He sought to soothe her grief, to dry The torrent from each br.i.m.m.i.n.g eye, And then, her firm resolve to shake, These words the pious hero spake:
"O daughter of a n.o.ble line, Whose steps from virtue ne"er decline, Remain, thy duties here pursue, As my fond heart would have thee do.
Now hear me, Sita, fair and weak, And do the words that I shall speak.
Attend and hear while I explain Each danger in the wood, each pain.
Thy lips have spoken: I condemn The foolish words that fell from them.
This senseless plan, this wish of thine To live a forest life, resign.
The names of trouble and distress Suit well the tangled wilderness.
In the wild wood no joy I know, A forest life is nought but woe.
The lion in his mountain cave Answers the torrents as they rave, And forth his voice of terror throws: The wood, my love, is full of woes.
There mighty monsters fearless play, And in their maddened onset slay The hapless wretch who near them goes: The wood, my love, is full of woes.
"Tis hard to ford each treacherous flood, So thick with crocodiles and mud, Where the wild elephants repose: The wood, my love, is full of woes.
Or far from streams the wanderer strays Through thorns and creeper-tangled ways, While round him many a wild-c.o.c.k crows: The wood, my love, is full of woes.
On the cold ground upon a heap Of gathered leaves condemned to sleep, Toil-wearied, will his eyelids close: The wood, my love, is full of woes.
Long days and nights must he content His soul with scanty aliment, What fruit the wind from branches blows: The wood, my love, is full of woes.
O Sita, while his strength may last, The ascetic in the wood must fast, Coil on his head his matted hair, And bark must be his only wear.
To G.o.ds and spirits day by day The ordered worship he must pay, And honour with respectful care Each wandering guest who meets him there.
The bathing rites he ne"er must shun At dawn, at noon, at set of sun, Obedient to the law he knows: The wood, my love, is full of woes.
To grace the altar must be brought The gift of flowers his hands have sought- The debt each pious hermit owes: The wood, my love, is full of woes.
The devotee must be content To live, severely abstinent, On what the chance of fortune shows: The wood, my love, is full of woes.
Hunger afflicts him evermore: The nights are black, the wild winds roar; And there are dangers worse than those: The wood, my love, is full of woes.
There creeping things in every form Infest the earth, the serpents swarm, And each proud eye with fury glows: The wood, my love, is full of woes.
The snakes that by the rives hide In sinuous course like rivers glide, And line the path with deadly foes: The wood, my love, is full of woes.
Scorpions, and gra.s.shoppers, and flies Disturb the wanderer as he lies, And wake him from his troubled doze: The wood, my love, is full of woes.
Trees, th.o.r.n.y bushes, intertwined, Their branched ends together bind, And dense with gra.s.s the thicket grows: The wood, my dear, is full of woes, With many ills the flesh is tried, When these and countless fears beside Vex those who in the wood remain: The wilds are naught but grief and pain.
Hope, anger must be cast aside, To penance every thought applied: No fear must be of things to fear: Hence is the wood for ever drear.
Enough, my love: thy purpose quit: For forest life thou art not fit.
As thus I think on all, I see The wild wood is no place for thee."
Canto XXIX. Sita"s Appeal.
Thus Rama spake. Her lord"s address The lady heard with deep distress, And, as the tear bedimmed her eye, In soft low accents made reply: "The perils of the wood, and all The woes thou countest to appal, Led by my love I deem not pain; Each woe a charm, each loss a gain.
Tiger, and elephant, and deer, Bull, lion, buffalo, in fear, Soon as thy matchless form they see, With every silvan beast will flee.
With thee, O Rama, I must go: My sire"s command ordains it so.
Bereft of thee, my lonely heart Must break, and life and I must part.
While thou, O mighty lord, art nigh, Not even He who rules the sky, Though He is strongest of the strong, With all his might can do me wrong.
Nor can a lonely woman left By her dear husband live bereft.
In my great love, my lord, I ween, The truth of this thou mayst have seen.
In my sire"s palace long ago I heard the chief of those who know, The truth-declaring Brahmans, tell My fortune, in the wood to dwell.
I heard their promise who divine The future by each mark and sign, And from that hour have longed to lead The forest life their lips decreed.
Now, mighty Rama, I must share Thy father"s doom which sends thee there; In this I will not be denied, But follow, love, where thou shalt guide.
O husband, I will go with thee, Obedient to that high decree.
Now let the Brahmans" words be true, For this the time they had in view.
I know full well the wood has woes; But they disturb the lives of those Who in the forest dwell, nor hold Their rebel senses well controlled.
In my sire"s halls, ere I was wed, I heard a dame who begged her bread Before my mother"s face relate What griefs a forest life await.
And many a time in sport I prayed To seek with thee the greenwood shade, For O, my heart on this is set, To follow thee, dear anch.o.r.et.
May blessings on thy life attend: I long with thee my steps to bend, For with such hero as thou art This pilgrimage enchants my heart.
Still close, my lord, to thy dear side My spirit will be purified: Love from all sin my soul will free: My husband is a G.o.d to me.
So, love, with thee shall I have bliss And share the life that follows this.
I heard a Brahman, dear to fame, This ancient Scripture text proclaim: "The woman whom on earth below Her parents on a man bestow, And lawfully their hands unite With water and each holy rite, She in this world shall be his wife, His also in the after life."
Then tell me, O beloved, why Thou wilt this earnest prayer deny, Nor take me with thee to the wood, Thine own dear wife so true and good.
But if thou wilt not take me there Thus grieving in my wild despair, To fire or water I will fly, Or to the poisoned draught, and die."
So thus to share his exile, she Besought him with each earnest plea, Nor could she yet her lord persuade To take her to the lonely shade.
The answer of the strong-armed chief Smote the Videhan"s soul with grief, And from her eyes the torrents came bathing the bosom of the dame.
Canto x.x.x. The Triumph Of Love.
The daughter of Videha"s king, While Rama strove to soothe the sting Of her deep anguish, thus began Once more in furtherance of her plan: And with her spirit sorely tried By fear and anger, love and pride, With keenly taunting words addressed Her hero of the stately breast: "Why did the king my sire, who reigns O"er fair Videha"s wide domains, Hail Rama son with joy unwise, A woman in a man"s disguise?
Now falsely would the people say, By idle fancies led astray, That Rama"s own are power and might, As glorious as the Lord of Light.
Why sinkest thou in such dismay?
What fears upon thy spirit weigh, That thou, O Rama, fain wouldst flee From her who thinks of naught but thee?
To thy dear will am I resigned In heart and body, soul and mind, As Savitri gave all to one, Satyavan, Dyumatsena"s son.(304) Not e"en in fancy can I brook To any guard save thee to look: Let meaner wives their houses shame, To go with thee is all my claim.
Like some low actor, deemst thou fit Thy wife to others to commit- Thine own, espoused in maiden youth, Thy wife so long, unblamed for truth?
Do thou, my lord, his will obey For whom thou losest royal sway, To whom thou wouldst thy wife confide- Not me, but thee, his wish may guide.
Thou must not here thy wife forsake, And to the wood thy journey make, Whether stern penance, grief, and care, Or rule or heaven await thee there.
Nor shall fatigue my limbs distress When wandering in the wilderness: Each path which near to thee I tread Shall seem a soft luxurious bed.
The reeds, the bushes where I pa.s.s, The th.o.r.n.y trees, the tangled gra.s.s Shall feel, if only thou be near, Soft to my touch as skins of deer.
When the rude wind in fury blows, And scattered dust upon me throws, That dust, beloved lord, to me Shall as the precious sandal be.
And what shall be more blest than I, When gazing on the wood I lie In some green glade upon a bed With sacred gra.s.s beneath us spread?
The root, the leaf, the fruit which thou Shalt give me from the earth or bough, Scanty or plentiful, to eat, Shall taste to me as Amrit sweet.
As there I live on flowers and roots And every season"s kindly fruits, I will not for my mother grieve, My sire, my home, or all I leave.
My presence, love, shall never add One pain to make the heart more sad; I will not cause thee grief or care, Nor be a burden hard to bear.
With thee is heaven, where"er the spot; Each place is h.e.l.l where thou art not.
Then go with me, O Rama; this Is all my hope and all my bliss.
If thou wilt leave thy wife who still Entreats thee with undaunted will, This very day shall poison close The life that spurns the rule of foes.
How, after, can my soul sustain The bitter life of endless pain, When thy dear face, my lord, I miss?
No, death is better far than this.
Not for an hour could I endure The deadly grief that knows not cure, Far less a woe I could not shun For ten long years, and three, and one."
While fires of woe consumed her, such Her sad appeal, lamenting much; Then with a wild cry, anguish-wrung, About her husband"s neck she clung.
Like some she-elephant who bleeds Struck by the hunter"s venomed reeds, So in her quivering heart she felt The many wounds his speeches dealt.
Then, as the spark from wood is gained,(305) Down rolled the tear so long restrained: The crystal moisture, sprung from woe, From her sweet eyes began to flow, As runs the water from a pair Of lotuses divinely fair.
And Sita"s face with long dark eyes, Pure as the moon of autumn skies, Faded with weeping, as the buds Of lotuses when sink the floods.
Around his wife his arms he strained, Who senseless from her woe remained, And with sweet words, that bade her wake To life again, the hero spake: "I would not with thy woe, my Queen, Buy heaven and all its blissful sheen.
Void of all fear am I as He, The self-existent G.o.d, can be.
I knew not all thy heart till now, Dear lady of the lovely brow, So wished not thee in woods to dwell; Yet there mine arm can guard thee well.
Now surely thou, dear love, wast made To dwell with me in green wood shade.
And, as a high saint"s tender mind Clings to its love for all mankind, So I to thee will ever cling, Sweet daughter of Videha"s king.
The good, of old, O soft of frame, Honoured this duty"s sovereign claim, And I its guidance will not shun, True as light"s Queen is to the Sun.
I cannot, pride of Janak"s line, This journey to the wood decline: My sire"s behest, the oath he sware, The claims of truth, all lead me there.
One duty, dear the same for aye, Is sire and mother to obey: Should I their orders once transgress My very life were weariness.