The Wife*

But Sita all the while, unhappy child,

Worshipped propitious gods. Her mind in dreams

August and splendid coronations dwelt

And knew not of that woe. Royal she worshipped,

A princess in her mind and mood, and sat

With expectation thrilled. To whom there came

Rama, downcast and sad, his forehead moist

From inner anguish. Dark with thought and shaken

He entered his august and jubilant halls.

She started from her seat, transfixed, and trembled,

For all the beauty of his face was marred,

Who when he saw his young beloved wife

Endured no longer; all his inner passion

Of tortured pride was opened in his face.

And Sita, shaken, cried aloud, “What grief

Comes in these eyes ? Was not today thine hour

When Jupiter, the imperial planet, joins

With Pushya, that high constellation? Why

Art thou then pale, disturbed ? Where is thy pomp,

Thy crowning where? No foam-white softness silk

With hundred-shafted canopy o’erhues

Thy kingly head, no fans o’erwave thy face

Like birds that beat their bright wings near a flower;

Minstrel nor orator attends thy steps

To hymn thy greatness, nor are heralds heard

Voicing high stanzas. Who has then forbade

The honeyed curds that Brahmins Veda-wise

Should pour on thy anointed brow, — the throngs

That should behind thee in a glory surge, —

The ministers and leading citizens

And peers and commons of the provinces

And commons metropolitan ? Where stays

Thy chariot by four gold-clad horses drawn,

Trampling, magnificent, wide-maned ? thy huge

High-omened elephant, a thunder-cloud

Or moving mountain in thy front? thy seat

*Ayodhya Kanda, Sarga, 26-30. 

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Enriched with curious gold? Such are the high

Symbols men lead before anointed kings

Through streets flower-crowned. But thou com’st careless, dumb,

Alone. Or if thy coronation still,

Hero, prepares and nations for thee wait,

Wherefore comes this grey face not seen before

In which there is no joy?” Trembling she hushed.

Then answered her the hope of Raghou’s line:

“Sita my sire exiles me to the woods.

0 high-born soul, 0 firm religious mind,

Be strong and hear me. Dussaruth my sire,

Whose royal word stands as the mountains pledged

To Bharath’s mother boons of old, her choice

In her selected time, who now prefers

Athwart the coronation’s sacred pomp

Her just demand; me to the Dundac woods

For fourteen years exiled and in my stead

Bharath, my brother, royally elect

To this wide empire. Therefore I come, to visit

And clasp thee once, ere to far woods I go.

But thou before King Bharath speak my name

Seldom; thou knowest great and wealthy men

Are jealous and endure not others’ praise.

Speak low and humbly of me when thou speakest,

Observing all his moods; for only thus

Shall man survive against a monarch’s brow.

He is a king, therefore to be observed;

Holy, since by a monarch’s sacred hands

Anointed to inviolable rule.

Be patient; thou art wise and good. For I

Today begin exile, Sita, today

Leave thee, 0 Sita. But when I am gone

Into the paths of the ascetics old

Do thou in vows and fasts spend blamelessly

Thy lonely seasons. With the dawn arise

And when thou hast adored the Gods, bow down

Before King Dussaruth, my father, then

Like a dear daughter tend religiously 

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Cowshalya, my afflicted mother old;

Nor her alone, but all my father’s queens

Gratify with sweet love, smiles, blandishments

And filial claspings; — they my mothers are,

Nor than the breasts that suckled me less dear.

But mostly I would have thee show, beloved,

To Shatrughna and Bharath, my dear brothers,

More than my life-blood dear, a sister’s love

And a maternal kindness. Cross not Bharath

Even slightly in his will. He is thy king,

Monarch of thee and monarch of our house

And all this nation. ‘Tis by modest awe

And soft obedience and high toilsome service

That princes are appeased, but being crossed

Most dangerous grow the wrathful hearts of kings

And mischiefs mean. Monarchs incensed reject

The sons of their own loins who durst oppose

Their mighty policies, and raise, of birth

Though vile, the strong and serviceable man.

Here then obedient dwell unto the King,

Sita; but I into the woods depart.”

He ended, but Videha’s daughter, she

Whose words were ever soft like one whose life

Is lapped in sweets, now other answer made

In that exceeding anger born of love,

Fierce reprimand and high. “What words are these,

Rama from thee ? What frail unworthy spirit

Converses with me uttering thoughts depraved,

Inglorious, full of ignominy, unmeet

For armed heroical great sons of Kings ?

With alien laughter and amazed today

I hear the noblest lips in all the world

Uttering baseness. For father, mother, son,

Brother or son’s wife, all their separate deeds

Enjoying their own separate fates pursue.

But the wife is the husband’s and she has

Her husband’s fate, not any private joy. 

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Have they said to thee “Thou art exiled’ ? Me

That doom includes, me too exiles. For neither

Father nor the sweet son of her own womb

Nor self, nor mother, nor companion dear

Is woman’s sanctuary, only her husband

Whether in this world or beyond is hers.

If to the difficult dim forest then,

Rama, this day thou journeyest, I will walk

Before thee, treading down the thorns and sharp

Grasses, smoothing with my torn feet thy way;

And henceforth from my bosom as from a cup

Stale water, jealousy and wrath renounce.

Trust me, take me; for, Rama, in this breast

Sin cannot harbour. Heaven, spacious terraces

Of mansions, the aerial gait of Gods

With leave to walk among those distant stars,

Man’s winged aspiration or his earth

Of sensuous joys, tempt not a woman’s heart:

She chooses at her husband’s feet her home.

My father’s lap, my mother’s knees to me

Were school of morals, Rama; each human law

Of love and service there I learned, nor need

Thy lessons. All things else are wind; I choose

The inaccessible inhuman woods,

The deer’s green walk or where the tigers roam,

Life savage with the multitude of beasts,

Dense thickets; there will I dwell in desert ways,

Happier than in my father’s lordly house,

A pure-limbed hermitess. How I will tend thee

And watch thy needs, and thinking of no joy

But that warm wifely service and delight

Forget the unneeded world, alone with thee.

We two shall dalliance take in honied groves

And scented springtides. These heroic hands

Can in the forest dangerous protect

Even common men, and will they then not guard

A woman and the noble name of wife?

I go with thee this day, deny who will, 

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