The Banished

The Banished English Translation of Gangadhar Meher’s Tapaswini By Shashibhusan Mishra Sharma

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The BanishedThe Banished[English version of Gangadhar Meher’s Tapaswini]

ByShashibhusan 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

Internet Edition Available atwww.navratnanews.com

for details contact : [email protected]



“Tapaswini’ in Oriya”

Writer:Swabhava kabi Gangadhar Meher

‘The Banished’Translator

Late Shashibhusan Mishra SharmaBargarh (Orissa)

Publisher:Prasanna Kumar Dash

College Road Bargarh768028 ORISSA

Copy rightsEr. Asim Ku. Mishra,

Lecturer PKACE BargarhFirst Edition:

Feb, 2006, 400 Copies

D. T. P.DASH Computers

Proprietor- Prayas K. DashCollege Road, Bargarh-768028

Printed at: -Falguni Publicity

Bargarh, Ph.9337-310904

Printed Book Available atBanishree Book Store,College Road, Bargarh

This ebook is available in the netwww.navratnanews.com

with the permission of the publisher SriPrasanna kumar Mishra

We are also thankfull to Er.Asim Ku.Mishra

Surendra HotaDirector

Navratna newsemail: [email protected]

CONTENTSCONTENTS Page

Dedication 03

Publisher’s Note 03

Introduction 04

The Old Preceptor 06

A Note On Translator’s Job 07

A Note On Translation 08

The Charm Of ‘The Banished’ 09

A Rare Transcreation 10

Dedication By Gangadhar Meher 10

Preface By Gangadhar Meher 10

Canto-I 11

Canto-II 14

Canto-III 16

Canto-IV 18

Canto-V 21

Canto-VI 24

Canto-VII 27

Canto-VIII 31

Canto-IX 33

Canto-X 37

Canto-XI 39

Glossary 42

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Dedication

‘The Banished’ is dedicated to the sacredmemory of Padmashree Dr. Krutartha Acharya, anillustrious son of Orissa and contemporaneous toShashibhusan Mishra Sharma. As the foster fatherof the tie-and-dye technique of weaving, Dr. Acharyaraised this traditional art to unprecedentedexcellence as a result of which Sambalpuri fabricsearned international reputation. Dr. Acharya was thegreatest benefactor of the down-trodden weavingcommunities of Western-Orissa. As a magnanimousconnoisseur of art and literature. PadmashreeKrutartha Acharya admired creative genius ofGangadhar Meher, the immortal poet of Orissa.Above all he was a legendary figure, worthy ofemulation by men of all walks in the society.

Er. Asim Kumar MishraLecturer, P.K.A.C.E.,

Shibananda Nagar, Bargarh

Publisher’s NotePublisher’s No te

Late Sri Shashibhusan Mishra Sharma, ourrevered teacher was serving in George High School,Bargarh from 1917 to 1967. For nearly one year(1918-19) he was deputed to middle vernacularschool (VII) of Barpali where Gangadhar Meher, therenowned Oriya-poet was the secretary. Sri MishraSharma came in close contact with the poet anddeveloped a pure love towards Meher’s literature.From that time he started translating many of hissmall poems and the poet’s masterpiece ‘Tapaswini’in English. A booklet named ‘Gleanings fromGangadhar’ was published in his life time (1960)having only 6 poems and in his note he hasexpressed as follows- ‘Great men pour out theirhearts, not for one nation or country but for theentire human race. But they do so in one language.Now this language is a great barrier to the study ofgreat minds of all times and climes. So our greatpoets like Upendra Bhanja, Radhanath Ray andGangadhar Meher etc are unknown to those whodo not know Oriya language. It is with the idea ofintroducing these poets to others that I have madea humble attempt to translate into English a fewselected portions from Gangadhar’s works. Myattempt will be amply rewarded if at least one non-Oriya’s mind is attracted towards the study ofGangadhar, our immortal poet.’

This long-cherished wish of Sri Mishra Sharmacreated an impulse in my mind to publish ‘TheBanished’, the English version of ‘Tapaswini’. Iapproached Professor Minaketan Purohit whohappens to be the student (1944-48) of Sri MishraSharma in George High School, Bargarh. To mygood fortune he gladly accepted my request andwith high enthusiasm and interest he went throughSri Mishra Sharma’s handwritten manuscript andwith much seriousness and sincerity he edited thetranslation with some minor changes in no-time. Itis he who is the pioneer of the publication of ‘TheBanished’. I am very much grateful to Prof. Purohitfor his acceptance of editorship and pray to Godfor his sound health and long life.

As a publisher I cannot forget Dr. AntaryamiTripathy, Professor in English. Women’s College,Bargarh, a great admirer of Meher’s literature. Hewent through the manuscript of Sri Mishra Sharma,made some valuable changes and gave a note ontranslation with a sweet comment and praise. I amgrateful to him for the pains he has taken for thepublication of ‘The Banished’.

Sri Durga Prasad Mishra, Retd. Tr. and the sonof Sri Mishra Sharma has kindly given mepermission for the publication of ‘The Banished’for which I am grateful to him and indebted as well.

Dr. Jogeshwar Rath, an illustrious son ofBargarh, now stationed at Safford, Arizona, USA asa reputed physician of international fame has beena great source of inspiration for me to publish ‘TheBanished’. I am grateful to my friend Dr. Rath butfor whose inspiration and encouragement, this workcould not have been accomplished.

Also I convey my indebtedness andgratefulness to Sri Prasanna Acharya M.P., Dr. N.K. Dash, Dr. L. R. Nayak, Sri N. Pruseth, Dr.Ramaballav Mishra, M.S., Sri N. B. Pradhan, Er. AsimKu. Mishra, Sri Prayas Ku. Dash & Sri R. Rana fortheir profuse help and guidance for the publication.Last but not the least let me repeat the desire of thegreat poet that he has expressed in the preface ofhis original work, “Wise readers, I only wish eachone of you to recall Sita’s splendid, unsullied andsacred character imprinted in your memory plateand enlighten the heart of womenfolk at largewithout eyeing at the success or failure of mycomposition.”

The Publisher

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IntroductionGangadhar Meher: - Gangadhar Meher wasborn on August 9, 1862 at Barpali in the Bargarh

distr ict. His fatherChaitanya Meher wasa weaver by profes-sion. His motherSebati Meher was apious Hindu lady.Gangadhar Meherstudied upto class V inthe vi l lage primary

school. As his father’s pecuniary conditionwas not sound he had to work at the loomduring the day-time and studied late into thenight. He borrowed books from the teachersof the village school. He studied the Vedas,Upanishads, Puranas and the ancient Oriya,Hindi, Bengali, Sanskrit literature. He was avoracious reader. He followed the principleof ‘earning and learning simultaneously’. Hewrote his first poem ‘Rasa-Ratnakara’ in1882. The book narrates a romantic tale ineight cantos. It is written in the ornate riti-style already popularised by eminent poetsl i ke Bhanja, Samantasinghar andDinakrushna Das. The poem received wideapplause from readers and contemporarywriters. He wrote ‘Ahalya-Stava’ in 1892 inthe same ornate riti-style introducing the dif-ficult measures and rhythms of the ancientSanskrit poetry. However his well-wishersadvised him to adopt the more modern stylepopularised by contemporary poets likeRadhanath, Madhusudan and Nandakishore.After one year Gangadhar wrote ‘Indumati’in the modern verse form and poetic stylewhose verve and exuberance appealed to thepoets and readers alike.

Gangadhar in the mean-time had be-come a full-time weaver. Poverty stood in theway of his literary and intellectual pursuit asan insurmountable obstacle. However his ap-pointment to a post of Aumin and then to aclerical post under the Government relievedhim of his financial constraints to a great ex-tent. He worked in the capacity of a juniorgovernment official till 1917 and retired fromservice in Padampur. His stay in Padampuris memorable. He published his masterpiece

during this period. Lal Rajendra Singh, thezamindar of Rajborasambar was a patron ofart and literature. Gangadhar loved the placeand the people so much that he continued tostay in Padampur even after his superannua-tion. He returned to his native place to spendthe last years of his life in peace and happi-ness. He had maintained through the vicissi-tudes of life, miseries, drudgeries, bereave-ments, and humiliations. He dedicated himselfto the service of the suffering humanity. Heutilised his time and energy in bringing socialreforms. Gangadhar had cultivated great vir-tues like honesty, sincerity, integrity, purity, dig-nity and nobility. He was a great soul. Humilityand simplicity were the distinguishing traits ofhis character. The great soul passed away onthe no-moon day of April 4, 1924. He was bornon the full-moon day of Shravana. Was it acoincidence! Or did his birth and death signifyjoy and grief of mankind!

Gangadhar was a noble poet, a poet of avery high order. His vision was an idealisticvision. He had firm belief in a beneficent cos-mic order. His masterpiece ‘Tapaswini’ in-scribes the idealistic vision and the cosmicorder.

Tapaswini: - Tapaswini is Gangadhar’s majornarrative. It was completed in 1913 and pub-

lished the followingyear. This poemmarks the culmina-tion of Gangadhar’spoetic powers. It isthe consummationof his poetic genius.

It is his masterpiece. ‘Tapaswini’ narrates thesad story of Sita’s life among the hermits inValmiki’s hermitage. The theme has beenderived from the works of great poets likeValmiki , Kal idas and Bhababhuti . ButGangadhar introduces some original ele-ments in the delineation ofcharacters of Rama andSita, and in the descriptionof the beauty of nature andnatural elements. Thepoem is written in eleven

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cantos. It has a marvellous structural design.It exhibits the wonderful craftsmanship of thepoet. Sita is presented as a mundane lady withgreat virtues. She passes through the hardausterities of the ascetic’s life in the hermit-age and ascends to the radiant and resplend-ent seat of a goddess. As there is a steadydevelopment of character so there is a corre-sponding development of emotion- from sor-row to serenity, and from deprivation tofulfillment. Gangadhar in delineating Sita’scharacter brings together past, present andfuture- presenting eternal time. At the end hepresents Janaki in her radiant glory illuminat-ing all the four quadrants of the infinite space.

The Banished: - ‘The Banished’ is theEnglish version of ‘Tapaswini’. ShashibhusanMishra Sharma, a teacher of George High

Translator:-Late Shashibhusan Mishra Sharma

Born on 25th Mar. 1896Expired on 5th Jun. 1976

School Bargarhmade a humbleattempt to trans-late into English afew selected por-t ions fromG a n g a d h a r ’ sworks including‘Tapaswini’ with aview to introduc-ing the immortalpoet to the non-Oriya readership

of India and the world. Six short poems werepublished in ‘Gleanings from Gangadhar’ in1960. Unfortunately ‘The Banished’ could notbe included as funds were not available forpublication of a bigger volume. However theEnglish version of Gangadhar’s poems at-tracted the attention of the elite. Dr P. K. Pati,Professor of English, Revenshaw College in aletter of congratulation writes “Mishra Sharmahas succeeded in rendering into English notmerely the idea and the feeling but also thesweetness, beauty and melody of some of themasterpieces of Gangadhar.” Dr. Pati had seenthe manuscript of the English version of‘Tapaswini’. Mishra Sharma had translated itin the early fifties of the last century. The manu-script had been lying hidden from the readers’eyes for more than half a century. Sri Prasanna

Kumar Dash, publisher of the unpublishedworks of Shashibhusan will very soon bring itto the light of the day in its printed form. Trans-lation of a narrative poem from the source lan-guage to the target language is a difficult aswell as delicate task. Language through whicha poem finds a form and a meaning, besidesobjects and ideas, has a tone, a rhythm and anuance which differ from place to place, com-munity to community and from author to author.The translation whether it is word-for-wordtranslation or sense-to-sense translation, it can-not easily overcome the trans-cultural barriers.It can hardly retain the sweetness and charmof the nuances and the emotive and evocativepower of the original. A translation is likely tobe as interesting and fascinating as the origi-nal if the translator is an adept in both lan-guages and acquainted with both the culturalmilieu having an artistic temperament which isin tune with that of the author. Mishra Sharmawas a poet and a scholar. He was also a re-puted translator. He was primarily a Mathema-tician. But literature and especially poetry washis first love. He continued assiduously to nur-ture his love of literature. He was a voraciousreader. Shakespeare, Milton, Wordsworth andTennyson were his favourite poets. He had ac-quired working knowledge in English prosody.Fidelity to the original was his chief concern.He tried to manage in English the structuredmusicality of the stanzaic form, metrical pattern,alliterative-assonantal arrangements, culture-specific evocation of the original. So he trans-lated the different chapters in couplets, quat-rains, octave and sestet and such other stanzaicform and pattern. He used rhymed verse. Buthe was not averse to blank-verse or free-verse.He exhausted almost all the rhetorical devicesof English poetry in ‘The Banished’. He madeall possible efforts to recapture in his transla-tion the sweetness and incantation of theevocatives like ‘je’, ‘he’ and ‘go’ by using wordscontaining soft consonants and liquid vowelsand by repeating phrases and expressions tobring about the desired effects. There is aFrench saying that a translation when faithfulis homely, and faithless when lovely. MishraSharma has left no stone unturned to make histranslation both homely and lovely. Yet he hasnever sacrificed fidelity to the original.

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Editor’s Gratitude:- My thanks are due toDr. Nanda Kishore Dash, Dr. An taryami Tripathyand Sri Durga Prasad Mishra but for whose helpand co-operation I couldn’t have been able toedit ‘The Banished’. I extend my gratitude toSri Prasanna Kumar Dash, publisher of ‘TheBanished’ for giving me honour to edit the firsttranslation of ‘Tapaswini’ by Sri ShashibhusanMishra Sharma. I take this occasion as a goldenopportunity to pay homage to the sacredmemory of Sri Mishra Sharma, my reveredteacher and well-wisher.

The Editor.

The Old Preceptor

Sri Shashibhusan Mishra Sharma, a re-nowned teacher of Orissa, was born to parentsSri Harihar Mishra and Srimati Gundichadeviof village Talsirgida in the district of Bargarhon 25th March 1896. As his father was then ateacher in a Middle Vernacular School (M.V.School), it was but natural that he should takegreat interest in the education of his son. SriMishra Sharma right from his childhood showedprecocity and perseverance in studies espe-cially in Mathematics. During the entire spanof his M.V. School career, year after tear, SriMishra Sharma received the scholarshipawarded by Sri Swapneswar Dash who was agreat poet as well as a teacher in the M.V.School at Bargarh where Sri Mishra Sharmaprosecuted his studies. Owing to the lack ofprovision for English education at Bargarh then,Sri Mishra Sharma attended dil igently the cost-free private classes held by Sri LaxminarayanPattnaik, the local Munshif and father of BijuPattnaik, who taught English voluntarily. He wasso assiduous in the study of English and couldearn so much knowledge in it that he couldeasily qualify at the entrance test held for ad-mission into the Zilla School at Sambalpur.From this High English School he appeared atthe Matriculation Examination of the CalcuttaUniversity in the year 1915 and got a first class.In 1917 he passed Intermediate in Science fromRavenshaw College, Cuttack and there also afirst class was his due.

The insolvent pecuniary condition of the familyput a full stop to his studies for degrees anddiplomas but not to his sagacity for acquiringknowledge that remained with him throughouthis life. He joined George High English School,Bargarh in 1917 as an assistant teacher andwas destined to work there til l he retired in 1967,even though some of his students becameheadmasters of this school. A brilliant teacherfor the students and a bright example for theteaching community he could teach all the sub-jects of teaching with equal dexterity. For himany time was study time and in terested studentswere welcome to clarify their doubts and solveproblems with him. Inspectors of Schools of-ten advised teachers of other schools to followhis style of teaching. However, he was mostpopular in the teaching of Mathematics andGeography for he taught them i ngeniously with-out being strictly bookish. His bearded coun-tenance, his sublime demeanour, his head withits bald scalp, his dwarfish structure, his dhotiand kurta and all presented the serene pictureof a ‘guru’ (a spiritual preceptor) of some her-mitage of the days of yore. Widely read, hewas a veteran scholar who could participate inany intellectual discussion with authority. Buthe was never a swaggerer. The school hasadopted one of his devotional poems as theprayer-song of the school- indeed a rare hon-our for a teacher par excellence. People ingeneral befittingly referred to him as the ‘OldPreceptor’ (Budha Mastrey). He received ac-colades from the State Sahitya Academy, Gov-ernor’s award and other awards for his accom-plishments.

His family life was nothing but a curse in-cluding death of three sons, the only daughterand the consequent mental derangement of hiswife. In addition to this hell of a life entirelyuncongenial for peaceful and creative workshis constant companion was financial con-straints. Yet it is really amazing that he couldfind the required time and the mind-set to in-dulge in literary activities of no mean order inall branches of literature. In all his activitieshis objective was to uplift the society throughdidacticism and the people through advice andadmonition. ‘The Banished’, the English ver-sion of ‘Tapaswini ’ the magnum opus of

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Swabhavakabi Gangadhar Meher, one of thegreatest poets of Orissa, corroborates the factthat Sri Mishra Sharma was an appreciator ofbelles-lettres. In his professional career, for aperiod (1918-1919), he was chosen and takenon loan by Sri Meher to teach English at BarpaliM.E. School where Sri Meher was the secre-tary. This speaks of the profi ciency of Sri MishraSharma in English language and literature.Probably as a tribute to Sri Meher’s blessingsSri Mishra Sharma translated the masterpieceof the poet so that his lovely piece of literaturegets its legitimate place in world literature. SriMishra Sharma also translated and publishedsome of the beautiful poems of Gangadhar asa booklet capt ioned ‘Gleanings fromGangadhar’. Sri Prasanna Kumar Dash haspublished some of the poems of Sri MishraSharma in two booklets. In another booklet SriMishra Sharma’s translation of the first twochapters of Bhagvatgita and in another histranslation of Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam bothinto Oriya respectively named ‘Oriya Gita’ and‘Pritipatra’ have been published by the saidpublisher. Very many other works including anEnglish translation of Utkalamani GopabandhuDas’s ‘Bandira Atmakatha’ and a drama in Eng-lish on Gandhiji are awaiting publication. In hisnative tongue Kosli Sri Mishra Sharma was oneof the earliest writers. The booklets mentionedabove include some of his beautiful poems inhis native tongue Kosli. In this respect it is amisfortune that the manuscript containing some1200 Kosli proverbs were eaten away by ter-mites and the manuscript of a Kosli–to-Oriyadictionary sent to Dr. Kunjabihari Tripathy,H.O.D. Oriya & Sanskrit, Ravenshaw College,Cuttack was neither published nor was returnedto the author.

In epitome Sri Mishra Sharma was a leg-endary teacher for the students and spiritualpreceptor for the society at large. He can bestbe described as ‘A man with mind untroubledby sorrows, who has done with desire for pleas-ures, from whom liking and wrath and fear havepassed away, such is the sage whose under-standing has become founded in stability.’ (SriAurovindo’s translation of Bhagvatgita, 2.56,quoted in his Essays on The Gita p.95). Lastbut not the least Sri Mishra Sharma was quite

adept in uttering epigrammatic expressions ofwhich the following two stand out. One in Eng-lish that reads “Prayer, Purity and Patience-these three lead to Essence.” The other oneis in Oriya. When translated it may read:

In this world wonderfulInstances are so plentifulOf sons of men of thousandsAre nothing but tramps and vagrants,Of men of millions and their sonsAre none but wealth-guarding demonsAnd of sons of men of billionsNot getting even rice and onions.

Sri Shashibhusan Mishra Sharmapassed away on 5th June 1976.

I am indebted to Sri Prasanna KumarDash, publisher of ‘The Banished’ for givingme the opportunity to draw a short life sketchof Sri Mishra Sharma who was my reveredteacher but for whose admonition I would nothave had the education I received and natu-rally neither would have had the noble profes-sion of teaching I pursued in life.

Dr. Nanda Kishore Dash Retd. Principal, Women’s Co llege Bargarh

A Note On Translator’s Job

It is a strange business- transforming andrecreating the magic and mystery of one lan-guage into an alien language. Translation andinterpretation form difficult and often bafflingconcepts for linguists and critics of all ages.Often do we try to limit translation to the purelywritten mode, where as interpretation is asso-ciated with the verbal mode. We attempt atdrawing a complete barrier between the twoand that is probably the reason why often,translated works do suffer. However, it is easiersaid than done. Interpretation and translationnot just involve a linguistic shifting but also dorequire a deep sense of socio-cultural under-standing which is the most crucial job in theprocess. A translator has to keep in mind theliterary as well as the cultural demand of not

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just the original script but also of the languageinto which the work is being translated and thetechnicalities of his own times. And there doeslie the difficulty and intricacy in the job.

Translating a poet like Gangadhar Meherand his masterpiece ‘Tapaswini’ is not just anopportunity, but also an experience of a life-time. This particular work carries the melodyand the harmony of music of unusual splen-dour in the Oriya language. Therefore, takingupon its translation is not only difficult but alsofull of unpredictable risks. This translated ver-sion is merely a humble attempt at capturingand recreating the glory of this wonderful nar-rative poem in English- the language that shallbe extremely close to the Asian populace inthe time to come. However, jus t because trans-lating him carries difficulties and dangers,should not mean that a poet like Meher be keptcloseted under one geographic and semanticentity. The charm and beauty of the writings ofpoets like Gangadhar Meher need to be rec-ognized and appreciated by succeeding gen-erations, and that should be the major reasonto translate him into as many languages aspossible.

The correct interplay of words andthoughts is a Herculean task in the translationprocess. Often the beauty and seriousness ofthe original version is lost while put in the grind-ing stone of a new language. For instance, thedepiction of Sita in ‘Tapaswini’ is much in ac-cord with the cultural and natural framework ofthe land of Orissa. Gangadhar Meher’s imagi-native plane revolves around the typical Oriyalandscape, yet his approach is Universal. Butinterpreting this Universality of his theme in theEnglish language is what has been the mosttrying aspect of this work. However, it can onlybe regretted that none of the translators canclaim a complete success in their endeavour.The rhapsody and symphony in the rhyme andlilt of words can only be felt in the original ver-sion.

Maintaining the rhyme and rhythm in Eng-lish language is much more difficult than in theregional languages like Oriya, which has im-mense possibilities of a rhythmic felicity. The

simplicity and transparency of emotion that canbe located in Gangadhar Meher is unusual incontemporary poetry. There is a strange spon-taneity in his poetic muse which can be onlyfound in an individual having a genuine poeticsensibility. What is all the more charming isthat one hardly finds any pseudo intellectualeffort in Meher’s works. It is rather, the poetrythat bears the effulgence of a pure and unam-biguous heart. ‘Tapaswini’, any one who readsthe poem shall be touched by the beauty andtruthfulness in the depiction of the austerity ofwomanhood. It celebrates the essence of pu-rity and magnificence of dignity that is woman.

Within a very limited scope and knowl-edge of the nuances of English language,Shashibhusan Mishra Sharma has attemptedto recreate the charm of the enigmatic narra-tive. But it gives immense joy and satisfactionto see it completed at last. This humble effortis a sincere tribute to Gangadhar Meher, themaster craftsman of Oriya literature. The effortof the translator is commendable. May thetranslator live long in the memory of the read-ers of the English version of ‘Tapaswini’!

Prof. Minaketan PurohitEditor, “The Banished”

A Note On TranslationGangadhar Meher ’s ‘Tapaswini’ is a

masterpiece. It has received accolade and ap-preciation from so many sensible and sensi-tive readers. The subject-matter of this greatclassic of modern Oriya literature is taken fromIndian mythology. The second exile of Sita inValmiki’s hermitage, the birth of the twins andthe invitation relating to horse-sacrifice of LordRama are depicted here. The epic sings theglory of Sita’s fidelity and chastity, Rama’s idealduty as a king and the tradition of monks andnuns in Indian soil. Nature in this great workhas been personified by the poet to act as animportant character in various sublime formslike hills, mountains, rivers, woodlands as wellas humble forms like small flowers and plants,nondescript birds and insects. The native read-ers can enjoy this work with ease by feeding

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their emotion and intellect. But it is not wise toconfine this literary creation only to the narrowboundary of the native soil. With this noble in-tention in mind Sri Shashibhusan MishraSharma had this ambitious plan of translatingit into English a few decades ago. His long cher-ished aspiration got materialized towards theend of his life and unfortunately the great trans-lator passed away before the translated ver-sion could be brought out.

However, it is a matter of great pleasurethat the Engl ish- translat ion of the epic‘Tapaswini’ is published at present by the de-voted and dedicated efforts of some enthusi-asts like Sri Prasanna Ku. Dash, Retd. Head-master, Bargarh.

Translation of a literary work of art, thattoo, poetry is a tough job as the translator hasto remain faithful to both the source and targetlanguage which is a highly challenging task.Sri Mishra Sharma has evidenced to maintainthe fidelity to the best of his capability. Subse-quent editions of this are thus highly solicitedas it is a reproduction of his manuscript with alittle amount of correction, omission and addi-tion.

Dr. Antaryami TripathyDept. of English Women’s College,

Bargarh. Dt 01.10.2005

The Charm Of ‘The Banished’

Late Shashibhusan Mishra Sharma wasa creative writer in Oriya and Sambalpuri lan-guages. Writing was inseparable from his bloodand bone, and became an organic part of hisbeing. As if for him, ‘To write poetry is to bealive’. (Rilke) He was also a committed trans-lator. After translating some poems of Shake-speare, Wordsworth, Alexander Pope, HenryWolten, Samuel Johnson, H. W. Longfellow,Davies and Omar Khayyam into Oriya lan-guage, he had translated six immortal poemsof great muse Swavab kavi Gangadhar Meher.‘The Banished’ is the English translation ofMeher’s classic creation in Oriya ‘Tapaswini’.

Translation is an arduous job and faithful

translation of poetry is more onerous. Crea-tive imagination, the theme and the rhythmexpressed in a different cultural setting of onelanguage may not be the same in another lan-guage when translated. Therefore a faithfulrendering requires deep understanding of thecontents, words, metrical patterns and struc-ture of language of the original work and per-fect command over both the languages.

Shashi babu has successfully proved histranscreating genius in his translation of‘Tapaswini’. I shall cite two examples to showhis skill, sincerity and brilliant use of word-power to convey the inner mean ing, sweetnessand musicality of the original text. The firststanza of CANTO-IV in ‘Tapaswini’ ismangale aila ushabikacha-rajiba drushajanaki-darshana-trusha hrudaye bahi,kara pallave nihara-mukta dhari upaharasatinka basa-bahara-prangane rahi,kalakantha-kanthe kahila“Darashana dia Sati, rati pahila”.

The English rendering is:

At a time auspicious came DawnWith eyes of a lotus full-blownShe came with a thirst in her heartTo have a sight of Janaki apart.Offering pearls of dew in the hands of foliageShe waited in the courtyard of Sita’s cottageAnd through the cuckoo’s melodious voice,said‘Arise, Noble Queen and appear, for the nightis ended.’The second one is from CANTO-VII where theoriginal Oriya stanza:

mo tanu dagdha hele hebata khara,tahaku karaiba padape sara;se taru kastha dei bardhaki hastekarai deba Prabhu paduka mate he |

is translated into English as:

‘When my body is burnt to ashesUse the same as manure to a tree

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Give the timber to a carpenterTo make a pair of sandals for my Lord’s feet.’

The English readers will not find it difficult toenjoy the content and beauty of these stanzaswithout going through the original. Such washis proficiency at translations. Late MishraSharma will be ever remembered by Englishreaders who would have missed the charm of‘Tapaswini’ without ‘The Banished’.

Narayan PrusethRetd. Principal, Women’s College Bargarh

A Rare Transcreation

Seeing the trans-creation of GangadharMeher’s ‘Tapaswini’ by the celebrated literarygenius of Sambalpur, nay Orissa, Late SriShashibhusan Mishra Sharma, I was moved totears, thrilled with rare joy and inspiration.Those who have helped in bringing out thisunique literary achievement, though a belatedattempt, deserve for the delectation and edifi-cation of the readers resulting therefrom, pro-fuse praise and congratulation which cannot beadequately expressed in words, but deeply feltat the inner layers of the mind.

Sri Netrananda Pujari Retd. Prof. (English) Bargarh 10.10.2005

Dedication

ToAdorable Sriman Ramnarayan Mishra.

M. A. B. L.A humble submission

Esteemed Sir,

I have come to know that you have wid-ened and cleared the way of learning for poorstudents by giving financial help. As varioussmall trees are necessary to plant on the roadside I similarly offer this book named ‘Tapaswini’in your lotus hand. You will make me obliged

by accepting this as small tree only for shadewithout the hope of flowers and fruits.

With regards

Padampur Yours gratefully forever05.10.1914 Sri Gangadhar Meher

PrefaceRama’s and Sita’s greatness- for Rama

became a forest-dweller to upkeep his father’ssolemn vow and Sita followed and trod uponher husband Rama’s footsteps- that hadblossomed forth became fragrant at Sita’sbanishment. As Sita’s devotion for herhusband got brilliance through her enduranceof pangs of banishment, Rama’s love for hiswi fe became i l luminated through theperformance of the ‘Horse-sacrifice’ with thegolden image of Sita beside him. After all bothwere worthily made for each other. Eventhough Sita had been exiled by her husbandonly because of a false scandal, Sita didrealise her master’s love towards her that hebore at his heart of hearts. The ultimate objectof the book is to unravel as to how, havingaccepted the banishment as a sheermisfortune Sita made her loyalty to her sirefirmer and exalting and having converted thebanishment to a husband’s welfare-serving-penance, she lived her life as a recluse. AsSita had abandoned all hope of regaining herhusband’s mercy so also I have given up allhopes of painting a faithful picture of her loftycharacter. Nevertheless Rama could performthe Sacrifice having beside himself thecapt ivat ing statue made of h is heart-enlightening moonbeam in lieu of Sita theanchorite flesh and blood. Wise readers, Ionly wish each one of you to recall Sita’ssplendid, unsullied and sacred characterimprinted in your memory plate and enlightenthe heart of womanfolk at large without eyeingat the success or failure of my composition.

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In conclusion I am duty-bound to recordthat the vigorous encouragement extended tome by my dear friend Sri Brajamohan Panda issimply matchless and for that I express my deepsense of gratitude towards him.

Padampur Humbly yours05.10.1914 Sri Gangadhar Meher

CANTO-ICANTO-I

Who art thou, radiant one, with white attireAnd with deep blue hair that surpasses the sapphire?Thy radiance pierces through the white gossamerAnd gladdens the heart that it touches.

Art thou moon-beam solidified into a human form?Thy hair in the form of darkness, licks thy feet.Fair and lustrous stars and planetsAdorn thy form like jewelled ornaments.

Countless white flowers woven into garlandsIn a strangely artistic design adorn thy neck.Entranced is the world with fragrance of your body,Cheerfulness is perceptible in every life.

What is it thou pourest with thy handsThat men drink and look like gods?With thy incantation a chosen fewDispel darkness and emit light anew.

There bloom white lotuses at thy feet;So to call Thee moon-beam does not hold good.The lake of my life is filled with slime of povertyWorldly affairs fill my belly with dirty water.

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Looking at thy autumn-like faceIt becomes, of its own, clearer and clearer.The lotus in the heart blossoms and charms me.Is it blessed, O Divine, with touch of thy feet?

The touch of thy feet has charmed my life.Now please do what thou thinkest proper.My mind runs to the hermitage of ValmikiLonging for a glimpse of the banished Sita.How did she stitch her torn heart into one whole?How did she live, with whom and how long?O Gracious One, give me the power to see the sight;Let me purify my heart by writing about it.There flows the sacred Ganga through the woodsStriking its waves against the western bank,Running with eager feet to see sylvan beautyAnd plodding its weary way with trouble.

Sita stood on the same bank in deep distressLooking eastward with steadfast eyes,Tears flowed from her eyes in continuous streamWetting the top of her breast ceaselessly.

Just as masses of cloud rise in the westAnd flood the western mountain with incessant rainOr as an elephant with water of its trunkWets the evening lotus in the tank.

With tender piteous cries “O, my Lord!”,She sank on the earth under her feet;She fell unconscious on the groundBut none was there to render her help.

Hundreds of maids once served her feetBut none was there to see her sad plightHow dangerous are the ways of destiny!Who will not tremble with fear at such sights?

The forest cried through the voices of birds.A strong wind blew as its inhaling breath,And its exhaling produced a murmuring soundWhile leaves floated in the waves of anguish.

Bewildered, the deer looked this way and thatStood motionless, apprehending unknown danger.As children behave, hearing their mother’s cryNot being able to understand and tell why?

The palm tree lifted the sword in handRoaring in anger to fight with Fate.And shaking the weaver-nest again and againBrandished the arrows of leaves out of the quiver.

Droplets from the waves raised in the riverLeapt the wave-crests to hit the bankDid angry Bhagirathi fight with ProvidenceFiring lead-bullets from machine-guns of waves?

Lotus flowers in the tank moved to and froForming an army of black beetle to fight

Wild flowers leapt from stems and rolledWith dust-smeared bodies wrestled in duels.

Enraged creepers tore the gossamers to piecesAs if they were the enemy’s agents and nets;Broken clouds rushed with their followersWith blazing eyes and rumbling thunders.

Sprinkling droplets of cool water on Sita’s face,They brought slowly back to her senses.Seeing the sad plight of the daughter-in-law of the race,The Sun was so ashamed that he hid his face.

The presiding deities of the sky’s quarters sat moroseShocking the whole sky their loud lamentation rose.Regaining her consciousness Sita looked roundTo all directions in misery and despair.

Rama in all directions did she observe,Sitting in silence with grief in her heart.Lakshmana, standing speechless with folded hands;Streams of tears flowing from the eyes of both.

Neither could Rama ask Lakshmana about Sita,Nor could Lakshmana open his mouth to speak out.Turning towards the Sun, Sita saw Rama in his lapWith his head bowed and placed on his hands.

Casting her glance at Bhagirathi she saw RamaAccompanying Bhagirathi in the rearTears ran down Rama’s eyes like the Ganga’s flow,In which at times he sank and then he floated.

Contemplating on the baby in her wombA flood of tears, gushed from her eyes.The sight of lush green grass made her shrink,She wished to set herself on a bed of rock.

She went not there due to some thought in mindBut she could control her sobs no more.From her pain-stricken face came a cry so piteousThat even the forest itself was stunned.

Repentant Janaki in agony implored,“O, Lord of my being! Thou, cloud of mercy!In what an evil moment, thou held my unlucky handThat sorrows and sufferings made an abode of Thee.

And I, unaware of thy boundless gloryHad looked to the bow with pride and vanityThou broke it into two pieces like a sugarcaneAnd savoured me, My Lord! as its sweet juice.

O hero of heroes, I am fetters of your feet,But you transformed the same into a chain of love.You took this hindrance with you to the forests,And went round holy places and hermitages.

How can I forget your love and care, my dear!How can I forget, for it has filled my life?You gathered fruits and roots from early hourLest this slave of yours should suffer from hunger.

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You made a swing in the cradle of your arms,Lest this worthless maid should sleep on a bed of grassFor love of this unlucky woman you crossed the oceanAnd waged a war with the ten-headed demon.

You bore the assault of dreadful arrows,And embraced the wounds as beads of necklace.Considering me to be its central beadYou treasured me, O Lord! as its crowning gem.

I shuddered with fear at the sight of the scars,You consoled me with your nectar-sweet words.You said; “I sacrificed blood on the altar of war,And achieved you, my beloved, as the precious gift”.

The scars made by arrows are still so freshBut I, the unfortunate one, am already separate!Wipe off my memory from your heart-boardOr else you’ll feel pangs of agony each moment.

Forget this worthless maid, may your subjects flourishLet me die, but may your blemishes vanish.Plant in your heart the eternal formOf immortal fame that will emerge from this.

The originator of the race, the sun of days,Blesses the whole creation with his bright rays.The perennial Ganga is the glory of your race,She nurses all who live in time and space.

You forsook me, my Lord, at the call of honour,This indeed O Lord, is worthy of your stature.What an irony of fate it is that the pictureOf this sinner should stain your glorious banner.I am ashamed, my Lord of spotless characterYou were slandered for the sake of this sinnerQuitting shelter at thy feet, where shall I live?Fire doesn’t burn me; oh, I cannot survive.

This durba grass carries your grace and splendourHow can I renounce it, and where can I take shelter?O gracious Lord, even the stone receives your favour,Why shall it sustain me and court disfavour?

You have placed a precious jewel in my wombBut you have said nothing how to preserve it safe.I have cherished high hope in my heartTo adorn my Lord’s lap with this jewel.

Will my forlorn hopes elude me!Fate, I bow thousand times to Thee!What have you, O Destiny, planned for the successorWhose father is the world-renowned emperor?

It is true that lightning strikes the mountainBut alas! The innocent creatures are destroyed.Glory to you Lord; your mouth is the spring of nectar,Your heart too ‘O Lord,’ is the rock of icy nectar.

Whatever torment and torture strike the heart,From your mouth flows nothing but nectar.When the shameful rumour was whisperedWhat terrible agony you must have suffered;

Yet you uttered not a single unkind wordAnd filled my heart with hope, as you banished meThe sins I earned are causes of my griefThose very sins now flash across my mind’s screen.

I took him, my glorious Lord, for a man like usBelieving the cry, ‘Save me, Lakshmana’ to be hisMean-minded as I am, I mistook LakshmanaAnd forced him to go to the woods to protect my Lord.

The sin I committed deserved punishmentMy Lord’s glory banished me for atonement.Oh, how I rebuked blameless LakshmanaThis banishment is its befitting reward.

I struck his heart with thunderbolt of words,And I forced him to go away from my presence.That Lakshmana, falling flat at my feet in devotion,Speaking sweet words left me there all alone.

Ravana showed a severed head, detached from bodyMistaking it to be my husband’s, I wept aloud.That I didn’t court instant death at the sightIs the very sin for which I suffer death in life.

Belittling the joy of serving your feetI longed for enjoying the hermitage’s sightThat sin separated me from your august presenceSaying, “Sinner, do as you like, it is my vengeance.”

You spent so many happy days in my companyForgetting the solicitations of Ajodhya’s royal goddess.The goddess could no more bear the pangs of separa-tionShe used a mischief monger as her companion.

The jealous goddess looked for vengeanceAnd she removed me from your august presence.In Ajodhya the second wife has boundless powers,The husband’s influence is no match to hers.

The day queen Kaikeyi established her powerThe royal goddess reigned supreme there.Lord of my heart! Forget not the sacred vowYou made before the great sage Ashtabakra:“I can banish Sita who is dearer than my life,If needed for the pleasure of my subjects”You are ever so happy in obeying your father’s words,Let me not retreat from honouring my consort’s wishes.

Only then shall I deserve the title of your wife-This my heart will understand and console me.You have pledged yourself to serve your subjects,And I, your worthy wife, must follow your footsteps.

Let my exile serve to appease your subjectsLet my Lord’s virtues and fame remain unsullied.At Sita’s lamentation the wind stopped blowing.Land, water and sky kept on grieving.

The waves in the Ganga came to a stand still.The chirpings of birds in the forest were hushed.

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Not a single leaf of any tree trembled,All frolic stopped and the creepers fumbled.

Birds on branches pricked up their earsAnd filled their hearts with streams of tears.The fawns with mother’s teats in their mouthsRemained still, forgetting to suckle.

Deer and does not chewing grass in their mouths,Bent their necks to hear the doleful sounds,Motionless stood peacocks, peahens with their youngones,Looking like pictures as if painted on the canvas.

Forgetting their way to the Ganga, quietly stoodThe elephant families, as if they were pieces of wood.

CANTO-II

Peace rules in the hermitage kingdom of ValmikiHer store is full of shades of trees offered as revenue,Offered are the same according to their own measure.In their fight with nature, they behave like soldiers,Covering their bodies with armours of thick foliageRegaining light and strength from exercise in sun andrain.

The realm they protect from aggression of winter’s coldSome embracing fire, others becoming arrows of flame.Vanquished nature propitiates with gifts of flowers andfruitsThe dew drops holding in their wombs,The star gemmed ocean skyBelittle Agastya’s glory and preserve lunar orbs.

Sita’s lamentation pierced all of a suddenShaking terribly lady-peace’s mansion.

Perturbed, Queen Peace looked for a chariot,To carry her to the mourner on the spot.The hermit girls were tending the torn creepers,Sita’s piteous cries then entered their ears.

It was a strange new sound, not the cooing of dove,Nor the sound of harp or conch, or a veena’s strains.Certain it was that the cry sprang from a woman’s throat.Peace found her chariot in the hearts of the girls,Riding on the chariot she drove to the river bank,What a lovely sight it was! the anchals waving in the airlike banners.

Stunned, though she was at the sight of the wailingmaiden,She ventured to go near her, others waited at adistance,Startled, one thought, ‘This is indeed strange,That a woman of such rare beauty be in the forest’.Is she a heaven’s goddess fallen due to curse?Or is she Indrani fallen from Airabata’s back?Another thought, she is Ganga incarnate flooding theearth with tears,Or she is compassion herself melting in pity for the suf-fering of others.Or she is a star descending on the earth with a spring.It is not rumbling thunder following lightning nor star-tling cries,How could a harsh summer day of chirping cricketBecome dew-raining moon-lit night of cooing cuckoo’s?

If she had a veena in her hand we might call herSaraswatiCrying piteously at the pain of separation from Vishnu.The hermit-girls each in her conjectureThought diversely and went to weeping Sita,But none could dare console her.How can Nirmala cleanse Mahanadi’s water in the rains?

As Ib, Ang and Tel increase the volume of water ofMahanadiSo did the presence of the girls heighten Sita’s sorrowThey stood around her but couldn’t speak.Love chained their feet and they couldn’t leave,Sita gazed piteously at their peaceful eyes,Her tormented soul floated in a flood of her tears.

Was it a she-swan singing a sad song, Amid lotuses wetted by the geese-spray?A sensitive girl, unable to see the scene any longerRan to Valmiki and in a voice choked with emotion, said,“O Father! A woman in the forest as if a figure of butter,Weeps piteously recalling her husband’s honour andaffection.

A red orb of vermilion beautifies her forehead,As though it’s a full-moon to her lotus-like face.Glittering bangles set with jewels adorn her hands,Instead of sinking in the sea of sorrow, dazzle on theshore.Clad in wet lotus-cloth she is a bud in half-bloom,Hard it is to discern whether she is divine or human.”

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Hearing the news the hermit shut his eyes,Holding his body erect, sat still for a while.Opening his eyes, he stepped out, saying “Let us see”.His disciples followed him close upon his heels.Hermit-daughters and sages accompanied the girl,Who had come to the hermitage to break the news.

The bucks, does with young ones followed in a line,The cuckoos, peacocks, herons jumping from tree totreeWag-tails, parrots, sharikas and doves,Sailed across air-waves of the space-ocean.The heroic army of Peace marched forward,As a flood to the rock-barrier of Sita’s grief.

Mahanadi flowing over Rameswar stone-heap,Quakes and whirls, taking another course.The rocks wouldn’t topple, only the flow rages,And losing its direction it headlong falls.Will Peace meet the same fate in her march?How long will she be able to maintain her pride?

Advancing a little the sage stood by Sita,While others crowding on the ground, boughsand the sky.Valmiki in matted hair and ash-smeared bodyStood like the snow-capped HimalayasAnd the virtuous one like Uma in deep meditationSat motionless under the snow-capped mountain.

At the approach of the sage, stopped Sita’s lamentationAnd the cycle of her thought whirled no longerSaid the hermit to Sita, “I have come to know, mydaughter,Of the reverse course of your separation-dangerThe course of the current leads towards the sea;Jumping over hills and hillocks that bar the way.

When it falls into the sea, it forgets all troublesAnd not the slightest difference exists between the two.If a sand-dune separates the river from the sea,The river doesn’t die, but keeps its burden in a lakeSame is the case with you, my daughter, on this earth;Think not about it, it may act like a pyre.

Your father-in-law is my friend and so is your fatherStay here cheerfully forgetting all worldly cares.You will have nothing to think about in this place,Do not be worried about the babies to be born.”Hearing the sage’s words, Sita fell at his feet, and thenRose, brushing and wiping her cheeks with the ends ofher cloth.

Blessing her with words “Be the mother of heroes,my daughter.”The sage consoled her with words sweet to her earsAdded the Sage, “Come, come, do not terry any longer,Come with these girls and make life sweeter.”Vying with each other the girls picked Sita’s baggageAnd surrounding her proceeded to the hermitage.

Striking the sandals on obstacles’ head, Valmiki walkedahead,Looking in ochre robes like Anuru, the Sun’s chariot-eer,Sita, the image of Rama’s love, gliding like sun-ray,Alas! The sun-ray was drowned in the sea of sorrow.But Anuru stood out with splendour.Birds silently listened to the sage and the virtuous

Seeing them proceed towards the hermitageOverwhelmed with joy they sang sweet songs.It looked as though, Peace celebrated her victoryIn the form of deer’s dance to the tune of the drum.Deeming Sita’s face to be a sea of affection,They were looking wistfully at it again and again.

Sita, Rama’s beloved rising from the sea of miseryEntered the city of peace like the goddess of victory.Spreading coloured plumes peacocks marched in line,Baby elephants marched with lotuses at the trip of thetrunks.Leaves hung from trees full of flowers,Sitting on them snow-white herons looked like ban-ners.

Cuckoos sang sweet and auspicious songs;The deep chorus of black bees sounded as victoryconches.Flocks of parrots soared from the trees,And showered petals on their path.The evening star shone like a congratulation lamp,And the star of Rama’s eyes sparkled in the ashrama.

On the sage’s orders, one girl carried Sita’s packetsAnother washed clean the Virtuous woman’s face.Yet another was going to wash her feet,Sita took the jug and washed her feet herselfSeating her on a seat of fresh leaves, another girlPlaced before her a plate of fruits and roots.

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Anukampa, the old woman of great austerities,Took Sita in her lap wiping tears from her cheeks.Filling Sita’s heart with love and affectionAnd looking at her face again and again,Said in endearing and soothing words,“Fortunate I am, my dear, indeed very fortunate”.

“Noble queen, you have filled your golden palace withgloom,And you have come to illuminate my poor home.I know, you have not had any food all dayAnd I guess, the baby in the womb might be strikinglegs,Eat my girl, don’t feel shy; it is your mother’s home,See, how anxious are your companions about you.”

With these words, Anukampa fed her with her own handsShe peeled oranges, bananasShe offered jackfruits, date palms and berries allSaying in soft voice, “Eat my daughter, eat allRepeating, “Eat my dear, eat two more, only two more”,Thus the elderly she-hermit fed her eight or ten plumsmore.

Sita lived through mother’s love in Valmiki’s hutWhich she had not realised in childhood,After meals she rinsed her mouthAnd putting a cardamom in it, sat on a stool,A girl made a bed of straw and deerskinTwo of them stayed with her, others repaired to theirhuts.

CANTO-III

The entire earth was bright under the cloudless skyThe hour Lakshmana abandoned Sita on the bank ofBhagirathiThe Sun, as it were, spread out a white curtainAs if, to hide the shameful treatment meted out to SitaProbing this mystery, twilight removed the curtainAnd revealed the evils of the Solar race.

No sooner did the birds chirp than the starsAppeared on the vast sky, one after another.They saw Rama, descendant of the Sun,Sitting all alone, with mournful face and tearful eyes.Brooding over power and pelf he said,“The high office is nothing but a slavery”.

If hundreds of subjects tell a lie and repeat it,The king is bound to accept it as truth, though it is but alie.A king’s happiness is sacrificed for his subjects’ peace,Tied are his feet tightly to the hard chords of duties.The coronation of the king is just a ceremonial bath,The ritualistic fanning is a ruse to drive away the flies.

Happiness and unhappiness can’t co-exist in god’s heart,So the kings drink fame-nectar as greater gods.The subject’s blood rises as vapour to form the cloud,The king is the cloud that rains for the subject’s good.As there is thunderbolt in the cloud but not in the water,So there is mace in the king’s hands and not in the handsof subjects.

Though burnt by lightning the cloud must rain,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.

If he fails to walk, spectators will clap and mock,They will laugh at him and the drummer will chide.If pangs of separation will make me indifferent to duties,The whole world will consider me unworthy of Raghu’sraceIt is not yet time for me to take to Banaprastha,And Bharata would not agree to shoulder my duties.Love for an object held in one’s lap loses appealDay by day when seen again and again,But in its absence love increases ten times as doesA zero added to the right multiplies the number.The gross body is not immortal, immortal only is themind,In the union of the minds, lies the perfect happiness oflife.

Has anyone forever lived in real luxury?Has he lived for ever with a crown on his head?Fame and slander, defying time, become his opponents.Some are destined to go to hell and others to heaven,Only the mean-minded care not for public opinion.They hanker after transitory worldly pleasures.

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Though my beloved is away from me,Yet the lotus-bud has blossomed in my heart.My mind-bee is sucking the sweet honeyO, my eyes, why are you shedding tears in misery?If the pool dries up, my lotus will totterAh, my heart, be a dam and check the flow of tears.

Blow gently, O breath, let my dear not tremble!My ears, be not impatient, Lakshmana will comeYou will hear all about my dear SitaO heated skin; the breeze will blow to alleviate sweat,Carrying the fragrance of Sita’s body, with the lotus-scent.Unite with mind and revel upon the lake-like heart.

My life-lotus in a new form blooms for ever,Like the Sun of memory that ever shines and never sets.Indulge not in it, my tongue, do not long for that joy,You feed upon the wealth of your subjectsAnd do not react against your well-wishers.This life is mine as I still survive to do good to men.

Or else how could I melt thunder?And could sip the juice as if it was butter?Let me wait till the day dawns.I shall set free the parrot and the parakeet,They will no more utter Sita’s nameTheir calls of “Sita” won’t excite you any more.

The young deer shall join the one with alata decoratedfeet,The red silken collar around the neck resembles the alatastreak.Why should the peacock and peahen stay any longer?The mocking bird will not be able to imitate her voiceany more.Why should the harp produce sweet harmony?Where is the musician to enjoy the symphony?

Rama shut his eyes for a while and in meditation sat,Observing Time’s terrible spectacle, rushing like currentsDisplaying and hiding all things, animate and inanimate.Some objects like bubbles stay for a moment,Others occupied their position for a few daysIn the fierce flow, only the mountain of fame stood erect.

The mountain of fame thrust upwards,Kissing the sky, the feet of the LordThat is vast and limitless.On the top of the mountains strolled wedded couples,With radiant robes on happily for thousands of years.And on jewelled thrones sat crowned kings.

Who wore garlands of heavenly flowers,Those who had elevated themselves through hard pen-ance.The poets singing in their praise came to escort them,But tormented the tyrants by their bolt-like fists.At the sight of their sad plight, Rama opened his eyes,And saw the entire earth covered by darkness. The smil-ing stars twinkled on the vast blue sky.The absence of the moon didn’t hamper their mirth.

Said Rama, “Oh, stars, escaping from the love-prison ofthe moonYou serve the Creator’s will and keep the sky in motion;You suffer the unbearable pangs of separation,Yet you do your duty forgetting all your pain.”

“Oh admirable stars, go to Valmiki’s hermitage,Where the moon of my heart is alone in her cottage.Listening to the sad strains of shelduck crying,My sensitive Sita might lose all zest for living.Give her, O stars! the example of the lagoon and thelilies,Explain, how lilies live, though the moon doesn’t rise.

Tell her that re-union is not a serious problem.Convince her how soothing is the union of hearts.Now that you witness my feelings, convey the same.The lotus-eyed Sita shouldn’t think otherwise.As a rivulet of my soul is joined to her womb,My feelings conveyed by you, will sound reasonable.

Could a certain lightness have touched Rama’s heart atthis?But in vain the stars showed no sympathy and raised afilm of darkness.Those who find fault with the virtuous, are destined tosuffer,Though seated on high platform, they can’t escape theironies of fate.The stars hoped to derive pleasure from Rama’s taints,But humbly bowed and went down, when they saw histraits.

Sympathising with Rama’s grief, the sorrowful moonRose from the milk ocean after the night had fallenTeasing and taunting the sheldrake, the Partridge said,“Grieve not in vain; you are ordained to suffer.”He thus scorns, for fate has filled his mouth with nectar.The rich always applaud at the miseries of the poor.

Banished Sita on the other immersed in her sorrow ofseparation,Bereft of the comforts of the glittering palaceSat on adear-skin in her leaf-made cottage,Recalling in her memory all the events of the past.Loving words, spoken sweetly and softly by her LordLike melodies entered into the gramophone of her hearts.

Absorbed deeply in her thought, she came upon a visionOf the emerald-bright Rama in resplendent gloryAnd reflected in the mirror of memory, Lakshmana,Who stood alone with bow in hand, guarding them atnight.Then as she thought her husband and brother-in-lawexiled herHer eyes like frost-bitten lotuses began shedding tears.

As the date-palm struck by the toddy collectorSheds its juice, so was Sita’s condition, being stabbedinside.The lover and the beloved recollecting the feeling forone another

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Sat on grief’s seat, cutting the night with patience’s sword.Owing to head heaviness, her soul’s sweat ran down,Washing thick eye-lashes and drenching her cheeks.

The night began to screech in the guise of an owl;Flooding the sky with blood, she went away.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 honourUttering the boon, “my head is your eternal shelter.”

CANTO-IV

At a time auspicious came DawnWith eyes of a lotus full-blown.She came with a thirst in her heartTo have a sight of Janaki apart.Offering pearls of dew in the hands of foliageShe waited in the courtyard of Sita’s cottage,And through the cuckoo’s melodious voice, said,“Arise, Noble Queen and appear, for the night is ended.”

Wearing the saffron clothes of the rising sunAnd blooming with a flowery sheenHer serene form arouses in the mind a beliefThat she is a goddess with yogic powers.She has descended from the heavensTo mitigate the sorrows of the suffering millionsAnd to soothe them with endearing wordsOffering them the gift of new life on earth.

The sweet breeze sang melodious songs.The black bee played on the harp.The morning’s fragrant scents danced on Dawn’sorders.

The pheasant in the somber voice began with notes ofpraiseThe wagtail assuming the role of the announcerIn a voice sweet and elegant said,“Arise, Oh Queen of chastity! arise,For now the darkness of the night is gone.”

Vedic chants of hermits and sagesRang through the woods and hermitages.Piercing the skies, rose the soundThe sonorous OM reverberating all around.Giving pleasure to Vishnu’s and Ananta’s earSaraswati played on her veena with cheer.From time to time brighter became the forestAs does Life-force swell with spell’s behest.Just then Anukampa, the she-hermit of great austerityStood before Janaka’s daughter and said in gravity:“Arise Vaidehi! here is tender-bodied DawnGive her, Vaidehi, the joy of thy darshan.Tamasha is waiting eagerly in a river’s shape,Give her the happiness of holding you once in her lap.”

Sita rose from her seat with heroic Rama’s figurePainted on her mind-board moistened with tear.As is the sun mirrored in a drop of dewSo was Rama mirrored in her lotus heart.The Chaste Sita then rose from her bedAnd bowed at the feet of AnukampaThen she bowed at the feet of Dawn with all humility.

Praising Dawn, she said, “Thou Destroyer of darkness,Harbinger of the Sun’s advent to the earth!I surrender myself under your feet.

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Your tender feet collect lightI take refuge in them with hopes brightO Lover of fragrance and whiteness!Bring good fortune to the heirs of Raghu’s race.”

Tamasha, the hermitage’s nurse at the end of the nightWith a heart both cheerful and light,Threw sprays of fragrant waterWith flowers on the yard lying near.The morning star she made the auspicious lightingWith fish eyes Tamasha looked at Sita’s coming.

Floating in flood of hermit-girl’s ardour,Lustrous Sita was admired the world over,With Anukampa, the hermitage’s motherJanaki hastened for a bath in Tamasha’s water.With her wave-like hands Tamasha embraced,And to virtuous Sita she fondly caressed.”

With a voice as sweet as nectar, she said:“My child, no hope had I ever cherishedThat Sita, the necklace of royal wealthWould renounce the pleasures of the worldAnd come to play upon my bosom.The whole world will acclaim me the fortunate one.People will sing in praise of meAnd for your sake, they will honour me.

I am meandering through dense forestsOvercoming numerous whirlpools and obstacles,Never do I count darkness as my sad plight,Nor am I overwhelmed with the joy of light.I move on with bowed headAnd endeavour to reach the goal of my lifePleasing all those who live on my banks,With shelter and gifts of sweet water.

Mandakini and Godavari are crowned in gloryHaving gained the inexhaustible wealth of thy footprints.The fragrance of thy body has endowed divinityOh Chaste One! I too craved for the same graceBut without that I had to court all disgrace.

Oh Virtuous One, as I had performed pious deeds.Dharma who can read the minds of all beingsBrought Thee to me in times of my need.What a rare treasure I have received!Now my life will be fulfilled

Embracing and rocking Thee in my lapAnd addressing and caressing Thee again and againI shall enjoy peace and happinessI shall remain ever contented.The innate purity and sanctity of Thy physiqueShall wash away all the vices and sins of my life.

The cranes, ganders, sheldrakes and heronsThat are ever in my lap in playful moodsShall sip and drink the sacred waterPurified by the touch of your sacred form.And shall ever remain by my side.Through their chirping, cooing and cryingThey shall sing sonorous songs in your praise.And please my ears for ever.

Flowers would abandon their abodes in creepersAnd jump into my water from farFloating and dipping they would hurry alongTo purify themselves with touch of Thy holy form.They would be circling around, O Chaste One!As you bathe in my clean waterOh Kind and Compassionate One,Do not push them away.

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Trees and plants will glow with light and lustreAcquiring Thy glamour and splendourUpon my sacred banks you shall wanderLending to the flora Thy eternal splendour.Trees would acquire the strength of divinityAnd the flowers the exquisiteness of beautyLeaves of the trees would remain ever greenImparting eternal peace and bliss.”

Adoring Tamasha said Sita, “Thy stream is clearThy water is as tasteful as the coconut water.It is not water, but the breast milk of the mother;From the mountain-breast it flows as a stream of nectarTowards Sita who is lifeless and in need of succour.Oh Tamasha, thou art no other than my motherRiven is thy heart with grief for thy daughter,In the garb of a river, thou art indeed my mother.

Deep is the fissure and the backside is visibleStill thou vow to please thy daughterThou speakest loving and adoring wordsAnd look at me with loving eyes, fondling meYou possess a large, kind and compassionate heartOh Mother!Full of sand to absorb my burning grief.

Sita who in the eyes of the people of Rama’s kingdomWas considered to be tainted, and banished for ever.The same Sita you think, to be steadfast in her DharmaAnd will, in thy opinion, be able to purifyAll the fauna and flora of the worldWith the help of her marital devotion and chastityA mother alone can read the daughter’s grievous heart.

A mother alone can fill the daughter’s grief in herown heart.To the mother’s eyes the daughter’s burnt face appearsAs lovely and lovable as the moon-face.

Ordained by fate, thy bank will be my lasting refuge,And thy lotus-feet will be the perennial source of peace.For one whose world is empty, your bank is a mother’slapThat is the only abode of love on the earthWhen one’s mother has stored jewels in her wombWhy should the daughter go in search of other places?”

Tranquil, clear and cool was Tamasha’s water.The hermit daughters were of the same nature.Agile was Tamasha in affection,Taking on the guise of their reflectionMingled in their bodies and looked like themEmbracing them in deep ardour.Tamasha got the opportunity she was looking for,She had Sita by her side to watch her grace.

Through intellect she made herself many-eyedAnd gained numerous hearts and various forms.Their heart’s desires increased in number,When they joined to others of like mind and nature.

Their bath being over, they returned to the hermitageAnd worshipped the holy feet of the great sage.Valmiki, bestowing blessings on them said, “OMLiving an austere life, acquire the wealth of wisdom.”Showering his blessings on Sita, said the great Seer,“Be the mother of great heroes, my daughter!”

My daughter, take care and tend the plants of the gar-den,With love and affection as if they are childrenConstant practice will make experience richer,Regular habit will render understanding sharper.You will learn to understand soonerHow precious is a son to his mother.Anukampa will always be there beside youTo look to all your needs and comforts.”

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At the sage’s behest the girls went to theirrespective firmsCarrying water-pitchers in their lotus-soft arms.Janaka’s daughter outshone them all inresplendent glory,Like a glittering diamond among transparent stones.Then the hermit-girls repaired to the hermitage’sgarden,And the beauty of the garden surpassed that of aparagon.

At the door of the sylvan deity stood the Virtuous One,And the goddess embellished herself with the rays ofthe Sun.Smiling with her leaf-lips and mahua-teethThe goddess decked herself to attract Sita’s mind.Offering red salmali flowers as arghyaWashed her feet with dew-drops of the durba grass.

Then she offered a lotus-made seat, welcoming herThrough the melodious calls of the shari.Made fresh lotuses bloom in autumnal lakesAnd with the humming of bees greeted the she-swan.Said she; “The night of my sorrow is over, O Magnani-mous QueenWith the touch of your sun-bright radiant feet.

Fortunate am I, as I saw you by sheer luckA dream came true, filling my heart with joy.It followed your life in Chitrakuta valleyIn the hermit-inhabitated Dandaka woodsAnd in the Ashoka garden of Lanka beyond the seasPlacing you as a model for fourteen years.

As you flew through the sky on the PuspakaI kept looking up sadly through the eyes of the deer;With flowers in hand, imploring with peahen’s callsAnd went on calling till you disappeared from my visionHave you come to me, dear! after fourteen years,Recalling the nostalgic feelings of an old friend of yours?

Unable to bear the pangs of separation any moreI became an anchorite and took shelter here.Seeing myself in the mirror of thy loving heart,I extend my cordial welcome to thee;Accept thou, my gratitude, Oh dear!For, you have fulfilled my wish and desire.

The company of the good is good and lasts long,As the blue tint of the sky dies not, but lives long.Desires lie not unfulfilled in virtuous hearts,So it is that I am able to see thee today.It is Fate which brings good fortune,Fortune smiled upon me for my love for thee.”

Enchanting Sita’s mind the sylvan beautyIn the form of a newly risen mass of cloudEntered the burning heart of the Chaste OneTo extinguish the fire of separationAnd to cool the burning pain,In the woodlands of her heart.To the sylvan deity, said Janaka’s daughter:“I am your prisoner for life, my dear.”

CANTO-VThe waves of beauty-ocean which rushed to the shoreWith a crown of flower-foams on their crest,To wash whose shore-feet in the sea of royal gardensAnd kissing the luminous pearls of her nails.Her auspicious visit to the hermit’s garden,Gladdened its trees, creepers and their blooms.

As it was spring time, the golden rays of the rising sunDazzled on the dew-drenched leaves of the trees.Playing in multi-coloured tints in the drops of dewFormed a dome of diamonds, pearls and rubies.

The feet of Sita that robbedThe glories of Ravana’s crownAdorned with sun-bright rubiesIn the hermit-garden, defeat the rubies’ pride.

Sita’s heart, painted by tints of green-hued Srirama,Was stolen by trees that made them green in timeHer mind bound to her husband was borrowed byflowersThat made them lustrous with the lustre of her limbs.

The black bee took the lustre of her hair,The Champaka took the radiance of her body,To the Mandara went the elegance of her lips,And so to the others went other tints as per their choices.All objects of nature were filled with a splendourAnd it appeared as if all the riches of heaven,Came down to the earthTo make the garden beauteous.

The charm of Sita was just like nectarThe same collected as honey in the flowerHer tenderness and beauty went to flowersAnd there they lived for ever.

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But the Chaste One, void of juice and colourBecame an abbess and lived as a forest dweller.

To extend a warm welcome to the virtuous guestThe spiders worked throughout the day and night.They made an exquisite canopyDraping the same with golden flowers:Ripe oranges and golden ballsHung in hundreds from the marvellous mantles.

There stood banana plants in rowsLike beautiful maids with banners of leafKunda, Muchukunda, Bakula and Niali plantsStood gracefully with creepers of sweet scents.The young tube rose was there with themHer head decorated with bunches of blooms.

When Janaki with her companions came nearerIn soft breeze they cheerfully scattered flowers on her.Some embraced her, others kissed her head;Some fell at her feet, others shook her hand.

Parijata stretched her tongue to lick her coloured feetThe pomegranate opened her mouth to kiss her nails.The Chinichampa borrowed the green colourIn the sweet memory of the green-hued Rama.

Soft, pale-white tender plants soft as the moon-beamsRaised their heads to see the Chaste Sita over the fence.Those who could not raise themselves over the fencePeeped through the holes of the fence.

Perching on the trees, the Chanchi and PhulchuinLooked at Sita, calling out again and again,Wagging tails out of joy,And waiting for Sita to water the plants,

So that they would drink the waterFrom the pit of the plants without fear.

The spider fell at her feet and went up the treeJumping from branch to branch to show its artistryThe Sun in the role of the painterMade the multi-coloured gossamer.The leaves of the trees, by nature are green.Sitting on the branch the emerald-hued ThinthinyScraping its body with beaks looks resplendentLike sunrays looted by the waves of dark blue sea.

It seemed as if the love-emanating heart of RamaBeing restless upon the royal throneHad rushed to the hermit’s gardenTo end Sita’s agony and affliction.The auspicious light of the eyes and the lustreFormed love-pearls in Sita’s heart as in Swati star.

Jackfruit groves on one side, mango groves on anotherAnd like waters of a lake, the sky spreads all over.It seems as if shoulders of hundreds of treesTogether lift up the ashrama’s forest with one mind;

As if hermits with burdens of trials and tribulationsHad waited in this peaceful bank in seclusion.Solemnly and silently they waited, in eagernessTo mitigate sufferings of Sita under the moon and thesun.

Elsewhere Ingudi trees built a green mansionIn which the Shyama bird pours out a mellifluous note:The newly-married brideDecorates her home with blue sapphireAs if commanded by Indra, his wife SachiInvites the Virtuous One to worship her.

How beautiful was the forest of Punnaga trees?With blue, bright and velvety leavesDid the lovely trees fly from OrissaTo gladden the grieving heart of Sita?Or was it Rama, in the guise of blue mountainTo feel the waves of Sita’s love sea?

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Sita with her companions wandered in the garden:Was it Ganga with tributaries flowing in the plain?The glittering path was beautifully levelledHumbling Kubera’s garden in which fairies revelled. Carrying Tamasha’s water they filled pits around theplantsAs if heaven’s maidens watered the Nandana from Ganga.Or was it the cloud lifting the water of the oceanTo flood the surface of the earth with it?

The hermit-girls tied their skirts to their waistAnd carried the pitchers on their dishevelled heads.They walked on with quick stepsAs sweat ran down from their foreheads:They wiped them with their hands,Paused at times for the slow-moving queen.

Anukampa then, came to the spot and said:“My Sita does not know how to fetch water,Let her not work hard; she is tired.Let her sit and look around.

Come dear, we will sit in the shadeI shall tell you all about this place.”They sat together in the shade,And the girls went on with their work.

Accosting Sita, Anukampa said, “My dearMan works with interest and devotion.As different flowers have different scentsSo different men have different interests.They come under three broad categories-Divine, human and demoniac.Just as action and love differ from person to personSo also they bear fruits diverse and the results vary.

Those who practise austerities as demonsWith pride, arrogance and passionIn anger and wrath, they torture their soulTo achieve physical strength and prowess.By nature you are kind and compassionateYou adore Brahmins, gods and the wise preceptorsWith reverence, respect and devotion,Demoniac penance is not possible in your nature.

Soothing truth and pleasant wordsAre the best embellishments of your life.

Deceit and guile have not touched your heart,How can illusion come near you?Your charming serene form shows thatYou have shunned all desires for worldly affairs.

From the very first sight of your form I noticedThat you are ordained to be an inmate here.Your heart is purified through penance,Your soul is sanctified through austerity;You are a flower on the creeper of righteousnessCustomary work of the newly-initiated is not for you.

Staying with these girls, fetch a gourdful of water,And rekindle the lamp of their ardour.My daughter, I have given them necessary instructionsThey’ll never leave you; they are your best compan-ions.Do not bear with thirst and hungerThey will give you whatever you desire for.

When the girls will be busy in their workYou must yourself take complete rest.You may wander in the garden by yourselfAnd pluck any flower or fruit you wish,Whenever you desire anything ask those daughtersThey are instructed to fulfil your desires.”

At the end of the seventh hour the girls returned,And keeping the empty pitchers, near Anukampa set-tledWith their sweating limbs they appeared as bunches offruitsOn a cluster of dew-drenched dhustura-buds.

Then they rose and finishing their second bathRepaired to their respective dwellings.There they took the fruits and roots, collected by thehermitsAnd spent the noon in studies and discourses.

The joy of love and affection received from monks andnunsDispelled the agony and grief of the Virtuous One.The memories of the pleasures of the palaceNever came to her even by chance.In her heart pond’s cool and clear water,Frolicked Rama, the handsome royal swan for ever.

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CANTO-VIOne night, Chitra rose with the moon in the sky,And the white jasmines blossomed in joy.Carrying the fragrance of Madhavi, Bakula, Malli andNialiAnd embracing the moonlight, a breeze blew on the coastof Tamasha.Patches of moonlight before Janaki’s cottageIn varied shapes, danced under the trees of thehermitageAdvancing towards the eastern horizonShrunk and lengthened, then facing extinction.

At a short distance from her moon-lit cottage,Sat Sita with a girl of the hermitage.Sitting on the ground in the moon-lit night,The Virtuous One appeared radiant with light.On a leaf glowed two luminous fire-flies,More luminous than the luminous moon.Looking at them, the Virtuous One said to herself:“Fortunate are you among insects, Oh, fire-flies!”There may be creatures in the world superior to you,But is there anyone with lustrous body as yours?You are fortunate to have the creator’s boonSo your refulgence pleases people’s eyes.

Just then the love-calls of the sheldrake came floatingLike the showers of sorrow repeatedly striking.Tears of pity flowing from the lake of Sita’s eyes,Overflowed the bank and spread over the shore of thecheeks.Janaki hid her face from her friendWiping her tears, brushed her cheeks with the sari’s end.But her friend knew, and said: “Tell me, O Chaste One!Why does the sheldrake at night mourn?Does this bird live in towns and cities too?Does it cry out in despair when night comes?If so, what do people of the city feelWhen they hear its plaintive notes?

At this Sita could not check the flow of tears,Her throat was choked and she would speak no more.Seeing her sad plight, her friend repeated,“Forgive me, my friend! Forget what I said.”With tears in her eyes Janaki said: “Forgive me, myfriend!I have as yet not told you all about me.As I hope to spend the last days of my life with youI must confide my feelings to you, or else you will nottrust me.

The story of my life will lessen the burden of agony,And you will know what the world is like.

Oh friend! I am a princess born and brought-up in apalace,I spent my days, rolling in luxuries and comforts.Swans, peacocks, parrots and cuckoos sang day andnightThe royal palace was resounded with their songs.The sheldrake used to cry out at night,But it failed to produce agony in my heart.My childhood was over and I attained youthI saw one day an assembly of kings in the capitalA jewelled bow, was kept by my father,That surpassed all the world’s splendour.Kings and princes tried their luckBut failing to lift the bow, returned to their seatsOld kings hiding their white hair under ornate crownsAttended the Swayambara to show off their might.Some young princes stepped forward in the lion-like mienBut failing to string the bow retraced their steps.Their proud footsteps but vain attempts,Made me laugh my dear, to my heart’s contents.Sitting in the balcony with my companionsI observed and laughed at their humiliations.

Then my eyes dazzled to see a prince of rare radianceThe first among the best of the Kshyatriya race.He approached the bow in heroic splendour,And his own radiance subdued the emerald’s glitterWas he the Sun himself in the guise of a prince!My heart melted of its own as I looked on the prince.Such an experience is rare in the life of a nun.At the sight of the prince my childishness was gone.

Never had I imagined that my eyes would see sucha princeMy heart worshipped his glowing feet with love andreverence.My father had made a solemn vowThat he would give me in marriageWith him who would string or break the bowI thought, oath ended to make me an anchoriteFor, who knows who would break the bow?This prince has already won my heart.If the heart goes to one and she weds another,Her life is ruined both here and here-after.

Soft were the prince’s hands meant for the flowers-bowAnd insult it was for him to break this heavy bow.It was my good fortune, my friend! He broke the bowAnd with it ended my fears and my father’s vow.Fortunate was I to wed to the crowned hero,Blessed was I to have his love divine.The hero had three heroic brothersWedded they to my three beautiful sisters.On my way from my father’s house to my husband’s,I saw Parashurama holding a shining bow in hands.A terrible warrior he was, a comet to the warrior race,Giving a resplendent bow to my husband, looked at hisface.I took it for a bad omen,And doubted he might win another woman

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Who would become a rival to my love.But gone was my doubt in the twinkling of the eye.No sooner did my husband fix an arrow to the bowThan the heroic glory of Bhargava embraced Raghava.As the sunrays increase the beauty of the lotus,So did his heroism elevate my love for him.

The heart thinks in one way, result moves in anotherInscrutable is the way of Providence: and it’s not clearUnfurling the dazzling banners of glory in the sky.We entered the capital city of Ajodhya.

My father-in-law’s palace was a forest of wealth,When the breeze of good news blew across the city,Flowers of joy bloomed on elegant vinesAnd leaves of splendour stole man’s minds.The newly married heroic brothers,Brightly adorned with glittering ornaments,With their wives even more gorgeously attiredEntered 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 spaceCame 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 boreThe 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 heavenFor which, even kings abdicate the throne.The ears cherish the same as truth,Which tempts the minds of men and for whichThe kings perform penance in the woodsLiving on fruits and roots with the hope to go to heaven.

From what I found in my father-in-law’s palaceI surmised, that might not be found anywhere in space.My husband’s love and my in-laws’ affectionMade me think very lightly of the riches of the heaven.All kinds of festivals were celebrated on the occasion,These festivities were beyond my imagination.My hours were illumined by the opulence of the palaceAnd my days passed happily in my husband’s love.So absorbed was I that I had no time, my friend!To hear the plaintive notes of the Chakrabaka.Thus passed twelve years after marriage,Appearing as only twelve days to me.

One evening, my husband in confidence said:My dear, we shall observe some ritual tonight:The Royal Goddess will crown me tomorrow,With the hope that you would be the crowned jewel ofher heart.”With doubt in my mind, I asked, “My Lord!Would the Goddess share the heavenly love with me?”My Lord replied: “Your doubt is not unnatural.But the Royal Goddess bows at the feet of a virtuouswife.”The water of sea rises up forming clouds in the sky

And rendering good service to the world, minglesin the sea.Customary rituals were observed throughout the nightAnd auspicious instruments were sounded in themorning.

My husband along with the minister went to meetthe KingBut, coming back, said in grief-stricken voice:My dear partner, leaving behind my life with you,I am leaving for the woods today, at my father’sbehest.Bharata, my younger brother would be the crownedprinceThe Royal Goddess has been pleased with himOh sensitive One, do not regard Bharata as inferiorin anywayGive him all regards as are due to a crowned king.”

I observed my husband’s faceI saw it as calm and content as ever.His mind was eager to journey to the forestFor my sake only his soul was in torment.Friend, I would have ignored these words as a joke,But believed it when people in numerous voices spoke.Waves of lament swept from all sides,Shaking the palace with exclamations of alas, alas!”Shocked and stunned as I was in a solemn voice I said:Lord! if you go to the forest, what use is this palace forme?Instead of being a queen, I shall be a beggar-maidAnd serve your noble feet wandering in the woods.My mind and heart are bound to thy holy feet,Your noble feet are my only refuge;Apart from thy feet, I seek not heaven’s affluence.

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Your radiant feet possess my soul and all my being.”If you can go to the woods with a smiling face,Why can’t I your footsteps embrace?Let your younger brother, Bharata be the crown prince,My sister, Mandavi would be the prince-consort.Bereft of that happiness, Sita cannot remain alive,Without serving your feet, she can not survive.”

The burden of anxiety vanished from his mind,We went to the woods leaving all relatives behind.Only my younger brother-in-law, Lakshmana,Joined us as my husband’s companion.Casting royal happiness in the river of forgetfulnessWe roamed through forests with new-found happiness.The hermit-daughters were my friends in the woods,I enjoyed their sweet company in happy moods.Many happy days we spent in the PanchabatiMany happy days we stayed on the bank of Godavari.At dawn, the wind filled, my hut with the fragranceof flowers,And the cuckoo as the king’s eulogist sang in ourbowers.

The peacocks and peahens came in the morning,And adorned the premises of my hut with dancing.The fawns came to the premises of my cottageAnd out of curiosity ate rice from my hands.Baby elephants used to leave their mother’s side,And dance by me to take food from my hands.I used to weave garlands of multi-coloured flowers,To place round my husband’s neck as love’s offer.My husband, in return, decked my braids with flowers,And we roamed together in Nature’s bowers.He used to say: “You are an idol of my life, dear,Companion of my life and joy, here and here-after.”In reply I used to say: “My lord of life, revered dear,Compared to heaven’s joy, your love is far superior.”One day I built a throne of flowers,With pillars and canopy, made of flowers.The plume and umbrella were all of flowers,And designed an exotic fan from exquisite petals.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.”

With these words, he forcibly held my hands.He decked me with wild flowers,Overriding all my protests with oathsThen standing before me, gazed and gazedI had to shut my eyes out of sheer shyness.Then my husband, King among the lovers, said:“Oh Goddess of Flowers! Cast a side-long glance at me.”Stealing a side-long glance at his smiling face, I said:“Oh, kind and considerate Lord! it is indeed improper.”How can your maid be worthy of it,Which is not permitted at the worship of your feet?My husband said: “Such are the ways with the lovers.By elevating one’s glory, another gets pleasures.”Hearing from my husband’s lips words endearing,I praised my fortune and sat without speaking.Evening came and the moon appeared in the sky.We walked in the woods hand-in-hand.He kept on describing sylvan beautyAnd went on explaining secrets of austerityHe did so to cheer up my spirits,And hearing the sheldrake’s cries planted a kiss.As I was amused, I asked him the reasonAnd 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 longAt night he sings the mournful songHad 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,I bowed my head and resorted to laughter.Alas! As time passed that agony returnedTwisting and tormenting my entire being!The sufferer only knows the sufferings of others;So the sheldrake’s cries unleashed my tears.”

The hermit-daughter intoned; “Friend, I knowYour husband’s heart is a store-houseOf love-nectar; That magnanimous kingMight be crying out like the Chakrabaka.May the night of your misfortunes come to its end!Ah! What a golden-family has been set at naught!Who has done this terrible injustice and why?Shame, shame on the judgement of Providence!Sita whom the king loved more than his life,Who persuaded him to renounce that virtuous wife?Fie, Fie, Providence! How foul is your decision?Into the pot of ambrosia, why did you pour poison?

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CANTO-VII

In a mourning voice said Sita, “My friend,My ill luck is the author of all my grief;Providence is not to blame for my fate,And my husband by nature is an ocean of kindness.Never had I believed for a momentThat, separated from my husband, I could remain alive;Hoping to see his lotus feet, I bore the agonyHope whispered hymns of solace and kept me alive.But that hope now dies of its own,And my heart burns as I think of it.”

Amazed, said the girl; “I could not follow, my friendHow was the hope, and why did it die?Virtuous you are and your grief is intenseYet you do not blame Providence; it is strange!”

Answered Sita: “Friend lend your ears to my story,And you will understand the whole mystery.The way I invited the most dreadful suffering,And the manner in which my hope died.”One day near our cottage in the PanchabatiMerrily danced a glittering golden deer;Spotted was its body, glossy and gracefulGlittering brightly in the rays of the sun!The splendour of the spotted deer enticed my mindFor, never had I seen a deer of that kind.I thought! When I would return to Ajodhya’s capital,I would take with me this exquisite animal.Exhibiting this deer, I would astound the people,Describing together the marvellous beauty of theforest.I offered a handful of grass to tempt the deer,But startled and frightened, it didn’t come near.Enticing my mind and bewitching my eyes,The deer ran again and again into the woods.Noticing my eagerness to have the creature,My husband said; “I shall bring the lovely deer.”

Then he took the bow and the quiverAnd made haste to chase the strange deer.No sooner did he go out of my sight,Then a cry ‘Save Lakshmana’ rang through the forest.Perplexed and alarmed I pricked up my ears,And once again heard the cry, ‘Save me, Lakshmana.’

Valiant Lakshmana was there by my side;I said; “Brother, see, if there is danger.”To pacify my anxious mind, he said:Do not fear, this is not the voice of Srirama.A hero alone can understand heroic nature,I saw Lakshmana as calm as ever.Frail indeed is a woman’s heartAnd I was all the more agitated at his answer.I made entreaties and then spoke harsh words,I compelled him to go in search of my husband.

My peace, happiness and good fortuneWere at once swept away in Lakshmana’s course.Then misfortune, in the guise of a sanyasiStood begging at my cottage door.The devil, instead of waiting till my husband’s returnPersisted me to give him alms instantly,As I offered him alms, he pulled my handAnd forcibly pushed me into a flying car.How piteously I begged, protested and cried!But he paid no heed to my entreaties and threats.I realised then, dress is no index of inner virtue,Though outwardly a saint, he was different inside.People think that Dharma inspires good Karma.But a few know that Yama is another name of Dharma.

The devil flew the chariot towards the South,And the sky was reverberated in the noise.I cried louder and louderBut my scream was lost in the chariot’s roar.Wild peacocks looked up to me and wept,Herds of deer with startled eyes looked upwards.A bird blocked his path and fought with him;But the ten-headed monster severed its wings.

Even the wind, blowing from the opposite sideCould not prevent the evil-minded devil.The mountains raised their headsBut couldn’t block the flying chariot.Hoping to send a message to people of the earth,I flung my ornaments amidst the chariot’s roar.I watched the rivers over-powered by griefWent lean, becoming still in their slender bodies.Tall and gigantic trees shrank their bodiesAnd embraced one another out of fear,Birds and beasts went into hiding,And the whole earth slowly moved towards silence.

The three quarters of the sky, east, west and southGradually assumed the deep blue hues.No sign of land was visible anywhere,Still the wicked one flew the chariot there.The horizon in front gave off a glare,Alas! I took it for a forest fire!As the chariot went nearer and nearer,The luminous objects increased in number.Were they stars that forsook the sky,And gathered together in clusters during the day,Did they spurn the starlit dome, on parting from the moonLighting the separation-fires in their hearts?Or was it that my earthly activities had ended,

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And I was entering the realm of Yama?My eyes caught sight of dazzling palaces,Looking exquisitely beautiful with pitcher of gold on tops.A golden city it was, with dazzling palaces and gardens,Shining in the refulgent Sun, dazzling and bright Yama.Knowing intuitively the Yogi to be the messenger of YamaI made up my mind to face him with my devotion toSrirama.

At the outskirts of the town the Sanyasi brought downthe chariot,And walked along a path leading to the Ashoka garden.The path had been decorated with marble stonesAnd the garden looked beautiful with flowers and fruits.

An Ashoka tree surpassed in beauty,With its flowers in full bloom.Inside the garden stood a glittering mansion,Adorned and embellished with splendoured-gems.The Sanyasi said; “Stay here in this golden land,And forget the pangs of separation from your husband;The hardship of your forest life are now at an end,Enjoy heavenly pleasures and adorn this land.For all that is rare in the three worlds,Will instantly be yours on demands.Thousands of tender-limbed girls will serveYour lotus-feet as your bonded slaves.Then he summoned one thousand maidsAnd spoke to them in words of command:“Remember that she is the queen of my heart,Serve her well with full devotion.”Fulfil her wishes day and night,And narrate stories of my greatness before her.Take care to attract her mind,To my prowess, pelf and opulence.”

With these words the Yogi disappeared,And my heart was filled with amazement.I couldn’t guess who the Yogi wasAnd why he had brought me to that strange land.How, did I become the queen of the Sanyasi’s heart?Wasn’t I still the daughter-in-law of the Raghu’s race?I had not died, my memory was still very strong,And the son of Kaushalya was my only refuge.Then I resolved firmly in my heart,That I shall never be afraid of the Yogi, whoever he mightbe,So long as I remain in full consciousness,The son of Kaushalya would be my only refuge.Be it the abode of Yama or be it heaven,Be it the enchanted garden of the gods;None can succeed in bewitching my mind and heart,The son of Kaushalya is my only refuge.Why would I need a thousand slaves,When I have no need for bath and food?My Lord and master will be roaming in the forest,And my mind would be bound to his feet.Even if a hundred Muses comeAnd play on their harps and lyres,Could their celestial music be as sweet asOne sweet word whispered by my husband in my ears?

Brooding thus and with my mind fixed uponMy husband’s form, I lost all consciousness.I know not how long I lived there and how,Only I know, my husband was constantly in my mind.The days and nights in that kingdom,Appeared to be long like those of godsI thought it was some heavenly abode,And I filled my mind with divine courage.I prayed to God for heavenly strengthAnd for devotion to my husband worthy of a goddess’sheart;I depended on the nectar of my husband’s feet,And hence paid no heed to hunger and thirst.Various kinds of apparels and ornaments,Delicious and sweet drinks were brought to me;The maids flattered me in high-sounding phrases,But nothing could induce my mind.

In course of time I came to know from the maid’s talksThat Ravana was a conqueror of the three worldsAnd Lanka, the sea-moated kingdom was his realmAt whose name even Indra, the king of gods quailed.I had been carried to that kingdomBy that wicked demon in a Yogi’s attire.His capital was a magnificent islandInaccessible to both men and gods.The gods of the heaven were mortally afraid of him,And they lost no time in carrying out his orders,Whenever his eyes turned red in anger,Even Brahma, the Creator of the world quailed in fear.Hearing the name of Ravana I recalled,How his pride was humbled by Shankara’s bow.And I wondered how the dog had the audacityTo wish for holy nectar of the sacrifice.

One day the devil came to the gardenAnd standing before me in his fiery form,Puffed up in pride and vanityKept on pouring sinful words.Seeing the tears streaming down the massed cloudsOf my grief, he withdrew with darkness of pride.The terrible lightning flash of his hope,Burned in the shuddering cloud-mass.From the day I realised, my friend,That the sinner had touched my hand,An unbearable fire rising from the point of touchCoursed through me and tormented my being.I felt, as though all the hair over my bodyAre poisoned arrow-heads over me;Ah, what pain do the does sufferWhen the hunter’s arrows pierced their bodies!I bore in my heart this unbearable agony,And held my mind firm in righteousness:I kept the faith firm in my heartThat righteousness is the valour of a pious woman.Once I stretched out my hand unknowinglyOffering alms to the demon in disguise.If he tried to drag me by force again, I thoughtEither I would kill him or be killed by him.

If Dharma really prevails in this world

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The world will witness my amazing action.Even if the cotton of sin is heaped like a mountain,Only one spark of piety is enough to burn it down.My friend, Dharma is a great saviour,Into my being Dharma poured the life-saving nectar.A monkey brought me news of my husband,And returned after humiliating Ravana.

Very soon Rama built a bridge across the oceanAnd crossed it with a vast army of monkeys.They struck terror in the heart of the demon-king,And then started the terrible war-sacrifice.Lanka trembled with shrieks and shouts of themonkeysAll warriors of Ravana’s clan were butchered in thesacrifice.Only one was there on the righteous path,Who took refuge at the holy feet of Srirama.He stood firm like a pillar in that sacrifice,Blessed with a garland of salvation around his neck.The volume of demon’s blood flowed in the war,Measured ten million times the tears of my eyes.Ravana, floating in terror on a sea of misery,Fell into the crocodile-jaws of my husband’s arrows.

The Lord of Raghus called me to his side,And looking at me without affection, said:“There is no greater sin in the world than evil companyContact of an evil man brings immense sufferings.You lived in the sinful cell of lust-smitten devilYour mind would have been touched by sinI am not able to take you back againIn case I do so, it might bring a public scandal.Once water comes down from the cloud,Can the cloud keep it back again?If it burns flame-like in the fireIt will rise up to merge with the cloud again.

I thought, “I had kept myself alive,So that I might serve my husband’s lotus-feet;What need have I of that life now,If I am not fit to touch the lotus-feet.I wi l l burn this body with my eyes set on hiselegant faceWhat greater happiness than this can I ever have?If the body is burnt, I am sure, my soulWould merge in the soul of my husband.If, by the power of Dharma, this body is saved,I shall receive my master’s love two times more.Then said I, “May the holy fire be lit,So that this maid of yours may bathe in it.”Lakshmana then reluctantly lit a pyre,The flames swaying in the wind rose to the sky.With wistful eyes I looked on the lotus-faceAnd standing before the fire with a determined will,Said aloud: “O Sun, Moon, Wind, Sky and Fire!You in-see the hearts of all living beings.In case my heart had been attracted even a whitTowards any one but the sun of the Raghu’s raceThen, reduce me to ashes instantly, Oh, Fire!For, you are capable of consuming all.

True that I was a captive in the city of the sinnerBut if ever I was tempted to commit any sin,Burn me, Oh, Fire! So that I shalln’t be able to seeThe lotus feet of my Lord for ten million births.You do not distinguish between virtuous and vicious,And by your Dharma, consume each one’s life.If Dharma in this world is true for ever,My Dharma must save me from public slander.Oh Dharma! Stay with me in thy real nature,Fear not and with me into the fire enter;If not in this life, in death at least,Make me a slave at my Lord’s lotus-feet.When my body is burnt to ashes,Use the same as manure to a tree;Give the timber of the tree to a carpenter,To make a pair of sandals for my Lord’s feet.

Looking up, at my master’s noble face,I entered fearlessly into the flames of the fireThe gem of Raghu’s race wept at the sight and so didLakshmanaAnd a loud wail of lamentation rose from the soldiers.Tears flowing from countless eyes,Drowned me in the waters of pity,And the burning fire seemed strangely cool inside.The firmament was filled with exclamations of grief.A voice from the heaven was heard in my favour,Convincing my Lord that I was chaste and righteous.Fire extinguished under Dharma’s swayAnd my life was saved by Dharma’s power.

All my sorrows and sufferings were burnt to ashes,And my good fortune helped me to serve my Lord.As I had kept my life through all the pain,I could regain the lotus-feet of my Lord.My Lord seated me in the royal chariot,Along with the chosen band of warriors,Made his return journey to Ajodhya,Rejoicing in victory on the airy path.Having crossed the dry desert of separationI found an ocean of love in my shrivelled heart;A flood of joy swept through all my being,And the whole world seemed to be saturated withdelight.

When there is unhappiness in one’s life,One can not see happiness anywhere.But when there is happiness in one’s life,The world appears to overflow with pleasure.I stepped on the same chariot in my prosperity,Which at one time was a well of adversity.Looking at those scenes my joy knew no bound,Which a year ago had made me weep aloud.Wonderful was the flight of the gem-lit chariot,With clouds above and the ocean below;Rivers, lakes, mountains, and trees,Became a love-maze for my eyes.All those places where we stayed before,Charming hills and enchanting bowersSmoke-palled hermitages that I loveKept calling my mind and heart as we flew above.

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The hermit-daughters with dishevelled hair,Heard the noise of the chariot from afar.And looked up to the azure sky in astonishmentArousing in my heart a longing for the past and thedistant.Their pure love, their cordial welcome,Their sweet lips that made sweet and simple talk,Their simple form, serene eyes, and loving natureRained nectar on the lush green meadows of my memory.The old familiar names of those good friends of mine,Returned to my memory like the blooming of lotuses.In my mind’s pond, as a day of happiness dawned,After the departure of the deep dark night.The fragrant and sweet memory of their old loveCreated a commotion of delight in my heart;Barely had the sylvan beauty satisfied my desireWhen the chariot moved forward very fast.My mind could not forget the enchanting woods,The store-house of infinite beauty.Though the mind was on the chariot, sailing in the sky,It flitted to the holy feet of my mother-in-law at home.It revelled with my dark-hued husband,And played upon the three planes,Acquiring a semi-circular form,Behaved like a rain-bow in a new cloud.

The king of Ajodhya, my father-in-lawIn the absence of his son who was the very essenceof his soul,Hurried to Indra in the land of the heavenly gods,As the oil from the lamp of his life was exhausted.As Ajodhya was without a kingBharata rushed to my husbandAnd with folded hands begged him to be the king.We were then living in the woods of Chitrakuta.Bharata entreated my husband to return to AjodhyaBut Raghava turned down all his appeals.He enjoined: Father did not break his word,He sacrificed his life to keep his word.How can I wring the neck of Dharma’s crane,My father so righteously nurtured, ignoring myconscience?Bharata wept aloud, falling flat at Rama’s feet,And begged: “Allow me then, to serve your feetWhen the Sun, leaving the earth, goes to set,Can his rays then abandon him?”My Lord rejoined: Oh Bharata, the cool rays of the moonDispel the sorrows of the earth at night,Then Bharata answered with calm humility,“The moon receives the rays of the sun.As does Sesha bear the burden of the earth,So will your sandals sustain the kingdom.When gems of the sandals shine on my headEnemies would take me for a poisonous serpent.My Lord put his sandals in Bharata’s handsWhich Bharata placed upon his head:Returning from Chitrakuta with tearful eyesBharata brushed off the sufferings of the royal goddess.

At the end of fourteen years,He stood waiting for our return.Alighting from the chariot, I bowed

At the feet of my three mothers-in-law.Seeing my Lord with Lakshmana and meBharata lost himself in the river of joy.Returning the sandals to the feet of Srirama,He worshipped his feet with due custom.My husband became the king and I his queen,I served his lotus-feet in keeping with his wish.

No sooner did I desire for somethingThan my husband lost no time in fulfilling.Seated in a boat of love, we the royal couple,Used to sail merrily in the sea of bliss:Floating on the waves of good fortune,We forgot for many years life’s stress and strain.Who knew, that sorrow was inscribed on my brow,Ordained by Fate, it was bound to be so,Who knew, that calamity of a terrible fireWas waiting to rise from the sea as all-destroyer.As the sky at the end of the day looks radiant,So at the end of my good fortune I was pregnant.My husband showed me more kindnessAnd fulfilled all my desires with fondness.

One day I expressed my desire to go to the forestTo spend a few days in the company of the old friends.Before the night had ended, before the day dawned,My husband sent me to the forest with Lakshmana.Alighting from the boat on the bank of the Ganga,Lakshmana spoke,There, the Virtuous One broke off, her voice was choked.Brooding over the impending sufferings ahead,She wept, as though cast upon an endless stream of tears.Her companion embraced her and held her close,She too wailed piteously, her face touching the ChasteOne’s.All other nuns heard the sound of the criesAnd came running to the spot to lead them to the hut.They spoke various things to divert their minds,Talking too of the usual morning chores.They talked of watering the plants and plucking theflowers.Thus all were slowly induced to lie on the lap of sleep.

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CANTO-VIII

As childhood changeth in human life yielding placeto youth,So did spring unfold itself into summer in the forest.Just as youth becomes more vigorous day by day,So did the summer’s heat become more intenseday by day.As man’s longings for worldly pleasures extend to allsides,So does the charming mirage stretch its arms to theharizon.Just as the miser’s riches pass into other’s possessionSo do the cotton-wisps fly into the nothingness ofthe sky.Just as the palasha flower is bereft of its colour and scent,So are all worldly things transitory and evanescent.With the increasing heat the jasmine in the abundancebloomed,With the fragrance of the flowers the atmosphere wassurcharged.Just as a goodman’s heart remains steady in suffering,So also the fame of serenity goes on increasing.The vine-jasmine watched with joy the blooming jasmine,Just as one good man enjoys the company of anothergood man.Discussing and deciding mutually in one mind,Both continued to give off scents of the same kind.“Rains will bless the earth with longed for coolness,And birds and beasts will get peace and happiness.Kadamba and Ketaki lack not in sweet scent,They will give off fragrance to man’s full content.Let us assign them the task of creating smiles onpeople’s faces,Then we shall renounce the world of f lora withsmiling faces.”

The lotus flower raising its head,And supporting the proposal, gladly said:“I shall always remain with you,And plunge into the high waves of the sea of Time.”The jasmine asked her: “Can you do so?For, the Sun, your husband will never let you go.”The lotus replied: “When the clouds pervade the sky,My husband can not see my face and I sigh;Passing a few days in agony and anguish

And making an end of this life, I shall vanish.My husband can not look through the cloudAnd suffers pain for the world’s good.I can not enjoy my husband’s love for long,Fate has so ordained and it can not be wrong.I shall remember my Lord’s feet in this life,And death will lead me to the next life.If I suffer for a few days in this life,I shall see my husband’s face in the next life.”

As these words fell in Vaidehi’s inner ears,She considered them as her life’s ideal,And said; “O Lotus; you are indeed a virtuous lady,So you could see the path of piety before you.Lotus dear, in a sense I happen to be your sisterFor, I too share your fate, my dear sister.I enjoyed ambrosial happiness like you at home,I enjoyed my husband’s love in the woods.Your husband, the bright Sun is the Lord of the day,My husband, born of the same race, is Lord of the earth.All that you say about the future course of actionHas already befallen to me and I too walk on the path.Blessed are you, O Chaste One, Praise to Thee!Lend me a portion of thy purity and fill my mind with it.Honouring his subjects’ words my husbandabandoned me,Accepting the misfortune, he suffered pangs ofseparation.Tell me, O Chaste One, with the help of your foresightWhether I shall be able to see my husband in mynext life?”

Under the canopy of the cool lotus leaves,And in the azure bosom of the pond’s water,The sheldrake couples spent their happy noon,So did the gander and the goose spend theirmid-summer noon.The shrimp leapt across the clumps of lotus-leaves,But couldn’t dodge the beaks of the duck and becameits food.The minnow jumped from the lotus leaf,The frog leapt in fear of the water-snake.Upon the mango branch the mournful cuckoo sat,Hiding herself behind the crow’s nest.Suffering from thirst, she stopped singing,As if afraid of the wicked ones, she kept herself hiding.The wagtail did not wag its tailNor did it display the bright-red-feathers of its tailNot even ruffled its wings with war criesAt the sight of its brother birds.It is hunger that pushes one to fight with another.Why else should a brother be the foe of a brother?He sat with his slender body and full bellyMerrily on the branch of a tall sal tree.Flocks of parrots in mahua trees,Peeled the mahua fruits, while eating.Were they predicting the advent of the monsoon rainsAs do Brahmins study the almanac to presagefuture rains?

There in the cool shade of the dense leaves

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Of the banyan tree on the bank of Tamasha,Lies a cottage that smells sweet with the fragranceof MallikaSurrendering midsummer heat at the feet of Peace.Opening his eyes of wisdom, sage Valmiki sat therePondering over the holy Ramayana.Some hermits kept themselves busy with their studies,While others were engaged in chanting the vedas.Surrounded by a group of she-hermitsSita sat on seats of leaves under the bowers,As she was heavy with child, she looked tired,And regained tranquility at the sight of the flowers.Was it Sita’s tranquil gaze or the moon’s orb atnight’s endWith its fading halo on the other side of the setting hill?It was a swathe of sweat on her pale and dry cheeks,And tears flowing from eyes like droplets of cold dew.

There, the Chaste One, surrounded by the abessesAnd recalling the ways of Lanka’s demonessesPondered over the divine qualities of the abessesAnd compared with the diabolical nature of the giant-esses.Then she remembered the heroic deeds of Hanumana,Conveying gratitude to the worthy son of the wind-god.And fanning gratefully with a palm-leaf fanReceived a gust of cool breeze in return.Just then appeared a lovely lady named ThoughtAnd with endearing words spoke to Janaki humbly;“O Devi, at thy door are gathered many strangersDesirous of catching sight of thy holy person.They have come a long way, beating the heatof the sun,Their charming forms arouse one’s affection.Vaidehi said, “Bring them, friend, bring them soon,Fortunate I am, for, I shall receive their boon.To see the noble ones my eyes are so keen,For, their sight will surely wash away my sin.”

With the permission of Sita, one came forward,Bearing a smile on her familiar face.Sprinkling the sweet and nectarine wordsIn a tone of intimacy uttered the words:“Oh Pious Devi, do you recall the event of the past?Do you remember that you set thy feet in my hut,Lending from your lustre divine beauty to me,As a result of which my springs flowed in glee.Hosts of flowers with blooming faces float on my water,Shaming those of Nandana Kanana with tauntinglaughter.Acquiring your fragrance, the water of my stream,Gives new life to those who live on my banks.Flocks of peacocks brought up by youSing in praise of your virtues each day,Hoping to see you again and again,The clouds come to the hill and the mountain.Moving from cave to cave in search of you,With what eagerness they ask, “Where Sita is.”Asking me in rolling thunderous rumblings,They believe not my negative answers of ‘No’.Lighting the torch of lightning they search on,With the certitude that Virtuous Sita is there.

Do you recognise, O Devi, this unfortunate one?Forgive me for coming to meet you after agesI am Chitrakuta, where live the holy sagesYou adorned my crown with the dust of your feet.”

Then came a resplendent lady of exquisite beautyIn radiant form, eternal companion of the sylvan deity.Wearing a garland of wild jasmines in her neckShe adorned her forehead with the dazzling mahua blos-soms.Eartops made of black berries glittered like blue gems,Girdle made of oyster shells dazzled in the sun.With her beautiful locks of silken hairThe exquisite lady enticed the hearts of the hermits.With a cheerful face and in a soft voice,She sweetly said; “Accept my gratitude, O Gentle One!For, I am indebted to you for your love.How can I repay the same, for, love can not be repaid?Nor have I the strength to repay your affection.Oblige me, Oh Virtuous One, and accept my devotion.Are there not many like me on this earth’s surfaceBut who else has received so much of your grace?Oh Virtuous One, you blessed me with your holy sightAnd transformed my sands into particles of gold.As my sporting spirit fascinated your sight,You converted my bosom into a diamond field.There is Ganga, the daughter of the mountain-king,She has sprung from Vishnu’s feet.Yet, Oh Virtuous One, you called me Mahanadi,And I still own that title you bestowed on me.”

Next appeared Godavari, the wide-bodied DameThe shadow of sorrow looming large on her face.Tears of grief ran from her eyes,And wiped the same with the end of her saris.She had with her a large number of pictures,Painted with various tints of brilliant, fast colours;She displayed the pictures one by one,And showed the same to the Virtuous One.One picture showed flowers fallen from vinesWithered in the scorching heat of the sun,Another picture showed trees on dry bedsAnd dirty dresses, losing lustre of their own.Some broken branches still stuck to the treeSeek shelter of grass, and some kissing its headFall flat at its feet, leaves covered with birds’ excrementsMake some trees appear all white.Some trees had cobwebs all over,And lost their usual cheer.The toads at the sight of the offensive heron,Became tired by plunging in water off and on.Others hiding themselves behind the stones,Lie still for fear of the offensive herons.Elsewhere wild buffaloes ran hither and thither,Rushing into the ponds and mudding the water.As the buffaloes wallow in the water,Mud-smeared lotuses are cast ashore.

Somewhere by the water the python like a logLies waiting for its prey, the frog.At the sight of the deer-track nearby,The tiger licks its lips, hiding close-by.

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A fearful picture of forest fire was there tooBringing to fauna and flora untold woe.Fearful flames rising from countless trees,Leapt upward to reach the blue-sky.Rise piles of half-burnt leaves rose in the air,And convey the message to the distant treeMany leaves get paler on the wayThen disappear in the skyNumerous birds fell into the womb of the fireIf fail to escape the flames.Herds of deer, buffaloes, boars and bearsElephants, jackals, foxes and other creatures,Were engulfed in smoke and fire,Not knowing how to flee and where.Bewildered and frightened, herds of monkeysJumped from tree to tree and escaped death.Carrying their young ones ran to the river,And crossing the bank stood near the water.The sandy river bed presented a picture,Of terrified animals crowding together.Godavari rejoined: “My dear, you saw Dandaka’spicture,And all this happened after your departure.”Out of sympathy for poor Dandaka, said the VirtuousOne,“Oh, Dandaka, where is your glory and where is the vi-sion?I would propitiate Providence by my prayers,To grant you peace in exchange with my tears,Ah, My favourite field of sport, where are your varieties?I would feel gratified to restore your lost beauties.”

Then came Ajodhya with a letter in hand,Written by the goddess of royalty.And read out the letter with trembling lips,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.The royal palace has become an ugly jungleYour absence like a fire has destroyed all.Nothing of the former magnificence is left behind,Burnt are the luxuriant trees in the compassionatehearts of the gentry.Covered with thick foliage these at one time bubbledwith life,Gone are now the sweet-smelling flowers and their glory.Deer-herds of Peace and elephants of PatienceWere 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’tescape,They too, became easy victims of the disaster.Only the fathomless deep Srirama’s heartHas retained the burning flame as a Badaba fire.Ah, Friend! The king without you, is reduced to amere shape,As is the moon in Rahu’s mouth in the lunar eclipse.His bejewelled palace is filled with deep darkness

Like a mass of dark cloud in the starry sky.Your mothers-in-law sit brooding with broken hearts,Like reservoirs with their water dried up.For, you are more precious to their heartsThan the dazzling ruby is to the cobra.Closed are the gates of the luxury garden,Now the flowers are seen by none.The ‘cyperus rotundus’ as a trader of perfumes,Spreads out the fallen flowers to dry up.Trees and creepers dry up grieving,And thinking of you, friend, they are withering.

Beautiful paths of conch-white marble,Remain covered over with dried leaves.Your brothers-in-law at their Lord’s behest,Bending their heads in sadness take rest.As serpents are deadened by magic spellsOr mighty elephants silenced by iron prodsYour sisters rest their cheeks on lotus palms,Their lustrous bodies languishing day by day.As the moon wanes through the dark fortnight,Your musician-friends no more play on the mridanga.No more are they interested in singing.No more do they sing or speak anything.Your maid servants live in deep depression,Like yesterday’s flowers, plucked from the garden.”

Unable to read the letter till the endLady Ajodhya sank into the earth beside her friend.Compassionate Sita was overwhelmed with griefSympathising with Ajodhya in her sad plight.As the end of the day approached,The guests to their respective homes returned.To the Virtuous One, the hermit-daughters escorted,And to their own duties, they reported.

CANTO-IX

As days passed by, Sita’s wombGrew heavier and heavier;It was hard for her to rise from her seat,In case she stood, she couldn’t hold herself erect.

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The rains approached to beat the summer’s heat,Apprehending that it might cause suffering to Sita.Masses of clouds rose from all the four directionsTo 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.

Shaking off all shame, Indra, the king of the godsClaimed this bow to be his own.But Varuna, the god of the seas, unable to tolerate,Claimed it was his, for, it was made of the gems of thesea.Other guardians of the sky, well-versed in rules of right-eousness,Allotted the ownership of the bow by turns.

The rains poured down on earth’s headWhich was burning due to the sorrow of her daughter.It went on raining indiscriminatelyUpon rivers, ponds, hills, mountains all.Bathing in the showers, the earth was delightedWith sprouting grass, and blooming Kadambas.The rain water flooded the earth’s surface,Tamasha ran overflowing her banks;Was it that she was overwhelmed with joy,In anticipation of Sita’s child birth so near at hand?Hills and forests gave up the heat of the fire in themAnd scrubbing and washing, looked clean and fresh.Residing in her thorny citadel, Ketaki of the pricklyframe,With a sweet smile on her face, said; Oh, Vaidehi,Thou art now living in this forest of misfortunes,But fear not, Chaste One, I too live in the house ofthorns.Aren’t I adored for my perfume all over the worldThough I am always pierced by dreadful thorns?Thou too, living as a nun among the nuns,Will be worshipped for thy purest mind, by all people.If one’s virtues are divinely bestowed and sparkle asjewels,

How can the same be darkened by people’s scandals?Even if the bees cease to come to me for fear of thorns,Should I cease to boast of the promise of my fragrance?

The exquisite gulmohars bloomed in clusters,Enchanting both eye and mind with beautiful colours.The queen of the night had been waiting since spring,To hand over the flowery epistle to the monsoon rain.The letter contained delightful news aboutLotus, jasmine and Kutaja flowers.The rain considered them as precious gems,But who can alter the laws of Providence?The rain could not save them in spite of its great strength.Nature’s law dragged them to the jaws of death.The Virtuous One came to realize,That the good are not neglected for the whole life.The jasmine creepers their anniversary celebrated,Decorating their bodies with profusion of flowers.As if to entertain the Virtuous-OneWas fashioned thus a palace of blossoms.Wearing a cloud-blue apparel the Shrabani night,And holding in hand, a bouquet of Gajadanta flowers,Stood in the courtyard of Janaki’s cottage,Keeping watchful vigil to alleviate Sita’s pain.

Sita’s labour pain appeared in quick succession,Sharing the pain the frogs croaked in despair.The Chataka in order to quench the thirst of the VirtuousOne,Begged the cloud again and again for rain.Elderly abbesses surrounding the Virtuous OneDid all that was needed for the occasion.At midnight Sita gave birth to twin sonsWhose lustre surpassed the lustre of the moon.Mingling with lightning the radiance of the princesIllumined all the ten quarters of the sky.Indra, the King of the gods, fired his cannon in joyIgnorant people thought, it was bolt from the heaven.The hulahuli modulated by the celestial ladies,Blended together harmoniously with the rumblingof clouds.Forests, hills and hillocks began showering flowers,Rivers, ponds and meadows danced in joy.Desirous of having a sight of Sita’s sonsClouds descended in the form of rains.The rivers with eagerness and anxiety in their hearts

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To see the babies, overflowed their banks.To see the princes, the fish abandoned the oceanJoining the rivers and ponds danced they in jubilation.The mudskipper climbed to the top of the palmyra treeSurpassing all other fishes in eagerness to see.

Seeing the twin princes, Valmiki thoughtAs if Jupiter and Venus had come together.The heart of the sage was filled with joy,As is dawn, filled with the scent of the flowers.Taking a blade of kusha grass in hand,The sage with a spell broke it into two pieces.Then the great hermit to Anukampa said:Perform now the customary birth rites of the infants;Sweep the body of the first born with the upper halfAnd use the lower half for the younger one.Anukampa, the she-hermit did as was instructed,Observing the rites to ward off the evils, as was needed.As the infants were swept ritually by the grass,Their bodies looked more resplendent than gems.As fire becomes brighter with addition of fuel,Or the dawn’s rising sun freed from the sea-waves.When Sita looked at the faces of her sons,Both happiness and sorrow entered her heart.With an exclamation said Happiness: “Blessed are youO, Queen,That you in your womb held these two princes,They are like the sun and the moon, praised are you!There is no greater fortune than this on earth.”Refuting the statement of Happiness, said Sorrow:“These princes would have adorned a jewelled palace;They would have delighted the hearts of the king and hissubjects;They would have removed the penury of the poor andthe needy.The poor would have received gifts according to theirneed,In the shape of coins, apparels, jewels and lands.Auspicious sounds would have resounded in the cityAnd the sky’s quarters would have reverberated withechoes.Ah, the misfortune! The princes born in the hermitage,Will take shelter here as the children of a sage.”

Stealthily taking two tear-streams from Sita’s eyes,Woeful Sorrow left the mother to herself and her filiallove.

Seeing the radiance of her son’s beauty,Sita’s heart was filled with pure happiness.She set her eyes on the prince’s beautyAnd did not like to look at other things.Receiving the affection of the heart from the mother’seyes,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 mindAnd 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 abbessesIn jubilation sang and danced.The young sons of hermits began chantingThe glories of Rama to the rhythms of dancing.It was a chance coincidence that ShatrughnaPursuing the invincible demon, LavanaHad halted in the hermitage of Valmiki.He too was drowned in the river of celebration.Praising the Virtuous One in high-sounding wordsShatrughna said: “Thou sanctifier of Raghu’s race!Like, thy mother, thou art also all-enduring;Oh, daughter of the Earth, you preserved the finest gemsin thy womb.These jewels thou gifted to Raghu’s race today,Would shine on the head of Ajodhya’s royal goddess.”In the festivities and rejoicings of the hermitage,Joined herds of deer and flocks of birds.The dark and dreadful Shrabani night,Soon ended with the advent of the dawn’s twilight.Offering obeisance at the feet of the great sage,Shatrughna in chase of Lavana, left the hermitage.

Sita wished to please all by offering rich presentsBut where had she the riches after her desire?She had herself taken shelter in the forest.She had brought with her only a few jewels.The moonlight always longs to please the worldBut the irony is that the clouds cover the sky.When the Virtuous One left the palace,She had thought she would return soon;She had brought a few ornaments and clothes,To offer as gifts to the daughters of the sages.She offered the gifts with humility and hesitation,And pleased the monks and nuns of the ashrama.They accepted the gifts as if they were moonbeams,And the oceans of their hearts widened with joy.Whatever fruits and rice she had in her storeShe distributed the same to the birds and deer.They struggled with one another to eat the sameSome birds flew away with food in their beaks.The young ones sat with open mouths,The mother-birds distributed the food among them.The peacock couples danced in tandava-formAnd the cuckoo spread the news from land to land.The royal swan flew with joyous sounds to KailasaTo tell the good news and to win Gouri’s trust.She took a letter in the form of a lotus leaf,Full of rejoicings, Gouri came with Hara’s consent.

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Gouri flew in the form of Goddess Shasthi,With the hope to be worshipped by Sita.Under the flash of lightning, among resplendent clouds,She flew through the sky to Valmiki’s hermitage.Assuming the radiant forms of Seven Mothers,Through the ashrama girls, she was worshipped by Sita.Blessing the twins with the strength of the lions,The goddess also destroyed all possible afflictions.

It was the twenty-first day of the babies,The auspicious naming ceremony was to be held.The gods descended from their celestial homes,The goddesses also followed them in their chariots.It was time for the autumn’s sway,So the clouds were making way.They came in the radiant chariots with the rays of thesun,And in the guise of fragrance settled upon the flowers.With half-smiles, they spread their divine formAnd in jubilation entered the hearts of the hermits.

At Valmiki’s behest went into forest,All monks and nuns with double delight,To collect all sorts of flowers and leavesAnd to erect an exquisite floral altar.The hermitage was illuminated at the first hour of thenight,With lamps full of Ingudi oil, poured by the ascetics.Trees, plants and creepers all around,Revelled in the midst of the waves of light.It was a night of the festivities for the flowers,And Gajadanta was the proudest of all the flowers.Sitting among the hermits on the pedestalValmiki shone as the ocean of milk among the seas.Or as Indra among the gods in grandeurOr as towering Everest among the peaks of theHimalayas.

Sita and Anukampa came to the altar,Holding the princes in their lotus arms,Like Chhaya and Sangyan carrying AshwinisIt was a magnificent sight for gods to see.The morning star came close to the waning moonOn the thirteenth dark night in the sky,It seemed as if the eastern sky was proud to haveThe reflections of both the moon and the star.Companions of Sita, the ashrama’s virginsOf innocent hearts and cheerful faces,Wearing the garments she had gifted themSat happily beside the Virtuous One.It looked like a forest of lotuses by the side of Dawn.Having received fresh light from the rays of the risingsun.

Gods were worshipped in vedic rites,Conches and trumpets were sounded.Blessing the first-born, the sage declared,He has been sanctified with the upper part of the grass.As Kusa he would be a goad to the elephant-like foes,The younger son was named as Lava,All other ascetics sang together the glories of Rama,

To the accompaniment of cymbal and drum.The daughters of the hermits played on the veena,Singing songs sweeter than heaven’s nectar.Gods and goddesses in the shape of flowers,Danced, spreading perfume from the bowers.Herds of deer and doe stood beside them,Watching the show with awe-struck eyes.The forest added its echo to the great up-roar,And spread the joy of the festival in the whole atmos-phere.Angels in the guise of trees and creepers,Assumed the roles of celestial musicians.

The entire hermitage was bright and gay,But there was a tinge of darkness on Sita’s lily-like face,For, Rama was not there to share the joySo her festival night was a dark night of the moon.Yet the very same darkness increased her splendour,Does not darkness make moonshine longed for?The twin princes glittered like jewels,As if they were caverns in a gem-studded hill.God and sages together observed the festival,Enhancing the glory of the Virtuous One.This is the divine way of the world’s nobilityThey are happy in honouring the noble ones with all hu-mility.The magnanimous sage ValmikiPronounced his blessings on the twins,And gods seated in the hearts of hermitsSaid along with trees and creepers “May it be so!”The presiding deities from all quarters of the sky,Said in solemn support of the blessing: “Let it be so.”

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CANTO -X

Considering her sons more precious than her life,Sita utilized all her time in bringing them up.Bestowing on them all her love and affectionShe began to feel her life’s burden lighten.

Reluctant to leave them behind her,She went out only once for a bath,But came back quickly with wet clothes onTo see the lotus-faces of her sons.

Surpassing the moon’s growth in bright fortnightThe limbs of the babies grew bigger and bigger,In course of time, their faces looked like full moonWith the lustre and glory, their faces shone.As they began to recognize their mother’s face,They cried aloud to climb to her lap.

Gazing at their mother’s face, they smiledAnd cried aloud to roll on her lap.They looked at their mother’s face and smiled again.The mother too smiled, and they smiled again and again.

Sita hadn’t thought even in her dreamThat a smile would ever sprout on her burnt face.It was a rare smile of rarest happinessComing automatically, it showed itself.She would have shared this happiness with her hus-band,But fate was against her and she blamed her fate.

The Muse in the form of teeth came to their mouths,With the brilliance that surpassed that of moon, snowand pearl.The goddess played softly on the strings of the veena,And the babies produced the melodious notes of Ma,Ma, Ma.

Just as the vernal breeze brings leaves to the trees,So also this divine music brought new life to Sita.On her lips blossomed hues of coral red,

The flowering buds of their teethGrew up with touch of the moon-beams.

As the sun, moving from east to the northBrightens the face of the earth more and more,So did Sita’s flaming mind look brighterAs if happiness and fortune came to her hands.

The princes spoke in childish babbles,Resembling lotuses in half-bloom.Their sweet prattle, charming looks,Half articulated words, attractive movements,Fascinating attire and loving posturesFilled the mother’s heart with ecstatic joy.

In time the princes learned to sitAnd crawl on their legs on the earth.Standing at a little distance, Sita called themEncouraging and bracing their strength,The princes used to crawl fast to their mother,With sweet and exhilarating smiles in their faces.

At times they used to take mud and claySoiling their faces and tongues,If the mother offered them ripe fruits,They shook their heads and threw them away.Their lovely unruly, curly lock of hairLike flower-tossed bees would fly in the air,

They learned to stand by holding their mother’s hands,And they learned to walk all by themselves.When they fell down and cried aloud,The mother consoled by kissing their faces.

Delighted at the sight of the coloured birdsThe princes called out to them.Fascinated by the splendour of the peacock’s tailThe princes would chase the bird with the hope to catch.

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They would catch hold of a deerAnd deck it with wild flower.The monks and nuns decked their hair with flowers,And rocked them in swings of flower-ladden creepers.Bursting out in glee and wishing more pleasure,The princes would repeat, “Once, more, once more.”

Brightly green, the limbs of the princes,Looked captivating in their flowery swings.It seemed as if the sylvan deity in amusement,Coyly moving her nose-ring set with emerald,And in the guise of trembling branches of treesLaughed at other beauties by moving her eyebrows.

During the first five years of their childhood,The princes grew stronger and stronger like lion’s cubsAnd roamed around rivers, lakes and woods freelyNot bothering about dangers of the wild beasts.

Valmiki, the hermit of austerity and wisdom,Performed the customary rites of the princesAnd admitted them to the impenetrable woods oflearningEnabling them to lay low the elephant of ignorance.

The new epic Ramayana bubbling with all sentiments,Resembled a mountain peak studded with gems,Where Rama was the lion and Ravana, the elephantFrom where flowed blood-stream in resounding cascades.The lionesses confined themselves to the cavernWeeping and crying aloud in agony and pain.

The sage made the princes scale the summitAnd taught them to play as lion’s cubs,They knew from the epic that Rama was the lionBut didn’t know, they were themselves the lion’s cubs.The princes would sing before their mother,

The Ramayana composed by the great seer,Playing on the veena in keeping with the rhythm andtone,Their minds absorbed in Srirama’s devotion.When singing they tossed their heads and eyes,Being deeply agitated by the waves of love;For, the songs expressed all kinds of sentiments,Defiance, challenge, devotion and laments.Feelings and emotions surging up and sinking downDrowned the princes’ hearts in sublime sensibility.

Sweet words uttered from sweeter tongues,Clear cadences with sweeter enchantmentGraceful dances with sweet smiles,Dispensed cheer and pleasure to all alike.Pleasure assuming the shape of the cloudPoured nectar-like water into the hearts of all.

They drank the nectar from the song and dance,Into joy and grief melted their hearts at once.Sita’s companions experienced joy and griefAnd their hearts melted in delight and dejection.

Yet, the princes knew not that Janaki, their motherWas the central gem in the necklace of Raghava’s heart.And she lived in the forest on the bank of the holy riverIt was kept a secret by the magnanimous seer.

The princes sang in praises of Rama and Sita,Sita heard these songs bashfully exulting in her soulBut she took great care to hide her identity,Passing her time in the forest in pious humility.

So exquisite were the verses of the new epicThat even the bewildered deer would stand transfixed,Like wooden deer, forgetting food and drink.Flocks of birds were enchanted by the song.Trees as dancing girls decked in flowers,Danced to the tune of the princes’ songs.Overwhelmed by the enchanting songsHelpless Tamasha rolled down in ecstatic joy.

Pouring streams of nectar of the earth’s breast,Grateful Tamasha danced again to offer thanks.The forest dwellers coming from all overFloated cheerfully in the stream of nectar,The stream, after filling numberless ear-holes,Flooded, the celestial city of gods and goddesses.

Hearing the songs, Brahma, Indra and Rudra,Offered their grateful felicitations

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The heavenly maids danced with the apsaras andgandharvasAnd danced the deities of all directions.

Narada, the nomadic seer travelling in the universeProclaimed the exquisiteness of Valmiki’s new verse.Singing in praise of Rama, Sita and the princes,Praised the sweetness of the Princes’ nectar-rainingvoices.

Narada, whose veena was renowned in the universeProclaimed the excellence of the princes’ veena,How magnanimous was the heart of this hermit of gods!He became more virtuous by praising the virtues ofothers.

A virtuous man makes his tree bear fruits.The arrow is pushed forward by the bowstring.The gentle breeze carries the fragrance of the flowers,And gives delight to all creatures of the world.At the age of eleven, the thread ceremony was performedThe princes studied and acquired knowledge of theVedas,And Janaki surrendered her sorrow and grief,At the feet of the genius of her talented sons.

In their early youth the charming princes,Resembled the dazzling waters of JamunaWas it that the sun, borrowing the gems from thesea-god,Decorated skillfully the blue limbs of the princes?

Their words of wisdom uttered in courteous languagePurified both the ear and the heart of the listenerImbibing rare divinity in minds and heartsThey developed personalities that dazzled in grandeur.

Hearing the holy verses from the lips of her sons,The mother’s heart was filled with the light of joy.And the dark nights of her sad memoriesBecame more and more pleasant with the passageof time.Only a grieving heart can assess the worth of happiness,Which the ever-happy man can never do.

The lustrous forms of the princes was a store-house ofgems,And their praises a spring of nectar to the mother,Her husband’s glory was rising step by step,And the virtuous wife thought, it was a ladder to heaven.

As the twins roamed in the countryside without fear,Sita engaged herself in penance with deep fervour,Surrendering her mind at her husband’s feet,She prayed to God to cut short her life.

She grew leaner like the river in summer,Like the waning moon she fixed her gaze on the night ofdeath.But she believed that her husband was the sun,And she was optimistic about her future union.

She thought: “If I could look upon my husband’s sacredfeetI would leave my twins in his glorious hands.Then the deer of my soul would flee from the bondageTo dwell in its original abode in the woodlands offreedom.”

CANTO - XIOne day, the sun was tired of revolving round theearth,His radiance was dimmed with the sweat of his brow.To the western sea he went,And sank himself in the blue water.Unable to bear the pangs of separation from her hus-bandThe day followed him without waiting for a moment.But the innocent lotus didn’t leave her home,For, she didn’t know the torments of separation.Stealing from her treasury of pink apparelNight covered the sky with a twilight carpet.Seeing the insult inflicted on the lotus-dame,The Shirisha tree let its leaves wither in shame.

After sunset, the great sage worshipped the fire god,And inwardly invoked the blessings of Lord Siva.Sitting on kusha grass in his own hermitage,On Rama’s bountiful rule contemplated the sage.He thought of various instructions imparted to the sons,And of ways to unite the father and the sons.Again he mused: The sons by now reached the age,When they should be taught archery and politics.If they live here in the ashrama with hermits,Their precious time would be wasted in vain.If the princes are not skilled in princely duties,Their virtues would be as useless as barren trees.If the hero’s sons cannot do heroic deeds,A despicable stigma will be attached to the race.

Who can say that one day, the throne of Koshala,Wouldn’t need the jewel-like son of Rama?If they fail then to protect royal honour,Ignorance of ethics will manifest for certain.How can the princes, living in the forestLearn the statecrafts without the right ideals?

The kings of Raghu’s race are especially known fortheir charity,

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How can a hermit’s hut provide that facility?The forms of the princes resemble those of RamaThey are Rama’s images reflected on the mirror.From a mere look, Rama will recognize his sonsShatrughna would be there to remove suspicions.He would accept the princes presented by me,And then nobody would find fault with me.Again the sage mused: Rama knew that Sita was chaste,Yet under a pretext he sent her to the forest.Impossible it seems to have filial loveAfter a period of twelve years as suchHis filial love to his subjects he has passed onHe would seek their consent.If he has no confidence in his beliefs,It is futile to explain to him one thousand times.I think it would be most proper,To consult Vasistha and Lakshmana on this matter.”Just then from Ajodhya came the king’s messenger,And bowing at the feet of Valmiki, presented a letterGoing through the contents the sage was convincedThat his wish was going to be fulfilled.

King Ramachandra had invited the inhabitants of theashrama,To attend the Ashwamedha Yagna, he planned toperform.The chief of the sages thought: Look, how kind is Provi-dence!To take me to the shore while floating in the sea ofturmoil.The princes shall go with us to the site of the sacrificeIn the hermit’s garbs and the disciple’s guise.Visiting holy places, on this occasion,Lava and Kusa will recite the epic Ramayana.The story of Rama has a spontaneous appeal of its ownAnd people of Ajodhya will listen with rapt attention.Observing the prince’s resemblance with SriramaPeople would believe they are Rama’s sons.Rama in the prince’s forms would see his reflection,And drown himself in the well of nectarine affection.If Rama hesitated to accept the princes,Wouldn’t Kaushalya roll on the earth’s surface?Everyone would be happy to learn from RamayanaThat Vaidehi had not been sullied by Ravana.And that she had passed through an ordeal of fire,Would not the hair stand in wonder at this?The words of Ramayana would emit bright lightTo shake off the darkness of the scandal from threeworlds.

Overwhelmed with these good thoughts the chief sageArranged for the comforts of the king’s messenger.Then he went joyfully to meet the motherNarrating all that he had heard from the messenger.He said: “The twin princes would go with the novices,And sing the epic in his disciples’ guises.They will meet the hermits and receive their blessings.”Sita’s heart was filled with joy at the sage’s suggestionsShe made over to the sage, the responsibility of her sons.

Addressing the boarders, Valmiki said:“We are leaving for Ajodhya tomorrow morning.Keep ready all your requirements dear novicesDear Lava and Kusa, carry the veena with you,And make your learning fruitful by singing verses.Rama, the hero of Ramayana, who is your favouriteheroIt is he, who is performing the ‘Ashwamedha Yagna.’Kings of various countries would come to see theYagna,Bibhisana, the king of Lanka must have come withsoldiers.Crossing the surrounding seaAngada and Sugriba would have come with the he-roes.Hanumana, the great hero might have graced the oc-casionBy his kind presence, with the necklace gifted by Sita.

Nishadas of the woods, accompanied with Guha,Would come to Ajodhya with garlands of feathers.You will see Bharata, the incarnation of fraternal de-votion,Who spurned the love-embrace of the royal goddessAnd worshipping his brother’s sandals on the throne,Lived on fruits and roots for fourteen years.Bharata, who wore a knot of matted-hair and rose high,With resplendent glory like the sun in the skyThe Himalayan peaks looked up to his height,The same Bharata would be there, performing the rite.There you will see Lakshmana with your eyes,The hero whose equal the world has as yet not pro-duced.He who ground under his feet the pride of MeghanadaMeghanada who terrorized even the god of thunder.The news of Meghanada’s death like a burning flameEntered Ravana’s heart and burned furiously.His physical strength added fuel to the fire,Infuriating the demon-king and increasing his ire.In a fit of anger, he hurled his horrible missileLakshmana bore and still bears the scars on his chest.You will see all of them about whom you have read,And sing of them in the Yagna’s assembly.Hundreds of hermits halloed by austeritiesWould listen to your songs with rapt attention.If anyone among the listeners question your identity,Answer simply: ‘We, the twins are Valmiki’s disciples.’In case, Ramachandra calls youGo and sing Ramayana in his presence.If however he questions your identityAnswer simply, ‘We, the twins are Valmiki’s disciples.’If he offers you gifts, humbly refuse, saying:“What shall we do with wealth in the hermitage?”

Hearing of the horse-sacrifice from Valmiki’s lips,Vaidehi felt a searing pain in her heart.She said to herself: “Certain it is that the crowning gemOf Raghu’s race has taken a second wife in his lap.Fortunate is she that in the tree of her penanceGrew, as fruit, the sea-moon of Sagara dynasty.What severe penance did she perform, and how:

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My heart longs to do more severe penance than hers.Who would reveal to me the mysteries of the rites?Great sages like Vasistha might have known itOr else how did they nominate her as the new queen?Would they tell me of the secrets of her previous pen-ance?My Lord must have married the queen on their advice,And I must have that secret spell by some means.

With thoughts like these, Sita wrote a letterTo Rama “whose banner protects all dependentsAnd who acts as an iron rod to control wicked elephants,Whom people regard as a thunderbolt against the moun-tain of sorrow.At the lotus feet of that great emperor,This poor maid bows and worships from afar.In distress, she sends an appeal from the woodlandsFor tearing darkness surrounding her bright hopes.Oh, king of kings, initiated you are for a grand riteWith your new consort gracing your left lap.Your virtues must be waxing hundred times larger,To make the rapt heart of your wife still more joyous.You will be giving away in the observance of the rites,Boundless wealth, and apparels, to the poor and theneedy.O Lord! An humble appeal rises in my heartDo not be miserly, do not my request thwart!

You are ocean of benevolence, O Lord!Your heart is full of the milk of human kindness.Desire not to know who I am; it is not necessary.Are not you the destroyer of the anxieties of the ascet-ics?There is nothing in the world that you ever refuse a her-mit,Do not then ignore me, my Lord! I am a poor nun.The entire world must be watching with respectThe One who is worthy of being your consort.What severe penance had she performed in the past,What mantra did she chant, where and how long!This much only, my Lord! Please let me know,For, I have no need of any other wealth.I shall deem it to be far more preciousThan all the wealth distributed in a million sacrifices.There is only one more fervent requestThe twin sons of this unhappy woman are quiteinnocent,They have not had the good fortune to sit on theirfather’s lap,Nor have they known their father’s affection since theirbirth.They only know how to make the mother weepSinging Ramayana to the tune of the veena’s strings.Who with human heart, wouldn’t weep at the plaintivenotes,Which makes even plants and creepers to shed tears?Enamoured themselves with your great deeds,My sons are going to meet you with the great sage.Their own minds have enticed themFor a glimpse of thy lotus-feet.They will sing sad songs narrating sorrows of your life,

The very songs that sear the heart of this poor woman.If it is not heard, my heart longs to hear it,And the longing becomes so strong that I cannot re-press it.O Wise One, if on hearing the storyThe memory of poor Sita returns to your mind,Then think of Vaidehi’s love as but a dream,Looking at the cheerful face of your new queen.”She went on pouring her heart’s miseries in the letterBut her tears kept on washing the words of the letter.Then she pondered over what more to write,While Lava and Kusa came to her smiling.

They said: “Oh Mother! Magnanimous indeed is the Lordof Raghus,And most blessed is his beloved, the fortunate chasteone.The king is performing an Ashwamedha Yagna,And his messenger has come with an invitation.Oh Mother! We came to know from the messenger,That the entire world is blessed because ofRamachandra.Rama loved Sita more than his life,Yet he banished her, to silence a public scandal.Now he has kept a golden statue of Janaki as his wife,To perform the rituals of the grand sacrifice.Was it impossible, for him, mother, to find a wife?O no, Janaki’s husband didn’t desire another wife.Mother, where did Janaki go? May be she is not alive;That, we could not glean from the Ramayana.The great sage is willing to take us with him.We shall go, mother, and see his lotus-feet.

The words of the princes created a sea of nectar,And virtuous Sita plunged in the water of the sea.Her heart that had turned to a bed of hot sand,Was flooded by the cool waters of Rama’s sea of love.She said to herself: “Oh, what a great sinner I am!I am writing words that would have scorched his heart.What a frail, weak woman I am!And how deep and boundless is my Lord’s compassion!Forgive me, my Lord! Thou ocean of forgiveness!Destiny has made me to be the poison of thy heart!”Hiding the letter and feigning cheerfulness, she said:Go, my sons, go to see the lotus-feet of the king.The sage proposed that you would be singing Ramayana,This new epic itself is the nectarine ocean.

At the sacred place of the sacrifice will flow the nectar,Spreading from heart to heart, it will saturate the inte-rior.If called by Rama, bow at his feet,Offer homage at the feet of his brothers.Do not forget to take on your heads,The dust of the lotus-feet of the queen-mothers.Consider Janaki’s sisters as if they are Janaki each,And offer due homage at the feet of each.If anyone asks you whose sons you are,Say in reply: “We are a nun’s treasure.”Delighted were the princes with the mother’s advice,Filling their minds with excitement and joys.

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No more were they interested in food and sleep,Glorious pictures of the sacrifice danced in minds.As the twins went on discussing Rama’s glorious deeds,Sleep came stealthily and closed their eye-lids.

Janaki’s soul floating on the flood of devotionWhirled helplessly around a whirlpool.Goddess Sleep couldn’t take her to her lap,And Sleep prayed to Jogamaya for help.“Oh, Goddess, now the soul of JanakiHas crossed all limits of the human heart.For twelve years she flooded the bed with tears of hereyes,And she came to my lap at least once.But tonight I am inviting her with honeyed words,Alas! She pays no heed and retreats to the heaven.Her two sons, the very pupils of her eyes,Would soon be out of her sight.And all the ten directions will look dark in her eyesThere is no happy sunrise for her in this life.What did she gain from devotion to her husband?Oh Goddess, brighten her future; Let her see it.A poor woman grew a garden of devotion for herhusbandPouring tears of her eyes in the pits of life’s roots,But the plants neither flowered nor bore fruits.Oh, how very sorrowful would that life be!”Then Jogamaya enjoined: “Let us go, my dear friend,The cool night is very soon coming to its end.Let us go and meet Rama’s devoted wife,Let us reveal to her the mystery of her future life.

Accompanied by Goddess Sleep, Jogamaya cameAnd entered Sita’s cottage, made of leaves.Resplendent became the forest with celestialsplendourAnd fragrant became the mundane earth and water.Janaki’s soul was filled with a rare fragrance,And she closed her eyes at the all-pervading radiance.Her lustrous form dazzled with splendoured brillianceIlluminating the entire cosmos with her radiance.There sat Sita and Rama upon a jewelled throne,Illuminating the three worlds with the radiance ofRama’s crown.Kusa sat in Ramachandra’s lap, Lava in Sita’s,Urmila’s husband stood there with the umbrella in hand.Bharata was there too, waving a fine chowryAn elegant moon-white chowry of silken fineries.Shatrughna stood on the other side, with a fan in hand,Fashioned and embroidered on peacock’s feathers.And the light of their lives flowed fast to the future,Like the fast-moving currents of a great river.Millions of men and women bathed in the river,Considering it to be the most sanctified water.The stream of humanity moved towards the farthestocean of eternitySpreading its banks more and more with the move-ment of time.God and fairies showered flowers from the heaven,Demons, serpents and humans cried ‘Victory to

Sita-Rama.’The victory cry was heard from the dusk to dawn,It was heard in homes, cities, hills and vessels of theocean.From the hearts of the rich and the poor.In their joys and sorrows went up the cry, ‘Victory toSita-Rama.’Sita, the most virtuous woman of the universeWatched the scene and heard the cry in a state oftrance.

The End

Agastya Sage, famous for sucking an ocean dryAirabata Indra’s elephantAjodhya The capital city of Rama’s KingdomAlata A red liquid applied by women round the boarders of

the sole of feet and the toe-nailsAnanta The mythical serpant Sesha on whom Lord Vishnu

remains reclinedAnchals The ends of a woman’s sari(cloth)Ang small river, tributary to the MahanadiAngada Nephew of SugribaAnukampa An old female anchorite in the hermitage of ValmikiAnuru Charioteer of the Sun-godApsaras Celestial nymphsArghya OblationAshoka A kind of tree having red flowers (Jenesia)Ashrama HermitageAshtabakra A sageAshwamedha YagnaHorse-sacrificeAshwinis The twin sons of the Sun-godBadaba Submarine fireBakula A kind of flower/mango-budBanaprastha The third stage of life when a person renounces

home for meditation in woodlandsBhagirathi The GangesBharata The brother of Lord RamaBhargava Parashurama, the warrior-sageBibhisana The younger brother of RavanaBrahma The first God of the sacred Hindu trinityChakrabaka Sheldrake/ruddy gooseChampaka A yellow flower of sweet fragranceChanchi A small birdChataka Name of a bird supposed to live on rain-dropsChhaya One of the wives of the Sun-godChinichampa A green flower with sweet fragranceChitra One of the stars of the ZodiacChitrakuta Name of a hill near Prayagwhere Rama, Sita and

GLOSSARY

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Lakshmanaspent some days of exileDandaka A woodlands where Rama and Sita stayedDarshan Auspicious appearanceDevi GoddessDharma Pity/Cosmic law/Synonym of YamaDhustura-buds A kind of flowerDurba Bent grass, Panic grassGajadanta A kind of fragrant white flowerGandharvas Celestial musiciansGanga The river GangesGodavari A holy river in southern parts of IndiaGouri (Uma) The wife of Lord SivaGuha A tribal chieftain and a friend of Lord RamaGulmohar A kind of flowerHanumana The monkey-god, a devotee of Lord RamaHara Lord SivaHulahuli A shrill sound produced by flapping of tongues by

women on auspicious occasionsIb A small river, tributary to the MahanadiIndra The chief of gods in heavenIndrani The wife of IndraIngudi A kind of treeJamuna A river, tributary to the GangesJanaka King of Vaideha/MithilaJanaki Sita, daughter of JanakaJogamaya The power of God in the creation of the world per

sonified as a deityKadamba A kind of flowerKaikeyi The second one of the three queens of King DasarathaKailasa The mount which is the abode of Lord SivaKarma Action, also fateKaushalya The mother of Lord Rama/the first one of the three

queens of King DasarathaKetaki A kind of flowerKoshala The kingdom of Lord RamaKshyatriya A member of the military or the second casteKubera he god of wealth, deity of northern quartersKunda A sweetly scented small flowerKusa Elder of the twin sons of Lord RamaKusha A kind of grass used during religious ritesKutaja A wild jasmineLakshmana The brother of Lord RamaLanka The kingdom of demon king RavanaLava Younger of the twin sons of Lord RamaLavana A demon killed by ShatrughnaMa, Ma, Ma The babbling of children to call motherMadhavi A kind of flowerMahanadi The longest river of OrissaMahua A kind of tree-Bassia-latifolia, syn- Madhuca-IndicaMalli Jasmine flowerMallika A kind of flowerMandakini A holy river in ChitrakutaMandara A kind of flower(china-rose)Mandavi The wife of BharataMridanga A kind of drum or taborMuchukunda A kind of flowerNandana Kanana ParadiseNarada Mind-born son of BrahmaNiali A kind of flowerNirmala A fruit that can make impurities in water settle downNishadas Forest-dwelling tribesOM Cosmic chantOrissa A province in IndiaPalasha Dhak flower blooming in spring seasonPanchabati A woodlands where Rama and Sita stayedParashurama Warrior sage/An incarnation of Lord VishnuParijata A red flowerPhulchuin A small bird

Punnaga A kind of treePuspaka Mythical chariotRaghava Lord Rama, the successor of Raghu dynastyRaghu The great grand father of Lord RamaRaghus Members of Raghu dynastyRahu Mythical demon supposed to swallow and disgorge

the sun and the moon causing eclipsesRama Lord Rama, the king of AjodhyaRamachandra Lord RamaRamayana The story of Rama, an epic composed by ValmikiRameswar A place near Sambalpur where the river

bed is full of intricate rocksRavana The demon king of LankaRudra Lord SivaSachi Wife of IndraSagara A dynastySal A kind of tree with hard and strong trunk and

branchesSalmali A tall treeSangya One of the wives of Sun-godSanyasi A renunciantSaraswati The goddess of learningSesha AnantaShankara Lord SivaShari A kind of bird(Gracula Religiosa)Sharikas Mynas(Gracula Religiosa)Shasthi The presiding deity of infantsShatrughna One of the brothers of RamaShirisha A kind of treeShrabani Relating to the month of Shrabana, the rainy sea

sonShyama A bird of black colourSita Wife of Lord RamaSita-Rama The couple of Lord Rama and his wife SitaSiva The third God of the sacred Hindu trinitySrirama Lord RamaSugriba The monkey-king, friend of Lord RamaSwati A star in ZodiacSwayambara A gathering of princes in which a princess selects

her husbandTamasha A small river near the hermitage of ValmikiTandava The cosmic dance of Lord SivaTel A river, tributary to the MahanadiThinthiny A bird of darkblue colourUma The wife of SivaUrmila The wife of LakshmanaVaidehi SitaValmiki The great sage who composed the RamayanaVaruna The sea-god, Lord of western quartersVasistha The great sage who was the preceptor of Lord

RamaVishnu The second God of the sacred Hindu trinityYagna Vedic sacrificeYama The god of death

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