Chapter 42 - Without Rama the king’s heart finds no rest

So long as the dust raised by the wheels of Rama’s chariot could be seen, so long did the king not withdraw his gaze from the way. So long as King Dasaratha could see his beloved and most virtuous son, Shri Ramacandra, so long did he stand gazing after him, and when the dust was no more visible, the wretched monarch, stricken with grief fell to the earth. Then Queen Kaushalya taking hold of his right hand and Queen Kaikeyi his left, ministered to him. The virtuous and upright king beholding Queen Kaikeyi near him, said: “O Wicked Queen, touch me not, I do not desire to see your countenance. You are neither my consort, nor do I desire relationship with you; your servants are no longer my servants, nor am I their master. You, who hast abandoned obedience to your lord, I now repudiate. Your hand, accepted by me when circumambulating the sacred fire, I relinquish, and renounce the worldly and spiritual pledges given you in the ceremony. If Bharata, receiving this kingdom, is satisfied, then let him not perform my obsequies.”

Queen Kaushalya, torn with grief, raised the king, soiled with dust, and conveyed him to his chariot. The king sorely afflicted, remembering his son in ascetic’s garb, resembled one who has murdered a brahmin or touches a blazing fire with his naked hand. Turning again and again towards the path that the chariot had taken, the king’s countenance resembled the sun in eclipse. Conceiving his son Rama to have passed beyond the city boundary, and thinking of him, he again gave way to grief, crying: “I see the marks of the hoofs of the horses that were yoked to the chariot of my son, but him I do not see. Alas! My Son, who perfumed with sandalpaste, slept on soft pillows, fanned by beautiful women, to-day sleeps beneath a tree with wood or stone for his pillow. In the morning, he will awake on the hard ground, his mind oppressed, his body smeared with dust, sighing deeply like a bull rising from beside a spring. The dwellers in the forest will behold Rama rising like an orphan and wandering as one forlorn. That daughter of King Janaka worthy of every happiness, her feet pierced with thorns, hearing the roar of animals like tigers, will be struck with terror; O Kaikeyi, your ambition is fulfilled, now rule the kingdom as a widow for I cannot support life without the chief of men.”

Thus lamenting, the king returned to the capital, like a man having cremated one supremely dear to him. He beheld courts and houses deserted, the markets forsaken and the temples closed, while on the royal highway only the feeble and afflicted were to be seen. Seeing the city desolate and remembering Shri Rama, weeping bitterly, the king entered the palace as the sun enters a cloud. As the presence of an eagle deprives a lake of its serpents, rendering it still, so did the capital appear when Shri Rama, Lakshmana and Sita had gone into exile.

Then the king in distress, his throat choked with grief, spoke in faint and trembling accents: “Take me speedily to the palace of Queen Kaushalya, the mother of Rama, nowhere else can I obtain peace.”

The attendants carried the king to the apartments of Queen Kaushalya and placed him on a couch, but the king’s heart could find no rest; the palace without Rama, Lakshmana and Sita appeared to him like the sky bereft of the moon. Finding no delight there, the king lifting up his hands, cried: “O My Son, O Rama, art you leaving me? How blessed are they who seeing Rama return, will embrace him.”

Finding the night dark, resembling the hour of death, the king at midnight thus addressed Kaushalya: “O Kaushalya, I do not see you, my sight has followed Rama, nor has it yet returned, therefore, reach forth your hand and touch me, O Queen.”

Seeing her royal consort merged in the remembrance of Rama, the queen, sighing, seated herself by the king and began to lament in sympathy with him.