The Ramayana Part 110

Again, again he turned to chide With quivering lips which terror dried: He looked, and found her not.

Within his leafy home he sped, Each pleasant spot he visited Where oft his darling strayed.

"'Tis as I feared," he cried, and there, Yielding to pangs too great to bear, He sank by grief dismayed.

Canto LX. Lakshman Reproved.

But Rama ceased not to upbraid, His brother for untimely aid, And thus, while anguish wrung his breast, The chief with eager question pressed: "Why, Lakshma?, didst thou hurry hence And leave my wife without defence?

I left her in the wood with thee, And deemed her safe from jeopardy.

When first thy form appeared in view, I marked that Sita came not too.

With woe my troubled soul was rent, Prophetic of the dire event.

Thy coming steps afar I spied, I saw no Sita by thy side, And felt a sudden throbbing dart Through my left eye, and arm, and heart."

Lakshma?, with Fortune's marks impressed, His brother mournfully addressed: "Not by my heart's free impulse led, Leaving thy wife to thee I sped; But by her keen reproaches sent, O Rama, to thine aid I went.

She heard afar a mournful cry, "O save me, Lakshma?, or I die."

The voice that spoke in moving tone Smote on her ear and seemed thine own.

Soon as those accents reached her ear She yielded to her woe and fear, She wept o'ercome by grief, and cried, "Fly, Lakshma?, fly to Rama's side."

Though many a time she bade me speed, Her urgent prayer I would not heed.

I bade her in thy strength confide, And thus with tender words replied: "No giant roams the forest shade From whom thy lord need shrink dismayed.

No human voice, believe me, spoke Those words thy causeless fear that woke.

Can he whose might can save in woe The heavenly G.o.ds e'er stoop so low, And with those piteous accents call For succour like a caitiff thrall?

And why should wandering giants choose The accents of thy lord to use, In alien tones my help to crave, And cry aloud, O Lakshma?, save?

Now let my words thy spirit cheer, Compose thy thoughts and banish fear.

In h.e.l.l, in earth, or in the skies There is not, and there cannot rise A champion whose strong arm can slay Thy Rama in the battle fray.

To heavenly hosts he ne'er would yield Though Indra led them to the field."

To soothe her thus I vainly sought: Her heart with woe was still distraught.

While from her eyes the waters ran Her bitter speech she thus began: "Too well I see thy dark intent: Thy lawless thoughts on me are bent.

Thou hopest, but thy hope is vain, To win my love, thy brother slain.

Not love, but Bharat's dark decree To share his exile counselled thee, Or hearing now his bitter cry Thou surely to his aid wouldst fly.

For love of me, a stealthy foe Thou choosest by his side to go, And now thou longest that my lord Should die, and wilt no help afford."

Such were the words the lady said: With angry fire my eyes were red.

With pale lips quivering in my rage I hastened from the hermitage."

He ceased; and frenzied by his pain The son of Raghu spoke again: "O brother, for thy fault I grieve, The Maithil dame alone to leave.

Thou knowest that my arm is strong To save me from the giant throng, And yet couldst leave the cottage, spurred To folly by her angry word.

For this thy deed I praise thee not,- To leave her helpless in the cot, And thus thy sacred charge forsake For the wild words a woman spake.

Yea thou art all to blame herein, And very grievous is thy sin.

That anger swayed thy faithless breast And made thee false to my behest.

An arrow speeding from my bow Has laid the treacherous giant low, Who lured me eager for the chase Far from my hermit dwelling-place.

The string with easy hand I drew, The arrow as in pastime flew, The wounded quarry bled.

The borrowed form was cast away, Before mine eye a giant lay With bright gold braceleted.

My arrow smote him in the chest: The giant by the pain distressed Raised his loud voice on high.

Far rang the mournful sound: mine own, It seemed, were accent, voice, and tone, They made thee leave my spouse alone And to my rescue fly."

Canto LXI. Rama's Lament.

As Rama sought his leafy cot Through his left eye keen throbbings shot, His wonted strength his frame forsook, And all his body reeled and shook.

Still on those dreadful signs he thought,- Sad omens with disaster fraught, And from his troubled heart he cried, "O, may no ill my spouse betide!"

Longing to gaze on Sita's face He hastened to his dwelling-place, Then sinking neath his misery's weight, He looked and found it desolate.

Tossing his mighty arms on high He sought her with an eager cry, From spot to spot he wildly ran Each corner of his home to scan.

He looked, but Sita was not there; His cot was disolate and bare, Like streamlet in the winter frost, The glory of her lilies lost.

With leafy tears the sad trees wept As a wild wind their branches swept.

Mourned bird and deer, and every flower Drooped fainting round the lonely bower.

The silvan deities had fled The spot where all the light was dead, Where hermit coats of skin displayed, And piles of sacred gra.s.s were laid.

He saw, and maddened by his pain Cried in lament again, again: "Where is she, dead or torn away, Lost, or some hungry giant's prey?

Or did my darling chance to rove For fruit and blossoms though the grove?

Or has she sought the pool or rill, Her pitcher from the wave to fill?"

His eager eyes on fire with pain He roamed about with maddened brain.

Each grove and glade he searched with care, He sought, but found no Sita there.

He wildly rushed from hill to hill; From tree to tree, from rill to rill, As bitter woe his bosom rent Still Rama roamed with fond lament: "O sweet Kadamba say has she Who loved thy bloom been seen by thee?

If thou have seen her face most fair, Say, gentle tree, I pray thee, where.

O Bel tree with thy golden fruit Round as her breast, no more be mute, Where is my radiant darling, gay In silk that mocks thy glossy spray?

O Arjun, say, where is she now Who loved to touch thy scented bough?

Do not thy graceful friend forget, But tell me, is she living yet?

Speak, Basil, thou must surely know, For like her limbs thy branches show,- Most lovely in thy fair array Of twining plant and tender spray.

Sweet Tila, fairest of the trees, Melodious with the hum of bees, Where is my darling Sita, tell,- The dame who loved thy flowers so well?

Asoka, act thy gentle part,- Named Heartsease,(507) give me what thou art, To these sad eyes my darling show And free me from this load of woe.

O Palm, in rich ripe fruitage dressed Round as the beauties of her breast, If thou have heart to know and feel, My peerless consort's fate reveal.

Hast thou, Rose-apple, chanced to view My darling bright with golden hue?

If thou have seen her quickly speak, Where is the dame I wildly seek?

O glorious Ca.s.sia, thou art gay With all thy loveliest bloom to-day, Where is my dear who loved to hold In her full lap thy flowery gold?"

To many a tree and plant beside, To Jasmin, Mango, Sal, he cried.

"Say, hast thou seen, O gentle deer, The fawn-eyed Sita wandering here?

It may be that my love has strayed To sport with fawns beneath the shade, If thou, great elephant, have seen My darling of the lovely mien, Whose rounded limbs are soft and fine As is that lissome trunk of thine, O n.o.blest of wild creatures, show Where is the dame thou needs must know.

O tiger, hast thou chanced to see My darling? very fair is she, Cast all thy fear away, declare, Where is my moon-faced darling, where?

There, darling of the lotus eye, I see thee, and 'tis vain to fly, Wilt thou not speak, dear love? I see Thy form half hidden by the tree.

Stay if thou love me, Sita, stay In pity cease thy heartless play.

Why mock me now? thy gentle breast Was never p.r.o.ne to cruel jest.

'Tis vain behind yon bush to steal: Thy shimmering silks thy path reveal.

Fly not, mine eyes pursue thy way; For pity's sake, dear Sita, stay.

Ah me, ah me, my words are vain; My gentle love is lost or slain.

How could her tender bosom spurn Her husband on his home-return?

Ah no, my love is surely dead, Fierce giants on her flesh have fed, Rending the soft limbs of their prey When I her lord was far away.

That moon-bright face, that polished brow, Red lips, bright teeth-what are they now?

Alas, my darling's shapely neck She loved with chains of gold to deck,- That neck that mocked the sandal scent, The ruthless fiends have grasped and rent.

Alas, 'twas vain those arms to raise Soft as the young tree's tender sprays.

Ah, dainty meal for giants' lips Were arms and quivering finger tips.

Ah, she who counted many a friend Was left for fiends to seize and rend, Was left by me without defence From ravening giants' violence.

O Lakshma? of the arm of might, Say, is my darling love in sight?

O dearest Sita. where art thou?

Where is my darling consort now?"

Thus as he cried in wild lament From grove to grove the mourner went, Here for a moment sank to rest, Then started up and onward pressed.