The Ramayana Part 52

Canto XLIII. Kausalya's Lament.

Kausalya saw the monarch lie With drooping frame and failing eye, And for her banished son distressed With these sad words her lord addressed: "Kaikeyi, cruel, false, and vile Has cast the venom of her guile On Rama lord of men, and she Will ravage like a snake set free; And more and more my soul alarm, Like a dire serpent bent on harm, For triumph crowns each dark intent, And Rama to the wild is sent.

Ah, were he doomed but here to stray Begging his food from day to day, Or do, enslaved, Kaikeyi's will, This were a boon, a comfort still.

But she, as chose her cruel hate, Has hurled him from his high estate, As Brahmans when the moon is new Cast to the ground the demons' due.(318) The long-armed hero, like the lord Of Nagas, with his bow and sword Begins, I ween, his forest life With Lakshma? and his faithful wife.

Ah, how will fare the exiles now, Whom, moved by Queen Kaikeyi, thou Hast sent in forests to abide, Bred in delights, by woe untried?

Far banished when their lives are young, With the fair fruit before them hung, Deprived of all their rank that suits, How will they live on grain and roots?

O, that my years of woe were pa.s.sed, And the glad hour were come at last When I shall see my children dear, Rama, his wife, and Lakshma? here!

When shall Ayodhya, wild with glee, Again those mighty heroes see, And decked with wreaths her banners wave To welcome home the true and brave?

When will the beautiful city view With happy eyes the lordly two Returning, joyful as the main When the dear moon is full again?

When, like some mighty bull who leads The cow exulting through the meads, Will Rama through the city ride, Strong-armed, with Sita at his side?

When will ten thousand thousand meet And crowd Ayodhya's royal street, And grain in joyous welcome throw Upon my sons who tame the foe?

When with delight shall youthful bands Of Brahman maidens in their hands Bear fruit and flowers in goodly show, And circling round Ayodhya go?

With ripened judgment of a sage, And G.o.dlike in his blooming age, When shall my virtuous son appear, Like kindly rain, our hearts to cheer?

Ah, in a former life, I ween, This hand of mine, most base and mean, Has dried the udders of the kine And left the thirsty calves to pine.

Hence, as the lion robs the cow, Kaikeyi makes me childless now, Exulting from her feebler foe To rend the son she cherished so.

I had but him, in Scripture skilled, With every grace his soul was filled.

Now not a joy has life to give, And robbed of him I would not live: Yea, all my days are dark and drear If he, my darling, be not near, And Lakshma? brave, my heart to cheer.

As for my son I mourn and yearn, The quenchless flames of anguish burn And kill me with the pain, As in the summer's noontide blaze The glorious Day-G.o.d with his rays Consumes the parching plain."

Canto XLIV. Sumitra's Speech.

Kausalya ceased her sad lament, Of beauteous dames most excellent.

Sumitra who to duty clave, In righteous words this answer gave: "Dear Queen, all n.o.ble virtues grace Thy son, of men the first in place.

Why dost thou shed these tears of woe With bitter grief lamenting so?

If Rama, leaving royal sway Has hastened to the woods away, 'Tis for his high-souled father's sake That he his premise may not break.

He to the path of duty clings Which lordly fruit hereafter brings- The path to which the righteous cleave- For him, dear Queen, thou shouldst not grieve.

And Lakshma? too, the blameless-souled, The same high course with him will hold, And mighty bliss on him shall wait, So tenderly compa.s.sionate.

And Sita, bred with tender care, Well knows what toils await her there, But in her love she will not part From Rama of the virtuous heart.

Now has thy son through all the world The banner of his fame unfurled; True, modest, careful of his vow, What has he left to aim at now?

The sun will mark his mighty soul, His wisdom, sweetness, self-control, Will spare from pain his face and limb, And with soft radiance shine for him.

For him through forest glades shall spring A soft auspicious breeze, and bring Its tempered heat and cold to play Around him ever night and day.

The pure cold moonbeams shall delight The hero as he sleeps at night, And soothe him with the soft caress Of a fond parent's tenderness.

To him, the bravest of the brave, His heavenly arms the Brahman gave, When fierce Suvahu dyed the plain With his life-blood by Rama slain.

Still trusting to his own right arm Thy hero son will fear no harm: As in his father's palace, he In the wild woods will dauntless be.

Whene'er he lets his arrows fly His stricken foemen fall and die: And is that prince of peerless worth Too weak to keep and sway the earth?

His sweet pure soul, his beauty's charm, His hero heart, his warlike arm, Will soon redeem his rightful reign When from the woods he comes again.

The Brahmans on the prince's head King-making drops shall quickly shed, And Sita, Earth, and Fortune share The glories which await the heir.

For him, when forth his chariot swept, The crowd that thronged Ayodhya wept, With agonizing woe distressed.

With him in hermit's mantle dressed In guise of Sita Lakshmi went, And none his glory may prevent.

Yea, naught to him is high or hard, Before whose steps, to be his guard, Lakshma?, the best who draws the bow, With spear, shaft, sword rejoiced to go.

His wanderings in the forest o'er, Thine eyes shall see thy son once more, Quit thy faint heart, thy grief dispel, For this, O Queen, is truth I tell.

Thy son returning, moonlike, thence, Shall at thy feet do reverence, And, blest and blameless lady, thou Shalt see his head to touch them bow, Yea, thou shalt see thy son made king When he returns with triumphing, And how thy happy eyes will brim With tears of joy to look on him!

Thou, blameless lady, shouldst the whole Of the sad people here console: Why in thy tender heart allow This bitter grief to harbour now?

As the long banks of cloud distil Their water when they see the hill, So shall the drops of rapture run From thy glad eyes to see thy son Returning, as he lowly bends To greet thee, girt by all his friends."

Thus soothing, kindly eloquent, With every hopeful argument Kausalya's heart by sorrow rent, Fair Queen Sumitra ceased.

Kausalya heard each pleasant plea, And grief began to leave her free, As the light clouds of autumn flee, Their watery stores decreased.

Canto XLV. The Tamasa.

Their tender love the people drew To follow Rama brave and true, The high-souled hero, as he went Forth from his home to banishment.

The king himself his friends obeyed, And turned him homeward as they prayed.

But yet the people turned not back, Still close on Rama's chariot track.

For they who in Ayodhya dwelt For him such fond affection felt, Decked with all grace and glories high, The dear full moon of every eye.

Though much his people prayed and wept, Kakutstha's son his purpose kept, And still his journey would pursue To keep the king his father true.

Deep in the hero's bosom sank Their love, whose signs his glad eye drank.

He spoke to cheer them, as his own Dear children, in a loving tone: "If ye would grant my fond desire, Give Bharat now that love entire And reverence shown to me by all Who dwell within Ayodhya's wall.

For he, Kaikeyi's darling son, His virtuous career will run, And ever bound by duty's chain Consult your weal and bliss and gain.

In judgment old, in years a child, With hero virtues meek and mild, A fitting lord is he to cheer His people and remove their fear.

In him all kingly gifts abound, More n.o.ble than in me are found: Imperial prince, well proved and tried- Obey him as your lord and guide.

And grant, I pray, the boon I ask: To please the king be still your task, That his fond heart, while I remain Far in the wood, may feel no pain."

The more he showed his will to tread The path where filial duty led, The more the people, round him thronged, For their dear Rama's empire longed.

Still more attached his followers grew, As Rama, with his brother, drew The people with his virtues' ties, Lamenting all with tear-dimmed eyes.

The saintly twice-born, triply old In glory, knowledge, seasons told, With h.o.a.ry heads that shook and bowed, Their voices raised and spake aloud: "O steeds, who best and n.o.blest are, Who whirl so swiftly Rama's car, Go not, return: we call on you: Be to your master kind and true.

For speechless things are swift to hear, And naught can match a horse's ear, O generous steeds, return, when thus You hear the cry of all of us.

Each vow he keeps most firm and sure, And duty makes his spirit pure.

Back with our chief! not wood-ward hence; Back to his royal residence!"

Soon as he saw the aged band.

Exclaiming in their misery, stand, And their sad cries around him rang, Swift from his chariot Rama sprang.

Then, still upon his journey bent, With Sita and with Lakshma? went The hero by the old men's side Suiting to theirs his shortened stride.

He could not pa.s.s the twice-born throng As weariedly they walked along: With pitying heart, with tender eye, He could not in his chariot fly.

When the steps of Rama viewed That still his onward course pursued, Woe shook the troubled heart of each, And burnt with grief they spoke this speech-

"With thee, O Rama, to the wood All Brahmans go and Brahmanhood: Borne on our aged shoulders, see, Our fires of worship go with thee.

Bright canopies that lend their shade In Vaj.a.peya(319) rites displayed, In plenteous store are borne behind Like cloudlets in the autumn wind.

No shelter from the sun hast thou, And, lest his fury burn thy brow, These sacrificial shades we bear Shall aid thee in the noontide glare.

Our hearts, who ever loved to pore On sacred text and Vedic lore, Now all to thee, beloved, turn, And for a life in forests yearn.

Deep in our aged bosoms lies The Vedas' lore, the wealth we prize, There still, like wives at home, shall dwell, Whose love and truth protect them well.

To follow thee our hearts are bent; We need not plan or argument.

All else in duty's law we slight, For following thee is following right.

O n.o.ble Prince, retrace thy way: O, hear us, Rama, as we lay, With many tears and many prayers, Our aged heads and swan-white hairs Low in the dust before thy feet; O, hear us, Rama, we entreat.

Full many of these who with thee run, Their sacred rites had just begun.

Unfinished yet those rites remain; But finished if thou turn again.

All rooted life and things that move To thee their deep affection prove.

To them, when warmed by love, they glow And sue to thee, some favour show, Each lowly bush, each towering tree Would follow too for love of thee.

Bound by its root it must remain; But-all it can-its boughs complain, As when the wild wind rushes by It tells its woe in groan and sigh.

No more through air the gay birds flit, But, foodless, melancholy sit Together on the branch and call To thee whose kind heart feels for all."