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.
SECTION LVIII.
Seeing Lakshmana cast down, cheerless, and come without Vaidehi, the righteous son of Daçaratha, asked him, saying, "Where, O Lakshmana is that Vaidehi, who hath followed me unto the Dandaka forest, and leaving whom thou hast come hither? Where is that one of a slender waist, who is the help in trouble of me, deprived of my kingdom, dispirited, and running about the Dandakas? Without whom, hero, I cannot live for a moment—where is that life's help of me Sitā resembling the daughter of a celestial? O Lakshmana, without Janaka's daughter (hued) like burning gold, I covet not the sovereignty of the celestials or the earth. Liveth Vaidehi, dearer unto me than life? Shall this exile of mine be of no avail? O Sumitra's son, on my dying for Sitā and thy returning (to the city,) shall Kaikeyi have her desire, and attain felicity; and shall Kauçalyā,— her son dead, and herself wearing the guise of a female mendicant, humbly wait upon Kaikeyi when she shall have succeeded in obtaining the kingdom for her son? If Vaidehi live, I will then return to the asylum; but O Lakshmana, if that one of excellent character should happen to be dead, I will also renounce my life. If, O Lakshmana, Vaidehi ever preluding her speech with a smile should not speak to me when I arrive at the asylum, I shall give up my life. Do thou tell me, O Lakshmana, whether Videha's daughter liveth or not; or whether, in consequence of thy acting heedlessly, that forlorn wench hath been devoured by Rākshasas. Of a tender frame, and a mere girl, Vaidehi, never having experienced unhappiness being cast down, surely weepeth for my separation. When that exceedingly wicked Rākshasa cried, "Lakshmana" at the top of his voice, wast thou also seized with fear? And I apprehend that voice resembling mine was heard by Vaidehi; and, despatched by her from fear, thou mayst have come hither swiftly to see[61] me. Thou hast every way acted unwisely in having left Sitā alone in the wood. By this thou hast afforded opportunity to the cruel Rākshasas to repair the mischief (I have done them). The Rākshasas subsisting on flesh are aggrieved because of Khara having been slain; and now, without doubt, those terrible ones have slain Sitā. Alas! absolutely sunk am I in peril, O destroyer of foes. What shall I do now? I fear such an event was appointed for me." Thus thinking of Sitā, paragon among women, Rāghava hastily went to Janasthāna in company with Lakshmana. Taking to task his younger brother of distressed visage, Rāma, afflicted with hunger and thirst, and dejected in spirits, sighing heavily with a countenance turned pale, entered the asylum and found it vacant. And entering his own asylum, that hero went to the play-grounds (of Sitā) and remembering the sporting ground (of Sitā) in that abode, he was filled with grief and his down stood on end.
SECTION LIX.
When coming out of the hermitage, Raghu's descendant, Rāma, after a while, from grief, spake these words to the son of Sumitrā, "When confiding myself in thee, I had left Maithili with thee in the wood, why then didst thou go oat, leaving her behind? O Lakshmana, directly I saw thee approach, renouncing Maithili, my mind, apprehending great wrong, became really aggrieved. O Lakshmana, seeing thee coming at a distance, renouncing her, my left eye and arm as well as ray heart keep throbbing." Thus accosted, Lakshmana having auspicious signs, afflicted with great grief, said unto the aggrieved Rāma, "I have not come hither, of my own accord, renouncing Sitā; but I have come to thee, having been urged thereto by herself with rudeness. The cries of "O Lakshmana, save me," as if uttered by the master, came to the ears of Maithili. Hearing those distressful accents, Maithili from affection [for thee], breaking out into lamentations, and overwhelmed with fear, spoke unto me, "Off," "off." On being repeatedly urged, with "Go," I answered Maithili in these words, tending to inspire her confidence, 'I do not see such a Rākshasa, as can excite his fear. Do thou desist. These cries do not come from him; but must have been uttered by some one else. How can he that can rescue the celestials themselves, utter, O Sitā, such a blame-worthy and base word as—save [me]? Some one far some purpose, assuming my brothers voice, is crying— O Lakshmana, save me. O beauteous lady, these words, Save me—must have been uttered by some Rākshasa from fear. Thou shouldst not act like a mean woman. Do not be overwhelmed; and banish thy anxiety. There breathes no person, nor yet shall there be born any one in these three worlds who in the field shall vanquish Rāghava in fight. Rāghava is incapable of being beaten in battle by the very gods headed by Indra.' Thus addressed (by me) Vaidehi, deprived of her sense, shedding tears, spake unto me these cruel words, 'Thou cherishest the vile idea that on thy brother perishing, thou shalt come by me; but me thou shalt never have. As thou dost not go to him albeit he is crying loudly (for help), thou followest Rāma in consonance with a hint from Bharata. A foe going about in disguise, thou followest Rāma for my sake, prying into Rāghava's draw backs; and it is for this that thou dost not go (to him)?' Thus accosted by Vaidehi, I, with eyes reddened in wrath, and my nether lip swollen in ire, rushed out of "the asylum." When Saumitri had spoken thus, Rāma transported by grief, said unto Lakshmana, "O gentle one, thou hast done wrong in having come out hither without her. Although thou knewest (full well) that I was able to withstand the Rākshasas, yet didst thou sally out at the angry words of Mithilā's daughter. I am not pleased with thee that hearing her harsh speech spoken in wrath, thou hast come hither, leaving Vaidehi behind. Thou hast every way done wrong in not acting out my mandate in consequence of being urged by Sitā, and under the influence of indignation. That Rākshasa lieth low, being wounded by my shafts—that had drawn me away from the asylum wearing the form of a deer. I hit him stretching my brow slightly and fixing the shaft on it; when, renouncing his deer-form he became a Rākshasa wearing a bracelet and began to emit distressful shrieks. Wounded by my shaft, he, assuming my voice, and in accents capable of being heard from far, uttered those dreadful words fraught with dole, hearing which, thou hast come hither, renouncing Mithilā's daughter."
SECTION LX.
As Rāma went on, his feet failed him, his left eye began to beat, and a trembling came over his frame. Seeing again and again all these signs, he continually kept on asking (Lakshmana), "Is it well with Sitā?" Eager to behold Sitā, he proceeded fast; but finding the abode empty, he was filled with anxiety. And proceeding with swiftness, throwing about his limbs, Raghu's son began to survey all around the hut. He then found it empty of Sitā, like unto a tank in evil plight and bereft of lotuses—during the winter. And seeing the cottage empty, with its trees as if sorrowing, and its flowers faded, and its beasts and birds sunk in gloom,— shorn of grace, worn out, forsaken by the sylvan deities, strewn with deer-skins and Kuça, and twists of Kāsa, he wept again and again—"Hath the timid one been carried off, or is she dead, or hath any one eaten her up, or hath she vanished (from the earth), or hath she gone to the wood, or hath she gone to cull flowers and fruits, or hath she gone to the pool for procuring water, or hath she repaired to the river? Although he searched his beloved one carefully, yet he failed to find her out in the wood-land. And that graceful one with his eyes reddened with grief, seemed like a maniac. And he rushed from tree to tree, and bewailing being sunk in an occean of grief traversed all the rivers and mountains. "O Kadamba, hast thou seen where is that one fond of Kadamba groves? If knowest thou this do thou tell me of Sitā having an auspicious countenance. O Bilya, tell me pray, if thou hast seen her, wearing silken cloth, resembling cool leaves and having breast like unto Bilya fruits. Or, O Aryunā, she was very fond of thee, tell me if liveth that daughter of Janaka of slender frame. This Kakuva knoweth for certain about Maithilee having thighs like unto Kakuva. Yon stands beautifully that Banaspati being enveloped with creepers, flowers and leaves and filled with the hum of Vramaras. Surely doth this Tilaka know about her who was fond of her. O Asoka, who doth remove sorrows, do thou make good thy name by making me, who am exercised with grief, see instantly my beloved (spouse). O Tala, if thou hast any pity on me do thou tell me whether thou hast beheld that fair damsel having breast resembling ripe Tala fruits. Do thou tell me without fear, O Jāmbhu, if thou hast seen my dear one resembling in hue the river Jāmbhu. O Karnikar, thou appearest very beautiful with this blossoming flowers, tell me if thou hast seen my dear devoted wife who was fond of thee." Thus the highly famous Rāma asking about Sitā, nearing the various trees such as mangoe, Nipa, Mahasālā, Panaça, Kurava, Pomegranate, Vakula, Pumnaga, Sandal and Keta began to traverse the forest like a maniac. Again addressed he the diverse animals—"O deer, knowest thou for certain about Jānaki having the eyes of a doe; is she engaged in play with the does? O elephant, methinks thou dost know about the daughter of Janaka having thighs resembling thy trunk; pray tell me if thou hast beheld her. O tiger, fearlessly do thou relate unto me if thou hast seen my beloved Maithilee, having a countenance resembling Moon. O dear! O thou having eyes like unto lotuses! why dost thou fly away? Surely have I seen thee. Why dost thou not address me hiding thyself behind the tree? Wait, wait, O thou fair damsel, thou hast no compassion for me! Never hadst thou mock me before in this way! Why dost thou neglect me now? O exquisitely fair damsel, truly have I found thee out from this thy yellow silken cloth. I have seen thee flying away. Stand if thou hast any love for me. Or, O thou having a sweet smile, thou art not she; truly thou hast been killed or else thou wouldst not have neglected me at this time of dire affliction. True it is that she hath been devoured in my absence by the Rākshasas living on flesh having torn into pieces her limbs. Truly hath her face, resembling the full-moon, having beautiful teeth a fine nose and white Kundalas, become of pale countenance being brought under the possession of the Rākshasas. Her neck had the hue of sandal and was adorned with necklace—that beautiful tender neck was eaten up by the Rākshasas, my beloved wife wailing. Her arms were tender like leaves and adorned with various ornaments; truly have the Rākshasas eaten them up, shaken as they were, by throwing them here and there. Alas! did I leave her alone only to be devoured by the Rākshasas? And she hath been eaten up like one weak and helpless albeit she has many friends. O Lakshmana, O thou of mighty-arms, hast thou seen where my dear wife is? O dear! O Sitā! where hast thou gone?" Bewailing again and again in this strain Rāma began to range the forest. Sometimes leaping, sometimes walking in an uncertain direction, again and again he looked like one void of sense. And again intent on searching Sitā he furiously engaged in traversing the rivers, mountains, fountains and the woods. He could not wait paitently anywhere. Entering a vast forest he searched every nook and corner for Maithilee; his desire was not satisfied and he again engaged with great labour in the finding out of his dear spouse.
SECTION LXI.
Beholding the hermitage and cottage desolate and the seats strewn here and there, Rāma the son of Daçaratha looked around. And finding Sitā nowhere he raised up his beautiful arm and broke out into lamentations saying, "O Lakshmana where is Sitā? Where has she gone hence? O Saumitri, who hath carried away my dear one or who hath devoured her? O Sitā, if wishest thou to mock me, hiding thyself behind the tree, enough—enough it is—console me who am exercised with grief. O pleasant Sitā, without thee these faithful little deer have engaged in meditation being bathed in tears. Without Sitā I shall not breathe, O Lakshmana. A mighty grief hath overtaken me in consequence of her being carried away. My father the monarch shall surely behold me in the next world and ask me 'I engaged thee in the observance of a vow; without fulfilling that, why hast thou come here? O shame on thee!' For certain shall my father address me with these words relating to my passionate, false and base conduct. All my desires have now been baffled and I have lost all control over myself and have been exercised with grief. O fine damsel, O thou of slender waist, where dost thou repair leaving me behind like unto fame renouncing a person of vicious nature? Without thee I shall renounce my own life." Being desirous of seeing Sitā, Rāma afflicted with grief began to bewail in this strain, but did not behold the daughter of Janaka. Being sunk in grief on Sitā's account he became worn out like unto an elephant fallen in mud. Thereat for his well being, Lakshmana spoke unto him saying, "O thou of mighty intellect— do not grieve. Do thou put forth thy endeavours along with me. There is that high hill, O hero, containing many a cave. Maithili who is fond of ranging the forest and ever delighteth in beholding the flowery woods, must have entered therein or have gone to the watering-place blooming with flowerets and lotuses. She has gone to the river abounding in fish and Banjulas or has hidden herself somewhere in the forest to frighten us and to know, O best of men, how we can search her out. O thou of great beauty, let us soon engage in quest of her. O Kākuthstha, if thinkest thou that she is somewhere in this forest, we shall leave no quarter untried. Do thou not grieve." After Lakshmana had spoken thus out of fraternal affection, Rāma, with a composed heart, set out along with him in quest of Sitā. And searching every nook and corner of the mountains, rivers, ponds, table-lands, hills and summits they found Sitā nowhere. And searching thus all the mountains Rāma spake unto Lakshmana saying "Behold not I the auspicious Vaidehi on this mountain, O Saumitri." Ranging the entire forest of Dandaka, Lakshmana, sore distressed, spake unto his brother of flaming energy, saying "Surely shalt thou come by Maithili the daughter of Janaka like unto the mighty armed Vishnu obtaining this earth after having bound Vāli." Being thus addressed by the heroic Lakshmana, Rāghava, greatly afflicted with sorrow, replied in piteous accents—"O thou of mighty intellect I have searched every nook of this forest, this pool abounding in blown lotuses, and this mountain containing many a cave and fountain; but nowhere have I seen Vaidehi dearer than my life." Thus bewailing Rāma, racked with sorrow consequent on Sitā, being carried away, became poorly and afflicted with grief and swooned away for sometime. He lost his sense and his whole frame was worked with grief. Being grfeatly anxious and breathless he sighed hot and fast and began to lament. And sobbing again and again the lotus-eyed Rāma bewailed with his voice choked with the vapour of grief, exclaiming "Ah Sitā!" Thereat his dear brother Lakshmana, aggrieved, consoled him with joined hands. But passing by the words dropping from Lakshmana's lips Rāma again and again bewailed not beholding his dear Sitā.