Ayodhya Kanda 108

Jáváli’s Speech.

1 Thus Ráma soothed his brother’s grief:

Then virtuous Jáváli, chief

Of twice-born sages, thus replied

In words that virtue’s law defied:

“Hail, Raghu’s princely son, dismiss

A thought so weak and vain as this.

Canst thou, with lofty heart endowed,

Think with the dull ignoble crowd?

For what are ties of kindred? can

One profit by a brother man?

Alone the babe first opes his eyes,

And all alone at last he dies.

The man, I ween, has little sense

Who looks with foolish reverence

On father’s or on mother’s name:

In others, none a right may claim.

E’en as a man may leave his home

And to a distant village roam,

Then from his lodging turn away

And journey on the following day,

Such brief possession mortals hold

In sire and mother, house and gold,

And never will the good and wise

The brief uncertain lodging prize.

Nor, best of men, shouldst thou disown

Thy sire’s hereditary throne,

And tread the rough and stony ground

Where hardship, danger, woes abound.

Come, let Ayodhyá rich and bright

See thee enthroned with every rite:

Her tresses bound in single braid

She waits thy coming long delayed.

O come, thou royal Prince, and share

The kingly joys that wait thee there,

And live in bliss transcending price

As Indra lives in Paradise.

The parted king is naught to thee,

Nor right in living man has he:

The king is one, thou, Prince of men,

Another art: be counselled then.

Thy royal sire, O chief, has sped

On the long path we all must tread.

The common lot of all is this,

And thou in vain art robbed of bliss.

For those—and only those—I weep

Who to the path of duty keep;

For here they suffer ceaseless woe,

And dying to destruction go.

With pious care, each solemn day,

Will men their funeral offerings pay:

See, how the useful food they waste:

He who is dead no more can taste.

If one is fed, his strength renewed

Whene’er his brother takes his food,

Then offerings to the parted pay:

Scarce will they serve him on his way.

By crafty knaves these rules were framed,

And to enforce men’s gifts proclaimed:

“Give, worship, lead a life austere,

Keep lustral rites, quit pleasures here.”

There is no future life: be wise,

And do, O Prince, as I advise.

Enjoy, my lord, the present bliss,

And things unseen from thought dismiss.

Let this advice thy bosom move,

The counsel sage which all approve;

To Bharat’s earnest prayer incline,

And take the rule so justly thine.”