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he will dry up like a river. These are those rose-apple trees, Vedisā and Sinduvāra trees; Various kinds of trees, these we abandon today. These are fig trees and jackfruit trees, banyan trees and wood-apple trees; Various kinds of fruits, these we abandon today. These groves stand here, this is the cool-water river; Where we used to play before, these we abandon today. Various kinds of flowers, on this mountain top; Which we used to wear before, these we abandon today. Various kinds of fruits, on this mountain top; Which we used to eat before, these we abandon today. These are our little elephants, and these are our horses and oxen; With which we used to play before, these we abandon today. As those princes were being led away, they said this to their father: "Tell mother to be well, and you, father, be happy." "These are our little elephants, and these are our horses and oxen; Give these to mother, her sorrow will vanish with them." "These are our little elephants, and these are our horses and oxen; These..." do not look back, she will overcome her sorrow. 2151. Then King Vessantara, the warrior, having given his gift; Entered the hermitage, and lamented piteously. 2152. Whom do the children, hungry and thirsty, now cry for? At evening, at bedtime, who will give them food? 2153. Whom do the children, hungry and thirsty, now cry for? At evening, at bedtime, "Mother, we are hungry, give us food." 2154. How do they walk the path, on foot, without sandals? Weary, with swollen feet, who will take their hands? 2155. How could he not be ashamed, striking me in front of me? A shameless brahmin indeed, to innocent children. 2156. Even if it were my slave or servant, or any other messenger; Who would shamefully strike him, even if he were helpless? 2157. Like a fish caught, in the mouth of a net; He abuses and strikes me, while I cannot see my dear children. 2158. Taking my bow, and strapping my sword to my left side; I will bring back my own children, for the death of children is painful. 2159. This is not right, this suffering, that the children are tormented; Knowing the Dhamma of the good, who, having given, regrets it? 2160. It is true what some people here say; "He who has no mother, is as if he has no father." 2161. Come, Kaṇhā, let us die, there is no purpose in our lives; We have been given away, by the king, to the greedy brahmin; To the urgent, cruel one, who drives us like cows. 2162. These jambu trees, vedisa and sinduvara trees; Various kinds of trees, these, Kaṇhā, we abandon. 2163. These fig trees, jackfruit trees, banyan trees, and wood-apple trees; Various kinds of fruits, these, Kaṇhā, we abandon. 2164. These gardens stand, this river with cool water; Where we used to play before, these, Kaṇhā, we abandon. 2165. Various kinds of flowers Things not yet acquired, on this mountain above; What we previously wore, those, Kaṇhā, we abandon. 2166. Various kinds of fruits, on this mountain above; What we previously ate, those, Kaṇhā, we abandon. 2167. These are our little elephants, our horses, and these our oxen; With which we previously played, those, Kaṇhā, we abandon. 2168. Those princes, being led away, released by the brahmin; Ran hither and thither, both Jālī and Kaṇhājinā. 2169. Then that brahmin, taking a rope, and taking a stick; Beating them, he leads them away, while King Sivi watches. 2170. Then Kaṇhājinā said to him, "This brahmin, father; Beats me with a stick, like a slave born in the house. 2171. And this is no brahmin, father, brahmins are righteous; A yakkha in brahmin's guise, father, leads us to eat us; While we are led by a demon, why, father, do you look on?" 2172. These our feet are sore, and the path is long and very difficult; The sun hangs low, and the brahmin drives us on. 2173. We invoke the beings, mountains and forests; We bow our heads to the lake, and to the well-founded waters. 2174. Grasses, creepers, herbs, mountains and forests; Tell mother of our health, this brahmin leads us away. 2175. Tell, sirs, mother, Maddī, our mother; If you wish to follow, quickly follow us. 2176. This single path goes straight to the hermitage; You should follow that, perhaps you will see us quickly. 2177. Oh, alas, ascetic woman, gatherer of forest roots and fruits; Seeing the hermitage empty, that will be sorrow for you. 2178. Too long, mother, has the gleaning been, not a little; That you do not know us, bound by the brahmin, seeker of wealth. 2179. By the urgent, cruel one, who drives us like cows; Go now, mother... let us see him, coming back from gleaning in the evening. 2180. “Mother should give to the brahmin, fruit mixed with honey; Then this Asita, having eaten, would not hold us so tightly. 2181. “Indeed, our feet are sore, the brahmin holds us tightly; Thus they lamented there, the boys, longing for their mother.” The Chapter of the Children. The Chapter of Maddī 2182. Hearing their lamentation, three wild beasts in the forest, A lion, a tiger, and a leopard, spoke these words. 2183. “May the princess not, come back from gleaning in the evening; May the wild beasts in the forest not harm us who are without support. 2184. “A lion might harm her, a tiger and a leopard, O Lakkhaṇā; There would be no Jālīkumāra, how could there be Kaṇhājinā? She would lose both, her husband and her children, O Lakkhaṇā.” 2185. “My digging tool has fallen, and my right eye twitches; The fruit-bearing trees are fruitless, all directions confuse me. 2186. As she was returning to the hermitage in the evening time, When the sun had set, wild beasts stood in her path. 2187. “The sun hangs low, and the hermitage is far away; Whatever portion of food is theirs from here, they would eat that food. 2188. “That khattiya, alone, must be in the leaf-hut; comforting the hungry children, seeing that I do not come. 2189. “Those children of mine, poor and wretched, at the time of evening rest, must be like those who have drunk milk. 2190. “Those children of mine, poor and wretched, at the time of evening rest, must be like those who have drunk water. 2191. “Those children of mine, poor and wretched, must be standing, waiting for me, like young calves for their mother. 2192. “Those children of mine, poor and wretched, must be standing, waiting for me, like swans on a high pond. 2193. “Those children of mine, poor and wretched, must be standing, waiting for me, not far from the hermitage. 2194. “A single path, a single Oh, seeing lakes and chasms; I see no other path, by which I might go to the hermitage. 2195. Hail, O kings of the forest, animals of great strength; Be brothers in righteousness, grant me the path I seek. 2196. I am the wife of the exiled, of the glorious prince; And I do not transgress him, the prince, devoted like Sita. 2197. You see your children, returning home in the evening; And I too would see my children, Jāli and Kaṇhājina, both. 2198. There are many roots and fruits here, and food is not scarce; I will give you half of that, grant me the path I seek. 2199. A princess is our mother, a prince is our father; Be brothers in righteousness, grant me the path I seek. 2200. As she lamented, with much compassion; Hearing her mournful words, the wild beasts moved aside from the path. 2201. In this very place, my children, covered in dust, used to stand, coming to meet me, like young calves to their mother. 2202. In this very place, my children, covered in dust, used to stand, coming to meet me, like swans on a high pond. 2203. In this very place, my children, covered in dust, used to stand, coming to meet me, not far from the hermitage. 2204. Like two deer with raised ears, running all around me; joyful and delighted, they would tremble as if playing; But today I do not see my children, Jāli and Kaṇhājina, both. 2205. Like a she-goat leaving her kid, like a bird freed from a cage; I left my children and departed, like a lioness greedy for flesh; But today I do not see my children, Jāli and Kaṇhājina, both. 2206. These are their footprints, like those of elephants on mountains; strewn around the playground, not far from the hermitage; But today I do not see my children, Jāli and Kaṇhājina, both. 2207. Even covered in sand, my children, covered in dust, used to run around me; I do not see those children. Those who used to greet me, coming from afar in the forest; Today I do not see my children, Jāli and Kaṇhājina, both. Like young deer to a doe, greeting their mother; Looking out for me from afar, those children I do not see. This is their plaything, a fallen yellow bamboo; Today I do not see my children, Jāli and Kaṇhājina, both. And these breasts of mine are full, and my chest is bursting; Today I do not see my children, Jāli and Kaṇhājina, both. One searches in my lap, one clings to my breast; Today I do not see my children, Jāli and Kaṇhājina, both. Whose little children, at evening time, covered in dust; Roll about in my lap, those children I do not see. This hermitage, formerly, seemed like a festival to me; Today, not seeing my children, the hermitage seems to reel. Why does this hermitage seem so silent to me? Even the crows do not caw, surely my children are dead. Why does this hermitage seem so silent to me? Even the birds do not sing, surely my children are dead. Why are you silent? My mind is troubled; Even the crows do not caw, surely my children are dead. Why are you silent? My mind is troubled; Even the birds do not sing, surely my children are dead. My dear son, have wild beasts eaten my children? In the forest, in the barren land, in the wilderness, who has taken my children? Or have messengers been sent for them? Or are they sleeping, the sweet-speakers? Or have they gone out, absorbed in their games? Neither their hair is seen, nor Jāli's hands and feet; Nor the falling of birds, who has taken my children? This is more painful than that,