Thus said Vas’ishtha, and again.
To Ráma spake in duteous strain:
‘ All men the light of life who see
With high respect should look on three:
High honour ne’er must be denied
To father, mother, holy guide.
First to their sires their birth they owe,
Nursed with maternal love they grow:
Their holy guides fair knowledge teach:
So men should love and honour each.
Thy sire and thou have learned of me,
The sacred guide of him and thee,
And if my word thou wilt obey
Thou still* wilt keep the virtuous way.
See, with the chiefs of every guild
And all thy friends, this place is filled:
All these, as duty bids, protect;
So still the righteous path respect.
O, for thine aged mother feel,
Nor spurn the virtuous dame’s appeal:
Obey, O Prince, thy mother dear,
And still to virtue’s path adhere.
Yield thou to Bharat’s fond request,
With earnest supplication pressed,
So wilt thou to thyself be true,
And faith and duty still pursue.’
Thus by his saintly guide addressed
With pleas in sweetest tones expressed.
The lord of men in turn replied
To wise Vas’ishtha by his side:
‘The fondest son’s observance ne’er
Repays the sire and mother’s care:
[ p. 221 ]
The constant love that food provides.
And dress, and every need besides:
Their pleasant words still soft and mild,
Their nurture of the helpless child:
The words which Das’aratha spake,
My king and sire, I ne’er will break.’
Then Bharat of the ample chest
The wise Sumantra thus addressed;
‘Bring sacred grass, O charioteer,
And strew it on the level here.
For I will sit and watch his face
Until I win my brother’s grace.
Like a robbed Bráhman will I lie, [1]
Nor taste of food nor turn my eye,
In front of Ráma’s leafy cot,
And till he yield will leave him not.’
When Bharat saw Sumantra’s eye
Looked up to Ráma for reply,
The Prince himself in eager haste
The sacred grass in order placed.
Him great and mighty Ráma, best
Of royal saints, in turn addressed:
‘What, Bharat, have I done, that thou
Besiegest me, [2] a suppliant now?
Thus streched, to force redress for wrongs
To men of Bráhman birth belongs,
Not those upon whose kingly head
The consecrating drops are shed.
Up, lord of men! arise, and quit
This fearful vow for thee unfit.
Go, brother, seek Ayodhyá’s town,
Fair city ot supreme renown.’
But Bharat, as his seat he took.
Cast all around an eager look:
‘O people, join your prayers with mine,
And so his stubborn heart incline.’
And all the people answered thus:
‘Full well is Ráma known to us.
Right is the word he speaks and he
Is faithful to his sire’s decree:
Nor can we rushly venture now
To turn him from his purposed vow.’
Then Ráma spoke: 'O Bharat, heed
Thy virtuous friends, and mark their rede.
Mark well what I and these advise,
And duty view with clearer eyes.
Thy hand on mine, O hero, place,
Touch water, and thy sin efface.’
Then Bharat rose: his hand he dipped,
And purifying water sipped:
‘Each citizen,’ he cried, 'give ear,
Attend, each counsellor and peer.
My mother planned, by me untaught,
To win the sway I never sought:
Ne’er Raghu’s son could I despise,
In duty’s lore supremely wise.
Now if obedience to our sire
This dwelling in the woods require,
I, till the destined years he spent,
Will dwell alone in banishment.’
The virtuous Ráma, wonder-stirred.
The faithful speech of Bharat heard,
And thus the hero’s feelings found
Due utterance, as he gazed around:
‘Still to my father’s word I hold,
Whate’er he bought, or pledged, or sold:
Ne’er shall his living promise be
Annulled by Bharat or by me.
Not thus my task will I evade,
My exile on another laid:
Most wise was Queen Kaikeyí’s rede,
And just and good my father’s deed.
Dear Bharat’s patient soul I know,
How reverence due he loves to show;
In him, high-souled and faithful found,
Must each auspicious grace abound.
When from the woods I turn again
I with his aid shall nobly reign,
With one so good, of peerless worth,
A glorious lord of happy earth.
Her boon Kaikeyí sought and won.
I, as my father swore, have done:
And O, do thou, my brother dear,
The monarch’s name from falsehood clear.
High wonder mingled with delight
Took the great sages at the sight.
Thrilling their breasts who came to view
The meeting of the peerless two.
The saints and sages’ holy train
Departed to their home again.
And high each holy voice was raised,
And thus the glorious brothers praised.
‘High fate is his, the sire of two
Most virtuous sous, so brave and true:
With wonder and with joy intense
Our ears have heard their conference.
Then the great sages, longing all
To see the ten-necked tyrant [3] fall,
To Bharat, bravest of the brave,
Their salutary counsel gave:
‘O thou of lofty lineage born,
Whom wisdom, conduct, fame adorn,
Thou for thy honoured father’s sake
Shouldst Ráma’s righteous counsel take.
[ p. 222 ]
All debts to Queen Kaikeyí paid,
Thy sire his home in heaven has made,
So virtuous Ráma we would see
From filial obligation free.’
Thus gave each royal sage advice,
High saint, and bard of Paradise;
Then quickly vanishing from view
Each to his proper home withdrew.
Then Ráma’s face his rapture showed,
And his full heart with joy o’erflowed,
While, as the sages parted thence,
He paid his humble reverence.
Then Bharat shook in every limb
As suppliant thus he spake to him:
‘The duty of a king respect,
Held by our race in high respect:
And O, thy gracious ear incline
To heed my mother’s prayer and mine.
The mighty realm to rule and guard
For me alone is task too hard.
No power have I the love to gain
Of noble, citizen, and swain.
All those who know thee, warrior, friend,
On thee their eager glances bend,
As labouring hinds who till the plain
Look fondly for the Lord of Rain.
O wisest Prince, thy realm secure,
And make its firm foundations sure.
Kakutstha’s son, thy mighty arm
Can keep the nation free from harm.’
He spoke, and fell in sorrow drowned
At Ráma’s feet upon the ground,
And there the hero sued and sighed,
And ‘Hear me, Raghu’s son,’ he cried.
Then Ráma raised him up, and pressed
His brother to his loving breast,
And sweetly as a wild swan cried
To Bharat dark and lotus-eyed:
‘So just and true thy generous soul,
Thy hand may well this earth control:
But many a sage his aid will lend.
With counsellor, and peer, and friend:
With these advise: their counsel ask,
And so perform thy arduous task.
The moon his beauty may forgo,
The cold forsake the Hills of Snow,
And Ocean o’er his banks may sweep,
But I my father’s word will keep.
Now whether love of thee or greed
Thy mother led to plan the deed,
Forth from thy breast the memory throw,
And filial love and reverence show.’
Thus spake Kaus’alyá’s son: again
Bharat replied in humble strain
To him who matched the sun in might
And lovely as the young moon’s light:
‘Put, noble brother, I entreat,
These sandals on thy blessed feet:
These, lord of men, with gold bedecked,
The realm and people will protect.’
Then Ráma, as his brother prayed
Beneath his feet the sandals laid,
And these with fond affection gave
To Bharat’s hand, the good and brave.
Then Bharat bowed his reverent head
And thus again to Ráma said:
‘Through fourteen seasons will I wear
The hermit’s dress and matted hair:
With fruit and roots my life sustain,
And still beyond the realm remain,
Longing for thee to come again.
The rule and all affairs of state
I to these shoes will delegate.
And if, O tamer of thy foes,
When fourteen years have reached their close,
I see thee not that day return,
The kindled fire my frame shall burn.
Then Ráma to his bosom drew
Dear Bharat and S’atrughna too:
‘Be never wroth,’ he cried, 'with her,
Kaikeyí’s guardian minister:
This, glory of Ikshváku’s line,
Is Sítá’s earnest prayer and mine.’
He spoke, and as the big tears fell,
To his dear brother bade farewell.
Round Ráma, Bharat strong and bold
In humble reverence paced,
When the bright sandals wrought with gold
Above his brows were placed.
The royal elephant who led
The glorious pomp he found,
And on the monster’s mighty head
Those sandals duly bound.
Then noble Rama, born to swell
The glories of his race,
To all in order bade farewell
With love and tender grace—
To brothers, counsellers, and peers,—
Still firm, in duty proved,
Firm, as the Lord of Snow uprears
His mountains unremoved.
No queen, for choking sobs and sighs,
Could say her last adieu:
Then Ráma bowed, with flooded eyes,
And to his cot withdrew.
Bearing the sandals on his head
Away triumphant Bharat sped,
And clomb, S’atrughna by his side,
The car wherein he wont to ride.
Before the mighty army went
The lords for counsel eminent,
Vas’ishtha, Vámadeva next,
Jáváli, pure with prayer and text.
[ p. 223 ]
Then from that lovely river they
Turned eastward on their homeward way:
With reverent steps from left to right
They circled Chitrakúta’s height,
And viewed his peaks on every side
With stains of thousand metals dyed.
Then Bharat saw, not far away,
Where Bharadwája’s dwelling lay,
And when the chieftain bold and sage
Had reached that holy hermitage,
Down from the car he sprang to greet
The saint, and bowed before his feet.
High rapture filled the hermit’s breast,
Who thus the royal prince addressed:
‘Say, Bharat, is thy duty done?
Hast thou with Ráma met, my son?’
The chief whose soul to virtue clave
This answer to the hermit gave:
‘I prayed him with our holy guide:
But Raghu’s son our prayer denied,
And long besought by both of us
He answered Saint Vas’ishtha thus:
‘True to my vow, I still will be
Observant of my sire’s decree:
Till fourteen years complete their course
That promise shall remain in force.’
The saint in highest wisdom caught,
These solemn words with wisdom fraught,
To him in lore of language learned
Most eloquent himself returned:
‘Obey my rede: let Bharat hold
This pair of sandals decked with gold:
They in Ayodhyá shall ensure
Our welfare, and our bliss secure.’
When Ráma heard the royal priest
He rose, and looking to the east
Consigned the sandals to my hand
That they for him might guard the land.
Then from the high-souled chief’s abode
I turned upon my homeward road,
Dismissed by him, and now this pair
Of sandals to Ayodhyá bear.’
To him the hermit thus replied,
Bv Bharat’s tidings gratified:
‘No marvel thoughts so just and true,
Thou best of all who right pursue,
Should dwell in thee, O Prince of men,
As waters gather in the glen.
He is not dead,we mourn in vain:
Thy blessed father lives again,
Whose noble son we thus behold
Like Virtue’s self in human mould.’
He ceased: before him Bharat fell
To clasp his feet, and said farewell:
His reverent steps around him bent,
And onward to Ayodhyá went.
His host of followers stretching far
With many an elephant and car,
Waggon and steed, and mighty train,
Traversed their homeward way again.
O’er holy Yamuná they sped,
Fair stream, with waves engarlanded,
And then once more the rivers’ queen,
The blessed Gangá’s self was seen.
Then making o’er that flood his way,
Where crocodiles and monsters lay,
The king to S’ringavera drew
His host and royal retinue.
His onward way he thence pursued,
And soon renowned Ayodhyá viewed.
Then burnt by woe and sad of cheer
Bharat addressed the charioteer:
‘Ah, see, Ayodhyá dark and sad,
Her glory gone, once bright and glad:
Of joy and beauty reft, forlorn,
In silent grief she seems to mourn.’
Deep, pleasant was the chariot’s sound
As royal Bharat, far renowned,
Whirled by his mettled coursers fast
Within Ayodhyá’s city passed.
There dark and drear was every home
Where cats and owls had space to roam,
As when the shades of midnight fall
With blackest gloom, and cover all:
As Rohiní, dear spouse of him
Whom Rahu [4] hates, grows faint and dim,
When, as she shines on high alone
The demon’s shade is o’er her thrown:
As burnt by summer’s heat a rill
Scarce trickling from her parent hill,
With dying fish in pools half dried,
And fainting birds upon her side:
As sacrificial flames arise
When holy oil their food supplies,
But when no more the fire is fed
Sink lustreless and cold and dead:
Like some brave host that filled the plain,
With harness rent and captains slain,
When warrior, elephant, and steed
Mingled in wild confusion bleed:
As when, all spent her store of worth,
Rocks from her base the loosened earth:
Like a sad fallen star no more
Wearing the lovely light it wore:
So mournful in her lost estate
Was that sad town disconsolate.
Then car-borne Bharat, good and brave,
Thus spake to him the steeds who drave:
‘Why are Ayodhyá’s streets so mute!
Where is the voice of lyre and lute?
Why sounds not, as of old, to-day
The music of the minstrel’s lay?
[ p. 224 ]
Where are the wreaths they used to twine?
Where are the blossoms and the wine?
Where is the cool refreshing scent
Of sandal dust with aloe blent?
The elephant’s impatient roar,
The din of cars, I hear no more:
No more the horse’s pleasant neigh
Rings out to meet me on my way.
Ayodhyá’s youths, since Ráma’s flight,
Have lost their relish for delight:
Her men roam forth no more, nor care
Bright garlands round their necks to wear.
All grieve for banished Ráma: feast,
And revelry and song have ceased:
Like a black night when floods pour down,
So dark and gloomy is the town.
When will he come to make them gay
Like some auspicious holiday?
When will my brother, like a cloud
At summer’s close, make glad the crowd?’
Then through the streets the hero rode,
And passed within his sire’s abode,
Like some deserted lion’s den,
Forsaken by the lord of men.
Then to the inner bowers he came,
Once happy home of many a dame,
Now gloomy, sad, and drear,
Dark as of old that sunless day
When wept the Gods in wild dismay; 1
There poured he many a tear.
Then when the pious chief had seen
Lodged in her home each widowed queen,
Still with his burning grief oppressed
His holy guides he thus addressed:
‘I go to Nandigrám: adieu,
This day, my lords to all of you:
I go, my load of grief to bear,
Reft of the son of Raghu, there.
The king my sire, alas, is dead.
And Ráma to the forest fled;
There will I wait till he, restored,
Shall rule the realm, its lightful lord.’
They heard the high-souled prince’s speech,
And thus with ready answer each
Of those great lords their chief addressed.
With saint Vas’ishtha and the rest:
‘Good are the words which thou hast said,
By brotherly affection led,
Like thine own self, a faithful friend,
True to thy brother to the end:
A heart like thine must all approve,
Which naught from virtue’s path can move,’
Soon as the words he loved to hear
Fell upon Bharat’s joyful ear,
Thus to the charioteer he spoke:
‘My car witn speed, Sumantra, yoke.’
Tnen Bharat with delighted mien
Obeisance paid to every queen,
And with S’atrughna by his side
Mounting the car away he hied.
With lords, and priests in long array
Tne brothers hastened on their way.
And the great pomp the Bráhmans led
With Saint Vas’ishtha at their head.
Then every face was eastward bent
As on to Nundigrám they went.
Behind the army followed, all
Unsummoned by their leader’s call,
And steeds and elephants and men
Streamed forth with every citizen.
As Bharat in his chariot rode
His heart with love fraternal glowed,
And with the sandals on his head
To Nundigrám he quickly sped.
Within the town he swiftly pressed,
Alighted, and his guides addressed:
‘To me in trust my brother’s hand
Consigned the lordship of the land,
When he these gold-wrought sandals gave
As emblems to protect and save.’
Then Bharat bowed, and from his head
The sacred pledge deposited,
And thus to all the people cried
Who ringed him round on every side:
‘Haste, for these sandals quickly bring
The canopy that shades the king.
Pay ye to them all reverence meet
As to my elder brother’s feet,
For they will right and law maintain
Until King Ráma come again.
My brother with a loving mind
These sandals to my charge consigned:
I till he come will guard with care
The sacred trust for Raghu’s heir.
My watchful task will soon be done,
The pledge restored to Raghu’s son;
Then shall I see, his wanderings o’er,
These sandals on his feet once more.
My brother I shall meet at last,
The burthen from my shoulders cast,
To Ráma’s hand the realm restore
And serve my elder as before.
When Rama takes again this pair
Of sandals kept with pious care,
And here his glorious reign begins,
I shall be cleansed from all my sins,
[ p. 225 ]
When the glad people’s voices ring
With welcome to the new-made king,
Joy will be mine four-fold as great
As if supreme I ruled the state.’
Thus humbly spoke in sad lament
The chief in fame preëminent:
Thus, by his reverent lords obeyed,
At Nandigrám the kingdom swayed.
With hermit’s dress and matted hair
He dwelt with all his army there.
The sandals of his brother’s feet
Installed upon the royal seat,
He, all his powers to them referred,
Affairs of state administered.
In every care, in every task,
When golden store was brought,
He first, as though their rede to ask,
Those royal sandals sought.
When Bharat took his homeward road
Still Ráma in the wood abode:
But soon he marked the fear and care
That darkened all the hermits there.
For all who dwelt before the hill
Were sad with dread of coming ill:
Each holy brow was lined by thought,
And Ráma’s side they often sought.
With gathering frowns the prince they eyed,
And then withdrew and talked aside.
Then Raghu’s son with anxious breast
The leader of the saints addressed:
‘Can aught that I have done displease,
O reverend Sage, the devotees?
Why are their loving looks, O say,
Thus sadly changed or turned away?
Has Lakshman through his want of heed
Offended with unseemly deed!
Or is the gentle Sítá, she
Who loved to honour you and me—
Is she the cause of this offence,
Failing in lowly reverence?’
One sage, o’er whom, exceeding old,
Had many a year of penance rolled,
Trembling in every aged limb
Thus for the rest replied to him:
‘How could we, O beloved, blame
Thy lofty-souled Videhan dame,
Who in the good of all delights,
And more than all of anchorites?
But yet through thee a numbing dread
Of fiends among our band has spread;
Obstructed by the demons’ art
The trembling hermits talk apart.
For Rávan’s brother, overbold,
Named Khara, of gigantic mould,
Vexes with fury fierce and fell
All those in Janasthán [6] who dwell.
Resistless in his cruel deeds,
On flesh of men the monster feeds:
Sinful and arrogant is he,
And looks with special hate on thee.
Since thou, beloved son, hast made
Thy home within this holy shade,
The fiends have vexed with wilder rage
The dwellers of the hermitage.
In many a wild and dreadful form
Around the trembling saints they swarm,
With hideous shape and foul disguise
They terrify our holy eyes.
They make our loathing souls endure
Insult and scorn and sights impure,
And flocking round the altars stay
The holy rites we love to pay.
In every spot throughout the grove
With evil thoughts the monsters rove,
Assailing with their secret might
Each unsuspecting anchorite.
Ladle and dish away they fling,
Our fires with floods extinguishing,
And when the sacred flame should burn
They trample on each water-urn.
Now when they see their sacred wood
Plagued by this impious brotherhood,
The troubled saints away would roam
And seek in other shades a home:
Hence will we fly, O Ráma, ere
The cruel fiends our bodies tear.
Not far away a forest lies
Rich in the roots and fruit we prize,
To this will I and all repair
And join the holy hermits there;
Be wise, and with us thither flee
Before this Khara injure thee.
Mighty art thou, O Ráma, yet
Each day with peril is beset.
If with thy consort by thy side
Thou in this wood wilt still abide.’
He ceased: the words the hero spake
The hermit’s purpose failed to break:
To Raghu’s son farewell he said,
And blessed the chief and comforted;
Then with the rest the holy sage
Departed from the hermitage.
So from the wood the saints withdrew,
And Ráma bidding all adieu
In lowly reverence bent:
Instructed by their friendly speech,
Blest with the gracious love of each,
To his pure home he went.
Nor would the son of Raghu stray
A moment from that grove away
From which the saints had fled.
And many a hermit thither came
Attracted by his saintly fame
And the pure life he led.
[ p. 226 ]
But dwelling in that lonely spot
Left by the hermits pleased him not.
‘I met the faithful Bharat here,
The townsmen, and my mother dear:
The painful memory lingers yet,
And stings me with a vain regret.
And here the host of Bharat camped,
And many a courser here has stamped,
And elephants with ponderous feet
Have trampled through the calm retreat.’
So forth to seek a home he hied,
His spouse and Lakshman by his side.
He came to Atri’s pure retreat.
Paid reverence to his holy feet,
And from the saint such welcome won
As a fond father gives his son.
The noble prince with joy unfeigned
As a dear guest he entertained,
And cheered the glorious Lakshman too
And Sítá with observance due.
Then Anasúyá at the call
Of him who sought the good of all,
His blameless venerable spouse,
Delighting in her holy vows,
Came from her chamber to his side:
To her the virtuous hermit cried:
‘Receive, I pray, with friendly grace
This dame of Maithil monarchs’ race:
To Ráma next made known his wife,
The devotee of saintliest life:
‘Ten thousand years this votaress bent
On sternest rites of penance spent;
She when the clouds withheld their rain,
And drought ten years consumed the plain,
Caused grateful roots and fruit to grow
And ordered Gangá here to flow:
So from their cares the saints she freed,
Nor let these checks their rites impede,
She wrought in Heaven’s behalf, and made
Ten nights of one, the Gods to aid: [7]
Let holy Anasúyá be
An honoured mother, Prince, to thee.
Let thy Videhan spouse draw near
To her whom all that live revere,
Stricken in years, whose loving mind
Is slow to wrath and ever kind.’
He ceased: and Ráma gave assent,
And said, with eyes on Sítá bent:
‘O Princess, thou hast heard with me
This counsel of the devotee:
Now that her touch thy soul may bless,
Approach the saintly votaress:
Come to the venerable dame,
Far known by Anasúyá’s name:
The mighty things that she has done
High glory in the world have won.’
Thus spoke the son of Raghu: she
Approached the saintly devotee,
Who with her white locks, old and frail,
Shook like a plantain in the gale.
To that true spouse she bowed her head,
And ‘Lady, I am Sítá,’ said:
Raised suppliant hands and prayed her tell
That all was prosperous and well.
The aged matron, when she saw
Fair Sítá true to duty’s law,
Addressed her thus: ’ High fate is thine
Whose thoughts to virtue still incline.
Thou, lady of the noble mind,
Hast kin and state and wealth resigned
To follow Ráma forced to tread
Where solitary woods are spread.
Those women gain high spheres above
Who still unchanged their husbands love,
Whether they dwell in town or wood,
Whether their hearts be ill or good.
Though wicked, poor, or led away
In love’s forbidden paths to stray,
The noble matron still will deem
Her lord a deity supreme.
Regarding kin and friendship, I
Can see no better, holier tie,
And every penance-rite is dim
Beside the joy of serving him.
But dark is this to her whose mind
Promptings of idle fancy blind,
Who led by evil thoughts away
Makes him who should command obey.
Such women, O dear Maithil dame,
Their virtue lose and honest fame,
Enslaved by sin and folly, led
In these unholy paths to tread.
But they who good and true like thee
The present and the future see,
Like men by holy deeds will rise
To mansions in the blissful skies.
So keep thee pure from taint of sin,
Still to thy lord be true,
And fame and merit shalt thou win,
To thy devotion due.’
Thus by the holy dame addressed
Who banished envy from her breast,
Her lowly reverence Sítá paid,
And softly thus her answer made:
‘No marvel, best of dames, thy speech
The duties of a wife should teach;
[ p. 227 ]
Yet I, O lady, also know
Due reverence to my lord to show.
Were he the meanest of the base,
Unhonoured with a single grace,
My husband still I ne’er would leave,
But firm through all to him would cleave:
Still rather to a lord like mine
Whose virtues high-exalted shine,
Compassionate, of lofty soul,
Vith every sense in due control,
True in his love, of righteous mind,
Like a dear sire and mother kind.
E’en as he ever loves to treat
Kaus’alyá with observance meet,
Has his behaviour ever been
To every other honoured queen.
Nay, more, a sonlike reverence shows
The noble Ráma e’en to those
On whom the king his father set
His eyes one moment, to forget.
Deep in my heart the words are stored,
Said by the mother of my lord,
When from my home I turned away
In the lone fearful woods to stray.
The counsel of my mother deep
Impressed upon my soul I keep,
When by the fire I took my stand,
And Ráma clasped in his my hand.
And in my bosom cherished yet,
My friends’ advice I ne’er forget:
Woman her holiest offering pays
When she her husband’s will obeys.
Good Sávitrí her lord obeyed,
And a high saint in heaven was made,
And for the self-same virtue thou
Hast heaven in thy possession now.
And she with whom no dame could vie,
Now a bright Goddess in the sky,
Sweet Rohiní the Moon’s dear Queen,
Without her lord is never seen:
And many a faithful wife beside
For her pure love is glorified.’
Thus Sítá spake: soft rapture stole
Through Anasúyá’s saintly soul:
Kisses on Sítá’s head she pressed,
And thus the Maithil dame addressed:
‘I by long rites and toils endured
Rich store of merit have secured:
From this my wealth will I bestow
A blessing ere I let thee go.
So right and wise and true each word
That from thy lips mine ears have heard,
I love thee: be my pleasing task
To grant the boon that thou shalt ask.’
Then Sítá marvelled much, and while
Played o’er her lips a gentle smile,
‘All has been done, O Saint, she cried,
And naught remains to wish beside.
She spake; the lady’s meek reply
Swelled Anasúyá’s rapture high.
‘Sítá,’ she said,’ my gift to-day
Thy sweet contentment shall repay.
Accept this precious robe to wear,
Of heavenly fabric, rich and rare,
These gems thy limbs to ornament,
This precious balsam sweet of scent.
O Maithil dame, this gift of mine
Shall make thy limbs with beauty shine,
And breathing o’er thy frame dispense
Its pure and lasting influence.
This balsam on thy fair limbs spread
New radiance on thy lord shall shed,
As Lakshmí’s beauty lends a grace
To Vishnu’s own celestial face.’
Then Sítá took the gift the dame
Bestowed on her in friendship’s name,
The balsam, gems, and robe divine,
And garlands wreathed of bloomy twine;
Then sat her down, with reverence meet,
At saintly Anasúyá’s feet.
The matron rich in rites and vows
Turned her to Ráma’s Maithil spouse,
And questioned thus in turn to hear
A pleasant tale to charm her ear:
‘Sítá, 'tis said that Raghu’s son
Thy hand, mid gathered suitors, won.
I fain would hear thee, lady, tell
The story as it all befell:
Do thou repeat each thing that passed,
Reviewing all from first to last.’
Thus spake the dame to Sítá: she
Replying to the devotee,
‘Then, lady, thy attention lend,’
Rehearsed the story to the end:
King Janak, just and brave and strong.
Who loves the right and hates the wrong.
Well skilled in what the law ordains
For Warriors, o’er Videha reigns.
Guiding one morn the plough, his hand
Marked out, for rites the sacred land,
When, as the ploughshare cleft the earth,
Child of the king I leapt to birth.
Then as the ground he smoothed and cleared,
He saw me all with dust besmeared,
And on the new-found babe, amazed
The ruler of Videha gazed.
In childless love the monarch pressed
The welcome infant to his breast:
‘My daughter,’ thus he cried, ‘is she:’
And as his child he cared for me.
Forth from the sky was heard o’erhead
As 'twere a human voice that said:
‘Yea, even so: great King, this child
Henceforth thine own be justly styled.’
Videha’s monarch, virtuous souled,
Rejoiced o’er me with joy untold,
Delighting in his new-won prize,
The darling of his heart and eyes.
To his chief queen of saintly mind
The precious treasure he consigned,
And by her side she saw me grow,
Nursed with the love which mothers know.’
[ p. 228 ]
Then as he saw the seasons fly,
And knew my marriage-time was nigh,
My sire was vexed with care, as sad
As one who mourns the wealth he had:
‘Scorn on the maiden’s sire must wait
From men of high and low estate:
The virgin’s father all despise,
Though Indra’s peer, who rules the skies.’
More near he saw, and still more near,
The scorn that filled his soul with fear,
On trouble’s billowy ocean tossed,
Like one whose shattered bark is lost.
My father knowing how I came,
No daughter of a mortal dame.
In all the regions failed to see
A bridegroom meet to match with me.
Each way with anxious thought he scanned,
And thus at length the monarch planned:
‘The Bride’s Election will I hold,
With every rite prescribed of old.’
It pleased King Varun to bestow
Quiver and shafts and heavenly bow
Upon my father’s sire who reigned,
When Daksha his great rite ordained.
Where was the man might bend or lift
With utmost toil that wondrous gift?
Not e’en in dreams could mortal king
Strain the great bow or draw the string.
Of this tremendous bow possessed,
My truthful father thus addressed
The lords of many a region, all
Assembled at the monarch’s call:
‘Whoe’er this bow can manage, he
The husband of my child shall be.’
The suitors viewed with hopeless eyes
That wondrous bow of mountain size,
Then to my sire they bade adieu,
And all with humbled hearts withdrew.
At length with Vis’vámitra came
This son of Raghu, dear to fame,
The royal sacrifice to view.
Near to my father’s home he drew,
His brother Lakshman by his side,
Ráma, in deeds heroic tried.
My sire with honour entertained
The saint in lore of duty trained,
Who thus in turn addressed the king:
‘Ráma and Lakshman here who spring
From royal Das’aratha, long
To see thy bow so passing strong.’
Before the prince’s eyes was laid
That marvel, as the Bráhman prayed.
One moment on the bow he gazed,
Quick to the notch the string he raised,
Then, in the wandering people’s view,
The cord with mighty force he drew.
Then with an awful crash as loud
As thunderbolts that cleave the cloud,
The bow beneath the matchless strain
Of arms heroic snapped in twain.
Thus, giving purest water, he,
My sire, to Ráma offered me.
The prince the offered gift declined
Till he should learn his father’s mind;
So horsemen swift Ayodhyá sought
And back her aged monarch brought.
Me then my sire to Ráma gave,
Self-ruled, the bravest of the brave.
And Urmilá, the next to me,
Graced with all gifts, most fair to see,
My sire with Raghu’s house allied.
And gave her to be Lakshman’s bride.
Thus from the princes of the land
Lord Ráma won my maiden hand,
And him exalted high above
Heroic chiefs I truly love.
* * * * *’
When Anasúyá, virtuous-souled,
Had heard the tale by Sítá told,
She kissed the lady’s brow and laced
Her loving arms around her waist.
‘With sweet-toned words distinct and clear
Thy pleasant tale has charmed mine ear,
How the great king thy father held
That Maiden’s Choice unparalleled.
But now the sun has sunk from sight,
And left the world to holy Night.
Hark! how the leafy thickets sound
With gathering birds that twitter round:
They sought their food by day, and all
Flock homeward when the shadows fall.
See, hither comes the hermit band,
Each with his pitcher in his hand:
Fresh from the bath, their locks are wet,
Their coats of bark are dripping yet.
Here saints their fires of worship tend,
And curling wreaths of smoke ascend:
Borne on the flames they mount above,
Dark as the brown wings of the dove.
The distant trees, though well-nigh bare,
Gloom thickenend by the evening air,
And in the faint uncertain light
Shut the horizon from our sight.
The beasts that prowl in darkness rove
On every side about the grove,
And the tame deer, at ease reclined
Their shelter near the altars find.
The night o’er all the sky is spread,
With lunar stars engarlanded,
And risen in his robes of light
The moon is beautifully bright,
Now to thy lord I bid thee go:
Thy pleasant tale has charmed me so:
One thing alone I needs must pray,
Before me first thyself array:
Here in thy heavenly raiment shine,
And glad, dear love, these eyes of mine.’
[ p. 229 ]
Then like a heavenly Goddess shone
Fair Sítá with that raiment on.
She bowed her to the matron’s feet,
Then turned away her lord to meet.
The hero prince with joy surveyed
His Sítá, in her robes arrayed,
As glorious to his arms she came
With love-gifts of the saintly dame.
She told him how the saint to show
Her fond affection would bestow
That garland of celestial twine,
Those ornaments and robes divine.
Then Ráma’s heart, nor Lakshman’s less,
Was filled with pride and happiness,
For honours high had Sítá gained,
Which mortal dames have scarce obtained.
There honoured by each pious sage
Who dwelt within the hermitage,
Beside his darling well content
That sacred night the hero spent.
The princes, when the night had fled,
Farewell to all the hermits said,
Who gazed upon the distant shade,
Their lustral rites and offerings paid.
The saints who made their dwelling there
In words like these addressed the pair:
‘O Princes, monsters fierce and fell
Around that distant forest dwell:
On blood from human veins they feed,
And various forms assume at need,
With savage beasts of fearful power
That human flesh and blood devour.
Our holy saints they rend and tear
When met alone or unaware,
And eat them in their cruel joy:
These chase, O Ráma, or destroy.
By this one path our hermits go
To fetch the fruits that yonder grow:
By this, O Prince, thy feet should stray
Through pathless forests far away.’
Thus by the reverent saints addressed,
And by their prayers auspicious blessed,
He left the holy crowd:
His wife and brother by his side,
Within the mighty wood he hied.
So sinks the Day-God in his pride
Beneath a bank of cloud.
221:1 A practice which has frequently been described, under the name of dherna, by European travellers in India. ↩︎
221:2 Compare Milton’s ‘beseeching or beseiging.’ ↩︎
221:1b Ten-headed, ten-necked, ten faced, are common epithets of Rávan the great king of Lanká. ↩︎
223:1 The spouse of Rohini is the Moon: Rahu is the demon who causes eclipses. ↩︎
224:2 Now Nundgaon, in Oudh. ↩︎
225:1 A part of the great Dandak forest. ↩︎
226:1 When the saint Mándavya had doomed some saint’s wife, who was Anasúyá’s friend, to become a widow on the morrow. ↩︎