The Ramayana Part 66

Whence can this woe upon thee fall, Say, gentle one who lovest all?"

Thus spake the G.o.d who rules the skies, Indra, the Lord supremely wise; And gentle Surabhi, well learned In eloquence, this speech returned: "Not thine the fault, great G.o.d, not thine And guiltless are the Lords divine: I mourn two children faint with toil, Labouring hard in stubborn soil.

Wasted and sad I see them now, While the sun beats on neck and brow, Still goaded by the cruel hind,- No pity in his savage mind.

O Indra, from this body sprang These children, worn with many a pang.

For this sad sight I mourn, for none Is to the mother like her son."

He saw her weep whose offspring feed In thousands over hill and mead, And knew that in a mother's eye Naught with a son, for love, can vie.

He deemed her, when the tears that came From her sad eyes bedewed his frame, Laden with their celestial scent, Of living things most excellent.

If she these tears of sorrow shed Who many a thousand children bred, Think what a life of woe is left Kausalya, of her Rama reft.

An only son was hers and she Is rendered childless now by thee.

Here and hereafter, for thy crime, Woe is thy lot through endless time.

And now, O Queen, without delay, With all due honour will I pay Both to my brother and my sire The rites their several fates require.

Back to Ayodhya will I bring The long-armed chief, her lord and king, And to the wood myself betake Where hermit saints their dwelling make.

For, sinner both in deed and thought!

This hideous crime which thou hast wrought I cannot bear, or live to see The people's sad eyes bent on me.

Begone, to Da??ak wood retire, Or cast thy body to the fire, Or bind around thy neck the rope: No other refuge mayst thou hope.

When Rama, lord of valour true, Has gained the earth, his right and due, Then, free from duty's binding debt, My vanished sin shall I forget."

Thus like an elephant forced to brook The goading of the driver's hook, Quick panting like a serpent maimed, He fell to earth with rage inflamed.

Canto LXXV. The Abjuration.

A while he lay: he rose at length, And slowly gathering sense and strength, With angry eyes which tears bedewed, The miserable queen he viewed, And spake with keen reproach to her Before each lord and minister: "No l.u.s.t have I for kingly sway, My mother I no more obey: Naught of this consecration knew Which Dasaratha kept in view.

I with Satrughna all the time Was dwelling in a distant clime: I knew of Rama's exile naught, That hero of the n.o.ble thought: I knew not how fair Sita went, And Lakshma?, forth to banishment."

Thus high-souled Bharat, mid the crowd, Lifted his voice and cried aloud.

Kausalya heard, she raised her head, And quickly to Sumitra said: "Bharat, Kaikeyi's son is here,- Hers whose fell deeds I loathe and fear: That youth of foresight keen I fain Would meet and see his face again."

Thus to Sumitra spake the dame, And straight to Bharat's presence came With altered mien, neglected dress, Trembling and faint with sore distress.

Bharat, Satrughna by his side, To meet her, toward her palace hied.

And when the royal dame they viewed Distressed with dire solicitude, Sad, fallen senseless on the ground, About her neck their arms they wound.

The n.o.ble matron prostrate there, Embraced, with tears, the weeping pair, And with her load of grief oppressed, To Bharat then these words addressed: "Now all is thine, without a foe, This realm for which thou longest so.

Ah, soon Kaikeyi's ruthless hand Has won the empire of the land, And made my guiltless Rama flee Dressed like some lonely devotee.

Herein what profit has the queen, Whose eye delights in havoc, seen?

Me also, me 'twere surely good To banish to the distant wood, To dwell amid the shades that hold My famous son with limbs like gold.

Nay, with the sacred fire to guide, Will I, Sumitra by my side, Myself to the drear wood repair And seek the son of Raghu there.

This land which rice and golden corn And wealth of every kind adorn, Car, elephant, and steed, and gem,- She makes thee lord of it and them."

With taunts like these her bitter tongue The heart of blameless Bharat wrung And direr pangs his bosom tore Than when the lancet probes a sore.

With troubled senses all astray p.r.o.ne at her feet he fell and lay.

With loud lament a while he plained, And slowly strength and sense regained.

With suppliant hand to hand applied He turned to her who wept and sighed, And thus bespake the queen, whose breast With sundry woes was sore distressed: "Why these reproaches, n.o.ble dame?

I, knowing naught, am free from blame.

Thou knowest well what love was mine For Rama, chief of Raghu's line.

O, never be his darkened mind To Scripture's guiding lore inclined, By whose consent the prince who led The good, the truthful hero, fled.

May he obey the vilest lord, Offend the sun with act abhorred,(350) And strike a sleeping cow, who lent His voice to Rama's banishment.

May the good king who all befriends, And, like his sons, the people tends, Be wronged by him who gave consent To n.o.ble Rama's banishment.

On him that king's injustice fall, Who takes, as lord, a sixth of all, Nor guards, neglectful of his trust, His people, as a ruler must.

The crime of those who swear to fee, At holy rites, some devotee, And then the promised gift deny, Be his who willed the prince should fly.

When weapons clash and heroes bleed, With elephant and harnessed steed, Ne'er, like the good, be his to fight Whose heart allowed the prince's flight.

Though taught with care by one expert May he the Veda's text pervert, With impious mind on evil bent, Whose voice approved the banishment.

May he with traitor lips reveal Whate'er he promised to conceal, And bruit abroad his friend's offence, Betrayed by generous confidence.

No wife of equal lineage born The wretch's joyless home adorn: Ne'er may he do one virtuous deed, And dying see no child succeed.

When in the battle's awful day Fierce warriors stand in dread array, Let the base coward turn and fly, And smitten by the foeman, die.

Long may he wander, rags his wear, Doomed in his hand a skull to bear, And like an idiot beg his bread, Who gave consent when Rama fled.

His sin who holy rites forgets, Asleep when shows the sun and sets, A load upon his soul shall lie Whose will allowed the prince to fly.

His sin who loves his Master's dame, His, kindler of destructive flame, His who betrays his trusting friend Shall, mingled all, on him descend.

By him no reverence due be paid To blessed G.o.d or parted shade: May sire and mother's sacred name In vain from him obedience claim.

Ne'er may he go where dwell the good, Nor win their fame and neighbourhood, But lose all hopes of bliss to-day, Who willed the prince should flee away.

May he deceive the poor and weak Who look to him and comfort seek, Betray the suppliants who complain, And make the hopeful hope in vain.

Long may his wife his kiss expect, And pine away in cold neglect.

May he his lawful love despise, And turn on other dames his eyes, Fool, on forbidden joys intent, Whose will allowed the banishment.

His sin who deadly poison throws To spoil the water as it flows, Lay on the wretch its burden dread Who gave consent when Rama fled."(351)

Thus with his words he undeceived Kausalya's troubled heart, who grieved For son and husband reft away; Then prostrate on the ground he lay.

Him as he lay half-senseless there, Freed by the mighty oaths he sware, Kausalya, by her woe distressed, With melancholy words addressed: "Anew, my son, this sorrow springs To rend my heart with keener stings: These awful oaths which thou hast sworn My breast with double grief have torn.

Thy soul, and faithful Lakshma?'s too, Are still, thank Heaven! to virtue true.

True to thy promise, thou shalt gain The mansions which the good obtain."

Then to her breast that youth she drew, Whose sweet fraternal love she knew, And there in strict embraces held The hero, as her tears outwelled.

And Bharat's heart grew sick and faint With grief and oft-renewed complaint, And all his senses were distraught By the great woe that in him wrought.

Thus he lay and still bewailed With sighs and loud lament Till all his strength and reason failed, The hours of night were spent.

Canto LXXVI. The Funeral.

The saint Vasish?ha, best of all Whose words with moving wisdom fall, Bharat, Kaikeyi's son, addressed, Whom burning fires of grief distressed: "O Prince, whose fame is widely spread, Enough of grief: be comforted.

The time is come: arise, and lay Upon the pyre the monarch's clay."

He heard the words Vasish?ha spoke, And slumbering resolution woke.

Then skilled in all the laws declare, He bade his friends the rites prepare.

They raised the body from the oil, And placed it, dripping, on the soil; Then laid it on a bed, whereon Wrought gold and precious jewels shone.

There, pallor o'er his features spread, The monarch, as in sleep, lay dead.

Then Bharat sought his father's side, And lifted up his voice and cried: "O King, and has thy heart designed To part and leave thy son behind?

Make Rama flee, who loves the right, And Lakshma? of the arm of might?

Whither, great Monarch, wilt thou go And leave this people in their woe, Mourning their hero, wild with grief, Of Rama reft, their lion chief?

Ah, who will guard the people well Who in Ayodhya's city dwell, When thou, my sire, hast sought the sky, And Rama has been forced to fly?

In widowed woe, bereft of thee, The land no more is fair to see: The city, to my aching sight, Is gloomy as a moonless night."

Thus, with o'erwhelming sorrow pained, Sad Bharat by the bed complained: And thus Vasish?ha, holy sage, Spoke his deep anguish to a.s.suage: "O Lord of men, no longer stay; The last remaining duties pay: Haste, mighty-armed, as I advise, The funeral rites to solemnize."

And Bharat heard Vasish?ha's rede With due attention and agreed.

He summoned straight from every side Chaplain, and priest, and holy guide.