सर्ग ४९

Now Ráma, ere the night was fled, O’er many a league of road had sped, Till, as his course he onward held, The morn the shades of night dispelled. The rites of holy dawn he paid, And all the country round surveyed. He saw, as still he hurried through With steeds which swift as arrows flew, Hamlets and groves with blossoms fair, And fields which showed the tillers’ care, While from the clustered dwellings near The words of peasants reached his ear: “Fie on our lord the king, whose soul Is yielded up to love’s control! Fie on the vile Kaikeyí! Shame On that malicious sinful dame, Who, keenly bent on cruel deeds, No bounds of right and virtue heeds, But with her wicked art has sent So good a prince to banishment, Wise, tender-hearted, ruling well His senses, in the woods to dwell. Ah cruel king! his heart of steel For his own son no love could feel, Who with the sinless Ráma parts, The darling of the people’s hearts.”

These words he heard the peasants say, Who dwelt in hamlets by the way, And, lord of all the realm by right, Through Kośala pursued his flight. Through the auspicious flood, at last, Of Vedaśrutí’s stream he passed, And onward to the place he sped By Saint Agastya tenanted. Still on for many an hour he hied, And crossed the stream whose cooling tide Rolls onward till she meets the sea, The herd-frequented Gomatí.(321) Borne by his rapid horses o’er, He reached that river’s further shore. And Syandiká’s, whose swan-loved stream Resounded with the peacock’s scream. Then as he journeyed on his road To his Videhan bride he showed The populous land which Manu old To King Ikshváku gave to hold. The glorious prince, the lord of men Looked on the charioteer, and then Voiced like a wild swan, loud and clear, He spake these words and bade him hear: “When shall I, with returning feet My father and my mother meet? When shall I lead the hunt once more In bloomy woods on Sarjú’s shore? Most eagerly I long to ride Urging the chase on Sarjú’s side. For royal saints have seen no blame In this, the monarch’s matchless game.”

Thus speeding on,—no rest or stay,— Ikshváku’s son pursued his way. Oft his sweet voice the silence broke, And thus on varied themes he spoke.