The Ramayana Part 51

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 Dasaratha'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, 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 Rama's car arose, Who saw their monarch fainting there Beneath that grief too great to bear.

Then "Rama, Rama!" with the cry Of "Ah, his mother!" sounded high, As all the people wept aloud Around the ladies' sorrowing crowd.

When Rama 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 Rama'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 Sita, Lakshma?, O my child!"

"Stay," cried the king, "thy chariot stay:"

"On, on," cried Rama, "speed away."

As one between two hosts, inclined To neither was Sumantra's mind.

But Rama 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 Rama kept.

As swift away the horses sped, His lords to Dasaratha 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.(314)

Canto XLI. The Citizens' Lament.

The lion chief with hands upraised Was born from eyes that fondly gazed.

But then the ladies' bower was rent With cries of weeping and lament: "Where goes he now, our lord, the sure Protector of the friendless poor, In whom the wretched and the weak Defence and aid were wont to seek?

All words of wrath he turned aside, And ne'er, when cursed, in ire replied.

He shared his people's woe, and stilled The troubled breast which rage had filled.

Our chief, on lofty thoughts intent, In glorious fame preeminent: As on his own dear mother, thus He ever looked on each of us.

Where goes he now? His sire's behest, By Queen Kaikeyi's guile distressed, Has banished to the forest hence Him who was all the world's defence.

Ah, senseless King, to drive away The hope of men, their guard and stay, To banish to the distant wood Rama the duteous, true, and good!"

The royal dames, like cows bereaved Of their young calves, thus sadly grieved.

The monarch heard them as they wailed, And by the fire of grief a.s.sailed For his dear son, he bowed his head, And all his sense and memory fled.

Then were no fires of worship fed, Thick darkness o'er the sun was spread.

The cows their thirsty calves denied, And elephants flung their food aside.

Trisanku,(315) Jupiter looked dread, And Mercury and Mars the red, In direful opposition met, The glory of the moon beset.

The lunar stars withheld their light, The planets were no longer bright, But meteors with their horrid glare, And dire Visakhas(316) lit the air.

As troubled Ocean heaves and raves When Doom's wild tempest sweeps the waves, Thus all Ayodhya reeled and bent When Rama to the forest went.

And chilling grief and dark despair Fell suddenly on all men there.

Their wonted pastime all forgot, Nor thought of food, or touched it not.

Crowds in the royal street were seen With weeping eye and troubled mien: No more a people gay and glad, Each head and heart was sick and sad.

No more the cool wind softly blew, The moon no more was fair to view, No more the sun with genial glow Cherished the world now plunged in woe.

Sons, brothers, husbands, wedded wives Forgot the ties that joined their lives; No thought for kith and kin was spared, But all for only Rama cared.

And Rama's friends who loved him best, Their minds disordered and distressed.

By the great burthen of their woes Turned not to slumber or repose.

Like Earth with all her hills bereft Of Indra's guiding care.

Ayodhya in her sorrow left By him, the high souled heir, Was bowed by fear and sorrow's force, And shook with many a throe, While warrior, elephant, and horse Sent up the cry of woe.

Canto XLII. Dasaratha's Lament.

While yet the dust was seen afar That marked the course of Rama's car, The glory of Ikshvaku's race Turned not away his eager face.

While yet his duteous son he saw He could not once his gaze withdraw, But rooted to the spot remained With eyes that after Rama strained.

But when that dust no more he viewed, Fainting he fell by grief subdued.

To his right hand Kausalya went, And ready aid the lady lent, While Bharat's loving mother tried To raise him on the other side.

The king, within whose ordered soul Justice and virtue held control, To Queen Kaikeyi turned and said, With every sense disquieted: "Touch me not, thou whose soul can plot All sin. Kaikeyi, touch me not.

No loving wife, no friend to me, I ne'er again would look on thee; Ne'er from this day have aught to do With thee and all thy retinue; Thee whom no virtuous thoughts restrain, Whose selfish heart seeks only gain.

The hand I laid in mine, O dame, The steps we took around the flame,(317) And all that links thy life to mine Here and hereafter I resign.

If Bharat too, thy darling son, Joy in the rule thy art has won, Ne'er may the funeral offerings paid By his false hand approach my shade."

Then while the dust upon him hung, The monarch to Kausalya clung, And she with mournful steps and slow Turned to the palace, worn with woe.

As one whose hand has touched the fire, Or slain a Brahman in his ire, He felt his heart with sorrow torn Still thinking of his son forlorn.

Each step was torture, as the road The traces of the chariot showed, And as the shadowed sun grows dim So care and anguish darkened him.

He raised a cry, by woe distraught, As of his son again he thought.

And judging that the car had sped Beyond the city, thus he said: "I still behold the foot-prints made By the good horses that conveyed My son afar: these marks I see, But high-souled Rama, where is he?

Ah me, my son! my first and best, On pleasant couches wont to rest, With limbs perfumed with sandal, fanned By many a beauty's tender hand: Where will he lie with log or stone Beneath him for a pillow thrown, To leave at morn his earthy bed, Neglected, and with dust o'erspread, As from the flood with sigh and pant Comes forth the husband elephant?

The men who make the woods their home Shall see the long-armed hero roam Roused from his bed, though lord of all, In semblance of a friendless thrall.

Janak's dear child who ne'er has met With aught save joy and comfort yet, Will reach to-day the forest, worn And wearied with the brakes of thorn.

Ah, gentle girl, of woods unskilled, How will her heart with dread be filled At the wild beasts' deep roaring there, Whose voices lift the shuddering hair!

Kaikeyi, glory in thy gain, And, widow queen, begin to reign: No will, no power to live have I When my brave son no more is nigh."

Thus pouring forth laments, the king Girt by the people's crowded ring, Entered the n.o.ble bower like one New-bathed when funeral rites are done.

Where'er he looked naught met his gaze But empty houses, courts, and ways.

Closed were the temples: countless feet No longer trod the royal street, And thinking of his son he viewed Men weak and worn and woe-subdued.

As sinks the sun into a cloud, So pa.s.sed he on, and wept aloud, Within that house no more to be The dwelling of the banished three, Brave Rama, his Vedehan bride, And Lakshma? by his brother's side: Like broad still waters, when the king Of all the birds that ply the wing Has swooped from heaven and borne away The glittering snakes that made them gay.

With choking sobs and voice half spent The king renewed his sad lament: With broken utterance faint and low Scarce could he speak these words of woe: "My steps to Rama's mother guide, And place me by Kausalya's side: There, only there my heart may know Some little respite from my woe."

The warders of the palace led The monarch, when his words were said, To Queen Kausalya's bower, and there Laid him with reverential care.

But while he rested on the bed Still was his soul disquieted.

In grief he tossed his arms on high Lamenting with a piteous cry: "O Rama, Rama," thus said he, "My son, thou hast forsaken me.

High bliss awaits those favoured men Left living in Ayodhya then, Whose eyes shall see my son once more Returning when the time is o'er."

Then came the night, whose hated gloom Fell on him like the night of doom.

At midnight Dasaratha cried To Queen Kausalya by his side: "I see thee not, Kausalya; lay Thy gentle hand in mine, I pray.

When Rama left his home my sight Went with him, nor returns to-night."