by Tulsidas
Like a huntress seeing a deer and preparing a snare.
(26)
Thinking her placated and loving once more, the king spoke again,
Trembling with love, in tones that were tender and soft,
‘Beloved, your heart’s desire has come to be,
And there is rejoicing and celebration in every home in the city.
I will give Ram the title of Jubaraj tomorrow.
So, my pretty-eyed love, adorn yourself in festive attire.’
Hearing this, her cruel heart shook
As though a ripe boil had been touched.
Even such great agony she hid with a smile,
Like a thief’s wife who hides her tears.
The king did not perceive her deceit and cunning,
For she had been taught by a jewel amongst ten million rogues.
Though the king was accomplished in statecraft,
Women’s wiles are a fathomless sea.
Then, with an even greater show of deceitful love,
She averted her eyes and her face, and smiling, said,
‘You keep saying “Ask, ask!”, beloved,
But never do you actually give.
You had promised me two boons,
But I doubt I will get even these.’
(27)
‘Now I understand the mystery,’ the king said with a laugh.
‘You are very fond of quarrelling.
You saved up the boons and never asked for them,
While I, absent-minded as I am, also forgot.
But do not accuse me of a lie—
In place of the two, ask for four!
For this has ever been the rule of the Raghu line—
We may give up our lives, but we don’t break our word.
No multitude of crimes is equal to a lie—
Can ten million gunj seeds equal a mountain?
Truth is the root of all good and virtuous actions,
As is known in the Vedas and the Puranas and as Manu declares.
Moreover, I have unwittingly taken an oath upon Ram,
Lord of the Raghus, and the pinnacle of virtue and love.’
Thus firmly binding him to his word, the deluded queen laughed and spoke,
As though unhooding the bird of prey that was her dreadful plot.
The king’s longing was a charming forest,
And happiness a flock of beautiful birds,
Upon which, like a savage huntress, she wished to let loose
The cruel hawk of her words.
(28)
‘Listen, my beloved, to what pleases my heart—
Grant me one boon, that Bharat be crowned Jubaraj.
And, with folded hands, I ask my second boon—
Fulfil, lord, my heart’s desire—
That, in the garb of an ascetic, and renouncing the world,
Ram dwell in the forest for fourteen years.’
Hearing her words, so sweetly spoken, the king was filled with grief,
As a kok becomes distressed at the touch of a moonbeam.
Overcome with terror, he could not say a word,
Like a quail in the forest attacked by a falcon.
The lord of men lost all colour and grew utterly pale,
Like a palm tree struck by lightning.
With his head in his hands, and both eyes shut,
The king began to grieve like grief personified,
‘The divine Kalpataru of my heart’s desire had burst into flower,
But about to bear fruit, it has been uprooted by this she-elephant.
Kaikeyi has laid waste Avadh,
And laid the foundation for everlasting calamity.
What an occasion this is, but look what has happened!
I have been destroyed by trusting a woman,
Like a yogi about to receive the reward for his penance,
Destroyed by ignorance.’
(29)
In this way the king silently lamented.
Seeing his sad condition, the wicked Kaikeyi grew furious.
‘Is Bharat not your son?
And am I not your wife? Did you buy me for a price?
If my words pierce you like arrows,
Why did you give your word so carelessly?
Answer me—say yes, or say no!
You are sworn to truth, famed for honouring your word amongst the Raghus,
You said you would give boons, now don’t give them,
Abandon truth and take upon yourself the world’s disgrace.
Praising truth, you had given me the boons,
Thinking, no doubt, that I would ask for nothing more than parched grain!
Shibi, Dadhichi and Bali fulfilled
Whatever they promised, giving life and wealth to keep their word.’5
Sharp and biting words did Kaikeyi speak,
As though rubbing salt upon a burn.
The king, upholder of dharma,
Composed himself and opened his eyes.
Beating his head, he heaved a deep sigh,
‘She has struck me in my weakest spot!’
(30)
He saw her standing before him, burning with rage,
Like a sword of wrath unsheathed,
Its hilt her folly, its edge cruelty,
Sharpened upon the whetstone that was the hunchback.
The protector of the earth saw her terrifying harshness
And wondered, ‘Will she in truth take my life?’
Steeling himself, the king spoke
In gentle tones to please her,
‘Beloved, how can you utter such harsh words,
Destroying modesty, trust and love?
Bharat and Ram are my two eyes—
I swear this to be true, with Shankar as my witness.
I will definitely send messengers in the morning,
So that the two brothers may return as soon as they hear the news.
Then, choosing an auspicious day and making all the required preparations,
I will give Bharat the kingdom, proclaiming it joyously by beat of drum.
Ram does not covet the kingdom
And has great love for Bharat.
I was but following royal custom,
Considering that he is older.
(31)
I swear by Ram a hundred times and tell you sincerely,
Ram’s mother never said anything to me on this matter.
But I arranged everything without consulting you,
And so my heart’s desire could not be realized.
Now give up your anger and adorn yourself in festive attire—
In a few days, Bharat will be crown prince.
Only one thing distresses me—
That the second boon you seek is unreasonable.
My heart burns even now with its fire.
Was it anger, or jest, or was it really true?
Without anger, tell me Ram’s offence,
For everyone says he is most noble and good.
You too praise and love him,
But now hearing this, I have become uncertain.
How could one who by nature is kind even to an enemy
Do anything against his mother?
So dearest, abandon jest and anger,
Reflect and ask for a sensible boon,
That I may gladly fill my eyes
With the sight of Bharat’s royal investiture.
(32)
A fish may survive without water,
And even a wretched cobra may continue a miserable existence without its crest-jewel.
But I declare sincerely, with no deceit in my heart,
That my life will end without Ram.
Consider in your heart, my wise love,
That my life depends upon seeing Ram.’
Hearing his gentle words, the vindictive queen flared up
Like a sacred fire on which an offering of ghee is poured.
She said, ‘You may try ten million stratagems,
But you
r trickery will not work here.
Give me my boons, or say no and be disgraced—
I do not like all this copious talk.
Ram is a saint, you are saintly and wise,
Ram’s mother is so virtuous—I understand you all!
Just as Kaushalya has sought my good,
So I will pay her back in a way she will never forget!
When morning breaks, and donning an ascetic’s garb,
Should Ram not go into the forest,
My death and your disgrace will ensue,
King—understand this well.’
(33)
So saying, the cruel queen rose and stood erect
Like a river of wrath rising in flood.
It rushed forth from a mountain of sin,
Its furious waters too terrible to behold.
The two boons were its banks, her harsh insistence its fierce current,
Its eddies and whirlpools were impelled by the hunchback’s words.
Tearing up by its roots and bringing down the tree that was the lord of the earth,
It rushed towards the ocean of calamity.
The king realized that it was really true—
Death in the form of his wife was dancing upon his head.
Clasping her feet, he persuaded her to sit, and humbly pleaded,
‘Do not be the axe that brings down the tree of the solar dynasty.
Ask for my head—I will give it to you right now,
But do not kill me with the grief of separation from Ram.
Let Ram remain here, in any way that you will,
Or your heart will burn with anguish for the rest of your life.’
Realizing that her disease was incurable,
The king fell upon the ground, and, beating his head,
Cried out in tones of deepest distress,
‘Ram! Ram! Raghunath!’
(34)
The king was distracted with grief, his body limp with sorrow—
He was like the divine Kalpataru felled by a she-elephant.
His throat was dry, no words came to his lips,
He was as distressed as a pathin fish without water.
Kaikeyi again spoke biting, bitter words,
As though pouring poison into his wounds,
‘If you meant to act thus in the end,
On what basis did you say, “Ask, ask”?
Can one do two things at once, king?
Laugh unrestrainedly, and sulk and pout?
Call oneself bountiful, and be miserly?
Or be a hero in battle and remain unhurt?
Either abandon your promise or take courage,
But do not weep and wail like some weak and helpless woman.
Life, wife, son, home, wealth, land,
Are said to be but worthless blades of grass to a man who keeps his word.’
Hearing her wounding words, the king said,
‘Say whatever you wish to, it is not your fault.
My death has possessed you like a fiend,
And it is that which makes you speak thus.
(35)
Bharat does not want the kingship even by mistake,
But destiny’s grip has caused these perverse and evil sentiments to dwell in your heart.
It is all the result of my sins,
That fate has turned against me at this evil hour.
Beautiful Avadh will flourish and prosper again,
And Ram, abode of all virtues, shall be its king.
His brothers all will do him service,
And his fame will spread through all the three worlds.
But your disgrace and my remorse
Shall not be effaced even when we die, or ever go away.
Now do whatever you please,
But hide your face and get out of my sight.
For as long as I live, I beseech you with folded hands,
Do not speak to me again!
You will regret it at the end, unfortunate woman—
You are slaughtering a cow for a few strings of sinew!’
The king fell to the ground, lamenting in innumerable ways,
‘Why are you destroying me?’
But the queen, adept in deceit, said nothing,
But sat as though keeping watch in a cremation ground.6
(36)
‘Ram!’ Ram!’ repeated the grief-stricken king,
As wild and inconsolable as a bird without wings.
He prayed in his heart, ‘Let morning never come,
Let no one go and tell Ram of this!
Rise not, Sun, father of the dynasty of Raghu,
For to see Avadh will fill your heart with anguish!’
The king’s love and Kaikeyi’s cruelty—
Vidhi had created each at its extreme.
While the king was still lamenting, morning came.
The music of vina, flute and conch was heard at his door,
Bards recited his glory, and singers sang his virtues.
Hearing them, the king felt as though pierced by arrows.
All these auspicious celebrations were as repugnant to him,
As ornaments to a widow who accompanies her dead husband to his funeral pyre.
No one had slept for a moment that night
In their eagerness to behold Ram.
At the door, a crowd of servants and ministers
Saw the risen sun and said,
‘The lord of Avadh has not awakened yet—
Is there any special reason for this?
(37)
The king awakens during the last watch of the night—
We find it very strange that he hasn’t today.
Go, Sumantra, go wake him up—
Upon receiving the king’s orders, we can begin our work.’
Sumantra then entered the royal palace.
Seeing it desolate, he was afraid to continue.
Its gloom seemed ready to run and devour him and was unbearable to see—
It was as though the palace had become the home of calamity and grief.
He inquired after the king, but no one answered him,
So he went to the apartments where the king was with Kaikeyi.
Wishing him ‘Long life and victory’, he bowed his head in homage and sat down,
But seeing the king’s condition, he was struck with fear.
Tormented and pale with grief, he lay on the floor,
Like a lotus flower pulled out by its roots.
The terrified minister dared ask no questions,
But Kaikeyi, full of evil and empty of all good, spoke.
‘The king has not slept all night—
God alone knows the reason!
Repeating “Ram, Ram”, the lord of the earth has ushered in the dawn,
But has not told me his secret.
(38)
Go quickly and fetch Ram here,
You can ask what the matter is when you return.’
Perceiving this to be the king’s wish from the look on his face, Sumantra went,
But he had understood that the queen had done something evil.
Uneasy with worry, he could barely walk, and wondered,
‘Summoning Ram, what will the king say to him?’
Steadying his heart, taking courage, he went to the palace gate.
Seeing him so despondent, everyone began to question him.
Reassuring and comforting them all,
He went to the crest-ornament of the solar dynasty.
When Ram saw Sumantra approaching,
He paid him homage, treating him like his father.
Looking at Ram’s face, Sumantra told him the king’s royal order,
And returned, taking with him the light of the Raghu dynasty.
Seeing Ram leave so unceremoniously with the minister,
People everywhere grew deeply worried.
The jewel of the Raghu line came and saw
The lord of men in a wretched and dishevelled state,
; Like an aged king-elephant
Prostrate with fear at the sight of a lioness.
(39)
His lips were dry, and his whole body burned,
Like a hapless cobra bereft of its jewel.
Beside him he beheld the wrathful Kaikeyi,
Like death counting the hours.
Ram, by nature compassionate and gentle,
Saw now, for the first time, grief such as he had never heard of before.
Even so, heedful of the situation, he composed himself,
And inquired in soft words of his mother,
‘Tell me, Mother, the cause of my father’s grief,
So that we may endeavour to remove it.’
‘Listen, Ram, the cause is only
That the king has great affection for you.
He had promised to give me two boons,
And so I asked for whatever I pleased.
Hearing this, the king’s heart filled with sorrow,
For he cannot let go his attachment to you.
On one side, his love for his son, on the other, his promise—
The king has fallen into a quandary!
If you are able, uphold his order,
And remove his dreadful anguish.’
(40)
She sat there, speaking these sharp words without hesitation,
Hearing which cruelty itself was distressed.
Her tongue was her bow, her words her many arrows,
And the lord of the earth her easy target.
It seemed as though harshness had assumed the body
Of a great warrior and was practising archery.
Relating all the circumstances to Raghupati,
She sat there like heartlessness personified.
The sun of the solar dynasty,
Ram, the accumulation of innate joy, smiled to himself,
And spoke words free of all censure,
So gentle and sweet that they were the ornaments of speech itself.
‘Listen, Mother, he alone is a fortunate son
Who cherishes his father’s and mother’s word.
A son who pleases his mother and father,
Is very hard to find in this world, Mother.
In the forest I will meet ascetics and sages,
Which will be beneficial to me in every way—
That too, as I fulfil my father’s wish,
And with your approval as well, Mother—
(41)