[1081] He whom banner-crests, like kaṇikāra trees in bloom,
once followed as he rode forth —
today he will go all alone.
He whom banner-crests, like groves of kaṇikāra,
once followed as he rode forth —
today he will go all alone.
He whom armed hosts, like kaṇikāra trees in bloom,
once followed as he rode forth —
today he will go all alone.
He whom armed hosts, like groves of kaṇikāra,
once followed as he rode forth —
today he will go all alone.
Blankets of Gandhāran wool (paṇḍukambala), glowing with the hue of the scarlet indagopaka insect,
once followed him as he rode forth —
today he will go all alone.
He who formerly went by elephant, by palanquin, and by chariot —
how shall King Vessantara go on foot today?
How shall he, his limbs once anointed with sandalwood, wakened by dance and song,
carry the antelope-hide with its hooves, the axe, and the shoulder-pole with its load?
Why are the ochre robes and the hides not brought forth for him?
As he enters the vast forest, why is no garment of strips (cīra) bound on him?
How indeed do folk gone forth from royalty wear the garment of strips?
How will Maddī put on a garment made of kusa grass?
Having worn cloths of Kāsi, of linen, and of Kodumbara,
how will Maddī fare, wearing garments of kusa grass?
She who was borne about by litter, by palanquin, and by chariot —
how shall that fair-limbed lady walk the road on foot today?
She whose hands are soft of palm, whose feet have been set in ease —
how shall that fair-limbed lady walk the road on foot today?
She whose feet are soft of sole and have been set in ease,
who walked as though pained even by slippers of gold —
how shall that fair-limbed lady walk the road on foot today?
She who, garlanded, once went at the head of a thousand women —
how shall that fair-limbed lady go to the forest today all alone?
She who before would start in terror again and again at the cry of a jackal —
how shall that fair-limbed, timid lady go to the forest today?
She who, on hearing the owl of Inda's clan screeching and hooting,
would tremble in fright like a spirit-possessed soothsayer (vāruṇī) —
how shall that fair-limbed, timid lady go to the forest today?
Like a hen-bird whose young are slain, seeing her nest empty,
long shall I burn with suffering (dukkha), having come to this empty city.
Like a hen-bird whose young are slain, seeing her nest empty,
I shall grow thin and sallow, not seeing my dear children.
Like a hen-bird whose young are slain, seeing her nest empty,
I shall run this way and that, not seeing my dear children.
Like an osprey whose chicks are slain, seeing her nest empty,
long shall I burn with suffering, having come to this empty city.
Like an osprey whose chicks are slain, seeing her nest empty,
I shall grow thin and sallow, not seeing my dear children.
Like an osprey whose chicks are slain, seeing her nest empty,
I shall run this way and that, not seeing my dear children.
Surely, like a cakkavāka hen at a pool without water,
long shall I burn with suffering, having come to this empty city.
Surely, like a cakkavāka hen at a pool without water,
I shall grow thin and sallow, not seeing my dear children.
Surely, like a cakkavāka hen at a pool without water,
I shall run this way and that, not seeing my dear children.
Though I lament thus, you have banished him, the innocent prince, from the realm —
I think I shall give up my life.
English translation from the Pali (Siam Raṭṭha edition) — under review, not for citation.