The Ramayana/Book II/Canto II: The People's Speech

Then to the full assembly bowed The monarch, and addressed the crowd With gracious speech, in accents loud As heavenly drum or thunder-cloud:

'Needs not to you who know declare How ever with paternal care My fathers of Ikshváku's line Have ruled the realm which now is mine. I too have taught my feet to tread The pathway of the mighty dead, And with fond care that never slept Have, as I could, my people kept. So toiling still, and ne'er remiss For all my people's weal and bliss, Beneath the white umbrella's shade. Old age is come and strength decayed. Thousands of years have o'er me flown, And generations round me grown And passed away. I crave at length Repose and ease for broken strength. Feeble and worn I scarce can bear The ruler's toil, the judge's care, With royal dignity, a weight That tries the young and temperate.

I long to rest, my labour done, And in my place to set my son, If to the twice-born gathered here My counsel wise and good appear. For greater gifts than mine adorn Ráma my son, my eldest-born. Like Indra brave, before him fall The foeman's cities, tower and wall. Him prince of men for power and might, The best maintainer of the right, Fair as the moon when nothing bars His glory close to Pushya's stars, Him with to-morrow's light I fain Would throne the consort of my reign, A worthy lord for you, I ween, Marked as her own by Fortune's Queen. The triple world itself would be Well ruled by such a king as he. To such high bliss and happy fate Will I the country dedicate, And my sad heart will cease to grieve If he the precious charge receive. Thus is my careful plan matured, Thus for myself is rest secured; Lieges, approve the words I say, Or point ye out some wiser way. Devise your prudent plan. My mind Is fondly to this thought inclined, But men by keen debating move Some middle course which all approve.'

The monarch ceased. In answer came The joyous princes' glad acclaim. So peacocks in the rain rejoice And hail the cloud with lifted voice. Murmurs of joy from thousands round Shook the high palace with the sound. Then when the gathered throng had learned His will who right and gain discerned, Peasant and townsman, priest and chief, All met in consultation brief, And soon agreed with one accord Gave answer to their sovereign lord: 'King of the land, we know thee old: Thousands of years have o'er thee rolled, Ráma thy son, we pray, anoint. And at thy side his place appoint Our gallant prince, so brave and strong, Riding in royal state along, Our eyes with joyful pride will see Screened by the shade that shelters thee.' Then spake the king again, as though Their hearts' true wish he sought to know: 'These prayers for Ráma's rule suggest One question to my doubting breast. This thing, I pray, with truth explain: Why would ye, while I justly reign, That he, mine eldest son, should bear His part with me as ruling heir?' Then all the people made reply, Peasant and townsman, low and high: ' Each noblest gift of form and mind,

O Monarch, in thy son we find. Do thou the godlike virtues hear Which Ráma to our hearts endear. So richly blest with graces, none In all the earth excels thy son: Nay, who to match with him may claim In truth, in justice, and in fame? True to his promise, gentle, kind, Unenvious, of grateful mind, Versed in the law and firm of soul, He keeps each sense with strict control. With duteous care he loves to sit By Bráhmans skilled in Holy Writ. Hence brightest glory, ne'er to end, And matchless fame his youth attend. Skilled in the use of spear and shield. And arms which heavenly warriors wield, Supreme in war, unconquered yet Bv man, fiend, God in battle met, Whene'er in pomp of war he goes 'Gainst town or city of the foes, He ever comes with Lakshman back Victorious from the fierce attack. Returning homeward from afar Borne on his elephant or car, He ever to the townsmen bends And greets them as beloved friends, Asks how each son, each servant thrives, How fare our pupils, offerings, wives; And like a father bids us tell, Each for himself, that all is well. If pain or grief the city tries His heart is swift to sympathize. When festive scenes our thoughts employ He like a father shares the joy. High is the fate, O King, that gave Thy Ráma born to bless and save, With filial virtues fair and mild Like Kas'yap old Maríchi's child. Hence to the kingdom's distant ends One general prayer for him ascends. Each man in town and country prays For Ráma's strength, health, length of days. With hearts sincere, their wish the same, The tender girl, the aged dame, Subject and stranger, peasant, hind, One thought impressed on every mind, At evening and at dawning day To all the Gods for Ráma pray. Do thou, O King, of grace comply, And hear the people's longing cry, And let us on the throne by thee The lotus-tinted Ráma see. O thou who givest boons, attend; A gracious ear, O Monarch, lend And for our weal install, Consenting to our earnest prayer, Thy godlike Ráma Regent Heir, Who seeks the good of all.'

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