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The Banished
[English version of Gangadhar Meher’s Tapaswini]
By
Shashibhusan Mishra Sharma
(State Sahitya Academy Awardee )
Edited By:
Prof. Minaketan Purohit
Bargarh
Publisher:
Prasanna Kumar Dash, H.M.
At/Po/Dist.-Bargarh-768028 (Orissa)
Ph. No.- (06646)230323
Writer:
Dedication 03
Swabhava kabi Gangadhar Meher
Publisher’s Note 03
‘The Banished’
Introduction 04
Translator
Late Shashibhusan Mishra Sharma The Old Preceptor 06
Bargarh (Orissa)
A Note On Translator’s Job 07
www.navratnanews.com Glossary 42
with the permission of the publisher Sri
Prasanna kumar Mishra
We are also thankfull to Er.Asim Ku.Mishra
Surendra Hota
Director
Navratna news
email: surendrahota@gmail.com
cantos. It has a marvellous structural design. Kumar Dash, publisher of the unpublished
It exhibits the wonderful craftsmanship of the works of Shashibhusan will very soon bring it
poet. Sita is presented as a mundane lady with to the light of the day in its printed form. Trans-
great virtues. She passes through the hard lation of a narrative poem from the source lan-
austerities of the ascetic’s life in the hermit- guage to the target language is a difficult as
age and ascends to the radiant and resplend- well as delicate task. Language through which
ent seat of a goddess. As there is a steady a poem finds a form and a meaning, besides
development of character so there is a corre- objects and ideas, has a tone, a rhythm and a
sponding development of emotion- from sor- nuance which differ from place to place, com-
row to serenity, and from deprivation to munity to community and from author to author.
fulfillment. Gangadhar in delineating Sita’s The translation whether it is word-for-word
character brings together past, present and translation or sense-to-sense translation, it can-
future- presenting eternal time. At the end he not easily overcome the trans-cultural barriers.
presents Janaki in her radiant glory illuminat- It can hardly retain the sweetness and charm
ing all the four quadrants of the infinite space. of the nuances and the emotive and evocative
power of the original. A translation is likely to
T he Banished: - ‘The Banished’ is the be as interesting and fascinating as the origi-
English version of ‘Tapaswini’. Shashibhusan nal if the translator is an adept in both lan-
Mishra Sharma, a teacher of George High guages and acquainted with both the cultural
School Bargarh milieu having an artistic temperament which is
made a humble in tune with that of the author. Mishra Sharma
attempt to trans- was a poet and a scholar. He was also a re-
late into English a puted translator. He was primarily a Mathema-
few selected por- tician. But literature and especially poetry was
tions from his first love. He continued assiduously to nur-
Gangadhar’s ture his love of literature. He was a voracious
works including reader. Shakespeare, Milton, Wordsworth and
‘Tapaswini’ with a Tennyson were his favourite poets. He had ac-
Translator:- view to introduc- quired working knowledge in English prosody.
Late Shashibhusan Mishra Sharma
Born on 25th Mar. 1896
ing the immortal Fidelity to the original was his chief concern.
Expired on 5th Jun. 1976 poet to the non- He tried to manage in English the structured
Oriya readership musicality of the stanzaic form, metrical pattern,
alliterative-assonantal arrangements, culture-
of India and the world. Six short poems were
specific evocation of the original. So he trans-
published in ‘Gleanings from Gangadhar’ in
lated the different chapters in couplets, quat-
1960. Unfortunately ‘The Banished’ could not
rains, octave and sestet and s uch other stanzaic
be included as funds were not available for
form and pattern. He used rhymed verse. But
publication of a bigger volume. However the
he was not averse to blank-verse or free-verse.
English version of Gangadhar’s poems at-
He exhausted almost all the rhetorical devices
tracted the attention of the elite. Dr P. K. Pati,
of English poetry in ‘The Banished’. He made
Professor of English, Revenshaw College in a
all possible efforts to recapture in his transla-
letter of congratulation writes “Mishra Sharma
tion the sweetness and incantation of the
has succeeded in rendering into English not
evocatives like ‘je’, ‘he’ and ‘go’ by using words
merely the idea and the feeling but also the
containing soft consonants and liquid vowels
sweetness, beauty and melody of some of the
and by repeating phrases and expressions to
masterpieces of Gangadhar.” Dr. Pati had seen
bring about the desired effects. There is a
the manuscript of the English version of
French saying that a translation when faithful
‘Tapaswini’. Mishra Sharma had translated it
is homely, and faithless when lovely. Mishra
in the early fifties of the last century. The manu-
Sharma has left no stone unturned to make his
script had been lying hidden from the readers’
translation both homely and lovely. Yet he has
eyes for more than half a cent ury. Sri Prasanna
never sacrificed fidelity to the original.
Editor’s Gratitude:- My thanks are due to The insolvent pecuniary condition of the family
Dr. Nanda Kishore Dash, Dr. An taryami Tripathy put a full stop to his studies for degrees and
and Sri Durga Prasad Mishra bu t for whose help diplomas but not to his sagacity for acquiring
and co-operation I couldn’t have been able to knowledge that remained with him throughout
edit ‘The Banished’. I extend my gratitude to his life. He joined George High English School,
Sri Prasanna Kumar Dash, publisher of ‘The Bargarh in 1917 as an assistant teacher and
Banished’ for giving me honour to edit the first was destined to work there til l he retired in 1967,
translation of ‘Tapaswini’ by Sri Shashibhusan even though some of his students became
Mishra Sharma. I take this occ asion as a golden headmasters of this school. A brilliant teacher
opportunity to pay homage to h t e sacred for the students and a bright example for the
memory of Sri Mishra Sharma, my revered teaching community he could teach all the sub-
teacher and well-wisher. jects of teaching with equal dexterity. For him
any time was study time and in terested students
were welcome to clarify their doubts and solve
The Editor. problems with him. Inspectors of Schools of-
ten advised teachers of other schools to follow
his style of teaching. However, he was most
The Old Preceptor popular in the teaching of Mathematics and
Geography for he taught them i ngeniously with-
Sri Shashibhusan Mishra Sharma, a re- out being strictly bookish. His bearded coun-
nowned teacher of Orissa, was born to parents tenance, his sublime demeanour, his head with
Sri Harihar Mishra and Srimati Gundichadevi its bald scalp, his dwarfish structure, his dhoti
of village Talsirgida in the district of Bargarh and kurta and all presented the serene picture
on 25th March 1896. As his father was then a of a ‘guru’ (a spiritual preceptor) of some her-
teacher in a Middle Vernacular School (M.V. mitage of the days of yore. Widely read, he
School), it was but natural that he should take was a veteran scholar who could participate in
great interest in the education of his son. Sri any intellectual discussion with authority. But
Mishra Sharma right from his c hildhood showed he was never a swaggerer. The school has
precocity and perseverance in studies espe- adopted one of his devotional poems as the
cially in Mathematics. During the entire span prayer-song of the school- indeed a rare hon-
of his M.V. School career, year after tear, Sri our for a teacher par excellence. People in
Mishra Sharma received the scholarship general befittingly referred to him as the ‘Old
awarded by Sri Swapneswar Dash who was a Preceptor’ (Budha Mastrey). He received ac-
great poet as well as a teacher in the M.V. colades from the State Sahitya Academy, Gov-
School at Bargarh where Sri Mishra Sharma ernor’s award and other awards for his accom-
prosecuted his studies. Owing to the lack of plishments.
provision for English education at Bargarh then,
Sri Mishra Sharma attended diligently the cost- His family life was nothing but a curse in-
free private classes held by Sri Laxminarayan cluding death of three sons, the only daughter
Pattnaik, the local Munshif and father of Biju and the consequent mental derangement of his
Pattnaik, who taught English voluntarily. He was wife. In addition to this hell of a life entirely
so assiduous in the study of English and could uncongenial for peaceful and creative works
earn so much knowledge in it that he could his constant companion was financial con-
easily qualify at the entrance test held for ad- straints. Yet it is really amazing that he could
mission into the Zilla School at Sambalpur. find the required time and the mind-set to in-
From this High English School he appeared at dulge in literary activities of no mean order in
the Matriculation Examination of the Calcutta all branches of literature. In all his activities
University in the year 1915 and got a first class. his objective was to uplift the society through
In 1917 he passed Intermediate in Science from didacticism and the people through advice and
Ravenshaw College, Cuttack and there also a admonition. ‘The Banished’, the English ver-
first class was his due. sion of ‘Tapaswini’ the magnum opus of
just the original script but also of the language simplicity and transparency of emotion that can
into which the work is being translated and the be located in Gangadhar Meher is unusual in
technicalities of his own times. And there does contemporary poetry. There is a strange spon-
lie the difficulty and intricacy in the job. taneity in his poetic muse which can be only
found in an individual having a genuine poetic
Translating a poet like Gangadhar Meher sensibility. What is all the more charming is
and his masterpiece ‘Tapaswini’ is not just an that one hardly finds any pseudo intellectual
opportunity, but also an experience of a life- effort in Meher’s works. It is rather, the poetry
time. This particular work carries the melody that bears the effulgence of a pure and unam-
and the harmony of music of unusual splen- biguous heart. ‘Tapaswini’, any one who reads
dour in the Oriya language. Therefore, taking the poem shall be touched by the beauty and
upon its translation is not only difficult but also truthfulness in the depiction of the austerity of
full of unpredictable risks. This translated ver- womanhood. It celebrates the essence of pu-
sion is merely a humble attempt at capturing rity and magnificence of dignity that is woman.
and recreating the glory of this wonderful nar-
rative poem in English- the language that shall Within a very limited scope and knowl-
be extremely close to the Asian populace in edge of the nuances of English language,
the time to come. However, jus t because trans- Shashibhusan Mishra Sharma has attempted
lating him carries difficulties and dangers, to recreate the charm of the enigmatic narra-
should not mean that a poet li ke Meher be kept tive. But it gives immense joy and satisfaction
closeted under one geographic and semantic to see it completed at last. This humble effort
entity. The charm and beauty of the writings of is a sincere tribute to Gangadhar Meher, the
poets like Gangadhar Meher need to be rec- master craftsman of Oriya literature. The effort
ognized and appreciated by succeeding gen- of the translator is commendable. May the
erations, and that should be the major reason translator live long in the memory of the read-
to translate him into as many languages as ers of the English version of ‘Tapaswini’!
possible.
Prof. Minaketan Purohit
The correct interplay of words and Editor, “The Banished”
thoughts is a Herculean task in the translation
process. Often the beauty and seriousness of
the original version is lost while put in the grind- A Note On Translation
ing stone of a new language. For instance, the
depiction of Sita in ‘Tapaswini’ is much in ac- Gangadhar Meher ’s ‘Tapaswini’ is a
cord with the cultural and natural framework of masterpiece. It has received accolade and ap-
the land of Orissa. Gangadhar Meher’s imagi- preciation from so many sensible and sensi-
native plane revolves around the typical Oriya tive readers. The subject-matter of this great
landscape, yet his approach is Universal. But classic of modern Oriya literature is taken from
interpreting this Universality of his theme in the Indian mythology. The second exile of Sita in
English language is what has been the most Valmiki’s hermitage, the birth of the twins and
trying aspect of this work. However, it can only the invitation relating to horse-sacrifice of Lord
be regretted that none of the translators can Rama are depicted here. The epic sings the
claim a complete success in their endeavour. glory of Sita’s fidelity and chastity, Rama’s ideal
The rhapsody and symphony in the rhyme and duty as a king and the tradition of monks and
lilt of words can only be felt in the original ver- nuns in Indian soil. Nature in this great work
sion. has been personified by the poet to act as an
important character in various sublime forms
Maintaining the rhyme and rhythm in Eng- like hills, mountains, rivers, woodlands as well
lish language is much more difficult than in the as humble forms like small flowers and plants,
regional languages like Oriya, which has im- nondescript birds and insects. The native read-
mense possibilities of a rhythmic felicity. The ers can enjoy this work with ease by feeding
their emotion and intellect. But it is not wise to translation of poetry is more onerous. Crea-
confine this literary creation only to the narrow tive imagination, the theme and the rhythm
boundary of the native soil. With this noble in- expressed in a different cultural setting of one
tention in mind Sri Shashibhusan Mishra language may not be the same i n another lan-
Sharma had this ambitious plan of translating guage when translated. Therefore a faithful
it into English a few decades ago. His long cher- rendering requires deep understanding of the
ished aspiration got materialized towards the contents, words, metrical patterns and struc-
end of his life and unfortunately the great trans- ture of language of the original work and per-
lator passed away before the translated ver- fect command over both the languages.
sion could be brought out.
Shashi babu has successfully proved his
However, it is a matter of great pleasure transcreating genius in his tra nslation of
th at the Eng lish- tr ansl ation of the epic ‘Tapaswini’. I shall cite two examples to show
‘Tapaswini’ is published at present by the de- his skill, sincerity and brilliant use of word-
voted and dedicated efforts of some enthusi- power to convey the inner mean ing, sweetness
asts like Sri Prasanna Ku. Dash, Retd. Head- and musicality of the original text. The first
master, Bargarh. stanza of CANTO-IV in ‘Tapaswini’ is
mangale aila usha
Translation of a literary work of art, that bikacha-rajiba drusha
too, poetry is a tough job as the translator has janaki-darshana-trusha hrudaye bahi,
to remain faithful to both the source and target kara pallave nihara-
language which is a highly challenging task. mukta dhari upahara
Sri Mishra Sharma has evidenced to maintain satinka basa-bahara-prangane rahi,
the fidelity to the best of his capability. Subse- kalakantha-kanthe kahila
quent editions of this are thus highly solicited “Darashana dia Sati, rati pahila”.
as it is a reproduction of his manuscript with a
little amount of correction, omission and addi- The English rendering is:
tion.
Dr. Antaryami Tripathy At a time auspicious came Dawn
Dept. of English Women’s College, With eyes of a lotus full-blown
Bargarh. Dt 01.10.2005 She came with a thirst in her heart
To have a sight of Janaki apart.
The Charm Of ‘The Banished’ Offering pearls of dew in the hands of foliage
She waited in the courtyard of Sita’s cottage
And through the cuckoo’s melodious voice,
Late Shashibhusan Mishra Sharma was
said
a creative writer in Oriya and Sambalpuri lan-
‘Arise, Noble Queen and appear, for the night
guages. Writing was inseparable from his blood
is ended.’
and bone, and became an organic part of his
The second one is from CANTO-VII where the
being. As if for him, ‘To write poetry is to be
original Oriya stanza:
alive’. (Rilke) He was also a committed trans-
lator. After translating some poems of Shake-
mo tanu dagdha hele hebata khara,
speare, Wordsworth, Alexander Pope, Henry
tahaku karaiba padape sara;
Wolten, Samuel Johnson, H. W. Longfellow,
se taru kastha dei bardhaki haste
Davies and Omar Khayyam into Oriya lan-
karai deba Prabhu paduka mate he |
guage, he had translated six immortal poems
of great muse Swavab kavi Gangadhar Meher.
is translated into English as:
‘The Banished’ is the English translation of
Meher’s classic creation in Oriya ‘Tapaswini’.
‘When my body is burnt to ashes
Use the same as manure to a tree
Translation is an arduous job and faithful
Give the timber to a carpenter by accepting this as small tree only for shade
To make a pair of sandals for my Lord’s feet.’ without the hope of flowers and fruits.
You made a swing in the cradle of your arms, Yet you uttered not a single unkind word
Lest this worthless maid should sleep on a bed of grass And filled my heart with hope, as you banished me
For love of this unlucky woman you crossed the ocean The sins I earned are causes of my grief
And waged a war with the ten-headed demon. Those very sins now flash across my mind’s screen.
You bore the assault of dreadful arrows, I took him, my glorious Lord, for a man like us
And embraced the wounds as beads of necklace. Believing the cry, ‘Save me, Lakshmana’ to be his
Considering me to be its central bead Mean-minded as I am, I mistook Lakshmana
You treasured me, O Lord! as its crowning gem. And forced him to go to the woods to protect my Lord.
I shuddered with fear at the sight of the scars, The sin I committed deserved punishment
You consoled me with your nectar-sweet words. My Lord’s glory banished me for atonement.
You said; “I sacrificed blood on the altar of war, Oh, how I rebuked blameless Lakshmana
And achieved you, my beloved, as the precious gift”. This banishment is its befitting reward.
The scars made by arrows are still so fresh I struck his heart with thunderbolt of words,
But I, the unfortunate one, am already separate! And I forced him to go away from my presence.
Wipe off my memory from your heart-board That Lakshmana, falling flat at my feet in devotion,
Or else you’ll feel pangs of agony each moment. Speaking sweet words left me there all alone.
Forget this worthless maid, may your subjects flourish Ravana showed a severed head, detached from body
Let me die, but may your blemishes vanish. Mistaking it to be my husband’s, I wept aloud.
Plant in your heart the eternal form That I didn’t court instant death at the sight
Of immortal fame that will emerge from this. Is the very sin for which I suffer death in life.
The originator of the race, the sun of days, Belittling the joy of serving your feet
Blesses the whole creation with his bright rays. I longed for enjoying the hermitage’s sight
The perennial Ganga is the glory of your race, That sin separated me from your august presence
She nurses all who live in time and space. Saying, “Sinner, do as you like, it is my vengeance.”
You forsook me, my Lord, at the call of honour, You spent so many happy days in my company
This indeed O Lord, is worthy of your stature. Forgetting the solicitations of Ajodhya’s royal goddess.
What an irony of fate it is that the picture The goddess could no more bear the pangs of separa-
Of this sinner should stain your glorious banner. tion
I am ashamed, my Lord of spotless character She used a mischief monger as her companion.
You were slandered for the sake of this sinner
Quitting shelter at thy feet, where shall I live? The jealous goddess looked for vengeance
Fire doesn’t burn me; oh, I cannot survive. And she removed me from your august presence.
In Ajodhya the second wife has boundless powers,
This durba grass carries your grace and splendour The husband’s influence is no match to hers.
How can I renounce it, and where can I take shelter?
O gracious Lord, even the stone receives your favour, The day queen Kaikeyi established her power
Why shall it sustain me and court disfavour? The royal goddess reigned supreme there.
Lord of my heart! Forget not the sacred vow
You have placed a precious jewel in my womb You made before the great sage Ashtabakra:
But you have said nothing how to preserve it safe. “I can banish Sita who is dearer than my life,
I have cherished high hope in my heart If needed for the pleasure of my subjects”
To adorn my Lord’s lap with this jewel. You are ever so happy in obeying your father’s words,
Let me not retreat from honouring my consort’s wishes.
Will my forlorn hopes elude me!
Fate, I bow thousand times to Thee! Only then shall I deserve the title of your wife-
What have you, O Destiny, planned for the successor This my heart will understand and console me.
Whose father is the world-renowned emperor? You have pledged yourself to serve your subjects,
And I, your worthy wife, must follow your footsteps.
It is true that lightning strikes the mountain
But alas! The innocent creatures are destroyed. Let my exile serve to appease your subjects
Glory to you Lord; your mouth is the spring of nectar, Let my Lord’s virtues and fame remain unsullied.
Your heart too ‘O Lord,’ is the rock of icy nectar. At Sita’s lamentation the wind stopped blowing.
Land, water and sky kept on grieving.
Whatever torment and torture strike the heart,
From your mouth flows nothing but nectar. The waves in the Ganga came to a stand still.
When the shameful rumour was whispered The chirpings of birds in the forest were hushed.
What terrible agony you must have suffered;
Not a single leaf of any tree trembled, Perturbed, Queen Peace looked for a chariot,
All frolic stopped and the creepers fumbled. To carry her to the mourner on the spot.
The hermit girls were tending the torn creepers,
Birds on branches pricked up their ears Sita’s piteous cries then entered their ears.
And filled their hearts with streams of tears.
The fawns with mother’s teats in their mouths It was a strange new sound, not the cooing of dove,
Remained still, forgetting to suckle. Nor the sound of harp or conch, or a veena’s strains.
Certain it was that the cry sprang from a woman’s throat.
Deer and does not chewing grass in their mouths, Peace found her chariot in the hearts of the girls,
Bent their necks to hear the doleful sounds, Riding on the chariot she drove to the river bank,
Motionless stood peacocks, peahens with their young What a lovely sight it was! the anchals waving in the air
ones, like banners.
Looking like pictures as if painted on the canvas.
Stunned, though she was at the sight of the wailing
Forgetting their way to the Ganga, quietly stood maiden,
The elephant families, as if they were pieces of wood. She ventured to go near her, others waited at a
distance,
Hearing the news the hermit shut his eyes, Striking the sandals on obstacles’ head, Valmiki walked
Holding his body erect, sat still for a while. ahead,
Opening his eyes, he stepped out, saying “Let us see”. Looking in ochre robes like Anuru, the Sun’s chariot-
His disciples followed him close upon his heels. eer,
Hermit-daughters and sages accompanied the girl, Sita, the image of Rama’s love, gliding like sun-ray,
Who had come to the hermitage to break the news. Alas! The sun-ray was drowned in the sea of sorrow.
But Anuru stood out with splendour.
The bucks, does with young ones followed in a line, Birds silently listened to the sage and the virtuous
The cuckoos, peacocks, herons jumping from tree to
tree Seeing them proceed towards the hermitage
Wag-tails, parrots, sharikas and doves, Overwhelmed with joy they sang sweet songs.
Sailed across air-waves of the space-ocean. It looked as though, Peace celebrated her victory
The heroic army of Peace marched forward, In the form of deer’s dance to the tune of the drum.
As a flood to the rock-barrier of Sita’s grief. Deeming Sita’s face to be a sea of affection,
They were looking wistfully at it again and again.
Mahanadi flowing over Rameswar stone-heap,
Quakes and whirls, taking another course. Sita, Rama’s beloved rising from the sea of misery
The rocks wouldn’t topple, only the flow rages, Entered the city of peace like the goddess of victory.
And losing its direction it headlong falls. Spreading coloured plumes peacocks marched in line,
Will Peace meet the same fate in her march? Baby elephants marched with lotuses at the trip of the
How long will she be able to maintain her pride? trunks.
Leaves hung from trees full of flowers,
Advancing a little the sage stood by Sita, Sitting on them snow-white herons looked like ban-
W hile others crowding on the ground, boughs ners.
and the sky.
Valmiki in matted hair and ash-smeared body
Stood like the snow-capped Himalayas
And the virtuous one like Uma in deep meditation
Sat motionless under the snow-capped mountain.
Anukampa, the old woman of great austerities, The entire earth was bright under the cloudless sky
Took Sita in her lap wiping tears from her cheeks. The hour Lakshmana abandoned Sita on the bank of
Filling Sita’s heart with love and affection Bhagirathi
And looking at her face again and again, The Sun, as it were, spread out a white curtain
Said in endearing and soothing words, As if, to hide the shameful treatment meted out to Sita
“Fortunate I am, my dear, indeed very fortunate”. Probing this mystery, twilight removed the curtain
And revealed the evils of the Solar race.
“Noble queen, you have filled your golden palace with
gloom, No sooner did the birds chirp than the stars
And you have come to illuminate my poor home. Appeared on the vast sky, one after another.
I know, you have not had any food all day They saw Rama, descendant of the Sun,
And I guess, the baby in the womb might be striking Sitting all alone, with mournful face and tearful eyes.
legs, Brooding over power and pelf he said,
Eat my girl, don’t feel shy; it is your mother’s home, “The high office is nothing but a slavery”.
See, how anxious are your companions about you.”
If hundreds of subjects tell a lie and repeat it,
With these words, Anukampa fed her with her own hands The king is bound to accept it as truth, though it is but a
She peeled oranges, bananas lie.
She offered jackfruits, date palms and berries all A king’s happiness is sacrificed for his subjects’ peace,
Saying in soft voice, “Eat my daughter, eat all Tied are his feet tightly to the hard chords of duties.
Repeating, “Eat my dear, eat two more, only two more”, The coronation of the king is just a ceremonial bath,
Thus the elderly she-hermit fed her eight or ten plums The ritualistic fanning is a ruse to drive away the flies.
more.
Happiness and unhappiness can’t co-exist in god’s heart,
Sita lived through mother’s love in Valmiki’s hut So the kings drink fame-nectar as greater gods.
Which she had not realised in childhood, The subject’s blood rises as vapour to form the cloud,
After meals she rinsed her mouth The king is the cloud that rains for the subject’s good.
And putting a cardamom in it, sat on a stool, As there is thunderbolt in the cloud but not in the water,
A girl made a bed of straw and deerskin So there is mace in the king’s hands and not in the hands
Two of them stayed with her, others repaired to their of subjects.
huts.
Though burnt by lightning the cloud must rain,
CANTO-III Renouncing all joys the King must please his subjects.
Kingship on earth is the topmost rung to heaven’s lad-
der,
The king who strays from virtues, falls to abysmal depth.
Like a magician he treads carefully on the kingship-rope,
Baton in hand, impartial in mind and forgetting all dan-
gers.
Though my beloved is away from me, Said Rama, “Oh, stars, escaping from the love-prison of
Yet the lotus-bud has blossomed in my heart. the moon
My mind-bee is sucking the sweet honey You serve the Creator’s will and keep the sky in motion;
O, my eyes, why are you shedding tears in misery? You suffer the unbearable pangs of separation,
If the pool dries up, my lotus will totter Yet you do your duty forgetting all your pain.”
Ah, my heart, be a dam and check the flow of tears.
“Oh admirable stars, go to Valmiki’s hermitage,
Blow gently, O breath, let my dear not tremble! Where the moon of my heart is alone in her cottage.
My ears, be not impatient, Lakshmana will come Listening to the sad strains of shelduck crying,
You will hear all about my dear Sita My sensitive Sita might lose all zest for living.
O heated skin; the breeze will blow to alleviate sweat, Give her, O stars! the example of the lagoon and the
Carrying the fragrance of Sita’s body, with the lotus-scent. lilies,
Unite with mind and revel upon the lake-like heart. Explain, how lilies live, though the moon doesn’t rise.
My life-lotus in a new form blooms for ever, Tell her that re-union is not a serious problem.
Like the Sun of memory that ever shines and never sets. Convince her how soothing is the union of hearts.
Indulge not in it, my tongue, do not long for that joy, Now that you witness my feelings, convey the same.
You feed upon the wealth of your subjects The lotus-eyed Sita shouldn’t think otherwise.
And do not react against your well-wishers. As a rivulet of my soul is joined to her womb,
This life is mine as I still survive to do good to men. My feelings conveyed by you, will sound reasonable.
Or else how could I melt thunder? Could a certain lightness have touched Rama’s heart at
And could sip the juice as if it was butter? this?
Let me wait till the day dawns. But in vain the stars showed no sympathy and raised a
I shall set free the parrot and the parakeet, film of darkness.
They will no more utter Sita’s name Those who find fault with the virtuous, are destined to
Their calls of “Sita” won’t excite you any more. suffer,
Though seated on high platform, they can’t escape the
The young deer shall join the one with alata decorated ironies of fate.
feet, The stars hoped to derive pleasure from Rama’s taints,
The red silken collar around the neck resembles the alata But humbly bowed and went down, when they saw his
streak. traits.
Why should the peacock and peahen stay any longer?
The mocking bird will not be able to imitate her voice Sympathising with Rama’s grief, the sorrowful moon
any more. Rose from the milk ocean after the night had fallen
Why should the harp produce sweet harmony? Teasing and taunting the sheldrake, the Partridge said,
Where is the musician to enjoy the symphony? “Grieve not in vain; you are ordained to suffer.”
He thus scorns, for fate has filled his mouth with nectar.
Rama shut his eyes for a while and in meditation sat, The rich always applaud at the miseries of the poor.
Observing Time’s terrible spectacle, rushing like currents
Displaying and hiding all things, animate and inanimate. Banished Sita on the other immersed in her sorrow of
Some objects like bubbles stay for a moment, separation,
Others occupied their position for a few days Bereft of the comforts of the glittering palaceSat on a
In the fierce flow, only the mountain of fame stood erect. dear-skin in her leaf-made cottage,
Recalling in her memory all the events of the past.
The mountain of fame thrust upwards, Loving words, spoken sweetly and softly by her Lord
Kissing the sky, the feet of the Lord Like melodies entered into the gramophone of her hearts.
That is vast and limitless.
On the top of the mountains strolled wedded couples, Absorbed deeply in her thought, she came upon a vision
With radiant robes on happily for thousands of years. Of the emerald-bright Rama in resplendent glory
And on jewelled thrones sat crowned kings. And reflected in the mirror of memory, Lakshmana,
Who stood alone with bow in hand, guarding them at
Who wore garlands of heavenly flowers, night.
Those who had elevated themselves through hard pen- Then as she thought her husband and brother-in-law
ance. exiled her
The poets singing in their praise came to escort them, Her eyes like frost-bitten lotuses began shedding tears.
But tormented the tyrants by their bolt-like fists.
At the sight of their sad plight, Rama opened his eyes, As the date-palm struck by the toddy collector
And saw the entire earth covered by darkness. The smil- Sheds its juice, so was Sita’s condition, being stabbed
ing stars twinkled on the vast blue sky. inside.
The absence of the moon didn’t hamper their mirth. The lover and the beloved recollecting the feeling for
one another
Sat on grief’s seat, cutting the night with patience’s sword. The pheasant in the somber voice began with notes of
Owing to head heaviness, her soul’s sweat ran down, praise
Washing thick eye-lashes and drenching her cheeks. The wagtail assuming the role of the announcer
In a voice sweet and elegant said,
The night began to screech in the guise of an owl; “Arise, Oh Queen of chastity! arise,
Flooding the sky with blood, she went away. For now the darkness of the night is gone.”
The stars surrendered their vanity at the lover’s feet,
And dropped in the guise of flowers seeking refuge.
Rama, the Preserver of All, protected their honour
Uttering the boon, “my head is your eternal shelter.”
CANTO-IV
Your tender feet collect light Embracing and rocking Thee in my lap
I take refuge in them with hopes bright And addressing and caressing Thee again and again
O Lover of fragrance and whiteness! I shall enjoy peace and happiness
Bring good fortune to the heirs of Raghu’s race.” I shall remain ever contented.
The innate purity and sanctity of Thy physique
Tamasha, the hermitage’s nurse at the end of the night Shall wash away all the vices and sins of my life.
With a heart both cheerful and light,
Threw sprays of fragrant water
With flowers on the yard lying near.
The morning star she made the auspicious lighting
With fish eyes Tamasha looked at Sita’s coming.
Trees and plants will glow with light and lustre A mother alone can fill the daughter’s grief in her
Acquiring Thy glamour and splendour own heart.
Upon my sacred banks you shall wander To the mother’s eyes the daughter’s burnt face appears
Lending to the flora Thy eternal splendour. As lovely and lovable as the moon-face.
Trees would acquire the strength of divinity
And the flowers the exquisiteness of beauty Ordained by fate, thy bank will be my lasting refuge,
Leaves of the trees would remain ever green And thy lotus-feet will be the perennial source of peace.
Imparting eternal peace and bliss.” For one whose world is empty, your bank is a mother’s
lap
Adoring Tamasha said Sita, “Thy stream is clear That is the only abode of love on the earth
Thy water is as tasteful as the coconut water. When one’s mother has stored jewels in her womb
It is not water, but the breast milk of the mother; Why should the daughter go in search of other places?”
From the mountain-breast it flows as a stream of nectar
Towards Sita who is lifeless and in need of succour. Tranquil, clear and cool was Tamasha’s water.
Oh Tamasha, thou art no other than my mother The hermit daughters were of the same nature.
Riven is thy heart with grief for thy daughter, Agile was Tamasha in affection,
In the garb of a river, thou art indeed my mother. Taking on the guise of their reflection
Mingled in their bodies and looked like them
Embracing them in deep ardour.
Tamasha got the opportunity she was looking for,
She had Sita by her side to watch her grace.
There stood banana plants in rows Jackfruit groves on one side, mango groves on another
Like beautiful maids with banners of leaf And like waters of a lake, the sky spreads all over.
Kunda, Muchukunda, Bakula and Niali plants It seems as if shoulders of hundreds of trees
Stood gracefully with creepers of sweet scents. Together lift up the ashrama’s forest with one mind;
The young tube rose was there with them
Her head decorated with bunches of blooms. As if hermits with burdens of trials and tribulations
Had waited in this peaceful bank in seclusion.
When Janaki with her companions came nearer Solemnly and silently they waited, in eagerness
In soft breeze they cheerfully scattered flowers on her. To mitigate sufferings of Sita under the moon and the
Some embraced her, others kissed her head; sun.
Some fell at her feet, others shook her hand.
Elsewhere Ingudi trees built a green mansion
Parijata stretched her tongue to lick her coloured feet In which the Shyama bird pours out a mellifluous note:
The pomegranate opened her mouth to kiss her nails. The newly-married bride
The Chinichampa borrowed the green colour Decorates her home with blue sapphire
In the sweet memory of the green-hued Rama. As if commanded by Indra, his wife Sachi
Invites the Virtuous One to worship her.
Soft, pale-white tender plants soft as the moon-beams
Raised their heads to see the Chaste Sita over the fence. How beautiful was the forest of Punnaga trees?
Those who could not raise themselves over the fence With blue, bright and velvety leaves
Peeped through the holes of the fence. Did the lovely trees fly from Orissa
To gladden the grieving heart of Sita?
Perching on the trees, the Chanchi and Phulchuin Or was it Rama, in the guise of blue mountain
Looked at Sita, calling out again and again, To feel the waves of Sita’s love sea?
Wagging tails out of joy,
And waiting for Sita to water the plants,
Sita with her companions wandered in the garden: Deceit and guile have not touched your heart,
Was it Ganga with tributaries flowing in the plain? How can illusion come near you?
The glittering path was beautifully levelled Your charming serene form shows that
Humbling Kubera’s garden in which fairies revelled. You have shunned all desires for worldly affairs.
Carrying Tamasha’s water they filled pits around the
plants From the very first sight of your form I noticed
As if heaven’s maidens watered the Nandana from Ganga. That you are ordained to be an inmate here.
Or was it the cloud lifting the water of the ocean Your heart is purified through penance,
To flood the surface of the earth with it? Your soul is sanctified through austerity;
You are a flower on the creeper of righteousness
Customary work of the newly-initiated is not for you.
Who would become a rival to my love. And rendering good service to the world, mingles
But gone was my doubt in the twinkling of the eye. in the sea.
No sooner did my husband fix an arrow to the bow Customary rituals were observed throughout the night
Than the heroic glory of Bhargava embraced Raghava. And auspicious instruments were sounded in the
As the sunrays increase the beauty of the lotus, morning.
So did his heroism elevate my love for him.
My husband along with the minister went to meet
The heart thinks in one way, result moves in another the King
Inscrutable is the way of Providence: and it’s not clear But, coming back, said in grief-stricken voice:
Unfurling the dazzling banners of glory in the sky. My dear partner, leaving behind my life with you,
We entered the capital city of Ajodhya. I am leaving for the woods today, at my father’s
behest.
My father-in-law’s palace was a forest of wealth, Bharata, my younger brother would be the crowned
When the breeze of good news blew across the city, prince
Flowers of joy bloomed on elegant vines The Royal Goddess has been pleased with him
And leaves of splendour stole man’s minds. Oh sensitive One, do not regard Bharata as inferior
The newly married heroic brothers, in anyway
Brightly adorned with glittering ornaments, Give him all regards as are due to a crowned king.”
With their wives even more gorgeously attired
Entered the jewelled palace in pageantry.
Friend, there was a good old lady in the palace,
Who made sweet remarks and did rejoice:
“All the four quarters of the star-studded space
Came down to adorn the interior of the palace.”
The beautiful faces of my sisters, I noticed,
With bashfulness of love crimson-tinged.
And fresh beads of sweat on their faces bore
The dazzled lustre of the ornaments’ they wore.
The moonlight that dances on your sweating forehead,
Brings back the events to memory, my friend.
Much has been said about the happiness of heaven
For which, even kings abdicate the throne.
The ears cherish the same as truth,
Which tempts the minds of men and for which
The kings perform penance in the woods
Living on fruits and roots with the hope to go to heaven.
Your radiant feet possess my soul and all my being.” With these words, he forcibly held my hands.
If you can go to the woods with a smiling face, He decked me with wild flowers,
Why can’t I your footsteps embrace? Overriding all my protests with oaths
Let your younger brother, Bharata be the crown prince, Then standing before me, gazed and gazed
My sister, Mandavi would be the prince-consort. I had to shut my eyes out of sheer shyness.
Bereft of that happiness, Sita cannot remain alive, Then my husband, King among the lovers, said:
Without serving your feet, she can not survive.” “Oh Goddess of Flowers! Cast a side-long glance at me.”
Stealing a side-long glance at his smiling face, I said:
The burden of anxiety vanished from his mind, “Oh, kind and considerate Lord! it is indeed improper.”
We went to the woods leaving all relatives behind. How can your maid be worthy of it,
Only my younger brother-in-law, Lakshmana, Which is not permitted at the worship of your feet?
Joined us as my husband’s companion. My husband said: “Such are the ways with the lovers.
Casting royal happiness in the river of forgetfulness By elevating one’s glory, another gets pleasures.”
We roamed through forests with new-found happiness. Hearing from my husband’s lips words endearing,
The hermit-daughters were my friends in the woods, I praised my fortune and sat without speaking.
I enjoyed their sweet company in happy moods. Evening came and the moon appeared in the sky.
Many happy days we spent in the Panchabati We walked in the woods hand-in-hand.
Many happy days we stayed on the bank of Godavari. He kept on describing sylvan beauty
At dawn, the wind filled, my hut with the fragrance And went on explaining secrets of austerity
of flowers, He did so to cheer up my spirits,
And the cuckoo as the king’s eulogist sang in our And hearing the sheldrake’s cries planted a kiss.
bowers. As I was amused, I asked him the reason
And what he said is fresh in my memory.
He said: “My dear one, now this sheldrake is alone.
He suffers the pangs of separation.”
He enjoys her company all-day long
At night he sings the mournful song
Had you not been in the forest with me,
I would have been burnt in the fire of grief.
Whatever I describe as the pleasures of exile,
All those would then have made my life desiccated.
How painful is a husband’s life,
Separated if he is from his dear wife!
One who floats on the waves of the sea of life,
Hopes to be rescued by his virtuous wife.
No experience of separation had I earlier,
The peacocks and peahens came in the morning, I bowed my head and resorted to laughter.
And adorned the premises of my hut with dancing. Alas! As time passed that agony returned
The fawns came to the premises of my cottage Twisting and tormenting my entire being!
And out of curiosity ate rice from my hands. The sufferer only knows the sufferings of others;
Baby elephants used to leave their mother’s side, So the sheldrake’s cries unleashed my tears.”
And dance by me to take food from my hands.
I used to weave garlands of multi-coloured flowers, The hermit-daughter intoned; “Friend, I know
To place round my husband’s neck as love’s offer. Your husband’s heart is a store-house
My husband, in return, decked my braids with flowers, Of love-nectar; That magnanimous king
And we roamed together in Nature’s bowers. Might be crying out like the Chakrabaka.
He used to say: “You are an idol of my life, dear, May the night of your misfortunes come to its end!
Companion of my life and joy, here and here-after.” Ah! What a golden-family has been set at naught!
In reply I used to say: “My lord of life, revered dear, Who has done this terrible injustice and why?
Compared to heaven’s joy, your love is far superior.” Shame, shame on the judgement of Providence!
One day I built a throne of flowers, Sita whom the king loved more than his life,
With pillars and canopy, made of flowers. Who persuaded him to renounce that virtuous wife?
The plume and umbrella were all of flowers, Fie, Fie, Providence! How foul is your decision?
And designed an exotic fan from exquisite petals. Into the pot of ambrosia, why did you pour poison?
Besides, I prepared a crown of Ketaki leaves,
With fair flowers at the ends as jewels.
I begged him, “I would worship you, my Lord!
Please come to the throne and be seated.”
My magnanimous husband, smiled and said:
“Forbidden are such pomps and ceremonies.
But I shall make you the queen of forest flowers.”
And I was entering the realm of Yama? Brooding thus and with my mind fixed upon
My eyes caught sight of dazzling palaces, My husband’s form, I lost all consciousness.
Looking exquisitely beautiful with pitcher of gold on tops. I know not how long I lived there and how,
A golden city it was, with dazzling palaces and gardens, Only I know, my husband was constantly in my mind.
Shining in the refulgent Sun, dazzling and bright Yama. The days and nights in that kingdom,
Knowing intuitively the Yogi to be the messenger of Yama Appeared to be long like those of gods
I made up my mind to face him with my devotion to I thought it was some heavenly abode,
Srirama. And I filled my mind with divine courage.
I prayed to God for heavenly strength
At the outskirts of the town the Sanyasi brought down And for devotion to my husband worthy of a goddess’s
the chariot, heart;
And walked along a path leading to the Ashoka garden. I depended on the nectar of my husband’s feet,
The path had been decorated with marble stones And hence paid no heed to hunger and thirst.
And the garden looked beautiful with flowers and fruits. Various kinds of apparels and ornaments,
Delicious and sweet drinks were brought to me;
An Ashoka tree surpassed in beauty, The maids flattered me in high-sounding phrases,
With its flowers in full bloom. But nothing could induce my mind.
Inside the garden stood a glittering mansion,
Adorned and embellished with splendoured-gems. In course of time I came to know from the maid’s talks
The Sanyasi said; “Stay here in this golden land, That Ravana was a conqueror of the three worlds
And forget the pangs of separation from your husband; And Lanka, the sea-moated kingdom was his realm
The hardship of your forest life are now at an end, At whose name even Indra, the king of gods quailed.
Enjoy heavenly pleasures and adorn this land. I had been carried to that kingdom
For all that is rare in the three worlds, By that wicked demon in a Yogi’s attire.
Will instantly be yours on demands. His capital was a magnificent island
Thousands of tender-limbed girls will serve Inaccessible to both men and gods.
Your lotus-feet as your bonded slaves. The gods of the heaven were mortally afraid of him,
Then he summoned one thousand maids And they lost no time in carrying out his orders,
And spoke to them in words of command: Whenever his eyes turned red in anger,
“Remember that she is the queen of my heart, Even Brahma, the Creator of the world quailed in fear.
Serve her well with full devotion.” Hearing the name of Ravana I recalled,
Fulfil her wishes day and night, How his pride was humbled by Shankara’s bow.
And narrate stories of my greatness before her. And I wondered how the dog had the audacity
Take care to attract her mind, To wish for holy nectar of the sacrifice.
To my prowess, pelf and opulence.”
One day the devil came to the garden
With these words the Yogi disappeared, And standing before me in his fiery form,
And my heart was filled with amazement. Puffed up in pride and vanity
I couldn’t guess who the Yogi was Kept on pouring sinful words.
And why he had brought me to that strange land. Seeing the tears streaming down the massed clouds
How, did I become the queen of the Sanyasi’s heart? Of my grief, he withdrew with darkness of pride.
Wasn’t I still the daughter-in-law of the Raghu’s race? The terrible lightning flash of his hope,
I had not died, my memory was still very strong, Burned in the shuddering cloud-mass.
And the son of Kaushalya was my only refuge. From the day I realised, my friend,
Then I resolved firmly in my heart, That the sinner had touched my hand,
That I shall never be afraid of the Yogi, whoever he might An unbearable fire rising from the point of touch
be, Coursed through me and tormented my being.
So long as I remain in full consciousness, I felt, as though all the hair over my body
The son of Kaushalya would be my only refuge. Are poisoned arrow-heads over me;
Be it the abode of Yama or be it heaven, Ah, what pain do the does suffer
Be it the enchanted garden of the gods; When the hunter’s arrows pierced their bodies!
None can succeed in bewitching my mind and heart, I bore in my heart this unbearable agony,
The son of Kaushalya is my only refuge. And held my mind firm in righteousness:
Why would I need a thousand slaves, I kept the faith firm in my heart
When I have no need for bath and food? That righteousness is the valour of a pious woman.
My Lord and master will be roaming in the forest, Once I stretched out my hand unknowingly
And my mind would be bound to his feet. Offering alms to the demon in disguise.
Even if a hundred Muses come If he tried to drag me by force again, I thought
And play on their harps and lyres, Either I would kill him or be killed by him.
Could their celestial music be as sweet as
One sweet word whispered by my husband in my ears? If Dharma really prevails in this world
The world will witness my amazing action. True that I was a captive in the city of the sinner
Even if the cotton of sin is heaped like a mountain, But if ever I was tempted to commit any sin,
Only one spark of piety is enough to burn it down. Burn me, Oh, Fire! So that I shalln’t be able to see
My friend, Dharma is a great saviour, The lotus feet of my Lord for ten million births.
Into my being Dharma poured the life-saving nectar. You do not distinguish between virtuous and vicious,
A monkey brought me news of my husband, And by your Dharma, consume each one’s life.
And returned after humiliating Ravana. If Dharma in this world is true for ever,
My Dharma must save me from public slander.
Very soon Rama built a bridge across the ocean Oh Dharma! Stay with me in thy real nature,
And crossed it with a vast army of monkeys. Fear not and with me into the fire enter;
They struck terror in the heart of the demon-king, If not in this life, in death at least,
And then started the terrible war-sacrifice. Make me a slave at my Lord’s lotus-feet.
Lanka trembled with shrieks and shouts of the When my body is burnt to ashes,
monkeys Use the same as manure to a tree;
All warriors of Ravana’s clan were butchered in the Give the timber of the tree to a carpenter,
sacrifice. To make a pair of sandals for my Lord’s feet.
Only one was there on the righteous path,
Who took refuge at the holy feet of Srirama. Looking up, at my master’s noble face,
He stood firm like a pillar in that sacrifice, I entered fearlessly into the flames of the fire
Blessed with a garland of salvation around his neck. The gem of Raghu’s race wept at the sight and so did
The volume of demon’s blood flowed in the war, Lakshmana
Measured ten million times the tears of my eyes. And a loud wail of lamentation rose from the soldiers.
Ravana, floating in terror on a sea of misery, Tears flowing from countless eyes,
Fell into the crocodile-jaws of my husband’s arrows. Drowned me in the waters of pity,
And the burning fire seemed strangely cool inside.
The Lord of Raghus called me to his side, The firmament was filled with exclamations of grief.
And looking at me without affection, said: A voice from the heaven was heard in my favour,
“There is no greater sin in the world than evil company Convincing my Lord that I was chaste and righteous.
Contact of an evil man brings immense sufferings. Fire extinguished under Dharma’s sway
You lived in the sinful cell of lust-smitten devil And my life was saved by Dharma’s power.
Your mind would have been touched by sin
I am not able to take you back again All my sorrows and sufferings were burnt to ashes,
In case I do so, it might bring a public scandal. And my good fortune helped me to serve my Lord.
Once water comes down from the cloud, As I had kept my life through all the pain,
Can the cloud keep it back again? I could regain the lotus-feet of my Lord.
If it burns flame-like in the fire My Lord seated me in the royal chariot,
It will rise up to merge with the cloud again. Along with the chosen band of warriors,
Made his return journey to Ajodhya,
I thought, “I had kept myself alive, Rejoicing in victory on the airy path.
So that I might serve my husband’s lotus-feet; Having crossed the dry desert of separation
What need have I of that life now, I found an ocean of love in my shrivelled heart;
If I am not fit to touch the lotus-feet. A flood of joy swept through all my being,
I will burn this body with my eyes set on his And the whole world seemed to be saturated with
elegant face delight.
What greater happiness than this can I ever have?
If the body is burnt, I am sure, my soul When there is unhappiness in one’s life,
Would merge in the soul of my husband. One can not see happiness anywhere.
If, by the power of Dharma, this body is saved, But when there is happiness in one’s life,
I shall receive my master’s love two times more. The world appears to overflow with pleasure.
Then said I, “May the holy fire be lit, I stepped on the same chariot in my prosperity,
So that this maid of yours may bathe in it.” Which at one time was a well of adversity.
Lakshmana then reluctantly lit a pyre, Looking at those scenes my joy knew no bound,
The flames swaying in the wind rose to the sky. Which a year ago had made me weep aloud.
With wistful eyes I looked on the lotus-face Wonderful was the flight of the gem-lit chariot,
And standing before the fire with a determined will, With clouds above and the ocean below;
Said aloud: “O Sun, Moon, Wind, Sky and Fire! Rivers, lakes, mountains, and trees,
You in-see the hearts of all living beings. Became a love-maze for my eyes.
In case my heart had been attracted even a whit All those places where we stayed before,
Towards any one but the sun of the Raghu’s race Charming hills and enchanting bowers
Then, reduce me to ashes instantly, Oh, Fire! Smoke-palled hermitages that I love
For, you are capable of consuming all. Kept calling my mind and heart as we flew above.
Of the banyan tree on the bank of Tamasha, Do you recognise, O Devi, this unfortunate one?
Lies a cottage that smells sweet with the fragrance Forgive me for coming to meet you after ages
of Mallika I am Chitrakuta, where live the holy sages
Surrendering midsummer heat at the feet of Peace. You adorned my crown with the dust of your feet.”
Opening his eyes of wisdom, sage Valmiki sat there
Pondering over the holy Ramayana. Then came a resplendent lady of exquisite beauty
Some hermits kept themselves busy with their studies, In radiant form, eternal companion of the sylvan deity.
While others were engaged in chanting the vedas. Wearing a garland of wild jasmines in her neck
Surrounded by a group of she-hermits She adorned her forehead with the dazzling mahua blos-
Sita sat on seats of leaves under the bowers, soms.
As she was heavy with child, she looked tired, Eartops made of black berries glittered like blue gems,
And regained tranquility at the sight of the flowers. Girdle made of oyster shells dazzled in the sun.
Was it Sita’s tranquil gaze or the moon’s orb at With her beautiful locks of silken hair
night’s end The exquisite lady enticed the hearts of the hermits.
With its fading halo on the other side of the setting hill? With a cheerful face and in a soft voice,
It was a swathe of sweat on her pale and dry cheeks, She sweetly said; “Accept my gratitude, O Gentle One!
And tears flowing from eyes like droplets of cold dew. For, I am indebted to you for your love.
How can I repay the same, for, love can not be repaid?
There, the Chaste One, surrounded by the abesses Nor have I the strength to repay your affection.
And recalling the ways of Lanka’s demonesses Oblige me, Oh Virtuous One, and accept my devotion.
Pondered over the divine qualities of the abesses Are there not many like me on this earth’s surface
And compared with the diabolical nature of the giant- But who else has received so much of your grace?
esses. Oh Virtuous One, you blessed me with your holy sight
Then she remembered the heroic deeds of Hanumana, And transformed my sands into particles of gold.
Conveying gratitude to the worthy son of the wind-god. As my sporting spirit fascinated your sight,
And fanning gratefully with a palm-leaf fan You converted my bosom into a diamond field.
Received a gust of cool breeze in return. There is Ganga, the daughter of the mountain-king,
Just then appeared a lovely lady named Thought She has sprung from Vishnu’s feet.
And with endearing words spoke to Janaki humbly; Yet, Oh Virtuous One, you called me Mahanadi,
“O Devi, at thy door are gathered many strangers And I still own that title you bestowed on me.”
Desirous of catching sight of thy holy person.
They hav e come a long way, beating the heat Next appeared Godavari, the wide-bodied Dame
of the sun, The shadow of sorrow looming large on her face.
Their charming forms arouse one’s affection. Tears of grief ran from her eyes,
Vaidehi said, “Bring them, friend, bring them soon, And wiped the same with the end of her saris.
Fortunate I am, for, I shall receive their boon. She had with her a large number of pictures,
To see the noble ones my eyes are so keen, Painted with various tints of brilliant, fast colours;
For, their sight will surely wash away my sin.” She displayed the pictures one by one,
And showed the same to the Virtuous One.
With the permission of Sita, one came forward, One picture showed flowers fallen from vines
Bearing a smile on her familiar face. Withered in the scorching heat of the sun,
Sprinkling the sweet and nectarine words Another picture showed trees on dry beds
In a tone of intimacy uttered the words: And dirty dresses, losing lustre of their own.
“Oh Pious Devi, do you recall the event of the past? Some broken branches still stuck to the tree
Do you remember that you set thy feet in my hut, Seek shelter of grass, and some kissing its head
Lending from your lustre divine beauty to me, Fall flat at its feet, leaves covered with birds’ excrements
As a result of which my springs flowed in glee. Make some trees appear all white.
Hosts of flowers with blooming faces float on my water, Some trees had cobwebs all over,
Shaming those of Nandana Kanana with taunting And lost their usual cheer.
laughter. The toads at the sight of the offensive heron,
Acquiring your fragrance, the water of my stream, Became tired by plunging in water off and on.
Gives new life to those who live on my banks. Others hiding themselves behind the stones,
Flocks of peacocks brought up by you Lie still for fear of the offensive herons.
Sing in praise of your virtues each day, Elsewhere wild buffaloes ran hither and thither,
Hoping to see you again and again, Rushing into the ponds and mudding the water.
The clouds come to the hill and the mountain. As the buffaloes wallow in the water,
Moving from cave to cave in search of you, Mud-smeared lotuses are cast ashore.
With what eagerness they ask, “Where Sita is.”
Asking me in rolling thunderous rumblings, Somewhere by the water the python like a log
They believe not my negative answers of ‘No’. Lies waiting for its prey, the frog.
Lighting the torch of lightning they search on, At the sight of the deer-track nearby,
With the certitude that Virtuous Sita is there. The tiger licks its lips, hiding close-by.
A fearful picture of forest fire was there too Like a mass of dark cloud in the starry sky.
Bringing to fauna and flora untold woe. Your mothers-in-law sit brooding with broken hearts,
Fearful flames rising from countless trees, Like reservoirs with their water dried up.
Leapt upward to reach the blue-sky. For, you are more precious to their hearts
Rise piles of half-burnt leaves rose in the air, Than the dazzling ruby is to the cobra.
And convey the message to the distant tree Closed are the gates of the luxury garden,
Many leaves get paler on the way Now the flowers are seen by none.
Then disappear in the sky The ‘cyperus rotundus’ as a trader of perfumes,
Numerous birds fell into the womb of the fire Spreads out the fallen flowers to dry up.
If fail to escape the flames. Trees and creepers dry up grieving,
Herds of deer, buffaloes, boars and bears And thinking of you, friend, they are withering.
Elephants, jackals, foxes and other creatures,
Were engulfed in smoke and fire, Beautiful paths of conch-white marble,
Not knowing how to flee and where. Remain covered over with dried leaves.
Bewildered and frightened, herds of monkeys Your brothers-in-law at their Lord’s behest,
Jumped from tree to tree and escaped death. Bending their heads in sadness take rest.
Carrying their young ones ran to the river, As serpents are deadened by magic spells
And crossing the bank stood near the water. Or mighty elephants silenced by iron prods
The sandy river bed presented a picture, Your sisters rest their cheeks on lotus palms,
Of terrified animals crowding together. Their lustrous bodies languishing day by day.
Godavari rejoined: “My dear, you saw Dandaka’s As the moon wanes through the dark fortnight,
picture, Your musician-friends no more play on the mridanga.
And all this happened after your departure.” No more are they interested in singing.
Out of sympathy for poor Dandaka, said the Virtuous No more do they sing or speak anything.
One, Your maid servants live in deep depression,
“Oh, Dandaka, where is your glory and where is the vi- Like yesterday’s flowers, plucked from the garden.”
sion?
I would propitiate Providence by my prayers, Unable to read the letter till the end
To grant you peace in exchange with my tears, Lady Ajodhya sank into the earth beside her friend.
Ah, My favourite field of sport, where are your varieties? Compassionate Sita was overwhelmed with grief
I would feel gratified to restore your lost beauties.” Sympathising with Ajodhya in her sad plight.
As the end of the day approached,
Then came Ajodhya with a letter in hand, The guests to their respective homes returned.
Written by the goddess of royalty. To the Virtuous One, the hermit-daughters escorted,
And read out the letter with trembling lips, And to their own duties, they reported.
In a voice choked with shame and anguish.
“Friend, I was the night and you were the moon;
You left me, Oh dear, shutting the lilies of my eyes.
In your absence I know not even a moment’s happiness,
I appear as a bride without the bridal ornaments.
CANTO-IX
The royal palace has become an ugly jungle
Your absence like a fire has destroyed all.
Nothing of the former magnificence is left behind,
Burnt are the luxuriant trees in the compassionate
hearts of the gentry.
Covered with thick foliage these at one time bubbled
with life,
Gone are now the sweet-smelling flowers and their glory.
Deer-herds of Peace and elephants of Patience
Were bewildered in the thick smoke of sorrow.
Running breathlessly into the river of fortitude,
The helpless animals drowned upto their necks.
Even the arrogant and revengeful animals couldn’t
escape,
They too, became easy victims of the disaster.
Only the fathomless deep Srirama’s heart
Has retained the burning flame as a Badaba fire.
Ah, Friend! The king without you, is reduced to a As days passed by, Sita’s womb
mere shape, Grew heavier and heavier;
As is the moon in Rahu’s mouth in the lunar eclipse. It was hard for her to rise from her seat,
His bejewelled palace is filled with deep darkness In case she stood, she couldn’t hold herself erect.
The rains approached to beat the summer’s heat, How can the same be darkened by people’s scandals?
Apprehending that it might cause suffering to Sita. Even if the bees cease to come to me for fear of thorns,
Masses of clouds rose from all the four directions Should I cease to boast of the promise of my fragrance?
To impart strength to the tired limbs of the Chaste One.
They spread a blue canopy on the sky above,
With a view to shutting out the sunrays from above.
The Canopy’s splendour produced by lightning’s flash,
Dazzled and startled the wink of the eyelid.
Deities of the sky’s quarters made their blue plaits,
Decking them with strings of pearl-like cranes.
Collecting jewels from the bottom of the ocean,
Gods of the sky’s four quarters decked the archway.
To see the babies, overflowed their banks. Seeing the radiance of her son’s beauty,
To see the princes, the fish abandoned the ocean Sita’s heart was filled with pure happiness.
Joining the rivers and ponds danced they in jubilation. She set her eyes on the prince’s beauty
The mudskipper climbed to the top of the palmyra tree And did not like to look at other things.
Surpassing all other fishes in eagerness to see. Receiving the affection of the heart from the mother’s
eyes,
The infants looked far more lustrous than before.
A belief though strange, entered into her eyes,
That her sons were incarnations of the sun and the moon.
Then Happiness placed a throne in her mind
And sat on it to manifest her sovereignty.
Anukampa, cut the umbilical cords of the infants,
And bathing them in purified water, observed their rites.
At the sight of the new born babes, the abbesses
In jubilation sang and danced.
The young sons of hermits began chanting
The glories of Rama to the rhythms of dancing.
It was a chance coincidence that Shatrughna
Pursuing the invincible demon, Lavana
Had halted in the hermitage of Valmiki.
He too was drowned in the river of celebration.
Seeing the twin princes, Valmiki thought Praising the Virtuous One in high-sounding words
As if Jupiter and Venus had come together. Shatrughna said: “Thou sanctifier of Raghu’s race!
The heart of the sage was filled with joy, Like, thy mother, thou art also all-enduring;
As is dawn, filled with the scent of the flowers. Oh, daughter of the Earth, you preserved the finest gems
Taking a blade of kusha grass in hand, in thy womb.
The sage with a spell broke it into two pieces. These jewels thou gifted to Raghu’s race today,
Then the great hermit to Anukampa said: Would shine on the head of Ajodhya’s royal goddess.”
Perform now the customary birth rites of the infants; In the festivities and rejoicings of the hermitage,
Sweep the body of the first born with the upper half Joined herds of deer and flocks of birds.
And use the lower half for the younger one. The dark and dreadful Shrabani night,
Anukampa, the she-hermit did as was instructed, Soon ended with the advent of the dawn’s twilight.
Observing the rites to ward off the evils, as was needed. Offering obeisance at the feet of the great sage,
As the infants were swept ritually by the grass, Shatrughna in chase of Lavana, left the hermitage.
Their bodies looked more resplendent than gems.
As fire becomes brighter with addition of fuel, Sita wished to please all by offering rich presents
Or the dawn’s rising sun freed from the sea-waves. But where had she the riches after her desire?
When Sita looked at the faces of her sons, She had herself taken shelter in the forest.
Both happiness and sorrow entered her heart. She had brought with her only a few jewels.
With an exclamation said Happiness: “Blessed are you The moonlight always longs to please the world
O, Queen, But the irony is that the clouds cover the sky.
That you in your womb held these two princes, When the Virtuous One left the palace,
They are like the sun and the moon, praised are you! She had thought she would return soon;
There is no greater fortune than this on earth.” She had brought a few ornaments and clothes,
Refuting the statement of Happiness, said Sorrow: To offer as gifts to the daughters of the sages.
“These princes would have adorned a jewelled palace; She offered the gifts with humility and hesitation,
They would have delighted the hearts of the king and his And pleased the monks and nuns of the ashrama.
subjects; They accepted the gifts as if they were moonbeams,
They would have removed the penury of the poor and And the oceans of their hearts widened with joy.
the needy. Whatever fruits and rice she had in her store
The poor would have received gifts according to their She distributed the same to the birds and deer.
need, They struggled with one another to eat the same
In the shape of coins, apparels, jewels and lands. Some birds flew away with food in their beaks.
Auspicious sounds would have resounded in the city The young ones sat with open mouths,
And the sky’s quarters would have reverberated with The mother-birds distributed the food among them.
echoes. The peacock couples danced in tandava-form
Ah, the misfortune! The princes born in the hermitage, And the cuckoo spread the news from land to land.
Will take shelter here as the children of a sage.” The royal swan flew with joyous sounds to Kailasa
To tell the good news and to win Gouri’s trust.
Stealthily taking two tear-streams from Sita’s eyes, She took a letter in the form of a lotus leaf,
Woeful Sorrow left the mother to herself and her filial Full of rejoicings, Gouri came with Hara’s consent.
love.
Surpassing the moon’s growth in bright fortnight They learned to stand by holding their mother’s hands,
The limbs of the babies grew bigger and bigger, And they learned to walk all by themselves.
In course of time, their faces looked like full moon When they fell down and cried aloud,
With the lustre and glory, their faces shone. The mother consoled by kissing their faces.
As they began to recognize their mother’s face,
They cried aloud to climb to her lap. Delighted at the sight of the coloured birds
The princes called out to them.
Gazing at their mother’s face, they smiled Fascinated by the splendour of the peacock’s tail
And cried aloud to roll on her lap. The princes would chase the bird with the hope to catch.
They looked at their mother’s face and smiled again.
The mother too smiled, and they smiled again and again.
They would catch hold of a deer Sweet words uttered from sweeter tongues,
And deck it with wild flower. Clear cadences with sweeter enchantment
The monks and nuns decked their hair with flowers, Graceful dances with sweet smiles,
And rocked them in swings of flower-ladden creepers. Dispensed cheer and pleasure to all alike.
Bursting out in glee and wishing more pleasure, Pleasure assuming the shape of the cloud
The princes would repeat, “Once, more, once more.” Poured nectar-like water into the hearts of all.
The heavenly maids danced with the apsaras and She thought: “If I could look upon my husband’s sacred
gandharvas feet
And danced the deities of all directions. I would leave my twins in his glorious hands.
Then the deer of my soul would flee from the bondage
Narada, the nomadic seer travelling in the universe To dwell in its original abode in the woodlands of
Proclaimed the exquisiteness of Valmiki’s new verse. freedom.”
Singing in praise of Rama, Sita and the princes,
Praised the sweetness of the Princes’ nectar-raining
voices.
How can a hermit’s hut provide that facility? Addressing the boarders, Valmiki said:
The forms of the princes resemble those of Rama “We are leaving for Ajodhya tomorrow morning.
They are Rama’s images reflected on the mirror. Keep ready all your requirements dear novices
From a mere look, Rama will recognize his sons Dear Lava and Kusa, carry the veena with you,
Shatrughna would be there to remove suspicions. And make your learning fruitful by singing verses.
He would accept the princes presented by me, Rama, the hero of Ramayana, who is your favourite
And then nobody would find fault with me. hero
Again the sage mused: Rama knew that Sita was chaste, It is he, who is performing the ‘Ashwamedha Yagna.’
Yet under a pretext he sent her to the forest. Kings of various countries would come to see the
Impossible it seems to have filial love Yagna,
After a period of twelve years as such Bibhisana, the king of Lanka must have come with
His filial love to his subjects he has passed on soldiers.
He would seek their consent. Crossing the surrounding sea
If he has no confidence in his beliefs, Angada and Sugriba would have come with the he-
It is futile to explain to him one thousand times. roes.
I think it would be most proper, Hanumana, the great hero might have graced the oc-
To consult Vasistha and Lakshmana on this matter.” casion
Just then from Ajodhya came the king’s messenger, By his kind presence, with the necklace gifted by Sita.
And bowing at the feet of Valmiki, presented a letter
Going through the contents the sage was convinced Nishadas of the woods, accompanied with Guha,
That his wish was going to be fulfilled. Would come to Ajodhya with garlands of feathers.
You will see Bharata, the incarnation of fraternal de-
King Ramachandra had invited the inhabitants of the votion,
ashrama, Who spurned the love-embrace of the royal goddess
To attend the Ashwamedha Yagna, he planned to And worshipping his brother’s sandals on the throne,
perform. Lived on fruits and roots for fourteen years.
The chief of the sages thought: Look, how kind is Provi- Bharata, who wore a knot of matted-hair and rose high,
dence! With resplendent glory like the sun in the sky
To take me to the shore while floating in the sea of The Himalayan peaks looked up to his height,
turmoil. The same Bharata would be there, performing the rite.
The princes shall go with us to the site of the sacrifice There you will see Lakshmana with your eyes,
In the hermit’s garbs and the disciple’s guise. The hero whose equal the world has as yet not pro-
Visiting holy places, on this occasion, duced.
Lava and Kusa will recite the epic Ramayana. He who ground under his feet the pride of Meghanada
The story of Rama has a spontaneous appeal of its own Meghanada who terrorized even the god of thunder.
And people of Ajodhya will listen with rapt attention. The news of Meghanada’s death like a burning flame
Observing the prince’s resemblance with Srirama Entered Ravana’s heart and burned furiously.
People would believe they are Rama’s sons. His physical strength added fuel to the fire,
Rama in the prince’s forms would see his reflection, Infuriating the demon-king and increasing his ire.
And drown himself in the well of nectarine affection. In a fit of anger, he hurled his horrible missile
If Rama hesitated to accept the princes, Lakshmana bore and still bears the scars on his chest.
Wouldn’t Kaushalya roll on the earth’s surface? You will see all of them about whom you have read,
Everyone would be happy to learn from Ramayana And sing of them in the Yagna’s assembly.
That Vaidehi had not been sullied by Ravana. Hundreds of hermits halloed by austerities
And that she had passed through an ordeal of fire, Would listen to your songs with rapt attention.
Would not the hair stand in wonder at this? If anyone among the listeners question your identity,
The words of Ramayana would emit bright light Answer simply: ‘We, the twins are Valmiki’s disciples.’
To shake off the darkness of the scandal from three In case, Ramachandra calls you
worlds. Go and sing Ramayana in his presence.
If however he questions your identity
Overwhelmed with these good thoughts the chief sage Answer simply, ‘We, the twins are Valmiki’s disciples.’
Arranged for the comforts of the king’s messenger. If he offers you gifts, humbly refuse, saying:
Then he went joyfully to meet the mother “What shall we do with wealth in the hermitage?”
Narrating all that he had heard from the messenger.
He said: “The twin princes would go with the novices, Hearing of the horse-sacrifice from Valmiki’s lips,
And sing the epic in his disciples’ guises. Vaidehi felt a searing pain in her heart.
They will meet the hermits and receive their blessings.” She said to herself: “Certain it is that the crowning gem
Sita’s heart was filled with joy at the sage’s suggestions Of Raghu’s race has taken a second wife in his lap.
She made over to the sage, the responsibility of her sons. Fortunate is she that in the tree of her penance
Grew, as fruit, the sea-moon of Sagara dynasty.
What severe penance did she perform, and how:
My heart longs to do more severe penance than hers. The very songs that sear the heart of this poor woman.
Who would reveal to me the mysteries of the rites? If it is not heard, my heart longs to hear it,
Great sages like Vasistha might have known it And the longing becomes so strong that I cannot re-
Or else how did they nominate her as the new queen? press it.
Would they tell me of the secrets of her previous pen- O Wise One, if on hearing the story
ance? The memory of poor Sita returns to your mind,
My Lord must have married the queen on their advice, Then think of Vaidehi’s love as but a dream,
And I must have that secret spell by some means. Looking at the cheerful face of your new queen.”
She went on pouring her heart’s miseries in the letter
With thoughts like these, Sita wrote a letter But her tears kept on washing the words of the letter.
To Rama “whose banner protects all dependents Then she pondered over what more to write,
And who acts as an iron rod to control wicked elephants, While Lava and Kusa came to her smiling.
Whom people regard as a thunderbolt against the moun-
tain of sorrow. They said: “Oh Mother! Magnanimous indeed is the Lord
At the lotus feet of that great emperor, of Raghus,
This poor maid bows and worships from afar. And most blessed is his beloved, the fortunate chaste
In distress, she sends an appeal from the woodlands one.
For tearing darkness surrounding her bright hopes. The king is performing an Ashwamedha Yagna,
Oh, king of kings, initiated you are for a grand rite And his messenger has come with an invitation.
With your new consort gracing your left lap. Oh Mother! We came to know from the messenger,
Your virtues must be waxing hundred times larger, That the entire world is blessed because of
To make the rapt heart of your wife still more joyous. Ramachandra.
You will be giving away in the observance of the rites, Rama loved Sita more than his life,
Boundless wealth, and apparels, to the poor and the Yet he banished her, to silence a public scandal.
needy. Now he has kept a golden statue of Janaki as his wife,
O Lord! An humble appeal rises in my heart To perform the rituals of the grand sacrifice.
Do not be miserly, do not my request thwart! Was it impossible, for him, mother, to find a wife?
O no, Janaki’s husband didn’t desire another wife.
You are ocean of benevolence, O Lord! Mother, where did Janaki go? May be she is not alive;
Your heart is full of the milk of human kindness. That, we could not glean from the Ramayana.
Desire not to know who I am; it is not necessary. The great sage is willing to take us with him.
Are not you the destroyer of the anxieties of the ascet- We shall go, mother, and see his lotus-feet.
ics?
There is nothing in the world that you ever refuse a her- The words of the princes created a sea of nectar,
mit, And virtuous Sita plunged in the water of the sea.
Do not then ignore me, my Lord! I am a poor nun. Her heart that had turned to a bed of hot sand,
The entire world must be watching with respect Was flooded by the cool waters of Rama’s sea of love.
The One who is worthy of being your consort. She said to herself: “Oh, what a great sinner I am!
What severe penance had she performed in the past, I am writing words that would have scorched his heart.
What mantra did she chant, where and how long! What a frail, weak woman I am!
This much only, my Lord! Please let me know, And how deep and boundless is my Lord’s compassion!
For, I have no need of any other wealth. Forgive me, my Lord! Thou ocean of forgiveness!
I shall deem it to be far more precious Destiny has made me to be the poison of thy heart!”
Than all the wealth distributed in a million sacrifices. Hiding the letter and feigning cheerfulness, she said:
There is only one more fervent request Go, my sons, go to see the lotus-feet of the king.
The twin sons of this unhappy woman are quite The sage proposed that you would be singing Ramayana,
innocent, This new epic itself is the nectarine ocean.
They have not had the good fortune to sit on their
father’s lap, At the sacred place of the sacrifice will flow the nectar,
Nor have they known their father’s affection since their Spreading from heart to heart, it will saturate the inte-
birth. rior.
They only know how to make the mother weep If called by Rama, bow at his feet,
Singing Ramayana to the tune of the veena’s strings. Offer homage at the feet of his brothers.
Who with human heart, wouldn’t weep at the plaintive Do not forget to take on your heads,
notes, The dust of the lotus-feet of the queen-mothers.
Which makes even plants and creepers to shed tears? Consider Janaki’s sisters as if they are Janaki each,
Enamoured themselves with your great deeds, And offer due homage at the feet of each.
My sons are going to meet you with the great sage. If anyone asks you whose sons you are,
Their own minds have enticed them Say in reply: “We are a nun’s treasure.”
For a glimpse of thy lotus-feet. Delighted were the princes with the mother’s advice,
They will sing sad songs narrating sorrows of your life, Filling their minds with excitement and joys.