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I owe,

      Who saved me smitten by the foe,

      Kaikeyí, for her tender care,

      Was cheated of the oath I sware.”

      Thus wilt thou answer, and forsworn

      Wilt draw on thee the princes’ scorn.

Learn from that tale, the Hawk and Dove,1

      How strong for truth was Saivya’s love.

      Pledged by his word the monarch gave

      His flesh the suppliant bird to save.

      So King Alarka gave his eyes,

      And gained a mansion in the skies.

      The Sea himself his promise keeps,

      And ne’er beyond his limit sweeps.

      My deeds of old again recall,

      Nor let thy bond dishonoured fall.

      The rights of truth thou wouldst forget,

      Thy Ráma on the throne to set,

      And let thy days in pleasure glide,

      Fond King, Kauśalyá by thy side.

      Now call it by what name thou wilt,

      Justice, injustice, virtue, guilt,

      Thy word and oath remain the same,

      And thou must yield what thus I claim.

      If Ráma be anointed, I

      This very day will surely die,

      Before thy face will poison drink,

      And lifeless at thy feet will sink.

      Yea, better far to die than stay

      Alive to see one single day

      The crowds before Kauśalyá stand

      And hail her queen with reverent hand.

      Now by my son, myself, I swear,

      No gift, no promise whatsoe’er

      My steadfast soul shall now content,

      But only Ráma’s banishment.”

      So far she spake by rage impelled,

      And then the queen deep silence held.

      He heard her speech full fraught with ill,

      But spoke no word bewildered still,

      Gazed on his love once held so dear

      Who spoke unlovely rede to hear;

      Then as he slowly pondered o’er

      The queen’s resolve and oath she swore.

      Once sighing forth, Ah Ráma! he

      Fell prone as falls a smitten tree.

      His senses lost like one insane,

      Faint as a sick man weak with pain,

      Or like a wounded snake dismayed,

      So lay the king whom earth obeyed.

      Long burning sighs he slowly heaved,

      As, conquered by his woe, he grieved,

      And thus with tears and sobs between

      His sad faint words addressed the queen:

      “By whom, Kaikeyí, wast thou taught

      This flattering hope with ruin fraught?

      Have goblins seized thy soul, O dame,

      Who thus canst speak and feel no shame?

      Thy mind with sin is sicklied o’er,

      From thy first youth ne’er seen before.

      A good and loving wife wast thou,

      But all, alas! is altered now.

      What terror can have seized thy breast

      To make thee frame this dire request,

      That Bharat o’er the land may reign,

      And Ráma in the woods remain?

      Turn from thine evil ways, O turn,

      And thy perfidious counsel spurn,

      If thou would fain a favour do

      To people, lord, and Bharat too.

      O wicked traitress, fierce and vile,

      Who lovest deeds of sin and guile,

      What crime or grievance dost thou see,

      What fault in Ráma or in me?

      Thy son will ne’er the throne accept

      If Ráma from his rights be kept,

      For Bharat’s heart more firmly yet

      Than Ráma’s is on justice set.

      How shall I say, Go forth, and brook

      Upon my Ráma’s face to look,

      See his pale cheek and ashy lips

      Dimmed like the moon in sad eclipse?

      How see the plan so well prepared

      When prudent friends my counsels shared,

      All ruined, like a host laid low

      Beneath some foeman’s murderous blow.

      What will these gathered princes say,

      From regions near and far away?

      “O’erlong endures the monarch’s reign,

      or now he is a child again.”

      When many a good and holy sage

      In Scripture versed, revered for age,

      Shall ask for Ráma, what shall I

      Unhappy, what shall I reply?

      “By Queen Kaikeyí long distressed

      I drove him forth and dispossessed.”

      Although herein the truth I speak,

      They all will hold me false and weak.

      What will Kauśalyá say when she

      Demands her son exiled by me?

      Alas! what answer shall I frame,

      Or how console the injured dame?

      She like a slave on me attends,

      And with a sister’s care she blends

      A mother’s love, a wife’s, a friend’s.

      In spite of all her tender care,

      Her noble son, her face most fair,

      Another queen I could prefer

      And for thy sake neglected her,

      But now, O Queen, my heart is grieved

      For love and care by thee received,

      E’en as the sickening wretch repents

      His dainty meal and condiments.

      And how will Queen Sumitrá trust

      The husband whom she finds unjust,

      Seeing my Ráma driven hence

      Dishonoured, and for no offence?

      Ah! the Videhan bride will hear

      A double woe, a double fear,

      Two whelming sorrows at one breath,

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