The Ramayana/Book II/Canto LXXIV: Bharat's Lamest

When Bharat's anger-sharpened tongue Reproaches on the queen had flung, Again, with mighty rage possessed, The guilty dame he thus addressed: 'Flee, cruel, wicked sinner, flee, Let not this kingdom harbour thee. Thou who hast thrown all right aside, Ween thou for me when I have died. Canst thou one charge against the king, Or the most duteous Ráma bring? The one thy sin to death has sent, The other chased to banishment. Our line's destroyer, sin defiled Like one who kills an unborn child, Ne'er with thy lord in heaven to dwell, Thy portion shall be down in hell Because thy hand, that stayed for naught, This awful wickedness has wrought, And ruined him whom all held dear, My bosom too is stirred with fear. My father by thy sin is dead, And Ráma to the wood is fled; And of thy deed I bear the stain, And fameless in the world remain. Ambitious, evil-souled. in show My mother, yet my direst foe. My throning ne'er thine eyes shall bless, Thy husband's wicked murderess. Thou art not As'vapati's child, That righteous king most sage and mild, But thou wast born a fiend, a foe My father's house to overthrow. Thou who hast made Kaus'alyá, pure, Gentle, affectionate, endure The loss of him who was her bliss-- What worlds await thee, Queen, for this? Was it not patent to thy sense That Ráma was his friends' defence, Kaus'alyá's own true child most dear, The eldest and his father's peer? Men in the son not only trace The father's figure, form, and face, But in his heart they also find The offspring of the father's mind; And hence, though dear their kinsmen are, To mothers sons are dearer far. There goes an ancient legend how Good Surabhi, the God-loved cow, Saw two of her dear children strain, Drawing a plough and faint with pain. She saw them on the earth outworn, Toiling till noon from early morn, And as she viewed her children's woe, A flood of tears began to flow. As through the air beneath her swept The Lord of Gods, the drops she wept, Fine, laden with delicious smell, Upon his heavenly body fell, And Indra lifted up his eyes And saw her standing in the skies, Afflicted with her sorrow's weight, Sad, weeping, all disconsolate. The Lord of Gods in anxious mood Thus spoke in suppliant attitude: 'No fear disturbs our rest, and how Comes this great dread upon thee now? Whence can this woe upon thee fall, Say, gentle one who lovest all?' Thus spake the God who rules the skies, Indra, the Lord supremely wise; And gentle Surabhi, well learned In eloquence, this speech returned: 'Not thine the fault, great God, not thine And guiltless are the Lords divine: I mourn two children faint with toil, Labouring hard in stubborn soil, Wasted and sad I see them now, While the sun beats on neck and brow, Still goaded by the cruel hind,-- No pity in his savage mind. O Indra, from this body sprang These children, worn with many a pang. For this sad sight I mourn, for none Is to the mother like her son.' He saw her weep whose offspring feed In thousands over hill and mead, And knew that in a mother's eye Naught with a son, for love, can vie. He deemed her, when the tears that came From her sad eyes bedewed his frame, Laden with their celestial scent, Of living things most excellent, If she these tears of sorrow shed Who many a thousand children bred, Think what a life of woe is left Kaus'alyá, of her Ráma reft. An only son was hers and she Is rendered childless now by thee. Here and hereafter, for thy crime, Woe is thy lot through endless time. And now, O Queen, without delay, With all due honour will I pay Both to my brother and my sire The rites their several fates require. Back to Ayodhyá will I bring The long-armed chief, her lord and king, And to the wood myself betake Where hermit saints their dwelling make. For, sinner both in deed and thought! This hideous crime which thou hast wrought I cannot bear, or live to see The people's sad eyes bent on me. Begone, to Dandak wood retire, Or cast thy body to the fire, Or bind around thy neck the rope: No other refuge mayst thou hope. When Ráma, lord of valour true, Has gained the earth, his right and due, Then, free from duty's binding debt, My vanished sin shall I forget.' Thus like an elephant forced to brook The goading of the driver's hook, Quick panting like a serpent maimed, He fell to earth with rage inflamed.