Mandodari's Lament And The Funerals
'Hast thou fallen,' wept in anguish Ravan's first and eldest bride,
Mandodari, slender-waisted, Queen of Lanka's state and pride,
'Hast thou fallen, king and consort, more than Gods in warlike might,
Slain by man, whom bright Immortals feared to facein dubious fight?
Not a man!-the Dark Destroyer came to thee in mortal form,
Or the heaven-traversing VISHNU, INDRA ruler of the storm,
Gods of sky in shape of Vanars helped the dark and cruel deed,
Girdling round the Discus-Wielder in the battle's direst need!
Well I knew,-when Khara, Dushan, were by Rama's prowess slain,
Rama was no earthly mortal, he who crossed the mighty main,
Well I knew,-when with his army he invested Lanka's gate,
Rama was no earthly mortal but the messenger of Fate,
And I prayed,-the faithful Sita, might unto her consort go,
For 'tis writ that nations perish for a righteous woman's woe,
But for impious lust of woman,-all forgetful of thy wife,
Thou hast lost thy crown and kingdom, thou hast lost thy fated life!
Woe to me! the sad remembrance haunts my tortured bosom still,
Of our days on famed Kailasa or on Meru's golden hill,
Done the days of joy and gladness, Mandodari's days are done,
Since her lord and king and husband from her dear embrace is gone!
Sorely wept the Queen of Lanka; Rama, tender, tearful, true,
Bade the funeral rites and honours to a fallen foeman due,
And they heaped the wood of Chandan and the fragrant garland laid,
On the pyre they lifted Ravan in the richest robes arrayed,
Weeping queens and sorrowing Rakshas round their fallen leader stood,
Brahmans with their chaunted mantras piled the dry and scented wood,
Oil and cords and sacred offerings were upon the altar laid,
And a goat of inky darkness as a sacrifice was slayed.
Piously the good Bibhishan lighted Ravan's funeral pyre,
And the zephyrs gently blowing fanned the bright and blazing fire,
Slow and sad with due abititions mourners left the funeral site,
Rama then unstrung his weapon, laid aside his arms of might.
Related quotes
Bibhishan's Warning
Twenty warriors armed and girded in the Council Hall arose,
Thirsting for a war of vengeance, hurling challenge on the foes,
But Bibhishan deep in wisdom-Ravan's youngest brother he,-
Spake the word of solemn warning, for his eye could farthest see:
'Pardon, king and honoured elder, if Bibhishan lifts his voice
'Gainst the wishes of the warriors and the monarch's fatal choice,
Firm in faith and strong in forces Rama comes with conqu'ring might,
Vain against a righteous warrior would unrighteous Ravan fight!
Think him not a common Vanar who transpassed the ocean wave,
Wrecked thy city tower and temple and a sign and warning gave,
Think him not a common hermit who Ayodhya ruled of yore,
Crossing India's streams and mountains, thunders now on Lanka's shore!
What dark deed of crime or folly hath the righteous Rama done,
That you stole his faithful consort unprotected and alone,
What offence or nameless insult hath the saintly Sita given,
She who chained in Lanka's prison pleads in piteous tear to Heaven?
Take my counsel, king and elder, Sita to her lord restore,
Wipe this deed of wrong and outrage, Rama's righteous grace implore,
Take my counsel, Raksha monarch, vain against him is thy might,
Doubly arméd is the hero,-he who battles for the right!
Render Sita to her Rama ere with vengeance swift and dire,
He despoils our peopled Lanka with his bow and brand and fire,
Render wife unto her husband ere in battle's dread array,
Rama swoops upon thy empire like a falcon on its prey,
Render to the lord his consort ere with blood of Rakshas slain,
Rama soaks the land of Lanka to the margin of the main!
Listen to my friendly counsel,-though it be I stand alone,-
Faithful friend but fiery foeman is this Dasa-ratha's son,
Listen to my voice of warning,-Rama's shafts are true and keen,
Flaming like the with'ring sunbeams on the summer's parchéd green,
Listen to my soft entreaty,-righteousness becomes the brave,
Cherish peace and cherish virtue and thy sons and daughters save!'
Seeta, a pity.
Seeta, you are a noble lady,
So chaste, so modest and so graceful.
Rama is your noble lord,
So virtuous, so chivalrous and so truthful.
Ravna is your bitter lover,
So passionate, so devoted and so lustful.
Rama waged a war to redeem you.
Ravna laid his life to retain you.
Rama loved you, as you are his wife.
Ravna wanted you for what you are.
Rama tested you by fire.
If you failed, what would be your fate?
Can Ravna do so, if he were in Rama’s shoes?
Love of Rama is conditional
Love of Ravna is categorical.
Rama loves you; Ravna devours you.
You are second to none to Ravna,
Who lost everything for you and
Who could do anything for you?
Have not you committed a sin
In being the cause for killing a loving dog?
The love for keeping chastity,
More than you love for Rama,
Weighed on you to reject Ravna.
The love for your chastity,
Rather than his love for you,
Weighed on Rama to own you back.
Ravna’s love for you is pure.
He desired you more than Rama did.
You would have lived more vividly
Had you met Ravna first and married.
Instead, you were at loss to earn a sin.
I pity you.
06.06.2002, pakd
[Based on the Hindu Epic
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Rama
The Day That Kausalya Does Not See His Face
She is restless and sad so her heart does race
Every person speaking she thinks it is her son
She calls out His Name Rama Rama dear son!
She goes about her work her mind is on Rama
What a fate have I to be separated from Rama
Let no Mother suffer this and part with her son
What a sacrifice this is to have God as my son!
I am a Mother like any other who raised her son
I wished for Him the very best like a human son
Did not wish even for a human son to leave me
How can I bear this separation of Rama and me?
He is the best in the world for me and for you
Taking His Name they will have salvation true
I don't need anything in this world ever to gain
Rama dearest please show me your face again!
poem by Ashoka Harichandan
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Hare Rama
Soaked in the tears of this home
Memories grind me into my bittered life.
Earlier days were lively in full bloom.
But soon got into this rancid life.
I was not the home minister, but
In the production of babies and dishes.
Not considered to be a prestigious post.
Unprofessionally professional was my status.
Cutting vegetables for curries and sambar
Grinding black gram and rice for dosas
Ooh la la la, for everyone at home, other
Than me finding no day for my own wishes.
Age has put me on the altar today.
Children ask me about wasted talents why?
What shall i say? that i sacrificed?
Or have i been a coward?
Ere shaken my mortal, chanting Rama Rama
Shall be the best resort to replace the wasted.
So Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Hare Rama!
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Sabrina
Isle of the ocean, say, whence comest thou?
The smoke thy dark throne, and the blaze round thy brow;
The voice of the earthquake proclaims thee abroad,
And the deep, at thy coming, rolls darkly and loud.
From the breast of the ocean, the bed of the wave,
Thou hast burst into being, hast sprung from the grave;
A stranger, wild, gloomy, yet terribly bright,
Thou art clothed with the darkness, yet crowned with the light.
Thou comest in flames, thou hast risen in fire;
The wave is thy pillow, the tempest thy choir;
They will lull thee to sleep on the ocean's broad breast,
A slumb'ring volcano, an earthquake at rest.
Thou hast looked on the isle — thou hast looked on the wave —
Then hie thee again to thy deep, watery grave;
Go, quench thee in ocean, thou dark, nameless thing,
Thou spark from the fallen one's wide flaming wing.
poem by Lucretia Maria Davidson
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Lament of Brünnhilde
Midst rejoicings I have wept,
And in hours when others slept,
I have looked on Horror's face,
In this place.
Now midst wailings I alone
Hush the voice of mortal sorrow,
Gaze on thee, again mine own!—
Fear no parting for the morrow.
For we meet, love, as before,
By a flame-encircled shore.
Thou once more hast stemmed the tide,
To thy bride;
And I wake at thy command
From my agony of dreaming,
And thy ring is on my hand,
And I feel its clasp redeeming!
Heart to heart again responds,
Death asunder rends my bonds,
From long exile sets me free,—
Gives me thee!
And submissive to his will,
With a rapture that betrays not,
Siegfried, I embrace thee still,
And the wrath of gods dismays not!
Ah, they pitied not my pain!
Merciless, they saw thee slain,—
Smiling though the cruel dart
Pierced my heart,—
But with glory none shall dim
Thou hast passed the dreaded portal,
And I bless the will of Him
Who, in anger, made me mortal!
I shall rest when Odin, late,
Mourns forlorn Brünnhilde's fate:
Mourns her truth, dishonor made—
Faith betrayed;
For the Nornen ne’er forget;
In their awful hands they hold him,
And as my spent sun shall set,
Glooms eternal shall infold him.
Changeless guardians who keep
Watch and ward, shall give me sleep,
When hot tears—not mine—are shed
For thee, my dead!
When thy foes in vain repent,
Hopeless, for thy ruin languish,
When Valhalla's towers are rent
In remembrance of my anguish!
Godlike hero, thou and I
Loved as none should love who die!
Dost thou call? Thy funeral pyre,
Kindling higher,
Weds me to my destiny.
Bridegroom! lover! last desire!
Thou who crossed the flames to me!—
Swift to thee I mount through fire!
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Hast Thou Forgotten Me?
HAST thou forgotten me? the days are dark—
Light ebbs from heaven, and songless soars the lark—
Vexed like my heart, loud moans the unquiet sea—
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten me? O dead delight
Whose dreams and memories torture me to-night—
O love—my life! O sweet—so fair to see—
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten? Lo, if one should say—
Noontide were night, or night were flaming day—
Grief blinds mine eyes, I know not which it be!
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten? Ah, if Death should come,
Close my sad eyes, and charm my song-bird dumb—
Tired of strange woes—my fate were hailed with glee—
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten me? What joy have I?
A dim blown bird beneath an alien sky,—
O that on mighty pinions I could flee—
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten? Yea, Love’s horoscope
Is blurred with tears and suffering beyond Hope—
Ah, like dead leaves forsaken of the tree,
Thou hast forgotten me.
poem by Philip Joseph Holdsworth
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Love is barren with out memento
Many a script,
Many a gift,
Did I present to you.
You paid me nil.
Acceptance by you,
A forbidden soul,
Itself is the token
Of remittance.
However, I want
From you a memento
To show to others
Your love for me,
Without which
What is love worth?
Give me your fallen hair.
Give me your bitten nail.
Bharata was proud of
Rama’s love by his sandals.
21.04.2002, Pakd
In the epic The Ramayana, Bharata brought the sandals of his brother, Rama, to keep them as the ruler the kingdom in the place of Rama, who, denouncing the throne, went to the exile.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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To The King Of Macedonia
Thou may'st with pleasure hail the dawn,
And greet the morning's eye;
Remember, king, the night comes on,
The fleeting day will soon be gone,
Not distant, loud proclaims the funeral tone,
Phillip, thou hast to die.
With thee thy dame, the queen of birds,
May spread her wing to fly;
Or smile to trace the numerous herds,
Thunders from the Lord of lords,
I hear some peal surpassing human words,
Philip, thou hast to die.
Thou mayst thy mighty host survey
And neighboring kings defy,
Whilst round thy retinues flit gay,
Beneath thy pomp's imperial ray,
Make merry on the tide of joy to day,
To-morrow thou shalt die.
I heave to hear the day's last peal,
A sorrow teeming sigh;
The morning's flutt'ring bird has flown,
The roses fade, so quickly blown,
The lofty king falls robeless from his throne,
Philip was born to die.
'Twas thus the haughty king of France
Strove to ascend on high;
Lifting his adamantine lance,
He bade his dauntless war-horse prance,
Defied the world, and rode the car of chance,
To rage, to fume and die.
Thus vile, thus obstinately vain,
He pours his distant brag,
Regardless of his millions slain,
Regales his pale surviving train,
Was but wraped in his infernal chain,
Dies on the ocean crag.
This faithful lesson read to all
Creation, far and nigh,
It is the fate, from Adam's fall,
The swain, the king, the low, and tall,
The watchman of the grave must give the call,
Mortal, thou hast to die.
poem by George Moses Horton
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Roman Girl's Song
Rome, Rome! thou art no more
As thou hast been!
On thy seven hills of yore
Thou satst a queen.
Thou hadst thy triumphs then
Purpling the street,
Leaders and sceptred men
Bow'd at thy feet.
They that thy mantle wore,
As gods were seen–
Rome, Rome! thou art no more
As thou hast been!
Rome! thine imperial brow
Never shall rise:
What hast thou left thee now?
Thou hast thy skies!
Blue, deeply blue, they are,
Gloriously bright!
Veiling thy wastes afar
With colour'd light.
Thou hast the sunset's glow,
Rome, for thy dower,
Flushing tall cypress-bough,
Temple and tower!
And all sweet sounds are thine,
Lovely to hear,
While night, o'er tomb and shrine,
Rests darkly clear.
Many a solemn hymn,
By starlight sung,
Sweeps thro' the arches dim,
Thy wrecks among.
Many a flute's low swell,
On thy soft air
Lingers, and loves to dwell
With summer there.
Thou hast the South's rich gift
Of sudden song,
A charmed fountain, swift,
Joyous, and strong.
Thou hast fair forms that move
With queenly tread;
Thou hast proud fanes above
Thy mighty dead.
Yet wears thy Tiber's shore
A mournful mien:
Rome, Rome! thou art no more
As thou hast been!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Be Thou My Vision
Be thou my vision, oh lord of my heart
Nought be all else to me, save that thy art
Thou my best thought in the day and the night
Waking or sleeping, thou presence my light
Be thou my wisdom, be thou my true word
I ever with thee and thou with me lord
Thou my great father and I thy true son
Thou in me dwelling and I with thee one
Be thou my breastplate, my sword for the fight
Be thou my armour and be thou my might
Thou my soul shelter, and thy my high tower
Raise thou me heavenwards, oh power of my power
Riches I need not, nor mans empty praise
Thou mine inheritance through all of my days
Thou and thou only though first in my heart
High king of heaven my treasure thou art
Oh high king of heaven, when battle is done
Grant heavens joy to me, bright heaven sun
Christ of my own heart, whatever befall
Still be my vision, though ruler of all
Da, da, da, da, da, etc.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Great Mercy
Betwixt the saddle and the ground
Was mercy sought and mercy found.
Yea, in the twinkling of an eye,
He cried; and Thou hast heard his cry.
Between the bullet and its mark
Thy face made morning in his dark.
And while the shell sang on its path
Thou hast run, Thou hast run, preventing death.
Thou hast run before and reached the goal,
Gathered to Thee the unhoused soul.
Thou art not bound by Time or Space:
So fast Death runs : Thou hast won the race.
Thou hast said to beaten Death: Go tell
Of victories thou once hadst. All's well!
Death, here none die but thee and Sin
Now the great days of Life begin.
And to the Soul: This day I rise
And thee with Me to Paradise.
Betwixt the saddle and the ground
Was Mercy sought and Mercy found.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Let us not mind the happiness...
Let us not mind the happiness and the grief that come our way,
For they are inseparable from our life.
None can evade them, for Lord Raghunath himself has inlaid them!
Let us not mind the happiness and the grief that come our way!
Even an upright man like King Nala, whose wife was Queen Damayanti,
Had to roam half-naked in the forest without food or water.
Let us not mind the happiness and the grief that come our way!
Even the mighty brothers like the Pandavas,
Who had Queen Draupadi for a wife,
Underwent hardships for twelve long and exacting years in the forest Without even proper sleep.
Let us not mind the happiness and the grief that come our way!
Even a woman as chaste as Sita,
Whose husband was none other than the Lord,
Was abducted by Ravana and subjected to suffer terrible misery,
Let us not mind the happiness or the grief that come our way!
Even the King as powerful as Ravana, who had Mandodari as queen,
Had all his ten heads severed and his great Lanka ravaged!
Let us not mind the happiness and the grief that come our way!
Even a person so righteous as Harishchandra,
Who had Taralochana as his queen,
Had to bear immense agony and serve in a menial caste!
Let us not mind the happiness and the grief that come our way!
Even an ascetic as great as Shiva, who had Parvati for his wife,
Was deceived by a bhil woman and had his austerities disturbed
!Let us not mind the happiness and the grief that comes our way!
When all the gods are in distress,
They remember antaryami, the lord of their hearts,
And indeed are rescued by the Sarangdhar, the bearer of the mighty Saranga bow, the Narsaiyya's Lord!
Let us not mind the happiness and the grief that come our way!
poem by Narsinh Mehta
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Sweet empty sky of June without a stain,
O Lord, the hope of Israel, all they that forsake
Thee shall be ashamed ; and they that depart from
Thee, shall be written in the earth, because they have
forsaken the Lord, the fountain of living waters.
Heal me, O Lord, and I shall be healed ; save me,
and I shall be saved, for Thou art my health, and my
great deliverer.
I said in the cutting off of my days, I shall go to
the gates of the grave ; I have deprived myself of the
residue of my years.
I said, I shall not see the Lord, even the Lord in the
land of the living : I shall behold man no more with
the inhabitants of the world.
O Lord ! by Thee doth man live, and from Thee is
the life of my spirit : therefore wilt Thou recover me,
and make me to live.
Thou hast in love to my soul delivered it from the
pit of corruption ; for Thou hast cast all my sins
behind Thy back.
For Thy name's sake hast Thou put off thine anger ;
for Thy praise hast Thou refrained from me, that I
should not be cut off.
For the grave cannot praise Thee, death cannot
celebrate Thee : they that go down into the pit, cannot
hope for Thy truth.
The living, the living, he shall praise Thee, as I do
this day : the father to the children shall make known
Thy truth.
O Lord ! Thou hast been merciful, Thou hast
brought back my life from corruption : Thou hast
redeemed me from my sin.
They that follow after lying vanities, forsake their
own mercy.
Therefore shall Thy songs be with me, and my
prayer unto the God of my life.
I will go unto the altar of my God, unto God, the
joy of my youth ; and in Thy fear will I worship
towards Thy holy temple.
I will sacrifice unto Thee with the voice of thanks-
giving ; I will pay that which I have vowed ; sal-
vation is of the Lord.
poem by Henry Vaughan
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From The Banks Of Ganga: V
I open my eyes
Non-light on the Ganga
Breaking into dawn
A la Kubja stood as if waiting
For me to open my eyes
Kabhie Krishna ko dekha?
Chalo meri saath!
Like a mute animal
I follow her into a chamber
Where a marble Krishna welcomed me
How long did I sit in His presence?
Hare Rama hare rama
Rama Rama Hare hare
Hare Krishna Hare Krishna
Krishna Krishna Hare Hare
My own chanting
Reverberating in my ears
There flowed Ganga
In bright sunlight…
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Psalm 08
Aug. 14. 1653.
O Jehovah our Lord how wondrous great
And glorious is thy name through all the earth?
So as above the Heavens thy praise to set
Out of the tender mouths of latest bearth,
Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings thou
Hast founded strength because of all thy foes
To stint th'enemy, and slack th'avengers brow
That bends his rage thy providence to oppose.
When I behold thy Heavens, thy Fingers art,
The Moon and Starrs which thou so bright hast set,
In the pure firmament, then saith my heart,
O What is man that thou remembrest yet,
And think'st upon him; or of man begot
That him thou visit'st and of him art found;
Scarce to be less then Gods, thou mad'st his lot,
With honour and with state thou hast him crown'd.
O're the works of thy hand thou mad'st him Lord,
Thou hast put all under his lordly feet,
All Flocks, and Herds, by thy commanding word,
All beasts that in the field or forrest meet.
Fowl of the Heavens, and Fish that through the wet
Sea-paths in shoals do slide. And know no dearth.
O Jehovah our Lord how wondrous great
And glorious is thy name through all the earth.
poem by John Milton
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The Indian Girl's Lament
An Indian girl was sitting where
Her lover, slain in battle, slept;
Her maiden veil, her own black hair,
Came down o'er eyes that wept;
And wildly, in her woodland tongue,
This sad and simple lay she sung:
'I've pulled away the shrubs that grew
Too close above thy sleeping head,
And broke the forest boughs that threw
Their shadows o'er thy bed,
That, shining from the sweet south-west,
The sunbeams might rejoice thy rest.
'It was a weary, weary road
That led thee to the pleasant coast,
Where thou, in his serene abode,
Hast met thy father's ghost:
Where everlasting autumn lies
On yellow woods and sunny skies.
'Twas I the broidered mocsen made,
That shod thee for that distant land;
'Twas I thy bow and arrows laid
Beside thy still cold hand;
Thy bow in many a battle bent,
Thy arrows never vainly sent.
'With wampum belts I crossed thy breast,
And wrapped thee in the bison's hide,
And laid the food that pleased thee best,
In plenty, by thy side,
And decked thee bravely, as became
A warrior of illustrious name.
'Thou'rt happy now, for thou hast passed
The long dark journey of the grave,
And in the land of light, at last,
Hast joined the good and brave;
Amid the flushed and balmy air,
The bravest and the loveliest there.
'Yet, oft to thine own Indian maid
Even there thy thoughts will earthward stray,--
To her who sits where thou wert laid,
And weeps the hours away,
Yet almost can her grief forget,
To think that thou dost love her yet.
'And thou, by one of those still lakes
That in a shining cluster lie,
On which the south wind scarcely breaks
The image of the sky,
A bower for thee and me hast made
Beneath the many-coloured shade.
'And thou dost wait and watch to meet
My spirit sent to join the blessed,
And, wondering what detains my feet
From the bright land of rest,
Dost seem, in every sound, to hear
The rustling of my footsteps near.'
poem by William Cullen Bryant
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Hari Chrishna
People with light orange cloaks
comes pass in a jolly procession.
There are two hitting drums
and one sings over a loudspeaker horn
and I see a few
getting rattling noises out of cymbals
that makes the people
on the sidewalk stand still
while the small group of people
draws attention and pass.
It’s a shrill “hare krishna hare krishna
krishna krishna hare hare
hare rama hare rama
rama rama hare hare”
that goes right through you
and I wonder
what the strange words
are exactly saying
and I hear how the drums
keeps the earthly rhythm
and it’s like a street circus
that disappears in the distance
while they disappear behind buildings.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Hymn to God the Father
Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun,
Which is my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt thou forgive that sin through which I run,
And do run still, though still I do deplore?
When though hast done, thou hast not done,
For I have more.
Wilt thou forgive that sin by which I have won
Others to sin? and made my sin their door?
Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun
A year or two, but wallowed in a score?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For I have more.
I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;
Swear by thy self, that at my death thy Son
Shall shine as he shines now and heretofore;
And, having done that, thou hast done,
I fear no more.
poem by John Donne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Virtues are superior
Karna of the Epic Mahabhrata:
He was not grateful to his mother
Who gave him birth but
the one who gave him a crown.
Kumbakarna of the Ramayana:
He was grateful to Ravan for his salt
And laid his life for Ravan.
Vibishna, another brother of Ravan,
Deserted him to uphold the virtue.
Virtues are superior to loyalty.
10.03.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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