ever find
Filled with all love to-day unkind?
With eyes cast down and pallid cheek
This day alone he will not speak.
Or lies he prostrate neath the blow
Of fierce disease or sudden woe?
For all our bliss is dashed with pain,
Canto XVIII. The Sentence.
391
And joy unmixt is hard to gain.
Does stroke of evil fortune smite
Dear Bharat, charming to the sight,
Or on the brave Śatrughna fall,
Or consorts, for he loves them all?
Against his words when I rebel,
Or fail to please the monarch well,
When deeds of mine his soul offend,
That hour I pray my life may end.
How should a man to him who gave
His being and his life behave?
The sire to whom he owes his birth
Should be his deity on earth.
Hast thou, by pride and folly moved,
[114]
With bitter taunt the king reproved?
Has scorn of thine or cruel jest
To passion stirred his gentle breast?
Speak truly, Queen, that I may know
What cause has changed the monarch so.”
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 Ráma, 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,
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The Ramayana
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, Ráma, 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.”
He heard, and with a troubled breast
This answer to the queen addressed:
“Ah me, dear lady, canst thou deem
That words like these thy lips beseem?
I, at the bidding of my sire,
Would cast my body to the fire,
A deadly draught of poison drink,
Or in the waves of ocean sink:
If he command, it shall be done,—
My father and my king in one.
Then speak and let me know the thing
So longed for by my lord the king.
It shall be done: let this suffice;
Ráma ne'er makes a promise twice.”
Canto XVIII. The Sentence.
393
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 Ráma, go this day
To Daṇḍak forest far away.
Now, Ráma, 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 Daṇḍak 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 Daṇḍak 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:
394
The Ramayana
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 Ráma's lot dismayed.
Canto XIX. Ráma's Promise.
Calm and unmoved by threatened woe
The noble conqueror of the foe
Answered the cruel words she spoke,
Nor quailed beneath the murderous stroke:
“Yea, for my father's promise sake
I to the wood my way will take,
And dwell a lonely exile there
In hermit dress with matted hair.
One thing alone I fain would learn,
Why is the king this day so stern?
Why is the scourge of foes so cold,
Nor gives me greeting as of old?
Now let not anger flush thy cheek:
Before thy face the truth I speak,
In hermit's coat with matted hair
To the wild wood will I repair.
How can I fail his will to do,
Friend, master, grateful sovereign too?
One only pang consumes my breast:
Canto XIX. Ráma's Promise.
395
That his own lips have not expressed
His will, nor made his longing known
That Bharat should ascend the throne.
[115]
To Bharat I would yield my wife,
My realm and wealth, mine own dear life,
Unasked I fain would yield them all:
More gladly at my father's call,
More gladly when the gift may free
His honour and bring joy to thee.
Thus, lady, his sad heart release
From the sore shame, and give him peace.
But tell me, O, I pray thee, why
The lord of men, with downcast eye,
Lies prostrate thus, and one by one
Down his pale cheek the tear-drops run.
Let couriers to thy father speed
On horses of the swiftest breed,
And, by the mandate of the king,
Thy Bharat to his presence bring.
My father's words I will not stay
To question, but this very day
To Daṇḍak's pathless wild will fare,
For twice seven years an exile there.”
When Ráma thus had made reply
Kaikeyí's heart with joy beat high.
She, trusting to the pledge she held,
The youth's departure thus impelled:
“'Tis well. Be messengers despatched
On coursers ne'er for fleetness matched,
To seek my father's home and lead
My Bharat back with all their speed.
And, Ráma, as I ween that thou
Wilt scarce endure to linger now,
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The Ramayana
So surely it were wise and good
This hour to journey to the wood.
And if, with shame cast down and weak,
No word to thee the king can speak,
Forgive, and from thy mind dismiss
A trifle in an hour like this.
But till thy feet in rapid haste
Have left the city for the waste,
And to the distant forest fled,
He will not bathe nor call for bread.”
“Woe! woe!” from the sad monarch burst,
In surging floods of grief immersed;
Then swooning, with his wits astray,
Upon the gold-wrought couch he lay,
And Ráma raised the aged king:
But the stern queen, unpitying,
Checked not her needless words, nor spared
The hero for all speed prepared,
But urged him with her bitter tongue,
Like a good horse with lashes stung,
She spoke her shameful speech. Serene
He heard the fury of the queen,
And to her words so vile and dread
Gently, unmoved in mind, he said:
“I would not in this world remain
A grovelling thrall to paltry gain,
But duty's path would fain pursue,
True as the saints themselves are true.
From death itself I would not fly
My father's wish to gratify,
What deed soe'er his loving son
May do to please him, think it done.
Amid all duties, Queen, I count
Canto XIX. Ráma's Promise.
397
This duty first and paramount,
That sons, obedient, aye fulfil
Their honoured fathers' word and will.
Without his word, if thou decree,
Forth to the forest will I flee,
And there shall fourteen years be spent
Mid lonely wilds in banishment.
Methinks thou couldst not hope to find
One spark of virtue in my mind,
If thou, whose wish is still my lord,
Hast for this grace the king implored.
This day I go, but, ere we part,
Must cheer my Sítá's tender heart,
To my dear mother bid farewell;
Then to the woods, a while to dwell.
With thee, O Queen, the care must rest
That Bharat hear his sire's behest,
And guard the land with righteous sway,
For such the law that lives for aye.”
In speechless woe the father heard,
Wept with loud cries, but spoke no word.
Then Ráma touched his senseless feet,
And hers, for honour most unmeet;
Round both his circling steps he bent,
Then from the bower the hero went.
Soon as he reached the gate he found
His dear companions gathered round.
Behind him came Sumitrá's child
With weeping eyes so sad and wild.
Then saw he all that rich array
Of vases for the glorious day.
Round them with reverent stops he paced,
Nor vailed his eye, nor moved in haste.
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The Ramayana
The loss of empire could not dim
The glory that encompassed him.
So will the Lord of Cooling Rays286
On whom the world delights to gaze,
Through the great love of all retain
Sweet splendour in the time of wane.
Now to the exile's lot resigned
He left the rule of earth behind:
As though all worldly cares he spurned
No trouble was in him discerned.
The chouries that for kings are used,
And white umbrella, he refused,
Dismissed his chariot and his men,
And every friend and citizen.
He ruled his senses, nor betrayed
The grief that on his bosom weighed,
And thus his mother's mansion sought
To tell the mournful news he brought.
Nor could the gay-clad people there
Who flocked round Ráma true and fair,
One sign of altered fortune trace
Upon the splendid hero's face.
Nor had the chieftain, mighty-armed,
Lost the bright look all hearts that charmed,
[116]
As e'en from autumn moons is thrown
A splendour which is all their own.
With his sweet voice the hero spoke
Saluting all the gathered folk,
Then righteous-souled and great in fame
Close to his mother's house he came.
Lakshmaṇ the brave, his brother's peer
In princely virtues, followed near,
286The Moon.
Canto XX. Kausalyá's Lament.
399
Sore troubled, but resolved to show
No token of his secret woe.
Thus to the palace Ráma went
Where all were gay with hope and joy;
But well he knew the dire event
That hope would mar, that bliss destroy.
So to his grief he would not yield
Lest the sad change their hearts might rend,
And, the dread tiding unrevealed,
Spared from the blow each faithful friend.
Canto XX. Kausalyá's Lament.
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 Kauśalyá 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,
400
The Ramayana
Who in his folly casts away
The world's protection, hope, and stay.”
Thus in their woe, like kine bereaved
Of their young calves,287the ladies grieved,
And ever as they wept and wailed
With keen reproach the king assailed.
Their lamentation, mixed with tears,
Smote with new grief the monarch's ears,
Who, burnt with woe too great to bear,
Fell on his couch and fainted there.
Then Ráma, smitten with the pain
His heaving heart could scarce restrain,
Groaned like an elephant and strode
With Lakshmaṇ to the queen's abode.
A warder there, whose hoary eld
In honour high by all was held,
Guarding the mansion, sat before
The portal, girt with many more.
Swift to their feet the warders sprang,
And loud the acclamation rang,
Hail, Ráma! as to him they bent,
Of victor chiefs preëminent.
One court he passed, and in the next
Saw, masters of each Veda text,
A crowd of Bráhmans, good and sage,
287The comparison may to a European reader seem a homely one. But Spenser
likens an infuriate woman to a cow “That is berobbed of her youngling dere.”
Shakspeare also makes King Henry VI compare himself to the calf's mother
that “Runs lowing up and down, Looking the way her harmless young one
went.” “Cows,” says De Quincey, “are amongst the gentlest of breathing crea-
tures; none show more passionate tenderness to their young, when deprived of
them, and, in short, I am not ashamed to profess a deep love for these gentle
creatures.”
Canto XX. Kausalyá's Lament.
401
Dear to the king for lore and age.
To these he bowed his reverent head,
Thence to the court beyond he sped.
Old dames and tender girls, their care
To keep the doors, were stationed there.
And all, when Ráma came in view,
Delighted to the chamber flew,
To bear to Queen Kauśalyá's ear
The tidings that she loved to hear.
The queen, on rites and prayer intent,
In careful watch the night had spent,
And at the dawn, her son to aid,
To Vishṇu holy offerings made.
Firm in her vows, serenely glad,
In robes of spotless linen clad,
As texts prescribe, with grace implored,
Her offerings in the fire she poured.
Within her splendid bower he came,
And saw her feed the sacred flame.
There oil, and grain, and vases stood,
With wreaths, and curds, and cates, and wood,
And milk, and sesamum, and rice,
The elements of sacrifice.
She, worn and pale with many a fast
And midnight hours in vigil past,
In robes of purest white arrayed,
To Lakshmí Queen drink-offerings paid.
So long away, she flew to meet
The darling of her soul:
So runs a mare with eager feet
To welcome back her foal.
He with his firm support upheld
The queen, as near she drew,
And, by maternal love impelled,
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The Ramayana
Her arms around him threw.
Her hero son, her matchless boy
She kissed upon the head:
She blessed him in her pride and joy
With tender words, and said:
[117]
“Be like thy royal sires of old,
The nobly good, the lofty-souled!
Their lengthened days and fame be thine,
And virtue, as beseems thy line!
The pious king, thy father, see
True to his promise made to thee:
That truth thy sire this day will show,
And regent's power on thee bestow.”
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 Sítá, thee, and Lakshmaṇ press.
What need of seats have such as I?
This day to Daṇḍak 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 Daṇḍak wood to spend.”
Canto XX. Kausalyá's Lament.
403
As when the woodman's axe has lopped
A Śal branch in the grove, she dropped:
So from the skies a Goddess falls
Ejected from her radiant halls.
When Ráma saw her lying low,
Prostrate by too severe a blow,
Around her form his arms he wound
And raised her fainting from the ground.
His hand upheld her like a mare
Who feels her load too sore to bear,
And sinks upon the way o'ertoiled,
And all her limbs with dust are soiled.
He soothed her in her wild distress
With loving touch and soft caress.
She, meet for highest fortune, eyed
The hero watching by her side,
And thus, while Lakshmaṇ bent to hear,
Addressed her son with many a tear!
“If, Ráma, thou had ne'er been born
My child to make thy mother mourn,
Though reft of joy, a childless queen,
Such woe as this I ne'er had seen.
Though to the childless wife there clings
One sorrow armed with keenest stings,
“No child have I: no child have I,”
No second misery prompts the sigh.
When long I sought, alas, in vain,
My husband's love and bliss to gain,
In Ráma all my hopes I set
And dreamed I might be happy yet.
I, of the consorts first and best,
Must bear my rivals' taunt and jest,
And brook, though better far than they,
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The Ramayana
The soul distressing words they say.
What woman can be doomed to pine
In misery more sore than mine,
Whose hopeless days must still be spent
In grief that ends not and lament?
They scorned me when my son was nigh;
When he is banished I must die.
Me, whom my husband never prized,
Kaikeyí's retinue despised
With boundless insolence, though she
Tops not in rank nor equals me.
And they who do me service yet,
Nor old allegiance quite forget,
Whene'er they see Kaikeyí's son,
With silent lips my glances shun.
How, O my darling, shall I brook
Each menace of Kaikeyí's look,
And listen, in my low estate,
To taunts of one so passionate?
For seventeen years since thou wast born
I sat and watched, ah me, forlorn!
Hoping some blessed day to see
Deliverance from my woes by thee.
Now comes this endless grief and wrong,
So dire I cannot bear it long,
Sinking, with age and sorrow worn,
Beneath my rivals' taunts and scorn.
How shall I pass in dark distress
My long lone days of wretchedness
Without my Ráma's face, as bright
As the full moon to cheer my sight?
Alas, my cares thy steps to train,
And fasts, and vows, and prayers are vain.
Hard, hard, I ween, must be this heart
Canto XXI. Kausalyá Calmed.
405
To hear this blow nor burst apart,
As some great river bank, when first
The floods of Rain-time on it burst.
No, Fate that speeds not will not slay,
Nor Yama's halls vouchsafe me room,
Or, like a lion's weeping prey,
Death now had borne me to my doom.
Hard is my heart and wrought of steel
That breaks not with the crushing blow,
Or in the pangs this day I feel
My lifeless frame had sunk below.
Death waits his hour, nor takes me now:
But this sad thought augments my pain,
That prayer and largess, fast and vow,
And Heavenward service are in vain.
Ah me, ah me! with fruitless toil
Of rites austere a child I sought:
Thus seed cast forth on barren soil
Still lifeless lies and comes to naught.
If ever wretch by anguish grieved
Before his hour to death had fled,
I mourning, like a cow bereaved,
Had been this day among the dead.”
[118]
Canto XXI. Kausalyá Calmed.
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The Ramayana
While thus Kauśalyá wept and sighed,
With timely words sad Lakshmaṇ cried:
“O honoured Queen I like it ill
That, subject to a woman's will,
Ráma his royal state should quit
And to an exile's doom submit.
The aged king, fond, changed, and weak,
Will as the queen compels him speak.
But why should Ráma thus be sent
To the wild woods in banishment?
No least offence I find in him,
I see no fault his fame to dim.
Not one in all the world I know,
Not outcast wretch, not secret foe,
Whose whispering lips would dare assail
His spotless life with slanderous tale.
Godlike and bounteous, just, sincere,
E'en to his very foemen dear:
Who would without a cause neglect
The right, and such a son reject?
And if a king such order gave,
In second childhood, passion's slave,
What son within his heart would lay
The senseless order, and obey?
Come, Ráma, ere this plot be known
Stand by me and secure the throne.
Stand like the King who rules below,
Stand aided by thy brother's bow:
How can the might of meaner men
Resist thy royal purpose then?
My shafts, if rebels court their fate,
Shall lay Ayodhyá desolate.
Then shall her streets with blood be dyed
Of those who stand on Bharat's side:
Canto XXI. Kausalyá Calmed.
407
None shall my slaughtering hand exempt,
For gentle patience earns contempt.
If, by Kaikeyí's counsel changed,
Our father's heart be thus estranged,
No mercy must our arm restrain,
But let the foe be slain, be slain.
For should the guide, respected long,
No more discerning right and wrong,
Turn in forbidden paths to stray,
'Tis meet that force his steps should stay.
What power sufficient can he see,
What motive for the wish has he,
That to Kaikeyí would resign
The empire which is justly thine?
Can he, O conqueror of thy foes,
Thy strength and mine in war oppose?
Can he entrust, in our despite,
To Bharat's hand thy royal right?
I love this brother with the whole
Affection of my faithful soul.
Yea Queen, by bow and truth I swear,
By sacrifice, and gift, and prayer,
If Ráma to the forest goes,
Or where the burning furnace glows,
First shall my feet the forest tread,
The flames shall first surround my head.
My might shall chase thy grief and tears,
As darkness flies when morn appears.
Do thou, dear Queen, and Ráma too
Behold what power like mine can do.
My aged father I will kill,
The vassal of Kaikeyí's will,
Old, yet a child, the woman's thrall,
Infirm, and base, the scorn of all.”
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Thus Lakshmaṇ cried, the mighty-souled:
Down her sad cheeks the torrents rolled,
As to her son Kauśalyá spake:
“Now thou hast heard thy brother, take
His counsel if thou hold it wise,
And do the thing his words advise,
Do not, my son, with tears I pray,
My rival's wicked word obey,
Leave me not here consumed with woe,
Nor to the wood, an exile, go.
If thou, to virtue ever true,
Thy duty's path would still pursue,
The highest duty bids thee stay
And thus thy mother's voice obey.
Thus Kaśyap's great ascetic son
A seat among the Immortals won:
In his own home, subdued, he stayed,
And honour to his mother paid.
If reverence to thy sire be due,
Thy mother claims like honour too,
And thus I charge thee, O my child,
Thou must not seek the forest wild.
Ah, what to me were life and bliss,
Condemned my darling son to miss?
But with my Ráma near, to eat
The very grass itself were sweet.
But if thou still wilt go and leave
Thy hapless mother here to grieve,
I from that hour will food abjure,
Nor life without my son endure.
Then it will be thy fate to dwell
In depth of world-detested hell.
As Ocean in the olden time
Canto XXI. Kausalyá Calmed.
409
Was guilty of an impious crime
That marked the lord of each fair flood
As one who spills a Bráhman's blood.”288
Thus spake the queen, and wept, and sighed:
Then righteous Ráma 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 Kaṇdu, mighty saint, who made
His dwelling in the forest shade,
[119]
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 Jamadagní's son290obeyed
His sire, when in the wood he laid
His hand upon his axe, and smote
Through Renuká 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.
288The commentators say that, in a former creation, Ocean grieved his mother
and suffered in consequence the pains of hell.
289As described in Book I Canto XL.
290Parasúráma.
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The Ramayana
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.”
Thus to his mother wild with grief:
Then thus to Lakshmaṇ 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, Bráhman, 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?
Kaikeyí'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.”
Canto XXI. Kausalyá Calmed.
411
Ráma by fond affection moved
His brother Lakshmaṇ thus reproved;
Then with joined hands and reverent head
Again to Queen Kauśalyá said:
“I needs must go—do thou consent—
To the wild wood in banishment.
O give me, by my life I pray,
Thy blessing ere I go away.
I, when the promised years are o'er,
Shall see Ayodhyá's town once more.
Then, mother dear, thy tears restrain,
Nor let thy heart be wrung by pain:
In time, my father's will obeyed,
Shall I return from greenwood shade.
My dear Videhan, thou, and I,
Lakshmaṇ, Sumitrá, feel this tie,
And must my father's word obey,
As duty bids that rules for aye.
Thy preparations now forgo,
And lock within thy breast thy woe,
Nor be my pious wish withstood
To go an exile to the wood.”
Calm and unmoved the prince explained
His duty's claim and purpose high,
The mother life and sense regained,
Looked on her son and made reply:
“If reverence be thy father's due,
The same by right and love is mine:
Go not, my charge I thus renew,
Nor leave me here in woe to pine,
What were such lonely life to me,
Rites to the shades, or deathless lot?
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More dear, my son, one hour with thee
Than all the world where thou art not.”
As bursts to view, when brands blaze high,
Some elephant concealed by night,
So, when he heard his mother's cry,
Burnt Ráma's grief with fiercer might.
Thus to the queen, half senseless still,
And Lakshmaṇ, burnt with heart-felt pain,
True to the right, with steadfast will,
His duteous speech he spoke again:
“Brother, I know thy loving mind,
Thy valour and thy truth I know,
But now to claims of duty blind
Thou and my mother swell my woe.
The fruits of deeds in human life
Make love, gain, duty, manifest,
Dear when they meet as some fond wife
With her sweet babes upon her breast.
But man to duty first should turn
Whene'er the three are not combined:
For those who heed but gain we spurn,
And those to pleasure all resigned.
Shall then the virtuous disobey
Hosts of an aged king and sire,
Though feverous joy that father sway,
Or senseless love or causeless ire?
I have no power, commanded thus,
To slight his promise and decree:
The honoured sire of both of us,
My mother's lord and life is he.
Shall she, while yet the holy king
Is living, on the right intent,—
Shall she, like some poor widowed thing,
Go forth with me to banishment?
Canto XXII. Lakshman Calmed.
413
Now, mother, speed thy parting son,
And let thy blessing soothe my pain,
[120]
That I may turn, mine exile done,
Like King Yayáti, home again.
Fair glory and the fruit she gives,
For lust of sway I ne'er will slight:
What, for the span a mortal lives.
Were rule of faith without the right?”
He soothed her thus, firm to the last
His counsel to his brother told:
Then round the queen in reverence passed,
And held her in his loving hold.
Canto XXII. Lakshman Calmed.
So Ráma kept unshaken still
His noble heart with iron will.
To his dear brother next he turned,
Whose glaring eyes with fury burned,
Indignant, panting like a snake,
And thus again his counsel spake:
“Thine anger and thy grief restrain,
And firm in duty's path remain.
Dear brother, lay thy scorn aside,
And be the right thy joy and pride.
Thy ready zeal and thoughtful care
To aid what rites should grace the heir,—
These 'tis another's now to ask;
Come, gird thee for thy noble task,
That Bharat's throning rites may he
Graced with the things prepared for me.
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And with thy gentle care provide
That her fond heart, now sorely tried
With fear and longing for my sake,
With doubt and dread may never ache.
To know that thoughts of coming ill
One hour that tender bosom fill
With agony and dark despair
Is grief too great for me to bear.
I cannot, brother, call to mind
One wilful fault or undesigned,
When I have pained in anything
My mothers or my sire the king.
The right my father keeps in view,
In promise, word, and action true;
Let him then all his fear dismiss,
Nor dread the loss of future bliss.
He fears his truth herein will fail:
Hence bitter thoughts his heart assail.
He trembles lest the rites proceed,
And at his pangs my heart should bleed.
So now this earnest wish is mine,
The consecration to resign,
And from this city turn away
To the wild wood with no delay.
My banishment to-day will free
Kaikeyí from her cares, that she,
At last contented and elate,
May Bharat's throning celebrate.
Then will the lady's trouble cease,
Then will her heart have joy and peace,
When wandering in the wood I wear
Deerskin, and bark, and matted hair.
Nor shall by me his heart be grieved
Whose choice approved, whose mind conceived
Canto XXII. Lakshman Calmed.
415
This counsel which I follow. No,
Forth to the forest will I go.
'Tis Fate, Sumitrás son, confess,
That sends me to the wilderness.
'Tis Fate alone that gives away
To other hands the royal sway.
How could Kaikeyí'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, Sumitrá'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.
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The Ramayana
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.
[121]
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 Lakshmaṇ, let thy heart no more
My fortune changed and lost deplore.
A forest life more joys may bring
Than those that wait upon a king,
Now though her arts successful mar
My consecrating rite,
Let not the youngest queen too far
Thy jealous fear excite.
Nor let one thought suggesting ill
Upon our father fall,
Canto XXIII. Lakshman's Anger.
417
But let thy heart remember still
That Fate is lord of all.”
Canto XXIII. Lakshman's Anger.
Thus Ráma to his brother said;
And Lakshmaṇ bent his drooping head.
In turns by grief and pride impelled,
A middle course of thought he held,
Then in a frown of anger, bent
His brows that chief most excellent,
And like a serpent in his hole,
Breathed fierce and fast in wrath of soul.
His threatening brows so darkly frowned,
His eyes so fiercely glanced around,
They made his glare, which none might brook,
Like some infuriate lion's look.
Like some wild elephant, full oft
He raised and shook his hand291aloft.
Now turned his neck to left and right
Now bent, now raised its stately height.
Now in his rage that sword he felt
Which mangling wounds to foemen dealt,
With sidelong glance his brother eyed,
And thus in burning words replied:
“Thy rash resolve, thy eager haste,
Thy mighty fear, are all misplaced:
No room is here for duty's claim,
291The Sanskrit word hasta signifies both hand, and the trunk of “The beast
that bears between his eyes a serpent for a head.”
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The Ramayana
No cause to dread the people's blame.
Can one as brave as thou consent
To use a coward's argument?
The glory of the Warrior race
With craven speech his lips debase?
Can one like thee so falsely speak,
Exalting Fate, confessed so weak?
Canst thou, undoubting still restrain?
Suspicions of those sinful twain?
Canst thou, most duteous, fail to know
Their hearts are set on duty's show?
They with deceit have set their trains,
And now the fruit rewards their pains.
Had they not long ago agreed,
O Ráma, on this treacherous deed,
That promised boon, so long retained,
He erst had given and she had gained.
I cannot, O my brother, bear
To see another throned as heir
With rites which all our people hate:
Then, O, this passion tolerate.
This vaunted duty which can guide
Thy steps from wisdom's path aside,
And change the counsel of thy breast,
O lofty-hearted, I detest.
Wilt thou, when power and might are thine,
Submit to this abhorred design?
Thy father's impious hest fulfil,
That vassal of Kaikeyí's will?
But if thou still wilt shut thine eyes,
Nor see the guile herein that lies,
My soul is sad, I deeply mourn,
And duty seems a thing to scorn.
Canst thou one moment think to please
Canto XXIII. Lakshman's Anger.
419
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
[122]
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The Ramayana
Shall in the lonely forest stay.
I will consume the hopes that fire
The queen Kaikeyí 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.
O pious soul, if thou decline
The empire which is justly thine,
Lest, while the king distracted lies,
Disorder in the state should rise,
I,—or no mansion may I find
In worlds to hero souls assigned,—
The guardian of thy realm will be,
As the sea-bank protects the sea.
Then cast thine idle fears aside:
With prosperous rites be sanctified.
The lords of earth may strive in vain:
My power shall all their force restrain.
My pair of arms, my warrior's bow
Are not for pride or empty show:
For no support these shafts were made;
And binding up ill suits my blade:
To pierce the foe with deadly breach—
Canto XXIII. Lakshman's Anger.
421
This is the work of all and each.
But small, methinks the love I show
For him I count my mortal foe.
Soon as my trenchant steel is bare,
Flashing its lightning through the air,
I heed no foe, nor stand aghast
Though Indra's self the levin cast.
Then shall the ways be hard to pass,
Where chariots lie in ruinous mass;
When elephant and man and steed
Crushed in the murderous onslaught bleed,
And legs and heads fall, heap on heap,
Beneath my sword's tremendous sweep.
Struck by my keen brand's trenchant blade,
Thine enemies shall fall dismayed,
Like towering mountains rent in twain,
Or lightning clouds that burst in rain.
When armed with brace and glove I stand,
And take my trusty bow in hand,
Who then shall vaunt his might? who dare
Count him a man to meet me there?
Then will I loose my shafts, and strike
Man, elephant, and steed alike:
At one shall many an arrow fly,
And many a foe with one shall die.
This day the world my power shall see,
That none in arms can rival me:
My strength the monarch shall abase,
And set thee, lord, in lordliest place.
These arms which breathe the sandal's scent,
Which golden bracelets ornament,
These hands which precious gifts bestow,
Which guard the friend and smite the foe,
A nobler service shall assay,
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The Ramayana
And fight in Ráma's cause to-day,
The robbers of thy rights to stay.
Speak, brother, tell thy foeman's name
Whom I, in conquering strife,
May strip of followers and fame,
Of fortune, or of life.
Say, how may all this sea-girt land
Be brought to own thy sway:
Thy faithful servant here I stand
To listen and obey.”
Then strove the bride of Raghu's race
Sad Lakshmaṇ's heart to cheer,
While slowly down the hero's face,
Unchecked, there rolled a tear.
“The orders of my sire,” he cried,
“My will shall ne'er oppose:
I follow still, whate'er betide,
The path which duty shows.”
Canto XXIV. Kausalyá Calmed.
But when Kauśalyásaw that he
Resolved to keep his sire's decree,
While tears and sobs her utterance broke,
Her very righteous speech she spoke:
“Can he, a stranger yet to pain,
Whose pleasant words all hearts enchain,
Son of the king and me the queen,
Live on the grain his hands may glean;
Can he, whose slaves and menials eat
The finest cakes of sifted wheat—
Canto XXIV. Kausalyá Calmed.
423
Can Ráma in the forest live
On roots and fruit which woodlands give;
Who will believe, who will not fear
When the sad story smites his ear,
That one so dear, so noble held,
Is by the king his sire expelled?
Now surely none may Fate resist,
Which orders all as it may list,
If, Ráma, in thy strength and grace,
The woods become thy dwelling-place.
A childless mother long I grieved,
And many a sigh for offspring heaved,
With wistful longing weak and worn
Till thou at last, my son, wast born.
Fanned by the storm of that desire
Deep in my soul I felt the fire,
Whose offerings flowed from weeping eyes,
With fuel fed of groans and sighs,
[123]
While round the flame the smoke grew hot
Of tears because thou camest not.
Now reft of thee, too fiery fierce
The flame of woe my heart will pierce,
As, when the days of spring return,
The sun's hot beams the forest burn.
The mother cow still follows near
The wanderings of her youngling dear.
So close to thine my feet shall be,
Where'er thou goest following thee.”
Ráma, 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 Kaikeyí's art beguiled,
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The Ramayana
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.”
Kauśalyá by her son addressed,
With love and passion sore distressed,
Afflicted, with her eyes bedewed,
To Ráma thus her speech renewed:
“Nay, Ráma, but my heart will break
If with these queens my home I make.
Lead me too with thee; let me go
And wander like a woodland roe.”
Then, while no tear the hero shed,
Thus to the weeping queen he said:
“Mother, while lives the husband, he
Is woman's lord and deity.
O dearest lady, thou and I
Our lord and king must ne'er deny;
Canto XXIV. Kausalyá Calmed.
425
The lord of earth himself have we
Our guardian wise and friend to be.
And Bharat, true to duty's call,
Whose sweet words take the hearts of all,
Will serve thee well, and ne'er forget
The virtuous path before him set.
Be this, I pray, thine earnest care,
That the old king my father ne'er,
When I have parted hence, may know,
Grieved for his son, a pang of woe.
Let not this grief his soul distress,
To kill him with the bitterness.
With duteous care, in every thing,
Love, comfort, cheer the aged king.
Though, best of womankind, a spouse
Keeps firmly all her fasts and vows,
Nor yet her husband's will obeys,
She treads in sin's forbidden ways.
She to her husband's will who bends,
Goes to high bliss that never ends,
Yea, though the Gods have found in her
No reverential worshipper.
Bent on his weal, a woman still
Must seek to do her husband's will:
For Scripture, custom, law uphold
This duty Heaven revealed of old.
Honour true Bráhmans for my sake,
And constant offerings duly make,
With fire-oblations and with flowers,
To all the host of heavenly powers.
Look to the coming time, and yearn
For the glad hour of my return.
And still thy duteous course pursue,
Abstemious, humble, kind, and true.
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The Ramayana
The highest bliss shalt thou obtain
When I from exile come again,
If, best of those who keep the right,
The king my sire still see the light.”
The queen, by Ráma thus addressed,
Still with a mother's grief oppressed,
While her long eyes with tears were dim,
Began once more and answered him:
“Not by my pleading may be stayed
The firm resolve thy soul has made.
My hero, thou wilt go; and none
The stern commands of Fate may shun.
Go forth, dear child whom naught can bend,
And may all bliss thy steps attend.
Thou wilt return, and that dear day
Will chase mine every grief away.
Thou wilt return, thy duty done,
Thy vows discharged, high glory won;
From filial debt wilt thou be free,
And sweetest joy will come on me.
My son, the will of mighty Fate
At every time must dominate,
If now it drives thee hence to stray
Heedless of me who bid thee stay.
Go, strong of arm, go forth, my boy,
Go forth, again to come with joy,
And thine expectant mother cheer
With those sweet tones she loves to hear.
O that the blessed hour were nigh
When thou shalt glad this anxious eye,
With matted hair and hermit dress
returning from the wilderness.”
Kauśalyá's conscious soul approved,
Canto XXV. Kausalyá's Blessing.
427
As her proud glance she bent
On Ráma constant and unmoved,
Resolved on banishment.
Such words, with happy omens fraught
To her dear son she said,
Invoking with each eager thought
A blessing on his head.
[124]
Canto XXV. Kausalyá's Blessing.
Her grief and woe she cast aside,
Her lips with water purified,
And thus her benison began
That mother of the noblest man:
“If thou wilt hear no words of mine,
Go forth, thou pride of Raghu's line.
Go, darling, and return with speed,
Walking where noble spirits lead.
May virtue on thy steps attend,
And be her faithful lover's friend.
May Those to whom thy vows are paid
In temple and in holy shade,
With all the mighty saints combine
To keep that precious life of thine.
The arms wise Viśvámitra292gave
Thy virtuous soul from danger save.
Long be thy life: thy sure defence
Shall be thy truthful innocence,
292See P. 41.
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The Ramayana
And that obedience, naught can tire,
To me thy mother and thy sire.
May fanes where holy fires are fed,
Altars with grass and fuel spread,
Each sacrificial ground, each tree,
Rock, lake, and mountain, prosper thee.
Let old Viráj,293and Him who made
The universe, combine to aid;
Let Indra and each guardian Lord
Who keeps the worlds, their help afford,
And be thy constant friend the Sun,
Lord Púshá, Bhaga, Aryuman.294
Fortnights and seasons, nights and days,
Years, months, and hours, protect thy ways,
Vrihaspati shall still be nigh,
The War-God, and the Moon on high,
And Nárad295and the sainted seven296
Shall watch thee from their starry heaven.
The mountains, and the seas which ring
The world, and Varuṇa the King,
Sky, ether, and the wind, whate'er
Moves not or moves, for thee shall care.
Each lunar mansion be benign,
With happier light the planets shine;
All gods, each light in heaven that glows,
Protect my child where'er he goes.
The twilight hours, the day and night,
Keep in the wood thy steps aright.
Watch, minute, instant, as they flee,
Shall all bring happiness to thee.
293The first progeny of Brahmá or Brahmá himself.
294These are three names of the Sun.
295See P. 1.
296The saints who form the constellation of Ursa Major.
Canto XXV. Kausalyá's Blessing.
429
Celestials and the Titan brood
Protect thee in thy solitude,
And haunt the mighty wood to bless
The wanderer in his hermit dress.
Fear not, by mightier guardians screened,
The giant or night-roving fiend;
Nor let the cruel race who tear
Man's flesh for food thy bosom scare.
Far be the ape, the scorpion's sting,
Fly, gnat, and worm, and creeping thing.
Thee shall the hungry lion spare,
The tiger, elephant, and bear:
Safe, from their furious might repose,
Safe from the horned buffaloes.
Each savage thing the forests breed,
That love on human flesh to feed,
Shall for my child its rage abate,
When thus its wrath I deprecate.
Blest be thy ways: may sweet success
The valour of my darling bless.
To all that Fortune can bestow,
Go forth, my child, my Ráma, go.
Go forth, O happy in the love
Of all the Gods below, above;
And in those guardian powers confide
Thy paths who keep, thy steps who guide.
May Śukra,297Yáma, Sun, and Moon,
And He who gives each golden boon,298
Won by mine earnest prayers, be good
To thee, my son, in Daṇḍak wood.
Fire, wind, and smoke, each text and spell
From mouths of holy seers that fell,
297The regent of the planet Venus.
298Kuvera.
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The Ramayana
Guard Ráma when his limbs he dips,
Or with the stream makes pure his lips!
May the great saints and He, the Lord
Who made the worlds, by worlds adored,
And every God in heaven beside
My banished Ráma keep and guide.”
Thus with due praise the long-eyed dame,
Ennobled by her spotless fame,
With wreaths of flowers and precious scent
Worshipped the Gods, most reverent.
A high-souled Bráhman lit the fire,
And offered, at the queen's desire,
The holy oil ordained to burn
For Ráma's weal and safe return.
Kauśalyá best of dames, with care
Set oil, wreaths, fuel, mustard, there.
Then when the rites of fire had ceased,
For Ráma's bliss and health, the priest,
Standing without gave what remained
In general offering,299as ordained.
[125]
Dealing among the twice-horn train
Honey, and curds, and oil, and grain,
He bade each heart and voice unite
To bless the youthful anchorite.
Then Ráma's mother, glorious dame
Bestowed, to meet the Bráhman's claim,
A lordly fee for duty done:
And thus again addressed her son:
299Bali, or the presentation of food to all created beings, is one of the five great
sacraments of the Hindu religion: it consists in throwing a small parcel of the
offering, Ghee, or rice, or the like, into the open air at the back of the house.
Canto XXV. Kausalyá's Blessing.
431
“Such blessings as the Gods o'erjoyed
Poured forth, when Vritra300was destroyed,
On Indra of the thousand eyes,
Attend, my child, thine enterprise!
Yea, such as Vinatá once gave
To King Suparṇa301swift and brave,
Who sought the drink that cheers the skies,
Attend, my child, thine enterprise!
Yea, such as, when the Amrit rose,302
And Indra slew his Daitya foes,
The royal Aditi bestowed
On Him whose hand with slaughter glowed
Of that dire brood of monstrous size,
Attend, my child, thine enterprise!
E'en such as peerless Vishṇu graced,
When with his triple step he paced,
Outbursting from the dwarf's disguise,303
Attend, my child, thine enterprise!
Floods, isles, and seasons as they fly,
Worlds, Vedas, quarters of the sky,
Combine, O mighty-armed, to bless
Thee destined heir of happiness!”
The long-eyed lady ceased: she shed
Pure scent and grain upon his head.
And that prized herb whose sovereign power
Preserves from dark misfortune's hour,
Upon the hero's arm she set,
To be his faithful amulet.
While holy texts she murmured low,
300In mythology, a demon slain by Indra.
301Called also Garuḍ, the King of the birds, offspring of Vinatá. See p. 53.
302See P. 56.
303See P. 43.
432
The Ramayana
And spoke glad words though crushed by woe,
Concealing with obedient tongue
The pangs with which her heart was wrung.
She bent, she kissed his brow, she pressed
Her darling to her troubled breast:
“Firm in thy purpose, go,” she cried,
“Go Ráma, and may bliss betide.
Attain returning safe and well,
Triumphant in Ayodhyá, dwell.
Then shall my happy eyes behold
The empire by thy will controlled.
Then grief and care shall leave no trace,
Joy shall light up thy mother's face,
And I shall see my darling reign,
In moonlike glory come again.
These eyes shall fondly gaze on thee
So faithful to thy sire's decree,
When thou the forest wild shalt quit
On thine ancestral throne to sit.
Yea, thou shalt turn from exile back,
Nor choicest blessings ever lack,
Then fill with rapture ever new
My bosom and thy consort's too.
To Śiva and the heavenly host
My worship has been paid,
To mighty saint, to godlike ghost,
To every wandering shade.
Forth to the forest thou wilt hie,
Therein to dwell so long:
Let all the quarters of the sky
Protect my child from wrong.”
Her blessings thus the queen bestowed;
Then round him fondly paced,
And often, while her eyes o'erflowed,
Canto XXVI. Alone With Sítá.
433
Her dearest son embraced.
Kauśalyá's honoured feet he pressed,
As round her steps she bent,
And radiant with her prayers that blessed,
To Sítá's home he went.
Canto XXVI. Alone With Sítá.
So Ráma, to his purpose true,
To Queen Kauśalyá bade adieu,
Received the benison she gave,
And to the path of duty clave.
As through the crowded street he passed,
A radiance on the way he cast,
And each fair grace, by all approved,
The bosoms of the people moved.
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 Sítá sprang, and every limb
Trembled with fear at sight of him.
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The Ramayana
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?
[126]
Vrihaspati looks down benign,
And the moon rests in Pushya's sign,
As Bráhmans 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 Bráhmans, 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?
Canto XXVI. Alone With Sítá.
435
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?
Why does no henchman, young and fair,
Precede thee, and delight to bear
Entrusted to his reverent hold
The burthen of thy throne of gold?
Why, if the consecrating rite
Be ready, why this mournful plight?
Why do I see this sudden change,
This altered mien so sad and strange?”
To her, as thus she weeping cried,
Raghu's illustrious son replied:
“Sítá, my honoured sire's decree
Commands me to the woods to flee.
O high-born lady, nobly bred
In the good paths thy footsteps tread,
Hear, Janak's daughter, while I tell
The story as it all befell.
Of old my father true and brave
Two boons to Queen Kaikeyí gave.
Through these the preparations made
For me to-day by her are stayed,
For he is bound to disallow
This promise by that earlier vow.
In Daṇḍak forest wild and vast
Must fourteen years by me be passed.
My father's will makes Bharat heir,
The kingdom and the throne to share.
Now, ere the lonely wild I seek,
436
The Ramayana
I come once more with thee to speak.
In Bharat's presence, O my dame,
Ne'er speak with pride of Ráma's name:
Another's eulogy to hear
Is hateful to a monarch's ear.
Thou must with love his rule obey
To whom my father yields the sway.
With love and sweet observance learn
His grace, and more the king's, to earn.
Now, that my father may not break
The words of promise that he spake,
To the drear wood my steps are bent:
Be firm, good Sítá, and content.
Through all that time, my blameless spouse,
Keep well thy fasts and holy vows.
Rise from thy bed at break of day,
And to the Gods due worship pay.
With meek and lowly love revere
The lord of men, my father dear,
And reverence to Kauśalyá show,
My mother, worn with eld and woe:
By duty's law, O best of dames,
High worship from thy love she claims,
Nor to the other queens refuse
Observance, rendering each her dues:
By love and fond attention shown
They are my mothers like mine own.
Let Bharat and Śatrughna bear
In thy sweet love a special share:
Dear as my life, O let them be
Like brother and like son to thee.
In every word and deed refrain
From aught that Bharat's soul may pain:
He is Ayodhyá's king and mine,
Canto XXVII. Sítá's Speech.
437
The head and lord of all our line.
For those who serve and love them much
With weariless endeavour, touch
And win the gracious hearts of kings.
While wrath from disobedience springs.
Great monarchs from their presence send
Their lawful sons who still offend,
And welcome to the vacant place
Good children of an alien race.
Then, best of women, rest thou here,
And Bharat's will with love revere.
Obedient to thy king remain,
And still thy vows of truth maintain.
To the wide wood my steps I bend:
Make thou thy dwelling here;
See that thy conduct ne'er offend,
And keep my words, my dear.”
Canto XXVII. Sítá's Speech.
His sweetly-speaking bride, who best
Deserved her lord, he thus addressed.
Then tender love bade passion wake,
And thus the fair Videhan spake:
“What words are these that thou hast said?
Contempt of me the thought has bred.
O best of heroes, I dismiss
With bitter scorn a speech like this:
[127]
438
The Ramayana
Unworthy of a warrior's fame
It taints a monarch's son with shame,
Ne'er to be heard from those who know
The science of the sword and bow.
My lord, the mother, sire, and son
Receive their lots by merit won;
The brother and the daughter find
The portions to their deeds assigned.
The wife alone, whate'er await,
Must share on earth her husband's fate.
So now the king's command which sends
Thee to the wild, to me extends.
The wife can find no refuge, none,
In father, mother, self, or son:
Both here, and when they vanish hence,
Her husband is her sole defence.
If, Raghu's son, thy steps are led
Where Daṇḍak's pathless wilds are spread,
My foot before thine own shall pass
Through tangled thorn and matted grass.
Dismiss thine anger and thy doubt:
Like refuse water cast them out,
And lead me, O my hero, hence—
I know not sin—with confidence.
Whate'er his lot, 'tis far more sweet
To follow still a husband's feet
Than in rich palaces to lie,
Or roam at pleasure through the sky.
My mother and my sire have taught
What duty bids, and trained each thought,
Nor have I now mine ear to turn
The duties of a wife to learn.
I'll seek with thee the woodland dell
And pathless wild where no men dwell,
Canto XXVII. Sítá's Speech.
439
Where tribes of silvan creatures roam,
And many a tiger makes his home.
My life shall pass as pleasant there
As in my father's palace fair.
The worlds shall wake no care in me;
My only care be truth to thee.
There while thy wish I still obey,
True to my vows with thee I'll stray,
And there shall blissful hours be spent
In woods with honey redolent.
In forest shades thy mighty arm
Would keep a stranger's life from harm,
And how shall Sítá think of fear
When thou, O glorious lord, art near?
Heir of high bliss, my choice is made,
Nor can I from my will be stayed.
Doubt not; the earth will yield me roots,
These will I eat, and woodland fruits;
And as with thee I wander there
I will not bring thee grief or care.
I long, when thou, wise lord, art nigh,
All fearless, with delighted eye
To gaze upon the rocky hill,
The lake, the fountain, and the rill;
To sport with thee, my limbs to cool,
In some pure lily-covered pool,
While the white swan's and mallard's wings
Are plashing in the water-springs.
So would a thousand seasons flee
Like one sweet day, if spent with thee.
Without my lord I would not prize
A home with Gods above the skies:
Without my lord, my life to bless,
Where could be heaven or happiness?
440
The Ramayana
Forbid me not: with thee I go
The tangled wood to tread.
There will I live with thee, as though
This roof were o'er my head.
My will for thine shall be resigned;
Thy feet my steps shall guide.
Thou, only thou, art in my mind:
I heed not all beside.
Thy heart shall ne'er by me be grieved;
Do not my prayer deny:
Take me, dear lord; of thee bereaved
Thy Sítá swears to die.”
These words the duteous lady spake,
Nor would he yet consent
His faithful wife with him to take
To share his banishment.
He soothed her with his gentle speech;
To change her will he strove;
And much he said the woes to teach
Of those in wilds who rove.
Canto XXVIII. The Dangers Of The Wood.
Thus Sítá spake, and he who knew
His duty, to its orders true,
Was still reluctant as the woes
Of forest life before him rose.
He sought to soothe her grief, to dry
The torrent from each brimming eye,
And then, her firm resolve to shake,
These words the pious hero spake:
Canto XXVIII. The Dangers Of The Wood.
441
“O daughter of a noble line,
Whose steps from virtue ne'er decline,
Remain, thy duties here pursue,
As my fond heart would have thee do.
Now hear me, Sítá, fair and weak,
And do the words that I shall speak.
Attend and hear while I explain
Each danger in the wood, each pain.
Thy lips have spoken: I condemn
The foolish words that fell from them.
This senseless plan, this wish of thine
To live a forest life, resign.
The names of trouble and distress
Suit well the tangled wilderness.
In the wild wood no joy I know,
A forest life is nought but woe.
The lion in his mountain cave
Answers the torrents as they rave,
And forth his voice of terror throws:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
[128]
There mighty monsters fearless play,
And in their maddened onset slay
The hapless wretch who near them goes:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
'Tis hard to ford each treacherous flood,
So thick with crocodiles and mud,
Where the wild elephants repose:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
Or far from streams the wanderer strays
Through thorns and creeper-tangled ways,
While round him many a wild-cock crows:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
On the cold ground upon a heap
Of gathered leaves condemned to sleep,
442
The Ramayana
Toil-wearied, will his eyelids close:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
Long days and nights must he content
His soul with scanty aliment,
What fruit the wind from branches blows:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
O Sítá, while his strength may last,
The ascetic in the wood must fast,
Coil on his head his matted hair,
And bark must be his only wear.
To Gods and spirits day by day
The ordered worship he must pay,
And honour with respectful care
Each wandering guest who meets him there.
The bathing rites he ne'er must shun
At dawn, at noon, at set of sun,
Obedient to the law he knows:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
To grace the altar must be brought
The gift of flowers his hands have sought—
The debt each pious hermit owes:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
The devotee must be content
To live, severely abstinent,
On what the chance of fortune shows:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
Hunger afflicts him evermore:
The nights are black, the wild winds roar;
And there are dangers worse than those:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
There creeping things in every form
Infest the earth, the serpents swarm,
And each proud eye with fury glows:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
Canto XXIX. Sítá's Appeal.
443
The snakes that by the rives hide
In sinuous course like rivers glide,
And line the path with deadly foes:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
Scorpions, and grasshoppers, and flies
Disturb the wanderer as he lies,
And wake him from his troubled doze:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
Trees, thorny bushes, intertwined,
Their branched ends together bind,
And dense with grass the thicket grows:
The wood, my dear, is full of woes,
With many ills the flesh is tried,
When these and countless fears beside
Vex those who in the wood remain:
The wilds are naught but grief and pain.
Hope, anger must be cast aside,
To penance every thought applied:
No fear must be of things to fear:
Hence is the wood for ever drear.
Enough, my love: thy purpose quit:
For forest life thou art not fit.
As thus I think on all, I see
The wild wood is no place for thee.”
Canto XXIX. Sítá's Appeal.
Thus Ráma spake. Her lord's address
The lady heard with deep distress,
And, as the tear bedimmed her eye,
In soft low accents made reply:
444
The Ramayana
“The perils of the wood, and all
The woes thou countest to appal,
Led by my love I deem not pain;
Each woe a charm, each loss a gain.
Tiger, and elephant, and deer,
Bull, lion, buffalo, in fear,
Soon as thy matchless form they see,
With every silvan beast will flee.
With thee, O Ráma, I must go:
My sire's command ordains it so.
Bereft of thee, my lonely heart
Must break, and life and I must part.
While thou, O mighty lord, art nigh,
Not even He who rules the sky,
Though He is strongest of the strong,
With all his might can do me wrong.
Nor can a lonely woman left
By her dear husband live bereft.
In my great love, my lord, I ween,
The truth of this thou mayst have seen.
In my sire's palace long ago
I heard the chief of those who know,
The truth-declaring Bráhmans, tell
My fortune, in the wood to dwell.
I heard their promise who divine
The future by each mark and sign,
And from that hour have longed to lead
The forest life their lips decreed.
Now, mighty Ráma, I must share
Thy father's doom which sends thee there;
In this I will not be denied,
But follow, love, where thou shalt guide.
O husband, I will go with thee,
Obedient to that high decree.
Canto XXIX. Sítá's Appeal.
445
Now let the Bráhmans' words be true,
For this the time they had in view.
I know full well the wood has woes;
But they disturb the lives of those
Who in the forest dwell, nor hold
Their rebel senses well controlled.
[129]
In my sire's halls, ere I was wed,
I heard a dame who begged her bread
Before my mother's face relate
What griefs a forest life await.
And many a time in sport I prayed
To seek with thee the greenwood shade,
For O, my heart on this is set,
To follow thee, dear anchoret.
May blessings on thy life attend:
I long with thee my steps to bend,
For with such hero as thou art
This pilgrimage enchants my heart.
Still close, my lord, to thy dear side
My spirit will be purified:
Love from all sin my soul will free:
My husband is a God to me.
So, love, with thee shall I have bliss
And share the life that follows this.
I heard a Bráhman, dear to fame,
This ancient Scripture text proclaim:
“The woman whom on earth below
Her parents on a man bestow,
And lawfully their hands unite
With water and each holy rite,
She in this world shall be his wife,
His also in the after life.”
Then tell me, O beloved, why
Thou wilt this earnest prayer deny,
446
The Ramayana
Nor take me with thee to the wood,
Thine own dear wife so true and good.
But if thou wilt not take me there
Thus grieving in my wild despair,
To fire or water I will fly,
Or to the poisoned draught, and die.”
So thus to share his exile, she
Besought him with each earnest plea,
Nor could she yet her lord persuade
To take her to the lonely shade.
The answer of the strong-armed chief
Smote the Videhan's soul with grief,
And from her eyes the torrents came
bathing the bosom of the dame.
Canto XXX. The Triumph Of Love.
The daughter of Videha's king,
While Ráma strove to soothe the sting
Of her deep anguish, thus began
Once more in furtherance of her plan:
And with her spirit sorely tried
By fear and anger, love and pride,
With keenly taunting words addressed
Her hero of the stately breast:
“Why did the king my sire, who reigns
O'er fair Videha's wide domains,
Hail Ráma son with joy unwise,
A woman in a man's disguise?
Now falsely would the people say,
Canto XXX. The Triumph Of Love.
447
By idle fancies led astray,
That Ráma's own are power and might,
As glorious as the Lord of Light.
Why sinkest thou in such dismay?
What fears upon thy spirit weigh,
That thou, O Ráma, fain wouldst flee
From her who thinks of naught but thee?
To thy dear will am I resigned
In heart and body, soul and mind,
As Sávitrí gave all to one,
Satyaván, Dyumatsena's son.304
Not e'en in fancy can I brook
To any guard save thee to look:
Let meaner wives their houses shame,
To go with thee is all my claim.
Like some low actor, deemst thou fit
Thy wife to others to commit—
Thine own, espoused in maiden youth,
Thy wife so long, unblamed for truth?
Do thou, my lord, his will obey
For whom thou losest royal sway,
To whom thou wouldst thy wife confide—
Not me, but thee, his wish may guide.
Thou must not here thy wife forsake,
And to the wood thy journey make,
Whether stern penance, grief, and care,
Or rule or heaven await thee there.
Nor shall fatigue my limbs distress
When wandering in the wilderness:
Each path which near to thee I tread
Shall seem a soft luxurious bed.
304The story of Sávitrí, told in the Mahábhárat, has been admirably translated
by Rückert, and elegantly epitomized by Mrs. Manning in India, Ancient and
Mediæval. There is a free rendering of the story in Idylls from the Sanskrit.
448
The Ramayana
The reeds, the bushes where I pass,
The thorny trees, the tangled grass
Shall feel, if only thou be near,
Soft to my touch as skins of deer.
When the rude wind in fury blows,
And scattered dust upon me throws,
That dust, beloved lord, to me
Shall as the precious sandal be.
And what shall be more blest than I,
When gazing on the wood I lie
In some green glade upon a bed
With sacred grass beneath us spread?
The root, the leaf, the fruit which thou
Shalt give me from the earth or bough,
Scanty or plentiful, to eat,
Shall taste to me as Amrit sweet.
As there I live on flowers and roots
And every season's kindly fruits,
I will not for my mother grieve,
My sire, my home, or all I leave.
My presence, love, shall never add
One pain to make the heart more sad;
[130]
I will not cause thee grief or care,
Nor be a burden hard to bear.
With thee is heaven, where'er the spot;
Each place is hell where thou art not.
Then go with me, O Ráma; this
Is all my hope and all my bliss.
If thou wilt leave thy wife who still
Entreats thee with undaunted will,
This very day shall poison close
The life that spurns the rule of foes.
How, after, can my soul sustain
The bitter life of endless pain,
Canto XXX. The Triumph Of Love.
449
When thy dear face, my lord, I miss?
No, death is better far than this.
Not for an hour could I endure
The deadly grief that knows not cure,
Far less a woe I could not shun
For ten long years, and three, and one.”
While fires of woe consumed her, such
Her sad appeal, lamenting much;
Then with a wild cry, anguish-wrung,
About her husband's neck she clung.
Like some she-elephant who bleeds
Struck by the hunter's venomed reeds,
So in her quivering heart she felt
The many wounds his speeches dealt.
Then, as the spark from wood is gained,305
Down rolled the tear so long restrained:
The crystal moisture, sprung from woe,
From her sweet eyes began to flow,
As runs the water from a pair
Of lotuses divinely fair.
And Sítá's face with long dark eyes,
Pure as the moon of autumn skies,
Faded with weeping, as the buds
Of lotuses when sink the floods.
Around his wife his arms he strained,
Who senseless from her woe remained,
And with sweet words, that bade her wake
To life again, the hero spake:
“I would not with thy woe, my Queen,
Buy heaven and all its blissful sheen.
Void of all fear am I as He,
305Fire for sacrificial purposes is produced by the attrition of two pieces of
wood.
450
The Ramayana
The self-existent God, can be.
I knew not all thy heart till now,
Dear lady of the lovely brow,
So wished not thee in woods to dwell;
Yet there mine arm can guard thee well.
Now surely thou, dear love, wast made
To dwell with me in green wood shade.
And, as a high saint's tender mind
Clings to its love for all mankind,
So I to thee will ever cling,
Sweet daughter of Videha's king.
The good, of old, O soft of frame,
Honoured this duty's sovereign claim,
And I its guidance will not shun,
True as light's Queen is to the Sun.
I cannot, pride of Janak's line,
This journey to the wood decline:
My sire's behest, the oath he sware,
The claims of truth, all lead me there.
One duty, dear the same for aye,
Is sire and mother to obey:
Should I their orders once transgress
My very life were weariness.
If glad obedience be denied
To father, mother, holy guide,
What rites, what service can be done
That stern Fate's favour may be won?
These three the triple world comprise,
O darling of the lovely eyes.
Earth has no holy thing like these
Whom with all love men seek to please.
Not truth, or gift, or bended knee,
Not honour, worship, lordly fee,
Storms heaven and wins a blessing thence
Canto XXX. The Triumph Of Love.
451
Like sonly love and reverence.
Heaven, riches, grain, and varied lore,
With sons and many a blessing more,
All these are made their own with ease
By those their elders' souls who please.
The mighty-souled, who ne'er forget,
Devoted sons, their filial debt,
Win worlds where Gods and minstrels are,
And Brahmá's sphere more glorious far.
Now as the orders of my sire,
Who keeps the way of truth, require,
So will I do, for such the way
Of duty that endures for aye:
To take thee, love, to Daṇḍak's wild
My heart at length is reconciled,
For thee such earnest thoughts impel
To follow, and with me to dwell.
O faultless form from feet to brows,
Come with me, as my will allows,
And duty there with me pursue,
Trembler, whose bright eyes thrill me through.
In all thy days, come good come ill,
Preserve unchanged such noble will,
And thou, dear love, wilt ever be
The glory of thy house and me.
Now, beauteous-armed, begin the tasks
The woodland life of hermits asks.
For me the joys of heaven above
Have charms no more without thee, love.
And now, dear Sítá, be not slow:
Food on good mendicants bestow,
And for the holy Bráhmans bring
Thy treasures and each precious thing.
Thy best attire and gems collect,
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The Ramayana
The jewels which thy beauty decked,
And every ornament and toy
Prepared for hours of sport and joy:
The beds, the cars wherein I ride,
Among our followers, next, divide.”
She conscious that her lord approved
Her going, with great rapture moved,
[131]
Hastened within, without delay,
Prepared to give their wealth away.
Canto XXXI. Lakshman's Prayer.
When Lakshmaṇ, who had joined them there,
Had heard the converse of the pair,
His mien was changed, his eyes o'erflowed,
His breast no more could bear its load.
The son of Raghu, sore distressed,
His brother's feet with fervour pressed,
While thus to Sítá he complained,
And him by lofty vows enchained:
“If thou wilt make the woods thy home,
Where elephant and roebuck roam,
I too this day will take my bow
And in the path before thee go.
Our way will lie through forest ground
Where countless birds and beasts are found,
I heed not homes of Gods on high,
I heed not life that cannot die,
Nor would I wish, with thee away,
O'er the three worlds to stretch my sway.”
Canto XXXI. Lakshman's Prayer.
453
Thus Lakshmaṇ spake, with earnest prayer
His brother's woodland life to share.
As Ráma still his prayer denied
With soothing words, again he cried:
“When leave at first thou didst accord,
Why dost thou stay me now, my lord?
Thou art my refuge: O, be kind,
Leave me not, dear my lord, behind.
Thou canst not, brother, if thou choose
That I still live, my wish refuse.”
The glorious chief his speech renewed
To faithful Lakshmaṇ as he sued,
And on the eyes of Ráma gazed
Longing to lead, with hands upraised:
“Thou art a hero just and dear,
Whose steps to virtue's path adhere,
Loved as my life till life shall end,
My faithful brother and my friend.
If to the woods thou take thy way
With Sítá and with me to-day,
Who for Kauśalyá will provide,
And guard the good Sumitrá's side?
The lord of earth, of mighty power,
Who sends good things in plenteous shower,
As Indra pours the grateful rain,
A captive lies in passion's chain.
The power imperial for her son
Has Aśvapati's daughter306won,
And she, proud queen, will little heed
Her miserable rivals' need.
So Bharat, ruler of the land,
By Queen Kaikeyí's side will stand,
306Kaikeyí.
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Nor of those two will ever think,
While grieving in despair they sink.
Now, Lakshmaṇ, as thy love decrees,
Or else the monarch's heart to please,
Follow this counsel and protect
My honoured mother from neglect.
So thou, while not to me alone
Thy great affection will be shown,
To highest duty wilt adhere
By serving those thou shouldst revere.
Now, son of Raghu, for my sake
Obey this one request I make,
Or, of her darling son bereft,
Kauśalyá has no comfort left.”
The faithful Lakshmaṇ, thus addressed
In gentle words which love expressed,
To him in lore of language learned,
His answer, eloquent, returned:
“Nay, through thy might each queen will share
Attentive Bharat's love and care,
Should Bharat, raised as king to sway
This noblest realm, his trust betray,
Nor for their safety well provide,
Seduced by ill-suggesting pride,
Doubt not my vengeful hand shall kill
The cruel wretch who counsels ill—
Kill him and all who lend him aid,
And the three worlds in league arrayed.
And good Kauśalyá well can fee
A thousand champions like to me.
A thousand hamlets rich in grain
The station of that queen maintain.
Canto XXXI. Lakshman's Prayer.
455
She may, and my dear mother too,
Live on the ample revenue.
Then let me follow thee: herein:
Is naught that may resemble sin.
So shall I in my wish succeed,
And aid, perhaps, my brother's need.
My bow and quiver well supplied
With arrows hanging at my side,
My hands shall spade and basket bear,
And for thy feet the way prepare.
I'll bring thee roots and berries sweet.
And woodland fare which hermits eat.
Thou shall with thy Videhan spouse
Recline upon the mountain's brows;
Be mine the toil, be mine to keep
Watch o'er thee waking or asleep.”
Filled by his speech with joy and pride,
Ráma to Lakshmaṇ thus replied:
“Go then, my brother, bid adieu
To all thy friends and retinue.
And those two bows of fearful might,
Celestial, which, at that famed rite,
Lord Varuṇ gave to Janak, king
Of fair Vedeha with thee bring,
With heavenly coats of sword-proof mail,
Quivers, whose arrows never fail,
[132]
And golden-hilted swords so keen,
The rivals of the sun in sheen.
Tended with care these arms are all
Preserved in my preceptor's hall.
With speed, O Lakshmaṇ, go, produce,
And bring them hither for our use.”
So on a woodland life intent,
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The Ramayana
To see his faithful friends he went,
And brought the heavenly arms which lay
By Ráma's teacher stored away.
And Raghu's son to Ráma showed
Those wondrous arms which gleamed and glowed,
Well kept, adorned with many a wreath
Of flowers on case, and hilt, and sheath.
The prudent Ráma at the sight
Addressed his brother with delight:
“Well art thou come, my brother dear,
For much I longed to see thee here.
For with thine aid, before I go,
I would my gold and wealth bestow
Upon the Bráhmans sage, who school
Their lives by stern devotion's rule.
And for all those who ever dwell
Within my house and serve me well,
Devoted servants, true and good,
Will I provide a livelihood.
Quick, go and summon to this place
The good Vaśishṭha's son,
Suyajǹa, of the Bráhman race
The first and holiest one.
To all the Bráhmans wise and good
Will I due reverence pay,
Then to the solitary wood
With thee will take my way.”
Canto XXXII. The Gift Of The Treasures.
Canto XXXII. The Gift Of The Treasures.
457
That speech so noble which conveyed
His friendly wish, the chief obeyed,
With steps made swift by anxious thought
The wise Suyajǹa's home he sought.
Him in the hall of Fire307he found,
And bent before him to the ground:
“O friend, to Ráma's house return,
Who now performs a task most stern.”
He, when his noonday rites were done,
Went forth with fair Sumitrá's son,
And came to Ráma's bright abode
Rich in the love which Lakshmí showed.
The son of Raghu, with his dame,
With joined hands met him as he came,
Showing to him who Scripture knew
The worship that is Agni's due.
With armlets, bracelets, collars, rings,
With costly pearls on golden strings,
With many a gem for neck and limb
The son of Raghu honoured him.
Then Ráma, at his wife's request,
The wise Suyajǹa thus addressed:
“Accept a necklace too to deck
With golden strings thy spouse's neck.
And Sítá here, my friend, were glad
A girdle to her gift to add.
And many a bracelet wrought with care,
And many an armlet rich and rare,
My wife to thine is fain to give,
Departing in the wood to live.
A bed by skilful workmen made,
With gold and various gems inlaid—
307The chapel where the sacred fire used in worship is kept.
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The Ramayana
This too, before she goes, would she
Present, O saintly friend, to thee.
Thine be my elephant, so famed,
My uncle's present, Victor named;
And let a thousand coins of gold,
Great Bráhman, with the gift be told.”
Thus Ráma spoke: nor he declined
The noble gifts for him designed.
On Ráma, Lakshmaṇ, Sítá he
Invoked all high felicity.
In pleasant words then Ráma gave
His best to Lakshmaṇ prompt and brave,
As Brahmá speaks for Him to hear
Who rules the Gods' celestial sphere:
“To the two best of Bráhmans run;
Agastya bring, and Kuśik's son,
And precious gifts upon them rain,
Like fostering floods upon the grain.
O long-armed Prince of Raghu's line,
Delight them with a thousand kine,
And many a fair and costly gem,
With gold and silver, give to them.
To him, so deep in Scripture, who,
To Queen Kauśalyá, ever true,
Serves her with blessing and respect,
Chief of the Taittiríya sect308—
To him, with women-slaves, present
A chariot rich with ornament,
And costly robes of silk beside,
Until the sage be satisfied.
On Chitraratha, true and dear,
My tuneful bard and charioteer,
308The students and teachers of the Taittiríya portion of the Yajur Veda.
Canto XXXII. The Gift Of The Treasures.
459
Gems, robes, and plenteous wealth confer—
Mine ancient friend and minister.
And these who go with staff in hand,
Grammarians trained, a numerous band,
Who their deep study only prize,
Nor think of other exercise,
Who toil not, loving dainty fare,
Whose praises e'en the good declare—
On these be eighty cars bestowed,
And each with precious treasures load.
[133]
A thousand bulls for them suffice,
Two hundred elephants of price,
And let a thousand kine beside
The dainties of each meal provide.
The throng who sacred girdles wear,
And on Kauśalyá wait with care—
A thousand golden coins shall please,
Son of Sumitrá, each of these.
Let all, dear Lakshmaṇ of the train
These special gifts of honour gain:
My mother will rejoice to know
Her Bráhmans have been cherished so.”
Then Raghu's son addressed the crowd
Who round him stood and wept aloud,
When he to all who thronged the court
Had dealt his wealth for their support:
“In Lakshmaṇ's house and mine remain,
And guard them till I come again.”
To all his people sad with grief,
In loving words thus spoke their chief,
Then bade his treasure-keeper bring
Gold, silver, and each precious thing.
Then straight the servants went and bore
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The Ramayana
Back to their chief the wealth in store.
Before the people's eyes it shone,
A glorious pile to look upon.
The prince of men with Lakshmaṇ's aid
Parted the treasures there displayed,
Gave to the poor, the young, the old,
And twice-born men, the gems and gold.
A Bráhman, long in evil case,
Named Trijaṭ, born of Garga's race,
Earned ever toiling in a wood
With spade and plough his livelihood.
The youthful wife, his babes who bore,
Their indigence felt more and more.
Thus to the aged man she spake:
“Hear this my word: my counsel take.
Come, throw thy spade and plough away;
To virtuous Ráma go to-day,
And somewhat of his kindness pray.”
He heard the words she spoke: around
His limbs his ragged cloth he wound,
And took his journey by the road
That led to Ráma's fair abode.
To the fifth court he made his way;
Nor met the Bráhman check or stay.
Brighu, Angiras309could not be
Brighter with saintly light than he.
To Ráma's presence on he pressed,
And thus the noble chief addressed:
“O Ráma, poor and weak am I,
And many children round me cry.
309Two of the divine personages called Prajápatis and Brahmádikas who were
first created by Brahmá.
Canto XXXII. The Gift Of The Treasures.
461
Scant living in the woods I earn:
On me thine eye of pity turn.”
And Ráma, bent on sport and jest,
The suppliant Bráhman thus addressed:
“O aged man, one thousand kine,
Yet undistributed, are mine.
The cows on thee will I bestow
As far as thou thy staff canst throw.”
The Bráhman heard. In eager haste
He bound his cloth around his waist.
Then round his head his staff he whirled,
And forth with mightiest effort hurled.
Cast from his hand it flew, and sank
To earth on Sarjú's farther bank,
Where herds of kine in thousands fed
Near to the well-stocked bullock shed.
And all the cows that wandered o'er
The meadow, far as Sarjú's shore,
At Ráma's word the herdsmen drove
To Trijaṭ's cottage in the grove.
He drew the Bráhman to his breast,
And thus with calming words addressed:
“Now be not angry, Sire. I pray:
This jest of mine was meant in play.
These thousand kine, but not alone.
Their herdsmen too, are all thine own.
And wealth beside I give thee: speak,
Thine shall be all thy heart can seek.”
Thus Ráma spake. And Trijaṭ prayed
For means his sacrifice to aid.
And Ráma gave much wealth, required
To speed his offering as desired.
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The Ramayana
Canto XXXIII. The People's Lament.
Thus Sítá and the princes brave
Much wealth to all the Bráhmans gave.
Then to the monarch's house the three
Went forth the aged king to see.
The princes from two servants took
Those heavenly arms of glorious look,
Adorned with garland and with band
By Sítá's beautifying hand.
On each high house a mournful throng
Had gathered ere they passed along,
Who gazed in pure unselfish woe
From turret, roof, and portico.
So dense the crowd that blocked the ways,
The rest, unable there to gaze,
Were fain each terrace to ascend,
And thence their eyes on Ráma bend.
Then as the gathered multitude
On foot their well-loved Ráma viewed,
No royal shade to screen his head,
Such words, disturbed in grief, they said:
“O look, our hero, wont to ride
Leading a host in perfect pride—
Now Lakshmaṇ, sole of all his friends,
With Sítá on his steps attends.
Though he has known the sweets of power,
And poured his gifts in liberal shower,
From duty's path he will not swerve,
[134]
But, still his father's truth preserve.
And she whose form so soft and fair
Was veiled from spirits of the air,
Now walks unsheltered from the day,
Seen by the crowds who throng the way.
Canto XXXIII. The People's Lament.
463
Ah, for that gently-nurtured form!
How will it fade with sun and storm!
How will the rain, the cold, the heat
Mar fragrant breast and tinted feet!
Surely some demon has possessed
His sire, and speaks within his breast,
Or how could one that is a king
Thus send his dear son wandering?
It were a deed unkindly done
To banish e'en a worthless son:
But what, when his pure life has gained
The hearts of all, by love enchained?
Six sovereign virtues join to grace
Ráma the foremost of his race:
Tender and kind and pure is he,
Docile, religious, passion-free.
Hence misery strikes not him alone:
In bitterest grief the people moan,
Like creatures of the stream, when dry
In the great heat the channels lie.
The world is mournful with the grief
That falls on its beloved chief,
As, when the root is hewn away,
Tree, fruit, and flower, and bud decay.
The soul of duty, bright to see,
He is the root of you and me;
And all of us, who share his grief,
His branches, blossom, fruit, and leaf.
Now like the faithful Lakshmaṇ, we
Will follow and be true as he;
Our wives and kinsmen call with speed,
And hasten where our lord shall lead.
Yes, we will leave each well-loved spot,
The field, the garden, and the cot,
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The Ramayana
And, sharers of his weal and woe,
Behind the pious Ráma go.
Our houses, empty of their stores,
With ruined courts and broken doors,
With all their treasures borne away.
And gear that made them bright and gay:
O'errun by rats, with dust o'erspread,
Shrines, whence the deities have fled,
Where not a hand the water pours,
Or sweeps the long-neglected floors,
No incense loads the evening air,
No Bráhmans chant the text and prayer,
No fire of sacrifice is bright,
No gift is known, no sacred rite;
With floors which broken vessels strew,
As if our woes had crushed them too—
Of these be stern Kaikeyí queen,
And rule o'er homes where we have been.
The wood where Ráma's feet may roam
Shall be our city and our home,
And this fair city we forsake,
Our flight a wilderness shall make.
Each serpent from his hole shall hie,
The birds and beasts from mountain fly,
Lions and elephants in fear
Shall quit the woods when we come near,
Yield the broad wilds for us to range,
And take our city in exchange.
With Ráma will we hence, content
If, where he is, our days be spent.”
Such were the varied words the crowd
Of all conditions spoke aloud.
And Ráma heard their speeches, yet
Canto XXXIV. Ráma In The Palace.
465
Changed not his purpose firmly set.
His father's palace soon he neared,
That like Kailása's hill appeared.
Like a wild elephant he strode
Right onward to the bright abode.
Within the palace court he stepped,
Where ordered bands their station kept,
And saw Sumantra standing near
With down-cast eye and gloomy cheer.
Canto XXXIV. Ráma In The Palace.
The dark incomparable chief
Whose eye was like a lotus leaf,
Cried to the mournful charioteer,
“Go tell my sire that I am here.”
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 Ráma. Near he drew
With hands upraised in reverence due.
With blessing first his king he hailed;
Then with a voice that well-nigh failed,
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The Ramayana
In trembling accents soft and low
Addressed the monarch in his woe:
“The prince of men, thy Ráma, waits
Before thee at the palace gates.
His wealth to Bráhmans 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 truthful King who loved to keep
The law profound as Ocean's deep,
And stainless as the dark blue sky,
Thus to Sumantra made reply:
[135]
“Go then, Sumantra, go and call
My wives and ladies one and all.
Drawn round me shall they fill the place
When I behold my Ráma's face.”
Quick to the inner rooms he sped,
And thus to all the women said,
“Come, at the summons of the king:
Come all, and make no tarrying.”
Canto XXXIV. Ráma In The Palace.
467
Their husband's word, by him conveyed,
Soon as they heard, the dames obeyed,
And following his guidance all
Came thronging to the regal hall.
In number half seven hundred, they,
All lovely dames, in long array,
With their bright eyes for weeping red,
To stand round Queen Kauśalyá, sped.
They gathered, and the monarch viewed
One moment all the multitude,
Then to Sumantra spoke and said:
“Now let my son be hither led.”
Sumantra went. Then Ráma came,
And Lakshmaṇ, and the Maithil dame,
And, as he led them on, their guide
Straight to the monarch's presence hied.
When yet far off the father saw
His son with raised palms toward him draw,
Girt by his ladies, sick with woes,
Swift from his royal seat he rose.
With all his strength the aged man
To meet his darling Ráma ran,
But trembling, wild with dark despair,
Fell on the ground and fainted there.
And Lakshmaṇ, wont in cars to ride,
And Ráma, threw them by the side
Of the poor miserable king,
Half lifeless with his sorrow's sting.
Throughout the spacious hall up went
A thousand women's wild lament:
“Ah Ráma!” thus they wailed and wept,
And anklets tinkled as they stepped
Around his body, weeping, threw
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The Ramayana
Their loving arms the brothers two,
And then, with Sítá's gentle aid,
The king upon a couch was laid.
At length to earth's imperial lord,
When life and knowledge were restored,
Though seas of woe went o'er his head,
With suppliant hand, thus Ráma said:
“Lord of us all, great King, thou art:
Bid me farewell before we part,
To Daṇḍak wood this day I go:
One blessing and one look bestow.
Let Lakshmaṇ my companion be,
And Sítá also follow me.
With truthful pleas I sought to bend
Their purpose; but no ear they lend.
Now cast this sorrow from thy heart,
And let us all, great King, depart.
As Brahmá sends his children, so
Let Lakshmaṇ, me, and Sítá go.”
He stood unmoved, and watched intent
Until the king should grant consent.
Upon his son his eyes he cast,
And thus the monarch spake at last:
“O Ráma, by her arts enslaved,
I gave the boons Kaikeyí craved,
Unfit to reign, by her misled:
Be ruler in thy father's stead.”
Canto XXXIV. Ráma In The Palace.
469
Thus by the lord of men addressed,
Ráma, of virtue's friends the best,
In lore of language duly learned,
His answer, reverent, thus returned:
“A thousand years, O King, remain
O'er this our city still to reign.
I in the woods my life will lead:
The lust of rule no more I heed.
Nine years and five I there will spend,
And when the portioned days shall end,
Will come, my vows and exile o'er,
And clasp thy feet, my King, once more.”
A captive in the snare of truth,
Weeping, distressed with woe and ruth,
Thus spake the monarch, while the queen
Kaikeyí urged him on unseen:
“Go then, O Ráma, 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,

Book II (part2)
Book II (part3)