The RÁMÁYAN of VÁLMÍKI - Part 2 - 72 books and stories free download online pdf in English

The RÁMÁYAN of VÁLMÍKI - Part 2 - 72

Canto LXXII. 
Bharat's Inquiry.
He entered in, he looked around,

Nor in the house his father found;

Then to his mother's dwelling, bent

To see her face, he quickly went.

She saw her son, so long away,

Returning after many a day,

And from her golden seat in joy

Sprung forward to her darling boy.

Within the bower, no longer bright,

Came Bharat lover of the right,

And bending with observance sweet

Clasped his dear mother's lovely feet.

Long kisses on his brow she pressed,

And held her hero to her breast,

Then fondly drew him to her knees,

And questioned him in words like these:

“How many nights have fled, since thou

Leftest thy grandsire's home, till now?

By flying steeds so swiftly borne,

Art thou not weak and travel-worn?

How fares the king my father, tell:

Is Yudhájit thine uncle well?

And now, my son, at length declare

The pleasure of the visit there.”

Thus to the offspring of the king

She spake with tender questioning,

And to his mother made reply

Young Bharat of the lotus eye:

“The seventh night has come and fled

Since from my grandsire's home I sped:

My mother's sire is well, and he,

Yudhájit, from all trouble free.

The gold and every precious thing

Presented by the conqueror king,

The slower guards behind convey:

I left them weary on the way.

Urged by the men my father sent,

My hasty course I hither bent:

Now, I implore, an answer deign,

And all I wish to know, explain.

Unoccupied I now behold

This couch of thine adorned with gold,

And each of King Ikshváku's race

Appears with dark and gloomy face.

The king is aye, my mother dear,

Most constant in his visits here.

To meet my sire I sought this spot:

How is it that I find him not?

I long to clasp my father's feet:

Say where he lingers, I entreat.

Perchance the monarch may be seen

Where dwells Kauśalyá, eldest queen.”

His father's fate, from him concealed,

Kaikeyí to her son revealed:

Told as glad news the story sad,

For lust of sway had made her mad:

“Thy father, O my darling, know,

Has gone the way all life must go:

Devout and famed, of lofty thought,

In whom the good their refuge sought.”

When Bharat pious, pure, and true,

Heard the sad words which pierced him through,

Grieved for the sire he loved so well

Prostrate upon the ground he fell:

Down fell the strong-armed hero, high

Tossing his arms, and a sad cry,

“Ah, woe is me, unhappy, slain!”

Burst from his lips again, again,

Afflicted for his father's fate

By grief's intolerable weight,

With every sense amazed and cowed

The splendid hero wailed aloud:

“Ah me, my royal father's bed

Of old a gentle radiance shed,

Like the pure sky when clouds are past,

And the moon's light is o'er it cast:

Ah, of its wisest lord bereft,

It shows to-day faint radiance left,

As when the moon has left the sky.

Or mighty Ocean's depths are dry.”

With choking sobs, with many a tear,

Pierced to the heart with grief sincere,

The best of conquerors poured his sighs,

And with his robe veiled face and eyes.

Kaikeyí saw him fallen there,

Godlike, afflicted, in despair,

Used every art to move him thence,

And tried him thus with eloquence:

“Arise, arise, my dearest; why

Wilt thou, famed Prince, so lowly lie?

Not by such grief as this are moved

Good men like thee, by all approved.

The earth thy father nobly swayed,

And rites to Heaven he duly paid.

At length his race of life was run:

Thou shouldst not mourn for him, my son.”

Long on the ground he wept, and rolled

From side to side, still unconsoled,

And then, with bitter grief oppressed,

His mother with these words addressed:

“This joyful hope my bosom fed

When from my grandsire's halls I sped—

“The king will throne his eldest son,

And sacrifice, as should be done.”

But all is changed, my hope was vain,

And this sad heart is rent in twain,

For my dear father's face I miss,

Who ever sought his loved ones' bliss.

But in my absence, mother, say,

What sickness took my sire away?

Ah, happy Ráma, happy they

Allowed his funeral rites to pay!

The glorious monarch has not learned

That I his darling have returned,

Or quickly had he hither sped,

And pressed his kisses on my head.

Where is that hand whose gentle touch,

Most soft and kind I loved so much,

The hand that loved to brush away

The dust that on his darling lay?

Quick, bear the news to Ráma's ear;

Tell the great chief that I am here:

Brother, and sire, and friend, and all

Is he, and I his trusty thrall.

For noble hearts, to virtue true,

Their sires in elder brothers view.

To clasp his feet I fain would bow:

He is my hope and refuge now.

What said my glorious sire, who knew

Virtue and vice, so brave and true?

Firm in his vows, dear lady, say,

What said he ere he passed away?

What was his rede to me? I crave

To hear the last advice he gave.”

Thus closely questioned by the youth,

Kaikeyí spoke the mournful truth:

“The high-souled monarch wept and sighed,

For Ráma, Sítá, Lakshmaṇ, cried,

Then, best of all who go to bliss,

Passed to the world which follows this.

“Ah, blessed are the people who

Shall Ráma and his Sítá view,

And Lakshmaṇ of the mighty arm,

Returning free from scathe and harm.”

Such were the words, the last of all,

Thy father, ere he died, let fall,

By Fate and Death's dread coils enwound,

As some great elephant is bound.”

He heard, yet deeper in despair,

Her lips this double woe declare,

And with sad brow that showed his pain

Questioned his mother thus again:

“But where is he, of virtue tried,

Who fills Kauśalyá's heart with pride,

Where is the noble Ráma? where

Is Lakshmaṇ brave, and Sítá fair?”

Thus pressed, the queen began to tell

The story as each thing befell,

And gave her son in words like these,

The mournful news she meant to please:

“The prince is gone in hermit dress

To Daṇḍak's mighty wilderness,

And Lakshmaṇ brave and Sítá share

The wanderings of the exile there.”

Then Bharat's soul with fear was stirred

Lest Ráma from the right had erred,

And jealous for ancestral fame,

He put this question to the dame:

“Has Ráma grasped with lawless hold

A Bráhman's house, or land, or gold?

Has Ráma harmed with ill intent

Some poor or wealthy innocent?

Was Ráma, faithless to his vows,

Enamoured of anothers spouse?

Why was he sent to Daṇḍak's wild,

Like one who kills an unborn child?”

He questioned thus: and she began

To tell her deeds and crafty plan.

Deceitful-hearted, fond, and blind

As is the way of womankind:

“No Bráhman's wealth has Ráma seized,

No dame his wandering fancy pleased;

His very eyes he ne'er allows

To gaze upon a neighbour's spouse.

But when I heard the monarch planned

To give the realm to Ráma's hand,

I prayed that Ráma hence might flee,

And claimed the throne, my son, for thee.

The king maintained the name he bare,

And did according to my prayer,

And Ráma, with his brother, sent,

And Sítá, forth to banishment.

When his dear son was seen no more,

The lord of earth was troubled sore:

Too feeble with his grief to strive,

He joined the elemental Five.

Up then, most dutiful! maintain

The royal state, arise, and reign.

For thee, my darling son, for thee

All this was planned and wrought by me.

Come, cast thy grief and pain aside,

With manly courage fortified.

This town and realm are all thine own,

And fear and grief are here unknown.

Come, with Vaśishṭha's guiding aid,

And priests in ritual skilled

Let the king's funeral dues be paid,

And every claim fulfilled.

Perform his obsequies with all

That suits his rank and worth,

Then give the mandate to install

Thyself as lord of earth.”