The noble soul of King Dasaratha, tormented by the heavy burden of his grievous sin, thus spoke to Queen Kausalya, his voice laden with sorrow:
“Long ago, alone in the shadowy embrace of night, I was pursued by the haunting specter of my unforgivable deed—the untimely demise of a sage’s son. Blinded by arrogance, I wielded my bow with reckless pride, mistaking the sound of a vessel filling with water for the tread of an elephant. My arrow flew, and with it, calamity descended.
Desperate to amend my folly, I took up the very tumbler the boy had dropped, filled it anew, and set out toward the dwelling he had described. Exhaustion marked every faltering step as I reached the humble home of his aged, blind parents. They were as birds whose fledgling had fallen, their lives cruelly severed from their only support, their son—their eyes, their strength, their hope.
I overheard their tender words, brimming with love for their absent child, each syllable a shard of grief that pierced my heart. Their present was shattered; their future was robbed by my hand. Overcome with fear and guilt, I hesitated on their threshold. Sensing my approach, the old sage called out, his voice tinged with gentle impatience:
‘Beloved son, why this delay? Your mother frets, and I am parched. Have we wronged you in some way? If so, let our penance atone for it. Come swiftly, for you are the light of our lives, our very breath and being.’
Their words struck me like thunder, yet I could not remain silent. Trembling, I revealed the harrowing truth:
‘I am Dasaratha, O revered one, the cause of your misery. In my hubris as a marksman, I mistook the sound of your son drawing water for that of a beast and loosed an arrow. Though I tried to save him, his life slipped away. The weight of this sin crushes me. Command me as you will, for I stand ready to atone for this terrible wrong.’
The sage’s rage ignited, his tears mingling with his righteous fury. He thundered, ‘Had you hidden your crime, my curse would have annihilated you! A king who spills innocent blood defies dharma and is doomed to ruin. Even the gods are not exempt from this law. Yet, because your act was unintentional, your lineage shall endure, though your grief will not be spared. Lead us now to the place where our son breathes no more.’
I led them to his lifeless form, where they collapsed in inconsolable despair. Their cries filled the air:
‘Beloved son, why do you rest upon the cold earth, unresponsive to our voices? Have we failed you? Forgive us if we have. How shall we live without you? Who will chant the sacred verses, assist us in our rites, and care for us in our old age? Life without you is a desolation. Let us join you in death, for this world holds nothing more for us.’
Grief-stricken, they performed the funeral rites, aided by my trembling hands. As their son’s spirit ascended, his voice, calm and resplendent, echoed:
‘Through service to my parents, I have attained a place in the celestial realms. Soon, you too shall join me there.’
Turning to me, the sage, radiant even in his sorrow, pronounced his judgment:
‘Dasaratha, though your act was born of ignorance, your arrogance cannot go unpunished. You shall suffer as we do—the piercing anguish of a son’s loss. This sorrow will claim your life. Yet your lineage shall remain pure, and your sin is partially absolved by your remorse.’
With those words, they relinquished their mortal forms, and I, burdened by unending guilt, performed their final rites.
Now, Kausalya, that curse has come to pass. The grief of Rama’s absence has broken me. My sight dims; my strength fades. I shall not live to see his return. The joy of beholding his divine countenance belongs to the fortunate alone.
This is my final farewell. Kaikeyi, the architect of my sorrow, has sealed my fate. Believe my words, for my end is nigh.’
With these anguished utterances, King Dasaratha, cradled by the grieving Kausalya, drew his final breath. Thus ended the life of a king, his story a testament to the inexorable laws of dharma and the unyielding hand of destiny.”
