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The RÁMÁYAN of VÁLMÍKI - Part 2 - 37

Canto XXXVII. 
The Coats Of Bark.
Thus spake the virtuous sage: and then

Ráma addressed the king of men.

In laws of meek behaviour bred,

Thus to his sire he meekly said:

“King, I renounce all earthly care,

And live in woods on woodland fare.

What, dead to joys, have I to do

With lordly train and retinue!

Who gives his elephant and yet

Upon the girths his heart will set?

How can a cord attract his eyes

Who gives away the nobler prize?

Best of the good, with me be led

No host, my King with banners spread.

All wealth, all lordship I resign:

The hermit's dress alone be mine.

Before I go, have here conveyed

A little basket and a spade.

With these alone I go, content,

For fourteen years of banishment.”

With her own hands Kaikeyí took

The hermit coats of bark, and, “Look,”

She cried with bold unblushing brow

Before the concourse, “Dress thee now.”

That lion leader of the brave

Took from her hand the dress she gave,

Cast his fine raiment on the ground,

And round his waist the vesture bound.

Then quick the hero Lakshmaṇ too

His garment from his shoulders threw,

And, in the presence of his sire,

Indued the ascetic's rough attire.

But Sítá, in her silks arrayed,

Threw glances, trembling and afraid,

On the bark coat she had to wear,

Like a shy doe that eyes the snare.

Ashamed and weeping for distress

From the queen's hand she took the dress.

The fair one, by her husband's side

Who matched heaven's minstrel monarch,312 cried:

“How bind they on their woodland dress,

Those hermits of the wilderness?”

There stood the pride of Janak's race

Perplexed, with sad appealing face.

One coat the lady's fingers grasped,

One round her neck she feebly clasped,

But failed again, again, confused

By the wild garb she ne'er had used.

Then quickly hastening Ráma, pride

Of all who cherish virtue, tied

The rough bark mantle on her, o'er

The silken raiment that she wore.

Then the sad women when they saw

Ráma the choice bark round her draw,

Rained water from each tender eye,

And cried aloud with bitter cry:

“O, not on her, beloved, not

On Sítá falls thy mournful lot.

If, faithful to thy father's will,

Thou must go forth, leave Sítá still.

Let Sítá still remaining here

Our hearts with her loved presence cheer.

With Lakshmaṇ by thy side to aid

Seek thou, dear son, the lonely shade.

Unmeet, one good and fair as she

Should dwell in woods a devotee.

Let not our prayers be prayed in vain:

Let beauteous Sítá yet remain;

For by thy love of duty tied

Thou wilt not here thyself abide.”

Then the king's venerable guide

Vaśishṭha, when he saw each coat

Enclose the lady's waist and throat,

Her zeal with gentle words repressed,

And Queen Kaikeyí thus addressed:

“O evil-hearted sinner, shame

Of royal Kekaya's race and name;

Who matchless in thy sin couldst cheat

Thy lord the king with vile deceit;

Lost to all sense of duty, know

Sítá to exile shall not go.

Sítá shall guard, as 'twere her own,

The precious trust of Ráma's throne.

Those joined by wedlock's sweet control

Have but one self and common soul.

Thus Sítá shall our empress be,

For Ráma's self and soul is she.

Or if she still to Ráma cleave

And for the woods the kingdom leave:

If naught her loving heart deter,

We and this town will follow her.

The warders of the queen shall take

Their wives and go for Ráma's sake,

The nation with its stores of grain,

The city's wealth shall swell his train.

Bharat, Śatrughna both will wear

Bark mantles, and his lodging share,

Still with their elder brother dwell

In the wild wood, and serve him well.

Rest here alone, and rule thy state

Unpeopled, barren, desolate;

Be empress of the land and trees,

Thou sinner whom our sorrows please.

The land which Ráma reigns not o'er

Shall bear the kingdom's name no more:

The woods which Ráma wanders through

Shall be our home and kingdom too.

Bharat, be sure, will never deign

O'er realms his father yields, to reign.

Nay, if the king's true son he be,

He will not, sonlike, dwell with thee.

Nay, shouldst thou from the earth arise,

And send thy message from the skies,

To his forefathers' custom true

No erring course would he pursue.

So hast thou, by thy grievous fault,

Offended him thou wouldst exalt.

In all the world none draws his breath

Who loves not Ráma, true to death.

This day, O Queen, shalt thou behold

Birds, deer, and beasts from lea and fold

Turn to the woods in Ráma's train.

And naught save longing trees remain.”