Every forest and mountain,
They searched, but all in vain,
Sita couldn’t be found,
In their non-stop round.
They saw at one place,
Some foot-steps trace,
And some gold bead bits,
Split from her jewel sets.
Also they saw there,
Blood clots everywhere,
And Royal headgear,
Normally kings wear.
A battle had been fought,
That was what Ram thought.
A scuffle between demons
To eat Sita, showed these signs.
Nearby, a mutilated body,
Wings broken and bloody,
Gave him an impression,
Of a serious confrontation.
It was Jatayu, the bird,
In feeble voice, they heard,
The whole story behind,
What exactly had happened?
“I saw Sita in Ravan’s chariot,
And hit it with my might.
I smashed well his chariot
And slewed the charioteer out.”
“A fight between the old
And the young hot blood
How long it can hold?
Finally I lost and failed.”
“I did my best to save her,
But I saw them disappear,
Towards southern direction
In my helpless condition.”
The bird sighed and died.
Ram flung his bow aside,
Embraced tightly the bird,
And lamented for it aloud.
“I’m an unhappy man still alive,
I lost my kingdom, in forest to live,
Here also I have lost Sita my love,
And father like Jatayu now.”
“I’m the unluckiest man,
One day, you Lakshman,
I shouldn’t lose like them,
Here I’ve, what a bad time? ”
Ram broke out and cried,
The bird’s last rites they did,
This was the highest honour,
They gave for its valour.
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