RAMAYANA FOR CHILDREN—AYODHYAKANDA CHAPTER 12, FOURTH PART
“Man, bird and beast will shrink from me if I send Rama to the forests!” exclaimed Dasaratha. I am a shameful person. I am a dotard! I have been a sanctimonious villain! Ah, how can I live it through? Hell is waiting for me. Well, you have tasted blood. What new plots do you nurture for my other people? Kausalya will die. Lakshmana will go with Rama. Satrughna is ever with Bharata. Sumitra will be deprived of Kausalya, myself, Rama and her sons. So she will also die. Once I die and Rama is gone to the forests, you alone will be left. And this glorious line of Ikshvaku will fall. If Bharata supports you and is not perturbed by Rama’s exile, I curse him. He should not render me the last rites. You have a base heart. You are my sworn enemy. Does your heart rejoice? Have your hopes borne fruit? You are a foul murderess. Exile Rama and lord it over this kingdom in widowed pomp. You are a cruel devil in woman’s guise. I will harvest unparalleled infamy through you. Rama is used to stately horses, elephants, chariots. How could he trudge through the thorny wilds? He is used to daintiest delicacies. Now he is to live on wild roots, berries and tasteless wood-land fare. He is used to costly beds. On his bed will be strewn delicate flowers of sweet fragrance. He will recline on such bed dressed in gorgeous robes. Bards, minstrels, singers and story-tellers usually amuse or lull him to sleep. He will be clad in deer-skin and bark of trees in the forests. He will rest his weary limbs on the bare earth. The earth will be rough with thorns and pebbles. The night-ranging beasts will howl and roar throughout the night.”
Dasaratha speaks from his heart the following words: “I wonder who hatched this scheme to crown Bharata and exile Rama to the forests. This hellish scheme and plot must have come from a Devil. Shame upon the womanhood! Alas, I am a fool to call all the women bad names. Bharata’s mother alone deserves that sentiment. She alone is a demon incarnate. She is a black-hearted snake with a glittering skin! You are always bent on having your own way. You are careless of what hearts you trample upon! You have a heart which no ray of pity illumines! You find it most exquisite in watching my frenzied agony. You torture me. Tell me what action of mine and Rama’s deserve this treatment? My Rama is in the grip of misfortune and calamity. All creatures will curse you with uncontrolled fury. A Deva of the Heaven is not more graceful and handsome than my Rama. Alas! I cannot bear to see him leave Ayodhya with the lordly gait of an elephant. It is no wonder if my life-breaths follow Rama to the forest. You wish for my death. You are my relentless foe. You are my Fate. I cherished you fondly. I gave the warmth of my bosom. You and Bharata will redden your hands in the blood of me and mine. Rejoice in the prosperity of my foes. You hold sway over this town and kingdom. Live happily without me, Rama and Lakshmana. You are a cruel fiend. You like to pierce a broken heart. You have dared to speak to me like this. But you owe me the wifely reverence. What keeps your wicked tongue from shrivelling up? Rama has a pleasant word for everybody. Everyone sings his praise. You are the only person who sees a blemish in his spotless character. I will not care if black Despair swallowed you; I defy your puny wrath. Don’t try to frighten me with your death. I refuse to be your dope. I give my sanction to your suicidal plot. You are sharp and merciless as a razor! Base flatterer! Your wickedness is something unspeakable. You are born to ruin your house. You have fastened your brazen talons in my heart’s roots. I see Death beckons me yonder. What joy will you have after tearing me from Rama? If I lived, what will I have but black hate for you? Do take my advice. See, I lay my proud head at your feet. Cast an eye of pity on me. To the world, Dasaratha is a proud Emperor. Yet he is the abject slave of his wife. He had boundless love for her. What did she do? Why she bound him and delivered into the hands of Death. I pray for your death. I entreat you with my head at your feet. Don’t you have any pity on me?” Speaking like a senile, Dasaratha bent down groped aimlessly to clasp Kaikeyi’s feet. She stretched them in utter shamelessness. But Dasaratha’s tortured limbs could not bear him any longer. He fell at her cruel feet like an uprooted tree.
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