Go forth thy foemen to destroy, And turn again at last with joy.'
As Matali his charioteer Speaks for the Lord of Gods to hear, Sumantra, palm to palm applied, In reverence trained, to Kama cried: ' O famous Prince, my car ascend, — May blessings on thy course attend, — And swiftly shall my horses flee And place thee where thou biddest me. The fourteen years thou hast to stay Far in the wilds, begin to-day; For Queen Kaikeyi cries, Away,' Then Sita, best of womankind, Ascended, with a tranquil mind, £>oon as her toilet task was done, That chariot brilliant as the sun, Rama and Lakshman true and bold Sprang on the car adorned with gold. The king those years had counted o'er, And given Sita robes and store Of precious ornaments to wear When following her husband there. The brothers in the car found place For nets and weapons of the chase, There warlike arms and mail they laid, A leathern basket and a spade. Soon as Sumantra saw the three Were seated in the chariot, he Urged on each horse of noble breed, Who matched the rushing wind in speed. As thus the son of Raghu went Forth for his dreary banishment, Chill numbing grief the town assailed, All strength grew weak, all spirit failed. Ayodhya through her wide extent Was filled witli tumult and lament: Steeds neighed and shook the bells they bore, Each elephant returned a roar. Then all tbe city, young and old, Wild with their sorrow uncontrolled, Rushed to the car, as, from the sun The panting herds to water run. Before the car, behind, they clung, And there as eagerly they hung, With torrents streaming from their eyes, Called loudly with repeated cries: * Listen, Sumantra: draw thy rein; Drive gently, and thy steeds restrain. Once me re on Rama will we gaze, Now to be lost for many days.
The queen his mother has, be sure, A heart of iron, to endure To see her godlike Kama go, Nor feel it shattered by the blow.
Sita, well done! Videha's pride, Still like his shadow by his side; Rejoicing in thy duty still As sunlight cleaves to Meru's hill.
Thou, Lakshman, too, hast well deserved, Who from thy duty hast not swerved, Tending the peer of Gods above, Whose lips speak naught but words of love.
Thy firm resolve is nobly great, And high success on thee shall wait.
Yea, thou shalt win a priceless meed — Thy path with him to heaven shall lead.'
As thus they spake, they could not hold The tears that down their faces rolled, While still they followed for a space Their darling of Ikshvaku's race.
There stood surrounded by a ring Of mournful wives the mournful king; For,' 1 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 darnes 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 chari teer, ' Away, away! why linger here? Urge on thy horses,' Kama 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, Canto X.LI.
THE RAM AY AN.
US 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, Lakshman, O my child!' ' Stay,' cried the king, 'thy chariot stay:' 1 On on.' cried Rama, ' speed away.1 As one between two hosts, inclined To neither was Sumantra's mind. But Rama spake these words again: 1 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, II is 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: Srill on their son the king and queen Kept fast their lingering eyes.1 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: 1 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 ow*n dear mother, thus He ever looked on each of us. Where goos 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 Kama 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 assailed 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.
1 ' Thirty centuries have passed since he began this memorable journey. Every step of it is known and is annually traversed by thousands: hero worship is not extinct. What can Faith do! How strong are the ties of religion when entwined with the legends of a country! How many a cart creeps creaking and weary along the road from Ayodhya to Chitrakut. It is this that gives the'Ramayan a strange interest, the storv still lives.' Calcutta Review: Vol. XXII2.
THE RAM AY AN.
Book II.
Trisanku,1 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* lit the air.
As troubled Ocean heaves and raves When Doom's wild tempest sweeps the waves, Thus all Ayodhya reeled and bent Wneri 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 pe pie 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 witii genial glow Cherished the world now plunged in woe, Sons, brothers, husbands, wedded wives Forgot the tie.s 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.
DAgARATHA'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.
8 Four stars of the sixteenth lunar aster ism.
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 g dn. The hand I laid in mine, O dame, The steps we took around the flame,1 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, Ke'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 slo\r Turned t j 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 > f the chariot showed, And as the shadowed sun grows dim So cure 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-soiiledRama, where is he? Ah me, my son! my rirst 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 1 In the marriage service.
Canto XLIIL THE RAM AY AN.
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 rilled At the wild beasts' deep roaring there, Whose voices lift the shuddering hair! Kaikevi, 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 noble 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 passed he on, and wept aloud, Within that house no more to be The dwelling of the banished three, Brave Rama, his Vedehan bride, And Lakshman 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 bnrne 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 Kama, 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.'
CANTO XLIII.
KAU& AL YfA'S LAMENT.
Kausalya saw the monarch lie Witii drooping frame and failing eye, And for her banished son distressed With these sad words her lord addressed: * Kaikevi, cruel, false, arid vile Has cast the venom -of her guile ( )n 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.1 Tne long-armed hero, like the lord Of Nagas, with his bow and sword Begins, I ween, his forest life With Lakshman 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 passed, And the glad hour were conie at last When 1 shall see my children dear, Rama, his wife, arid Lakshman here!
When shall Ayodhya, wild witn 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 1 The husks and ehaif of the rice offered to the Gods, THE RAM AY AN.
Book II.
Bear fruit and flowers in goodly show, And circling round Ayodhya go? With ripened judgment of a sage, And godlike in his blooming age, When shall my virtuous son appear, Like kindly rain, our hearts to cheer T 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 tilled. 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 Lakshman 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-God with his rays Consumes the parching plain.' • CANTO XLIV.
SDMITRA'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 noble virtues grace Thy son, of men the first in place. Why dost thou shed these tears of woe With bitter grief lamenting so 1 [f 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 Lakshman too. the blameless-souled, The same high course with him will hold, And mighty bliss on him shall wait, So tenderly compassionate. And Sita, bred with tender care, Well knows what toils await her there, But in her love she will not part From Kama 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 f oemen 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, Lakshman, 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 sou 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, Canto XLV.
THE RAM AY AN.
So shall the dropg 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 ple-.isant 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 witli 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 noble 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 woods, may feel no pain.'
The more he showed his will to tread The path where filial duty led, 'he more the people, round him thronged, 'or their dear Rama's empire longed, till more attached his followers grew, \.s Rama, with his brother, drew ^he people with his virtues' ties, lamenting all with tear-dimmed eyes, "'he saintly twice-born, triply old n glory, knowledge, seasons told, With hoary heads that shook and bowed, ?heir voices raised and spake aloud: O steeds, who best and noblest are, Who whirl so swiftly Rama's car, o not, return: we call on you: e to your master kind and true. ?or speechless things are swift to hear, And naught can match a horse's ear. ) generous steeds, return, when thus fou hear the cry of all of us. Sach vow he keeps most firm and sure, And duty makes his spirit pure. Sack with our chief! no t wood- ward hence; 5ack to his royal residence! ' Soon as he saw the aged band. Sxolaiming 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 Lakshman went The hero by the old men's side Suiting to theirs his shortened stride. He could not pass 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 Kama viewed That still his onward course pursued, Woe shook the troubled heart of each, And burnt with grief th ey 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 Vajapeya1 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.
1 An important sacrifice at which seven- teen victims were immolated, THE RAM AY AN.
Book II.
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 noble 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 tign.
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.'
As wailed the aged Brahmans, bent To turn him back, with wild lament, Seemed Tamnsa ht-r^elf to aid, Checking his progress, as they prayed, Sumantra from the chariot freed With ready hand each weary steed; He groomed them with the utmost heed, Their limbs he bathed and dried, Then led them forth to drink and feed At pleasure in the grassv mead That fringed the river side.
CANTO XL VI. THE HALT.
When Rama, chief of Raghu's race, Arrived at that delightful place, He looked on Sita first and then To Lakshman spake the lord of men: ' Now first the shades of night descend Since to the wilds our steps we bend. Joy to thee, brother 1 do not grieve For our dear home and all we leave. The woods unpeopled seem to weep Around us, as their tenants creep Or fly to lair and den and nest, Both bird and beast, to seek their rest. Me thinks Ayodhya's royal town Where dwells my sire of high renown, With all her men and dames to-night Will mourn us vanished from their sight.
For, by his virtues won. they cling In fond affection to their king, And thee and me, O brave and true, And Bharat and ^atrughna too. I for my sire and mother feel Deep sorrow o'er my bosom steal, Lest mourning us, oppressed with fears, They blind their eyes with endless tears. Yet Bharat s duteous love will show Sweet comfort in their hours of woe, And with kind words their hearts sustain, Suggesting duty, bliss, and gain. I mourn my parents now no more: 1 count dear Bharat's virtues o'er, And his kind love and care dispel The doubts I had, and all is well. And thou thy duty wouldst not shun, And, following me, hast nobly done; Else, bravest, I should need a band Around my wife as guard to stand. On this first night, my thirst to slake, Some water only will I take: Thus, brother, thus my will decides, Though varied store the wood provides.* Thus having said to Lakshman, he Addressed in turn Sumantra: Be Most diligent to-night, my friend, And with due care thy horses tend.' The sun had set: Sumantra tied His noble horses side by side, Gave store of grass with liberal hand, And rested near them on the strand. Each paid the holy evening rite, And when around'them fell the night, The charioteer, with Lakshman's aid, A lowly bed for Rama laid. To Lakshman Rama bade adieu, And then by Mta's side he threw His limbs upon the leafy bed Their care upon the bank had spread. When Lakshman saw the couple slept, 8till on the strand his watch lie kept, Still with Sumantra there conversed, And Rama's varied gifts rehearsed. All night he watched, nor sought repose, Till on the earth the sun arose: With him Sumantra stayed awake, And still of Rama's virtues spake. Thus, near the river's grassy shore Which herds unnumbered wandered o'er, Repose, untroubled, Rama found, And all the people lay around. The glorious hero left his bed, Looked on the sleeping crowd, and said To Lakshman. whom each lucky line Marked out for bliss with surest sign: * O brother Lakshman, look on these Reclining at the roots of trees; All care of house and home resigned, Caring for us with heart and mind, These people of the city yearn Canto XLVIL