The Ramayana Part 62

I see thee not: these eyes grow blind, And memory quits my troubled mind.

Angels of Death are round me: they Summon my soul with speed away.

What woe more grievous can there be, That, when from light and life I flee, I may not, ere I part, behold My virtuous Rama, true and bold?

Grief for my son, the brave and true, Whose joy it was my will to do, Dries up my breath, as summer dries The last drop in the pool that lies.

Not men, but blessed G.o.ds, are they Whose eyes shall see his face that day; See him, when fourteen years are past, With earrings decked return at last.

My fainting mind forgets to think: Low and more low my spirits sink.

Each from its seat, my senses steal: I cannot hear, or taste, or feel.

This lethargy of soul o'ercomes Each organ, and its function numbs: So when the oil begins to fail, The torch's rays grow faint and pale.

This flood of woe caused by this hand Destroys me helpless and unmanned, Resistless as the floods that bore A pa.s.sage through the river sh.o.r.e.

Ah Raghu's son, ah mighty-armed, By whom my cares were soothed and charmed, My son in whom I took delight, Now vanished from thy father's sight!

Kausalya, ah, I cannot see; Sumitra, gentle devotee!

Alas, Kaikeyi, cruel dame, My bitter foe, thy father's shame!"

Kausalya and Sumitra kept Their watch beside him as he wept.

And Dasaratha moaned and sighed, And grieving for his darling died.

Canto LXV. The Women's Lament.

And now the night had past away, And brightly dawned another day; The minstrels, trained to play and sing, Flocked to the chamber of the king: Bards, who their gayest raiment wore, And heralds famed for ancient lore: And singers, with their songs of praise, Made music in their several ways.

There as they poured their blessings choice And hailed their king with hand and voice, Their praises with a swelling roar Echoed through court and corridor.

Then as the bards his glory sang, From beaten palms loud answer rang, As glad applauders clapped their hands, And told his deeds in distant lands.

The swelling concert woke a throng Of sleeping birds to life and song: Some in the branches of the trees, Some caged in halls and galleries.

Nor was the soft string music mute; The gentle whisper of the lute, And blessings sung by singers skilled The palace of the monarch filled.

Eunuchs and dames of life unstained, Each in the arts of waiting trained, Drew near attentive as before, And crowded to the chamber door: These skilful when and how to shed The l.u.s.tral stream o'er limb and head, Others with golden ewers stood Of water stained with sandal wood.

And many a maid, pure, young, and fair, Her load of early offerings bare, Cups of the flood which all revere, And sacred things, and toilet gear.

Each several thing was duly brought As rule of old observance taught, And lucky signs on each impressed Stamped it the fairest and the best.

There anxious, in their long array, All waited till the shine of day: But when the king nor rose nor spoke, Doubt and alarm within them woke.

Forthwith the dames, by duty led, Attendants on the monarch's bed, Within the royal chamber pressed To wake their master from his rest.

Skilled in the lore of dreaming, they First touched the bed on which he lay.

But none replied; no sound was heard, Nor hand, nor head, nor body stirred.

They trembled, and their dread increased, Fearing his breath of life had ceased, And bending low their heads, they shook Like the tall reeds that fringe the brook.

In doubt and terror down they knelt, Looked on his face, his cold hand felt, And then the gloomy truth appeared Of all their hearts had darkly feared.

Kausalya and Sumitra, worn With weeping for their sons, forlorn, Woke not, but lay in slumber deep And still as death's unending sleep.

Bowed down by grief, her colour fled, Her wonted l.u.s.tre dull and dead, Kausalya shone not, like a star Obscured behind a cloudy bar.

Beside the king's her couch was spread, And next was Queen Sumitra's bed, Who shone no more with beauty's glow, Her face bedewed with tears of woe.

There lapped in sleep each wearied queen, There as in sleep, the king was seen; And swift the troubling thought came o'er Their spirits that he breathed no more.

At once with wailing loud and high The matrons shrieked a bitter cry, As widowed elephants bewail Their dead lord in the woody vale.

At the loud shriek that round them rang, Kausalya and Sumitra sprang Awakened from their beds, with eyes Wide open in their first surprise.

Quick to the monarch's side they came, And saw and touched his lifeless frame; One cry, O husband! forth they sent, And prostrate to the ground they went.

The king of Kosal's daughter(338) there Writhed, with the dust on limb and hair l.u.s.treless, as a star might lie Hurled downward from the glorious sky.

When the king's voice in death was stilled, The women who the chamber filled Saw, like a widow elephant slain, Kausalya prostrate in her pain.

Then all the monarch's ladies led By Queen Kaikeyi at their head, Poured forth their tears, and weeping so, Sank on the ground, consumed by woe.

The cry of grief so long and loud Went up from all the royal crowd, That, doubled by the matron train, It made the palace ring again.

Filled with dark fear and eager eyes, Anxiety and wild surmise; Echoing with the cries of grief Of sorrowing friends who mourned their chief, Dejected, pale with deep distress, Hurled from their height of happiness: Such was the look the palace wore Where lay the king who breathed no more.

Canto LXVI. The Embalming.

Kausalya's eyes with tears o'erflowed, Weighed down by varied sorrows' load; On her dead lord her gaze she bent, Who lay like fire whose might is spent, Like the great deep with waters dry, Or like the clouded sun on high.

Then on her lap she laid his head.

And on Kaikeyi looked and said: "Triumphant now enjoy thy reign Without a thorn thy side to pain.

Thou hast pursued thy single aim, And killed the king, O wicked dame.

Far from my sight my Rama flies, My perished lord has sought the skies.

No friend, no hope my life to cheer, I cannot tread the dark path here.

Who would forsake her husband, who That G.o.d to whom her love is due, And wish to live one hour, but she Whose heart no duty owns, like thee?

The ravenous sees no fault: his greed Will e'en on poison blindly feed.

Kaikeyi, through a hump-back maid, This royal house in death has laid.

King Janak, with his queen, will hear Heart rent like me the tidings drear Of Rama banished by the king, Urged by her impious counselling.

No son has he, his age is great, And sinking with the double weight, He for his darling child will pine, And pierced with woe his life resign.

Sprung from Videha's monarch, she A sad and lovely devotee, Roaming the wood, unmeet for woe, Will toil and trouble undergo.

She in the gloomy night with fear The cries of beast and bird will hear, And trembling in her wild alarm Will cling to Rama's sheltering arm.

Ah, little knows my duteous son That I am widowed and undone- My Rama of the lotus eye, Gone hence, gone hence, alas, to die.

Now, as a living wife and true, I, e'en this day, will perish too: Around his form these arms will throw And to the fire with him will go."

Clasping her husband's lifeless clay A while the weeping votaress lay, Till chamberlains removed her thence O'ercome by sorrow's violence.

Then in a cask of oil they laid Him who in life the world had swayed, And finished, as the lords desired, All rites for parted souls required.

The lords, all-wise, refused to burn The monarch ere his son's return; So for a while the corpse they set Embalmed in oil, and waited yet.

The women heard: no doubt remained, And wildly for the king they plained.

With gushing tears that drowned each eye Wildly they waved their arms on high, And each her mangling nails impressed Deep in her head and knee and breast: "Of Rama reft,-who ever spake The sweetest words the heart to take, Who firmly to the truth would cling,- Why dost thou leave us, mighty King?

How can the consorts thou hast left Widowed, of Raghu's son bereft, Live with our foe Kaikeyi near, The wicked queen we hate and fear?

She threw away the king, her spite Drove Rama forth and Lakshma?'s might, And gentle Sita: how will she Spare any, whosoe'er it be?"

Oppressed with sorrow, tear-distained, The royal women thus complained.

Like night when not a star appears, Like a sad widow drowned in tears, Ayodhya's city, dark and dim, Reft of her lord was sad for him.

When thus for woe the king to heaven had fled, And still on earth his lovely wives remained.

With dying light the sun to rest had sped, And night triumphant o'er the landscape reigned.

Canto LXVII. The Praise Of Kings.

That night of sorrow pa.s.sed away, And rose again the G.o.d of Day.

Then all the twice-born peers of state Together met for high debate.

Javali, lord of mighty fame.

And Gautam, and Katyayan came, And Markandeya's reverend age, And Vamadeva, glorious sage: Sprung from Mudgalya's seed the one, The other ancient Kasyap's son.

With lesser lords these Brahmans each Spoke in his turn his several speech, And turning to Vasish?ha, best Of household priests him thus addressed: "The night of bitter woe has past, Which seemed a hundred years to last, Our king, in sorrow for his son, Reunion with the Five has won.

His soul is where the blessed are, While Rama roams in woods afar, And Lakshma?, bright in glorious deeds, Goes where his well-loved brother leads.

And Bharat and Satrughna, they Who smite their foes in battle fray, Far in the realm of Kekaya stay, Where their maternal grandsire's care Keeps Rajagriha's city fair.

Let one of old Ikshvaku's race Obtain this day the sovereign's place, Or havoc and destruction straight Our kingless land will devastate.

In kingless lands no thunder's voice, No lightning wreaths the heart rejoice, Nor does Parjanya's heavenly rain Descend upon the burning plain.

Where none is king, the sower's hand Casts not the seed upon the land; The son against the father strives.