SECTION LIX.
"On Rāma having gone to the forest, my horses as I turned away, did not proceed vigorously on the way, and shed warm tears. And having (done homage) unto both the princes by joining my hands, I turned my back, bearing best I could that load of sorrow. Indulging in the hope that Rāma might again summon me by any of the envoys (of Guha left there), I stayed there with Guha for many days. In thy dominions, O monarch, exercised by the calamity that has befallen Rāma, even trees bearing blossoms and buds and sprouts look sad; the rivers and pools and liquid lapses have their waters dried up; and the woods and groves have their foliage withered. Creatures do not move and beasts of prey cease to range about; and the forest appears to be dumb, stupified by grief on account of Rāma. And streams containing lotuses with their leaves shriveled, have their waters stained; and lotuses have their leaves burnt; and fishes and (aquatic) birds have grown lean. And flowers both on land and water have been deprived of their freshness and fragrance; and they no longer retain their former condition. And the gardens are idle with their birds drooping. And, O best of men, I do not find the bowers beautiful (as before). And when I entered Ayodhyā, none greeted me. And not seeing Rāma, the people sigh momentarily. And, O revered one, seeing the royal car returned hither without Rāma, the people on the highways from grief appear with tearful countenances. And from mansions, cars, and lorldly edifices, ladies seeing the car come back, set up a chorus of 'Ah' and 'Alas,' afflicted with the absence of Rāma. And becoming more distressed than ever, the fair sex with their expansive and clear eyes filled with tears, began to eye each other indistinctly. And in consequence of the general grief that prevailed, I could not perceive any difference between friends and foes and persons indifferent. O mighty monarch, distressed in consequence of the exile of Rāma, men appear sunk in dejection, and elephants and horses are spiritless; and seized with cheerlessness, they utter doleful sounds and heave profound sighs. Ayodhyā appeareth unto me joyless like Kauçalyā deprived of her son." Hearing the words of the charioteer, the king like one exceedingly forlorn, addressed the former in words lost in the vapour of sorrow, "Exhorted by Kaikeyi of a sinful country, born in a sinful race and cherishing sinful designs, I did not take counsel with aged people capable of offering advice. Without consulting with friends or courtiers or persons versed in the Vedas, I have in the interests of a woman rashly done this thing through ignorance. Meseems, O charioteer, for the purpose of destroying this line entirely, this mighty disaster hath surely befallen us through the influence of Destiny. O charioteer, if I have ever done thee any good, do thou immediately take me to Rāma: my life urges me on (in this direction). Or let my command make Rāghava turn back. I cannot live for a moment without Rāma. But if that mighty-armed one has proceeded far, do thou placing me on a car speedily show me unto Rāma. Where is that elder brother of Lakshmana of a mighty bow, furnished with teeth resembling Kunda flowers? If I live so long, I will behold him in company with Sitā. What can be sadder than this, that reduced to such a pass, I cannot see here that descendant of Ikshwāku, Rāghava? Ah Rāma! Ah thou younger brother of Rāma! Ah thou unfortunate Vaidehi! You do not know that I am through grief lamenting like one deserted." Deprived of his consciousness through that sorrow of his, the king said, "I have plunged myself into this ocean of woe hard to cross, with grief for Rāma as its mighty tide; separation from Sitā, its other shore; sighs heaved, its furious billows and whirlpools; tears, rivers that rush into it; tossing of the arms, its fishes; lamentations its roar; my hair flung about, its moss; Kaikeyi, its submarine fire; my fast-flowing tears, its current; the words of the hump-backed one, its terrific ravenous animals; the boon, its continents; and the exile of Rāma, its expanse. And, O Kauçalyā, without Rāghava, I shall sink in this ocean. O exalted dame, living, it is hard for me to cross over this ocean. It is surely owing to my sin that today wishing to behold Rāghava and Lakshmana, I do not get them (before me)." Having thus lamented, the illustrious king all of a sudden dropped to the earth in a swoon. On the king swooning away lamenting, that exalted lady, Rāma's mother, hearing his words doubly bitter and more piteous than eti uttered for Rāma, was seized with fresh apprehension.