As he told the tale, he was deeply agitated, ‘A curse on the hope of surviving without Rama!’ he cried. ‘What shall I gain by clinging to a body that has failed to keep my vow of love?

Alas, Raghunandan, dear to me as life! Too long have I lived without you! Ah, Janaki and Lakshmana! Ah Raghubara, the raincloud of a father’s cuckoo-like heart!’ (Just as a raincloud gladdens the cuckoo, so did you gladden you fond father’s heart.)

Crying, ‘Rama, Rama!’ and again ‘Rama!’ and yet again ‘Rama, Rama!, the king cast off his body in his agony of separation from Raghubara and ascended to the abode of the gods.

Thus Dasharath reaped his reward, both in life and in death, and his spotless fame spread through countless universes. Living, he gazed on Rama’s face, fair as the moon, and dying for his loss, had a glorious death.

Stricken with grief, all the queens bewailed him, speaking of his beauty, his amiability, his might and majesty. They lamented in manifold ways, throwing themselves upon the ground again and again.

Men-servants and maid-servants, too, wailed in anguish, and there was weeping in every house throughout the city. ‘Today,’ they cried, ‘has set the sun of the Solar line, the perfection of righteousness, the repository of beauty and virtue.’

Everyone abused Kaikeyi, who had robbed the world of its eyes. Thus they wailed till the close of night, when all the great and enlightened sages arrived.