Ramayana. Dasharatha's Grief and Death.
Meanwhile Ayodhya was a place of grief and mourning, without comfort for king or people. On the fifth day of Rama's exile, just when Kaushalya for a moment yielded to her sorrow and reproached her lord, there came into Dasharatha's mind a recollection of a sin committed in a past life by means of an arrow-finding-its-mark-by-sound -- which sin now bore the fruit of exile and death. Remembering this sin, he told Kaushalya the same night how it had been committed:
"I was then so skilled a bowman as to earn the name of one who, aiming by sound alone, can hit the mark. Thou, O lady, wert then unwedded, and I was a youthful prince. It was when rain first fell after the days of burning heat; frogs and peacocks were rejoicing, trees were shaken by the wind and rain, the hills were hidden by the heavy showers. On such a pleasant day I went forth to hunt by the river Sarayu, and there I heard a sound like the filling of a water-jar or the roaring of an elephant. Then I shot an arrow in the direction of the sound, for it was dark, so that nothing could be seen. Then I heard moans and cries, and I found a hermit by the bank, pierced by my shaft; he told me of his estate and bade me seek his aged parents in the hermitage near by, and therewith died, and I lamented him. Then I sought his father and his mother, who were anxious in mind because of his delay, and confessed to them my deed; and the rishi, who by his curse might have burned me to a cinder, spared my life because I freely told him all that had befallen. But when the funeral pyre was ready, and those aged ones, called by a vision of their son, burned their bodies with his upon the pyre, they twain cursed me with a lesser curse, that in the end I should meet my death by grieving for a son.
"Thou knowest, gentle lady, that the fruit of good or evil actions is reaped by the doer thereof. Childish is anyone who does any action not considering consequences! He that fells a mango grove and waters other trees may hope for fruit when he beholds the flower; but when the the season for fruit cometh he will grieve! So is it now with me: I die of grief for Rama's exile. I scarcely see thee, my senses are no longer keen; I am like a smoking lamp that burns low when there is but little oil remaining. O Rama, O Kaushalya, O unhappy Sumitra, O cruel Kaikeyi!" Thus lamenting, Raja Dasharatha died.
When news of this spread abroad next day Ayodhya was plunged in deeper grief, for in a kingless country all goes amiss, rain does not fall, there are no rejoicings, nor prosperity, nor safety; a kingdom without a king is like a river without water, a wood without grass, a herd of kine without a keeper; a king is father and mother, and compasseth the welfare of all men and creatures. Considering thus, the palace officers and family priests took counsel, headed by Vashishtha, to send envoys to Bharata, with a message that he should come at once for a matter that might not be delayed; but these envoys should not tell him anything of Rama's exile or the king's death. Riding in well-horsed cars, those envoys, going very swiftly, reached on an evening the wealthy city of Girivraja, in Kekaya, where Bharata was lodged with his maternal uncle.
That same night Bharata dreamt many evil dreams and might not be comforted. "Either I or Rama or Lakshman or the king is about to die," he said. Then the envoys entered and were well received. Bharata inquired if all was well with his father and mothers and brothers, and was assured that it was even so. Then the ambassadors delivered their message, and Bharata told his uncle and his grandfather, and took leave to go to Ayodhya. They conferred on him many gifts, as woollen cloths and deer-skins and elphants and dogs and swift horses; but he, filled with anxiety because of the dreams and the very hasty journey of the envoys, had little pleasure in the gifts, and taking with him Satrughna, he departed quickly to Ayodhya.
Kaikeyi's son beheld that best of cities at sunrise on the seventh day. Seeing that all was dark and silent in that place of sadness, and beholding many inauspicious sights foreboding ill, Bharata entered the royal palace with a heavy heart. Not seeing his father in his quarters, he sought his mother Kaikeyi and touched her feet. She rose from her golden seat delighted, and asked him of his welfare and his journey. This he told her, and himself asked for the king. "Where is that lord of men," he said, "for I would fain touch his feet? He is most often here with thee, but thy room and couch are empty. Is he, then, with Kaushalya?" Then Kaikeyi, blinded by lust of glory and deeming that desirable for Bharata which he indeed considered evil, answered him: "Thy father has gone the way of everything that lives." Then long and sadly he bewailed, and said at last: "Happy for Rama and those who were present when my sire yet lived, and might perform his death-bed rites. Now, where is Rama, who is my father, brother and friend? I am his servant; I take refuge at his feet. Do thou inform him that I am here. And do thou tell me how my father died and what were his last words." Then Kaikeyi told him how his father died, and these were his last words, she said: "Blessed are they that shall see Rama and the strong-armed Lakshman returning here with Sita." Then Bharata apprehended fresh misfortune, and asked his mother whither Kaushalya's son and Sita and Lakshman had gone. "Rama has gone with Sita and Lakshman, wearing hermits' robes, to Dandaka forest," she answered, and told him the whole story of the boons, expecting that he would be pleased. But he was bitterly angered, and reproached Kaikeyi as Dasharatha's murderer: "Like a burning coal, born for the destruction of our race art thou, whom my father unwittingly embraced. Thou didst little know my love of Rama! Only for his sake it is, who calls thee mother, that I renounce thee not. Know that this kingdom is too great a burden for me, and even were it not I would not receive it. Now I shall bring back Rama from the forest and will serve him. But thou shalt suffer misery in this world and the next; all that befits thee is to die by fire, or exile, or with a cord about thy neck!"
Then came Kaushalya and Vashishtha and greeted Bharata; and, guided by that skilful sage, Bharata performed all his father's funeral rites, and with his mothers walked sunwise around the burning pyre, and after ten days' mourning gathered up the ashes. Then, as he still grieved out of all measure, Vashishtha counselled him, discoursing of the birth and death of beings and the pairs that appertain to every creature. Thus comforted, those chiefs of men held up their heads again, like Indra's shining banner stained by sun and rain.
Meanwhile Ayodhya was a place of grief and mourning, without comfort for king or people. On the fifth day of Rama's exile, just when Kaushalya for a moment yielded to her sorrow and reproached her lord, there came into Dasharatha's mind a recollection of a sin committed in a past life by means of an arrow-finding-its-mark-by-sound -- which sin now bore the fruit of exile and death. Remembering this sin, he told Kaushalya the same night how it had been committed:
"I was then so skilled a bowman as to earn the name of one who, aiming by sound alone, can hit the mark. Thou, O lady, wert then unwedded, and I was a youthful prince. It was when rain first fell after the days of burning heat; frogs and peacocks were rejoicing, trees were shaken by the wind and rain, the hills were hidden by the heavy showers. On such a pleasant day I went forth to hunt by the river Sarayu, and there I heard a sound like the filling of a water-jar or the roaring of an elephant. Then I shot an arrow in the direction of the sound, for it was dark, so that nothing could be seen. Then I heard moans and cries, and I found a hermit by the bank, pierced by my shaft; he told me of his estate and bade me seek his aged parents in the hermitage near by, and therewith died, and I lamented him. Then I sought his father and his mother, who were anxious in mind because of his delay, and confessed to them my deed; and the rishi, who by his curse might have burned me to a cinder, spared my life because I freely told him all that had befallen. But when the funeral pyre was ready, and those aged ones, called by a vision of their son, burned their bodies with his upon the pyre, they twain cursed me with a lesser curse, that in the end I should meet my death by grieving for a son.
"Thou knowest, gentle lady, that the fruit of good or evil actions is reaped by the doer thereof. Childish is anyone who does any action not considering consequences! He that fells a mango grove and waters other trees may hope for fruit when he beholds the flower; but when the the season for fruit cometh he will grieve! So is it now with me: I die of grief for Rama's exile. I scarcely see thee, my senses are no longer keen; I am like a smoking lamp that burns low when there is but little oil remaining. O Rama, O Kaushalya, O unhappy Sumitra, O cruel Kaikeyi!" Thus lamenting, Raja Dasharatha died.
When news of this spread abroad next day Ayodhya was plunged in deeper grief, for in a kingless country all goes amiss, rain does not fall, there are no rejoicings, nor prosperity, nor safety; a kingdom without a king is like a river without water, a wood without grass, a herd of kine without a keeper; a king is father and mother, and compasseth the welfare of all men and creatures. Considering thus, the palace officers and family priests took counsel, headed by Vashishtha, to send envoys to Bharata, with a message that he should come at once for a matter that might not be delayed; but these envoys should not tell him anything of Rama's exile or the king's death. Riding in well-horsed cars, those envoys, going very swiftly, reached on an evening the wealthy city of Girivraja, in Kekaya, where Bharata was lodged with his maternal uncle.
That same night Bharata dreamt many evil dreams and might not be comforted. "Either I or Rama or Lakshman or the king is about to die," he said. Then the envoys entered and were well received. Bharata inquired if all was well with his father and mothers and brothers, and was assured that it was even so. Then the ambassadors delivered their message, and Bharata told his uncle and his grandfather, and took leave to go to Ayodhya. They conferred on him many gifts, as woollen cloths and deer-skins and elphants and dogs and swift horses; but he, filled with anxiety because of the dreams and the very hasty journey of the envoys, had little pleasure in the gifts, and taking with him Satrughna, he departed quickly to Ayodhya.
Kaikeyi's son beheld that best of cities at sunrise on the seventh day. Seeing that all was dark and silent in that place of sadness, and beholding many inauspicious sights foreboding ill, Bharata entered the royal palace with a heavy heart. Not seeing his father in his quarters, he sought his mother Kaikeyi and touched her feet. She rose from her golden seat delighted, and asked him of his welfare and his journey. This he told her, and himself asked for the king. "Where is that lord of men," he said, "for I would fain touch his feet? He is most often here with thee, but thy room and couch are empty. Is he, then, with Kaushalya?" Then Kaikeyi, blinded by lust of glory and deeming that desirable for Bharata which he indeed considered evil, answered him: "Thy father has gone the way of everything that lives." Then long and sadly he bewailed, and said at last: "Happy for Rama and those who were present when my sire yet lived, and might perform his death-bed rites. Now, where is Rama, who is my father, brother and friend? I am his servant; I take refuge at his feet. Do thou inform him that I am here. And do thou tell me how my father died and what were his last words." Then Kaikeyi told him how his father died, and these were his last words, she said: "Blessed are they that shall see Rama and the strong-armed Lakshman returning here with Sita." Then Bharata apprehended fresh misfortune, and asked his mother whither Kaushalya's son and Sita and Lakshman had gone. "Rama has gone with Sita and Lakshman, wearing hermits' robes, to Dandaka forest," she answered, and told him the whole story of the boons, expecting that he would be pleased. But he was bitterly angered, and reproached Kaikeyi as Dasharatha's murderer: "Like a burning coal, born for the destruction of our race art thou, whom my father unwittingly embraced. Thou didst little know my love of Rama! Only for his sake it is, who calls thee mother, that I renounce thee not. Know that this kingdom is too great a burden for me, and even were it not I would not receive it. Now I shall bring back Rama from the forest and will serve him. But thou shalt suffer misery in this world and the next; all that befits thee is to die by fire, or exile, or with a cord about thy neck!"
Then came Kaushalya and Vashishtha and greeted Bharata; and, guided by that skilful sage, Bharata performed all his father's funeral rites, and with his mothers walked sunwise around the burning pyre, and after ten days' mourning gathered up the ashes. Then, as he still grieved out of all measure, Vashishtha counselled him, discoursing of the birth and death of beings and the pairs that appertain to every creature. Thus comforted, those chiefs of men held up their heads again, like Indra's shining banner stained by sun and rain.
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Meanwhile Ayodhya was a place of grief and mourning, without comfort for king or people. On the fifth day of Rama's exile, just when Kaushalya for a moment yielded to her sorrow and reproached her lord, there came into Dasharatha's mind a recollection of a sin committed in a past life by means of an arrow-finding-its-mark-by-sound -- which sin now bore the fruit of exile and death. Remembering this sin, he told Kaushalya the same night how it had been committed:
"I was then so skilled a bowman as to earn the name of one who, aiming by sound alone, can hit the mark. Thou, O lady, wert then unwedded, and I was a youthful prince. It was when rain first fell after the days of burning heat; frogs and peacocks were rejoicing, trees were shaken by the wind and rain, the hills were hidden by the heavy showers. On such a pleasant day I went forth to hunt by the river Sarayu, and there I heard a sound like the filling of a water-jar or the roaring of an elephant. Then I shot an arrow in the direction of the sound, for it was dark, so that nothing could be seen. Then I heard moans and cries, and I found a hermit by the bank, pierced by my shaft; he told me of his estate and bade me seek his aged parents in the hermitage near by, and therewith died, and I lamented him. Then I sought his father and his mother, who were anxious in mind because of his delay, and confessed to them my deed; and the rishi, who by his curse might have burned me to a cinder, spared my life because I freely told him all that had befallen. But when the funeral pyre was ready, and those aged ones, called by a vision of their son, burned their bodies with his upon the pyre, they twain cursed me with a lesser curse, that in the end I should meet my death by grieving for a son.
"Thou knowest, gentle lady, that the fruit of good or evil actions is reaped by the doer thereof. Childish is anyone who does any action not considering consequences! He that fells a mango grove and waters other trees may hope for fruit when he beholds the flower; but when the the season for fruit cometh he will grieve! So is it now with me: I die of grief for Rama's exile. I scarcely see thee, my senses are no longer keen; I am like a smoking lamp that burns low when there is but little oil remaining. O Rama, O Kaushalya, O unhappy Sumitra, O cruel Kaikeyi!" Thus lamenting, Raja Dasharatha died.
When news of this spread abroad next day Ayodhya was plunged in deeper grief, for in a kingless country all goes amiss, rain does not fall, there are no rejoicings, nor prosperity, nor safety; a kingdom without a king is like a river without water, a wood without grass, a herd of kine without a keeper; a king is father and mother, and compasseth the welfare of all men and creatures. Considering thus, the palace officers and family priests took counsel, headed by Vashishtha, to send envoys to Bharata, with a message that he should come at once for a matter that might not be delayed; but these envoys should not tell him anything of Rama's exile or the king's death. Riding in well-horsed cars, those envoys, going very swiftly, reached on an evening the wealthy city of Girivraja, in Kekaya, where Bharata was lodged with his maternal uncle.
That same night Bharata dreamt many evil dreams and might not be comforted. "Either I or Rama or Lakshman or the king is about to die," he said. Then the envoys entered and were well received. Bharata inquired if all was well with his father and mothers and brothers, and was assured that it was even so. Then the ambassadors delivered their message, and Bharata told his uncle and his grandfather, and took leave to go to Ayodhya. They conferred on him many gifts, as woollen cloths and deer-skins and elphants and dogs and swift horses; but he, filled with anxiety because of the dreams and the very hasty journey of the envoys, had little pleasure in the gifts, and taking with him Satrughna, he departed quickly to Ayodhya.
Kaikeyi's son beheld that best of cities at sunrise on the seventh day. Seeing that all was dark and silent in that place of sadness, and beholding many inauspicious sights foreboding ill, Bharata entered the royal palace with a heavy heart. Not seeing his father in his quarters, he sought his mother Kaikeyi and touched her feet. She rose from her golden seat delighted, and asked him of his welfare and his journey. This he told her, and himself asked for the king. "Where is that lord of men," he said, "for I would fain touch his feet? He is most often here with thee, but thy room and couch are empty. Is he, then, with Kaushalya?" Then Kaikeyi, blinded by lust of glory and deeming that desirable for Bharata which he indeed considered evil, answered him: "Thy father has gone the way of everything that lives." Then long and sadly he bewailed, and said at last: "Happy for Rama and those who were present when my sire yet lived, and might perform his death-bed rites. Now, where is Rama, who is my father, brother and friend? I am his servant; I take refuge at his feet. Do thou inform him that I am here. And do thou tell me how my father died and what were his last words." Then Kaikeyi told him how his father died, and these were his last words, she said: "Blessed are they that shall see Rama and the strong-armed Lakshman returning here with Sita." Then Bharata apprehended fresh misfortune, and asked his mother whither Kaushalya's son and Sita and Lakshman had gone. "Rama has gone with Sita and Lakshman, wearing hermits' robes, to Dandaka forest," she answered, and told him the whole story of the boons, expecting that he would be pleased. But he was bitterly angered, and reproached Kaikeyi as Dasharatha's murderer: "Like a burning coal, born for the destruction of our race art thou, whom my father unwittingly embraced. Thou didst little know my love of Rama! Only for his sake it is, who calls thee mother, that I renounce thee not. Know that this kingdom is too great a burden for me, and even were it not I would not receive it. Now I shall bring back Rama from the forest and will serve him. But thou shalt suffer misery in this world and the next; all that befits thee is to die by fire, or exile, or with a cord about thy neck!"
Then came Kaushalya and Vashishtha and greeted Bharata; and, guided by that skilful sage, Bharata performed all his father's funeral rites, and with his mothers walked sunwise around the burning pyre, and after ten days' mourning gathered up the ashes. Then, as he still grieved out of all measure, Vashishtha counselled him, discoursing of the birth and death of beings and the pairs that appertain to every creature. Thus comforted, those chiefs of men held up their heads again, like Indra's shining banner stained by sun and rain.
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