  While thus Kau?alyÁ wept and sighed, With timely words sad Lakshma? cried: “O honoured Queen I like it ill That, subject to a woman's will, RÁma his royal state should quit And to an exile's doom submit. The aged king, fond, changed, and weak, Will as the queen compels him speak. But why should RÁma thus be sent To the wild woods in banishment? No least offence I find in him, I see no fault his fame to dim. Not one in all the world I know, Not outcast wretch, not secret foe, Whose whispering lips would dare assail His spotless life with slanderous tale. Godlike and bounteous, just, sincere, E'en to his very foemen dear: Who would without a cause neglect The right, and such a son reject? And if a king such order gave, In second childhood, passion's slave, What son within his heart would lay The senseless order, and obey? Come, RÁma, ere this plot be known Stand by me and secure the throne. Stand like the King who rules below, Stand aided by thy brother's bow: How can the might of meaner men Resist thy royal purpose then? My shafts, if rebels court their fate, Shall lay AyodhyÁ desolate. Then shall her streets with blood be dyed Of those who stand on Bharat's side: None shall my slaughtering hand exempt, For gentle patience earns contempt. If, by KaikeyÍ's counsel changed, Our father's heart be thus estranged, No mercy must our arm restrain, But let the foe be slain, be slain. For should the guide, respected long, No more discerning right and wrong, Turn in forbidden paths to stray, 'Tis meet that force his steps should stay. What power sufficient can he see, What motive for the wish has he, That to KaikeyÍ would resign The empire which is justly thine? Can he, O conqueror of thy foes, Thy strength and mine in war oppose? Can he entrust, in our despite, To Bharat's hand thy royal right? I love this brother with the whole Affection of my faithful soul. Yea Queen, by bow and truth I swear, By sacrifice, and gift, and prayer, If RÁma to the forest goes, Or where the burning furnace glows, First shall my feet the forest tread, The flames shall first surround my head. My might shall chase thy grief and tears, As darkness flies when morn appears. Do thou, dear Queen, and RÁma too Behold what power like mine can do. My aged father I will kill, The vassal of KaikeyÍ's will, Old, yet a child, the woman's thrall, Infirm, and base, the scorn of all.” Thus Lakshma? cried, the mighty-souled: Down her sad cheeks the torrents rolled, As to her son Kau?alyÁ spake: “Now thou hast heard thy brother, take His counsel if thou hold it wise, And do the thing his words advise, Do not, my son, with tears I pray, My rival's wicked word obey, Leave me not here consumed with woe, Nor to the wood, an exile, go. If thou, to virtue ever true, Thy duty's path would still pursue, The highest duty bids thee stay And thus thy mother's voice obey. Thus Ka?yap's great ascetic son A seat among the Immortals won: In his own home, subdued, he stayed, And honour to his mother paid. If reverence to thy sire be due, Thy mother claims like honour too, And thus I charge thee, O my child, Thou must not seek the forest wild. Ah, what to me were life and bliss, Condemned my darling son to miss? But with my RÁma near, to eat The very grass itself were sweet. But if thou still wilt go and leave |
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