Rama's Lament for Lakshmana

Gautama tells Shrenika that Lakshmana's death throws everyone into turmoil, and Rama, foremost man of his age, abandons every duty and loses all awareness. Lakshmana's body, by nature beautiful, soft and fragrant, stays just as it was even after death, and Rama never lets go of it: he embraces it, caresses and kisses it, sits holding it, carries it on his shoulder and trusts no one with it, clutching his beloved brother as a child clutches nectar that has come into its hand.

Lamenting like a helpless orphan, Rama asks his brother how he could try to slip away alone and beat the drum of departure without telling him, when he knows Rama cannot bear his absence for a moment. He begs him to pour out his nectar-sweet words once more and asks what wrong he has done, recalling how Lakshmana always rose when he saw him coming from afar, seated him on the throne and sat on the ground himself; now Rama lays his head at those feet, brighter than moonstone and honoured by gods and Vidyadharas, and still gets no answer.

He urges Lakshmana to rise, promising that the princes have not gone far into the forest and can be talked into coming back, and points to Lakshmana's queens rolling on the ground, bound by the nooses of his virtues, their necklaces and crest jewels scattered as they wail. The Chakraratna (discus jewel) is devoted to Lakshmana alone and should not be abandoned, enemies press on Rama now that he stands alone, and though fire cannot burn him nor poison kill him, Lakshmana's absence burns and kills him.

Calling him Lakshmidhara, Rama pleads with him to give up his anger: he who performs samayika (meditation in equanimity) three times a day and excels in worship has let the hour of samayika and puja slip by, it is now time to give food to the munis, and the sun itself is sinking in the west, longing for a sight of him. The whole day passes in such weeping, and at night Rama spreads a fine bed and sleeps with Lakshmana in his arms, trusting no one, his whole life now resting in Lakshmana alone.

In the night he whispers in Lakshmana's ear, asking him to speak his heart and name anything he wants, and wondering whether he is grieving for Queen Sita, the faithful companion of their exile, who has passed to the next world. He warns that the Vidyadharas, their enemies, have seen their chance and Ayodhya will be plundered, recalls that the whole earth knows Lakshmana obeys Rama and that the two are always of one mind, and asks why the lord of Bharata-kshetra, who made his people so happy and conquered so many foes with his discus, now submits to the wheel of time.

At dawn he tells his brother that the night has gone and the sun has risen, and asks why a devotee of Munisuvratanatha is missing the morning hour instead of taking refuge in the Vitaraga (passionless) Lord, sun of the three worlds. For Rama the morning is still dark, since he cannot see Lakshmana's face smile; the lotuses in the lake have bloomed but not the lotus of his face, the people stand waiting for a sight of him, and too much sleep is keeping him from the worship of the Jina.

No auspicious sounds are heard in the city, song and dance have stopped, even the most detached munis are saddened, and Ayodhya, silent of vina and flute, mourns his absence; Rama blames the ripening of some evil karma from a past life for this displeasure of so dear a brother. He ends by begging Lakshmana, sun among men, to rise once more and end his sorrow, just as he rose joyfully after falling to the wound of the Shakti in the great war.