# Echoes from East and West/The Grief of Kousalya (Valmiki)

THE GRIEF OF KOUSALYA.
(From Valmiki.)
THEN Queen Kousayla, tho' she was herself afflicted sore, Upraised the senseless King who lay heart-broken on the floor.
She rubb'd and fann'd him for a while; his sense he did regain, And harsher words fell from her tongue to storm his ear again.
"In ev'ry land above all men thy name, O King, is praised; But, as my child thou hast exiled, thy shame will soon be raised.
"For, who is there with heart so hard that he can send his child, To whom he pledged his crown and staff, unto the forest wild?
"Hast thou exiled thy guiltless child for fear of lies alone? Mark well, thou art a liar still, not giving him the throne.
"This Solar line for love of truth is known in ev'ry clime; By this thy deed thou hast profaned that far-famed race sublime.
"This golden rime in olden time himself did Brahma sing, When he did weigh the worth of Truth, well-known on earth, O King:
"'A thousand sacrifices set against one Truth I've weigh'd, And found, O men, in weight and worth by far the latter sway'd.'
"So, sacrificing their own lives, one Truth the wise uphold; A greater thing than Truth, my lord, these three worlds do not hold.
"By Truth alone the Sun gives heat, the Moon grows phase by phase, By Truth alone was Nectar churn'd, on Truth is Nature's base.
"Nay, Virtue with its fourfold form to Truth doth always cling, Just as a meek four-footed ox doth to the post, O King.
"The wise, my lord, speak of two paths to Virtue—Grace and Truth, Whereon, I say, all Virtue here is based in very sooth.
"Thy fame is marr'd, thy name is lost, for having left my child; Thou settest down for him thy crown, but him thou hast exiled.
"The odour of a blossom spreads towards the draft of air; But the sweet scent of a man's fame is wafted ev'rywhere.
"The fragrance of the sandal-wood is not so lasting here As that of fame; so pious men to virtue oft adhere.
"But the bad smell of this bad deed, destroying all thy fame, Will ever run from place to place and render foul thy name.
"Good luck! thy dear one did not ask my stripling to be slain; Ay, such a boon from such a king she doubtless could obtain!
"As in a lonesome wilderness the stouter brutes attack The helpless deer, so stronger men oppress the weak, alack!
"Yet why for nothing censure thee in many a cruel word? My luck is bad; what shall I gain by blaming thee, my lord?
"My boy forbade me for his sake his father to chastise; O wrongly have I censured thee, forgetting his advice!
"What other lady ever spake such bitter words and fell To her own lord, as I? Ah then, I have not acted well.
"I blame thee not, for this our world is led by One Most High; My luck is bad, o'er which I have no power; why blame thee? why?
"By fate ordain'd, my soothfast son all earthly joys hath left To keep thy truth, and left his home, of ev'ry pleasure reft."
Thus weeping hot, the Queen could not her sorrow's end attain; She, robb'd of wit, as in a fit, began to speak again:
"Much more than Rama I lament, I do lament this day That brother-loving Lakshman, who hath traced his brother's way.
"I think of Lakshman, who forsook his wife and mother good To work his brother weal, and went unbidden to the wood.
"I think of Sita, Sita good, King Janak's daughter fair; How will she rove the lonesome grove, and rugged tree-bark wear?
"How will she sleep upon the steep, with hay and leaves bestrown? How will she dwell within a cell, and bide her hours alone?
"O when shall I behold again that sweet face of my child? Ah never, never! long will he stay in the forest wild.
"My heart is surely made of stone, or why doth it not crack? My loved and loving son is gone, and I am lost, alack!
"Thou hast, my lord, forsaken all—thyself, thy fame, thy son, Thy kingdom, and thy virtues all—O we are all undone!"
July, 1897.