{"collection":"Hinduism","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/hin/rama/ry097.htm","path":"hin/rama/ry097.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/hin/rama/ry097.htm","text":"Calm and unmoved by threatened woe\n The noble conqueror of the foe\n Answered the cruel words she spoke,\n Nor quailed beneath the murderous stroke:\n \n \n Yea, for my father's promise sake\n I to the wood my way will take,\n And dwell a lonely exile there\n In hermit dress with matted hair.\n One thing alone I fain would learn,\n Why is the king this day so stern?\n Why is the scourge of foes so cold,\n Nor gives me greeting as of old?\n Now let not anger flush thy cheek:\n Before thy face the truth I speak,\n In hermit's coat with matted hair\n To the wild wood will I repair.\n How can I fail his will to do,\n Friend, master, grateful sovereign too?\n One only pang consumes my breast.\n That his own lips have not expressed\n His will, nor made his longing known\n That Bharat should ascend the throne.\n \n \n To Bharat I would yield my wife,\n My realm and wealth, mine own dear life,\n Unasked I fain would yield them all:\n More gladly at my father's call,\n More gladly when the gift may free\n His honour and bring joy to thee.\n Thus, lady, his sad heart release\n From the sore shame, and give him peace.\n But tell me, O, I pray thee, why\n The lord of men, with downcast eye,\n Lies prostrate thus, and one by one\n Down his pale cheek the tear-drops run.\n Let couriers to thy father speed\n On horses of the swiftest breed,\n And, by the mandate of the king,\n Thy Bharat to his presence bring.\n My father's words I will not stay\n To question, but this very day\n To Dandak's pathless wild will fare,\n For twice seven years an exile there.'\n \n \n When R\u00e1ma thus had made reply\n Kaikey\u00ed's heart with joy beat high.\n She, trusting to the pledge she held,\n The youth's departure thus impelled:\n ''Tis well. Be messengers despatched\n On coursers ne'er for fleetness matched,\n To seek my father's home and lead\n My Bharat back with all their speed.\n And, R\u00e1ma, as I ween that thou\n Wilt scarce endure to linger now,\n So surely it were wise and good\n This hour to journey to the wood.\n And if, with shame cast down and weak,\n No word to thee the king can speak,\n Forgive, and from thy mind dismiss\n A trifle in an hour like this.\n But till thy feet in rapid haste\n Have left the city for the waste,\n And to the distant forest fled,\n He will not bathe nor call for bread.'\n \n \n 'Woe! woe!' from the sad monarch burst,\n In surging floods of grief immersed;\n Then swooning, with his wits astray,\n Upon the gold-wrought couch he lay,\n And R\u00e1ma raised the aged king:\n But the stern queen, unpitying,\n Checked not her needless words, nor spared\n The hero for all speed prepared,\n But urged him with her bitter tongue,\n Like a good horse with lashes stung.\n She spoke her shameful speech. Serene\n He heard the fury of the queen,\n And to her words so vile and dread\n Gently, unmoved in mind, he said:\n 'I would not in this world remain\n A grovelling thrall to paltry gain,\n But duty's path would fain pursue,\n True as the saints themselves are true.\n From death itself I would not fly\n My father's wish to gratify.\n What deed soe'er his loving son\n May do to please him, think it done.\n Amid all duties, Queen, I count\n This duty first and paramount,\n That sons, obedient, aye fulfil\n Their honoured fathers' word and will.\n Without his word, if thou decree,\n Forth to the forest will I flee,\n And there shall fourteen years be spent\n Mid lonely wilds in banishment.\n Methinks thou couldst not hope to find\n One spark of virtue in my mind,\n If thou, whose wish is still my lord,\n Hast for this grace the king implored.\n This day I go, but, ere we part,\n Must cheer my S\u00edt\u00e1's tender heart.\n To my dear mother bid farewell;\n Then to the woods, a while to dwell.\n With thee, O Queen, the care must rest\n That Bharat hear his sire's behest,\n And guard the land with righteous sway,\n For such the law that lives for aye.'\n \n \n In speechless woe the father heard,\n Wept with loud cries, but spoke no word.\n Then R\u00e1ma touched his senseless feet,\n And hers, for honour most unmeet;\n Round both his circling steps he bent,\n Then from the bower the hero went.\n Soon as he reached the gate he found\n His dear companions gathered round.\n Behind him came Sumitr\u00e1s child\n With weeping eyes so sad and wild.\n Then saw he all that rich array\n Of vases for the glorious day.\n Round them with reverent stops he paced,\n Nor veiled his eye, nor moved in haste.\n The loss of empire could not dim\n The glory that encompassed him.\n So will the Lord of Cooling Rays \u00a01\n On whom the world delights to gaze,\n Through the great love of all retain\n Sweet splendour in the time of wane.\n Now to the exile's lot resigned\n He left the rule of earth behind:\n As though all worldly cares he spurned\n No trouble was in him discerned.\n The chouries that for kings are used,\n And white umbrella, he refused,\n Dismissed his chariot and his men,\n And every friend and citizen.\n He ruled his senses, nor betrayed\n The grief that on his bosom weighed,\n And thus his mother's mansion sought\n To tell the mournful news he brought.\n Nor could the gay-clad people there\n Who flocked round R\u00e1ma true and fair,\n One sign of altered fortune trace\n Upon the splendid hero's face.\n Nor had the chieftain, mighty-armed.\n Lost the bright look all hearts that charmed,\n \n \n As e'en from autumn moons is thrown\n A splendour which is all their own.\n With his sweet voice the hero spoke\n Saluting all the gathered folk,\n Then righteous-souled and great in fame\n Close to his mother's house he came.\n Lakshman the brave, his brother's peer\n In princely virtues, followed near,\n Sore troubled, but resolved to show\n No token of his secret woe.\n Thus to the palace R\u00e1ma went\n \u00a0\u00a0 Where all were gay with hope and joy;\n But well he knew the dire event\n \u00a0\u00a0 That hope would mar, that bliss destroy.\n So to his grief he would not yield\n \u00a0\u00a0 Lest the sad change their hearts might rend,\n And, the dread tiding unrevealed,\n \u00a0\u00a0 Spared from the blow each faithful friend.\n \n \n \n \n \n115:1 The Moon.","title":"Book II: Canto XIX.: R\u00e1ma's Promise.","type":"page"}