The Ramayana/Book II/Canto XXIV: Kaus'alyá Calmed

But when Kaus'alyá saw that he Resolved to keep his sire's decree, While tears and sobs her utterance broke, Her very righteous speech she spoke: 'Can he, a stranger yet to pain, Whose pleasant words all hearts enchain, Son of the king and me the queen, Live on the grain his hands may glean; Can he, whose slaves and menials eat The finest cakes of sifted wheat-- Can Ráma in the forest live On roots and fruit which woodlands give Who will believe, who will not fear When the sad story smites his ear, That one so dear, so noble held, Is by the king his sire expelled? Now surely none may Fate resist, Which orders all as it may list, If, Ráma, in thy strength and grace, The woods become thy dwelling-place. A childless mother long I grieved, And many a sigh for offspring heaved, With wistful longing weak and worn Till thou at last, my son, wast born. Fanned by the storm of that desire Deep in my soul I felt the fire, Whose offerings flowed from weeping eyes, With fuel fed of groans and sighs, While round the flame the smoke grew hot Of tears because thou camest not. Now reft of thee, too fiery fierce The flame of woe my heart will pierce, As, when the days of spring return, The sun's hot beams the forest burn. The mother cow still follows near The wanderings of her youngling dear. So close to thine my feet shall be, Where'er thou goest following thee.' Ráma, the noblest lord of men, Heard his fond mother's speech, and then In soothing words like these replied To the sad queen who wept and sighed: 'Nay, by Kaikeyí's art beguiled, When I am banished to the wild, If thou, my mother, also fly, The aged king will surely die. When wedded dames their lords forsake, Long for the crime their souls shall ache. Thou must not e'en in thought within Thy bosom frame so dire a sin. Long as Kakutstha's son, who reigns Lord of the earth, in life remains, Thou must with love his will obey: This duty claims, supreme for aye. Yes, mother, thou and I must be Submissive to my sire's decree, King, husband, sire is he confessed, The lord of all, the worthiest. I in the wilds my days will spend Till twice seven years have reached an end, Then with great joy will come again, And faithful to thy hests remain.' Kaus'alyá by her son addressed, With love and passion sore distressed, Afflicted, with her eyes bedewed, To Ráma thus her speech renewed: 'Nay, Ráma, but my heart will break If with these queens my home I make. Lead me too with thee; let me go And wander like a woodland roe.' Then, while no tear the hero shed. Thus to the weeping queen he said: 'Mother, while lives the husband, he Is woman's lord and deity. O dearest lady, thou and I Our lord and king must ne'er deny; The lord of earth himself have we Our guardian wise and friend to be. And Bharat, true to duty's call, Whose sweet words take the hearts of all, Will serve thee well, and ne'er forget The virtuous path before him set. Be this, I pray, thine earnest care, That the old king my father ne'er, When I have parted hence, may know, Grieved for his son, a pang of woe. Let not this grief his soul distress, To kill him with the bitterness. With duteous care, in every thing, Love, comfort, cheer the aged king. Though, best of womankind, a spouse Keeps firmly all her fasts and vows, Nor yet her husband's will obeys, ' She treads in sin's forbidden ways. She to her husband's will who bends, Goes to high bliss that never ends, Yea, though the Gods have found in her No reverential worshipper. Bent on his weal, a woman still Must seek to do her husband's will: For Scripture, custom, law uphold This duty Heaven revealed of old. Honour true Bráhmans for my sake, And constant offerings duly make, With fire-oblations and with flowers, To all the host of heavenly powers. Look to the coming time, and yearn For the glad hour of my return. And still thy duteous course pursue, Abstemious, humble, kind, and true. The highest bliss shall thou obtain When I from exile come again, If, best of those who keep the right, The king my sire still see the light.' The queen, by Ráma thus addressed, Still with a mother's grief oppressed, While her long eyes with tears were dim, Began once more and answered him: 'Not by my pleading maybe stayed The firm resolve thy soul has made. My hero, thou wilt go; and none The stern commands of Fate may shun. Go forth, dear child whom naught can bend And may all bliss thy steps attend. Thou wilt return, and that dear day Will chase mine every grief away. Thou wilt return, thy duty done, Thy vows discharged, high glory won; From filial debt wilt thou be free, And sweetest joy will come on me. My son, the will of mighty Fate At every time must dominate, If now it drives thee hence to stray Heedless of me who bid thee stay. Go, strong of arm, go forth, my boy, Go forth, again to come with joy, And thine expectant mother cheer With those sweet tones she loves to hear. O that the blessed hour were nigh When thou shalt glad this anxious eye, With matted hair and hermit dress returning from the wilderness.' Kaus'alyá's conscious soul approved, As her proud glance she bent On Ráma constant and unmoved, Resolved on banishment. Such words, with happy omens fraught To her dear son she said, Invoking with each eager thought A blessing on his head.