Storytelling Week 3: Dasharatha's Karma

Dasharatha on Wikimedia

Now I lay dying, my chest replete with sorrow and grief,

And I remember an incident from long ago,

Before it was the last that I knew of peace,

My heart must repent before to the celestial heavens I go.

In my youth, I was known for my hunting skill,

I could track an animal by the sound of it drinking water,

To the stream I would go and my excitement would instill,

In my body the energy for which the animal I would slaughter.

I did this routine one fine, bright day,

The sun gleaming through patches in the swaying leaves,

The heavenly object bestowed graciously upon me its ray,

Or so I thought, until a sound I did misconceive.

An animal! I could hear it drinking in the stream,

A Deer, I supposed, as was most common around there,

I fired my good crossbow to hear an unexpected scream,

Which was no Deer, but a boy of a most youthful year.

What have I done? Sun, have you lead me astray?

Sprinting to the source of the cry I did go,

To this day does the sight of the youth on my heart weigh,

Soaking in blood, young child that I mistook for a Doe.

Nothing was there that I could do for the lad, mortally wounded,

But look into his radiant and knowing eyes,

Where I was expecting a loathing gaze from the moribund,

The boy instead graced me with absolution as he died.

His parents I found in a burrow on top of a hill,

An decrepit couple stale and awaiting their son,

Suddenly, I experienced through my core a brutal chill,

For I was to repent for the awful thing that I had done.

The mother was silent all the while I spoke,

But the father regarded me with a look so dangerous,

I thought, troubled, that I might cry and choke!

Once I had confessed my sin, I begged for forgiveness.

The old man was in no magnanimous state of mind,

For I had robbed him of his sole comfort,

Who cooked and cleaned and was awfully kind,

And for this the old man my future did contort.

Said he, “You shall never be pardoned for the crime you have committed!

What was to be your pleasant future I in my mind can see,

On a day in the distant future your own happiness shall be omitted,

And I shall take from you what you have taken from me.”

Now I lie in my bed deprived of my own son,

Dear Rama, who delighted me with hope and contentment,

I shall never lay eyes upon you again, dear one,

And I die today with regret and disappointment.

Author’s Note: I wrote on Dasharatha’s Karma from the Public Domain Edition of the Ramayana for this week’s story. I decided to write a poem because I noted that several chapters from the story were in the form of poetry. Since it was relevant to the work, and I can’t remember the last time I wrote a poem, I decided to give it a go. I felt kind of silly, but as I’m not used to story writing or poetry writing, I thought that I would feel silly either way. I did not change the story much, but the writing is completely different. I began and ended with Dasharatha telling his story on his deathbed, with the “story within a story” in the middle. In the PDE, I was given the sense that the father cursed Dasharatha mostly out of sorrow.  In my version, Dasharatha is distraught as he is in the original, but the father is completely unforgiving. I would love advice on how to go about writing poetry in case I decide to write more for this course. You can access the original here: Link.

Ramayana. Public Domain Edition, Web. Link