  A while he lay: he rose at length, And slowly gathering sense and strength, With angry eyes which tears bedewed, The miserable queen he viewed, And spake with keen reproach to her Before each lord and minister: “No lust have I for kingly sway, My mother I no more obey: Naught of this consecration knew Which Da?aratha kept in view. I with ?atrughna all the time Was dwelling in a distant clime: I knew of RÁma's exile naught, That hero of the noble thought: I knew not how fair SÍtÁ went, And Lakshma?, forth to banishment.” Thus high-souled Bharat, mid the crowd, Lifted his voice and cried aloud. [pg 184]Kau?alyÁ heard, she raised her head, And quickly to SumitrÁ said: “Bharat, KaikeyÍ's son is here,— Hers whose fell deeds I loathe and fear: That youth of foresight keen I fain Would meet and see his face again.” Thus to SumitrÁ spake the dame, And straight to Bharat's presence came With altered mien, neglected dress, Trembling and faint with sore distress. Bharat, ?atrughna by his side, To meet her, toward her palace hied. And when the royal dame they viewed Distressed with dire solicitude, Sad, fallen senseless on the ground, About her neck their arms they wound. The noble matron prostrate there, Embraced, with tears, the weeping pair, And with her load of grief oppressed, To Bharat then these words addressed: “Now all is thine, without a foe, This realm for which thou longest so. Ah, soon KaikeyÍ's ruthless hand Has won the empire of the land, And made my guiltless RÁma flee Dressed like some lonely devotee. Herein what profit has the queen, Whose eye delights in havoc, seen? Me also, me 'twere surely good To banish to the distant wood, To dwell amid the shades that hold My famous son with limbs like gold. Nay, with the sacred fire to guide, Will I, SumitrÁ by my side, Myself to the drear wood repair And seek the son of Raghu there. This land which rice and golden corn And wealth of every kind adorn, Car, elephant, and steed, and gem,— She makes thee lord of it and them.” With taunts like these her bitter tongue The heart of blameless Bharat wrung And direr pangs his bosom tore Than when the lancet probes a sore. With troubled senses all astray Prone at her feet he fell and lay. With loud lament a while he plained, And slowly strength and sense regained. With suppliant hand to hand applied He turned to her who wept and sighed, And thus bespake the queen, whose breast With sundry woes was sore distressed: “Why these reproaches, noble dame? I, knowing naught, am free from blame. Thou knowest well what love was mine For RÁma, chief of Raghu's line. O, never be his darkened mind To Scripture's guiding lore inclined, By whose consent the prince who led The good, the truthful hero, fled. May he obey the vilest lord, Offend the sun with act abhorred,350 And strike a sleeping cow, who lent His voice to RÁma's banishment. May the good king who all befriends, And, like his sons, the people tends, Be wronged by him who gave consent To noble RÁma's banishment. On him that king's injustice fall, Who takes, as lord, a sixth of all, Nor guards, neglectful of his trust
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