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Chapter One Hundred and Five. Seeing the pond filled with dry wood and grass, Rama, the moon of the Kakutstha dynasty, became troubled in mind. ||1||
How can I see this beloved again, who is a collection of virtues, endowed with great beauty, and adorned with grace and character? ||2||
This beloved, with a body as delicate as a garland of blooming jasmine, will surely be destroyed by the mere touch of fire. ||3||
If she had not been born in the lineage of King Janaka, she would not have faced this public disgrace and death in the fire. ||4||
How can I find happiness, even for a moment, without her? It is better to live in the forest with her than to be in heaven without her. ||5||
Even though she is of great and unwavering heart, she is determined to die. She is entering the fire with determination, and it is shameful to try to stop her in front of everyone. ||6||
Even this insignificant Siddhartha, who makes a great noise, is silent. What excuse can I give to stop this? ||7||
Or, whoever has earned a particular kind of death, will inevitably meet that death. Who can stop the darkness that is destined to come? ||8||
When this devoted wife was being carried away over the salt sea, why didn't Ravana, enraged by the thought "She doesn't want me," cut off her head with his sword? This would have spared her from this unbearable doubt. ||9-10||
Death is preferable to unbearable separation, for separation is a most despicable thing, destroying both hearing and memory. ||11||
Separation brings sorrow to the heart for as long as one lives, and the desire for stories and memories related to the departed is instantly extinguished upon hearing the news of their death. ||12||
Thus, while Rama was consumed with worry, the fire was lit in the pond. The compassionate women began to weep. ||13||