Thus by the holy dame addressed Who banished envy from her breast, Her lowly reverence Sítá paid, And softly thus her answer made: 'No marvel, best of dames, thy speech The duties of a wife should teach; Yet I, O lady, also know Due reverence to my lord to show.
Were he the meanest of the base, Unhonoured with a single grace, My husband still I ne'er would leave, But firm through all to him would cleave: Still rather to a lord like mine Whose virtues high-exalted shine, Compassionate, of lofty soul, Vith every sense in due control, True in his love, of righteous mind, Like a dear sire and mother kind.
E'en as he ever loves to treat Kaus'alyá with observance meet, Has his behaviour ever been To every other honoured queen. Nay, more, a sonlike reverence shows The noble Ráma e'en to those On whom the king his father set His eyes one moment, to forget.
Deep in my heart the words are stored, Said by the mother of my lord, When from my home I turned away In the lone fearful woods to stray. The counsel of my mother deep Impressed upon my soul I keep, When by the fire I took my stand, And Ráma clasped in his my hand.
And in my bosom cherished yet, My friends' advice I ne'er forget: Woman her holiest offering pays When she her husband's will obeys. Good Sávitrí her lord obeyed, And a high saint in heaven was made, And for the self-same virtue thou Hast heaven in thy possession now.
And she with whom no dame could vie, Now a bright Goddess in the sky, Sweet Rohiní the Moon's dear Queen, Without her lord is never seen: And many a faithful wife beside For her pure love is glorified.'
Thus Sítá spake: soft rapture stole Through Anasúyá's saintly soul: Kisses on Sítá's head she pressed, And thus the Maithil dame addressed: 'I by long rites and toils endured Rich store of merit have secured: From this my wealth will I bestow A blessing ere I let thee go.
So right and wise and true each word That from thy lips mine ears have heard, I love thee: be my pleasing task To grant the boon that thou shalt ask.'
Then Sítá marvelled much, and while Played o'er her lips a gentle smile, 'All has been done, O Saint, she cried, And naught remains to wish beside.
She spake; the lady's meek reply Swelled Anasúyá's rapture high. 'Sítá,' she said,' my gift to-day Thy sweet contentment shall repay. Accept this precious robe to wear, Of heavenly fabric, rich and rare, These gems thy limbs to ornament, This precious balsam sweet of scent.
O Maithil dame, this gift of mine Shall make thy limbs with beauty shine, And breathing o'er thy frame dispense Its pure and lasting influence. This balsam on thy fair limbs spread New radiance on thy lord shall shed, As Lakshmí's beauty lends a grace To Vishnu's own celestial face.'
Then Sítá took the gift the dame Bestowed on her in friendship's name, The balsam, gems, and robe divine, And garlands wreathed of bloomy twine; Then sat her down, with reverence meet, At saintly Anasúyá's feet. The matron rich in rites and vows Turned her to Ráma's Maithil spouse, And questioned thus in turn to hear A pleasant tale to charm her ear:
'Sítá, 'tis said that Raghu's son Thy hand, mid gathered suitors, won. I fain would hear thee, lady, tell The story as it all befell: Do thou repeat each thing that passed, Reviewing all from first to last.'
Thus spake the dame to Sítá: she Replying to the devotee, 'Then, lady, thy attention lend,' Rehearsed the story to the end:
King Janak, just and brave and strong. Who loves the right and hates the wrong. Well skilled in what the law ordains For Warriors, o'er Videha reigns. Guiding one morn the plough, his hand Marked out, for rites the sacred land, When, as the ploughshare cleft the earth, Child of the king I leapt to birth.
Then as the ground he smoothed and cleared, He saw me all with dust besmeared, And on the new-found babe, amazed The ruler of Videha gazed. In childless love the monarch pressed The welcome infant to his breast: 'My daughter,' thus he cried, 'is she:' And as his child he cared for me.
Forth from the sky was heard o'erhead As 'twere a human voice that said: 'Yea, even so: great King, this child Henceforth thine own be justly styled.' Videha's monarch, virtuous souled, Rejoiced o'er me with joy untold, Delighting in his new-won prize, The darling of his heart and eyes.
To his chief queen of saintly mind The precious treasure he consigned, And by her side she saw me grow, Nursed with the love which mothers know.' Then as he saw the seasons fly, And knew my marriage-time was nigh, My sire was vexed with care, as sad As one who mourns the wealth he had:
'Scorn on the maiden's sire must wait From men of high and low estate: The virgin's father all despise, Though Indra's peer, who rules the skies.' More near he saw, and still more near, The scorn that filled his soul with fear, On trouble's billowy ocean tossed, Like one whose shattered bark is lost.
My father knowing how I came, No daughter of a mortal dame. In all the regions failed to see A bridegroom meet to match with me. Each way with anxious thought he scanned, And thus at length the monarch planned: 'The Bride's Election will I hold, With every rite prescribed of old.'
It pleased King Varun to bestow Quiver and shafts and heavenly bow Upon my father's sire who reigned, When Daksha his great rite ordained. Where was the man might bend or lift With utmost toil that wondrous gift? Not e'en in dreams could mortal king Strain the great bow or draw the string.
Of this tremendous bow possessed, My truthful father thus addressed The lords of many a region, all Assembled at the monarch's call: 'Whoe'er this bow can manage, he The husband of my child shall be.' The suitors viewed with hopeless eyes That wondrous bow of mountain size, Then to my sire they bade adieu, And all with humbled hearts withdrew.
At length with Vis'vámitra came This son of Raghu, dear to fame, The royal sacrifice to view. Near to my father's home he drew, His brother Lakshman by his side, Ráma, in deeds heroic tried. My sire with honour entertained The saint in lore of duty trained, Who thus in turn addressed the king:
'Ráma and Lakshman here who spring From royal Das'aratha, long To see thy bow so passing strong.' Before the prince's eyes was laid That marvel, as the Bráhman prayed. One moment on the bow he gazed, Quick to the notch the string he raised, Then, in the wandering people's view, The cord with mighty force he drew.
Then with an awful crash as loud As thunderbolts that cleave the cloud, The bow beneath the matchless strain Of arms heroic snapped in twain. Thus, giving purest water, he, My sire, to Ráma offered me. The prince the offered gift declined Till he should learn his father's mind;
So horsemen swift Ayodhyá sought And back her aged monarch brought. Me then my sire to Ráma gave, Self-ruled, the bravest of the brave. And Urmilá, the next to me, Graced with all gifts, most fair to see, My sire with Raghu's house allied. And gave her to be Lakshman's bride.
Thus from the princes of the land Lord Ráma won my maiden hand, And him exalted high above Heroic chiefs I truly love.
