I shall not welcome the prince home this day – when he returns from exile. This home shall not be decked in a thousand lamps. These halls will not ring with the peals of a thousand bells welcoming the divine prince and his bride.
For I know the truth – I have seen into the future- and I have learnt from the past. He is no god – a mere mortal who caries the name of the divine. He is tainted too – but carries it off in the guise of honour and manhood. Maryda-purushottam – honour ultimate embodied in a mortal man – they call him. But his honour drives away the lady who stands by him – aye, I have seen the future – she is driven away and questioned and sullied – and becomes a single mom raising two strapping lads.
No – this day of welcoming, when all the city goes alight – my halls shall remain dark. and someday soon – when the people know this impostor for his true worth – these lights will the city burn.
Burn! Burn! Burn!
Ayodhya shall burn!
Very like my city of old – which that scamp monkey set aflame with that rascal tale.
Rao I