Ramayana on Loneliness

"By Rama's might, and his alone, Can this great fiend be overthrown. I know in days of yore the Blest Thy saving help in fight confessed. Still of thy famous deeds they tell In heaven above, in earth, and hell, A mighty host obeys thy hest: Here let it still, I pray thee, rest. Thy glorious son, though yet a boy, Will in the fight that fiend destroy. Rama alone with me shall go: Be happy, victor of the foe."

Alone, unyielding to dismay, Though burnt by anguish night and day, Great Visvamitra's side he sought, Whose treasures were by penance bought.

Such were the words the giant said, And Sita's angry eyes were red. She answered in that lonely place The monarch of the giant race:

"King, I renounce all earthly care, And live in woods on woodland fare. What, dead to joys, have I to do With lordly train and retinue! Who gives his elephant and yet Upon the girths his heart will set? How can a cord attract his eyes Who gives away the nobler prize? Best of the good, with me be led No host, my King with banners spread. All wealth, all lordship I resign: The hermit's dress alone be mine. Before I go, have here conveyed A little basket and a spade. With these alone I go, content, For fourteen years of banishment."

Then on his wife his fury burst, And thus the guilty dame he cursed: "For countless years, disloyal spouse, Devoted to severest vows, Thy bed the ashes, air thy food, Here shalt thou live in solitude. This lonely grove thy home shall be, And not an eye thy form shall see. When Rama, Dasaratha's child, Shall seek these shades then drear and wild, His coming shall remove thy stain, And make the sinner pure again. Due honour paid to him, thy guest, Shall cleanse thy fond and erring breast, Thee to my side in bliss restore, And give thy proper shape once more."(218)

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."

Beneath this rock, O Lakshman, see, My peerless consort sat with me, And gently talked to thee the while, Her sweet lips opening with a smile. Here is that fairest stream which she Loved ever, bright Godavari. Ne'er can the dame have passed this way: So far alone she would not stray, Nor has my darling, lotus-eyed, Sought lilies by the river's side, For without me she ne'er would go To streamlets where the wild flowers grow, Tell me not, brother, she has strayed To the dark forest's distant shade Where blooming boughs are gay and sweet, And bright birds love the cool retreat. Alone my love would never dare,-- My timid love,--to wander there.

She spoke. He took the proffered seat, And as she pressed her son to eat, Raised reverent bands, and, touched with shame, Made answer to the royal dame: "Dear lady, thou hast yet to know That danger threats, and heavy woe: A grief that will with sore distress On Sita, thee, and Lakshman press. What need of seats have such as I? This day to Dandak wood I fly. The hour is come, a time, unmeet For silken couch and gilded seat. I must to lonely wilds repair, Abstain from flesh, and living there On roots, fruit, honey, hermit's food, Pass twice seven years in solitude. To Bharat's hand the king will yield The regent power I thought to wield, And me, a hermit, will he send My days in Dandak wood to spend."

The queen Ghritachi, nymph most fair, Married to Kusanabha, bare A hundred daughters, lovely-faced, With every charm and beauty graced. It chanced the maidens, bright and gay As lightning-flashes on a day Of rain time, to the garden went With song and play and merriment, And there in gay attire they strayed, And danced, and laughed, and sang, and played. The God of Wind who roves at will All places, as he lists, to fill, Saw the young maidens dancing there, Of faultless shape and mien most fair. "I love you all, sweet girls," he cried, "And each shall be my darling bride. Forsake, forsake your mortal lot, And gain a life that withers not. A fickle thing is youth's brief span, And more than all in mortal man. Receive unending youth, and be Immortal, O my loves, with me."

Then each with anxious glances viewed His fellow and his speech renewed: "There twice seven thousand giants stand With impious heart and cruel hand: Here Rama stands, by virtue known: How can the hero fight alone?"

Then will she feel her hopeless state, Widowed, forlorn, and desolate; Know that on thee her bliss depends, Far from her country and her friends; Then, her proud spirit overthrown, The lady will be all thine own."

As Saint Vasishtha answered so, Nor let the cow of plenty go, The monarch, as a last resource, Began to drag her off by force. While the king's servants tore away Their moaning, miserable prey, Sad, sick at heart, and sore distressed, She pondered thus within her breast: "Why am I thus forsaken? why Betrayed by him of soul most high. Vasishtha, ravished by the hands Of soldiers of the monarch's bands? Ah me! what evil have I done Against the lofty-minded one, That he, so pious, can expose The innocent whose love he knows?" In her sad breast as thus she thought, And heaved deep sighs with anguish fraught, With wondrous speed away she fled, And back to Saint Vasishtha sped. She hurled by hundreds to the ground The menial crew that hemmed her round, And flying swifter than the blast Before the saint herself she cast. There Dapple-skin before the saint Stood moaning forth her sad complaint, And wept and lowed: such tones as come From wandering cloud or distant drum. "O son of Brahma," thus cried she, "Why hast thou thus forsaken me, That the king's men, before thy face, Bear off thy servant from her place?"

Alone the mourning pair I led, Their souls with woe disquieted, And let the dame and hermit lay Their hands upon the breathless clay. The father touched his son, and pressed The body to his aged breast; Then falling by the dead boy's side, He lifted up his voice, and cried:

Then Rama's rising doubt was stilled, And friendly thoughts his bosom filled. Thus, deep in Scripture's lore, he spake: "The suppliant will I ne'er forsake, Nor my protecting aid refuse When one in name of friendship sues. Though faults and folly blot his fame, Pity and help he still may claim."

So thus to share his exile, she Besought him with each earnest plea, Nor could she yet her lord persuade To take her to the lonely shade. The answer of the strong-armed chief Smote the Videhan's soul with grief, And from her eyes the torrents came bathing the bosom of the dame.

To Lakshman then she turned and spoke While sobs and sighs her utterance broke: "Sumitra's son, a pile prepare, My refuge in my dark despair. I will not live to bear this weight Of shame, forlorn and desolate. The kindled fire my woes shall end And be my best and surest friend."

Now ere the saint resolve to bring Destruction on each living thing, Let us appease, while yet we may, Him bright as fire, like fire to slay. Yea, as the fiery flood of Fate Lays all creation desolate, He o'er the conquered Gods may reign: O, grant him what he longs to gain."

Rava, the giants' mighty king, Heard wise Maricha's questioning, And told with ready answer, taught In eloquence, the cause he sought: "My guards, the bravest of my band, Are slain by Rama's vigorous hand, And Janasthan, that feared no hate Of foes, is rendered desolate. Come, aid me in the plan I lay To steal the conqueror's wife away."

"Quick, quick! This Vanar host restrain, For heralds never must be slain. To him alone, a wretch untrue, The punishment of death is due Who leaves his master's speech unsaid And speaks another in its stead." Moved by the suppliant speech and prayer Up sprang the prince and cried, forbear. Saved from his wild assailant's blows Again the Rakshas herald rose And borne on light wings to the sky Addressed Sugriva from on high: "O Vanar Monarch, chief endued With power and wonderous fortitude, What answer is my king, the fear And scourge of weeping worlds, to hear?" "Go tell thy lord," Sugriva cried, "Thou, Rama's foe, art thus defied. His arm the guilty Bali slew; Thus, tyrant, shalt thou perish too. Thy sons, thy friends, proud King, and all Thy kith and kin with thee shall fall; And, emptied of the giant's brood, Burnt Lanka be a solitude. Fly to the Sun-God's pathway, go And hide thee deep in hell below: In vain from Rama shalt thou flee Though heavenly warriors fight for thee. Thine arm subdued, securely bold, The Vulture-king infirm and old: But will thy puny strength avail When Raghu's wrathful sons assail? A captive in thy palace lies The lady of the lotus eyes: Thou knowest not how fierce and strong Is he whom thou hast dared to wrong. The best of Raghu's lineage, he Whose conquering hand shall punish thee."

Then, all his thoughts on Sita bent, The Vanar chieftain made lament: "The queen to Rama's soul endeared, By Lakshman's pious heart revered, Lies here,--for none may strive with Fate, A captive, sad and desolate. The brothers' might full well she knows, And bravely bears the storm of woes, As swelling Ganga in the rains The rush of every flood sustains. Her lord, for her, fierce Bali slew, Viradha's monstrous might o'erthrew, For her the fourteen thousand slain In Janasthan bedewed the plain. And if for her Ikshvaku's son Destroyed the world 'twere nobly done. This, this is she, so far renowned, Who sprang from out the furrowed ground,(823) Child of the high-souled king whose sway The men of Mithila obey: The glorious lady wooed and won By Dasaratha's noblest son; And now these sad eyes look on her Mid hostile fiends a prisoner. From home and every bliss she fled By wifely love and duty led, And heedless of a wanderer's woes, A life in lonely forests chose. This, this is she so fair of mould. Whose limbs are bright as burnished gold. Whose voice was ever soft and mild, Who sweetly spoke and sweetly smiled. O, what is Rama's misery! how He longs to see his darling now! Pining for one of her fond looks As one athirst for water brooks. Absorbed in woe the lady sees No Rakshas guard, no blooming trees. Her eyes are with her thoughts, and they Are fixed on Rama far away."

On piles of holy Fig-tree raised The meaner victims' bodies blazed: The steed, of all the creatures slain, Alone required a pile of cane. Three days, as is by law decreed, Lasted that Offering of the Steed. The Chatushtom began the rite, And when the sun renewed his light, The Ukthya followed: after came The Atiratra's holy flame. These were the rites, and many more Arranged by light of holy lore, The Aptoryam of mighty power, And, each performed in proper hour, The Abhijit and Visvajit With every form and service fit; And with the sacrifice at night The Jyotishtom and Ayus rite.(103) The task was done, as laws prescribe: The monarch, glory of his tribe, Bestowed the land in liberal grants Upon the sacred ministrants. He gave the region of the east, His conquest, to the Hotri priest. The west, the celebrant obtained: The south, the priest presiding gained: The northern region was the share Of him who chanted forth the prayer,(104) Thus did each priest obtain his meed At the great Slaughter of the Steed, Ordained, the best of all to be, By self-existent deity. Ikshvaku's son with joyful mind This noble fee to each assigned, But all the priests with one accord Addressed that unpolluted lord: "Tis thine alone to keep the whole Of this broad earth in firm control. No gift of lands from thee we seek: To guard these realms our hands were weak. On sacred lore our days are spent: Let other gifts our wants content."

Then through the streets the hero rode, And passed within his sire's abode, Like some deserted lion's den, Forsaken by the lord of men. Then to the inner bowers he came, Once happy home of many a dame, Now gloomy, sad, and drear, Dark as of old that sunless day When wept the Gods in wild dismay;(397) There poured he many a tear.

"Yea, for my father's promise sake I to the wood my way will take, And dwell a lonely exile there In hermit dress with matted hair. One thing alone I fain would learn, Why is the king this day so stern? Why is the scourge of foes so cold, Nor gives me greeting as of old? Now let not anger flush thy cheek: Before thy face the truth I speak, In hermit's coat with matted hair To the wild wood will I repair. How can I fail his will to do, Friend, master, grateful sovereign too? One only pang consumes my breast: That his own lips have not expressed His will, nor made his longing known That Bharat should ascend the throne. To Bharat I would yield my wife, My realm and wealth, mine own dear life, Unasked I fain would yield them all: More gladly at my father's call, More gladly when the gift may free His honour and bring joy to thee. Thus, lady, his sad heart release From the sore shame, and give him peace. But tell me, O, I pray thee, why The lord of men, with downcast eye, Lies prostrate thus, and one by one Down his pale cheek the tear-drops run. Let couriers to thy father speed On horses of the swiftest breed, And, by the mandate of the king, Thy Bharat to his presence bring. My father's words I will not stay To question, but this very day To Dandak's pathless wild will fare, For twice seven years an exile there."

Then Bharat rose: his hand he dipped, And purifying water sipped: "Each citizen," he cried, "give ear, Attend, each counsellor and peer. My mother planned, by me untaught, To win the sway I never sought: Ne'er Raghu's son could I despise, In duty's lore supremely wise. Now if obedience to our sire This dwelling in the woods require, I, till the destined years be spent, Will dwell alone in banishment."

His ears attentive Bharat lent To their resistless argument, Then to his troops the chief who broke His foe's embattled armies spoke: "Here let the troops in silence stay; One step beyond they must not stray. Come Dhrishti and Sumantra, you With me alone the path pursue." Their leader's speech the warriors heard, And from his place no soldier stirred, And Bharat bent his eager eyes Where curling smoke was seen to rise.

"My honoured lord, this tranquil spot, Fair home of hermits, suits me not: For all the neighbouring people here Will seek us when they know me near: With eager wish to look on me, And the Videhan dame to see, A crowd of rustics will intrude Upon the holy solitude. Provide, O gracious lord, I pray, Some quiet home that lies away, Where my Videhan spouse may dwell Tasting the bliss deserved so well."

The saint, with Brahman wand, empowered By lore divine that dart devoured. Nor could the triple world withdraw Rapt gazes from that sight of awe; For as he swallowed down the dart Of Brahma, sparks from every part, From finest pore and hair-cell, broke Enveloped in a veil of smoke. The staff he waved was all aglow Like Yama's sceptre, King below, Or like the lurid fire of Fate Whose rage the worlds will desolate.

Then Rama, having slain in fight Viradha of terrific might, With gentle words his spouse consoled, And clasped her in his loving hold. Then to his brother nobly brave The valiant prince his counsel gave: "Wild are these woods around us spread; And hard and rough the ground to tread: We, O my brother, ne'er have viewed So dark and drear a solitude: To Sarabhanga let us haste, Whom wealth of holy works has graced."

When Rama heard the vulture tell The tale that proved his love so well, His bow upon the ground he placed, And tenderly the bird embraced: Then to the earth he fell o'erpowered, And burning tears both brothers showered, For double pain and anguish pressed Upon the patient hero's breast. The solitary bird he eyed Who in the lone wood gasped and sighed, And as again his anguish woke Thus Rama to his brother spoke:

With joy that sprang from hope restored To Rama spake the Vanar lord: "I know, by wise Hanuman taught, Why thou the lonely wood hast sought. Where with thy brother Lakshman thou Hast sojourned, bound by hermit vow; Have heard how Sita, Janak's child, Was stolen in the pathless wild, How by a roving Rakshas she Weeping was reft from him and thee; How, bent on death, the giant slew The vulture king, her guardian true, And gave thy widowed breast to know A solitary mourner's woe. But soon, dear Prince, thy heart shall be From every trace of sorrow free; For I thy darling will restore, Lost like the prize of holy lore.(558) Yea, though in heaven the lady dwell, Or prisoned in the depths of hell, My friendly care her way shall track And bring thy ransomed darling back. Let this my promise soothe thy care, Nor doubt the words I truly swear. Saints, fiends, and dwellers of the skies Shall find thy wife a bitter prize, Like the rash child who rues too late The treacherous lure of poisoned cate. No longer, Prince, thy loss deplore: Thy darling wife will I restore. 'Twas she I saw: my heart infers That shrinking form was doubtless hers, Which gaint Ravan, fierce and dread, Bore swiftly through the clouds o'erhead Still writhing in his strict embrace Like helpless queen of serpent race,(559) And from her lips that sad voice came Shrieking thine own and Lakshman's name. High on a hill she saw me stand With comrades twain on either hand. Her outer robe to earth she threw, And with it sent her anklets too. We saw the glittering tokens fall, We found them there and kept them all. These will I bring: perchance thine eyes The treasured spoils will recognize."

"Nay thou hast angered, overbold, Khara our lord, the mighty-souled, And for thy sin, in battle strife Shalt yield to us thy forfeit life. No power hast thou alone to stand Against the numbers of our band. 'Twere vain to match thy single might Against us in the front of fight. When we equipped for fight advance With brandished pike and mace and lance, Thou, vanquished in the desperate field, Thy bow, thy strength, thy life shalt yield."

Then to that woody hill he prayed, Whence flashed afar each wild cascade: "O best of mountains, hast thou seen A dame of perfect form and mien In some sweet spot with trees o'ergrown,-- My darling whom I left alone?" Then as a lion threats a deer He thundered with a voice of fear: "Reveal her, mountain, to my view With golden limbs and golden hue. Where is my darling Sita? speak Before I rend thee peak from peak."

Vibhandak took his homeward road, And wearied by the heavy load Of roots and woodland fruit he bore Entered at last his cottage door. Fain for his son he looked around, But desolate the cell he found. He stayed not then to bathe his feet, Though fainting with the toil and heat, But hurried forth and roamed about Calling the boy with cry and shout, He searched the wood, but all in vain; Nor tidings of his son could gain.

Then with his heart consumed with woe, Still brooding on his overthrow By the great saint he had defied, At every breath the monarch sighed. Forth from his home his queen he led, And to a land far southward fled. There, fruit and roots his only food, He practised penance, sense-subdued, And in that solitary spot Four virtuous sons the king begot: Havishyand, from the offering named, And Madhushyand, for sweetness famed, Maharath, chariot-borne in fight, And Dridhanetra strong of sight.

To sainted Narad, prince of those Whose lore in words of wisdom flows. Whose constant care and chief delight Were Scripture and ascetic rite, The good Valmiki, first and best Of hermit saints, these words addressed:(9) "In all this world, I pray thee, who Is virtuous, heroic, true? Firm in his vows, of grateful mind, To every creature good and kind? Bounteous, and holy, just, and wise, Alone most fair to all men's eyes? Devoid of envy, firm, and sage, Whose tranquil soul ne'er yields to rage? Whom, when his warrior wrath is high, Do Gods embattled fear and fly? Whose noble might and gentle skill The triple world can guard from ill? Who is the best of princes, he Who loves his people's good to see? The store of bliss, the living mine Where brightest joys and virtues shine? Queen Fortune's(10) best and dearest friend, Whose steps her choicest gifts attend? Who may with Sun and Moon compare, With Indra,(11) Vishnu,(12) Fire, and Air? Grant, Saint divine,(13) the boon I ask, For thee, I ween, an easy task, To whom the power is given to know If such a man breathe here below." Then Narad, clear before whose eye The present, past, and future lie,(14) Made ready answer: "Hermit, where Are graces found so high and rare? Yet listen, and my tongue shall tell In whom alone these virtues dwell. From old Ikshvaku's(15) line he came, Known to the world by Rama's name: With soul subdued, a chief of might, In Scripture versed, in glory bright, His steps in virtue's paths are bent, Obedient, pure, and eloquent. In each emprise he wins success, And dying foes his power confess. Tall and broad-shouldered, strong of limb, Fortune has set her mark on him. Graced with a conch-shell's triple line, His throat displays the auspicious sign.(16) High destiny is clear impressed On massive jaw and ample chest, His mighty shafts he truly aims, And foemen in the battle tames. Deep in the muscle, scarcely shown, Embedded lies his collar-bone.

The wise Sumantra, thus addressed, Unfolded at the king's behest The plan the lords in council laid To draw the hermit from the shade: "The priest, amid the lordly crowd, To Lomapad thus spoke aloud: "Hear, King, the plot our thoughts have framed, A harmless trick by all unblamed. Far from the world that hermit's child Lives lonely in the distant wild: A stranger to the joys of sense, His bliss is pain and abstinence; And all unknown are women yet To him, a holy anchoret. The gentle passions we will wake That with resistless influence shake The hearts of men; and he Drawn by enchantment strong and sweet Shall follow from his lone retreat, And come and visit thee. Let ships be formed with utmost care That artificial trees may bear, And sweet fruit deftly made; Let goodly raiment, rich and rare, And flowers, and many a bird be there Beneath the leafy shade. Upon the ships thus decked a band Of young and lovely girls shall stand, Rich in each charm that wakes desire, And eyes that burn with amorous fire; Well skilled to sing, and play, and dance And ply their trade with smile and glance Let these, attired in hermits' dress, Betake them to the wilderness, And bring the boy of life austere A voluntary captive here." He ended; and the king agreed, By the priest's counsel won. And all the ministers took heed To see his bidding done. In ships with wondrous art prepared Away the lovely women fared, And soon beneath the shade they stood Of the wild, lonely, dreary wood. And there the leafy cot they found Where dwelt the devotee, And looked with eager eyes around The hermit's son to see. Still, of Vibhandak sore afraid, They hid behind the creepers' shade. But when by careful watch they knew The elder saint was far from view, With bolder steps they ventured nigh To catch the youthful hermit's eye. Then all the damsels, blithe and gay, At various games began to play.

"Canst thou, my brother, Indra's peer, When I thy minister am near, Thus grieve like some forsaken thing, Thou, every creature's lord and king? My vengeful shaft the fiend shall slay, And earth shall drink his blood to-day. The fury which my soul at first Upon usurping Bharat nursed, On this Viradha will I wreak As Indra splits the mountain peak. Winged by this arm's impetuous might My shaft with deadly force The monster in the chest shall smite, And fell his shattered corse."

He ceased: and stirred by wrath & pride Sumitra's noble son replied: "By warlike deed, not words alone, The valour of the brave is shown. Cease with vain boasts my scorn to move, And with thine arm thy prowess prove. Borne on thy car, with sword and bow, With all thine arms, thy valour show. Fight, and my deadly shafts this day Low in the dust thy head shall lay, And, rushing fast in ceaseless flood, Shall rend thy flesh and drink thy blood."

How could Kaikeyi's purpose bring On me this pain and suffering, Were not her change of heart decreed By Fate whose will commands the deed? I know my filial love has been The same throughout for every queen, And with the same affection she Has treated both her son and me. Her shameful words of cruel spite To stay the consecrating rite, And drive me banished from the throne,-- These I ascribe to Fate alone, How could she, born of royal race, Whom nature decks with fairest grace, Speak like a dame of low degree Before the king to torture me? But Fate, which none may comprehend, To which all life must bow and bend, In her and me its power has shown, And all my hopes are overthrown. What man, Sumitra's darling, may Contend with Fate's resistless sway, Whose all-commanding power we find Our former deeds alone can bind? Our life and death, our joy and pain, Anger and fear, and loss and gain, Each thing that is, in every state, All is the work of none but Fate. E'en saints, inspired with rigid zeal, When once the stroke of Fate they feel, In sternest vows no more engage, And fall enslaved by love and rage. So now the sudden stroke whose weight Descends unlooked for, comes of Fate, And with unpitying might destroys The promise of commencing joys. Weigh this true counsel in thy soul: With thy firm heart thy heart control; Then, brother, thou wilt cease to grieve For hindered rites which now I leave. So cast thy needless grief away, And strictly my commands obey. Those preparations check with speed, Nor let my throning rites proceed. Those urns that stand prepared to shed King-making drops upon my head, Shall, with their pure lustrations now Inaugurate my hermit's vow. Yet what have I to do with things That touch the state and pomp of kings? These hands of mine shall water take To sanctify the vow I make. Now Lakshman, let thy heart no more My fortune changed and lost deplore.

Then the king's venerable guide Vasishtha, when he saw each coat Enclose the lady's waist and throat, Her zeal with gentle words repressed, And Queen Kaikeyi thus addressed: "O evil-hearted sinner, shame Of royal Kekaya's race and name; Who matchless in thy sin couldst cheat Thy lord the king with vile deceit; Lost to all sense of duty, know Sita to exile shall not go. Sita shall guard, as 'twere her own, The precious trust of Rama's throne. Those joined by wedlock's sweet control Have but one self and common soul. Thus Sita shall our empress be, For Rama's self and soul is she. Or if she still to Rama cleave And for the woods the kingdom leave: If naught her loving heart deter, We and this town will follow her. The warders of the queen shall take Their wives and go for Rama's sake, The nation with its stores of grain, The city's wealth shall swell his train. Bharat, Satrughna both will wear Bark mantles, and his lodging share, Still with their elder brother dwell In the wild wood, and serve him well. Rest here alone, and rule thy state Unpeopled, barren, desolate; Be empress of the land and trees, Thou sinner whom our sorrows please. The land which Rama reigns not o'er Shall bear the kingdom's name no more: The woods which Rama wanders through Shall be our home and kingdom too. Bharat, be sure, will never deign O'er realms his father yields, to reign. Nay, if the king's true son he be, He will not, sonlike, dwell with thee. Nay, shouldst thou from the earth arise, And send thy message from the skies, To his forefathers' custom true No erring course would he pursue. So hast thou, by thy grievous fault, Offended him thou wouldst exalt. In all the world none draws his breath Who loves not Rama, true to death. This day, O Queen, shalt thou behold Birds, deer, and beasts from lea and fold Turn to the woods in Rama's train. And naught save longing trees remain."

Thus the Nishadas' king besought: The prince with spirit wisdom-fraught Replied in seemly words that blent Deep matter with the argument: "Thou, friend of him whom I revere, With honours high hast met me here, For thou alone wouldst entertain And feed to-day so vast a train." In such fair words the prince replied, Then, pointing to the path he cried: "Which way aright will lead my feet To Bharadvaja's calm retreat; For all this land near Ganga's streams Pathless and hard to traverse seems?"

And he will send great chieftains forth To east and west and south and north, To seek the distant spot where she All desolate laments for thee. He even in Ravan's halls would find Thy Sita, gem of womankind. Yea, if the blameless lady lay On Meru's loftiest steep, Or, far removed from light of day, Where hell is dark and deep, That chief of all the Vanar race His way would still explore, Meet the cowed giants face to face And thy dear spouse restore."

To every Vanar Rama gave Rich treasures from the mine and wave. And with their honours well content Homeward their steps the chieftains bent. Ten thousand years Ayodhya, blest With Rama's rule, had peace and rest, No widow mourned her murdered mate, No house was ever desolate. The happy land no murrain knew, The flocks and herds increased and grew. The earth her kindly fruits supplied, No harvest failed, no children died. Unknown were want, disease, and crime: So calm, so happy was the time.(1029)

He gazed upon that sight he ne'er Had seen before, of girls so fair, And out of love a longing rose His sire and lineage to disclose: "My father," thus he made reply, "Is Kasyap's son, a saint most high, Vibhandak styled; from him I came, And Rishyasring he calls my name. Our hermit cot is near this place: Come thither, O ye fair of face; There be it mine, with honour due, Ye gentle youths, to welcome you." They heard his speech, and gave consent, And gladly to his cottage went. Vibhandak's son received them well Beneath the shelter of his cell With guest-gift, water for their feet, And woodland fruit and roots to eat, They smiled, and spoke sweet words like these, Delighted with his courtesies: "We too have goodly fruit in store, Grown on the trees that shade our door; Come, if thou wilt, kind Hermit, haste The produce of our grove to taste; And let, O good Ascetic, first This holy water quench thy thirst." They spoke, and gave him comfits sweet Prepared ripe fruits to counterfeit; And many a dainty cate beside And luscious mead their stores supplied. The seeming fruits, in taste and look, The unsuspecting hermit took, For, strange to him, their form beguiled The dweller in the lonely wild. Then round his neck fair arms were flung, And there the laughing damsels clung, And pressing nearer and more near With sweet lips whispered at his ear; While rounded limb and swelling breast The youthful hermit softly pressed. The pleasing charm of that strange bowl, The touch of a tender limb, Over his yielding spirit stole And sweetly vanquished him. But vows, they said, must now be paid; They bade the boy farewell, And, of the aged saint afraid, Prepared to leave the dell. With ready guile they told him where Their hermit dwelling lay: Then, lest the sire should find them there, Sped by wild paths away. They fled and left him there alone By longing love possessed; And with a heart no more his own He roamed about distressed.

The great Vasishtha, thus addressed, Made answer to the king's request: "Ne'er will I give my cow away, My gem, my wealth, my life and stay. My worship at the moon's first show, And at the full, to her I owe; And sacrifices small and great, Which largess due and gifts await. From her alone, their root, O King, My rites and holy service spring. What boots it further words to say? I will not give my cow away Who yields me what I ask each day."

But when the giant king surveyed His glorious town in ruin laid, And each dire sign of victory won By Hanuman the Wind-God's son, He vailed his angry eyes oppressed By shame, and thus his lords addressed: "The Vanar spy has passed the gate Of Lanka long inviolate, Eluded watch and ward, and seen With his bold eyes the captive queen. My royal roof with flames is red, The bravest of my lords are dead, And the fierce Vanar in his hate Has left our city desolate. Now ponder well the work that lies Before us, ponder and advise. With deep-observing judgment scan The peril, and mature a plan. From counsel, sages say, the root, Springs victory, most glorious fruit. First ranks the king, when woe impends Who seeks the counsel of his friends, Of kinsmen ever faithful found, Or those whose hopes with his are bound, Then with their aid his strength applies, And triumphs in his enterprise. Next ranks the prince who plans alone, No counsel seeks to aid his own, Weighs loss and gain and wrong and right, And seeks success with earnest might. Unwisest he who spurns delays, Who counts no cost, no peril weighs, Speeds to his aim, defying fate, And risks his all, precipitate. Thus too in counsel sages find A best, a worst, a middle kind. When gathered counsellors explore The way by light of holy lore, And all from first to last agree, Is the best counsel of the three. Next, if debate first waxes high, And each his chosen plan would try Till all agree at last, we deem This counsel second in esteem. Worst of the three is this, when each Assails with taunt his fellow's speech; When all debate, and no consent Concludes the angry argument. Consult then, lords; my task shall be To crown with act your wise decree. With thousands of his wild allies The vengeful Rama hither hies; With unresisted might and speed Across the flood his troops will lead, Or for the Vanar host will drain The channels of the conquered main."

Thus Rama soothed his brother's grief: Then virtuous Javali, chief Of twice-born sages, thus replied In words that virtue's law defied: "Hail, Raghu's princely son, dismiss A thought so weak and vain as this. Canst thou, with lofty heart endowed, Think with the dull ignoble crowd? For what are ties of kindred? can One profit by a brother man? Alone the babe first opes his eyes, And all alone at last he dies. The man, I ween, has little sense Who looks with foolish reverence On father's or on mother's name: In others, none a right may claim. E'en as a man may leave his home And to a distant village roam, Then from his lodging turn away And journey on the following day, Such brief possession mortals hold In sire and mother, house and gold, And never will the good and wise The brief uncertain lodging prize. Nor, best of men, shouldst thou disown Thy sire's hereditary throne, And tread the rough and stony ground Where hardship, danger, woes abound. Come, let Ayodhya rich and bright See thee enthroned with every rite: Her tresses bound in single braid(387) She waits thy coming long delayed. O come, thou royal Prince, and share The kingly joys that wait thee there, And live in bliss transcending price As Indra lives in Paradise. The parted king is naught to thee, Nor right in living man has he: The king is one, thou, Prince of men, Another art: be counselled then. Thy royal sire, O chief, has sped On the long path we all must tread. The common lot of all is this, And thou in vain art robbed of bliss. For those--and only those--I weep Who to the path of duty keep; For here they suffer ceaseless woe, And dying to destruction go. With pious care, each solemn day, Will men their funeral offerings pay: See, how the useful food they waste: He who is dead no more can taste. If one is fed, his strength renewed Whene'er his brother takes his food, Then offerings to the parted pay: Scarce will they serve him on his way.

Bharat, with reverent hands raised high, To that great hermit made reply: "My troops, for awe of thee, O Sage, I brought not to thy hermitage: Troops of a king or monarch's son A hermit's home should ever shun. Behind me comes a mighty train Wide spreading o'er the ample plain, Where every chief and captain leads Men, elephants, and mettled steeds. I feared, O reverend Sage, lest these Might harm the holy ground and trees, Springs might be marred and cots o'erthrown, So with the priests I came alone."

She bade thee seek my side to aid, And quickly was the hest obeyed, But ah, thy fault I needs must blame, To leave alone the helpless dame, And let the cruel giants sate The fury of their murderous hate. Those blood-devouring demons all Grieve in their souls for Khara's fall, And Sita, none to guard her side, Torn by their cruel hands has died. I sink, O tamer of thy foes, Deep in the sea of whelming woes. What can I now? I must endure The mighty grief that mocks at cure."

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 grass 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?

"No words of mine wouldst thou regard, And now thy bed is cold and hard. Upon the rude rough ground o'erthrown, Beneath thee naught but sand and stone. To thee the earth is dearer far Than I and my caresses are, If thou upon her breast wilt lie, And to my words make no reply. Ah my beloved, good and brave, Bold to attack and strong to save, Fate is Sugriva's thrall, and we In him our lord and master see. Lo, by thy bed, a mournful band, Thy Vanar chiefs lamenting stand. O hear thy nobles' groans and cries, O mark thy Angad's weeping eyes, O list to my entreaties, break The chains of slumber and awake. Ah me, my lord, this lowly bed Where rest thy limbs and fallen head, Is the cold couch where smitten lay Thy foemen in the bloody fray. O noble heart from blemish free, Lover of war, beloved by me. Why hast thou fled away and left Thy Tara of all hope bereft? Unwise the father who allows His child to be a warrior's spouse, For, hero, see thy consort's fate, A widow now most desolate, For ever broken is my pride, My hope of lasting bliss has died, And sinking in the lowest deep Of sorrow's sea I pine and weep. Ah, surely not of earthly mould, This stony heart is stern and cold, Or, in a hundred pieces rent, It had not lingered to lament. Dead, dead! my husband, friend, and lord In whom my loving hopes were stored, First in the field, his foemen's dread, My own victorious Bali, dead! A woman when her lord has died, Though children flourish by her side, Though stores of gold her coffers fill, Is called a lonely widow still. Alas, thy bleeding gashes make Around thy limbs a purple lake: Thus slumbering was thy wont to lie On cushions bright with crimson dye. Dark streams of welling blood besmear Thy limbs where dust and mire adhere, Nor have I strength, weighed down by woe, Mine arms about thy form to throw. The issue of this day has brought Sugriva all his wishes sought, For Rama shot one shaft and he Is freed from fear and jeopardy.

Thus Rama spake. Her lord's address The lady heard with deep distress, And, as the tear bedimmed her eye, In soft low accents made reply: "The perils of the wood, and all The woes thou countest to appal, Led by my love I deem not pain; Each woe a charm, each loss a gain. Tiger, and elephant, and deer, Bull, lion, buffalo, in fear, Soon as thy matchless form they see, With every silvan beast will flee. With thee, O Rama, I must go: My sire's command ordains it so. Bereft of thee, my lonely heart Must break, and life and I must part. While thou, O mighty lord, art nigh, Not even He who rules the sky, Though He is strongest of the strong, With all his might can do me wrong. Nor can a lonely woman left By her dear husband live bereft. In my great love, my lord, I ween, The truth of this thou mayst have seen. In my sire's palace long ago I heard the chief of those who know, The truth-declaring Brahmans, tell My fortune, in the wood to dwell. I heard their promise who divine The future by each mark and sign, And from that hour have longed to lead The forest life their lips decreed. Now, mighty Rama, I must share Thy father's doom which sends thee there; In this I will not be denied, But follow, love, where thou shalt guide. O husband, I will go with thee, Obedient to that high decree. Now let the Brahmans' words be true, For this the time they had in view. I know full well the wood has woes; But they disturb the lives of those Who in the forest dwell, nor hold Their rebel senses well controlled. In my sire's halls, ere I was wed, I heard a dame who begged her bread Before my mother's face relate What griefs a forest life await. And many a time in sport I prayed To seek with thee the greenwood shade, For O, my heart on this is set, To follow thee, dear anchoret. May blessings on thy life attend: I long with thee my steps to bend, For with such hero as thou art This pilgrimage enchants my heart.

Then Bharat, starting from repose, Stilled the glad sounds that round him rose, "I am not king; no more mistake:" Then to Satrughna thus he spake: "O see what general wrongs succeed Sprung from Kaikeyi's evil deed! The king my sire has died and thrown Fresh miseries on me alone. The royal bliss, on duty based, Which our just high-souled father graced, Wanders in doubt and sore distress Like a tossed vessel rudderless. And he who was our lordly stay Roams in the forest far away, Expelled by this my mother, who To duty's law is most untrue."

"Ikshvaku's sons from days of old Were ever brave and mighty-souled. The land their arms had made their own Was bounded by the sea alone. Their holy works have won them praise, Through countless years, from Manu's days. Their ancient sire was Sagar, he Whose high command dug out the sea:(61) With sixty thousand sons to throng Around him as he marched along. From them this glorious tale proceeds: The great Ramayan tells their deeds. This noble song whose lines contain Lessons of duty, love, and gain, We two will now at length recite, While good men listen with delight.

The Gods replied: "We fear, O Lord, Fierce Ravan, ravener abhorred. Be thine the glorious task, we pray, In human form this fiend to slay. By thee of all the Blest alone This sinner may be overthrown. He gained by penance long and dire The favour of the mighty Sire. Then He who every gift bestows Guarded the fiend from heavenly foes, And gave a pledge his life that kept From all things living, man except. On him thus armed no other foe Than man may deal the deadly blow. Assume, O King, a mortal birth, And strike the demon to the earth."

Then all the Gods in close array With the bright hosts who sing and play, Filled full of rapture and amaze, Sang hymns of joy in Rama's praise, Beat their celestial drums and shed Rain of sweet flowers upon his head. For three short hours had scarcely flown, And by his pointed shafts o'erthrown The twice seven thousand fiends, whose will Could change their shapes, in death were still, With Trisiras and Dushan slain, And Khara, leader of the train. "O wondrous deed," the bards began, "The noblest deed of virtuous man! Heroic strength that stood alone, And firmness e'en as Vishnu's own!"

Thus spake the Vanar prince, and, stirred With friendly thoughts, Sugriva heard. The light of joy his face o'erspread, And thus to Raghu's son he said: "O Prince, in rules of duty trained, Caring for all with love unfeigned, Hanuman's tongue has truly shown The virtues that are thine alone. My chiefest glory, gain, and bliss, O stranger Prince, I reckon this, That Raghu's son will condescend To seek the Vanar for his friend. If thou my true ally wouldst be Accept the pledge I offer thee, This hand in sign of friendship take, And bind the bond we ne'er will break."

Thus spoke the hero, and aglow With rage of battle seized his bow. But Rama thus in gentler mood With fitting words his speech renewed: "No hero with a soul like thine To paths of sin will e'er incline, He who his angry heart can tame Is worthiest of a hero's name. Not thine, my brother, be the part So alien from the tender heart, Nor let thy feet by wrath misled Forsake the path they loved to tread. From harsh and angry words abstain: With gentle speech a hearing gain, And tax Sugriva with the crime Of failing faith and wasted time."

Then to the monarch's speech replied The hermit, penance-glorified: "For countless kine, for hills of gold, Mine eldest son shall ne'er be sold." But, when she heard the saint's reply, The children's mother, standing nigh, Words such as these in answer said To Ambarisha, monarch dread: "My lord, the saint, has spoken well: His eldest child he will not sell. And know, great Monarch, that above The rest my youngest born I love. 'Tis ever thus: the father's joy Is centred in his eldest boy. The mother loves her darling best Whom last she rocked upon her breast: My youngest I will ne'er forsake."

Thus Bharat reached that forest rill, Thus roamed on Chitrakuta's hill; Then pity in his breast awoke, And to his friends the hero spoke: "Woe, woe upon my life and birth! The prince of men, the lord of earth Has sought the lonely wood to dwell Sequestered in a hermit's cell. Through me, through me these sorrows fall On him the splendid lord of all: Through me resigning earthly bliss He hides him in a home like this. Now will I, by the world abhorred, Fall at the dear feet of my lord, And at fair Sita's too, to win His pardon for my heinous sin."