SECTION LXII.
Thus harshly addressed by the indignant mother of Rāma, the king aggrieved was plunged in thought. Having thought for a long while, that repressor of foes, the king, who had lost his senses through grief, regained consciousness. And having regained his senses, he sighing hot and hard, seeing Kauçalyā beside him, was again lost in thought. As he was thinking, the sinful act which he had through ignorance formerly committed by means of the shaft which hits by sound, rose up (in his recollection). Afflicted with this grief as well as that on account of Rāma, that lord, the king, burned in these two several griefs. Burning in grief and distressed, he trembling and with joined hands, with his head hanging down, addressed Kauçalyā, with the view of pacifying her, "I deprecate thy displeasure, O Kauçalyā, with joined hands. Thou art ever affectionate and dost not treat harshly even enemies. Verily unto women cognizant of virtue, a husband, whether he has any merits or not, is a very deity. Ever virtuous, thou, that hast seen both the virtuous and the vicious, although aggrieved, ought not to say anything unpleasant unto me who am weighed down with woe." Having heard these piteous words of the distressed king, Kauçalyā uttered words even as a water-way lets out fresh accession of rain. And weeping, she drew on her head the joined hands of the king resembling lotuses; and then flurried spoke these words hurriedly informed with extreme affection, "Be thou propitious; I beseech with (bended) head. I bow unto thee, falling on the ground. O reverend one, besought by thee, I shall be undone. I do not deserve to be forgiven by thee. She cannot be reckoned a gentlewoman, who is propitiated by her intelligent husband, worthy of being extolled in both the worlds. I know duty, O righteous one; I know that thou art truth-telling. And it is because I was exceedingly distressed on account of my son that I spoke harshly to thee. Sorrow destroys patience, sorrow destroys knowledge of the scriptures, sorrow destroys every thing; there is no enemy like unto sorrow. One can falling down bear beating from an enemy; but one cannot falling down bear ever so little sorrow. This is the fifth night of the banishment of Rāma, as calculated by me; and to me rendered cheerless by sorrow, this interval has assumed the proportions of five years. And fostered by thought on my part, this grief increases in my bosom, like the mighty waters of the ocean increased by the vehement discharge of rivers." As Kauçalyā was thus speaking auspiciously, the rays of the sun grew milder, and the night arrived. Cheered up by the words of Kauçalyā, the king overcome by grief, felt the influence of sleep.