captivity in Ceylon. Forgetful of the trial by fire, forgetful of Sita's devotion to him through weal and woe, the ungrateful Rama immediately ordered her to the forest in which they had spent together the happy years of their exile. Without a murmur the unhappy Sita, alone and unbefriended, dragged herself to the forest, and, torn with grief of body and spirit, found the hermitage of Valmiki, where she gave birth to twin sons, Lava and Kuça. Here she reared them, with the assistance of the hermit, who was their teacher, and under whose care they grew to manhood, handsome and strong. It chanced about the time the youths were twenty years old, that Rama, who had grown peevish and disagreeable with age, began to think the gods were angered with him because he had killed Ravana, who was the son of a Brahman. Determined to propitiate them by means of the great sacrifice, he caused a horse to be turned loose in the forest. When his men went to retake it, at the end of the year, it was caught by two strong and beautiful youths who resisted all efforts to capture them. In his rage Rama went to the forest in person, only to learn that the youths were his twin sons, Lava and Kuça. Struck with remorse, Rama recalled the sufferings of his wife Sita, and on learning that she was at the hermitage of Valmiki, ordered her to come to him, that he might take her to him again, having first caused her to endure the trial by fire to prove her innocence to all his court. Sita had had time to recover from the love of her youth, and the prospect of life with Rama, without the couleur de rose of youthful love, was not altogether pleasant. At first, she even refused to see him; but finally, moved by the appeals of Valmiki and his wife, she clad herself in her richest robes, and, young and beautiful as when first won by Rama, she stood before him. Not deigning to look in his face, she appealed to the earth. man but Rama, if her truth and purity were known to the earth, let it open its bosom and take her to it. If she had never loved any While the armies stood trembling with horror, the earth opened, a gorgeous throne appeared, and the goddess of earth, seated upon it, took Sita beside her and conveyed her to the realms of eternal happiness, leaving the too late repentant Rama to wear out his remaining years in shame and penitence. SELECTIONS FROM THE RÂMÂYANA. THE DESCENT OF THE Ganges. SAGARA, an early king of Ayodhya, had sixty thousand sons, whom he sent out one day to recover a horse that had been designed for the great sacrifice, but had been stolen by a rakshasa. Having searched the earth unsuccessfully, they proceeded to dig into the lower regions. Cloven with shovel and with hoe, pierced by axes and by spades, Westward then their work they urge, king Sagara's six myriad race, At last they reach the place where Vishnu appears with the horse. A flame issues from the mouth of the indignant deity and destroys the six myriad sons of Sagara. The adventure devolves on their brother Ansuman, who achieves it with perfect success. He is permitted to lead away the horse, but the ashes of his brothers cannot be purified by earthly water; the goddess Ganga must first be brought to earth, and having undergone lustration from that holy flood, the race of Sagara are to ascend to heaven. Brahma at last gives his permission to Ganga to descend. King Bhagiratha takes his stand on the top of Gokarna, the sacred peak of Himavan (the Himalaya), and here Stands with arms outstretch'd on high, amid five blazing fires, the one High on the top of Himavan the mighty Mashawara stood; And "Descend," he gave the word to the heaven-meandering water To a giant's stature soaring and intolerable speed, From heaven's height down rushed she, pouring upon Siva's sacred head, Down on Sankara's holy head, down the holy fell, and there, By the penances of the king, Siva is propitiated, and the stream, by seven channels, finds its way to the plains of India. Up the Raja at the sign upon his glittering chariot leaps, Instant Ganga the divine follows his majestic steps. From the high heaven burst she forth first on Siva's lofty crown, Headlong then, and prone to earth thundering rushed the cataract down, And with the fish and dolphins gleaming, and scaly crocodiles and snakes, By that heaven-welling water's breast, the genii and the sages stood, 23 Whoe'er beneath the curse of heaven from that immaculate world had fled, To th' impure earth in exile driven, to that all-holy baptism sped; And purified from every sin, to the bright spirit's bliss restor'd, Th' ethereal sphere they entered in, and through th' empyreal mansions soar'd. The world in solemn jubilee beheld those heavenly waves draw near, And swift with her obeisant wave bright Ganga followed him afar. THE DEATH OF YAJNADATTA. THE Raja Dasaratha was compelled to banish his favorite son Rama, immediately after his marriage to Sita, because his banishment was demanded by the Raja's wife Kaikeyi, to whom he had once promised to grant any request she might make. His grief at the loss of his son is described in this selection. Scarce Rama to the wilderness had with his younger brother gone, Upon his sons to exile driven when thought that king, as Indra bright, Darkness came o'er him, as in heaven when pales th' eclipsed sun his light. Six days he sate, and mourned and pined for Rama all that weary time. "Kausalya, if thou wakest, incline to thy lord's speech thy ready ear. As one that quits the Amra bower, the bright Palasa's pride to gain Through mine own fatal error 'reft of banished Rama, mourn in gloom. Aimed with too sure and deadly truth, was wrought a deed most fell and dark. At length, the evil that I did, hath fallen upon my fated head, As when on subtle poison hid an unsuspecting child hath fed; spread, Turned from the north, its course begun, where haunt the spirits of the dead: Gathering o'er all the horizon's bound on high the welcome clouds ap peared, Exulting, all the birds flew round, cranes, cuckoos, peacocks, flew and veered. And all down each wide-watered shore the troubled, yet still limpid floods, Over their banks began to pour, as o'er them hung the bursting clouds. And, saturate with cloud-born dew, the glittering verdant-mantled earth, The cuckoos and the peacocks flew, disputing as in drunken mirth. — "In such a time, so soft, so bland, oh beautiful! I chanced to go, With quiver and with bow in hand, where clear Sarayu's waters flow, If haply to the river's brink at night the buffalo might stray, Or elephant, the stream to drink, - intent my savage game to slay. Then of a water cruse, as slow it filled, the gurgling sound I heard, Nought saw I, but the sullen low of elephant that sound appeared. The swift well-feathered arrow I upon the bowstring fitting straight, Towards the sound the shaft let fly, ah, cruelly deceived by fate! The winged arrow scarce had flown, and scarce had reached its destined aim, 'Ah me, I'm slain,' a feeble moan in trembling human accents came. 'Ah, whence hath come this fatal shaft against a poor recluse like me, Who shot that bolt with deadly craft, -alas! what cruel man is he? At the lone midnight had I come to draw the river's limpid flood, And here am struck to death, by whom? ah whose this wrongful deed of blood? Alas! and in my parents' heart, the old, the blind, and hardly fed, In the wild wood, hath pierced the dart, that here hath struck their offspring dead. Ah, deed most profitless as worst, a deed of wanton useless guilt: My troubled soul, that plaintive moan no sooner heard, so faint and low, bow. Swift I rushed up, I saw him there, heart-pierced, and fallen the stream beside, The hermit boy with knotted hair, his clothing was the black deer's hide. On me most piteous turned his look, his wounded breast could scarce respire, And these the words, O queen, he spoke, as to consume me in his ire: The forest's solitary son, to draw the limpid stream I came. |