SECTION XLII.
So long as he could see the dust raised by the car of Rāma setting out for the forest, so long that best of the Ikshwāku race did not turn his eyes from that direction. And so long as the king could discover his exceedingly virtuous and favorite son, so long he raised himself (on his toes) on the earth with the view of beholding him. And when the ruler of earth could no longer perceive even the dust raised by Rāma's car, then pierced with sorrow, and in heaviness of heart, he fell down to the ground. Then (raising him up), Kauçalyā held his right arm and walked with him, while the slender-waisted Kaikeyi walked by his left. Endowed with a sense of justice and with virtue and humility, the king with afflicted senses steadily eyeing Kaikeyi, thus spake unto her,—"O Kaikeyi, that hast decided for following sin, do thou not touch my person,—nor do I wish to see thee. Thou art no wife of mine—not even a maid-servant of a friend sharing his good graces. I am none to those that subsist on thy favour, nor are they anything to me. I renounce thee who solely seekest thy interest and hast abandoned virtue. I renounce all the advantages pertaining either to this world or the next which I am entitled to by virtue of having obtained thy hand and having made thee circumambulate the sacrifical fire. If Bharata is satisfied with receiving this entire kingdom, let not what he spends on account of my funeral obsequies find its way to me." Then raising the lord of men covered with dust, the noble Kauçalyā pierced with grief, stopped (along with the monarch). The righteous one remembering Rāghava repented himself, as if he had slain a Brāhmana through inordinate desire, or as if he had placed his hand in fire. And having stopped again and again, the visage of the monarch lamenting on beholding the track of the car, appeared dim like the Moon invaded by Rāhu. And stricken with grief, he lamented, remembering his beloved son; and thinking that by this time he had reached the precincts of the city, he broke out into the following,—"On the way are traced the foot-prints of those foremost of bearers that are carrying my son away; but that magnanimous one I do not find. And that meritorious son of mine, who, doubed with sandal, used to rest his head pleasantly upon a pillow, fanned by beauteous damsels decked in ornaments, will to-day surely take refuge underneath a tree, and lay his head on a wooden plank or a stone. Covered with dust, he heaving sighs will rise from the ground in sad guise, like a leader of she-elephants rising from the side of a mountain. The rangers of the woods will now see the long-armed Rāma resembling the lord himself of the worlds, rising from the ground and going like one forlorn. And that one so dearly loved by Janaka, worthy of being constantly ministered unto with comforts, is to-day going to the forest, fatigued in consequence of having been pierced with thorns. Unacquainted with the forest, she is certainly afflicted with fright on hearing the deep roars of ferocious beasts, capable of making one's hair stand erect. O Kaikeyi, do thou realize thy desire,—do thou becoming a widow, rule this kingdom. Without that best of men I cannot live." Thus lamenting, the king surrounded by the multitude, like one that had performed his bath after death, entered that best of cities filled with people enfeebled and smitten with grief, with its streets thined of men and its stalls closed. And beholding that entire city, with his mind fixed upon Rāma, the king lamenting, like unto the sun entering clouds, entered that city like unto an unagitated sea rid of serpents by Suparna,[142] the city without Rāma or Lakshmana or Sitā. Then with tears in his eyes, the lord of earth, lamenting, in unintelligible accents said these sad and broken words,—"Do you speedily take me to the room of Rāma's mother, Kauçalyā; for in no other place shall I find rest for my heart." When the king had spoken thus, the ushers taking him to Kauçalyā's chamber, made him lie down in lowly plight. And having entered Kauçalyā's apartment, the king having laid himself on the bed, was overwhelmed with emotion. And the king surveyed the mansion deprived of his two sons as well as his daughter-in-law, like unto the welkin deprived of the Moon. Beholding this, the puissant sovereign raising up his arm, burst out into lamentations, saying,— "Ah! Rāma, thou forsakest us both! Ah me! surely those blessed people are happy, who having passed this gap of time, will behold Rāma returned and will embrace him." Then when the night had come like unto his own fatal night, Daçarātha at mid-night addressed Kauçalyā saying,—"I do not perceive thee, O Kauçalyā. Do thou touch me with thy hand. My sight having followed Rāma doth not return yet." Then seeing that foremost of men absorbed in the contemplation of Rāma, that noble dame sat by him, and afflicted with greater grief, began to indulge a sorrow,[143] sighing heavily.