At that moment Sita, who had heard the news, rose in great agitation, and having reverenced her mother’s feet, bowed her head and sat down.
In tender accents her mother gave her her blessing, and at the sight of her delicate frame was more distressed than ever. With drooping eyes Sita, the perfection of beauty, the model of wifely devotion, sat and thought: “The lord of my life would go to the woods, how can I merit to accompany him? Whether in the body or only in the soul, go I must; but God’s doings are inscrutable.” With her lovely toe-nails she wrote upon the ground, while the music of her anklets, like the poet’s honeyed song, rang out the passionate prayer: “Never may we be torn from Sita’s feet.” Seeing her let fall a flood of tears from her lovely eyes, Rāma’s mother cried: “Hearken, my son; Sītā is very delicate; she is the darling of your father and mother and all your kindred.
Dohā 57.
Her own father is Janak, jewel of kings; her father-in-law is the Phoebus of the solar race; her lord, the perfection of beauty and virtue, is as it were the moon of the lily-like progeny of the Sun-god;
I again have found in her a dear daughter, amiable, beautiful and accomplished. She is like the apple of my eye, and my affection has so grown that it is only in Jānakī that I have my being. I have tended her as carefully as the tree of paradise and watered her growth with streams of affection. When she should have blossomed and borne fruit, God has turned against me, and there is no knowing what will be the end. Or ever she left her bed or seat, I cradled her in my lap, and never has Sītā set her foot on the hard ground. I cherished her as the very source of my life, and never bade her so much as even to trim the wick of a lamp. And this is the Sītā who would follow you to the woods; what are your orders, O Raghunāth? Can the partridge, that drinks in with delight the rays of the moon, endure to fix its gaze on the orb of the sun?
In tender accents her mother gave her her blessing, and at the sight of her delicate frame was more distressed than ever. With drooping eyes Sita, the perfection of beauty, the model of wifely devotion, sat and thought: “The lord of my life would go to the woods, how can I merit to accompany him? Whether in the body or only in the soul, go I must; but God’s doings are inscrutable.” With her lovely toe-nails she wrote upon the ground, while the music of her anklets, like the poet’s honeyed song, rang out the passionate prayer: “Never may we be torn from Sita’s feet.” Seeing her let fall a flood of tears from her lovely eyes, Rāma’s mother cried: “Hearken, my son; Sītā is very delicate; she is the darling of your father and mother and all your kindred.
Dohā 57.
Her own father is Janak, jewel of kings; her father-in-law is the Phoebus of the solar race; her lord, the perfection of beauty and virtue, is as it were the moon of the lily-like progeny of the Sun-god;
I again have found in her a dear daughter, amiable, beautiful and accomplished. She is like the apple of my eye, and my affection has so grown that it is only in Jānakī that I have my being. I have tended her as carefully as the tree of paradise and watered her growth with streams of affection. When she should have blossomed and borne fruit, God has turned against me, and there is no knowing what will be the end. Or ever she left her bed or seat, I cradled her in my lap, and never has Sītā set her foot on the hard ground. I cherished her as the very source of my life, and never bade her so much as even to trim the wick of a lamp. And this is the Sītā who would follow you to the woods; what are your orders, O Raghunāth? Can the partridge, that drinks in with delight the rays of the moon, endure to fix its gaze on the orb of the sun?
Dohā 58.
Elephants, lions, goblins, and many fierce animals roam the wood: ah, my son, is the charming tree of life fit to set in such a deadly pasture?
God has created for the forest Kol and Kirāt women, who care not for bodily delights. Of nature as hard as the stone insect, the woods are no trial to them. A hermit’s wife again is fit for the woods, who for the sake of penance has renounced all pleasures. But how, my son, can Sītā live in the woods, who would be frightened by even the picture of a monkey? Can the cygnet that has sported in the lovely lotus-beds of the Ganges find fit abode in a muddy puddle? First ponder this, and then, as you order, I will instruct Jānakī. If she remain at home and call me mother, she will be the support of my life.” Raghu-bīr, on hearing his mother’s speech, which was drenched as it were with the ambrosia of grace and affection,
Dohā 59.
replied in tender and discreet terms for his mother’s consolation, and began to set clearly before Jānakī all the pleasures and troubles of forest life,
speaking diffidently as in the presence of his mother, and considering well within himself the requirements of the time: “Hearken, lady, to my instructions; nor form any different fancies in your mind. If you desire your own good and mine, agree to what I say and remain at home. My order is this: the service of a mother-in-law is in every way, madam, a blessing to a family. There is no other duty so paramount as reverential submission to a husband’s parents. Whenever my mother recalls me to mind and is distracted by affectionate solicitude, do you, my love, console her with old-world tales and tender speeches. I speak from my heart and confirm it with a hundred oaths: it is for my mother’s sake, beloved, I leave you here.
Elephants, lions, goblins, and many fierce animals roam the wood: ah, my son, is the charming tree of life fit to set in such a deadly pasture?
God has created for the forest Kol and Kirāt women, who care not for bodily delights. Of nature as hard as the stone insect, the woods are no trial to them. A hermit’s wife again is fit for the woods, who for the sake of penance has renounced all pleasures. But how, my son, can Sītā live in the woods, who would be frightened by even the picture of a monkey? Can the cygnet that has sported in the lovely lotus-beds of the Ganges find fit abode in a muddy puddle? First ponder this, and then, as you order, I will instruct Jānakī. If she remain at home and call me mother, she will be the support of my life.” Raghu-bīr, on hearing his mother’s speech, which was drenched as it were with the ambrosia of grace and affection,
Dohā 59.
replied in tender and discreet terms for his mother’s consolation, and began to set clearly before Jānakī all the pleasures and troubles of forest life,
speaking diffidently as in the presence of his mother, and considering well within himself the requirements of the time: “Hearken, lady, to my instructions; nor form any different fancies in your mind. If you desire your own good and mine, agree to what I say and remain at home. My order is this: the service of a mother-in-law is in every way, madam, a blessing to a family. There is no other duty so paramount as reverential submission to a husband’s parents. Whenever my mother recalls me to mind and is distracted by affectionate solicitude, do you, my love, console her with old-world tales and tender speeches. I speak from my heart and confirm it with a hundred oaths: it is for my mother’s sake, beloved, I leave you here.
Dohā 60.
The reward of virtue can be obtained without trouble by submission to Scripture and one’s spiritual director; through their obstinacy Gālava and king Nahusha were subjected to all sorts of trouble.
The ground will be your couch, the bark of trees your raiment, and your food bulbs, wild fruits and roots; nor think that even they will be always forthcoming every day, but only when they are in season.
There are man-eating demons who assume all sorts of deceptive forms; the rainfall on the hills is excessive, and in short the hardships of the forest are past all telling. There are terrible serpents and fierce wild birds and gangs of goblins that steal both man and woman. The bravest shudders at the thought of the dense forest; while you, my fawn-eyed wife, are timid by nature. Ah! delicate dame, you are not fit for the woods; people will revile me on hearing of such a thing. Can the swan that has been nurtured in the ambrosial flood of the Mânas lake exist in the salt sea? Can the holy one that roves with delight through the luxuriant mango groves take pleasure in a jungle of karil bushes? Ponder this, my fair bride, and stay at home; the hardships of the forest are too great.
Whoever with a view to her own good does not at once accept the advice given by a friend, or a guru, or her husband, shall assuredly have a surfeit of repentance and gain no good.
The reward of virtue can be obtained without trouble by submission to Scripture and one’s spiritual director; through their obstinacy Gālava and king Nahusha were subjected to all sorts of trouble.
The ground will be your couch, the bark of trees your raiment, and your food bulbs, wild fruits and roots; nor think that even they will be always forthcoming every day, but only when they are in season.
There are man-eating demons who assume all sorts of deceptive forms; the rainfall on the hills is excessive, and in short the hardships of the forest are past all telling. There are terrible serpents and fierce wild birds and gangs of goblins that steal both man and woman. The bravest shudders at the thought of the dense forest; while you, my fawn-eyed wife, are timid by nature. Ah! delicate dame, you are not fit for the woods; people will revile me on hearing of such a thing. Can the swan that has been nurtured in the ambrosial flood of the Mânas lake exist in the salt sea? Can the holy one that roves with delight through the luxuriant mango groves take pleasure in a jungle of karil bushes? Ponder this, my fair bride, and stay at home; the hardships of the forest are too great.
Whoever with a view to her own good does not at once accept the advice given by a friend, or a guru, or her husband, shall assuredly have a surfeit of repentance and gain no good.
On hearing the tender and winning words of her husband, Sita's lotus eyes filled with tears, and his soothing advice caused her as burning pain as the autumn moon causes the chakwi. In her distress no answer came to her lips: “So great is his love that he would leave me behind.” Perforce restraining her tears and summing up courage, Earth's daughter embraced her mother's feet, and with folded hands thus spake: “Pardon me, lady, my great presumption: my dear lord has taught me what is all for my own good; but I look to my feelings, and conclude that no sorrow in the world is so great as separation from one's beloved.
O my dear lord, most compassionate, beautiful, bounteous and wise, the moon of the lilies of the Raghu race, heaven without you would be very hell.
Dear are father and mother, sisters and brothers; dear are my companions and my many friends; but father-in-law and mother-in-law, spiritual director, generous associates, and even sons, however beautiful, amiable and affectionate, nay, my lord, all love and every tie of kindred, to a woman without her husband, are a greater distress than the sun's most burning heat. Life, wealth, house, land, city and empire are but accumulated misery to a woman bereft of her lord. Ease is disease, her jewels a burden, and the world like the torments of hell. Without you, O lord of my soul, there is nothing in the whole world that could give me any comfort. As the body without a soul, as a river without water, so, my lord, is a woman without her husband. With you, my lord, are all delights, as long as I can behold your face that vies in brightness with the autumn moon.
O my dear lord, most compassionate, beautiful, bounteous and wise, the moon of the lilies of the Raghu race, heaven without you would be very hell.
Dear are father and mother, sisters and brothers; dear are my companions and my many friends; but father-in-law and mother-in-law, spiritual director, generous associates, and even sons, however beautiful, amiable and affectionate, nay, my lord, all love and every tie of kindred, to a woman without her husband, are a greater distress than the sun's most burning heat. Life, wealth, house, land, city and empire are but accumulated misery to a woman bereft of her lord. Ease is disease, her jewels a burden, and the world like the torments of hell. Without you, O lord of my soul, there is nothing in the whole world that could give me any comfort. As the body without a soul, as a river without water, so, my lord, is a woman without her husband. With you, my lord, are all delights, as long as I can behold your face that vies in brightness with the autumn moon.
The birds and deer will be my attendants, the forest my city, and strips of bark my glistening robes; with my Lord a hut of grass will be as the palace of the gods, and all will be well.
Shedding many tears, Lakshman made supplication to his lord: “My lord, brother, my protector, do not think me selfish or presumptuous. I would never speak of any other desire, but your commands are dearer to me than life. I will not go against your wishes, even in thought; my greatest happiness is to live in obedience to them. But when you and Sita depart for the forest, what use will life, home, wealth, or family be to me? Without your lotus feet, they are all as empty as a body without life. Therefore, hear my petition, and take me with you; be gracious and grant me this one favour.”
Dohâ 70.
Rama replied: “I cannot refuse your request, but my mother is now old, and you must remain here to serve her.”
Chaupâî
When Lakshman heard these words, he bowed his head and said: “My Lord, I have no mother, father, or other relative in this world except you. If I have a mother, she is Kaikeyi, who has robbed me of you; and if I have a father, he is the one who has sent you into exile. What use are sons, wealth, or a home to me? You are my all, and I will follow you. My beloved Lord, do not turn me away; I shall lay my life at your feet.” Hearing these words, Rama embraced Lakshman, and their affection was beyond description. Then Lakshman went to his mother, Sumitra, and touched her feet. She embraced him and blessed him: “My child, you are indeed fortunate, for you will serve Rama and Sita. Regard Sita as your mother, Rama as your father, and the forest as Ayodhya. May your welfare be ever increasing. If you remain with Rama, all good will be yours; there will be no cause for anxiety.” Having said this, she lovingly embraced him again and again.
Shedding many tears, Lakshman made supplication to his lord: “My lord, brother, my protector, do not think me selfish or presumptuous. I would never speak of any other desire, but your commands are dearer to me than life. I will not go against your wishes, even in thought; my greatest happiness is to live in obedience to them. But when you and Sita depart for the forest, what use will life, home, wealth, or family be to me? Without your lotus feet, they are all as empty as a body without life. Therefore, hear my petition, and take me with you; be gracious and grant me this one favour.”
Dohâ 70.
Rama replied: “I cannot refuse your request, but my mother is now old, and you must remain here to serve her.”
Chaupâî
When Lakshman heard these words, he bowed his head and said: “My Lord, I have no mother, father, or other relative in this world except you. If I have a mother, she is Kaikeyi, who has robbed me of you; and if I have a father, he is the one who has sent you into exile. What use are sons, wealth, or a home to me? You are my all, and I will follow you. My beloved Lord, do not turn me away; I shall lay my life at your feet.” Hearing these words, Rama embraced Lakshman, and their affection was beyond description. Then Lakshman went to his mother, Sumitra, and touched her feet. She embraced him and blessed him: “My child, you are indeed fortunate, for you will serve Rama and Sita. Regard Sita as your mother, Rama as your father, and the forest as Ayodhya. May your welfare be ever increasing. If you remain with Rama, all good will be yours; there will be no cause for anxiety.” Having said this, she lovingly embraced him again and again.
Dohâ 71.
Lakshman bowed at the feet of his mother and father, and then set out, his heart filled with love and devotion to Rama.
Chaupâî
When the three had taken leave of the king, they put on the garb of ascetics. Rama and Lakshman wore garments of bark, and Sita dressed herself in the same. The women of the city, seeing Sita in ascetic’s dress, cried out in sorrow: “The Creator has been unjust to her; she was not made to dwell in the forest. Her feet are tender as the lotus, and her face is radiant as the moon. How can she endure the forest’s hardships?” They spoke thus, and their eyes filled with tears. The citizens came out in crowds and followed the three, crying aloud: “How can we return to our homes, when Rama, Sita, and Lakshman are going to the forest? We will go with them, and dwell beneath the trees.” They followed the three, grieving and lamenting, and none could turn them back.
Dohâ 72.
The people of Ayodhya, unable to bear the separation, followed Rama with tears in their eyes, their minds fixed on his lotus feet.
Dohâ 70.
Overmastered by love, he could not answer, but clung in anguish to his feet: “O my Lord, I am your slave and you my master: leave me, then what can I do?”
Lakshman bowed at the feet of his mother and father, and then set out, his heart filled with love and devotion to Rama.
Chaupâî
When the three had taken leave of the king, they put on the garb of ascetics. Rama and Lakshman wore garments of bark, and Sita dressed herself in the same. The women of the city, seeing Sita in ascetic’s dress, cried out in sorrow: “The Creator has been unjust to her; she was not made to dwell in the forest. Her feet are tender as the lotus, and her face is radiant as the moon. How can she endure the forest’s hardships?” They spoke thus, and their eyes filled with tears. The citizens came out in crowds and followed the three, crying aloud: “How can we return to our homes, when Rama, Sita, and Lakshman are going to the forest? We will go with them, and dwell beneath the trees.” They followed the three, grieving and lamenting, and none could turn them back.
Dohâ 72.
The people of Ayodhya, unable to bear the separation, followed Rama with tears in their eyes, their minds fixed on his lotus feet.
Dohâ 70.
Overmastered by love, he could not answer, but clung in anguish to his feet: “O my Lord, I am your slave and you my master: leave me, then what can I do?”
Chaupâi.
You have given me, good sir, excellent advice; but in my confusion I find it impracticable. Valiant leaders of men and champions of the faith can master such abstruse doctrine, but I am a mere child, nurtured by your affection; can a cygnet uplift Mount Mandar or Meru? I know no guru nor father nor mother; believe me, my lord, I speak from my heart: all the love in the world, all claims of kin, all affection, sympathy, wisdom and skill are for me centred in you, my lord, the protector of the humble, the reader of the heart. Expound questions of theology to one who aims at fame and glory and high estate; I am in heart, word and deed devoted only to your feet; and am I, gracious lord, to be discarded?”
Dohâ 71.
The compassionate lord, on hearing the tender and modest words of his good brother, took him to his bosom, and seeing him so affectionately dejected thus consoled him:
Chaupâi.
“Go, brother, and take leave of your mother, and then come and set out for the woods.” On hearing Raghubar thus speak, he was overjoyed; his triumph was great, his sorrow all gone. He approached his mother as glad of heart as a blind man who has recovered his sight, and while he bowed his head at her feet, his heart was away with Raghunandan and Jânaki. Seeing his agitation, his mother enquired the cause, and Lakshman told her the whole history. On hearing his cruel speech she trembled like a fawn that sees the forest on fire all around it. Lakshman reflected: “Everything goes wrong to-day; her very love will work me harm.” Timidly and hesitatingly he asked her permission to go, thinking, “Good God, will she let me go or not?”
You have given me, good sir, excellent advice; but in my confusion I find it impracticable. Valiant leaders of men and champions of the faith can master such abstruse doctrine, but I am a mere child, nurtured by your affection; can a cygnet uplift Mount Mandar or Meru? I know no guru nor father nor mother; believe me, my lord, I speak from my heart: all the love in the world, all claims of kin, all affection, sympathy, wisdom and skill are for me centred in you, my lord, the protector of the humble, the reader of the heart. Expound questions of theology to one who aims at fame and glory and high estate; I am in heart, word and deed devoted only to your feet; and am I, gracious lord, to be discarded?”
Dohâ 71.
The compassionate lord, on hearing the tender and modest words of his good brother, took him to his bosom, and seeing him so affectionately dejected thus consoled him:
Chaupâi.
“Go, brother, and take leave of your mother, and then come and set out for the woods.” On hearing Raghubar thus speak, he was overjoyed; his triumph was great, his sorrow all gone. He approached his mother as glad of heart as a blind man who has recovered his sight, and while he bowed his head at her feet, his heart was away with Raghunandan and Jânaki. Seeing his agitation, his mother enquired the cause, and Lakshman told her the whole history. On hearing his cruel speech she trembled like a fawn that sees the forest on fire all around it. Lakshman reflected: “Everything goes wrong to-day; her very love will work me harm.” Timidly and hesitatingly he asked her permission to go, thinking, “Good God, will she let me go or not?”
Dohâ 72.
After reflecting on the beauty and amiable disposition of Râma and Sita and considering the king’s affection, Sumitrâ beat her head and exclaimed: “That wicked woman is at the bottom of this bad business.”
Chaupâi.
But perceiving the time to be untoward, she took patience and in her kindness of heart answered gently: “Your mother, child, is Vaidehi, and Râma is your most loving father; where Râma dwells, there is Avadh; and wherever is the light of the sun, there is day. If Râma and Sita go to the woods, you have no business at Avadh. A guru, a father and mother, brethren, the gods and our master are all to be tended as our own life; but Râma is dearer than life, is the soul of our soul, and the disinterested friend of all; our dearest and most honoured friends are to be accounted those of Râma’s household. Thinking thus to yourself, go with them to the woods and receive, my son, the fruition of your existence.
Dohâ 73.
You have become the receptacle of the highest good fortune, and I too—ah, woe is me!—if from an unfeigned heart you have made Râma’s feet your home.
Chaupâi
A mother indeed is she who has a son devoted to Raghubar; if not, it is better to be barren, she has given birth in vain; a son who is Râma’s enemy is a curse. It is your good fortune that Râma goes to the woods; and other reason is there none; this, my son, is the highest reward for all good deeds, to have a sincere affection for the feet of Râma and Sita. Never give way even in thought to lust, or passion, or envy, or pride, or delusion; but put aside all changeableness and serve them in heart, word and deed. For you the forest is a place of joy, since Râma and Sita, your father and mother, will be there with you. Take heed, my son, that Râma be put to no trouble: this is my admonition.
After reflecting on the beauty and amiable disposition of Râma and Sita and considering the king’s affection, Sumitrâ beat her head and exclaimed: “That wicked woman is at the bottom of this bad business.”
Chaupâi.
But perceiving the time to be untoward, she took patience and in her kindness of heart answered gently: “Your mother, child, is Vaidehi, and Râma is your most loving father; where Râma dwells, there is Avadh; and wherever is the light of the sun, there is day. If Râma and Sita go to the woods, you have no business at Avadh. A guru, a father and mother, brethren, the gods and our master are all to be tended as our own life; but Râma is dearer than life, is the soul of our soul, and the disinterested friend of all; our dearest and most honoured friends are to be accounted those of Râma’s household. Thinking thus to yourself, go with them to the woods and receive, my son, the fruition of your existence.
Dohâ 73.
You have become the receptacle of the highest good fortune, and I too—ah, woe is me!—if from an unfeigned heart you have made Râma’s feet your home.
Chaupâi
A mother indeed is she who has a son devoted to Raghubar; if not, it is better to be barren, she has given birth in vain; a son who is Râma’s enemy is a curse. It is your good fortune that Râma goes to the woods; and other reason is there none; this, my son, is the highest reward for all good deeds, to have a sincere affection for the feet of Râma and Sita. Never give way even in thought to lust, or passion, or envy, or pride, or delusion; but put aside all changeableness and serve them in heart, word and deed. For you the forest is a place of joy, since Râma and Sita, your father and mother, will be there with you. Take heed, my son, that Râma be put to no trouble: this is my admonition.
Chhand 3.
This is my admonition, my son; see that Râma and Sita live at ease and in the woods forget to remember their father and mother, their friends and relations and all the pleasures of the city.” Having given her son such instruction and commands (says Tulsî) she again invoked upon him her blessing: “May your love for Sita and Raghubir be constant and unsullied and ever renewed!”
Sorathâ 3.
Having bowed his head at his mother’s feet, he left in haste with trepidation, hearty as flies a hapless deer that has burst a perilous snare.
He went to Janaki's lord, and his soul rejoiced to recover his dear society. After reverencing Rama and Sita's gracious feet, he proceeded with them to the king's palace. The citizens say to one another: “How goodly a plan God made and now has marred!” With wasted frame, sad soul and doleful face, they were in as great distress as bees robbed of their honey; wringing their hands, beating their heads and lamenting, like wretched birds that have been deprived of their wings. There was a great crowd in the royal hall: grief immeasurable, beyond all telling. The minister raised the king and seated him, as Rama advanced with loving address. When he saw Sita and his two sons, the king's agitation was profound.
This is my admonition, my son; see that Râma and Sita live at ease and in the woods forget to remember their father and mother, their friends and relations and all the pleasures of the city.” Having given her son such instruction and commands (says Tulsî) she again invoked upon him her blessing: “May your love for Sita and Raghubir be constant and unsullied and ever renewed!”
Sorathâ 3.
Having bowed his head at his mother’s feet, he left in haste with trepidation, hearty as flies a hapless deer that has burst a perilous snare.
He went to Janaki's lord, and his soul rejoiced to recover his dear society. After reverencing Rama and Sita's gracious feet, he proceeded with them to the king's palace. The citizens say to one another: “How goodly a plan God made and now has marred!” With wasted frame, sad soul and doleful face, they were in as great distress as bees robbed of their honey; wringing their hands, beating their heads and lamenting, like wretched birds that have been deprived of their wings. There was a great crowd in the royal hall: grief immeasurable, beyond all telling. The minister raised the king and seated him, as Rama advanced with loving address. When he saw Sita and his two sons, the king's agitation was profound.