But dwelling in that lonely spot Left by the hermits pleased him not. 'I met the faithful Bharat here, The townsmen, and my mother dear: The painful memory lingers yet, And stings me with a vain regret. And here the host of Bharat camped, And many a courser here has stamped, And elephants with ponderous feet Have trampled through the calm retreat.'
So forth to seek a home he hied, His spouse and Lakshman by his side. He came to Atri's pure retreat. Paid reverence to his holy feet, And from the saint such welcome won As a fond father gives his son. The noble prince with joy unfeigned As a dear guest he entertained, And cheered the glorious Lakshman too And Sítá with observance due.
Then Anasúyá at the call Of him who sought the good of all, His blameless venerable spouse, Delighting in her holy vows, Came from her chamber to his side: To her the virtuous hermit cried: 'Receive, I pray, with friendly grace This dame of Maithil monarchs' race:
To Ráma next made known his wife, The devotee of saintliest life: 'Ten thousand years this votaress bent On sternest rites of penance spent; She when the clouds withheld their rain, And drought ten years consumed the plain, Caused grateful roots and fruit to grow And ordered Gangá here to flow:
So from their cares the saints she freed, Nor let these checks their rites impede, She wrought in Heaven's behalf, and made Ten nights of one, the Gods to aid: Let holy Anasúyá be An honoured mother, Prince, to thee. Let thy Videhan spouse draw near To her whom all that live revere, Stricken in years, whose loving mind Is slow to wrath and ever kind.'
He ceased: and Ráma gave assent, And said, with eyes on Sítá bent: 'O Princess, thou hast heard with me This counsel of the devotee: Now that her touch thy soul may bless, Approach the saintly votaress: Come to the venerable dame, Far known by Anasúyá's name:
The mighty things that she has done High glory in the world have won.' Thus spoke the son of Raghu: she Approached the saintly devotee, Who with her white locks, old and frail, Shook like a plantain in the gale. To that true spouse she bowed her head, And 'Lady, I am Sítá,' said:
Raised suppliant hands and prayed her tell That all was prosperous and well. The aged matron, when she saw Fair Sítá true to duty's law, Addressed her thus: ' High fate is thine Whose thoughts to virtue still incline. Thou, lady of the noble mind, Hast kin and state and wealth resigned To follow Ráma forced to tread Where solitary woods are spread.
Those women gain high spheres above Who still unchanged their husbands love, Whether they dwell in town or wood, Whether their hearts be ill or good. Though wicked, poor, or led away In love's forbidden paths to stray, The noble matron still will deem Her lord a deity supreme.
Regarding kin and friendship, I Can see no better, holier tie, And every penance-rite is dim Beside the joy of serving him. But dark is this to her whose mind Promptings of idle fancy blind, Who led by evil thoughts away Makes him who should command obey.
Such women, O dear Maithil dame, Their virtue lose and honest fame, Enslaved by sin and folly, led In these unholy paths to tread. But they who good and true like thee The present and the future see, Like men by holy deeds will rise To mansions in the blissful skies.
