Chapter 36

Good Bharat, by the river side, To virtuous Ráma’s speech replied, And thus with varied lore addressed The prince, while nobles round him pressed: “In all this world whom e’er can we Find equal, scourge of foes, to thee? No ill upon thy bosom weighs, No thoughts of joy thy spirit raise. Approved art thou of sages old, To whom thy doubts are ever told. Alike in death and life, to thee The same to be and not to be. The man who such a soul can gain Can ne’er be crushed by woe or pain. Pure as the Gods, high-minded, wise, Concealed from thee no secret lies. Such glorious gifts are all thine own, And birth and death to thee are known, That ill can ne’er thy soul depress With all-subduing bitterness. O let my prayer, dear brother, win Thy pardon for my mother’s sin. Wrought for my sake who willed it not When absent in a distant spot. Duty alone with binding chains The vengeance due to crime restrains, Or on the sinner I should lift My hand in retribution swift. Can I who know the right, and spring From Daśaratha, purest king— Can I commit a heinous crime, Abhorred by all through endless time? The aged king I dare not blame, Who died so rich in holy fame, My honoured sire, my parted lord, E’en as a present God adored. Yet who in lore of duty skilled So foul a crime has ever willed, And dared defy both gain and right To gratify a woman’s spite? When death draws near, so people say, The sense of creatures dies away; And he has proved the ancient saw By acting thus in spite of law. But O my honoured lord, be kind, Dismiss the trespass from thy mind, The sin the king committed, led By haste, his consort’s wrath, and dread. For he who veils his sire’s offence With tender care and reverence— His sons approved by all shall live: Not so their fate who ne’er forgive. Be thou, my lord, the noble son, And the vile deed my sire has done, Abhorred by all the virtuous, ne’er Resent, lest thou the guilt too share. Preserve us, for on thee we call, Our sire, Kaikeyí, me and all Thy citizens, thy kith and kin; Preserve us and reverse the sin. To live in woods a devotee Can scarce with royal tasks agree, Nor can the hermit’s matted hair Suit fitly with a ruler’s care. Do not, my brother, do not still Pursue this life that suits thee ill. Mid duties of a king we count His consecration paramount, That he with ready heart and hand May keep his people and his land. What Warrior born to royal sway From certain good would turn away, A doubtful duty to pursue, That mocks him with the distant view? Thou wouldst to duty cleave, and gain The meed that follows toil and pain. In thy great task no labour spare: Rule the four castes with justest care. Mid all the four, the wise prefer The order of the householder:(383) Canst thou, whose thoughts to duty cleave, The best of all the orders leave? My better thou in lore divine, My birth, my sense must yield to thine: While thou, my lord, art here to reign, How shall my hands the rule maintain? O faithful lover of the right, Take with thy friends the royal might, Let thy sires’ realm, from trouble free, Obey her rightful king in thee. Here let the priests and lords of state Our monarch duly consecrate, With prayer and holy verses blessed By saint Vaśishṭha and the rest. Anointed king by us, again Seek fair Ayodhyá, there to reign, And like imperial Indra girt By Gods of Storm, thy might assert. From the three debts(384) acquittance earn, And with thy wrath the wicked burn, O’er all of us thy rule extend, And cheer with boons each faithful friend. Let thine enthronement, lord, this day Make all thy lovers glad and gay, And let all those who hate thee flee To the ten winds for fear of thee. Dear lord, my mother’s words of hate With thy sweet virtues expiate, And from the stain of folly clear The father whom we both revere. Brother, to me compassion show, I pray thee with my head bent low, And to these friends who on thee call,— As the Great Father pities all. But if my tears and prayers be vain, And thou in woods wilt still remain, I will with thee my path pursue And make my home in forests too.”

Thus Bharat strove to bend his will With suppliant head, but he, Earth’s lord, inexorable still Would keep his sire’s decree. The firmness of the noble chief The wondering people moved, And rapture mingling with their grief, All wept and all approved. “How firm his steadfast will,” they cried, “Who Keeps his promise thus! Ah, to Ayodhyá’s town,” they sighed, “He comes not back with us.” The holy priest, the swains who tilled The earth, the sons of trade, And e’en the mournful queens were filled With joy as Bharat prayed, And bent their heads, then weeping stilled A while, his prayer to aid.

Canto CVII. Ráma’s Speech.

Thus, by his friends encompassed round, He spoke, and Ráma, far renowned, To his dear brother thus replied, Whom holy rites had purified: “O thou whom Queen Kaikeyí bare The best of kings, thy words are fair, Our royal father, when of yore He wed her, to her father swore The best of kingdoms to confer, A noble dowry meet for her; Then, grateful, on the deadly day Of heavenly Gods’ and demons’ fray, A future boon on her bestowed To whose sweet care his life he owed. She to his mind that promise brought, And then the best of kings besought To bid me to the forest flee, And give the rule, O Prince, to thee. Thus bound by oath, the king our lord Gave her those boons of free accord, And bade me, O thou chief of men, Live in the woods four years and ten. I to this lonely wood have hied With faithful Lakshmaṇ by my side, And Sítá by no tears deterred, Resolved to keep my father’s word. And thou, my noble brother, too Shouldst keep our father’s promise true: Anointed ruler of the state Maintain his word inviolate. From his great debt, dear brother, free Our lord the king for love of me, Thy mother’s breast with joy inspire, And from all woe preserve thy sire. ’Tis said, near Gayá’s holy town(385) Gayá, great saint of high renown, This text recited when he paid Due rites to each ancestral shade: “A son is born his sire to free From Put’s infernal pains: Hence, saviour of his father, he The name of Puttra gains.”(386) Thus numerous sons are sought by prayer, In Scripture trained with graces fair, That of the number one some day May funeral rites at Gayá pay. The mighty saints who lived of old This holy doctrine ever hold. Then, best of men, our sire release From pains of hell, and give him peace. Now Bharat, to Ayodhyá speed, The brave Śatrughna with thee lead, Take with thee all the twice-born men, And please each lord and citizen. I now, O King, without delay To Daṇḍak wood will bend my way, And Lakshmaṇ and the Maithil dame Will follow still, our path the same. Now, Bharat, lord of men be thou, And o’er Ayodhyá reign: The silvan world to me shall bow, King of the wild domain. Yea, let thy joyful steps be bent To that fair town to-day, And I as happy and content, To Daṇḍak wood will stray. The white umbrella o’er thy brow Its cooling shade shall throw: I to the shadow of the bough And leafy trees will go. Śatrughna, for wise plans renowned, Shall still on thee attend; And Lakshmaṇ, ever faithful found, Be my familiar friend. Let us his sons, O brother dear, The path of right pursue, And keep the king we all revere Still to his promise true.”

Canto CVIII. Jáváli’s Speech.

Thus Ráma soothed his brother’s grief: Then virtuous Jáváli, 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 Ayodhyá 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. By crafty knaves these rules were framed, And to enforce men’s gifts proclaimed: “Give, worship, lead a life austere, Keep lustral rites, quit pleasures here.” There is no future life: be wise, And do, O Prince, as I advise. Enjoy, my lord, the present bliss, And things unseen from thought dismiss. Let this advice thy bosom move, The counsel sage which all approve; To Bharat’s earnest prayer incline, And take the rule so justly thine.”

Canto CIX. The Praises Of Truth.

By sage Jáváli thus addressed, Ráma of truthful hearts the best, With perfect skill and wisdom high Thus to his speech made fit reply: “Thy words that tempt to bliss are fair, But virtue’s garb they falsely wear. For he from duty’s path who strays To wander in forbidden ways, Allured by doctrine false and vain, Praise from the good can never gain. Their lives the true and boaster show, Pure and impure, and high and low, Else were no mark to judge between Stainless and stained and high and mean; They to whose lot fair signs may fall Were but as they who lack them all, And those to virtuous thoughts inclined Were but as men of evil mind. If in the sacred name of right I do this wrong in duty’s spite; The path of virtue meanly quit, And this polluting sin commit, What man who marks the bounds between Virtue and vice with insight keen, Would rank me high in after time Stained with this soul destroying crime? Whither could I, the sinner, turn, How hope a seat in heaven to earn, If I my plighted promise break, And thus the righteous path forsake? This world of ours is ever led To walk the ways which others tread, And as their princes they behold, The subjects too their lives will mould. That truth and mercy still must be Beloved of kings, is Heaven’s decree. Upheld by truth the monarch reigns, And truth the very world sustains. Truth evermore has been the love Of holy saints and Gods above, And he whose lips are truthful here Wins after death the highest sphere. As from a serpent’s deadly tooth, We shrink from him who scorns the truth. For holy truth is root and spring Of justice and each holy thing, A might that every power transcends, Linked to high bliss that never ends. Truth is all virtue’s surest base, Supreme in worth and first in place. Oblations, gifts men offer here, Vows, sacrifice, and rites austere, And Holy Writ, on truth depend: So men must still that truth defend. Truth, only truth protects the land, By truth unharmed our houses stand; Neglect of truth makes men distressed, And truth in highest heaven is blessed. Then how can I, rebellious, break Commandments which my father spake— I ever true and faithful found, And by my word of honour bound? My father’s bridge of truth shall stand Unharmed by my destructive hand: Not folly, ignorance, or greed My darkened soul shall thus mislead. Have we not heard that God and shade Turn from the hated offerings paid By him whose false and fickle mind No pledge can hold, no promise bind? Truth is all duty: as the soul, It quickens and supports the whole. The good respect this duty: hence Its sacred claims I reverence. The Warrior’s duty I despise That seeks the wrong in virtue’s guise: Those claims I shrink from, which the base, Cruel, and covetous embrace. The heart conceives the guilty thought, Then by the hand the sin is wrought, And with the pair is leagued a third, The tongue that speaks the lying word. Fortune and land and name and fame To man’s best care have right and claim; The good will aye to truth adhere, And its high laws must men revere. Base were the deed thy lips would teach, Approved as best by subtle speech. Shall I my plighted promise break, That I these woods my home would make? Shall I, as Bharat’s words advise, My father’s solemn charge despise? Firm stands the oath which then before My father’s face I soothly swore, Which Queen Kaikeyí’s anxious ear Rejoiced with highest joy to hear. Still in the wood will I remain, With food prescribed my life sustain, And please with fruit and roots and flowers Ancestral shades and heavenly powers. Here every sense contented, still Heeding the bounds of good and ill, My settled course will I pursue, Firm in my faith and ever true. Here in this wild and far retreat Will I my noble task complete; And Fire and Wind and Moon shall be Partakers of its fruit with me. A hundred offerings duly wrought His rank o’er Gods for Indra bought, And mighty saints their heaven secured By torturing years on earth endured.” That scoffing plea the hero spurned, And thus he spake once more, Chiding, the while his bosom burned, Jáváli’s impious lore: “Justice, and courage ne’er dismayed, Pity for all distressed, Truth, loving honour duly paid To Bráhman, God, and guest— In these, the true and virtuous say, Should lives of men be passed: They form the right and happy way That leads to heaven at last. My father’s thoughtless act I chide That gave thee honoured place, Whose soul, from virtue turned aside, Is faithless, dark, and base. We rank the Buddhist with the thief,(388) And all the impious crew Who share his sinful disbelief, And hate the right and true. Hence never should wise kings who seek To rule their people well, Admit, before their face to speak, The cursed infidel. But twice-born men in days gone by, Of other sort than thou, Have wrought good deeds, whose glories high Are fresh among us now: This world they conquered, nor in vain They strove to win the skies: The twice-born hence pure lives maintain, And fires of worship rise. Those who in virtue’s path delight, And with the virtuous live,— Whose flames of holy zeal are bright, Whose hands are swift to give, Who injure none, and good and mild In every grace excel, Whose lives by sin are undefiled, We love and honour well.” Thus Ráma spoke in righteous rage Jáváli’s speech to chide, When thus again the virtuous sage In truthful words replied: “The atheist’s lore I use no more, Not mine his impious creed: His words and doctrine I abhor, Assumed at time of need. E’en as I rose to speak with thee, The fit occasion came That bade me use the atheist’s plea To turn thee from thine aim. The atheist creed I disavow, Unsay the words of sin, And use the faithful’s language now Thy favour, Prince, to win.”

Canto CX. The Sons Of Ikshváku.(389)

Then spake Vaśishṭha who perceived That Ráma’s soul was wroth and grieved: “Well knows the sage Jáváli all The changes that the world befall; And but to lead thee to revoke Thy purpose were the words he spoke. Lord of the world, now hear from me How first this world began to be. First water was, and naught beside; There earth was formed that stretches wide. Then with the Gods from out the same The Self-existent Brahmá came. Then Brahmá(390) in a boar’s disguise Bade from the deep this earth arise; Then, with his sons of tranquil soul, He made the world and framed the whole. From subtlest ether Brahmá rose: No end, no loss, no change he knows. A son had he, Maríchi styled, And Kaśyap was Maríchi’s child. From him Vivasvat sprang: from him Manu, whose fame shall ne’er be dim. Manu, who life to mortals gave, Begot Ikshváku good and brave: First of Ayodhyá’s kings was he, Pride of her famous dynasty. From him the glorious Kukshi sprang, Whose fame through all the regions rang. Rival of Kukshi’s ancient fame, His heir the great Vikukshi came. His son was Váṇa, lord of might, His Anaraṇya, strong in fight. No famine marred his blissful reign, No drought destroyed the kindly grain; Amid the sons of virtue chief, His happy realm ne’er held a thief, His son was Prithu, glorious name, From him the wise Triśanku came: Embodied to the skies he went For love of truth preëminent. He left a son renowned afar, Known by the name of Dhundhumár. His son succeeding bore the name Of Yuvanáśva dear to fame. He passed away. Him followed then His son Mándhátá, king of men. His son was blest in high emprise, Susandhi, fortunate and wise. Two noble sons had he, to wit Dhruvasandhi and Prasenajit. Bharat was Dhruvasandhi’s son: His glorious arm the conquest won, Against his son King Asit, rose In fierce array his royal foes, Haihayas, Tálajanghas styled, And Śaśivindhus fierce and wild. Long time he strove, but forced to yield Fled from his kingdom and the field. The wives he left had both conceived— So is the ancient tale believed:— One, of her rival’s hopes afraid, Fell poison in the viands laid. It chanced that Chyavan, Bhrigu’s child, Had wandered to the pathless wild Where proud Himálaya’s lovely height Detained him with a strange delight. Then came the other widowed queen With lotus eyes and beauteous mien, Longing a noble son to bear, And wooed the saint with earnest prayer. When thus Kálindí, fairest dame With reverent supplication came, To her the holy sage replied: “O royal lady, from thy side A glorious son shall spring ere long, Righteous and true and brave and strong; He, scourge of foes and lofty-souled, His ancient race shall still uphold.”

Then round the sage the lady went, And bade farewell, most reverent. Back to her home she turned once more, And there her promised son she bore. Because her rival mixed the bane To render her conception vain, And her unripened fruit destroy, Sagar she called her rescued boy.(391) He, when he paid that solemn rite,(392) Filled living creatures with affright: Obedient to his high decree His countless sons dug out the sea. Prince Asamanj was Sagar’s child: But him with cruel sin defiled And loaded with the people’s hate His father banished from the state. To Asamanj his consort bare Bright Anśumán his valiant heir. Anśumán’s son, Dilípa famed, Begot a son Bhagírath named. From him renowned Kakutstha came: Thou bearest still the lineal name. Kakutstha’s son was Raghu: thou Art styled the son of Raghu now. From him came Purushádak bold, Fierce hero of gigantic mould: Kalmáshapáda’s name he bore, Because his feet were spotted o’er. Śankhan his son, to manhood grown, Died sadly with his host o’erthrown, But ere he perished sprang from him Sudarśan fair in face and limb. From beautiful Sudarśan came Prince Agnivarṇa, bright as flame. His son was Śíghraga, for speed Unmatched; and Maru was his seed. Prasusruka was Maru’s child: His son was Ambarísha styled. Nahush was Ambarísha’s heir With hand to strike and heart to dare. His son was good Nábhág, from youth Renowned for piety and truth. From great Nábhág sprang children two Aja and Suvrat pure and true. From Aja Daśaratha came, Whose virtuous life was free from blame. His eldest son art thou: his throne, O famous Ráma, is thine own. Accept the sway so justly thine, And view the world with eyes benign. For ever in Ikshváku’s race The eldest takes his father’s place, And while he lives no son beside As lord and king is sanctified. The rule by Raghu’s children kept Thou must not spurn to-day. This realm of peerless wealth accept, And like thy father sway.”

Canto CXI. Counsel To Bharat.

Thus said Vaśishṭha, and again To Ráma spake in duteous strain: “All men the light of life who see With high respect should look on three: High honour ne’er must be denied To father, mother, holy guide. First to their sires their birth they owe, Nursed with maternal love they grow: Their holy guides fair knowledge teach: So men should love and honour each. Thy sire and thou have learned of me, The sacred guide of him and thee, And if my word thou wilt obey Thou still wilt keep the virtuous way. See, with the chiefs of every guild And all thy friends, this place is filled: All these, as duty bids, protect; So still the righteous path respect. O, for thine aged mother feel, Nor spurn the virtuous dame’s appeal: Obey, O Prince, thy mother dear, And still to virtue’s path adhere. Yield thou to Bharat’s fond request, With earnest supplication pressed, So wilt thou to thyself be true, And faith and duty still pursue.”

Thus by his saintly guide addressed With pleas in sweetest tones expressed, The lord of men in turn replied To wise Vaśishṭha by his side: “The fondest son’s observance ne’er Repays the sire and mother’s care: The constant love that food provides, And dress, and every need besides: Their pleasant words still soft and mild, Their nurture of the helpless child: The words which Daśaratha spake, My king and sire, I ne’er will break.”

Then Bharat of the ample chest The wise Sumantra thus addressed; “Bring sacred grass, O charioteer, And strew it on the level here. For I will sit and watch his face Until I win my brother’s grace. Like a robbed Bráhman will I lie,(393) Nor taste of food nor turn my eye, In front of Ráma’s leafy cot, And till he yield will leave him not.”

When Bharat saw Sumantra’s eye Looked up to Ráma for reply, The Prince himself in eager haste The sacred grass in order placed. Him great and mighty Ráma, best Of royal saints, in turn addressed: “What, Bharat, have I done, that thou Besiegest me,(394) a suppliant now? Thus streched, to force redress for wrongs To men of Bráhman birth belongs, Not those upon whose kingly head The consecrating drops are shed. Up, lord of men! arise, and quit This fearful vow for thee unfit. Go, brother, seek Ayodhyá’s town, Fair city of supreme renown.”

But Bharat, as his seat he took, Cast all around an eager look: “O people, join your prayers with mine, And so his stubborn heart incline.”

And all the people answered thus: “Full well is Ráma known to us. Right is the word he speaks and he Is faithful to his sire’s decree: Nor can we rashly venture now To turn him from his purposed vow.”

Then Ráma spoke: “O Bharat, heed Thy virtuous friends, and mark their rede. Mark well what I and these advise, And duty view with clearer eyes. Thy hand on mine, O hero, place, Touch water, and thy sin efface.”

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.”

The virtuous Ráma, wonder-stirred, The faithful speech of Bharat heard, And thus the hero’s feelings found Due utterance, as he gazed around: