Ayodhya's Sorrow Echoes Rama's Exile
Ayodhyakanda - Sarga 59
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Ayodhyakanda - Sarga 59
Sumantra recounts Rama's exile to a grief-stricken Dasharatha. Witness Ayodhya's sorrow and the king's heart-wrenching lament in this poignant excerpt from the Ramayana.
King Dasharatha, his heart heavy with sorrow, listened intently as Sumantra, his trusted charioteer and minister, recounted the events following Rama's departure. Unable to bear the weight of his grief, the king implored, "Sumantra, tell me more. What else transpired?"
Overcome with emotion, tears welling in his eyes, Sumantra gathered himself to continue his account of Rama's final messages and the journey that followed:
"O great king, after crossing the Ganga, Lord Rama and Lakshmana, now clad in bark robes with matted hair, set their course towards Prayaga. Lakshmana, ever vigilant, walked ahead, guarding his elder brother. It was then, watching them disappear into the distance, that I found myself helplessly turning back.
"As I began my return journey, even my horses seemed to share in the grief. They moved reluctantly along the path, hot tears falling from their eyes as they realized they were leaving Rama behind. Before departing, I paid my respects to both princes with folded hands, my heart heavy with sorrow as I ascended the chariot.
"At the banks of the Ganga, I lingered for three days with Guha, clinging to the faint hope that Rama might call me back. But that call never came, and I was forced to accept the reality of his exile.
"O Maharaja, as I traveled through your kingdom, I witnessed a land transformed by sorrow. The very trees, with their flowers, buds, and shoots, seemed to wither, oppressed by the calamity that had befallen Rama. Rivers ran low, their waters unnaturally warm. Ponds and lakes shrank, while forests and gardens bore leaves shriveled by grief.
"The forest, once teeming with life, fell eerily silent. No creature stirred, no bird sang. It was as if all of nature mourned Rama's absence, the entire woodland overcome by a palpable sorrow.
"Even the lotus lakes, once symbols of beauty and tranquility, bore witness to this pervasive anguish. The waters turned murky, blue lotuses withered, their petals sinking beneath the surface. Fish and waterfowl, usually abundant, hid from sight, as if they too could not bear the pain of Rama's departure.
"The vibrant blooms that once adorned both water and land now seemed to have lost their luster. Fruits hanging from trees, typically fragrant and inviting, now bore only a faint scent, as if nature itself had lost its will to flourish in Rama's absence."
Sumantra paused, his voice thick with emotion, before continuing to paint the somber picture of a kingdom in mourning.
Sumantra continued his heartrending account to King Dasharatha, describing the profound impact of Rama's exile on Ayodhya:
"As I approached the city, O Maharaja, the weight of sorrow grew heavier with each step. The once-bustling gardens stood deserted, their avian inhabitants having retreated to the depths of the woods. The parks, usually alive with laughter and joy, now appeared devoid of all beauty and life.
"Upon entering Ayodhya, I was struck by an eerie silence. Not a single soul came forward to greet the royal chariot. Instead, I witnessed a city paralyzed by grief. The people, catching sight of the chariot returning without their beloved Rama, let out deep, mournful sighs.
"The citizens who had gathered along the royal highway were overcome with anguish. Tears streamed down their faces as they beheld the empty chariot, a stark reminder of Rama's absence.
"From the windows of mansions, multi-storied buildings, and royal palaces, women looked out with tear-filled eyes. As they realized Rama was not with me, cries of 'Alas! Alas!' echoed through the streets, their voices heavy with sorrow.
"I observed groups of women, their large, bright eyes brimming with tears, exchanging silent glances of shared pain. Their anguish was so profound that words seemed inadequate to express their feelings.
"O King, in this sea of sorrow, I could discern no difference in the depth of grief between friends, foes, or those indifferent to politics. The pain of Rama's absence had united the entire city in mourning.
"Ayodhya, once a city of joy and celebration, now appeared transformed. Its people moved about listlessly, their spirits crushed. Even the elephants and horses seemed to have lost their vitality. The air was filled with the sound of deep sighs and lamentations.
"The entire city, my lord, reminded me of Queen Kausalya bereft of her son – joyless, distressed, and overcome with the agony of separation from Rama."
As Sumantra concluded his account, his voice faltered, choked with emotion. King Dasharatha, having listened to this tale of woe with growing distress, found himself overwhelmed. His voice, when he finally spoke, was barely more than a whisper, thick with tears and the weight of unbearable sorrow.
Upon hearing Sumantra's heartrending account, King Dasharatha, his voice trembling with anguish, spoke:
"Alas, I have been undone by Kaikeyi, whose family and intentions are wicked beyond measure. In my folly, I failed to consult with my wise ministers and elders. Neither did I seek counsel from my friends, advisors, or the prudent citizens of Ayodhya. Driven by infatuation and haste, I acted solely to please a woman, and in doing so, I have brought this great calamity upon us all.
"O Sumantra, if I have ever shown you any kindness, I beg of you now – take me swiftly to Rama. My life force ebbs away with each moment I am parted from him. If there is still time, if my command as king still holds any power, let it be used to bring Rama back. Without him, I cannot bear to live even for an instant more.
"But if, as I fear, my mighty-armed son has already journeyed too far, then place me in your chariot and take me to him with all haste. Oh, where is he now – my Rama, elder brother to Lakshmana, with his well-shaped teeth and great prowess with the bow? If I could but see him once more, along with Sita, perhaps I might yet cling to life.
"If I cannot gaze upon Rama – my son with eyes like lotus petals, strong arms, and ears adorned with brilliant gems – then surely I shall depart for Yama's realm. What greater sorrow could there be than this – that I, having fallen into such a piteous state, can no longer see my beloved Rama, the pride of the Ikshvaku clan?"
Overwhelmed by grief, the king cried out:
"Oh Rama! Oh Lakshmana! Oh Sita, my unfortunate daughter-in-law! You do not know that I lie here, dying like an orphan, consumed by sorrow!"
As he spoke these words, the king's consciousness began to slip away, his mind reeling from the immensity of his anguish. In his delirious state, he conjured a vivid and terrible image:
"I am drowning, Kausalya, in an vast ocean of sorrow. Its breadth is my grief for Rama, its far shore the separation from Sita. My sighs form its turbulent waves and whirlpools, my tears its foam and murky waters. The helpless flailing of my arms are like fish thrashing in its depths, while my cries of agony roar like a tempest across its surface.
"My disheveled hair floats like tangled seaweed, while Kaikeyi gapes like the maw of the legendary sea-mare Badaba, threatening to swallow all. The source of this dreadful sea is my own flowing tears, and the words of the hunchback Manthara swim through it like monstrous crocodiles. The cruel boons granted to Kaikeyi form its shores, and Rama's exile stretches it to unimaginable vastness.
"Without my Rama, I cannot hope to cross this ocean of despair. How can I survive when I cannot see my son, accompanied by Lakshmana, though I yearn for the sight of him with all my being?"
With these lamentations, the great and renowned King Dasharatha, overcome by his sorrow, fell unconscious upon his bed.
As the king wailed and then collapsed, senseless with grief, his cries echoing through the palace, Queen Kausalya, Rama's mother, was seized anew by fear and anguish, her own sorrow magnified by witnessing her husband's pain.
This concludes the fifty ninth chapter (sarga) of Ayodhyakanda, the second book of the Ramayana, the great epic composed by the sage Valmiki.