SECTION LVII.
Killing the Rākshasa, Māricha assuming shapes at will and ranging in the shape of a deer, Rāma vended speedily his way. And as he hurried himself, eager to behold Maithili, jackals began to howl hideously at his back. Hearing their harsh cries, capable of making one's hair stand on end, Rāma struck with fear at the voices of the jackals, became filled with alarm. "Ah! I consider this as inauspicious— that these jackals are crying. Escaping being devoured by the Rākshasas, may fair fortune befall Vaidehi! If Lakshmana should have heard the cries which Māricha, knowing my voice, and fixing on the means of harming me, uttered in the form of a deer, Saumitri, hearing that voice, leaving Mithilā's daughter and commissioned by herself, must have come near me. Surely, the Rākshasas in a body are desirous of slaying Sitā. Becoming a golden deer, Māricha, having allured me far, transformed himself into a Rākshasa, as soon as he had been struck with my shafts; and exclaimed, 'Ah! Lakshmana, slain am I.' It is doubtless, we having left (Sitā), whether all is well with her. I having raised the hostility of the Rākshasas for the sake of Janasthāna; and many and dreadful are the omens I see (around me)." Thus reflecting as he heard the bowlings of the jackals, the self-possessed Rāma with hasty steps returned to the asylum. Rāghava went back to Janasthāna, alarmed in consequence of his having been drawn away by the Rākshasa in the form of a deer. And birds and beasts approached that high-souled one distressed and depressed in spirit; and staying on his left set up frightful cries. As he was witnessing the exceedingly dreadful signs, Rāghava saw Lakshmana coming with a lacklustre (countenance); and Lakshmana came up to Rāma. And depressed in spirit, he was rendered still more sad by that one who, afflicted with depression shared his sorrow. And, seeing that (Lakshmana) had come, leaving Sitā in that solitary wood frequented by Rākshasas, his brother fell to reprimanding him. And taking Lakshmana's left; hand, the son of Raghu in extreme distress sweetly spake these rough words, "Alas! Lakshmana, thou hast committed a censurable act; leaving Sitā, O mild one, thou hast come hither. Is it well with her? I make no doubt, O hero, but that Janaka's daughter hath either been slain or devoured by Rākshasas ranging the forest. And, considering the many omens that take place before me, O Lakshmana, I do not know whether we shall light upon welfare of Janaka's daughter Sitā being alive, O best of men. And as these multitudes of beasts and these jackals are crying frightfully in the flaming direction,[60] I do not know, O thou of mighty strength, whether it is well with that daughter of the king. This Rākshasa, who, wearing the shape of a deer, and, alluring me, had drawn me far, hath in some sort been slain by me with much ado; and he became a Rākshasa at the time of his death. Yet my mind is poor and cheerless; and my left eye throbs. Doubtless, O Lakshmana, Sitā is not,—she is either carried away, or dead, or is wandering on the way.