When Lakshman, 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 Sita 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.’
Thus Lakshman spake, with earnest prayer
His brother’s woodland life to share.
As Rama 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 Lakshman as he sued,
And on the eyes of Ráma gazed
Longing to load, 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 Kaus’alyá will provide,
And guard the good Sumitra’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 As’vapati’s daughter [1] won,
And she, proud queen, will little heed
Her miserable rivals’ need.
So Bharat, ruler of the land,
By Queen Kaikeyí’s side will stand,
Nor of those two will ever think.
While grieving in despair they sink.
Now, Lakshman, 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,
Kausaly’á has no comfort left.’
The faithful Lakshman, 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 Kausaly’á well can fee
A thousand champions like to me.
A thousand hamlets rich in grain
The station of that queen maintain.
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 suceed,
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 Lakshman 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 Varun gave to Janak, king
Of fair Videha with thee bring,
With heavenly coats of sword-proof mail,
Quivers, whose arrows never fail,
[ p. 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 Lakshman, go, produce,
And bring them hither for our use.’
So on a woodland life intent,
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 Vas’ishtha’s son,
Suyajna, 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.’
That speech so noble which conveyed
His friendly wish, the chief obeyed.
With steps made swift by anxious thought
The wise Suyajna’s home he sought,
Him in the hall of Fire [2] he found.
And bent before him to the ground:
‘O friend, to Rama’s house return,
Who now performs a task most stern.’
He, when his noonday rites were done.
Went forth with fair Sumitra’s son,
And came to Ráma’s bright abode
Rich in the love which Lakshmi 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 Suyajna 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—
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 Brahman, with the gift be told.’
Thus Ráma spoke: nor he declined
The noble gitts for him designed.
On Ráma, Lakshman, Sítá he
Invoked all high felicity.
In pleasant words then Ráma gave
His hest to Lakshman 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 Kus’ik’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 Kaus’alyá, ever true,
Serves her with blessing and respect,
Chief of the Taittiriya sect [3]\—
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 aud dear,
My tuneful bard and charioteer,
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.
[ p. 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 Káusalyá wait with care—
A thousand golden coins shall please,
Son of Sumitrá, each of these.
Let all, dear Lakshman, 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 Lakshman’s house and mine remain,
And guard them till I come again,’
To all his people sad with grief.
In loving ords thus spoke their chief,
Then bade his treasure-keeper bring
Gold, silver, and each precious thing.
Then straight the servants went and bore
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 Lakshman’s aid
Parted the treasuures there displaved,
Gave to the poor, the young, the old,
And twice-born men, the gems and gold.
A Bráhman, long in evil case.
Named Trijat, 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 word 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 be made his way;
Nor met the Bráhman check or stay.
Brighu, Angiras [4] could not be
Brighter with saintly light than Vie,
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.
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 Trijat’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 Trijat prayed
For means his sacrifice to aid.
And Rama gave much wealth, required
To speed his offering as desired.
Thus Sitá 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 Sitá’s beautifying hand.
On each high house a mournful throng
Had gathered ere they passed along,
Who gzed in pure unselfish woe
From turret, root, 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 Lakshman, sole of all his friends,
With Sitá 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,
[ p. 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.
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 Lakshman, 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,
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
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.
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,
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 whom 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:
[ p. 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.’
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.
ln number half seven hundred, they,
All lovely dames, in long array,
With their bright eyes for weeping red,
To stand round Queen Kaus’alyá, 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 Lakshman, 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 Lakshman, 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
Their loving arms the brothers two,
And then, with Sitá’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 ot us all, great King, thou art:
Bid me farewell before we part,
To Dandak wood this day I go:
One blessing and one look bestow.
Let Lakshman 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 Lakshman, 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.’
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 0, 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,
Dire is the toil thou wilt not shun,
Far to the lonely wood to flee,
And leave thy friends for love of me.
I swear it by my truth, believe,
For thee, my son, I deeply grieve,
Misguided by the traitress dame
With hidden guile like smouldering flame.
Now, by her wicked counsel stirred,
Thou fain wouldst keep my plighted word.
No marvel that my eldest born
Would hold me true when I have sworn.’
Then Ráma having calmly heard
His wretched father speak each word,
With Lakshman standing br his side
Thus, humbly, to the King replied:
‘If dainties now my taste regale,
To-morrow must those dainties fail.
This day departure I prefer
To all that wealth can minister.
O’er this fair land, no longer mine,
Which I, with all her realms, resign,
[ p. 136 ]
Her multitudes of men, her grain,
Her stores of wealth, let Bharat reign.
And let the promised boon which thou
Wast pleased to grant the queen ere now,
Be hers in full. Be true, O King,
Kind giver of each precious thing.
Thy spoken word I still will heed,
Obeying all thy lips decreed:
And fourteen years in woods will dwell
With those who live in glade and dell.
No hopes of power my heart can touch,
No selfish joys attract so much
As son of Raghu, to fulfil
With heart and soul my father’s will.
Dismiss, dismiss thy needless woe,
Nor let those drowning torrents flow:
The Lord of Rivers in his pride
Keeps to the banks that bar his tide.
Here in thy presence I declare;
By thy good deeds, thy truth, I swear;
Nor lordship, joy, nor lands I prize;
Life, heaven, all blessings I despise.
I wish to see thee still remain
Most true, O King, and free from stain.
It must not, Sire, it must not be:
I cannot rest one hour with thee.
Then bring this sorrow to an end,
For naught my settled will can bend.
I gave a pledge that binds me too,
And to that pledge I still am true.
Kaikeyí bade me speed away:
She prayed me, and I answered yea.
Pine not for me, and weep no more;
The wood for us has joy in store,
Filled with the wild deer’s peaceful herds
And voices of a thousand birds.
A father is the God of each,
Yea, e’en of Gods, so Scriptures teach:
And I will keep my sire’s decree,
For as a God I honour thee.
O best of men, the time is nigh,
The fourteen years will soon pass by
And to thine eyes thy son restore:
Be comforted, and weep no more.
Thou with thy firmness shouldst support
These weeping crowds who throng the court;
Then why, O chief of high renown,
So troubled, and thy soul cast down?’
Wild with the rage he could not calm,
Sumantra, grinding palm on palm,
His head in quick impatience shook,
And sighed with woe he could not brook.
He gnashed his teeth, his eyes were red,
From his changed face the colour fled.
In rage and grief that knew no law,
The temper of the king he saw.
With his word-arrows swift and keen
He shook the bosom of the queen.
With scorn, as though its lightning stroke
Would blast her body, thus he spoke:
‘Thou, who, of no dread sin afraid,
Hast Das’aratha’s self betrayed,
Lord of the world, whose might sustains
Each thing that moves or fixed remains,
What direr crime is left thee now?
Death to thy lord and house art thou,
Whose cruel deeds the king distress,
Mahendra’s peer in mightiness,
Firm as the mountain’s rooted steep,
Enduring as the Ocean’s deep.
Despise not Das’aratha, he
Is a kind lord and friend to thee.
A loving wife in worth outruns
The mother of ten million sons.
Kings, when their sires have passed away,
Succeed by birthright to the sway.
Ikshváku’s son still rules the state,
Yet thou this rule wouldst violate.
Yea, let thy son, Kaikeyí, reign,
Let Bharat rule his sire’s domain.
Thy will, O Queen, shall none oppose:
We all will go where Ráma goes.
No Bráhman, scorning thee, will rest
Within the realm thou governest,
But all will fly indignant hence:
So great thy trespass and offence.
I marvel, when thy crime I see.
Earth yawns not quick to swallow thee;
And that the Bráhman saints prepare
No burning scourge thy soul to scare,
With cries of shame to smite thee, bent
Upon our Ráma’s banishment.
The Mango tree with axes fell,
And tend instead the Neem tree well,
Still watered with all care the tree
Will never sweet and pleasant be.
Thy mother’s faults to thee descend,
And with thy borrowed nature blend.
True is the ancient saw: the Neem
Can ne’er distil a honeyed stream.
Taught by the tale of long ago
Thy mother’s hateful sin we know.
A bounteous saint, as all have heard,
A boon upon thy sire conferred,
And all the eloquence revealed
That fills the wood, the flood, the field.
No creature walked, or swam, or flew,
But he its varied language knew.
One morn upon his couch he heard
The chattering of a gorgeous bird.
And as he marked its close intent
He laughed aloud in merriment.
Thy mother furious with her lord,
And fain to perish by the cord,
Said to her husband: 'I would know,
O Monarch, why thou laughest so.’
[ p. 137 ]
The king in answer spake again:
‘If I this laughter should explain,
This very hour would be my last,
For death, be sure would follow fast.’
Again thy mother, flushed with ire,
To Kekaya spake, thy royal sire:
‘Tell me the cause; then live or die:
I will not brook thy laugh, not I.’
Thus by his darling wife addressed,
The king whose might all earth confessed
To that kind saint his story told
Who gave the wondrous gift of old.
He listened to the king’s complaint,
And thus in answer spoke the saint:
‘King, let her quit thy home or die,
But never with her prayer comply.’
The saint’s reply his trouble stilled,
And all his heart with pleasure filled.
Thy mother from his home he sent,
And days like Lord Kuvera’s spent.
So thou wouldst force the king, misled
By thee, in evil paths to tread,
And bent on evil wouldst begin,
Through folly, this career of sin.
Most true, methinks, in thee is shown
The ancient saw so widely known:
The foils their fathers’ worth declare
Aud girls their mothers’ nature share.
So be not thou. For pity’s sake
Accept the word the monarch spake.
Thy husband’s will, O Queen, obey,
And be the people’s hope and stay.
O, do not, urged by follv, draw
The king to tread on duty’s law,
The lord who all the world sustains,
Bright as the God o’er Gods who reigns.
Our glorious king, by sin unstained,
Will never grant what fraud obtained;
No shade of fault in him is seen:
Let Ráma be anointed, Queen.
Remember, Queen, undying shame
Will through the world pursue thy name,
If Ráma leave the king his sire,
And, banished, to the wood retire.
Come, from thy breast this fever fling:
Of his own realm be Ráma king.
None in this city e’er can dwell
To tend and love thee half so well.
When Ráma sits in royal place,
True to the custom of his race
Our monarch of the mighty bow
A hermit to the woods will go.’ [5]
Sumantra thus, palm joined to palm,
Poured forth his words of bane and balm,
With keen reproach, with pleading kind,
Striving to move Kaikeyí’s mind.
In vain he prayed, in vain reproved,
She heard unsoftened and unmoved.
Nor could the eyes that watched her view
One yielding look, one change of hue.
Ikshváku’s son with anguish torn
For the great oath his lips had sworn,
With tears and sighs of sharpest pain
Thus to Sumantra spake again:
‘Prepare thou quick a perfect force,
Cars, elephants, and foot, and horse,
To follow Raghu’s scion hence
Equipped with all magnificence.
Let traders with the wealth they sell,
And those who charming stories tell,
And dancing-women fair of face,
The prince’s ample chariots grace.
On all the train who throng his courts,
And those who share his manly sports.
Great gifts of precious wealth bestow,
And bid them with their master go.
Let noble arms, and many a wain,
And townsmen swell the prince’s train;
And hunters best for woodland skill
Their places in the concourse fill.
While elephants and deer he slays,
Drinking wood honey as he strays,
And looks on streams each fairer yet,
His kingdom he may chance forget.
Let all my gold and wealth of corn
With Rama to the wilds be born;
For it will soothe the exile’s lot
To sacrifice in each pure spot,
Deal ample largess forth, and meet
Each hermit in his calm retreat.
The wealth shall Ráma with him bear.
Ayodhyá shall be Bharat’s share.’
As thus Kakutstha’s offspring spoke,
Fear in Katiketí’s breast awoke.
The freshness of her face was dried,
Her trembling tongue was terror-tied.
Alarmed and sad, with bloodless cheek,
She turned to him and scarce could speak:
‘Nay, Sire, but Bharat shall not gain
An empty realm where none remain.
My Bharat shall not rule a waste
Reft of all sweets to charm the taste—
The wine-cup’s dregs, all dull and dead,
Whence the light foam and life are fled.’
Thus in her rage the long-eyed dame
Spoke her dire speech untouched by shame.
[ p. 138 ]
Then, answering, Das’aratha spoke:
‘Why. having bowed me to the yoke.
Dost thou, must cruel, spur and goad
Me who am struggling with the load?
Why didst thou not oppose at first
This hope, vile Queen, so fondly nursed?’
Scarce could the monarch’s angry speech
The ears of the fair lady reach,
When thus, with double wrath inflamed,
Kaikeyí to the king exclaimed:
‘Sagar, from whom thy line is traced,
Drove forth his eldest son disgraced,
Called Asamanj, whose fate we know:
Thus should thy son to exile go.’
‘Fie on thee, dame!’ the monarch said;
Each of her people bent his head,
And stood in shame and sorrow mute:
She marked not, bold and resolute.
Then great Siddhárth, inflamed with rage,
The good old councillor and sage
On whose wise rede the king relied,
To Queen Kaikeyí thus replied:
‘But Asamanj the cruel laid
His hands on infants as they played,
Cast them to Sarjú’s flood, and smiled
For pleasure when be drowned a child.’ [6]
The people saw, and, furious, sped
Straight the the king his sire and said:
‘Choose us, O glory of the throne,
Choose us. or Asamanj alone.’
‘Whence comes this dread?’ the monarch cried;
And all the people thus replied:
‘In folly, King, he loves to lay
Fierce hands upon our babes at play,
Casts them to Sarjú’s flood. and joys
To murder our bewildered boys.’
With heedful ear the king of men
Heard each complaining citizen.
To please their troubled minds he strove,
And from the state his son he drove.
With wife and gear upon a car
He placed him quick, and sent him far.
And thus he gave commandment, 'He
Shall all his days an exile be.’
With basket and with plough he strayed
O’er mountain heights, through pathless shade,
Roaming all lands a weary time,
An outcast wretch defiled with crime.
Sagar, the righteous path who held,
His wicked offspring thus expelled.
But what has Ráma done to blame?
Why should his sentence be the same?
No sin his stainless name can dim;
We see no fault at all in him.
Pure as the moon, no darkening blot
On his sweet life has left a spot.
If thou canst see one fault, e’en one,
To dim the fame of Raghu’s son,
That fault this hour, O lady, show.
And Ráma to the wood shall go.
To drive the guiltless to the wild,
Truth’s constant lover, undefiled.
Would, by defiance of the right,
The glory e’en of Indra blight.
Then cease, O lady, and dismiss
Thy hope to ruin Ráma’s bliss,
Or all thy gain, O fair of face,
Will be men’s hatred, and disgrace.’
Thus spake the virtuous sage: and then
Ráma addressed the king of men.
In laws of meek behaviour bred,
Thus to his sire he meekly said:
‘King, I renounce all earthly care,
And live in woods on woodland fare.
What, dead to joys, have I to do
With lordly train and retinue!
Who gives his elephant and yet
Upon the girths his heart will set?
How can a cord attract his eyes
Who gives away the nobler prize?
Best of the good, with me he led
No host, my King with banners spread.
All wealth, all lordship I resign:
The hermit’s dress alone be mine.
Before I go, have here conveyed
A little basket and a spade.
With these alone I go, content,
For fourteen years of banishment.’
With her own hands Kaikeyí took
The hermit coats of bark, and, ‘Look,’
She cried with bold unblushing brow
Before the concourse, ‘Dress thee now.’
That lion leader of the brave
Took from her hand the dress she gave,
Cast his fine raiment on the ground,
[ p. 139 ]
And round his waist the vesture bound.
Then quick the hero Lakshman too
His garment from his shoulders threw,
And, in the presence of his sire,
Indued the ascetic’s rough attire.
But Sítá, in her silks arrayed,
Threw glances, trembling and afraid,
On the bark coat she had to wear,
Like a shy doe that eyes the snare.
Ashamed and weeping for distress
From the queen’s hand she took the dress.
The fair one, by her husband’s side
Who matched heaven’s minstrel monarch, [7] cried:
‘How bind they on their woodland dress,
Those hermits of the wilderness?’
There stood the pride of Janak’s race
Perplexed, with sad appealing face.
One coat the lady’s fingers grasped,
One round her neck she feebly clasped,
But failed again, again, confused
By the wild garb she ne’er had used.
Then quickly hastening Ráma, pride
Of all who cherish virtue, tied
The rough bark mantle on her, o’er
The silken raiment that she wore.
Then the sad women when they saw
Ráma the choice bark round her draw,
Rained water from each tender eye,
And cried aloud with bitter cry:
‘O, not on her, beloved, not
On Sítá falls thy mournful lot.
If, faithful to thy father’s will,
Thou must go forth, leave Sítá still.
Let Sítá still remaining here
Our hearts with her loved presence cheer.
With Lakshman by thy side to aid
Seek thou, dear son, the lonely shade.
Unmeet, one good and fair as she
Should dwell in woods a devotee.
Let not our prayers be prayed in vain:
Let beauteous Sítá yet remain;
For by thy love of duty tied
Thou wilt not here thyself abide.’
Then the king’s venerable guide
Vas’ishtha, when he saw each coat
Enclose the lady’s waist and throat,
Her zeal with gentle words repressed,
And Queen Kaikeyí thus addressed:
‘O evil-hearted sinner, shame
Of royal Kekaya’s race and name;
Who matchless in thy sin couldst cheat
Thy lord the king with vile deceit;
Lost to all sense of duty, know
Sítá to exile shall not go.
Sítá shall guard, as 'twere her own,
The precious trust of Ráma’s throne.
Those joined by wedlock’s sweet control
Have but one self and common soul.
Thus Sítá shall our empress be,
For Ráma’s self and soul is she.
Or if she still to Ráma cleave
And for the woods the kingdom leave:
If naught her loving heart deter,
We and this town will follow her.
The warders of the queen shall take
Their wives and go for Ráma’s sake,
The nation with its stores of grain,
The city’s wealth shall swell his train.
Bharat, S’atrughna both will wear
Bark mantles, and his lodging share,
Still with their elder brother dwell
In the wild wood, and serve him well.
Rest here alone, and rule thy state
Unpeopled, barren, desolate;
Be empress of the land and trees,
Thou sinner whom our sorrows please.
The land which Ráma reigns not o’er
Shall bear the kingdom’s name no more:
The woods which Ráma wanders through
Shall be our home and kingdom too.
Bharat, be sure, will never deign
O’er realms his father yields, to reign.
Nay, if the king’s true son he be,
He will not, sonlike, dwell with thee.
Nay, shouldst thou from the earth arise,
And send thy message from the skies,
To his forefathers’ custom true
No erring course would he pursue.
So hast thou, by thy grievous fault,
Offended him thou wouldst exalt.
In all the world none draws his breath
Who loves not Ráma, true to death.
This day, O Queen, shalt thou behold
Birds, deer, and beasts from lea and fold
Turn to the woods in Ráma’s train.
And naught save longing trees remain.’
Then when the people wroth and sad
Saw Sítá in bark vesture clad,
Though wedded, like some widowed thing,
They cried out, ‘Shame upon thee, King!’
Grieved by their cry and angry look
The lord of earth at once forsook
All hope in life that still remained,
In duty, self, and fame unstained.
Ikshváku’s son with burning sighs
On Queen Kaikeyí bent his eyes,
And said: 'But Sítá must not flee
In garments of a devotee.
My holy guide has spoken truth:
Unfit is she in tender youth,
[ p. 140 ]
So gently nurtured, soft and fair,
The hardships of the wood to share.
How has she sinned, devout and true,
The noblest monarch’s child,
That she should garb of bark indue
And journey to the wild?
That she should spend her youthful days
Amid a hermit band,
Like some poor mendicant who strays
Sore troubled, through the land?
Ah, let the child of Janak throw
Her dress of bark aside,
And let the royal lady go
With royal wealth supplied.
Not such the pledge I gave before,
Unfit to linger here:
The oath, which I the sinner swore
Is kept, and leaves her clear.
Won from her childlike love this too
My instant death would be,
As blossoms on the old bamboo
Destroy the parent tree. [8]
If aught amiss by Ráma done
Offend thee, O thou wicked one,
What least transgiession canst thou find
In her, thou worst of womankind?
What shade of fault in her appears,
Whose full soft eye is like the deer’s?
What canst thou blame in Janak’s child,
So gentle, modest, true, and mild?
Is not one crime complete, that sent
My Ráma forth to banishment!
And wilt thou other sins commit.
Thou wicked one, to double it?
This is the pledge and oath I swore,
What thou besoughtest, and no more,
Of Ráma—for I heard thee, dame—
When he for consecration came.
Now with this limit not content,
In hell should be thy punishment,
Who fain the Maithil bride wouldst press
To clothe her limbs with hermit dress.’
Thus spake the father in his woe;
And Ráma, still prepared to go,
To him who sat with drooping head
Spake in return these words and said:
‘Just King, here stands my mother dear,
Kaus’alyá, one whom all revere.
Submissive, gentle, old is she,
And keeps her lips from blame of thee,
For her, kind lord, of me bereft
A sea of whelming woe is left.
O, show her in her new distress
Still fonder love and tenderness.
Well honoured by thine honoured hand
Her grief for me let her withstand,
Who wrapt in constant thought of me
In me would live a devotee.
Peer of Mahendra, O, to her be kind,
And treat I pray, my gentle mother so,
That, when I dwell afar, her life resigned,
She may not, pass, to Yama’s realm for woe.’
Scarce had the sire, with each dear queen,
Heard Ráma’s pleading voice, and seen
His darling in his hermit dress
Ere failed his senses for distress.
Convulsed with woe, his soul that shook,
On Raghu’s son he could not look;
Or if he looked with failing eye
He could not to the chief reply.
By pangs of bitter grief assailed,
The long-armed monarch wept and wailed,
Half dead a while and sore distraught,
While Ráma filled his every thought.
‘This hand of mine in days ere now
Has reft her young from many a cow.
Or living things has idly slain:
Hence comes, I ween, this hour of pain.
Not till the hour is come to die
Can from its shell the spirit fly.
Death comes not, and Kaikeyí still
Torments the wretch she cannot kill,
Who sees his son before him quit
The fine soft robes his rank that fit,
And, glorious as the burning fire,
In hermit garb his limbs attire.
Now all the people grieve and groan
Through Queen Kaikeyí’s deed alone,
Who, having dared this deed of sin,
Strives for herself the gain to win.’
He spoke. With tears his eyes grew dim,
His senses all deserted him.
He cried, O Ráma, once, then weak
And fainting could no further speak.
Unconscious there he lay: at length
Regathering his sense and strength,
While his full eyes their torrents shed,
To wise Sumantra thus he said:
‘Yoke the light car, and hither lead
Fleet coursers of the noblest breed,
And drive this heir of lofty fate
Beyond the limit of the state.
This seems the fruit that virtues bear,
The meed of worth which texts declare—
The sending of the brave and good
By sire and mother to the wood.’
He heard the monarch, and obeyed,
With ready feet that ne’er delayed,
And brought before the palace gate
The horses and the car of state.
Then to the monarch’s son he sped,
And raising hands of reverence said
[ p. 141 ]
That the light car which gold made fair,
With best of steeds, was standing there.
King Das’aratha called in haste
The lord o’er all his treasures placed.
And spoke, well skilled in place and time,
His will to him devoid of crime:
‘Count all the years she has to live
Afar in forest wilds, and give
To Sítá robes and gems of price
As for the time may well suffice.’
Quick to the treasure-room he went,
Charged by that king most excellent,
Brought the rich stores, and gave them all
To Sítá in the monarch’s hall.
The Maithil dame of high descent
Received each robe and ornament,
And tricked those limbs, whose lines foretold
High destiny, with gems and gold.
So well adorned, so fair to view,
A glory through the hall she threw:
So, when the Lord of Light upsprings,
His radiance o’er the sky he flings.
Then Queen Kaus’alyá spake at last,
With loving arms about her cast,
Pressed lingering kisses on her head,
And to the high-souled lady said:
‘Ah, in this faithless world below
When dark misfortune comes and woe,
Wives, loved and cherished every day,
Neglect their lords and disobey.
Yes, woman’s nature still is this:—
After long days of calm and bliss
When some light grief her spirit tries,
She changes all her love, or flies.
Young wives are thankless, false in soul,
With roving hearts that spurn control.
Brooding on sin and quickly changed,
In one short hour their love estranged.
Not glorious deed or lineage fair,
Not knowledge, gift, or tender care
In chains of lasting love can bind
A woman’s light inconstant mind.
But those good dames who still maintain
What right, truth, Scripture, rule ordain—
No holy thing in their pure eyes
With one beloved husband vies.
Nor let thy lord my son, condemned
To exile, be by thee contemned,
For be he poor or wealthy, he
Is as a God, dear child, to thee.’
When Sítá heard Kaus’alyá’s speech
Her duty and her gain to teach,
She joined her palms with reverent grace
And gave her answer face to face:
‘All will I do, forgetting naught,
Which thou,O honoured Queen, hast taught.
I know, have heard, and deep have stored
The rules of duty to my lord.
Not me, good Queen, shouldst thou include
Among the faithless multitude.
Its own sweet light the moon shall leave
Ere I to duty cease to cleave.
The stringless lute gives forth no strain,
The wheelless car is urged in vain;
No joy a lordless dame, although
Blest with a hundred sons, can know.
From father, brother, and from son
A measured share of joy is won:
Who would not honour, love, and bless
Her lord, whose gifts are measureless?
Thus trained to think, I hold in awe
Scripture’s command and duty’s law.
Him can I hold in slight esteem?
Her lord is woman’s God, I deem.’
Kaus’alyá heard the lady’s speech,
Nor failed those words her heart to reach.
Then, pure in mind, she gave to flow
The tear that sprang of joy and woe.
Then duteous Ráma forward came
And stood before the honoured dame,
And joining reverent hands addressed
The queen in rank above the rest:
‘O mother, from these tears refrain;
Look on my sire and still thy pain.
To thee my days afar shall fly
As if sweet slumber closed thine eye,
And fourteen years of exile seem
To thee, dear mother, like a dream.
On me returning safe and well,
Girt by my friends, thine eyes shall dwell.’
Thus for their deep affection’s sake
The hero to his mother spake,
Then to the half seven hundred too.
Wives of his sire, paid reverence due.
Thus Das’aratha’s son addressed
That crowd of matrons sore distressed:
‘If from these lips, while here I dwelt,
One heedless taunt you e’er have felt,
Forgive me, pray. And now adieu,
I bid good-bye to all of you.’
Then straight, like curlews’ cries, upwent
The voices of their wild lament,
While, as he bade farewell, the crowd
Of royal women wept aloud,
And through the ample hall’s extent.
Where erst the sound of tabour, blent
With drum and shrill-toned instrument,
In joyous concert rose,
Now rang the sound of wailing high,
The lamentation and the cry,
The shriek, the choking sob, the sigh
That told the ladies’ woes.
Then Ráma, Sítá, Lakshman bent
At the king’s feet, and sadly went
[ p. 142 ]
Round him with slow steps reverent.
When Ráma of the duteous heart
Had gained his sire’s consent to part,
With Sítá by his side he paid
Due reverence to the queen dismayed.
And Lakshman, with affection meet,
Bowed down and clasped his mother’s feet.
Sumitrá viewed him as he pressed
Her feet, and thus her son addressed:
‘Neglect not Ráma wandering there,
But tend him with thy faithful care.
In hours of wealth, in time of woe,
Him, sinless son, thy refuge know.
From this good law the just ne’er swerve,
That younger sons the eldest serve,
And to this righteous rule incline
All children of thine ancient line—
Freely to give, reward each rite,
Nor spare their bodies in the fight.
Let Ráma Das’aratha be,
Look upon Sítá as on me,
And let the cot wherein you dwell
Be thine Ayodhyá. Fare thee well.”
Her blessing thus Sumitrá gave
To him whose soul to Ráma clave,
Exclaiming, when her speech was done,
‘ Go forth, O Lakshman, go, my son.
Go forth, my son to win success,
High victory and happiness.
Go forth thy foemen to destroy,
And turn again at last with joy.’
As Mátali his charioteer
Speaks for the Lord of Gods to hear,
Sumantra, palm to palm applied,
In reverence trained, to Ráma cried:
‘O famous Prince, my car ascend,—
May blessings on thy course attend,—
And swiftly shall my horses flee
And place thee where thou biddest me.
The fourteen years thou hast to stay
Far in the wilds, begin to-day;
For Oueen Kaikeyí cries, Away.”
Then Sítá, best of womankind,
Ascended, with a tranquil mind,
Soon as her toilet task was done,
That chariot brilliant as the sun.
Ráma and Lakshman true and bold
Sprang on the car adorned with gold.
The king those years had counted o’er,
And given Sítá robes and store
Of precious ornaments to wear
When following her husband there.
The brothers in the car found place
For nets and weapons of the chase,
There warlike arms and mail they laid,
A leathern basket and a spade.
Soon as Sumantra saw the three
Were seated in the chariot, he
Urged on each horse of noble breed,
Who matched the rushing wind in speed.
As thus the son of Raghu went
Forth for his dreary banishment,
Chill numbing grief the town assailed,
All strength grew weak, all spirit failed,
Ayodhá through her wide extent
Was filled with tumult and lament:
Steeds neighed and shook the bells they bore,
Each elephant returned a roar.
Then all the city, young and old,
Wild with their sorrow uncontrolled,
Rushed to the car, as, from the sun
The panting herds to water run.
Before the car, behind, they clung,
And there as eagerly they hung,
With torrents streaming from their eyes,
Called loudly with repeated cries:
‘Listen, Sumantra: draw thy rein;
Drive gently, and thy steeds restrain.
Once more on Ráma will we gaze,
Now to be lost for many days.
The queen his mother has, be sure,
A heart of iron, to endure
To see her godlike Ráma go,
Nor feel it shattered by the blow.
Sítá, well done! Videha’s pride,
Still like his shadow by his side;
Rejoicing in thy duty still
As sunlight cleaves to Meru’s hill.
Thou, Lakshman, too, hast well deserved,
Who from thy duty hast not swerved,
Tending the peer of Gods above,
Whose lips speak naught but words of love.
Thy firm resolve is nobly great,
And high success on thee shall wait.
Yea, thou shalt win a priceless meed—
Thy path with him to heaven shall lead,’
As thus they spake, they could not hold
The tears that down their faces rolled,
While still they followed for a space
Their darling of Ikshváku’s race.
There stood surrounded by a ring
Of mournful wives the mournful king;
For, ‘I will see once more,’ he cried,
‘Mine own dear son,’ and forth he hied.
As he came near, there rose the sound
Of weeping, as the dames stood round.
So the she-elephants complain
When their great lord and guide is slain.
Kakutstha’s son, the king of men,
The glorious sire, looked troubled then,
As the full moon is when dismayed
By dark eclipse’s threatening shade.
Then Das’aratha’s son, designed
For highest fate of lofty mind.
Urged to more speed the charioteer,
‘Away, away! why linger here?
Urge on thy horses,’ Rama cried,
And ‘Stay, O stay,’ the people sighed.
Sumantra, urged to speed away,
The townsmen’s call must disobey,
Forth as the long-armed hero went,
[ p. 143 ]
The dust his chariot wheels up sent
Was laid by streams that ever flowed
From their sad eyes who filled the road.
Then, sprung of woe, from eyes of all
The women drops began to fall,
As from each lotus on the lake
The darting fish the water shake.
When he, the king of high renown,
Saw that one thought held all the town,
Like some tall tree he fell and lay,
Whose root the axe has hewn away.
Then straight a mighty cry from those
Who followed Ráma’s car arose,
Who saw their monarch fainting there
Beneath that grief too great to bear.
Then ‘Ráma, Ráma!" with the cry
Of ‘Ah, his mother!’ sounded high,
As all the people wept aloud
Around the ladies’ sorrowing crowd.
When Ráma backward turned his eye,
And saw the king his father lie
With troubled sense and failing limb,
And the sad queen, who followed him,
Like some young creature in the net,
That will not, in its misery, let
Its wild eyes on its mother rest,
So, by the bonds of duty pressed,
His mother’s look he could not meet.
He saw them with their weary feet,
Who, used to bliss, in cars should ride,
Who ne’er by sorrow should be tried,
And, as one mournful look he cast,
‘Drive on,’ he cried, ‘Sumantra, fast.’
As when the driver’s torturing hook
Goads on an elephant, the look
Of sire and mother in despair
Was more than Ráma’s heart could bear.
As mother kine to stalls return
Which hold the calves for whom they yearn,
So to the car she tried to run
As a cow seeks her little one.
Once and again the hero’s eyes
Looked on his mother, as with cries
Of woe she called and gestures wild,
‘O Sítá, Lakshman, O my child!’
‘Stay,’ cried the king, ‘thy chariot stay:’
‘On, on,’ cried Ráma, ‘speed away.’
As one between two hosts, inclined
To neither was Sumantra’s mind.
But Ráma spake these words again:
‘A lengthened woe is bitterest pain.
On, on; and if his wrath grow hot,
Thine answer be, ‘ I heard thee not.’
Sumantra, at the chief’s behest,
Dismissed the crowd that toward him pressed,
And, as he bade, to swiftest speed
Urged on his way each willing steed.
The king’s attendants parted thence,
And paid him heart-felt reverence:
In mind, and with the tears he wept,
Each still his place near Ráma kept.
As swift away the horses sped,
His lords to Das’aratha said:
‘To follow him whom thou again
Wouldst see returning home is vain.’
With failing limb and drooping mien
He heard their counsel wise:
Still on their son the king and queen
Kept fast their lingering eyes. 1
131:1 Kaikeyi. ↩︎
132:1 The chapel where the sacred fire used in worship is kept. ↩︎
132:1b The students and teachers of the Taittiríya portion of the Yajur Veda. ↩︎
133:1 Two of the divine persaonnges called prejápatis and *Brahmadikas* who were first created by Brahmá. ↩︎
137:1 It was the custom of the kings of the solar dynasty to resign in their extreme old age the kingdom to the heir, and spend the remainder of their days in holy meditation in the forest:
‘For such through ages in their life’s decline
Is the good custom of Ikshváku’s line.’
Raghuvans’a. ↩︎
138:1 See Book I, Canto XXXIX. An Indian prince in more modern times appears to have diverted himself in a similar way.
It is still reported in Belgium that Appay Deasy was wont to amuse himself “by making several young and beautiful women stand side by side on a narrow balcony, without a parapet, overhanging the deep reservoir at the new palace in Nipani. He used then to pass along the line of trembling creatures, and suddenly thrusting one of them headlong into the water below, he used to watch her drowning, and derive pleasure from her dying agonies.”—History of the Belgium District. By H. J. Stokes, M. S. C. ↩︎
139:1 Chitraratha, King of the celestial choristers. ↩︎
140:1 It is said that the bamboo dies after flowering. ↩︎