Ramayana, Epic of Rama, Prince of India

III. The Death of the King - 61
[59] Heedless child is he, Kausalya, in his fate who doth not scan
Retribution of his karma, sequence of a mighty plan!
Oft in madness and in folly we destroy the mango grove,
Plant the gorgeous gay palasa for the red flower that we love,
Fruitless as the red palasa is the karma I have sown,
And my barren lifetime withers through the deed which is my own!
Listen to my tale, Kausalya, in my days of youth renowned,
I was called a sabda-bedhi, archer prince who shot by sound,
I could hit the unseen target, by the sound my aim could tell, –
Blindly drinks a child the poison, blindly in my pride I fell!
I was then my father’s Regent, thou a maid to me unknown,
Hunting by the fair Sarayu in my car I drove alone,
Buffalo or jungle tusker might frequent the river’s brink,
Nimble deer or watchful tiger stealing for his nightly drink,
Stalking with a hunter’s patience, loitering in the forests drear,
Sound of something in the water struck my keen and listening ear,
In the dark I stood and listened, some wild beast the water drunk,
’Tis some elephant, I pondered, lifting water with its trunk.
I was called a sabda-bedhi, archer prince who shot by sound,
On the unseen fancied tusker dealt a sure and deadly wound,
Ah! too deadly was my arrow and like hissing cobra fell,
On my startled ear and bosom smote a voice of human wail,
Dying voice of lamentation rose upon the midnight high,
Till my weapons fell in tremor and a darkness dimmed my eye!
Hastening with a nameless terror soon I reached Sarayu’s shore,
Saw a boy with hermit’s tresses, and his pitcher lay before,
Weltering in a pool of red blood, lying on a gory bed,
Feebly raised his voice the hermit, and in dying accents said:
[60] ‘What offence, O mighty monarch, all-unknowing have I done,
That with quick and kingly justice slayest thus a hermit’s son?