☀️ 𝓓epicting 𝓣he 𝓓ivine ☀️

Sita

''Alas, my husband, leave me not behind,
Forbid me not from exile. Whether harsh
Asceticism in the forest drear
Or paradise my lot, either is bliss
From thee not parted, Rama. 

How can I,
Guiding in thy dear steps my feet, grow tired
Though journeying endlessly? as well might one
Weary, who on a bed of pleasure lies.

The bramble-bushes in our common path,
The bladed grasses and the pointed reeds
Shall be as pleasant to me as the touch
Of cotton or of velvet, being with thee.

And when the storm-blast rises scattering
The thick dust over me, I, feeling then
My dear one's hand, shall think that I am smeared
With sandal-powder highly-priced. 

Or when
From grove to grove upon the grass I lie,
In couches how is there more soft delight
Or rugs of brilliant wool? The fruits of trees,
Roots of the earth or leaves, whate'er thou bring,

Be it much or little, being by thy hands
Gathered, I shall account ambrosial food,
I shall not once remember, being with thee,
Father or mother dear or my far home.
Nor shall thy pains by my companionship
Be greatened;—doom me not to parting, Rama.

For only where thou art is Heaven; 'tis Hell
Where thou art not. O thou who know'st my love,
If thou canst leave me, poison still is left
To be my comforter. I will not bear
Their yoke who hate thee. And if today I shunned
Swift solace, grief at length would do its work
With torments slow. 

How should the broken heart
That once has beaten on thine, absence endure
Ten years and three to these and yet one more?"

So writhing in the fire of grief, she wound
Her body about her husband, fiercely silent,
Or sometimes wailed aloud; as a wild beast
That maddens with the fire-tipped arrows, such
Her grief ungovernable and like the streams
Of fire from its stony prison freed,
Her quick hot tears, or as when the whole river
From new-culled lilies weeps,—those crystal brooks
Of sorrow poured from her afflicted lids.
And all the moonlight glories of her face
Grew dimmed and her large eyes vacant of joy.

But he revived her with sweet words: "Weep not;
If I could buy all heaven with one tear
Of thine, Sita, I would not pay the price,
My Sita, my beloved. Nor have I grown,
I who have stood like God by nature planted
High above any cause of fear, so suddenly
Familiar with alarm. 

Only I knew not
Thy sweet and resolute courage, and for thee
Dreaded the misery that sad exiles feel.

But since to share my exile and o'erthrow
God first created thee, O Mithilan,
Sooner shall high serenity divorce
From the self-conquering heart, than thou from me
Be parted. 

Fixed I stand in my resolve
Who follow ancient virtue and the paths
Of the old perfect dead; ever my face
Turns steadfast to that radiant goal, self-vowed
Its sunflower. 

To the drear wilderness I go.
My father's stainless honour points me on,
His oath that must not fail. This is the old
Religion, brought from dateless ages down,
Parents to honour and obey; their will
Should I transgress, I would not wish to live.
For how shall man with homage or with prayer
Approach the distant Deity, yet scorn
A present godhead, father, mother, sage?
In these man's triple objects live, in these
The triple world is bounded, nor than these
Has all wide earth one holier thing. Large eyes,
These therefore let us worship. Truth or gifts,
Or Honour or liberal proud sacrifice,
Nought equals the effectual force and pure
Of worship filial done. This all bliss brings,
Compels all gifts, compels harvests and wealth,
Knowledge compels and children. All these joys
And human boons great filial souls on earth
Recovering here enjoy, and in that world
Heaven naturally is theirs. But me whatever,
In the strict path of virtue while he stands,

My father bids, my heart bids that. I go,
But not alone, o'ercome by thy sweet soul's
High courage. 

O intoxicating eyes,
O faultless limbs, go with me, justify
The wife's proud name, partner in virtue, Love,
Warm from thy great high-blooded lineage old
Thy purpose springing mates with the pure strain
Of Raghou's ancient house. O let thy large
And lovely motion forestward make speed
High ceremonies to absolve. 

Heaven's joys Without thee now were beggarly and rude.
Haste then, the Brahmin and the pauper feed
And to their blessings answer jewels.

 All Our priceless diamonds and our splendid robes,
Our curious things, our couches and our cars,
The glory and the eye's delight, do these
Renounce, nor let our faithful servants lose
Their worthy portion." 

Sita, of that consent So hardly won sprang joyous, as on fire,

Disburdened of her wealth, lightly to wing 

Into dim wood and wilderness unknown.''

Sri Aurobindo - Translations from Sanskrit - The Ramayana - 'The Wife'

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