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great
King
relied
on
Rama
and
Lakshmana. How could you believe that
in their absence I could rule the kingdom?
And, even if I could, would I agree?
Never will your wish be fulfilled through
my cooperation. I can no longer regard
you as my mother. I cut myself off from
all relation with you and decline to regard
you as my mother. How could you ever
think of setting aside rule and custom and
getting a younger son crowned? Would
not the world revile us for all time? The
general law of kings and the tradition of
our family cannot be violated. I will not
carry out your wish. I shall go to the forest
and bring Rama back. I shall set the crown
on his head and rejoice in being his loyal
servant."
To understand Bharata's feelings, we
should keep in mind his innate noble
nature, his love for Rama, his grief for his
father and the sense of guilt and shame
that for his sake his mother had done this
grievous wrong. We should not weigh his
words in dry air and a chemical balance.
In such contexts, poetry flashes fire. One
sees it both in Valmiki and Kamban.
Bharata raised his voice and spoke
again: "Banish Rama indeed! It is you that
ought to be banished, cruel woman, who
have forsaken the path of dharma. So far
as you are concerned you may take it that
I am dead, for I would rather be dead than
be son to a murderess! Murderess of your
husband! You are not the daughter of the
good King Asvapati. You are a Rakshasi.
To what hell should you go, you, who
banished
the
only
child
of
mother
Kausalya? What punishment would be too
great for the grief you have caused her?
Kamadhenu,
the
cow-mother,
had
hundreds of thousands of children, yet she
shed tears at the sight of the suffering of
two bulls yoked to a plough and her tears
scalded Indra on his throne in high
Heaven. And Kausalya's only child you
sent to the forest, hoping thus that you and
I could be made happy! I shall do the
obsequies and go to the forest and fall at
the feet of Rama and bring him to his
kingdom. And then, to cleanse
myself of the sin and the shame you
have brought on me, I s
hall lead the life of
an ascetic in the Dandaka forest. What a
flood of sorrow have you let loose on the
earth? By what penitence, by what self-
mortification, can you redeem yourself? I
shall go myself at once to Rama and get
rid of my guilt by restoring the kingdom
to him."
Finding no relief for his anguish by
angry
words,
sighing
like
a
young
elephant newly captured, hot tears-falling
from his eyes, he felt he could bear no
longer the sight of his mother and rushed
to Kausalya's apartment, there to find a
better place to give vent to his sorrow.
Thus did Kaikeyi's castle in the air go
up in smoke. She lay down on the floor
and
wept.
The
most
painful
of
all
reflexions is that of a crime perpetrated in
vain.
Among
the