Chapter 17

“By whom, Kaikeyí, wast thou taught This flattering hope with ruin fraught? Have goblins seized thy soul, O dame, Who thus canst speak and feel no shame? Thy mind with sin is sicklied o’er, From thy first youth ne’er seen before. A good and loving wife wast thou, But all, alas! is altered now. What terror can have seized thy breast To make thee frame this dire request, That Bharat o’er the land may reign, And Ráma in the woods remain? Turn from thine evil ways, O turn, And thy perfidious counsel spurn, If thou would fain a favour do To people, lord, and Bharat too. O wicked traitress, fierce and vile, Who lovest deeds of sin and guile, What crime or grievance dost thou see, What fault in Ráma or in me? Thy son will ne’er the throne accept If Ráma from his rights be kept, For Bharat’s heart more firmly yet Than Ráma’s is on justice set. How shall I say, Go forth, and brook Upon my Ráma’s face to look, See his pale cheek and ashy lips Dimmed like the moon in sad eclipse? How see the plan so well prepared When prudent friends my counsels shared, All ruined, like a host laid low Beneath some foeman’s murderous blow. What will these gathered princes say, From regions near and far away? “O’erlong endures the monarch’s reign, or now he is a child again.” When many a good and holy sage In Scripture versed, revered for age, Shall ask for Ráma, what shall I Unhappy, what shall I reply? “By Queen Kaikeyí long distressed I drove him forth and dispossessed.” Although herein the truth I speak, They all will hold me false and weak. What will Kauśalyá say when she Demands her son exiled by me? Alas! what answer shall I frame, Or how console the injured dame? She like a slave on me attends, And with a sister’s care she blends A mother’s love, a wife’s, a friend’s. In spite of all her tender care, Her noble son, her face most fair, Another queen I could prefer And for thy sake neglected her, But now, O Queen, my heart is grieved For love and care by thee received, E’en as the sickening wretch repents His dainty meal and condiments. And how will Queen Sumitrá trust The husband whom she finds unjust, Seeing my Ráma driven hence Dishonoured, and for no offence? Ah! the Videhan bride will hear A double woe, a double fear, Two whelming sorrows at one breath, Her lord’s disgrace, his father’s death. Mine aged bosom she will wring And kill me with her sorrowing, Sad as a fair nymph left to weep Deserted on Himálaya’s steep. For short will be my days, I ween, When I with mournful eyes have seen My Ráma wandering forth alone And heard dear Sítá sob and moan. Ah me! my fond belief I rue. Vile traitress, loved as good and true, As one who in his thirst has quaffed, Deceived by looks, a deadly draught. Ah! thou hast slain me, murderess, while Soothing my soul with words of guile, As the wild hunter kills the deer Lured from the brake his song to hear. Soon every honest tongue will fling Reproach on the dishonest king; The people’s scorn in every street The seller of his child will meet, And such dishonour will be mine As whelms a Bráhman drunk with wine. Ah me, for my unhappy fate, Compelled thy words to tolerate! Such woe is sent to scourge a crime Committed in some distant time. For many a day with sinful care I cherished thee, thou sin and snare, Kept thee, unwitting, like a cord Destined to bind its hapless lord. Mine hours of ease I spent with thee, Nor deemed my love my death would be, While like a heedless child I played, On a black snake my hand I laid. A cry from every mouth will burst And all the world will hold me curst, Because I saw my high-souled son Unkinged, unfathered, and undone; “The king by power of love beguiled Is weaker than a foolish child, His own beloved son to make An exile for a woman’s sake. By chaste and holy vows restrained, By reverend teachers duly trained. When he his virtue’s fruit should taste He falls by sin and woe disgraced.” Two words will all his answer be When I pronounce the stern decree, “Hence, Ráma, to the woods away,” All he will say is, I obey. O, if he would my will withstand When banished from his home and land, This were a comfort in my woe; But he will ne’er do this, I know. My Ráma to the forest fled, And curses thick upon my head, Grim Death will bear me hence away, His world-abominated prey. When I am gone and Ráma too. How wilt thou those I love pursue? What vengeful sin will be designed Against the queens I leave behind? When thou hast slain her son and me Kauśalyá soon will follow: she Will sink beneath her sorrows’ weight, And die like me disconsolate. Exist, Kaikeyí, in thy pride, And let thy heart be gratified, When thou my queens and me hast hurled, And children, to the under world. Soon wilt thou rule as empress o’er My noble house unvext before. But then to wild confusion left, Of Ráma and of me bereft. If Bharat to thy plan consent And long for Ráma’s banishment, Ne’er let his hands presume to pay The funeral honours to my clay. Vile foe, thou cause of all mine ill, Obtain at last thy cursed will. A widow soon shalt thou enjoy The sweets of empire with thy boy. O Princess, sure some evil fate First brought thee here to devastate, In whom the night of ruin lies Veiled in a consort’s fair disguise. The scorn of all and deepest shame Will long pursue my hated name, And dire disgrace on me will press, Misled by thee to wickedness. How shall my Ráma, whom, before, His elephant or chariot bore, Now with his feet, a wanderer, tread The forest wilds around him spread? How shall my son, to please whose taste, The deftest cooks, with earrings graced, With rivalry and jealous care The dainty meal and cates prepare— How shall he now his life sustain With acid fruit and woodland grain? He spends his time unvext by cares, And robes of precious texture wears: How shall he, with one garment round His limbs recline upon the ground? Whose was this plan, this cruel thought Unheard till now, with ruin fraught, To make thy son Ayodhyá’s king, And send my Ráma wandering? Shame, shame on women! Vile, untrue, Their selfish ends they still pursue. Not all of womankind I mean. But more than all this wicked queen. O worthless, cruel, selfish dame, I brought thee home, my plague and woe. What fault in me hast thou to blame, Or in my son who loves thee so? Fond wives may from their husbands flee, And fathers may their sons desert, But all the world would rave to see My Ráma touched with deadly hurt. I joy his very step to hear, As though his godlike form I viewed; And when I see my Ráma near I feel my youth again renewed. There might be life without the sun, Yea, e’en if Indra sent no rain, But, were my Ráma banished, none Would, so I think, alive remain. A foe that longs my life to take, I brought thee here my death to be, Caressed thee long, a venomed snake, And through my folly die. Ah me! Ráma and me and Lakshmaṇ slay, And then with Bharat rule the state; So bring the kingdom to decay, And fawn on those thy lord who hate, Plotter of woe, for evil bred, For such a speech why do not all Thy teeth from out thy wicked head Split in a thousand pieces fall? My Ráma’s words are ever kind, He knows not how to speak in ire: Then how canst thou presume to find A fault in him whom all admire? Yield to despair, go mad, or die, Or sink within the rifted earth; Thy fell request will I deny, Thou shamer of thy royal birth. Thy longer life I scarce can bear, Thou ruin of my home and race, Who wouldst my heart and heartstrings tear, Keen as a razor, false and base. My life is gone, why speak of joy? For what, without my son, were sweet? Spare, lady, him thou canst destroy; I pray thee as I touch thy feet.” He fell and wept with wild complaint, Heart-struck by her presumptuous speech, But could not touch, so weak and faint, The cruel feet he strove to reach.

Canto XIII. Dasaratha’s Distress.

Unworthy of his mournful fate, The mighty king, unfortunate, Lay prostrate in unseemly guise, As, banished from the blissful skies, Yayáti, in his evil day. His merit all exhausted, lay.(276) The queen, triumphant in the power Won by her beauty’s fatal dower, Still terrible and unsubdued, Her dire demand again renewed: “Great Monarch, ’twas thy boast till now To love the truth and keep the vow; Then wherefore would thy lips refuse The promised boon ’tis mine to choose?”

King Daśaratha, thus addressed, With anger raging in his breast, Sank for a while beneath the pain, Then to Kaikeyí spoke again: “Childless so long, at length I won, With mighty toil, from Heaven a son, Ráma, the mighty-armed; and how Shall I desert my darling now? A scholar wise, a hero bold, Of patient mood, with wrath controlled, How can I bid my Ráma fly, My darling of the lotus eye? In heaven itself I scarce could bear, When asking of my Ráma there, To hear the Gods his griefs declare, And O, that death would take me hence Before I wrong his innocence!”

As thus the monarch wept and wailed, And maddening grief his heart assailed, The sun had sought his resting-place, And night was closing round apace. But yet the moon-crowned night could bring No comfort to the wretched king. As still he mourned with burning sighs And fixed his gaze upon the skies: “O Night whom starry fires adorn, I long not for the coming morn. Be kind and show some mercy: see, My suppliant hands are raised to thee. Nay, rather fly with swifter pace; No longer would I see the face Of Queen Kaikeyí, cruel, dread, Who brings this woe upon mine head.” Again with suppliant hands he tried To move the queen, and wept and sighed: “To me, unhappy me, inclined To good, sweet dame, thou shouldst be kind; Whose life is well-nigh fled, who cling To thee for succour, me thy king. This, only this, is all my claim: Have mercy, O my lovely dame. None else have I to take my part, Have mercy: thou art good at heart. Hear, lady of the soft black eye, And win a name that ne’er shall die: Let Ráma rule this glorious land, The gift of thine imperial hand. O lady of the dainty waist, With eyes and lips of beauty graced, Please Ráma, me, each saintly priest, Bharat, and all from chief to least.” She heard his wild and mournful cry, She saw the tears his speech that broke, Saw her good husband’s reddened eye, But, cruel still, no word she spoke. His eyes upon her face he bent, And sought for mercy, but in vain: She claimed his darling’s banishment, He swooned upon the ground again.

Canto XIV. Ráma Summoned.

The wicked queen her speech renewed, When rolling on the earth she viewed Ikshváku’s son, Ayodhyá’s king, For his dear Ráma sorrowing: “Why, by a simple promise bound, Liest thou prostrate on the ground, As though a grievous sin dismayed Thy spirit! Why so sore afraid? Keep still thy word. The righteous deem That truth, mid duties, is supreme: And now in truth and honour’s name I bid thee own the binding claim. Śaivya, a king whom earth obeyed, Once to a hawk a promise made, Gave to the bird his flesh and bone, And by his truth made heaven his own.(277) Alarka, when a Bráhman famed For Scripture lore his promise claimed, Tore from his head his bleeding eyes And unreluctant gave the prize. His narrow bounds prescribed restrain The Rivers’ Lord, the mighty main, Who, though his waters boil and rave, Keeps faithful to the word he gave. Truth all religion comprehends, Through all the world its might extends: In truth alone is justice placed, On truth the words of God are based: A life in truth unchanging past Will bring the highest bliss at last. If thou the right would still pursue, Be constant to thy word and true: Let me thy promise fruitful see, For boons, O King, proceed from thee. Now to preserve thy righteous fame, And yielding to my earnest claim— Thrice I repeat it—send thy child, Thy Ráma, to the forest wild. But if the boon thou still deny, Before thy face, forlorn, I die.”

Thus was the helpless monarch stung By Queen Kaikeyí’s fearless tongue, As Bali strove in vain to loose His limbs from Indra’s fatal noose. Dismayed in soul and pale with fear, The monarch, like a trembling steer Between the chariot’s wheel and yoke, Again to Queen Kaikeyí spoke, With sad eyes fixt in vacant stare, Gathering courage from despair: “That hand I took, thou sinful dame, With texts, before the sacred flame, Thee and thy son, I scorn and hate, And all at once repudiate. The night is fled: the dawn is near: Soon will the holy priests be here To bid me for the rite prepare That with my son the throne will share, The preparation made to grace My Ráma in his royal place— With this, e’en this, my darling for My death the funeral flood shall pour. Thou and thy son at least forbear In offerings to my shade to share, For by the plot thy guile has laid His consecration will be stayed. This very day how shall I brook To meet each subject’s altered look? To mark each gloomy joyless brow That was so bright and glad but now?”

While thus the high-souled monarch spoke To the stern queen, the Morning broke, And holy night had slowly fled, With moon and stars engarlanded. Yet once again the cruel queen Spoke words in answer fierce and keen, Still on her evil purpose bent, Wild with her rage and eloquent: “What speech is this? Such words as these Seem sprung from poison-sown disease. Quick to thy noble Ráma send And bid him on his sire attend. When to my son the rule is given; When Ráma to the woods is driven; When not a rival copes with me, From chains of duty thou art free.”

Thus goaded, like a generous steed Urged by sharp spurs to double speed, “My senses are astray,” he cried, “And duty’s bonds my hands have tied. I long to see mine eldest son, My virtuous, my beloved one.”

And now the night had past away; Out shone the Maker of the Day, Bringing the planetary hour And moment of auspicious power. Vaśishṭha, virtuous, far renowned, Whose young disciples girt him round, With sacred things without delay Through the fair city took his way. He traversed, where the people thronged, And all for Ráma’s coming longed, The town as fair in festive show As his who lays proud cities low.(278) He reached the palace where he heard The mingled notes of many a bird, Where crowded thick high-honoured bands Of guards with truncheons in their hands. Begirt by many a sage, elate, Vaśishṭha reached the royal gate, And standing by the door he found Sumantra, for his form renowned, The king’s illustrious charioteer And noble counsellor and peer. To him well skilled in every part Of his hereditary art Vaśishṭha said: “O charioteer, Inform the king that I am here, Here ready by my side behold These sacred vessels made of gold, Which water for the rite contain From Gangá and each distant main. Here for installing I have brought The seat prescribed of fig-wood wrought, All kinds of seed and precious scent And many a gem and ornament; Grain, sacred grass, the garden’s spoil, Honey and curds and milk and oil; Eight radiant maids, the best of all War elephants that feed in stall; A four-horse car, a bow and sword. A litter, men to bear their lord; A white umbrella bright and fair That with the moon may well compare; Two chouries of the whitest hair; A golden beaker rich and rare; A bull high-humped and fair to view, Girt with gold bands and white of hue; A four-toothed steed with flowing mane, A throne which lions carved sustain; A tiger’s skin, the sacred fire, Fresh kindled, which the rites require; The best musicians skilled to play, And dancing-girls in raiment gay; Kine, Bráhmans, teachers fill the court, And bird and beast of purest sort. From town and village, far and near, The noblest men are gathered here; Here merchants with their followers crowd, And men in joyful converse loud, And kings from many a distant land To view the consecration stand. The dawn is come, the lucky day; Go bid the monarch haste away, That now Prince Ráma may obtain The empire, and begin his reign.”

Soon as he heard the high behest The driver of the chariot pressed Within the chambers of the king, His lord with praises honouring. And none of all the warders checked His entrance for their great respect Of him well known, in place so high, Still fain their king to gratify. He stood beside the royal chief, Unwitting of his deadly grief, And with sweet words began to sing The praises of his lord and king: “As, when the sun begins to rise, The sparkling sea delights our eyes, Wake, calm with gentle soul, and thus Give rapture, mighty King, to us. As Mátali(279) this selfsame hour Sang lauds of old to Indra’s power, When he the Titan hosts o’erthrew, So hymn I thee with praises due. The Vedas, with their kindred lore, Brahmá their soul-born Lord adore, With all the doctrines of the wise, And bid him, as I bid thee, rise. As, with the moon, the Lord of Day Wakes with the splendour of his ray Prolific Earth, who neath him lies, So, mighty King, I bid thee rise. With blissful words, O Lord of men, Rise, radiant in thy form, as when The sun ascending darts his light From Meru’s everlasting height. May Śiva, Agni, Sun, and Moon Bestow on thee each choicest boon, Kuvera, Varuṇa, Indra bless Kakutstha’s son with all success. Awake, the holy night is fled, The happy light abroad is spread; Awake, O best of kings, and share The glorious task that claims thy care. The holy sage Vaśishṭha waits, With all his Bráhmans, at the gate. Give thy decree, without delay, To consecrate thy son today. As armies, by no captain led, As flocks that feed unshepherded, Such is the fortune of a state Without a king and desolate.”

Such were the words the bard addressed, With weight of sage advice impressed; And, as he heard, the hapless king Felt deeper yet his sorrow’s sting. At length, all joy and comfort fled, He raised his eyes with weeping red, And, mournful for his Ráma’s sake, The good and glorious monarch spake: “Why seek with idle praise to greet The wretch for whom no praise is meet? Thy words mine aching bosom tear, And plunge me deeper in despair.”

Sumantra heard the sad reply, And saw his master’s tearful eye. With reverent palm to palm applied He drew a little space aside. Then, as the king, with misery weak, With vain endeavour strove to speak, Kaikeyí, skilled in plot and plan, To sage Sumantra thus began: “The king, absorbed in joyful thought For his dear son, no rest has sought: Sleepless to him the night has past, And now o’erwatched he sinks at last. Then go, Sumantra, and with speed The glorious Ráma hither lead: Go, as I pray, nor longer wait; No time is this to hesitate.” “How can I go, O Lady fair, Unless my lord his will declare?” “Fain would I see him,” cried the king, “Quick, quick, my beauteous Ráma bring.” Then rose the happy thought to cheer The bosom of the charioteer, “The king, I ween, of pious mind, The consecration has designed.” Sumantra for his wisdom famed, Delighted with the thought he framed, From the calm chamber, like a bay Of crowded ocean, took his way. He turned his face to neither side, But forth he hurried straight; Only a little while he eyed The guards who kept the gate. He saw in front a gathered crowd Of men of every class, Who, parting as he came, allowed The charioteer to pass.

Canto XV. The Preparations.

There slept the Bráhmans, deeply read In Scripture, till the night had fled; Then, with the royal chaplains, they Took each his place in long array. There gathered fast the chiefs of trade, Nor peer nor captain long delayed, Assembling all in order due The consecrating rite to view.

The morning dawned with cloudless ray On Pushya’s high auspicious day, And Cancer with benignant power Looked down on Ráma’s natal hour. The twice-born chiefs, with zealous heed, Made ready what the rite would need. The well-wrought throne of holy wood And golden urns in order stood. There was the royal car whereon A tiger’s skin resplendent shone; There water, brought for sprinkling thence Where, in their sacred confluence, Blend Jumná’s waves with Gangá’s tide, From many a holy flood beside, From brook and fountain far and near, From pool and river, sea and mere. And there were honey, curd, and oil, Parched rice and grass, the garden’s spoil, Fresh milk, eight girls in bright attire, An elephant with eyes of fire; And urns of gold and silver made, With milky branches overlaid, All brimming from each sacred flood, And decked with many a lotus bud. And dancing-women fair and free, Gay with their gems, were there to see, Who stood in bright apparel by With lovely brow and witching eye. White flashed the jewelled chouri there, And shone like moonbeams through the air; The white umbrella overhead A pale and moonlike lustre shed, Wont in pure splendour to precede, And in such rites the pomp to lead. There stood the charger by the side Of the great bull of snow-white hide; There was all music soft and loud, And bards and minstrels swelled the crowd. For now the monarch bade combine Each custom of his ancient line With every rite Ayodhyá’s state Observed, her kings to consecrate.

Then, summoned by the king’s behest, The multitudes together pressed, And, missing still the royal sire, Began, impatient, to inquire: “Who to our lord will tidings bear That all his people throng the square? Where is the king? the sun is bright, And all is ready for the rite.”

As thus they spoke, Sumantra, tried In counsel, to the chiefs replied, Gathered from lands on every side: “To Ráma’s house I swiftly drave, For so the king his mandate gave. Our aged lord and Ráma too In honour high hold all of you: I in your words (be long your days!) Will ask him why he thus delays.”

Thus spoke the peer in Scripture read, And to the ladies’ bower he sped. Quick through the gates Sumantra hied, Which access ne’er to him denied. Behind the curtained screen he drew, Which veiled the chamber from the view. In benediction loud he raised His voice, and thus the monarch praised: “Sun, Moon, Kuvera, Śiva bless Kakutstha’s son with high success! The Lords of air, flood, fire decree The victory, my King, to thee! The holy night has past away, Auspicious shines the morning’s ray. Rise, Lord of men, thy part to take In the great rite. Awake! awake! Bráhmans and captains, chiefs of trade, All wait in festive garb arrayed; For thee they look with eager eyes: O Raghu’s son, awake! arise.”

To him in holy Scripture read, Who hailed him thus, the monarch said, Upraising from his sleep his head: “Go, Ráma, hither lead as thou Wast ordered by the queen but now. Come, tell me why my mandate laid Upon thee thus is disobeyed. Away! and Ráma hither bring; I sleep not: make no tarrying.”