Then Rama gazed, and scarcely knew
Bharat so worn and changed in hue.
He raised him, kissed him on the head,
Embraced him, and thus kindly said;
‘Where was thy father, brother dear,
That thou art come to seek me here?
Unmeet, if he be living yet,
Thy feet within the wood to set.
I pray thee now the cause declare
Why thou hast left the kingdom there,
With matted locks and deerskin dress
To roam the distant wilderness.’
Thus questioned by the prince, at length
Kaikeyi’s son regained his strength,
And hand to hand in reverence laid,
To Rama thus his answer made:
‘The great-armed monarch, O my lard,
Has dared to do a thing abhorred,
Left us, and grieving for his son,
A home among the Gods has won.
My mother Queen Kaikeyf gave
The order to the king her slave,
And at the bidding of the dame
He wrought the sin which mars his fame.
Athirst for sway, her hopes are crossed,
She mourns her son, her husband lost,
And through her impious crime will go
For punishment to hell below.
Now O my lord, forgive me all;
Be gracious to thy lowly thrall:
Anointed king, accept to-day
Like Iudra’s self, the royal sway.
Be gracious, Prince, to lord and peer,
And widowed queens who seek thee here
Accept the kingdom thine by right.
And so thy faithful friends delight.
Let the broad land no longer be
All widowed and forlorn of thee:
Let the full moon of autumn reign
Triumphant o’er the night again.
These lords and I before thee bend:
O Rama, to Our prayer attend.
O do not thou this grace deny:
Thy brother, pupil, slave am I.
Look on this venerable ring,
Advisers of our sire the king.
From age to age so honoured: thou
Shouldst grant their supplication now?
As weeping thus the hero prayed,
His head at Rama’s feet he laid.
Like a mad elephant he sighed:
And Rama, gazed and thus replied:
‘How, brother, Can a man of worth,
True to his vows, of noble birth-
A man like me, commit a sin
The lordship of the land to win?
No slightest shade of fault I see,
O tamer of thy foes, in thee.
But ne’er shouldst thou in childish thought
The queen thy mother blame in aught,
O brother wise and sinless, know
The sacred laws would have it so,
That from good wife and son require
Obedience to their lord and sire.
And we are all the king’s, for thus
The virtuous ever reckon us:
Yea brother, be it known to thee,
His wives, and sons, and pupils we.
His is the right, if he deem fit,
To bid me, throned as monarch, sit,
Or in a coat of bark expel,
And deerskin, in the wood to dwell.
And O remember, best of all
Who act as claims of duty call,
As to a virtuous sire is due,
Such honour claims a mother too.
So they whose lives have ever been
By duty led, the king and queen,
Said,‘Rama, seek the forest shade:’
And I (what could I else?) obeyed.
Thou must the royal power retain,
[ p. 211 ]
And o’er the famed Ayodhyá reign:
I dressed in bark my days will spent
Where Dandak’a forest wilds extend.
So Das’aratha spoke, our king,
His share to each apportioning
Before his honoured servants, eyes:
Then, heir of bliss, he sought the skies.
The righteous monarch’s honoured will,
Whom all revered, must guide thee still,
And thou must still enjoy the share
Assigned thee by our father’s care.
So I till twice seven years are spent
Will roam this wood in banishment,
Contented with the lot which he,
My high-souled sire, has given me.
The charge the monarch gave, endeared
To all mankind, by all revered,
Peer of the Lord Supreme,
Far better, richer far in gain
Of every blessing than to reign
O’er all the worlds I deem.’
He spoke: and Bharat thus replied;
‘If, false to every claim beside,
I ne’er in kingly duties fail,
What will my royal life avail?
Still should the custom be observed,
From which our line has never swerved,
Which to the younger son ne’er gives
The kingdom while the elder lives.
Now to Ayodhya rich and fair
With me, O Raghu’s son, repair,
And to protect and gladden all
Our house, thyself as king install,
A king the world’s opinion deems
A man: to me a God he seems,
Whose life in virtuous thoughts and deeds
The lives of other men exceeds.
When I in distant Kekaya stayed,
And thou hadst sought the forest shade,
Our father died, the saints’ delight,
So constant in each holy rite.
Scarce with thy wife and Lakshman thou
Hadst journeyed forth to keep the vow,
When mourning for his son, forspent,
To heavenly rest the monarch went,
Then up, O lord of men, away!
His funeral rites of water pay:
I and S’atrughna, ere we came,
Neglected not the sacred claim.
But in the spirit-world, they say,
That gift alone is fresh for aye
Which best beloved hands have poured;
And thou his dearest art, my lord.
For thee he longed, for thee he grieved,
His every thought on thee was bent,
And crushed by woe, of thee bereaved,
He thought of thee as hence he went.’
When Rama heard from Bharat each
Dark sorrow of his mournful speech,
And tidings of his father dead,
His spirits fell, his senses fled.
For the sad words his brother spoke
Struck on him like a thunder stroke.
Fierce as the bolt which Indra throws,
The victor of his Daitya foes.
Raising his arms in anguish, he,
As when the woodman hews a tree
With its fair flowery branches crowned,
Fainted and fell upon the ground.
Lord of the earth to earth he sank.
Helpless, as when a towering bank
With sudden ruin buries deep
An elephant who lay asleep.
Then swift his wife and brothers flew,
And water, weeping, o’er him threw.
As slowly sense and strength he gained,
Fast from his eyes the tears he rained,
And then in accents sad and weak
Kakutstha’s son began to speak,
And mourning for the monarch dead,
With righteous words to Bharat said:
‘What calls me home, when he, alas,
Has gone the way which all must pass?
Of him, the best of kings bereft
What guardian has Ayodhya left?
How may I please his spirit? how
Delight the high-souled monarch now,
Who wept for me and went above
By me ungraced with mourning love!
Ah, happy brothers! you have paid
Due offerings to his parting shade.
E’en when my banishment is o’er,
Back to my home I go no more,
To look upon the widowed state
Reft of her king, disconsolate.
E’en then, O tamer of the foe,
If to Ayodhya’s town I go.
Who will direct me as of old,
Now other worlds our father hold?
From whom, my brother, shall I hear
Those words which ever charmed mine ear
And filled my bosom with delight
Whene’er he saw me act aright?’
Thus Rama spoke: then nearer came
And looking on his moonbright dame,
‘Sit’a, the king is gone,’ he said:
'And Lakshman, know thy sire is dead,
[ p. 212 ]
And with the Gods on high enrolled:
This mournful news has Bharat told.’
He spoke: the noble youths with sighs
Rained down the torrents from their eyes.
And then the brothers of the chief
With words of comfort soothed his grief:
‘Now to the king our sire who swayed
The earth be due libations paid.’
Soon as the monarch’s fate she knew,
Sharp pangs of grief smote Sita through:
Nor could she look upon her lord
With eyes from which the torrents poured.
And Rama strove with tender care
To soothe the weeping dame’s despair,
And then, with piercing woe distressed,
The mournful Lakshman thus addressed:
‘Brother, I pray thee bring for me
The pressed fruit of the Ingudi,
And a bark mantle fresh and new,
That I may pay this offering due.
First of the three shall Sita go,
Next thou, and I the last: for so
Moves the funereal pomp of woe.’ [1]
Sumantra of the noble mind,
Gentle and modest, meek and kind,
Who, follower of each princely youth,
To Rama clung with constant truth,
Now with the royal brothers’ aid
The grief of Rama soothed and stayed,
And lent his arm his lord to guide
Down to the river’s holy side.
Tnat lovely stream the heroes found,
With woods that ever blossomed crowned,
And there in bitter sorrow bent
Their footsteps down the fair descent.
Then where the stream that swiftly flowed
A pure pellucid shallow showed,
The funeral drops they duly shed,
And ‘Father, this be thine,’ they said.
But he, the lord who ruled the land,
Filled from the stream his hollowed hand,
And turning to the southern side
Stretched out his arm and weeping cried:
‘This sacred water clear and pure,
An offering which shall aye endure
To thee, O lord of kings, I give:
Accept it where the spirits live!’
Then, when the solemn rite was o’er,
Came Rama to the river shore,
And offered, with his brothers’ aid,
Fresh tribute to his father’s shade.
With jujube fruit he mixed the seed
Of Ingudis from moisture freed,
And placed it on a spot o’erspread
With sacred grass, and weeping said:
‘Enjoy, great King, the cake which we
Thy children eat and offer thee!
For ne’er do blessed Gods refuse
To share the food which mortals use.’
Then Rama turned him to retrace
The path that brought him to the place,
And up the mountain’s pleasant side
Where lovely lawns lay fair, he hied.
Soon as his cottage door he gained.
His brothers to his breast he strained.
From them and Sit’a in their woes
So loud the cry of weeping rose,
That like the roar of lions round
The mountain rolled the echoing sound.
And Bharat’s army shook with fear
The weeping of the chiefs to hear.
‘Bharat,’ the soldiers cried, ''tis plain,
His brother Rama meets again,
And with these cries that round us ring
They sorrow for their sire the king.’
Then leaving car and wain behind,
One eager thought in every mind,
Swift toward the weeping, every man,
As each could find a passage, ran.
Some thither bent their eager course
With car, and elephant, and horse,
And youthful captains on their feet
With longing sped their lord to meet,
As though the new-come prince had been
An exile for long years unseen.
Earth beaten in their frantic zeal
By clattering hoof and rumbling wheel,
Sent forth a deafening noise as loud
As heaven when black with many a cloud,
Then, with their consorts gathered near,
Wild elephants in sudden fear
Rushed to a distant wood, and shed
An odour round them as they fled.
And every silvan thing that dwelt
Within those shades the terror felt,
Deer, lion, tiger, boar and roe,
Bison, wild-cow, and buffalo.
And when the tumult wild they heard.
With trembling pinions flew each bird,
From tree, from thicket, and from lake,
Swan, koil, curlew, crane, and drake.
With men the ground was overspread,
With startled birds the sky o’erhead.
Then on his sacrificial ground
The sinless, glorious chief was found.
Loading with curses deep and loud
The hump-back and the queen, the crowd.
Whose checks were wet, whose eyes were dim,
In fond affection ran to him.
While the big tears their eyes bedewed,
He looked upon the multitude,
[ p. 213 ]
And then as sire and mother do,
His arms about his loved ones threw.
Some to his feet with reverence pressed,
Some in his arms he strained:
Each friend, with kindly words addressed,
Due share of honour gained.
Then, by their mighty woe o’ercome,
The weeping heroes’ cry
Filled, like the roar of many a drum,
Hill, cavern, earth, and sky.
Vas’ishtha with his soul athirst
To look again on Rama, first
In line the royal widows placed,
And then the way behind them traced.
The ladies moving, faint and slow,
Saw the fair stream before them flow,
And by the bank their steps were led
Which the two brothers visited.
Kausalya with her faded cheek
Arid weeping eyes began to speak,
And thus in mournful tones addressed
The queen Sumitra and the rest:
‘See in the wood the bank’s descent,
Which the two orphan youths frequent,
Whose noble spirits never fall,
Though woes surround them, reft of all.
Thy son with love that never tires
Draws water hence which mine requires,
This day, for lowly toil unfit.
His pious task thy son should quit.’
As on the long-eyed lady strayed,
On holy grass, whose points were laid
Directed to the southern sky,
When Rama’s humble gift she spied
Thus to the queens Kausalya cried:
‘The gift of Rama’s hand behold,
His tribute to the king high-souled,
Offered to him, as texts require,
Lord of Ikshhvaku’s line, his sire!
Not such I deem the funeral food
Of kings with godlike might endued.
Can he who knew all pleasuies, he
Who ruled the earth from sea to sea,
The mighty lord of monarchs, feed
On Ingudi’s extracted seed?
In all the world there cannot be
A woe, I ween, more sad to see,
Than that my glorious son should make
His funeral gilt of such a cake.
The ancient text I oft have heard
This day is true in every word:
‘Ne’er do the blessed Gods refuse
To eat the food their children use.’
The ladies soothed the weeping dame:
To Rama’s hermitage they came,
And there the hero met their eyes
Like a God fallen from the skies.
Him joyless, reft of all, they viewed,
And tears their mournful eyes bedewed.
The truthful hero left his seat,
And clasped the ladies’ lotus feet,
And they with soft hands brushed away
The dust that on his shoulders lay.
Then Lakshman, when he saw each queen
With weeping eyes and troubled mien,
Near to the royal ladies drew
And paid them gentle reverence too.
He, Das’aratha’s offspring, signed
The heir of bliss by Fortune kind,
Received from every dame no less
Each mark of love and tenderness.
And Sita came and bent before
The widows, while her eyes ran o’er,
And pressed their feet with many a tear.
They when they saw the lady dear
Pale, worn with dwelling in the wild.
Embraced her as a darling child:
Daughter of royal Janak, bride
Of Das’aratha’s son, they cried,
‘How couldst thou, offering of a king,
Endure this woe and suffering
In the wild forest? When I trace
Each sign of trouble on thy face-
That lotus which the sun has dried,
That lily by the tempest tried,
That gold whereon the dust is spread,
That moon whence all the light is fled—
Sorrow assails my heart, alas!
As fire consumes the wood and grass.’
Then Rama, as she spoke distressed,
The feet of Saint Vas’ishtha pressed,
Touched them with reverential love,
Then near him took his seat:
Thus Indra clasps in realms above
The Heavenly Teacher’s [2] feet.
Then with each counsellor and peer,
Bharat of duteous mind,
With citizens and captains near,
Sat humbly down behind.
When with his hands to him upraised,
In devotee’s attire.
Bharat upon his brother gazed
Whose glory shone like fire,
As when the pure Maheridra bends
To the great Lord of Life,
Among his noble crowd of friends
This anxious thought was rife:
'What words to Raghu’s son to-day
Will royal Bharat speak,
Whose heart has been so prompt to pay
Obeisance fond and meek?’
Then steadfast Rama, Lakshman wise,
Bharat for truth renowned,
[ p. 214 ]
Shone like three fires that heavenward rise
With holy priests around.
A while they sat, each lip compressed,
Then Bharat thus his chief addressed:
‘My mother here was made content;
To me was given the government.
This now, my lord, I yield to thee:
Enjoy it, from all trouble free.
Like a great bridge the floods have rent,
Impetuous in their wild descent,
All other hands but thine in vain
Would strive the burthen to maintain.
In vain the ass with steeds would vie,
With Tárkshya, [3] birds that wing the sky;
So, lord of men, my power is slight
To rival thine imperial might.
Great joys his happy days attend
On whom the hopes of men depend,
But wretched is the life he leads
Who still the aid of others needs.
And if the seed a man has sown,
With care and kindly nurture grown,
Rear its huge trunk and spring in time
Too bulky for a dwarf to climb,
Yet, with perpetual blossom gay,
No fruit upon its boughs display,
Ne’er can that tree, thus nursed in vain,
Approval of the virtuous gain.
The simile is meant to be
Applied, O mighty-armed, to thee,
Because, our lord and leader, thou
Protectest not thy people now.
O, be the longing wish fulfilled
Of every chief of house and guild,
To see again their sun-bright lord
Victorious to his realm restored!
As thou returnest through the crowd
Let roars of elephants be loud.
And each fair woman lift her voice
And in her new-found king rejoice.’
The people all with longing moved,
The words that Bharat spoke approved,
And crowding near to Ráma pressed
The hero with the same request.
The steadfast Ráma, when he viewed
His glorious brother’s mournful mood,
With each ambitious thought controlled,
Thus the lamenting prince consoled:
‘I cannot do the things I will,
For Ráma is but mortal still.
Fate with supreme, resistless law
This way and that its slave will draw,
All gathered heaps must waste away,
All lofty lore and powers decay.
Death is the end of life, and all,
Now firmly joined, apart must fall.
One fear the ripened fruit must know,
To fall upon the earth below;
So every man who draws his breath
Must fear inevitable death.
The pillared mansion, high, compact,
Must fall by Time’s strong hand attacked;
So mortal men, the gradual prey
Of old and ruthless death, decay.
The night that flies no more returns:
Yamuná for the Ocean yearns:
Swift her impetuous waters flee,
But roll not backward from the sea.
The days and nights pass swiftly by
And steal our moments as they fly.
E’en as the sun’s unpitying rays
Drink up the floods in summer blaze.
Then for thyself lament and leave
For death of other men to grieve,
For if thou go or if thou stay.
Thy life is shorter day by day.
Death travels with us; death attends
Our steps until our journey ends.
Death, when the traveller wins the goal,
Returns with the returning soul.
The flowing hair grown* white and thin,
And wrinkles mark the altered skin.
The ills of age man’s strength assail:
Ah, what can mortal power avail?
Men joy to see the sun arise,
They watch him set with joyful eyes:
But ne’er reflect, too blind to see,
How fast their own brief moments flee.
With lovely change for ever new
The seasons’ sweet return they view,
Nor think with heedless hearts the while
That lives decay as seasons smile.
As haply on the boundless main
Meet drifting logs and part again.
So wives and children, friends and gold,
Oures for a little time we hold:
Soon by resistless laws of fate
To meet no more we separate.
In all this changing world not one
The common lot of all can shun:
Then why with useless tears deplore
The dead whom tears can bring no more?
As one might stand upon the way
And to a troop of travellers say:
‘If ye allow it, sirs, I too
Will travel on the road with you:’
So why should mortal man lament
When on that path his feet are bent
Which all men living needs must tread,
Where sire and ancestors have led?
Life flies as torrents downward fall
Speeding away without recall,
So virtue should our thoughts engage,
For bliss [4] is mortals’ heritage,
[ p. 215 ]
By ceaseless care and earnest zeal
For servants and for people’s weal,
By gifts, by duty nobly done,
Our glorious sire the skies has won.
Our lord the king, o’er earth who reigned,
A blissful home in heaven has gained
By wealth in ample largess spent,
And many a rite magnificent:
With constant joy from first to last
A long and noble life he passed,
Praised by the good, no tears should dim
Our eyes, O brother dear, for him.
His human body, worn and tried
By length of days, he cast aside,
And gained the godlike bliss to stray
In Brahma’s heavenly home for aye.
“For such the wise as we are, deep
In Veda lore, should never weep.
Those who are firm and ever wise
Spurn vain lament and idle sighs.
Be self-possessed: thy grief restrain:
Go, in that city dwell again.
Return, O best of men, and be
Obedient to our sire’s decree,
While I with every care fulfil
Our holy father’s righteous will,
Observing in the lonely wood
His charge approved by all the good,’
Thus Ráma of the lofty mind
To Bharat spoke his righteous speech,
By every argument designed
Obedience to his sire to teach,
Good Bharat, by the river side,
To virtuous Ráma’s speech replied,
And thus with varied lore addressed
The prince, while nobles round him pressed:
‘In all this world whom e’er can we
Find equal, scourge of foes, to thee?
No ill upon thy bosom weighs.
No thoughts of joy thy spirit raise.
Approved art thou of sages old,
To whom thy doubts are ever told.
Alike in death and life, to thee
The same to be and not to be.
The man who such a soul can gain
Can ne’er be crushed by woe or pain.
Pure as the Gods, high-minded, wise,
Concealed from thee no secret lies.
Such glorious gifts are all thine own,
And birth and death to thee are known,
That ill can ne’er thy soul depress
With all-subduing bitterness.
O let my prayer, dear brother, win
Thy pardon for my mother’s sin.
Wrought for my sake who willed it not
When absent in a distant spot.
Duty alone with binding chains
The vengeancs due to crime restrains,
Or on the sinner I should lift
My hand in retribution swift.
Can I who know the right, and spring
From Das’aratha, purest king—
Can I commit a heinous crime,
Abhorred by all through endless time?
The aged king I dare not blame,
Who died so rich in holy fame,
My honoured sire, my parted lord,
E’en as a present God adored.
Yet who in lore of duty skilled
So foul a crime has ever willed,
And dared defy both gain and right
To gratify a woman’s spite?
When death draws near, so people say,
The sense af creatures dies away;
And he has proved the ancient saw
By acting thus in spite of law.
But O my honoured lord, be kind.
Dismiss the trespass from thy mind,
The sin the king committed, led
By haste, his consort’s wrath, and dread.
For he who veils his sire’s offence
With tender care and reverence—
His sons approved by all shall live:
Not so their fate who ne’er forgive.
Be thou, my lord, the noble son,
And the vile deed my sire has done,
Abhorred by all the virtuous, ne’er
Resent, lest thou the guilt too share.
Preserve us, for on thee we call.
Our sire, Kaikeyi, me and all
Thy citizens, thy kith and kin;
Preserve us and reverse the sin.
To live in woods a devotee
Can scarce with royal tasks agree,
Nor can the hermit’s matted hair
Suit fitly with a ruler’s care.
Do not, my brother, do not still
Pursue this life that suits thee ill.
Mid duties, of a king we count
His consecration paramount,
That he with ready heart and hand
May keep his people and his land.
What Warrior born to royal sway
From certain good would turn away,
A doubtful duty to pursue,
That mocks him with the distant view?
Thou wouldst to duty cleave, and gain
The meed that follows toil and pain.
In thy great task no labour spare:
Rule the four castes with justest care.
Mid all the four, the wise prefer
The order of the householder: [5]
[ p. 216 ]
Canst thou, whose thoughts to duty cleave,
The best of all the orders leave?
My better thou in lore divine,
My birth, my sense must yield to thine:
While thou, my lord, art here to reign,
How shall my hands the rule maintain?
O faithful lover of the right,
Take with thy friends the royal might,
Let thy sires’ realm, from trouble free,
Obey her rightful king in thee.
Here let the priests and lords of state
Our monatch duly consecrate,
With prayer and holy verses blessed
By saint Vas’ishtha and the rest.
Anointed king by us, again
Seek fair Ayodhvá there to reign,
And like imperial Indra girt
By Gods of Storm, thy might assert.
From the three debts [6] acquittance earn,
And with thy wrath the wicked burn,
O’er all of us thy rule extend,
And cheer with boons each faithful friend.
Let thine enthronement, lord, this day
Make all thy lovers glad and gay,
And let all those who hate thee flee
To the ten winds for fear of thee.
Dear lord, my mother’s words of hate
With thy sweet virtues expiate,
And from the stain of folly clear
The father whom we both revere.
Brother, to me compassion show,
I pray thee with my head bent low,
And to these friends who on thee call,—
As the Great Father pities all.
But if my tears and prayers be vain,
And thou in woods wilt still remain,
I will with thee my path pursue
And make my home in forests too.’
Thus Bharat strove to bend his will
With suppliant head, but he,
Earth’s lord, inexorable still
Would keep his sire’s decree.
The firmness of the noble chief
The wondering people moved,
And rapture mingling with their grief,
All wept and all approved.
‘How firm his steadfast will,’ they cried,
‘Who Keeps his promise thus!
Ah, to Ayodhyá’s town,’ they sighed,
‘He comes not back with us’
The holy priest, the swains who tilled
The earth, the sons of trade,
And e’en the mournful queens were filled
With joy as Bharat prayed,
And bent their heads, then weeping stilled
A while, his prayer to aid.
Thus, by his friends encompassed round,
He spoke, and Ráma, far renowned,
To his dear brother thus replied,
Whom holy rites had purified:
‘O thou whom Queen Kaikeyi bare
The best of kings, thy words are fair.
Our royal father, when of yore
He wed her, to her father swore
The best of kingdoms to confer,
A noble dowry meet for her;
Then, grateful, on the deadly day
Of heavenly Gods’ and demons’ fray,
A future boon on her bestowed
To whose sweet care his life he owed.
She to his mind that promise brought,
And then the best of kings besought
To bid me to the forest flee,
And give the rule, O Prince, to thee.
Thus bound by oath, the king our lord
Gave her those boons of free accord.
And bade me, O thou chief of men,
Live in the woods four years and ten.
I to this lonely wood have hied
With faithful Lakshman by my side,
And Si*tá by no tears deterred,
Resolved to keep my father’s word.
And thou, my noble brother, too
Shouldst keep our father’s promise true:
Anointed ruler of the state
Maintain his word inviolate.
From his great debt, dear brother, free
Our lord the king for love of me,
Thy mother’s breast with joy inspire,
And from all woe preserve thy sire.
*Tis said, near Gayá’s holy town [7]
Gayá, great *saint of high renown,
This text recited when he paid
Due rites to each ancestral shade:
‘A son is born his sire to free
From Put’s infernal pains:
Hence, saviour of his father, he
The name of Puttra gains.’ [8]
Thus numerous sons are sought by prayer,
In Scripture trained with graces fair,
[ p. 217 ]
That of the number one some day
May funeral rites at Gayá pay.
The mighty saints who lived of old
This holy doctrine ever hold.
Then, best of men, our sire release
From pains of hell, and give him peace.
Now Bharat, to Ayodhya* speed,
The brave S’atrughna with thee lead.
Take with thee all the twice-born men,
And please each lord and citizen.
I now, O King, without delay
To Dandak* wood will bend my way,
And Lakshman and the Maithil dame
Will follow still, our path the same.
Now, Bharat, lord of men be thou,
And o’er Ayodhyá reign:
The silvan world to me shall bow,
King of the wild domain.
Yea, let thy joyful steps be bent
To that fair town to-day,
And I as happy and content,
To Dandak wood will stray.
The white umbrella o’er thy brow
Its cooling shade shall throw:
I to the shadow of the bough
And leafy trees will go.
S’atrughna, for wise plans renowned,
Shall still on thee attend;
And Lakshman, ever faithful found,
Be my familiar friend.
Let us his sons, O brother dear,
The path of right pursue,
And keep the king we all revere
Still to his promise true.’
Thus Ráma soothed his brother’s grief:
Then virtuous Jáváli, chief
Of twice-born sages, thus replied
In words that virtue’s law defied:
‘Hail, Raghu’s princely son, dismiss
A thought so weak and vain as this.
Canst thou, with lofty heart endowed,
Think with the dull ignoble crowd?
For what are ties of kindred? can
One profit by a brother man?
Alone the babe first opes his eyes,
And all alone at last he dies.
The man, I ween, has little sense
Who looks with foolish reverence
On father’s or on mother’s name:
In others, none a right may claim.
E’en as a man may leave his home
And to a distant village roam,
Then from his lodging turn away
And journey on the following day,
Such brief possession mortals hold
In sire and mother, house and gold,
And never will the good and wise
The brief uncertain lodging prize.
Nor, best of men, shouldst thou disown
Thy sire’s hereditary throne,
And tread the rough and stony ground
Where hardship, danger, woes abound.
Come, let Ayodhyá rich and bright
See thee enthroned with every rite:
Her tresses bound in single braid 1
She waits thy coming long delayed.
O come, thou royal Prince, and share
The kingly joys that wait thee there,
And live in bliss transcending price
As Indra lives in Paradise.
The parted king is naught to thee,
Nor right in living man has he:
The king is one; thou, Prince of men,
Another art: be counselled then.
Thy royal sire, O chief, has sped
On the long path we all must tread.
The common lot of all is this,
And thou in vain art robbed of bliss.
For those—and only those—I weep
Who to the path of duty keep;
For here they suffer ceaseless woe,
And dying to destruction go.
With pious care, each solemn day,
Will men their funeral offerings pay:
See, how the useful food they waste:
He who is dead no more can taste.
If one is fed, his strength renewed
Whene’er his biother takes his food,
Then offerings to the parted pay;
Scarce will they serve him on his way.
By crafty knaves these rites were framed,
And to enforce men’s gifts proclaimed;
‘Give, worship, lead a life austere,
Keep lustral rites, quit pleasures here.’
There is no future life: be wise,
And do, O Prince, as I advise.
Enjoy, my lord, thy present bliss,
And things unseen from thought dismiss.
Let this advice thy bosom move,
The counsel sage which all approve;
To Bharat’s earnest prayer incline,
And take the rule so justly thine.’
By sage Jáváli thus addressed,
Ráma of truthful hearts the best,
[ p. 218 ]
With perfect skill and wisdom high
Thus to his speech made fit reply:
‘Thy words that tempt to bliss are fair.
But virtue’s garb they falsely wear.
For he from duty’s path who strays
To wander in forbidden ways,
Allured by doctrine false and vain,
Praise from the good can never gain.
Their lives the true and boaster show,
Pure and impure, and high and low.
Else were no mark to judge between
Stainless and stained and high and mean;
They to whose lot fair signs may fall
Were but as they who lack them all,
And those to virtuous thouguts inclined
Were but as men of evil mind.
If in the sacred name of right
I do this wrong in duty’s spite;
The path of virtue meanly quit,
And this polluting sin commit,
What man who marks the bounds between
Virtue and vice with insight keen,
Would rank me high in after time.
Stained with this soul destroying crime?
Whither could I, the sinner, turn,
How hope a seat in heaven to earn,
If I my plighted promise break,
And thus the righteous path forsake?
This world of ours is ever led
To walk the ways which others tread,
And as their princes they behold,
The subjects too their lives will mould.
That truth and mercy still must be
Beloved of kings, is Heaven’s decree.
Upheld by truth the monarch reigns,
And truth the very world sustains.
Truth evermore has been the love
Of holy saints and Gods above,
And he whose lips are truthful here
Wins after death the highest sphere.
As from a serpent’s deadly tooth,
We shrink from him who scorns the truth.
For holy truth is root and spring
Of justice and each holy thing,
A might that every power transcends,
Linked to high bliss that never ends.
Truth is all virtue’s surest base,
Supreme in worth and first in place.
Oblations, gifts men offer here,
Vows, sacrifice, and rites austere,
And Holy Writ, on truth depend:
So men must still that truth defend.
Truth, only truth protects the land,
By truth unharmed our houses stand;
Neglect of truth makes men distressed,
And truth in highest heaven is blessed.
Then how can I, rebellious, break
Commandments which my father spake—
I ever* true and faithful found,
And by my word of honour bound?
My father’s bridge of truth shall stand
Unharmed by my destructive hand:
Not folly, ignorance, or greed
My darkened soul shall thus mislead.
Have we not heard that God and shade
Turn from the hated offerings paid
By him whose false and fickle mind
No pledge can hold, no promise bind?
Truth is all duty: as the soul,
It quickens and supports the whole.
The good respect this duty: hence
Its sacred claims I reverence.
The Warrior’s duty I despise
That seeks the wrong in virtue’s guise:
Those claims I shrink from, which the base,
Cruel, and covetous embrace.
The heart conceives the guilty thought,
Then by the hand the sin is wrought,
And with the pair is leagued a third,
The tongue that speaks the lying word.
Fortune and land and name and fame
To man’s best care have right and claim;
The good will aye to truth adhere,
And its high laws must men revere.
Base were the deed thy lips would teach,
Approved as best by subtle speech.
Shall I my plighted promise break,
That I these woods my home would make?*
Shall I, as Bharat’s words advise,
My father’s solemn charge despise?
Firm stands the oath which then before
My father’s face I soothly swore,
Which Queen Kaikeyi’s anxious ear
Bejoiced with highest joy to hear.
Still in the wood will I remain,
With food prescribed my life sustain,
And please with fruit and roots and flowers
Ancestral shades and heavenly powers.
Here every sense contented, still
Heeding the bounds of good and ill,
My settled course will I pursue,
Firm in my faith and ever true.
Here in this wild and far retreat
Will I my noble task complete;
And Fire and Wind and *Moon shall be
Partakers of its fruit with me.
A hundred offerings duly wrought
His rank o’er Gods for Indra bought,
And mighty saints their heaven secured
By torturing years on earth endured.’
That scoffing plea the hero spurned,
And thus he spake once more,
Chiding, the while his bosom burned,
Jáváli’s impious lore:
'Justice, and courage ne’er dismayed,
Pity for all distressed,
Truth, loving honour duly paid
To Brahman, God, and guest—
In these, the true and virtuous say,
Should lives of men be passed:
They form the right and happy way
That leads to heaven at last.
[ p. 219 ]
My father’s thoughtless act I chide
That gave thee honoured place,
Whose soul, from virtue turned aside,
Is faithless, dark, and base.
We rank the Buddhist with the thief, 1
And all the impious crew
Who share his sinful disbelief,
And hate the right and true.
Hence never should wise kings who seek
To rule their people well,
Admit, before their face to speak,
The cursed infidel.
But twice-born men in days gone by,
Of other sort than thou,
Have wrought good deeds, whose glories high
Are fresh among us now:
This world they conquered, nor in vain
They strove to win the skies:
The twice-born hence pure lives maintain,
And fires of worship rise.
Those who in virtue’s path delight,
And with the virtuous live,—
Whose flames of holy zeal are bright,
Whose hands are swift to give,
Who injure none, and good and mild
In every grace excel,
Whose lives by sin are undefiled,
We love and honour well.’
Thus Rama spoke in righteous rage
*J’av’ali’s speech to chide,
When thus again the virtuous sage
In truthful words replied:
‘The atheist’s lore I use no more,
Not mine his impious creed:
His words and doctrine I abhor,
Assumed at time of need.
E’en as I rose to speak with thee,
The fit occasion came
That bade me use the atheist’s plea
To turn thee from thine aim.
The atheist creed I disavow,
Unsay the words of sin,
And use the faithful’s language now
Thy favour, Prince, to win.
Then spake Vasishtha who perceived
That Ráma’s soul was wroth and grieved:
‘ Well knows the sage J’av’ali all
The changes that the world befall;
And but to lead thee to revoke
Thy purpose were the words he spoke.
Lord of the world, now hear from me
How first this world began to be.
First water was, and naught beside;
There earth was formed that stretches wide.
Then with the Gods from out the same
The Self-existent Brahm’a came.
Then Brahm’a [10] in a boar’s disguise
Bade from the deep this earth arise;
Then, with his sons of tranquil soul,
He made the world and framed the whole,
From subtlest ether Brahm’a rose:
No end, no loss, no change he knows.
A son had he, Mar’ichi styled,
And Ka’syap was Mar’ichi’s child.
From him Vivasvat sprang: from him
Manu, whose fame shall ne’er be dim.
Manu, who life to mortals gave,
Begot Ikshv’aku good and brave:
First of Ayodhya’s kings was he,
Pride of her famous dynasty.
From him the glorious Kukshi sprang,
Whose fame through all the regions rang,
Rival of Kukshi’s ancient fame.
His heir the great Vikukshi came.
His son was V’ana, lord of might,
His Anaranya, strong in fight.
No famine marred his blissful reign,
No drought destroyed the kindly grain;
Amid the sons of virtue chief,
His happy realm ne’er held a thief,
His son was Prithn, glorious name,
From him the wise Tri’sanku came:
Embodied to the skies he went
For love of truth preeminent.
He left a son renowned afar,
Known by the name of Dhundhum’ar,
His son succeeding bore the name
Of Yuvan’as’va dear to fame.
He passed away. Him followed then
His son M’andh’at’a, king of men.
His son was blest in high emprise,
Susandhi, fortunate and wise.
Two noble sons had he, to wit
Dhruvasandhi and Prasenajit,
Bharat was Dhruvasandhi’s son:
His glorious arm the conquest won,
Against his son King Asit, rose
In fierce array his royal foes,
Haihayas, T’alajanghas styled,
And S’as’ivindhus fierce and wild.
[ p. 220 ]
Long time he strove, but forced to yield
Fled from his kingdom and the field.
The wives he left had both conceived—
So is the ancient tale believed:—
One, of her rival’s hopes afraid,
Fell poison in the viands laid.
It chanced that Chyavan, Bhrigu’s child,
Had wandered to the pathless wild
Where proud Hima’laya’s lovely height
Detained him with a strange delight.
Then came the other widowed queen
With lotus eyes and beauteous mien,
Longing a noble son to bear,
And wooed the saint with earnest prayer.
When thus Kal’indi’, fairest dame
With reverent supplication came,
To her the holy sage replied:
‘O royal lady, from thy side
A glorious son shall spring ere long,
Righteous and true and brave and strong;
He, scourge of foes and lofty-souled,
His ancient race shall still uphold.’
Then round the sage the lady went,
And bade farewell, most reverent.
Back to her home she turned once more,
And there her promised son she bore.
Because her rival mixed the bane
To render her conception vain,
And her unripened fruit destroy,
Sagar she called her rescued boy. [11]
He, when he paid that solemn rite, [12]
Filled living creatures with affright:
Obedient to his high decree
His countless sons dug out the sea.
Prince Asamanj was Sagar’s child:
But him with cruel sin defiled
And loaded with the people’s hate
His father banished from the state.
To Asamanj his consort bare
Bright Ans’uma’n his valiant heir.
Ans’uma’n’s son, Dili’pa famed,
Begot a son Bhagi’rath named.
From him renowned Kakutstha came:
Thou bearest still the lineal name,
Kakutstha’s son was Raghu: thou
Art styled the son of Raghu now,
From him came Purusha’dak bold,
Fierce hero of gigantic mould:
Kalma’shapa’da s name he bore,
Because his feet were spotted o’er.
Sankhan his son, to manhood grown,
Died sadly with his host o’erthrown,
But ere he perished sprang from him
Sudars’an fair in face and limb.
From beautiful Sudarsa’n came
Prince Agnivarna, bright as flame.
His son was S’ighragn, for speed
Unmatched; and Maru was his seed.
Prasusruka was Maru’s child:
His son was Ambari’sha styled.
Nahush was Ambari’sha’s heir
With hand to strike and heart to dare.
His son was good Na’bha’g, from youth
Renowned for piety and truth.
From great Na’bha’g sprang children two
Aja and Suvrat pure and true.
From Aja Das’aratha came,
Whose virtuous life was free from blame
His eldest son art thou: his throne,
O famous Kama, is thine own.
Accept the sway so justly thine.
And view the world with eyes benign.
For ever in Iksava’ku’s race
The eldest takes his father’s place,
And while he lives no son beside
As lord and king is sanctified.
The rule by Raghu’s children kept
Thou must not spurn to-day.
This realm of peerless wealth accept,
And like thy father sway.’
212:1 ‘The order of the procession on these occasions is that the children precede according to age, then the women and after that the men according to age, the youngest first and the eldest last: when they descend into the water this is reversed and resumed when they come out of it.’
CAREY AND MAKSHMAN. ↩︎
213:1 Vrihaspati, the preceptor of the Gods. ↩︎
214:1 Garud, the king of birds. ↩︎
214:1b To be won by virtue. ↩︎
215:1 The four religious orders, referable to different times of life are, that of the student, that of the householder, that of the anchourite, and that of the mendicant. ↩︎
216:1 To Gods, Men, and Manes. ↩︎
216:1b Gayá is a very holy city in Behar. Every good Hindu ought once in his life to make funeral offerings in Gayá in honour of his ancestors. ↩︎
216:2b Put is the name of that region of hell to which men are doomed who leave no son to perform the funeral rites which are necessary to ensure the happiness of the departed. Putra, the common word for a son is said by the highest authority to be derived from Put and tra deliverer. ↩︎
219:2 This genealogy is a repetition with slight variation of that given in Book I. Canto LXX. ↩︎
219:1b In Gorresio’s recension identified with Vishnu. See Muir’s Sanskrit Texts, Vol.IV pp 29, 30. ↩︎
220:1 From sa with, and aara poison. ↩︎
220:2 See Book I. Canto XL. ↩︎