Observing her son’s distress, she comforted him like one who applies salt to a burn: ‘You should not, my son, grieve for your father, for he not only reaped a rich harvest of merit and renown but also led a life crowned with happiness.

During his life-time he obtained all the rewards of human existence and in the end ascended to the abode of Indra (the lord of heaven). Reflect on this and cease sorrowing; now assume the sovereignty of the realm with royal circumstance.

The prince shrank back at her words, as though live coal had touched a festering sore. Then he composed himself and heaved a deep sigh and said, ‘Wicked woman, you have brought complete ruin to our house!

If you bore such deep malice, why did you not kill me at birth? You cut down a tree and water the leaves and drain off the water to keep the fish alive!

Though born of the Solar race, with Dasharath for my father and Rama and Lakshmana for my brothers, I have had you, mother, for a mother! But it is useless striving against fate.

When you, O malicious woman, plotted this vile scheme in your mind, did not your heart break into pieces? When you asked the boons, did you not feel the stings of conscience? Did your tongue not fall off or your mouth breed worms?

How could the king trust you? Surely God must have robbed him of his senses in his last hour! Not even God can fathom the ways of a woman’s heart the repository of all deceit, sin and vice!