contined from vol 8 issue 48

From his pierced and quivering bosom then the cruel dart I drew,
And he sorrowed for his parents as his spirit heavenward flew, Thus unconscious, holy father, I have slayed thy stainless son, Speak my penance, or in mercy pardon deed unknowing done!’ Slow and sadly by their bidding to the fatal spot I led, Long and loud bewailed the parents by the cold unconscious dead,
And with hymns and holy water they performed the funeral rite, Then with tears that burnt and withered,
spake the hermit in his might: ‘Sorrow for a son beloved is a father’s direst woe,
Sorrow for a son beloved, Dasa-ratha, thou shalt know! See the parents weep and perish, grieving for a slaughtered son,
Thou shalt weep and thou shalt perish for a loved and righteous son! Distant is the expiation,—but in fulness of the time, Dasa-ratha’s death in anguish cleanses Dasa-ratha’s crime!’ Spake the old and sightless prophet; then he made the funeral pyre, And the father and the mother perished in the lighted fire,
Years have gone and many seasons, and in fulness of the time,
Comes the fruit of pride and folly and the harvest of my crime! Rama eldest born and dearest, Lakshman true and faithful son, Ah! forgive a dying father and a cruel action done, Queen Kaikeyi, thou hast heedless brought on Raghu’s race this stain,
Banished are the guiltless children and thy lord and king is slain! Lay thy hands on mine, Kausalya, wipe thy unavailing tear, Speak a wife’s consoling accents to a dying husband’s ear,
Lay thy hands on mine, Sumitra, vision falls my closing eyes, And for bravo and banished Rama wings my spirit to the skies! Hushed and silent passed the midnight, feebly still the monarch sighed,
Blessed Kausalya and Sumitra, blest his banished sons, and died.

THE MEETING OF THE BROTHERS

Sorrowing for his sire departed Bharat to Ayodhya came, But the exile of his brother stung his noble heart to flame, Scorning sin-polluted empire, travelling with each widowed queen,
Sought through wood and trackless jungle Chitra-kuta’s peaceful scene.
Royal guards and Saint Vasishtha loitered with the dames behind, Onward pressed the eager Bharat, Rama’s hermit-home to find, Nestled in a jungle thicket, Rama’s cottage rose in sight,
Thatched with leaves and twining branches, reared by Lakshman’s faithful might.
Faggots hewn of gnarléd branches, blossoms culled from bush and tree. Coats of bark and russet garments,
kusa spread upon the lea, Store of horns and branching antlers, fire-wood for the dewy night,– Spake the dwelling of a hermit suited for a hermit’s rite. “May the scene,” so Bharat uttered, “by the righteous rishi told, Markalvati’s rippling waters, Chitrakuta’s summit bold,
Mark the dark and trackless forest where the untamed tuskers roam, And the deep and hollow caverns where the wild beasts make their home, Mark the spacious wooded uplands, wreaths of smoke obscure the sky,
Hermits feed their flaming altars for their worship pure and high. Done our weary work and wand’ring,
righteous Rama here we meet, Saint and king and honoured elder! Bharat bows unto his feet,
Born a king of many nations, he hath forest refuge sought, Yielded throne and mighty kingdom for a hermit’s humble cot, Honour unto righteous Rama, unto Sita true and bold, Theirs be fair Kosala’s empire,
crown and sceptre, wealth and gold! Stately Sal and feathered palm-tree on the cottage lent their shade.
Strewn upon the sacred altar was the grass of kusa spread, Gaily on the walls suspended hung two bows of ample height, And their back with gold was pencilled, bright as INDRA’s bow of might, Cased in broad unfailing quivers arrows shone like light of day, And like flame-tongued fiery serpents cast a dread and lurid ray,
Resting in their golden scabbards lay the sword of warriors bold, And the targets broad and ample bossed with rings of yellow gold, Glove and gauntlet decked the cottage safe from fear of hostile men,
As from creatures of the forest is the lion’s lordly den! Calm in silent contemplation by the altar’s sacred fire, Holy in his pious purpose though begirt by weapons dire,
Clad in deer-skin pure and peaceful, poring on the sacred flame, In his bark and hermit’s tresses like an anchorite of fame, Lion-shouldered, mighty-arméd, but with gentle lotus eye.
Lord of wide earth ocean-girdled, but intent on penance high, Godlike as the holy BRAHMA,
on a skin of dappled deer Rama sat with meek-eyed Sita, faithful Lakshman loitered near! “Is this he whom joyous nations called to fair Ayodhya’s throne, Now the friend of forest-rangers wandering in the woods alone,
Is this he who robed in purple made Ayodhya’s mansions bright.. Now in jungle bark and deer-skin clad as holy anchorite, Is this be whose wreathéd ringlets fresh and holy fragrance shed, Now a hermit’s matted tresses cluster round his royal head, Is this he whose royal yajnas filled the earth with righteous fame,
Now inured to hermit’s labour by the altar’s sacred flame, Is this he whose brow and forehead royal gem and jewel graced, Heir to proud Kosala’s empire, eldest, noblest, and the best!” Thus lamented pious Bharat,
for his heart was anguish-rent,
As before the feet of Rama he in loving homage bent, “Arya!” in his choking accents this was all that Bharat said, “Arya!” spake the young Satrughna and he bent his holy head! Rama to his loving bosom raised his brothers from his feet, Ah, too deep is love for utterance when divided brothers meet, Faithful Guha, brave Sumantra, bowed to Rama’s righteous feet,
And a joy and mingled sadness filled the hermit’s calm retreat!

TO BE CONTINUED