In Rama’s company Sita lived so happy that she lost all memory of city, family and home. Ever watching the moon-like face of her beloved, she rejoiced like the partridge at night, and seeing her lord’s affection daily increase she was as happy as the cuckoo by day. Her heart was so enamoured of him that the forest was a thousand times as dear to her as Avadh; dear was the cottage with her love’s society, dear were the fawns and birds, now her only attendants: like her husband’s father and mother were the hermits and their wives, and sweet as ambrosia the wild fruits and roots. Shared with her lord, a litter of leaves was a hundredfold more delightful than Cupid’s own couch. How can material delights beguile him, the mere sight of whom confers the sovereignty of the spheres?
Dohâ 135
Remembering Rama, men discard as no more worth than a blade of grass all the pleasures of sense; no wonder then in Sita’s case, Rama’s own beloved, the mother of the world.
Chaupai
Anything that would please Sita and Lakshman, that would Raghunath do, exactly as they suggested. He would recite legends and tales of olden times, in the hearing of which Lakshman and Sita took great delight. If ever he made mention of Avadh, his eyes filled with tears; as he called to mind his father and mother, his family and his brother, with all Bharat’s affection and amiable attention, the compassionate Lord grew most sad, but restrained himself knowing that the time was out of joint. At the sight Sita and Lakshman became distressed also, like the shadow that follows a man. When Raghunandan noticed the emotion of his spouse and his brother, being self-restrained and tender and as soothing to his votaries as sandal-wood when applied to the breast, he would begin to relate some sacred story to divert them.
Dohâ 135
Remembering Rama, men discard as no more worth than a blade of grass all the pleasures of sense; no wonder then in Sita’s case, Rama’s own beloved, the mother of the world.
Chaupai
Anything that would please Sita and Lakshman, that would Raghunath do, exactly as they suggested. He would recite legends and tales of olden times, in the hearing of which Lakshman and Sita took great delight. If ever he made mention of Avadh, his eyes filled with tears; as he called to mind his father and mother, his family and his brother, with all Bharat’s affection and amiable attention, the compassionate Lord grew most sad, but restrained himself knowing that the time was out of joint. At the sight Sita and Lakshman became distressed also, like the shadow that follows a man. When Raghunandan noticed the emotion of his spouse and his brother, being self-restrained and tender and as soothing to his votaries as sandal-wood when applied to the breast, he would begin to relate some sacred story to divert them.
Dohâ 136
Rama and Lakshman with Sita in their leafy hut were as resplendent as Indra in the city of heaven with his spouse Sachi and their son Jayanta.
Chaupai
The Lord was as watchful over Sita and his younger brother as the eyelids over the pupil of the eye; while Lakshman was as careful of Sita and Raghubir as a fool of his own body. Thus happily the Lord lived in the woods, grati-
crying alike birds, beasts and pious ascetics. I have now told the story of Râma’s exile to the woods; hear how Sumanta reached Avadh. The Nishad returned after escorting his Lord, and came in sight of the minister and the chariot. No words can tell the distress with which he found the minister to be agonized. Crying out “Râma, Râma, Sita, Lakshman,” he had fallen to the ground utterly overpowered, while the horses kept on looking to the south and neighing as piteously as a bird that has lost its wings.
Doha 137.
They would neither eat grass nor drink water, and their eyes shed tears. At the sight of Râma’s horses all the Kishada were deeply grieved.
Chaupai.
At length summoning up courage the Nishad said: “Now, Sumanta, cease mourning; you are a learned man and a philosopher, submit patiently to adverse fortune.” With such kindly expostulations he made him mount the chariot, whether he would or no; but he was so unstrung by grief that he could not drive, his heart ached so grievously for Râma’s loss. The horses reared and would not go; you would think they were wild deer put in harness, jibbing, lying down and turning to look behind them, being overcome by sore pain for Râma’s loss. If any one mentioned the name of Râma, Lakshman, or Sita, the horses would at once neigh and look at him; the way in which they declared their grief is not to be described, like a snake that has lost its head-jewel.
Rama and Lakshman with Sita in their leafy hut were as resplendent as Indra in the city of heaven with his spouse Sachi and their son Jayanta.
Chaupai
The Lord was as watchful over Sita and his younger brother as the eyelids over the pupil of the eye; while Lakshman was as careful of Sita and Raghubir as a fool of his own body. Thus happily the Lord lived in the woods, grati-
crying alike birds, beasts and pious ascetics. I have now told the story of Râma’s exile to the woods; hear how Sumanta reached Avadh. The Nishad returned after escorting his Lord, and came in sight of the minister and the chariot. No words can tell the distress with which he found the minister to be agonized. Crying out “Râma, Râma, Sita, Lakshman,” he had fallen to the ground utterly overpowered, while the horses kept on looking to the south and neighing as piteously as a bird that has lost its wings.
Doha 137.
They would neither eat grass nor drink water, and their eyes shed tears. At the sight of Râma’s horses all the Kishada were deeply grieved.
Chaupai.
At length summoning up courage the Nishad said: “Now, Sumanta, cease mourning; you are a learned man and a philosopher, submit patiently to adverse fortune.” With such kindly expostulations he made him mount the chariot, whether he would or no; but he was so unstrung by grief that he could not drive, his heart ached so grievously for Râma’s loss. The horses reared and would not go; you would think they were wild deer put in harness, jibbing, lying down and turning to look behind them, being overcome by sore pain for Râma’s loss. If any one mentioned the name of Râma, Lakshman, or Sita, the horses would at once neigh and look at him; the way in which they declared their grief is not to be described, like a snake that has lost its head-jewel.
Doha 138.
The sight of the minister and the horses made the Nishad very sad. He told off four trusty grooms and with them a charioteer.
Chaupai.
After making over the charioteer, Guha returned home, more sorry at leaving than words can tell. The Nishads drove off to Avadh; sunk every moment in deeper distress, Sumanta, tortured by regrets, a prey to woe, cried, “A curse for life without Raghu-bir! This vile body must perish at last; it lost all glory when bereft of Raghu-bir and became a sink of infamy and crime; why does it not take its departure? Ah! fool that it is, it missed its opportunity, seeing that to-day my heart has not broken in twain.” Wringing his hands and beating his head in his remorse he went his way like a miser robbed of his pelf, or like a warrior of high renown, some famous champion, who has had to flee from the battlefield.
Doha 139.
The minister’s grief was like that of some learned Brâhman well read in the Vedas, a man of good repute, of integrity and birth, who has been entrapped into drinking.
Chaupai.
Or like some well-born, virtuous and discreet lady, who is entirely devoted to her Lord, but whom Fate has forced to desert him; such was the cruel torture that racked the minister’s heart. His eyes so full of tears that he could scarcely see; his ears deaf, his senses all confused, his lips dry, his tongue cleaving to his palate, the breath of life only restrained by the bar of Râma’s promise to return; all the colour gone from his face, he looked like one who had murdered his father and mother. His soul was so possessed with the greatness of his loss and his remorse that he might be some grievous sinner trembling at the gate of death. Words would not come, but to himself he moaned: “How can I look Avadh in the face; when they see the chariot and no Râma in it, they will turn in bewilderment to me.
The sight of the minister and the horses made the Nishad very sad. He told off four trusty grooms and with them a charioteer.
Chaupai.
After making over the charioteer, Guha returned home, more sorry at leaving than words can tell. The Nishads drove off to Avadh; sunk every moment in deeper distress, Sumanta, tortured by regrets, a prey to woe, cried, “A curse for life without Raghu-bir! This vile body must perish at last; it lost all glory when bereft of Raghu-bir and became a sink of infamy and crime; why does it not take its departure? Ah! fool that it is, it missed its opportunity, seeing that to-day my heart has not broken in twain.” Wringing his hands and beating his head in his remorse he went his way like a miser robbed of his pelf, or like a warrior of high renown, some famous champion, who has had to flee from the battlefield.
Doha 139.
The minister’s grief was like that of some learned Brâhman well read in the Vedas, a man of good repute, of integrity and birth, who has been entrapped into drinking.
Chaupai.
Or like some well-born, virtuous and discreet lady, who is entirely devoted to her Lord, but whom Fate has forced to desert him; such was the cruel torture that racked the minister’s heart. His eyes so full of tears that he could scarcely see; his ears deaf, his senses all confused, his lips dry, his tongue cleaving to his palate, the breath of life only restrained by the bar of Râma’s promise to return; all the colour gone from his face, he looked like one who had murdered his father and mother. His soul was so possessed with the greatness of his loss and his remorse that he might be some grievous sinner trembling at the gate of death. Words would not come, but to himself he moaned: “How can I look Avadh in the face; when they see the chariot and no Râma in it, they will turn in bewilderment to me.
Doha 140.
When the agitated citizens run to question me and I have to answer them, my heart will be cleft asunder as by a thunderbolt.
Chaupai.
When the piteous queen-mothers ask of me, Good God! what shall I say to them? When Lakshman’s mother questions me, what good news can I tell her? When Râma’s mother comes running, like a cow mindful of its new-weaned calf, and questions me, I can only answer, ‘Râma, Lakshman and Sita have gone into the forest.’ Whoever asks, I must answer so: this is the treat I shall have at Avadh. When the sorrowful king, whose life hangs upon Râma, questions me, with what face can I answer him, ‘I have seen the princes safe to their journey’s end and have come back.’ When the king hears the news of Lakshman, Sita and Râma, he will discard his life as not worth a straw.
Doha 141.
My heart bereft of its beloved is like day drained of water, but it cracks not: now I know how capable of torture is this body that God has given me.”
Thus bemoaning himself as he went, he quickly arrived in his chariot at the bank of the Tamasā. There he courteously dismissed the Nishāds, who, after falling at his feet, turned sorrowfully away. The minister was as downcast on entering the city as one who had killed his own spiritual guide, or a Brahman, or cow. He passed the day sitting under a tree, and at eventide took the opportunity to enter Avadh in the dark. He slunk into his house, leaving the chariot at the gate. All who heard the tidings came to the king’s door to see the chariot, and having recognized it and observed the distress of the horses, their bodies melted away like hail in the sun. All the citizens were as woe-begone as fish when the waters are dried up.
When the agitated citizens run to question me and I have to answer them, my heart will be cleft asunder as by a thunderbolt.
Chaupai.
When the piteous queen-mothers ask of me, Good God! what shall I say to them? When Lakshman’s mother questions me, what good news can I tell her? When Râma’s mother comes running, like a cow mindful of its new-weaned calf, and questions me, I can only answer, ‘Râma, Lakshman and Sita have gone into the forest.’ Whoever asks, I must answer so: this is the treat I shall have at Avadh. When the sorrowful king, whose life hangs upon Râma, questions me, with what face can I answer him, ‘I have seen the princes safe to their journey’s end and have come back.’ When the king hears the news of Lakshman, Sita and Râma, he will discard his life as not worth a straw.
Doha 141.
My heart bereft of its beloved is like day drained of water, but it cracks not: now I know how capable of torture is this body that God has given me.”
Thus bemoaning himself as he went, he quickly arrived in his chariot at the bank of the Tamasā. There he courteously dismissed the Nishāds, who, after falling at his feet, turned sorrowfully away. The minister was as downcast on entering the city as one who had killed his own spiritual guide, or a Brahman, or cow. He passed the day sitting under a tree, and at eventide took the opportunity to enter Avadh in the dark. He slunk into his house, leaving the chariot at the gate. All who heard the tidings came to the king’s door to see the chariot, and having recognized it and observed the distress of the horses, their bodies melted away like hail in the sun. All the citizens were as woe-begone as fish when the waters are dried up.
Dohā 142.
When they heard of the minister’s arrival, all the ladies of the court were agitated. The palace struck him with as much dread as a haunted chamber.
Chaupāī
All the queens questioned him in great excitement; no answer came, his voice was all broken. With no ears to hear, nor eyes to see, he could only ask everyone he met, “Tell me where is the king.” Seeing his confusion, the handmaidens conducted him to Kausalyā’s apartments. On entering, Sumanta found the king in such state as the moon shows when all its lustre has waned. Fasting, sleepless, stripped of every adornment, he lay on the ground in utter wretchedness, sighing as piteously as Yayāti after he had been hurled from heaven, his heart every moment bursting with grief, like Sampāti falling with singed wings, fondly crying “Rāma, Rāma, Rāma,” and again “Rāma, Lakshman, Sītā.”
Dohā 143.
The minister on seeing him cried “All hail!” and bowed to the ground. At the sound of his voice the king started up hurriedly and exclaimed, “O Sumanta, where is Rāma?”
Chaupāī
The king clasped Sumanta to his bosom, like a drowning man who has caught hold of some support. He seated him affectionately by his side, and with his eyes full of tears asked: “Tell me, kind friend, of Rāma’s welfare: where are Raghunāth, Lakshman and Sītā? Have you brought them back, or have they sought the forest?” At these words the minister’s eyes streamed with tears. Overpowered by anxiety, the king asked again: “Give me tidings of Sītā, Rāma and Lakshman.” Calling to mind Rāma’s beauty and talents and amiability, he sorrowed yet more: “I promised him the kingdom and then imposed exile; he obeyed with soul unmoved either by joy or sorrow. Bereft of such a son I yet can live: who so guilty a monster as I?
When they heard of the minister’s arrival, all the ladies of the court were agitated. The palace struck him with as much dread as a haunted chamber.
Chaupāī
All the queens questioned him in great excitement; no answer came, his voice was all broken. With no ears to hear, nor eyes to see, he could only ask everyone he met, “Tell me where is the king.” Seeing his confusion, the handmaidens conducted him to Kausalyā’s apartments. On entering, Sumanta found the king in such state as the moon shows when all its lustre has waned. Fasting, sleepless, stripped of every adornment, he lay on the ground in utter wretchedness, sighing as piteously as Yayāti after he had been hurled from heaven, his heart every moment bursting with grief, like Sampāti falling with singed wings, fondly crying “Rāma, Rāma, Rāma,” and again “Rāma, Lakshman, Sītā.”
Dohā 143.
The minister on seeing him cried “All hail!” and bowed to the ground. At the sound of his voice the king started up hurriedly and exclaimed, “O Sumanta, where is Rāma?”
Chaupāī
The king clasped Sumanta to his bosom, like a drowning man who has caught hold of some support. He seated him affectionately by his side, and with his eyes full of tears asked: “Tell me, kind friend, of Rāma’s welfare: where are Raghunāth, Lakshman and Sītā? Have you brought them back, or have they sought the forest?” At these words the minister’s eyes streamed with tears. Overpowered by anxiety, the king asked again: “Give me tidings of Sītā, Rāma and Lakshman.” Calling to mind Rāma’s beauty and talents and amiability, he sorrowed yet more: “I promised him the kingdom and then imposed exile; he obeyed with soul unmoved either by joy or sorrow. Bereft of such a son I yet can live: who so guilty a monster as I?
Dohā 144.
Take me, my friend, to the place where Rāma, Sītā and Lakshman are. If not, I tell you the very truth, my soul will take flight at once.”
Chaupāī
Again and again he implored him: “Friend, tell me of my son. Hearken, comrade; contrive some means for speedily showing me Rāma, Lakshman and Sītā.” Summoning up courage the minister gently replied: “Sire, your majesty is a scholar and philosopher, a model of courage and endurance, and a constant attendant of holy assemblies. Life and death; pleasure, pain and all enjoyments; loss and gain; the society of friends and their bereavement; all, sir, are governed by time and fate as unalterably as the succession of night and day. Fools triumph in prosperity, and are downcast in adversity; wise men account both alike. Consider the matter wisely and take courage; the good of all depends upon you; cease vain regrets,
Dohā 145.
Their first halt was at the Tamasā; their second on the bank of the Ganges, where the two heroes and Sītā bathed and stayed to drink water.
Chaupāī
The boatmen showed them great courtesy and they passed the night at Sringavera. At daybreak they called for milk of the fig-tree and fastened up the hair of their head into a crown-like top-knot. Then Rāma’s friend called for the boat, and after putting his beloved on board, Rāma himself followed, and after him, by his Lord’s permission, Lakshman too climbed the boat, equipped with bow and arrows. Seeing my distress, Raghubir restrained his emotion and addressed me thus kindly: “Father, give my salutation to my father, and again and again embrace his lotus feet. There at his feet entreat him with all humility, saying, ‘Father, mourn not for me; my banishment to the forest is pleasant and profitable to myself, and on your part is a grace, a favour, and a meritorious deed.
Take me, my friend, to the place where Rāma, Sītā and Lakshman are. If not, I tell you the very truth, my soul will take flight at once.”
Chaupāī
Again and again he implored him: “Friend, tell me of my son. Hearken, comrade; contrive some means for speedily showing me Rāma, Lakshman and Sītā.” Summoning up courage the minister gently replied: “Sire, your majesty is a scholar and philosopher, a model of courage and endurance, and a constant attendant of holy assemblies. Life and death; pleasure, pain and all enjoyments; loss and gain; the society of friends and their bereavement; all, sir, are governed by time and fate as unalterably as the succession of night and day. Fools triumph in prosperity, and are downcast in adversity; wise men account both alike. Consider the matter wisely and take courage; the good of all depends upon you; cease vain regrets,
Dohā 145.
Their first halt was at the Tamasā; their second on the bank of the Ganges, where the two heroes and Sītā bathed and stayed to drink water.
Chaupāī
The boatmen showed them great courtesy and they passed the night at Sringavera. At daybreak they called for milk of the fig-tree and fastened up the hair of their head into a crown-like top-knot. Then Rāma’s friend called for the boat, and after putting his beloved on board, Rāma himself followed, and after him, by his Lord’s permission, Lakshman too climbed the boat, equipped with bow and arrows. Seeing my distress, Raghubir restrained his emotion and addressed me thus kindly: “Father, give my salutation to my father, and again and again embrace his lotus feet. There at his feet entreat him with all humility, saying, ‘Father, mourn not for me; my banishment to the forest is pleasant and profitable to myself, and on your part is a grace, a favour, and a meritorious deed.
Chhand 5.
By your favour, father, I go to the forest, there to enjoy complete happiness. After fulfilling your command, I shall return again in safety to behold your feet.” Next, falling at the feet of each of the queen-mothers, console and implore them to make every effort that Kosala’s king may live happy.
Sorathâ 5.
Again and again clasping the lotus feet of my spiritual instructor, give him this my message: “So exhort the king that he may cease to sorrow on my account.”
Chaupâi.
Bowing down before all the citizens and the people of the court, make known to them, sir, this my petition: “He is my best friend who ensures the king’s happiness.” Say to Bharat, too, when he comes, “Now that you have obtained the royal dignity, forget not sound polity. Cherish your subjects in word, thought and deed, and be obedient to all the queen-mothers without partiality. Fulfil your duty, brother, as a brother, and in dutifulness to father, mother and kindred, and take such care of the king, sir, that he may never regret me.” Lakshman gave vent to some angry words, but Râma checked him, and begged of me again and again, adjuring me by himself not to mention his childishness.
Dohâ 146.
Sîtâ sent her reverence, and would have said more, but was unable; her voice faltered, her eyes filled with tears, and her body quivered with emotion.
By your favour, father, I go to the forest, there to enjoy complete happiness. After fulfilling your command, I shall return again in safety to behold your feet.” Next, falling at the feet of each of the queen-mothers, console and implore them to make every effort that Kosala’s king may live happy.
Sorathâ 5.
Again and again clasping the lotus feet of my spiritual instructor, give him this my message: “So exhort the king that he may cease to sorrow on my account.”
Chaupâi.
Bowing down before all the citizens and the people of the court, make known to them, sir, this my petition: “He is my best friend who ensures the king’s happiness.” Say to Bharat, too, when he comes, “Now that you have obtained the royal dignity, forget not sound polity. Cherish your subjects in word, thought and deed, and be obedient to all the queen-mothers without partiality. Fulfil your duty, brother, as a brother, and in dutifulness to father, mother and kindred, and take such care of the king, sir, that he may never regret me.” Lakshman gave vent to some angry words, but Râma checked him, and begged of me again and again, adjuring me by himself not to mention his childishness.
Dohâ 146.
Sîtâ sent her reverence, and would have said more, but was unable; her voice faltered, her eyes filled with tears, and her body quivered with emotion.
Chaupâi.
Then it was that at a sign from Raghubar the boatman propelled the boat to the opposite side. In this manner the Glory of Raghu’s line went his way, and I stood looking on with a heart as of adamant. How can I describe my own anguish, who have come back alive, bearing Râma’s message?” With these words the minister stopped speaking, being overpowered by affection, remorse and distress. When he had heard Sumanta’s speech, the king fell to the ground, heart-broken with grief, and in a wild frenzy of soul writhed like a fish in the scour of a turbid stream. All the queens wept and made lamentation; how can I describe so great a calamity? At the sound of their wailings Sorrow itself grew sorrowful, and Endurance could no more endure.
S&O ATODHTA^
Dohâ 147.
Avadh was in a tumult at the sound of the outcry in the king’s palace: as when a cruel thunderbolt has fallen at night in some dense forest full of birds.
Chaupâi.
The breath of life flickered at the king’s mouth, forlorn as a snake robbed of its jewel; all his senses as heavy smitten, as the lotuses in a lake that has been drained of its water. When Kausalyâ saw the king’s misery—the Sun of the solar race setting as it were at noon—Râma’s mother summoned up courage, and spoke in words befitting the occasion: “Consider, my lord, and reflect that Râma’s exile is like the vast ocean, you are the helmsman of the good ship Avadh, and your friends are the merchants, its passengers; if you have courage you will get across; if not, the whole family will be drowned. Take to heart this entreaty of mine, my spouse, and you will yet see again Sîtâ, Lakshman and Râma.”
Then it was that at a sign from Raghubar the boatman propelled the boat to the opposite side. In this manner the Glory of Raghu’s line went his way, and I stood looking on with a heart as of adamant. How can I describe my own anguish, who have come back alive, bearing Râma’s message?” With these words the minister stopped speaking, being overpowered by affection, remorse and distress. When he had heard Sumanta’s speech, the king fell to the ground, heart-broken with grief, and in a wild frenzy of soul writhed like a fish in the scour of a turbid stream. All the queens wept and made lamentation; how can I describe so great a calamity? At the sound of their wailings Sorrow itself grew sorrowful, and Endurance could no more endure.
S&O ATODHTA^
Dohâ 147.
Avadh was in a tumult at the sound of the outcry in the king’s palace: as when a cruel thunderbolt has fallen at night in some dense forest full of birds.
Chaupâi.
The breath of life flickered at the king’s mouth, forlorn as a snake robbed of its jewel; all his senses as heavy smitten, as the lotuses in a lake that has been drained of its water. When Kausalyâ saw the king’s misery—the Sun of the solar race setting as it were at noon—Râma’s mother summoned up courage, and spoke in words befitting the occasion: “Consider, my lord, and reflect that Râma’s exile is like the vast ocean, you are the helmsman of the good ship Avadh, and your friends are the merchants, its passengers; if you have courage you will get across; if not, the whole family will be drowned. Take to heart this entreaty of mine, my spouse, and you will yet see again Sîtâ, Lakshman and Râma.”
Dohâ 148.
Hearing these tender words from his beloved, the king opened his eyes, and looked up, writhing like some hapless fish when sprinkled with cold water.
Chaupâi.
The king with an effort sat up: “Tell me, Sumanta, where is my generous Râma? Where is Lakshman? Where my loving Râma? Where my dear daughter-in-law, the princess of Videha?” Thus miserably moaning, the night seemed an age long and as though it never would end. The blind hermit’s curse came back to his mind, and he told the whole story to Kausalyâ. As he related the circumstances his agitation increased; “Bereft as I am of Râma, I
Have done with life and hope; why should I cherish a body that has failed to fulfil my love’s engagement? Ah, Raghunandan, dearer to me than life, already I have lived too long without you. Ah, Janaki and Lakshman! Ah, Raghubir, the moonlight of a fond father’s chātaka-like heart!
Crying “Rama, Rama!” and again “Rama!” and yet once more “Rama, Rama, Rama!”, the king’s soul, bereft of Raghubar, quitted his body and entered heaven.
Thus Dasarath reaped his reward both in life and death, and his spotless fame has spread through countless cycles of creation. In life he saw Rama’s moon-like figure, and dying for his loss had a glorious death. All the queens bewailed him in an agony of grief, and spoke of his beauty, his amiability, his power and majesty. They made manifold lamentation, throwing themselves upon the ground again and again. Men-servants and maid-servants sadly bemoaned him; and there was weeping in every house throughout the city: “To-day has set the sun of the solar race, the perfection of justice, the treasury of all good qualities.” All reviled Kaikeyi, who had robbed the world of its very eyes. In this manner the night was spent in lamentations till all the great and learned sages arrived.
Hearing these tender words from his beloved, the king opened his eyes, and looked up, writhing like some hapless fish when sprinkled with cold water.
Chaupâi.
The king with an effort sat up: “Tell me, Sumanta, where is my generous Râma? Where is Lakshman? Where my loving Râma? Where my dear daughter-in-law, the princess of Videha?” Thus miserably moaning, the night seemed an age long and as though it never would end. The blind hermit’s curse came back to his mind, and he told the whole story to Kausalyâ. As he related the circumstances his agitation increased; “Bereft as I am of Râma, I
Have done with life and hope; why should I cherish a body that has failed to fulfil my love’s engagement? Ah, Raghunandan, dearer to me than life, already I have lived too long without you. Ah, Janaki and Lakshman! Ah, Raghubir, the moonlight of a fond father’s chātaka-like heart!
Crying “Rama, Rama!” and again “Rama!” and yet once more “Rama, Rama, Rama!”, the king’s soul, bereft of Raghubar, quitted his body and entered heaven.
Thus Dasarath reaped his reward both in life and death, and his spotless fame has spread through countless cycles of creation. In life he saw Rama’s moon-like figure, and dying for his loss had a glorious death. All the queens bewailed him in an agony of grief, and spoke of his beauty, his amiability, his power and majesty. They made manifold lamentation, throwing themselves upon the ground again and again. Men-servants and maid-servants sadly bemoaned him; and there was weeping in every house throughout the city: “To-day has set the sun of the solar race, the perfection of justice, the treasury of all good qualities.” All reviled Kaikeyi, who had robbed the world of its very eyes. In this manner the night was spent in lamentations till all the great and learned sages arrived.
Then the holy Vasishtha recited many legends befitting the time, and checked that grief by the wisdom that he displayed.
After filling a boat with oil and putting the king’s body in it, he summoned messengers and thus addressed them: “Hasten with all speed to Bharat, and say nothing to anybody about the king; only tell Bharat when you arrive, ‘The guru has sent for you two brothers.’” On receiving the saint’s orders, they ran off at once with speed that would shame the fleetest of horses. Directly these troubles had begun at Avadh, Bharat was visited with evil omens; he saw fearful visions in his sleep by night, and on awaking formed all sorts of ill conjectures. He daily feasted Brahmans and gave alms, and with elaborate ritual poured water over the emblem of Mahadev, and with heartfelt prayers implored the god for the prosperity of his parents, his family and his brethren.
After filling a boat with oil and putting the king’s body in it, he summoned messengers and thus addressed them: “Hasten with all speed to Bharat, and say nothing to anybody about the king; only tell Bharat when you arrive, ‘The guru has sent for you two brothers.’” On receiving the saint’s orders, they ran off at once with speed that would shame the fleetest of horses. Directly these troubles had begun at Avadh, Bharat was visited with evil omens; he saw fearful visions in his sleep by night, and on awaking formed all sorts of ill conjectures. He daily feasted Brahmans and gave alms, and with elaborate ritual poured water over the emblem of Mahadev, and with heartfelt prayers implored the god for the prosperity of his parents, his family and his brethren.