RAMAYANA
retold by C. Rajagopalachari
NOTE:- This
file has been made 'Read Only' to protect Copyright owners AUTHOR'S
PREFACE 7. BHAGIRATHA AND THE STORY OF GANGA 10. PARASURAMA'S DISCOMFITURE 22. IDLE SPORT AND TERRIBLE RESULT 28. BHARATA BECOMES RAMA'S DEPUTY 47. SON OF VAYU 62. RAVANA CALLS A COUNCIL AGAIN 65. THE DOCTRINE OF SURRENDER AND GRACE RAMAYANA
retold by C. Rajagopalachari (Edited by Jay Mazo,
American Gita ociety) The
Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan has added to the debt of gratitude owed it by
undertaking the publication of the English version of my Tamil Ramayana. They
achieved great success in the distribution of my Mahabharata book and I trust
this book of the story of Rama and Sita will receive similar welcome. Once
again, I repeat my confession that in the evening of my busy life during a
great and eventful period of Indian history, the writing of these two books
wherein I have retold the Mahabharata and Ramayana, is, in my opinion, the best
service I have rendered to my people. At any rate, they
embody the best joy I have experienced; for in these two books I helped
our great sages to speak to our dear men and women again in their own language,
elevating their minds through the sorrows borne by Kunti, Kausalya, Draupadi
and Sita. The real need of the hour is a recommunion between us and the sages
of our land, so that the future may be built on rock and not on sand. In presenting this
English version to a wider circle of readers spread all over the world, I think
I am presenting to them the people of Bharat just as they are, with all their
virtues and their faults. Our classics really embody our national character in
all its aspects and it is well the world sees us as we really are, apart from
what we wish to become. The Ramayana is not
history or biography. It is a part of Hindu mythology. One cannot understand
Hindu dharma unless one knows Rama and Sita, Bharata,
Lakshmana, Ravana, Kumbhakarna and
Hanuman. Mythology cannot be dispensed with. Philosophy alone or rituals alone
or mythology alone cannot be sufficient. These are the three stands of all
ancient religions. The attitude towards things spiritual which belongs to a
particular people cannot be grasped or preserved or conveyed unless we have all
these three. The Bharatiya Vidya
Bhavan has achieved great work by the very wide distribution organised by it of
my Ramayana and Mahabharata books, which seek to bring Valmiki and Vyasa near
to those who have no access to the unrivalled original classics. The characters
and incidents of these two itihasas have come to be the raw material for the
works of numerous poets and saints that came later to write dramas and sing
poems and hymns to keep this nation in the straight path. Oral discourses have
further played with them in order to entertain and instruct pious audiences and
not a few variations and additions have been made to the original. All the
languages of India have the Ramayana and Mahabharata retold by
their poets, with additions and variations of their own. They are the records
of the mind and spirit of our forefathers who cared for the good, ever so much
more than for the pleasant and who saw more of the mystery of life than we can
do in our interminable pursuit for petty and illusory achievements ill the
material plane. We should be thankful
to those who preserved for us these many centuries-old epics in spite of all
the vicissitudes through which our nation passed since Vyasa and Valmiki's
time. Even the poets who wrote these epics in the original did not create but
built out of the inherited bricks of national memory prior to their own time.
Reading the Ramayana and Mahabharata even in the form I have given them, we go
back to live with our ancient forbears and listen to their grand voice. Mythology
is an
integral part of religion. It is as
necessary for religion and national culture as the skin and the skeleton that
preserve a fruit with its juice and its taste. Form is no less essential than
substance. Mythology and holy figures are necessary for any great culture to
rest on its stable spiritual foundation and function as a life-giving
inspiration and guide. Let us keep ever in our
minds the fact that it is the Ramayana and the Mahabharata that bind our vast
numbers together as one people, despite caste, space and language that
seemingly divide them. 1. BAL KAND To the north of the
Ganga was the great kingdom Kosala, made fertile by the river Sarayu. Its
capital was Ayodhya, built by Manu, the famous ruler of the Solar dynasty. From
Valmiki's description of the capital Kosala, it is clear that ancient Ayodhya
was not inferior to our modern cities. Even in ancient India city civilisation
had reached a high level. King Dasaratha ruled
the kingdom from the capital city of Ayodhya. He had fought on the side of the
Devas, and his fame spread in the three worlds. He was the equal of Indra and
Kubera. The people of Kosala were happy, contented and virtuous. The land was
protected by a mighty army, and no enemy could come anywhere near It contained forts with
moats around them as well as many defensive intallations, and true
to its name, Ayodhya defied all enemies. (Ayodhya means that which cannot be
subdued by war). Dasaratha had eight
wise ministers, ever ready to advise him and execute his orders. Great sages
like Vasishtha and Vamadeva and other Brahmanas taught the dharma and performed
rituals and sacrifices. Taxes were light and
punishment of crime was just and inflicted according to the capacity of the
wrong-doer. Surrounded by the best counsellors and statesmen, the king's
splendor shone as the rising sun. Many years rolled smoothly by. In the midst
of all this prosperity Dasaratha had one regret; he had no son. One day in early summer
he thought of performing a horse sacrifice for progeny. He consulted his
religious masters and on their advice, got sage Rishyasringa to perform the
Yaga. The Yaga was a grand affair and the invitees included many of the kings
of the day. It was no easy thing to perform yagas. The location and erection of
the sacrificial platform had to be attended to in detail strictly according to
prescribed rules. There were experts whose guidance was sought in arranging
things. It meant the building
of a new campcity, capable of accommodating tens of thousands and providing
hospitality and entertainment for the invitees who included the princes and
sages of the land. In short, yagas in those days were something like our
present-day Statesponsored big scale conferences and exhibitions. When all arrangements
were complete the ceremonies were set in motion strictly as enjoined by the
Shastras. Contemporaneously with
the yaga in Ayodhya, there was a conference of the Devas in heaven. The Devas
complained to Lord Brahma that Ravana, king of the demons, drunk with the power
acquired by the boon granted to him by Brahma, was causing them untold misery
and hardship. They represented to Brahma: "It is beyond our capacity to
subdue, conquer or kill Ravana. In the security of your boon, he has grown
wicked and insolent and ill-treats all, even women. His desire is to dethrone
Indra. You are our only refuge and it is for you to devise a method by which
Ravana can be slain and his despotism ended." Brahma knew that he had
granted to Ravana the boon prayed for by him that he should be invulnerable and
invincible against Devas, Asuras, Gandharvas and other such beings. In his
arrogance, Ravana did not care to ask for security against mankind. As Brahma
revealed this fateful omission all the Gods rejoiced and turned to Vishnu. Absolutely surrendering
themselves to Hari, the Devas begged him to be born as a man and put an end to
Ravana and his atrocities. Hari agreed and assured the Devas that he would be
born as four sons of King Dasaratha who was then performing a sacrifice
for progeny. As the ghee was poured into the fire and the flames shot up to
meet it, from out of the flames came a majestic figure, resplendent like the
noonday sun, holding a bowl of gold. Calling King Dasaratha
by his name, the figure said: "The Devas are pleased with you and are
answering your prayer. Here is payasam sent by the gods for your wives. You
will be blessed with sons if they drink this divine beverage." With joy
unbounded, Dasaratha received the bowl as he would receive a child and distributed
the payasam to his three wives, Kausalya, Sumitra and Kaikeyi. He asked Kausalya to
drink a half of the payasam and he gave a half of what remained to Sumitra.
Half of what was then lift was drunk by Kaikeyi, and what remained was given to
Sumitra again. Dasaratha's wives were happy, even as a beggar suddenly coming
upon buried treasure. And in due course all of them were expectant mothers. In course of time,
Dasaratha's sons were born Rama of Kausalya and Bharata of Kaikeyi. Sumitra
gave birth to twins, Lakshmana and Satrughna. She had drunk the divine payasam
twice. In proportion to the
quantity of payasam drunk by the respective mothers, the sons are traditionally
considered to be parts of Vishnu. Rama was thus halfVishnu. But such calculations
have no meaning, as it is impossible to measure the Infinite arithmetically.
Sruit tells us that even a fraction of the Supreme Being is whole and complete
by itself. "Om
Poornamadah Poornamidam Poornat
Poornamudachyate Poornasya Poornamadaya
Poornamevavasishyate." "What is whole,
this is whole; what has come out of the whole is also whole. When the whole is
taken out of the whole, the whole still remains whole." Dasaratha's four sons
were given all the training prescribed for princes. Rama and Lakshmana were
specially devoted to each other and so were Bharata and Satrughna. We can
imagine that this special attachment arose out of the way the divine payasam
was divided among the King's wives. Dasaratha was happy to see his four sons
grow up strong, virtuous, brave and lovable and with all other princely
qualities. One day as the King was
contemplating his sons' matrimony, ushers rushed in to announce that the great
Sage Viswamitra had arrived to see him. Viswamitra was held in awe by all as
the most powerful among rishis. Viswamitra's arrival at
Ayodhya was unexpected; and King Dasaratha stepped down from his throne and
advanced a few paces respectfully to receive the sage. Viswamitra was a king
who attained sainthood through terrible austerities. He had long ago exhibited
his spiritual powers by starting to create another Brahma and a rival universe.
He had gone as far as the creation of new constellations, but was prevailed
upon to stop by the entreaties of the alarmed gods. Viswamitra, while he
was king once went out with his army and chanced to visit Vasishtha's ashrama.
The rishi cordially welcomed his royal guest and his huge entourage and
extended to them all hospitality so sumptuous that the King wondered where all
the rich abundance came from in a forest hermitage. Questioned by him,
Vasishtha called his cow Sabala and explained that she was the fountain of
unfailing plenty. Expressing gratitude to
the sage, King Viswamitra said: "You must give me this cow as she would be
more useful with me than with you. Such things of power and wealth by right
belong to the King." Now Vasishtha could not
part with the divine cow. He gave many reasons and asked the King not to press
his request. But the more unwilling Vasishtha was to give the cow, the more
eager the King became to possess her. Failing in his efforts
to tempt or persuade the sage to part with the cow, Viswamitra became angry and
ordered his men to seize the cow by force. Sabala could not
understand why she was being roughly handled and she was unwilling to go away
from the sage and his ashrama. Shedding tears, she wondered how she had
offended Vasishtha that he
should stand by and look on while she was being dragged away. The cow easily
put to flight the soldiers and sought refuge at the feet of the sage. Moved by the piteous
appeal of his beloved cow, who was like a younger sister to him, the sage said:
"Bring forth soldiers to resist Viswamitra's men." Sabala instantaneously
did so, and the aggressors were soon worsted. Wild with rage, Viswamitra got
into his chariot and, taking up his bow, rained arrows on the soldiers brought
forth by the cow, but their strength was inexhaustible, and the royal forces
suffered utter defeat. The sons of Viswamitra now chose Vasishtha himself as
their target, only to be reduced to ashes. Defeated and disgraced,
Viswamitra then and there entrusted his kingdom to one of his sons and
proceeded to the Himalayas to perform tapas, directing his devotions to Lord
Siva to gain power with which to subdue Vasishtha. So firm and steadfast
was Viswamitra in his austerities that Lord Siva was pleased and appeared
before him. He asked the king what his object was in performing tapas. Viswamitra replied:
"If you, Umapati, are satisfied with my tapas let me be blessed with
divine arrows and be master of every weapon." "So be it,"
said Siva, and gave Viswamitra all the weapons available to the Devas,
Gandharvas, Rishis, Yakshas and the Demons. Swelling with pride
like the ocean, Viswamitra considered Vasishtha as already vanquished. He
straightway made for the abode of the sage. Frightened at the fearful sight of
the onrushing Viswamitra, Vasishtha's disciples and the animals in his ashrama
ran helter-skelter. Hit by the fire-weapon
of Viswamitra, Vasishtha's ashrama was reduced to cinders. Vasishtha regretted the
turn of events, but determined to end the haughtiness of the erstwhile king, he
faced him calmly with his Brahmadanda (holy staff) in hand. Mad with rage,
Viswamitra shot at him all the divine weapons he had acquired, but they were
quenched as they approached the rishi's staff and were absorbed by it. Viswamitra had but one
more weapon in his armory, and that was the most powerful of all, the
Brahmastra. As he hurled it against Vasishtha the world became wrapped in gloom
as in some huge eclipse, and the very immortals trembled with fear. But the
terrible astra itself was merged in the rishi's staff, making both it and the
holy man glow with the glory they had absorbed. Viswamitra
stood dazed.
Openly accepting defeat, he
said: "Of what use is the Kshatriya's might in arms? With but a staff in
his hand, this Vasishtha has nullified all my weapons. Lord Siva has indeed
fooled me. There is no alternative for me but to become a Brahma Rishi like
Vasishtha." So saying, he withdrew from the field of battle and proceeded
south for more rigorous tapas. For years and years
Viswamitra went through terrible austerities. Pleased with his perseverance,
Brahma presented himself before him. Advising Viswamitra that, as a result of
his tapas he had risen to the position of a rishi among kings, Brahma vanished
from the scene. Viswamitra was
disappointed that all his penance could get him only the status of Raja Rishi.
Not content with anything but the highest the rank of a Brahma Rishi, he subjected
him self to still more rigorous austerities in order that he might be
acknowledged an equal of Vasishtha. That was the time when
the famous king of the Solar dynasty, Trisanku, was reigning, who was so much
in love with the beauty of his body that he could not bear the thought of
parting with it at death and desired to ascend to heaven in that very body. Vasishtha, his
preceptor, whom he approached for help in realising his wish, advised him to
give up attempting the impossible. Dissatisfied with Vasishtha's response, the
King approached the sage's sons and sought their help. They were wroth at being
asked to do something which their father had pronounced impossible, ridiculed
his vanity and curtly bade him begone. King Trisanku would not
give up his aim and told them that, since they and their father were too poor
in merit to help him, he would find others who were richer. Vasishtha's sons
were provoked beyond endurance, and said: "Be you a chandala." The curse began to act
and the next morning Trisanku woke up a different person altogether, an
untouchable, ugly of form, attired in dirty clothes. His ministers and his
people could not recognise him. Driven out of his kingdom he wandered hungry
and weary almost to death, till his destiny took him to Viswamitra's ashrama. The king's appearance
moved the heart of the sage, who enquired: "Aren't you King Trisanku? What
has brought you to this plight? Whose curse?" Recounting all that had
happened he fell at the sage's feet and said: "I have been a good king and
never swerved from the path of dharma. I have committed no sin and wronged
none. My preceptor and his sons have deserted me and cursed me and you see me
thus before you." Viswamitra took pity on
the King converted by a curse into a chandala. This was Viswamitra's great
weakness; he was impulsive and easily over-powered by emotions like anger,
sympathy and love. In sweet words, he made
the king happy: "O, King, I have heard of your righteous rule. I offer you
refuge; be not afraid. I will arrange for the sacrifice which will enable you
to enter heaven in your own body. And in this very chandala form you shall
reach heaven despite your Guru's curse. Of this you may be sure." And he made
arrangements for a great and unprecedented yaga. Viswamitra directed his
disciples to invite all the sages and, their disciples for the proposed yaga.
Afraid of saying "No" to what was more or less a command, all the
rishis agreed to be present. But the sons of
Vasishtha declined the invitation and made merry about a yaga at which the
officiating priest was a once upon-a-time Kshatriya and the yajaman a stinking
chandala. This reply, duly
conveyed, enraged Viswamitra who exploded into a curse that Vasishtha's sons do
die and be reborn for seven generations in a tribe given to eating dog's flesh.
The sage then
began the
yaga. Extolling Trisanku's
eminent virtues, Viswamitra sought the help of the other rishis in effecting
the bodily translation of Trisanku to heaven. Well aware of the
sage's mighty powers and fulminous temper, the invitees lent their support, and
the yaga went on. It reached the stage when the gods were invoked to descend
and accept the offerings. But no god came. It was clear that Viswamitra's yaga
was a failure. And the rishis, who had attended the ceremony, laughed within
themselves at Viswamitra's discomfiture. Wild with rage,
Viswamitra held the ladle of ghee over the flames and said: "O Trisanku,
here behold my power. I now transfer for your benefit all the merit I have
earned. If my austerities have any value, they should lift you to heaven in
your physical frame. I care not if the Devas reject my offerings. King
Trisanku! Ascend!" A miracle followed. To
the astonishment of those assembled, Trisanku in his chandala body rose
heavenward. The world saw the power of Viswamitra's tapas. Trisanku reached
Swarga. But Indra forthwith pushed him down saying, "Who are you, entering
heaven with a chandala body? You fool that earned the curse of your preceptor,
go down again." Trisanku fell from
heaven, head down wards, screaming, "Viswamitra! Save me!" Viswamitra, seeing
this, was beside himself with rage. Determined to teach the gods a lesson, he
shouted to Trisanku. "Stop there! Stop there!" and, to the amazement
of all, Trisanku's earthward descent came to an abrupt stop and he stopped in
mid air, shining like a star. Like a second Brahma, Viswamitra proceeded to
create a new starry horizon to the south as well as a new Indra and new Devas. Alarmed at their
supremacy, the Devas now came to terms and humbly entreated Viswamitra to
desist. They said: "Let Trisanku stay where he is at present. Let the
other stars, of your creation shine forever, like your own fame and honor.
Control your anger and be friends with us." Gratified at this
submission, and as easily appeased as provoked, Viswamitra baited his creative
process. But his stupendous activities had consumed the whole of the power that
he had thus far acquired by his austerities, and he found he had to begin
again. Viswamitra now
proceeded westwards to Pushkara and resumed his austerities. For years the
rigorous tapas continued, but once again as it was about to bear fruit
something happened to rouse his anger and he lost his balance and cursed his
own sons. Soon recovering himself, he firmly resolved never again to yield to
anger, and resumed his tapas After many years of
austerities, Brahma and the Devas appeared before him and said: "O
Kausika! Your tapas has borne fruit. You are no longer in the ranks of kings; you
have become a real rishi." Having thus blessed Viswamitra, Brahma
returned. This was again a
disappointment. He wanted to become a Brahma Rishi and Vasishtha's peer and he
had only been acknowedged an ordinary rishi. It was recognition as futile as
the missiles of power, which Vasishtha's Brahmadanda had swallowed. He therefore decided to
go on with his tapas, making it more severe than ever before. The Devas did not like
this. They sent the heavenly damsel Menaka to tempt him with her celestial
beauty and allurements. She went to Pushkara where Viswamitra was undergoing
austerities and played, to catch his eye with a hundred wiles of charm and
grace. Viswamitra saw her and was fascinated by her beauty. His vow was broken
and he spent ten years in a dream of ioy, forgetful of his high resolve. Awaking at last, he
looked at the trembling Menaka sorrow fully and said he would not curse her,
for it was his own folly, and not her fault, as in tempting him she was only
carrying out the orders of her master. And sadly he wended his way to the
Himalayas to resume his broken tapas. There, for a thousand
years, controlling his senses, he performed rigorous tapas. At the request of
the Devas, Brahma appeared before Viswamitra, and spoke to him thus sweetly:
" I welcome you as a Maharishi, my son. Pleased with your soulful tapas I
confer on you that title and the sanctity it imports." Unmoved alike by
gratification or disappointment, Viswamitra folded his hands in adoration and
asked the Father of the Universe if the boon meant conquest over the senses. "By no
means", said the Creator, "but strive to subjugate the senses, tiger
among munis!" Resolved on the supreme
conquest, Viswamitra entered on another thousand years of even harder tapas
which threw the Devas into even greater consternation. Indra called unto him
the celestial damsel Rambha, and enjoined on her as a vital service to the
Devas, to employ all her art to bring Viswamitra under the spell of her charm,
and divert him from his purpose. She was sorely afraid, but Indra assured her
that she would not be left alone, but be accompanied by the God of Love and the
Spirit of Springtime would be with her for support. Unwillingly
she went
and as
she entered the precincts
of the hermitage, the forest blossomed into vernal beauty, and the south wind
blew gently laden with the scent of flowers, and kokilas burst into song. Love
and Spring were both there to assist Beauty. Disturbed by stirrings to which he
had long been a stranger, Viswamitra opened his eyes and saw a smiling damsel
of surpassing beauty, who seemed the very soul of the spring with its flowers
and fragrance and song. At this vision of soft
voluptuousness a white heat of anger surged through him as he recognised in it
another temptation thrown in his way by the envious gods, and he cursed the
temptress: "O Rambha, for seeking to tempt me who am striving to conquer
anger and desire, be thou frozen to an image of stone for ten thousand years." But this explosion of
rage made him see how far he was from the fulfilment of his purpose and sadly
he quitted the Himalayan forests, and sought the solitude of the east. There, he restrained
his breathing, gave up all thought of the things of the world, and performed
austerities so stern that smoke and flames issued from his body and enveloped
the universe. Then at the prayer of the panic-stricken gods, Brahma again
appeared before him, and hailed him as Brahma Rishi: "All hail, Brahma
Rishi, I am pleased with you. Blessed be your life." Viswamitra was happy.
But humbly he said:
"How can I be happy unless from Vasishtha's lips I hear that I am a Brahma
Rishi?" Vasishtha smiled
remembering his fight with Viswamitra, and said to him: "You have achieved
the fruit of your great austerities. Indeed you are a Brahma Rishi, my
brother." There was joy all round. This was the story of
the sage that arrived suddenly at Dasaratha's court. King, Dasaratha
received Viswamitra as Indra would welcome Brahma and touching his feet, the
King said: "I am indeed blessed among men. Your coming can only be due to
the merit of my ancestors. Like the morning sun that dispels the darkness of
night, your face brings joy to my sight. My heart is full. Born a king, you
have become through tapas a Brahma Rishi. And you yourself have come seeking my
dwelling. Is there anything in my power that I can do for you? If so, command
and I shall obey." Viswamitra was rejoiced
to hear these words of Dasaratha, and his face brightened. He said: "O
King, your words are worthy of you. Born in the Ikshvaku line, with Vasishtha
for your Guru, what else could you say? You have said 'yes' before I asked. This
fills my heart with joy." And he straightway explained the purpose of his
visit. Viswamitra said:
"I am engaged in performing a sacrifice. As it nears completion, two
powerful Rakshasas, Maricha and Subahu, defile it. They shower unclean blood
and flesh on the sacred fire. Like other rishis we could curse and destroy
them. But that would be a waste of all our tapas. "Our troubles will
end if you send with me Rama, the eldest of your warlike sons. Under my care,
he will grow in princely stature. He will surely defeat these Rakshasas and his
name will gather lustre. Entrust Rama to my care only for a few days. Do not
refuse my request. Fulfil the promise you gave me unsought. Of Rama's safety
you need have no anxiety. You will earn undying fame in the three worlds.
Vasishtha and your ministers will agree with what I say." Dasaratha trembled with
fear and anxiety. He had a hard choice to make; either to give his well-beloved
son to be killed by the Rakshasas or himself incurs the terrible anger of
Viswamitra. For a few moments,
Dasaratha stood speechless, for he was stunned and bewildered. But recovering
from the shock, he begged the sage not to press his demand, and said:
"Rama is not yet fully sixteen years of age. How can he fight with
Rakshasas? Of what use is it to send him with you? What does he know of the
wiles of Rakshasas? It is not right that I should send a mere lad to fight
them, I am here, and my army is ready to march. How can a lad protect you and
your yaga? Tell me all about your foes. I shall go with you at the head of my
army and do your bidding and serve your need. Do tell me about these
desecrators." Viswamitra described
Maricha and Subahu and Ravana their master. And he demanded again that Rama
should be sent along with him. Dasaratha persisted in
refusal. "Parting from Rama will be death to me," he said. "I
shall go with you, I and my army. Why, it seems to me the task proposed is
pretty hard even for me. How then can my son cope with it? Indeed, I cannot
send him. If you please, I am ready with my army." Dasaratha's attempt to
go back on his hasty word, enraged Viswamitra. The King's pleas and reasons
were like oil poured on the fire of his anger. "This conduct is
unworthy of your lineage", the sage said. 'Tell me if this is your final word.
I shall go back the way I came. Long may you live with your kith and kin,
having swerved from the path of Truth!" The earth quaked and
the gods were afraid of the possible consequences of the sage's wrath. Vasishtha now turned to
the King and spoke gently: "It ill becomes you, King, to refuse having
promised once. Born in the Ikshvaku line, you cannot do it. Having once said,
'I will do', you have no option but to do it. Failing, you will lose the merit
of all your great gifts and deeds. Send Rama with the sage, and send Lakshmana
too. You need have no fear for their safety, When they are protected by
Viswamitra, no Rakshasa can hurt them. As the drink of the gods, shielded by
the wheel of fire, so will Rama be by Viswamitra. You have no idea of Viswamitra's power; he
is tapas in human form. Bravest of the brave and wisest of the wise, he is
master of every weapon. In the three worlds there is not, and there will never
be, any to equal him in martial or spiritual prowess. When he was king he
obtained from the gods mastery of all weapons. He beholds the past, the present
and the future. Then why does he want the princes, you may wonder. He can well
take care himself of his yaga; but it is for the good of your sons that he has
come here and appears to seek your help. Do not hesitate. Send your sons with
him." Listening to the wise
Vasishtha, Dasaratha saw things clearly and made up his mind to send Rama and
Lakshmana. The two princes were
then brought to the presence of the sage. The King, the Queen-Mothers and
Vasishtha blessed them and sent them with Viswamitra. A pleasant breeze
wafted and flowers were strewn by the denizens of the heavens. Auspicious
sounds were heard. Bow in hand, the two lads strode proudly on either side of
the Sage. Valmiki and Kamban
revel in this picture of the two handsome princes marching out to their first
adventure under the guardianship of a great rishi who had also been a renowned
warrior a teacher who could create a new world; and beside him, head erect, two
princely pupils born to end the Rakshasa race. With swords of victory
hanging from their waists, bows and quivers mounted on strong shoulders, they
moved, each like a three-headed cobra with uplifted hood. 5. RAMA SLAYA THE MONSTERS
Viswamitra and the two
princes spent the night on the bank of the river Sarayu. Before retiring
Viswamitra initiated the princes in two secret mantras Bala and Atibala, which
had the virtue of guarding them from fatigue and harm. They slept on the
verdant bank that night and rising at dawn proceeded on their journey. They
reached Kamashrama in Anga Desa. After presenting the princes to the rishis
there, Viswamitra recounted to them the history of the ashrama. "This," be
said, "is the place where the Lord Siva was long engaged in austerities. It was here that the
foolish god of love Manmatha aimed his arrow at Siva and was turned to ashes by
his wrath. Hence this place is known as Kamashrama." They were the guests of
the rishis that night, and the following morning, after performing the usual
rites, the sage and his pupils set out on their journey and reached the Ganga.
They crossed the river on a raft got ready for them by the rishis. In midstream, the
princes heard a noise and asked Viswamitra what it could be. He explained to
them that it was the sound of the Sarayu flowing into the Gangs. The princes
paid silent homage to the confluence of the two holy rivers. A river or a hill, a tree
or a cloud, indeed any object of beauty may raise one to contemplation of the
Supreme Being and silent worship of Him. In particular, sacred rivers, temples
or images, which have for generations been the objects of devotion and worship,
possess this power in a special degree, in virtue of the sacred thoughts they
have witnessed and absorbed as garments retain perfumes. Having crossed the
Ganga, Viswamitra and the princes made their difficult way through a dense
forest made dreadful by the reverberating roar of wild beasts. "This,"
Viswamitra said, "is the Dandaka forest. What is now a terrible forest was
once a well-peopled country. Once upon a time, Indra
was contaminated by sin, having killed Vritra, and had therefore to exile
himself from the world of the Devas. The Devas set to themselves the task of
cleansing Indra. They brought waters from the sacred rivers and bathed him to
the accompaniment of mantras. The waters which cleansed Indra flowed into the
ground and enriched the earth and the land be came tremendously fertile." All dead things,
rotting corpse or stinking garbage, when returned to the earth are transformed
into things of beauty such as fruits and flowers and the wholesome things that
nourish life. Such is the alchemy of Mother Earth. Viswamitra continued:
"For long people lived here happily till Tataka (wife of Sunda, a Yaksha)
and her son Maricha wrought havoc and changed this into the dreadful wilderness
it now is. They are still in this forest. And none dare enter it for fear of
Tataka. She is equal in strength to a score of elephants. I have brought you
here to rid the forest of this great enemy. There is no doubt that this
monster, who is a source of trouble to the rishis, will be destroyed by
you." Rama, who listened to
this, asked the sage: "You say she is a Yaksha. I have never heard that
Yakshas are particularly strong. What is more, how does a woman happen to
possess so much strength?" Viswamitra replied:
"You are asking a very pertinent question. Her strength comes from a boon
granted by Brahma. There lived a Yaksha by name Suketu. Having no progeny he
performed tapas and won a boon from Brahma thus: 'You will have a beautiful
daughter of great strength of body, but you will have no son.' Suketu's
daughter, Tataka, beautiful and strong, was married to Sunda, a Yaksha, and
their child is Maricha. Sunda at one time incurred Sage Agastya's curse and
died. Provoked by this, Tataka and Maricha pounced on Agastya who cursed them
to be monsters living on the carcases of men. So Tataka is now an ugly monster.
Thenceforward, she and Maricha have been harassing the dwellers in this region
of Agastya. Do not hesitate to destroy her on the ground that it is against
Kshatriya dharma to kill a woman. Her atrocities are intolerable. To punish the
wicked, whether male or female, is the duty of kings. It is right to kill her,
as to kill a wild animal for the sake of human safety. This is a duty cast on
rulers. Many women have been punished with death for their crimes. Hence do not
hesitate." Rama said to
Viswamitra: "Our father's behest is that we should obey you without question. Bidden by you
and for the general welfare, we
shall kill Tataka." So saying, he strung
his bow and twanged it till the forest echoed to its shrill note and the wild
animals scattered in all directions in terror. It reached Tataka in her
fastness, filling her with amazement at the audacious intruder who dared enter
her domain. Raging with anger, she ran in the direction whence the sound came
and sprang on Rama. The battle began. The prince at first
thought of cutting off the limbs of the monster and sparing her life. But
Tataka attacked fiercely and, rising in the sky, she rained stones on Rama and
Lakshmana. The two princes defended themselves against the attack. The fight
continued and Viswamitra cautioned Rama against delay in dealing the death-blow
to the monster. "She deserves no
sympathy," he said. "The sun is about to set and remember that at
night Rakshasas grow stronger. Do not delay to slay her." Thus advised, Rama
decided on killing Tataka and pierced her chest with a deadly arrow and the
huge, ugly monster fell down, lifeless. The Devas cheered, and
Viswamitra, filled with joy, embraced Rama and blessed him. With Tataka's end, the
forest was freed from the curse and became beautiful to see. The princes spent
the night there and next morning they proceeded to Viswamitra's ashrama. At dawn the next day,
Viswamitra called Rama to his side and blessing him said: "I am very happy
indeed. What is it that I can do in return for all that you have done? I shall
teach you the use of all the astras." So saying, Viswamitra
gave Ramachandra the divine astras which he had obtained through his tapas. Viswamitra taught Rama
the use, control and recall of the various divine weapons and Rama in his turn
imparted the knowledge to Lakshmana. As they continued the
journey, Rama pointed to a big hill with a lovely forest on its slopes and
asked: "Is that the place whereto we have to go? And who are the evil ones who hinder
your yaga? And what should I do to destroy them?" Ramachandra was eager
to fight and win the blessings of the sage. "That is the place
we are going to," replied Viswamitra. "There the Lord Narayana
performed tapas and it was there that he was born as Vamana. It goes by the
name of Siddhashrama. Mahabali, son of Virochana and grandson of Prahlada the
good Asura, was such a powerful ruler that of him even the Devas were afraid.
Mahabali had by his deeds acquired the power of Indra himself. Kashyapa and his
spouse Aditi, of whom all the gods were offsprings, prayed to Vishnu and begged
Him to be born as their son and protect Indra and the Devas from Mahabali. In
answer to the prayers, Vishnu was born of Aditi as Vamana. Vamana in the form
of a young student went to the yaga that was being performed by Mahabali and
whereto all were welcome, to ask for and receive anything they wanted. When
Vamana presented himself as a suitor, Mahabali's guru, Sukra, the preceptor of
all the Asuras, knew who he really was and warned Mahabali against promising to
grant the young Brahmana his request since indeed he was the Lord Hari in
disguise, come to undo him. Mahabali did not pay heed to this. It was his wont
never to turn down a request. Besides, he was at heart a devotee of the Lord,
and felt that he would indeed be blessed if the Lord should deign to accept a
gift from him. With a smile, Mahabali bade him ask for what he pleased without
hesitation. 'All have is at your disposal, money, jewels, the wide earth and
all it inherits.' Vamana answered that wealth was of no use to him, and all he
begged for was three paces of ground, as paced by him. The monarch smiled as he
looked at the diminutive brahmachari's legs and said, 'So be it; pace and take
it.' The little Bachelor suddenly grew in size into Trivikrama and with one
step measured the earth and with another the entire heavens. And there being no
room left for the third step that had been granted, he set his foot on
Mahabali's devoted head. In the eyes of God, the head of a bhakta is as wide as
the earth or the heavens. And Mahabali, whose head was blessed by the touch of
Narayana's foot, became one of the seven immortals of the world." After narrating the story of Mahabali, Viswamitra added:
"This is where at first Narayana and later Kashyapa performed tapas,
resulting in the incarnation of God as Vamana. In this holy place I live. And
here the Rakshasas come and obstruct our worship and our
austerities. Your coming here is to end this
evil." "So be it,"
said Rama. The arrival of
Viswamitra and the two princes was a signal for rejoicing at the ashrama. The rishis offered water and fruits according
to custom. Rama told Viswamitra that he might begin the preparations for his
yaga immediately and Viswamitra took the vows that very night. Getting up very early
the next morning, the princes went to Viswamitra and asked when the Rakshasas
were expected so that they might hold themselves in readiness to receive them. Viswamitra was under a
vow of silence, and could not answer, but the rishis, his jouniors, told the
princes that they should be ceaselessly vigilant for six nights and days to
safeguard the sacrifice. The princes, fully
armed, kept vigil for six days and nights. On the morning of the sixth day Rama
told Lakshmana:
"Brother, now is
the time for the enemies to come. Let us be wary." Even as he was saying
this, flames shot up from the sacrificial fire, for Agni, the God of Fire, knew
that the Rakshasas had arrived. As the rites were being performed, there was
heard from the sky a great roar. Rama looked up and saw
Maricha and Subahu and their followers preparing to shower unclean things on
the sacrificial fire The army of Rakshasas covered the sky like a great black
cloud. Rama said, "Look
Lakshmana," and let go the Manavastra at Maricha. As was intended, it did
not kill Maricha, but wrapping him up in resistless force hurled him a full
hundred yojanas near the sea. With the Agneyastra
Rama killed Subahu; and then the two princes utterly destroyed the entire army
of Rakshasas. The sky was bright
again. Viswamitra was
supremely happy at the completion of his yaga. "I am grateful to King
Dasaratha," he said. "You have fulfilled the promise, princes. I
admire your fortitude. This ashrama has through you become again a scene of
success, Siddhashrama." (Siddha means success). The next day, Rama and
Lakshmana, after their morning prayers, went to Viswamitra and asked for
further orders. The purpose of Rama's
birth was not unknown to Sage Viswamitra. And he knew too the powers of the
weapons he had given to Rama. Still the actual fact when experienced is
something more than expectation. Sage Viswamitra was happy beyond words, and
his face glowed like a flame. He then thought of the service that he still had
to do for Rama. This was the prince's marriage with Sita. The rishis assembled
there said to Rama: "We intend proceeding to the kingdom of Videha, where
in the capital city of Mithila, Janaka, the illustrious philosopher king,
intends to perform a great sacrifice. All of us are going there and it will be
good if you and the prince, your brother, accompany us. It is meet and proper
that the Prince of Ayodhya should see the marvellous bow in the court of Janaka." So it was decided, and
Rama and Lakshmana went with Viswamitra to Janaka's city. Janaka, king of
Mithila, was an ideal ruler. He was a much revered friend of Dasaratha who,
when he planned his yaga for progeny, sent not mere messengers but ministers to
Mithila to invite King Janaka. Janaka was not only a
brave king but was as well-versed in the Sastras and Vedas as any rishi and was
the beloved pupil of Yajnavalkya whose exposition of Brahmana to him is the
substance of the Brihadaranyaka
Upanishad. In the Bhagavad Gita, Sri Krishna cites Janaka as an illustrious
example of the Karma yogin. Janaka was thus worthy to be the father of Sita who
was to be the wife of Vishnu come down on Earth in human form. Desirous of performing
a yaga, Janaka at one time ploughed the chosen site. As usual, this was done by
his own hand. As the field was being
cleared and leveled, Janaka saw among shrubs a baby divinely beautiful. Janaka
was childless and accepted the infant as the goddess Earth's gift to him. Taking the child in his
arms he went to his beloved wife and said: "Here is treasure for us. I
found this child on the yaga site and we shall make it our own." And she
joyfully consented. The beauty of the
goddess Earth mortal eyes cannot see in its fulness, but we get glimpses of it
as we gaze with grateful hearts on the emerald green or golden ripeness of
spring time or autumn fields, or with awe and adoration on the glories of
mountain and valley, rivers and ocean. This loveliness was
Sita in its entirety. Kamban would have it that Sita's beauty threw into the
shade Lakshmi herself who came up with Nectar as the Ocean of Milk was being
churned. This child of divine beauty was brought up by King Janaka and his dear
queen. When Sita reached the
age of marriage Janaka was sad that he would have to part with her. Though he
tried hard, he was for long unable to choose a prince worthy of Sita. Many
kings came to Mithila, seeking Sita's hand, but in Janaka's view none of them
was good enough. The King anxiously thought over the matter and came to a
decision. Long ago, pleased with a yaga performed by Janaka, Varuna, presented
to him Rudra's bow and two quivers. That was an ancient heavenly bow, which no
ordinary man could even move. This was kept by him as
an honored heirloom. Since only a very exceptional man could be considered
worthy of Sita, Janaka issued this proclamation: "Sita, my daughter, will
be given in marriage to the prince who can lift, bend and string the bow of
Siva which Varuna gave me and to none other." Many princes who had
heard of Sita's beauty, went to Mithila only to return disappointed. None could
fulfil the condition. Led by Viswamitra, the
rishis from Siddhashrama were proceeding to Mithila, with bullock-carts
transporting their luggage. The animals and the birds in the ashrama set out to
follow Viswamitra, but he gently bade them stay behind. It was evening when
they reached the river Sona. There they rested for the night, Viswamitra recounting
to Rama and Lakshmana the history of the place. Getting up in the
morning, they continued their journey and crossed another river, not very deep,
and by noon they were at the Ganga. They bathed in the holy
river and the rishis made lustrations to their forbears. They improvised an
ashrama there, performed their pujas and cooked their food. Meal over, they sat
round Viswamitra who, at the
request of the two princes, told the story of the Ganga. Himavan, king of
mountains and his spouse, Menaka, had two daughters of whom Ganga was the
elder. Himavan sent her to the land of the Devas in response to their request
and she dwelt with them. Uma, the younger, won the favor of Siva and became his
spouse. Sagara, a former King
of Ayodhya, had no son for a long time. With his two wives, Kesini and Sumati,
he went to Himalaya and performed tapas. Sage Bhrigu, pleased with the king,
blessed him and said: "You will get a number of children and will acquire
undying fame. One of your wives will give birth to an only son, and through him
your lineage will be continued. The other queen will bear sixty thousand
strong-armed sons." Sagara's wives bowed
low before the sage and asked which one of them would get an only son and which
the sixty thousand children. Sage Bhrigu asked each of them their own desire. Kesini said she would
be satisfied with one son who would continue the line; Sumati chose the other
alternative. "Be it so," said the sage. Satisfied, the king and
his wives took leave of the sage and returned to Ayodhya. In course of time,
Asamanjas was born to Kesini; Sumati gave birth to a fissiparous mass which
divided out into sixty thousand babies. This army of children was wen taken
care of by nurses. Years rolled by; and
while the sixty thousand grew into strong, handsome princes, Asamanjas turned
out to be a cruel lunatic. He indulged in the pastime of throwing little
children into the river and laughed merrily as they struggled and died. Naturally people hated
this maniac and banished him from the country. To the great relief of all,
Asamanjas' son, Amsuman, was the opposite of his father and was a brave,
virtuous and amiable prince. King Sagara launched a
great horsesacrifice and prince Amsuman was in charge of the sacrificial horse,
but Indra, in the guise of a Rakshasa, managed to carry off the animal. The
Devas regarded yagas by mortals as a challenge to their superiority, and lost
no opportunity of throwing obstacles in their way. If, however, all obstruction
was overcome and the yaga was completed, they accepted offerings made to them.
And then he who performed the yaga got due reward. The king was greatly
upset when he heard that the sacrificial horse was stolen. He sent out the
sixty thousand sons of Sumati to go in search of the animal all over the earth
and to spare no pains to retrieve it. "The loss of the
horse," he impressed on them, "not only means obstruction to the yaga;
it casts sin and ignominy on an concerned. You should, therefore, recover the
horse, wherever it may be kept hidden." Eagerly the sons of
Sagara proceeded to search the entire earth, but the horse was nowhere to be
found. They even started digging the earth as for buried treasure, and in their
anxiety respected neither place nor person and only succeeded in earning the
hatred of all they met. The horse was not to be found; and when they reported
their failure to the King, he bade them ransack the nether world also. The
princes did as they were told and in Patala they saw the horse grazing in a
corner of an ashrama, not far from the place where Sage Kapila who was Vishnu
sat in meditation. The princes at once
jumped to the conclusion that they had not only found the stolen horse but the
thief also, and they rushed on Kapila shouting, "Here is the thief
pretending to be a yogi." Kapila thus disturbed opened his eyes and the
sixty thousand princes were reduced to a heap of ashes. Indra, the real thief,
had artfully left the horse here with this very intent. 7. BHAGIRATHA AND THE STORY OF GANGA KING Sagara waited in
vain for the return of the princes who had gone in search of the sacrificial
horse. After some days he
called his grandson, Amsuman, and said: "I am anxious to know what has
happened to the princes who went to Patala. You are brave; go thither,
well-armed and find out what has happened and come back crowned with
success." Amsuman went closely
following the path of the princes and reached the nether world where he saw and
paid salutations to the mighty elephants standing guard at the four quarters.
These guardians of the quarters uttered encouraging words and said he would
succeed in his mission. When in due course
Amsuman entered and went round Patala he was delighted when he found the
sacrificial horse grazing contentedly there, but was perplexed and distressed
when he saw heaps of ashes all over the place. Could they be all that remained
of his valiant uncles? Garuda, the bird-king,
brother of Sumati, Sagara's second wife, who chanced to be there told
Amsuman: "Those ash heaps
are all that is left of the sixty thousand sons of Sagara who were consumed by
the wrathful glance of Sage Kapila. Dear child, take the horse and complete the
yaga. If these ashes are to be watered according to custom so that the souls of
the princes may rest in peace, Ganga should be brought down here from the land
of the Devas." Amsuman rushed home
with the horse and told the king all that he had found and learnt. Sagara was immersed in
sorrow at the fate that had overtaken his sons. However, the horse having been
brought back, he completed the yaga. Grieving over his lost sons and despairing
of ever bringing Ganga down to the nether world, he died disconsolate. According to the
Ramayana, Sagara lived for 30,000 years. Figures like 30,000 and 60,000 need
not confuse us. Thirty thousand may mean either a very large number or just
thirty. If we so like, we may take these figures literally. Amsuman succeeded
Sagara as King of Ayodhya and was, in turn, succeeded by Dilipa. Bhagiratha
came after Dilipa. Amsuman and Dilipa
though happy and blessed in other respects, died grieving that they were unable
to bring Ganga to Patala for the salvation of their forefathers. Bhagiratha was a
valiant king. He was childless. Desiring progeny and hoping to bring Ganga
down, he left for Gokarna for performing penance, leaving the kingdom in the
hands of his ministers. Bhagiratha
went through
severe austerities. With fire
on all sides and head exposed to the hot sun, and taking food but once a month,
he continued his tapas. Bhagiratha's name has come to signify great
perseverance in any good cause. Brahma, pleased with
the tapas, appeared before Bhagiratha and asked: "What would you
have?" Bhagiratha told him two
wishes: "If you have pity on me, bless me with a child to continue the
line of my forebears. Secondly, cursed by Kapila Muni, my ancestors lie a heap
of ashes in Patala. The ashes should be washed by the waters of Ganga so that
their souls may ascend top heaven. May you be pleased to order Ganga to go down."
Brahma replied:
"The Devas are pleased with your tapas. You wishes are granted. But there
is one difficulty. The earth cannot withstand the force of Ganga's descent.
Siva alone can stand it. Therefore direct your penance and prayers to
him." Bhagiratha renewed his
tapas and continued long without food or water, and at last won Siva's grace.
Siva appeared and said to Bhagiratha: "I shall fulfil your wish. I shall
receive Ganga on my head. May her grace be upon you." When Mahadeva promised
help to Bhagiratha, Ganga began her descent as ordered by Brahma. In her
arrogance, she thought she would fall on Mahadeva's head and sweep him away
towards Patala. The three-eyed God
decided to teach Ganga a lesson. And the moment he willed it, the flood of
waters that fell on his head were held by his matted hair as in an infinite
receptacle. Ganga tried her best but not a drop could emerge from the tangled
maze of Siva's matted locks. This was a lesson to
Ganga to be sure, but a heart-braking disappointment to Bhagiratha. There was
nothing for him but to propitiate Siva with tapas. This he did to such good
purpose that Siva took pity on him and gently let out the waters of Ganga in
Bindu Saras from where they flowed down in seven small separate streams. Three of them flowed
west and three east; and the seventh river followed Bhagiratha who was full of
joy at the approaching salvation of his ancestors. Ganga followed
Bhagiratha's triumphal chariot; the waters danced and shone like lightning
flashes as the river made its course and the Devas and Gandharvas assembled
above to witness the grand sight. Sometimes slow and sometimes fast, now
sliding down and now jumping up, the river went on dancing behind Bhagiratha's
chariot and the folk of heaven enjoyed the sight all the way. On her course, Ganga
damaged the yaga platform of a rishi by name Jahnu. The rishi took the entire
flood in his palm and sipped it off. Ganga disappeared again and Bhagiratha was
sorely perplexed. The Devas and other
rishis approached Jahnu and begged him to forgive Ganga and allow Bhagiratha to
reap the fruit of his great austerities and perseverance. The sage relented and
let Ganga out through his right ear. The Devas were glad and blessed Ganga
thus: "Coming out of the rishi's body as out of your mother's womb, you
are now Jahnavi, Jahnu's daughter." There was no further
hindrance or mishap and Ganga reached Patala through the ocean. With the holy
waters, Bhagiratha performed
the funeral rites for his arcestors and secured for them their entry to heaven.
Bhagiratha's efforts
having brought Ganga down, she is known as Bhagirathi. After concluding this
narrative, Viswamitra blessed the princes. "The sun is setting," he
said. "Let us say our evening prayers in the waters of Ganga whom your
ancestor brought down to this world." Those who bathe in the
holy waters of Ganga or read or listen to this divine story with devotion, will
be cleansed of sin and endowed with virtue, strength and unflagging zeal. After a day's stay in
the City of Visala, Viswamitra and his party left for Mithila. On the way, not
far from Mithila, they saw a beautiful ashrama which seemed untenanted. Rama
asked Viswamitra: "Whose is this ashrama with ancient trees? Why does such
a beautiful abode stand deserted?" Viswamitra replied: "This ashrama is subject to a curse. Sage Gautama lived here
with his wife Ahalya, spending his days in peace and holy meditation. One day
during the sage's absence from the ashrama, Indra, filled with unholy desire
for the beautiful Ahalya, entered it disguised as Gautama and approached the lady
with urgent solicitation. She was not deceived by the impersonation, but vain
of her beauty and proud that it had won her the love of the lord of the
celestials, she lost her judgment and yielded to his desire. When the sin had
been sinned, realising its heinousness and the fierce spiritual energy of her
betrayed husband, she warned Indra of his terrible peril and begged him to be
gone in the instant. Indra was fleeing in guilty panic; but unfortunately for
him he almost bumped into the rishi who was just returning from his ablutions,
clad in wet garments and radiating spiritual lustre. Pretence was hopeless
before that allseeing wisdom and Indra bowed in abject supplication, and threw
himself on the mercy of the rishi. The sage looked at him with wrath and
loathing and cursed him: 'Lustful beast as you are, dead to all truth and
righteousness, may your manhood fall away from you.' Indra at once became an
eunuch and went back to the Devas in ignominious shame. Then the sage turned to
his erring wife and prescribed a long penance for her. He said: 'Living on air,
you shall stay here, unseen by anyone. After a long time, Dasaratha's son will
pass this way. When he sets foot in this ashrama, you will be freed from the
curse. Welcome him as a guest. You will then recover your lost virtue and get
back your own beauty.' The sage then left his violated ashrama for Himalayas to
engage himself in austerities
there." Viswamitra said to
Rama: "Let us enter the ashrama. You will bring redemption to Ahalya and
rekindle the light in her as the sage promised." And they went into the
ashrama. As Rama set foot in the ashrama, the curse was lifted and Ahalya stood
before them in all her beauty. Having lain concealed behind leaves and creepers
and kept her vow for many years, she now shone, says the poet, in Rama's
presence, like the moon emerging from the clouds, like a flame issuing from
smoke and like the sun's reflection in rippling water. Rama and Lakshmana
touched the feet of the sage's wife made pure by penance. She welcomed the
divine princes with all the customary rites of hospitality. A shower of flowers
descended from the heavens as Ahalya, cleansed of sin, shone like a goddess.
Simultaneously the sage Gautama returned to the ashrama and received his
repentant and purified wife back to his affection. That is Ahalya's story
as told by Valmiki. There are in other Puranas and popular stories slightly
varying versions, but the differences need not trouble us. Now, a word to those of
our times who read Ramayana and Bharata and other Puranas. In these works,
there are frequent references to Devas and Rakshasas. The latter were wicked,
had no regard for dharma, and reveled in evil deeds. Asuras were also like
Rakshasas. But even among Rakshasas there were a few wise and virtuous people.
There spring up bad men even in the best of races and vice versa. On the whole,
Asuras and Rakshasas were those who rejoiced in doing wicked deeds. It is a
pity that some people in their ignorance identify the Asuras and Rakshasas with
ancient Indian tribes and races, a view not supported by any literary work or
tradition or recorded history. The conjecture of
foreigners that the Rakshasas were the Dravidian race, is not borne out by any
authority in Tamil or other literature. The Tamil people are not descendants of
the Asuras or Rakshasas. The Devas were
generally upholders of dharma and took on themselves the task of putting down
the Rakshasas. According to the Puranas, they had at times to deviate from
dharma in dealing with the Rakshasas, some of whom had attained great power
through tapas. The Devas were
generally good; and those among them who swerved from the path of righteousness
paid the price for it. There was no separate code of conduct for the Devas; the
law of Karma admits of no distinction between the Devas and others. The law dealt
with the Devas as with others. Wedded
to virtue
as the
Devas generally were, lapses
on their part appear big to us, like stains on white cloth. The Rakshasas' evil
deeds are taken for granted and do not attract much attention, like stains on black
cloth. The honest, when they
happen to go astray, should evoke our sympathy. It is however the way of the
world, but it is not right, to condemn in strong terms casual lapses of the
virtuous, while tolerating habitual wrong-doers. It should be noted that
in the Puranas we see the gods getting entangled in dilemmas of Dharma. Indra
and other Devas are shown often as committing serious sins. Why did the sages who
told the Puranas involve themselves in such difficulties? Their aim was to
awaken people to a sense of the dangers of adharma. Else, the sages need not
have deliberately attributed sinful acts to their own heroes and created
difficulties for themselves. Some persons take
pleasure in jumping to wrong conclusions from the incidents in the Puranas.
They argue: "Ravana was a very good king. Valmiki has falsely accused him
of wicked deeds." They ask: "Did not Rama act unjustly on a certain
occasion? Did not Sita utter a lie?" and the like. Valmiki could well have
omitted incidents which are not edifying. Both Rama and Ravana were first
presented to us by the poet Valmiki. There was no earlier work referring to Ravana that can be
quoted to contradict Valmiki and stamp him
as being partial to Rama, Sita and the Devas, and twisting facts to deceive people.
Valmiki's Ramayana is the fountain source of the story of Rama; in it, one
comes across seemingly wrong deeds. Calm consideration of
such situations would show that they are just portrayals of similar
difficulties in our day-to-day life. It is for us to benefit from the moral
trials contained in them. The lesson of the Ahalya episode is that, however
deadly one's sin, one may hope to be freed from its consequence by penitence
and punishment. Instead of condemning others for their sins, we should look
within our own hearts and try to purify them of every evil thought. The best of
us have need for eternal vigilance, if we would escape sin. This is the moral of
Ahalya's error. All arrangements for
Janaka's yaga had been completed and to Mithila had come many rishis and
Brahman's from various kingdoms. Viswamitra and the princes were duly welcomed.
Janaka's preceptor, Satananda, was the first to pay honor to Viswamitra. Janaka
followed him. The King said to the
sage: "I am indeed blessed that you should attend my yaga." Pointing to Rama and
Lakshmana, Janaka asked Viswamitra: "Who are these god-like youths who
resemble each other, and carry their weapons with the proud ease of seasoned
warriors? Who is the happy father of such sons?" Viswamitra told Janaka
that they were the sons of King Dasaratha. He narrated how they had protected
his own yaga and destroyed the Rakshasas. "They have come here," the
sage went on, "to see, if they may, the great bow of Rudra in your
palace." Janaka understood the meaning of Viswamitra's words and rejoiced.
The King said:
"The prince is welcome to see the bow. If he can string it, he will win
the hand of my daughter. Many were the princes who saw this bow and went back,
unable even to move it. I shall indeed be happy if this prince succeeds where
so many have failed and I am thereby enabled to give
Sita to him." Janaka then ordered his
men to bring the bow which was kept safe and sacred in an iron box. It was
brought on an eightwheeled carriage and dragged like a temple chariot during a
festival. "Here," said
Janaka, "is Rudra's bow worshipped by me and my ancestors. Let Rama see this
bow." After obtaining
permission from Viswamitra and the King, Rama stepped out to the iron bow-case,
while all eyes were fixed on him in wishful expectation. Opening the box, he
lifted the bow effortlessly, as if it were a garland of flowers, and resting
one end of it against his toe, he bent and strung it and drew the string back
with such irresistible force that the mighty bow snapped with a crash like a
clap of thunder. And there fell from heaven a shower of flowers. Janaka
proclaimed: "My beloved daughter shall be
wedded to this prince." Viswamitra said to
Janaka: "Send your swiftest messengers to Ayodhya to give the news to
Dasaratha and invite him." Janaka's messengers
reached Ayodhya in three days. They met King Dasaratha who was seated, like
Indra, on his throne and said to him: "Sage Viswamitra and King Janaka
have sent you happy news. Your son who came to Mithila has won our princess
Sita by fulfilling the condition set for her hand. He not only strung Rudra's bow
which none before could so much as lift, but bent its tough pride till it
broke. King Janaka eagerly awaits your gracious consent for the marriage, and
your presence and blessing at the festivities. May it please you to start for
Mithila with your retinue." Dasaratha, who had sent
Rama with Viswamitra with a heart not altogether free from anxiety even after
the sage's assurance, was thrilled with joy on hearing this good news. He told
his ministers to prepare for the journey and left the very next day for
Janaka's capital. Dasaratha and his
following reached Mithila and were received with enthusiastic welcome. Exchange
of courtesies over, Janaka said to Dasaratha: "My yaga will soon be over.
I think it best to have the marriage as soon as the yaga is over," and
sought his approval. Dasaratha replied:
"You are the bride's father and it is for you to order things as you
wish." At the appointed day
and hour, giving away the bride, King Janaka said to Rama: "Here is my
daughter, Sita, who will ever tread with you the path of dharma. Take her hand
in yours. Blessed and devoted, she will ever walk with you like your own
shadow." Iyam Sita mama suta
sahadharmacharee tava prateechchha chainam bhadram te panim
grihneeshwa panina pativrata mahabhaga chhayevanugata sada. This sloka is uttered
in every wedding in upper India when the bride is given away. Thus was Sita given by
Janaka to Rama. Were they not Eternal Lovers reunited? And so they rejoiced
like lovers come together after separation. Having thus safely
handed back to Dasaratha at Mithila the princes entrusted to him in Ayodhya,
and after attending the wedding celebrations, Viswamitra took leave of the two
kings and went to Himalaya. In the story of Rama, Viswamitra has no
further part. Viswamitra may be said
to be the foundation of the grand temple of Rama's story. After Rama's wedding
in Mithila, we do not see him again. It should be noted that characters that
play a leading role in one canto of Valmiki almost fade out in subsequent cantos.
Viswamitra who dominates the Bala Kanda does not appear again. Similarly,
Kaikeyi and Guha are prominent only in Ayodhya Kanda. The same thing can be
said of Bharata whom we do not come across in the chapters intervening between
the Chitrakuta meeting and Rama's return to Ayodhya. The poet hardly brings
Bharata before our eyes during the period of Rama's distress. The characters in
Valmiki Ramayana (unlike those in the Mahabharata and in
ordinary plays and novels) do not present themselves off and on. Critics should
bear this general characteristic of Valmiki's epic in mind. King Dasaratha returned
to Ayodhya, accompanied by his retinue. On the way, there were bad omens and
anxious Dasaratha asked Vasishtha what they portended. Vasishtha replied that
there was no need to be alarmed, for though the birds in the air indicated
approaching trouble, the animals on the land promised a happy consummation. As Dasaratha and
Vasishtha were thus conversing, there broke out a great storm. Trees were
uprooted; the earth quaked and clouds of dust went up and hid the sun and there
was an all-enveloping darkness. Everyone was terror-struck. Soon they knew the
reason for the strange phenomenon. There stood
before them the awe-inspiring figure Parasurama, the sworn enemy of Kshatriyas,
with a bow on one shoulder and a battle-axe on the other, and with an arrow
shining like lightning in his hand. Terrible in appearance,
with his matted locks gathered overhead, he looked like Rudra exulting in the
destruction of Tripura. His face emitted flame-like radiance. The son of Sage
Jamadagni struck terror among Kshatriyas, many generations of which he had
annihilated. Wherever he went he was preceded by storm and earthquake. And the
Kshatriya race trembled in fear. The Brahmanas in
Dasaratha's retinue said to one another: "Because his father was killed by
a king, Parasurama took a vow to destroy the Kshatriya race. We dared to hope
that his vengeful wrath had been quenched in the blood of the innumerable kings
he has slain. Has he again started his cruel campaign?" However, they
honored him with the customary offering of water. After receiving it,
Parasurama addressed himself to Rama: "Son of Dasaratha, I have heard of
your prowess. I was somewhat surprised to learn that you strung the bow in King
Janaka's court and that you drew the string till the bow broke. Here is my bow,
equal in all respects to the one that you broke. This is the bow of Vishnu
which was entrusted to my father. If you are able to string this bow, you will
be worthy of my battle." Dasaratha was perturbed
at this turn of events and he begged that his son Rama should be spared the
trial. He said to Parasurama: "You are a Brahmana. We have heard that,
satiated with your revenge, you have gone back to tapas as becomes your order,
in pursuance of your plighted word to Indra, after giving away the earth you
had conquered to Kashyapa. Is it proper that you should break your vow, and
seek to injure a prince of tender years who has done you
no wrong, and who is dearer to us
than life?" Parasurama heard him
unmoved without so much as looking at him, and addressed himself solely to
Rama, as though the others did not exist: "Viswakarma originally made two
exactly similar bows. One of them was given to Rudra and the other to Vishnu.
This is the one given to Vishnu. What you are said to have strung and bent to
the breaking point was Siva's bow. See if you can, string this bow of Vishnu;
and if you do, it will be proof of your skill and strength and I will then
honor you by fighting with you." Parasurama spoke in a
loud and arrogant tone. To him Rama replied in courteous manner, yet in firm
tones: "Son of Jamadagni! You have been vengeful because your father was
killed by a king. I do not blame you for that. But you cannot put me down as
you have humbled others. Please give me your
bow." So saying, he took the
bow and arrow from Parasurama. He strung the bow and setting the arrow to it,
drew the string. Addressing Parasurama, he said with a smile: "This mighty
Vaishnava arrow placed on the string cannot be put back idly. It must destroy
something. Tell me, shall it destroy your powers of locomotion, or would you
rather that it consumes the fruits of your tapas?" As the son of Dasaratha
strung the bow of Vishnu, the glory on Parasurama's face faded, and he stood,
no longer the warlike conqueror, but a self-subdued rishi, for the purpose of
the Parasurama avatar was over. Parasurama said mildly
to the Prince of Ayodhya: "I realise who you are. I am not sorry that you
have quenched my arrogance. Let all my
tapas go to you. But because of my promise to Kashyapa, I cannot remain in his
domains and have therefore to hurry back to the Mahendra Mountains before the
sunsets. Let me use my power of locomotion for this single thing. Subject to
this, let the arrow which you have set to the bow consume all my power earned
through tapas." So saying, Parasurama
went in reverent circumambulation around the prince and departed. Ayodhya's
citizens were overjoyed to bear that Dasaratha and the royal princes were
returning to the capital. The city was festive with flowers and shone like the
deva-loka. Rama and Sita lived
happily in Ayodhya for twelve years. Rama had surrendered his heart to Sita. It
was difficult for one to say whether their love grew because of their virtues
or it was planted in their beauty of form. Their hearts communed even without
speech. Sita, rejoicing in Rama's love, shone like Lakshmi in heaven. Long afterwards, when
their forest-life began, Anasuya, the great sage Atri's holy wife, extolled
Sita's love for Rama. And Sita answered:
"How else could it be? Rama is a perfect being. His love for me equals
mine for him. His affection is unchanging. Pure
of heart,
he has
mastered the
senses." RAMA and Sita spent
twelve happy years in Ayodhya. But now the Lord and his consort in human form
had to experience the hardships, sorrows and conflicts of life on earth. As Bhagavan himself
explains: "Whatever avatar I
assume, my play must go through the feelings and experiences appropriate to
that incarnation." Who was the Prince of
Ayodhya who through his body, life and experience, suffered the sorrows of
mankind and saved the gods? The ever-present, allpervasive Being who rules the
world from within and without. Kamban, the Tamil poet,
begins the Ayodhya Kanda referring to this marvel of how the King of Kings
allowed himself to suffer the cruel machinations of the hunchback maid-servant
and of a stepmother which deprived him of the sceptre and banished birn to the
forest and beyond the sea. Dasaratha loved all
his, four sons and yet he had a special affection for Rama. And the latter
deserved it by his royal qualities and adherence to dharma. Queen Kausalya,
like Aditi, the mother of the gods, was proud that she had such a son as Rama.
Valmiki has filled pages with the tale of Rama's virtues. The muni is never
satiated drinking from the ocean of Rama's qualities. He describes Rama's gifts
and graces sometimes directly, sometimes as seen and admired by others. Thus and
in many other ways he dwells on the qualities that made Rama the ideal man. Rama's graceful frame
and virile beauty, his strength, his courage, the purity of his heart, his
perfect life, his compassion, sweetness of speech, his serenity, his deep wisdom
and his states manship were admired by the people and made them eagerly look
forward to his becoming king. And Dasaratha knew and
rejoiced in this expectation. Hence, considering his old age, he wished to
crown Rama as Yuvaraja and entrust him with the de facto rule of the kingdom.
Informing his ministers of his desire, he had the Raja Sabha convened. Rishis
and wise men, leaders of the city and kings from neighboring lands, attended
the Raja Sabha. When all were seated, each in his appropriate place, Dasaratha
rose and addressed them. His deep manly voice,
like the sound of a trumpet or the roar of rain-bearing clouds, filled the
great hall. A royal radiance shone from his face. His words were full of
meaning and charmed all ears. "Like my
ancestors, I have tended this kingdom as a mother cares for her child. I have
worked unremittingly for the people, Now my body is old and infirm. I wish
therefore to appoint my eldest son as Yuvaraja and transfer to him the burden
of responsibility. Following the holy custom of my forefathers, I hope to spend
the rest of my life in austerities in the forest. Rama is fully equal to the
task of kingship. He is expert in administration and statecraft and he is
unequalled in valor. I can transfer this trust of sovereignty to him without
any anxiety and I hope that this honored assembly will permit me to do
so." Shouts of joyous
acclaim rose from the great assembly and with one voice the gathered princes
and potables exclaimed: "So be it." The King spoke again:
"You agree with my proposal but give no reason. This will not do. Let the
wise men explain why they agree." Then several speakers
rose and explained Rama's virtues and fitness to rule. The King's heart was
filled with joy to hear these praises of Rama. At last the whole
assembly rose and said with one voice: "Let there be no delay. Let Rama be
anointed Yuvaraja." The King answered that
he was happy and would forthwith carry out their wishes. Then turning to
Vasishtha, Vamadeva and the other holy men and guardians of the sacred rites,
he said: "This is the auspicious month of Chaitra, the season when the
trees in the forest are covered with flowers. Revered elders, make all
preparations for the anointing of Rama." The assembly was glad
to hear these prompt orders. As bidden by the King, Sumantra, the minister in
charge of the household, went to fetch Rama. Rama, ignorant of all these
happenings, came and stood before his father. Hearing of the decision
to anoint him Yuvaraja, he humbly bowed acceptance, saying, "I am in duty
bound to carry out your orders, whatever they be." Dasaratha blessed Rama
and said: "You are a good prince beloved of the people. Let not your
courtesy and your consideration flag but increase with your opportunities of
doing good, and earn you enduring glory." And Rama returned to his
dwelling. Hardly had Rama
returned home when Sumantra called in haste and told him that his father wished
to see him. Asked for the reason, Sumantra could not tell; he only knew he had
been enjoined to fetch the prince at once. Rama thought: "The
King must have taken counsel over the coronation ceremony and perhaps met with
some difficulty. But whatever happens is for the best." Rama was not eager
to assume authority, but looked on it as only a duty to be done. If the King
wanted him to take it up, he was ready to do so. But if the King wanted him to
give it up, he was equally willing. In this mood, Rama went to his father 12. MANTHARA'S EVIL COUNSEL
THE King embraced Rama,
seated him beside him on the throne and said: "I am old. I have enjoyed my
life as a man and a king. I have discharged all my duties to my ancestors.
There is nothing left for me to do. My only desire is to install you on the
throne of our fathers. Last night I had bad dreams. Those who read, the future
advise me that a great sorrow, even death, may overtake me very soon. Hence I
wish to have the coronation performed tomorrow. Tomorrow, the readers of the
stars say, is auspicious. Something within me says, 'Do this at once.' You and
Sita should prepare for tomorrow's anointment by fasting tonight. Lie down on a
bed of darbha grass and have trusty and vigilant friends to look after your
safety. It seems to me that the present time when Bharata is away is
particularly opportune for your installation. Not that I do not know that
Bharata is the soul of righteousness in thought and conduct alike, and that he
is devoted to you, but the minds of men are changeful and open to unexpected
influences." And so the King decided
that the coronation should be performed on the very next day and told Vasishtha
of his decision. Bad dreams added to the reasons for fixing the day for the
coronation at once. Taking leave of his
father, Rama went to Kausalya's apartment to give her the news and seek her blessing.
But the Queen had heard the news already. Sumitra, Sita and Lakshmana were all
there with Kausalya, who, clad in ceremonial white, sat offering prayers for
her son. Rama reported to his
mother the King's latest command. She answered: "This I have heard. May
you live long. Be a good ruler. Conquer your foes and protect your subjects and
kinsfolk. You have pleased your father and you have made me happy." Then bidding farewell
to his mother and step-mother, Rama went to his own apartment. As directed by
the King, Vasishtha came to Rama's place. He was welcomed by him at the
entrance, Vasishtha initiated Rama with due mantras in his pre-coronation fast.
As Vasishtha returned
to the King, he saw groups of people on the royal road, cheerfully discussing
the great festival of the morrow. Houses were being decorated with flowers,
festoons and flags. It was with difficulty that Vasishtha could make his way
through the crowds to the King's palace. The King was pleased to hear that the
fast had begun duly and all was being got ready for the ceremony. But in his heart of
hearts there was a fear that some mishap might come between him and his one
wish. The city was in a
joyous commotion of expectancy. In every house, in every street, men, women and
children looked on the coronation as a great and auspicious occasion in their
own lives and awaited it with enthusiasm. Rama and Sita in their
dwelling meditated long on Narayana, fed with ghee the sacrificial fire, and
reverently sipped what remained of the ghee, and slept on grass spread on the
floor. Early the following morning, they were roused from slumber by music and
held themselves in readiness to proceed to the palace and in expectation of the
auspicious call. But the summons that
came was of an entirely opposite nature. In accordance with the
practice in royal households, Queen Kaikeyi had a woman companion and
confidential servant. She was a hunchback named Manthara. Being a distant
relation of the Queen, she claimed great intimacy with her. Manthara is one of the
best known characters in the Ramayana. Every man, woman and child in our land
knows and detests her, as the cause of Rama's exile, Dasaratha's death and all
the sorrows which befell the royal family. On the day on which
Dasaratha summoned the Assembly and decided to anoint Rama as Yuvaraja,
Manthara happened to climb up to
the terrace of the women's apartments and stood surveying the town below. She saw
the streets were sprinkled with water and gaily decorated. Flags flew from the
house-tops. Wearing new clothes and bright jewels, smeared with sandal paste
and decked in flowers, people moved about in crowds, engrossed in happy talk. Musical instruments
played in the temples. Manthara could not understand the reason for all this,
for she did not know what the King had decided. Some celebration was on, she
guessed. Manthara turned to a servant and asked her: "Why are you wearing
this silk dress? What is on in the City? Kausalya seems to be distributing
gifts to Brahmanas. She is a thrifty lady and would not be doing this for
nothing. There are festive sights and sounds everywhere. Do
you know what all this is about?" The little servant girl
answered, dancing with joy: "Why, do you not know that our Ramachandra is
going to be anointed Yuvaraja tomorrow morning?" This was news! Manthara
was overpowered with sudden anger. Quickly she hobbled downstairs. Straight she
entered Kaikeyi's room. Kaikeyi was resting on her bed. "Rise, rise,
foolish woman! A flood of misfortune is rising to drown and swallow you! You
are betrayed and ruined. Your star is setting. Foolish girl, is this the time
to sleep?" Kaikeyi, fearing that
some calamity had overtaken Manthara, asked her gently: "What is troubling
you? Why are you thus upset?" And the clever Manthara
began: "Destruction has come upon both you and me, my girl. Dasaratha has
decided to make Rama Yuvaraja, the real ruler of this land. What greater cause
for sorrow need I have? When grief comes to you, how can I remain unconcerned?
I have come running to you. You were born and bred in a royal family. You were
married into a royal family. Now, alas, all is over. Like the simple woman you
are, you have been deceived. Your husband has cheated you with sweet words. It
is a deep plot, as any one can see. He put Bharata out of the way by sending
him to the distant place of his uncle, and is taking advantage of his absence
by hurriedly crowning Rama. By tomorrow it will all be over. And you watch all
this, lying in bed and doing nothing, while you and all who depend on you are
being destroyed." And so, Manthara went
on talking. Kaikeyi's ears heard the words without quite heeding their drift.
Like the rest of the royal household her mind was overwhelmed now with the
joyous expectation of Rama's coronation, for she loved and esteemed Rama like
everybody else. "Manthara, you
have brought me good news," she said. "Is my son Rama to be crowned
tomorrow? What greater joy can come to me? Here, take this. Ask me for anything
else." So saying, Kaikeyi took the necklace off her neck and gave it to
Manthara. It was a royal custom at once to reward with a rich gift the bringer
of any important good news. Kaikeyi thought
Manthara, like any other officious personal attendant, was ingratiatingly
jealous in her mistress's interests. How could this woman understand the
goodness of Rama, or affairs of State? And so she thought her foolish fears
would be banished if she saw that her mistress was happy at the event.
Kaikeyi's mind was still uncorrupted. She had the culture of her noble lineage
and was not easily amenable to low thoughts. This but increased
Manthara's grief. She flung away the necklace and said: "Woe to you,
stupid woman. All is lost and stupidly you laugh with joy. How can you be blind
to the misfortune that is coming to you? Am I to laugh or cry at this folly?
Your rival, Rama's mother, has conspired to making him King. And you jump with
joy. Insane woman! What would be Bharata's state when Rama reigns? Would not
Rama fear and ever look upon Bharata as a dangerous enemy? Rama knows human
nature. He knows that Bharata alive would be a constant threat to his power and
therefore must be killed. Does not one kill a cobra out of fear? Hereafter
there is no security for Bharata's life. Tomorrow morning Kausalya will be a
happy woman and you will bend before her as a well-dressed slave. You will
stand before her, hands clasped in obedience. From tomorrow your son too will
be a subject and a slave. In these apartments there will be no more honor or
joy." And she stopped, unable
for grief to continue. Kaikeyi heard all this and wondered "Why should
Manthara have such fears? Does she not know Rama? Is he not dharma embodied in
human form?" She said:
"Manthara, have you not known and rejoiced in Rama's truthfulness, right
conduct and humility? He is the elder prince and he gets the kingdom. Bharata
will get it one day after him. What is wrong with all this? Why, dear friend,
do you feel such grief? After Rama, Bharata will reign for a hundred years. Do
not cry. You know how affectionate Rama is to me. Indeed he cares for me more
than for his own mother. Does not Rama hold his brothers as dear as life? It is
not right that you should fear any harm from Rama." "Alas, Alas!"
said Manthara. "Why are you so foolish? Once Rama is crowned king, what
chance has Bharata? Do you not know the rule of succession? When Rama ascends
the throne all prospects of royalty for Bharata and his line are at an end.
After Rama, Rama's son will be king, and after him that son's son will be king,
and so the succession will go on. Eldest son succeeds eldest son. There is no
chance for a younger brother, no matter how good or manly he is. My dear, you
know not even this. What is one to do?" "Once Rama is
crowned," she continued, "he will not leave Bharata alone. There will
be danger to Bharata's life. If you want Bharata to live, advise him to remain
away, an exile from home; for if he returns he will be coming to his death. It
would be safest for him to leave even his uncle's house, and hide his head in
obscurity in some more distant land. And Kausalya is no friend of yours. She
bears you a grudge because you are the King's favorite and have often slighted
her. And now she is sure to wreak vengeance on you. You know the wrath of a
rival wife is a raging fire when it finds its chance. You may take it that, if
Rama is king, Bharata is as good as dead. Therefore, think hard. Be firm.
Decide something and stick to it. Somehow Bharata must be crowned. Rama must be
banished from the kingdom." Fear now entered the
heart of the Queen. Manthara won. Kaikeyi's face was flushed; her breath became
hot. Helpless she clung to Manthara for comfort and safety. Because his first two
wives had borne no children, Dasaratha, following the royal custom, married
Kaikeyi. At that time Kaikeyi's father secured from Dasaratha the promise
that the child of her womb should become king after him. In such a promise
given by a childless king there was nothing surprising and nothing wrong. At
that time, his then queens had long been childless. The King took a third wife
for the sake of progeny. Even then his wish for a son to be born was not
fulfilled. Many years passed. After the great
sacrifice was performed, all three wives bore children. The son of the Queen
Eminent, Rama, was the eldest among four sons. He was also great in virtue,
fully equal to the burden of Kingship, acceptable to ministers, citizens and
vassal princes. How could Dasaratha violate the royal custom and ignoring
Rama's claim anoint Bharata? Moreover, neither
Bharata nor Kaikeyi had ever thought of or wished for the fulfilment of this
old and forgotten promise. During all the intervening years, no word had been
spoken on this subject. Hence the King thought there could be no difficulty in
installing Rama as Yuvaraja in accordance with the custom of the dynasty and
public expectation. And there was no cloud in Kaikeyi's mind. This is clear
from Kaikeyi's behavior. And Bharata was too noble to raise this question. And, yet, as Dasaratha
told Rama, even the purest of minds is mutable. When fate conspires with bad
counsel, any one of us might be corrupted. And this happened to Kaikeyi. The gods in
Heaven had received an assurance, and the sages had performed tapas or the
destruction of Ravana. What we call destiny, therefore, ordained that Kaikeyi's
pure heart should be changed by Manthara's evil counsel. So says Kamban in the
Tamil Ramayana in his own inimitable style. Fearing that delay
might bring some unpredictable obstacles, Dasaratha had ordered the coronation
to be done without waiting for Bharata's return to the capital. This same fear
and hurry were used by Manthara to persuade Kaikeyi to take the wrong path.
"Think, my Queen. Why this haste? Why does your husband rush through the
ceremony when your son is absent? Is it not to cheat him of his right? Is not the motive
plain? The King pretends to be enamored of you. But this is only his hypocritical
shrewdness." Thus tempted, Kaikeyi
thought over Manthara's advice. Kaikeyi was weak like any other woman. She had
good feeling and good culture, besides a keen intellect. But she had little
knowledge of the world. She was also terribly obstinate. Easily deceived, she
did not have the power to foresee the full consequences of her action. Thus
began the charter of grief in the Ramayana. Kaikeyi, who had looked
upon Rama as her own son, was enmeshed in Manthara's arguments and became
helpless. "Indeed, I am
afraid," she said. "Tell me what we should do. Am I to be a servant
to Kausalya? Never, Bharata must be crowned. You are quite right. And Rama must
be sent to forest. But how shall we get all this done? Tell me. You are clever
and know the way." And she clung to
Manthara. In Kaikeyi's eyes at that time Manthara's crooked frame appeared
handsome. This is not a joke; it is a subtle psychological phenomenon, "This is indeed
strange, Kaikeyi," said Manthara. "Is it for me to tell you how this
could be brought about? Have you really forgotten? Or, are you only pretending? But if you
want me to say it, I shall do so. Listen." And then she paused.
Kaikeyi, all impatient, cried: "Tell me, tell me. Somehow Bharata must be
crowned and Rama's coronation must
be stopped." "Very well,"
said Manthara, "I shall tell you. Do not be impatient. You remember how
your husband Dasaratha, long ago, fought against Sambara in the South? And you
were with him, were you not? Your husband went, did be not, to help Indra?
Sambara of Vaijayanti was too powerful for Indra, who sought Dasaratha's help.
Did not Dasaratha get wounded in battle and lose consciousness? Then, you drove
his chariot skilfully out of the battlefield, gently removed the arrows from his
body and revived him and saved his life. Have you forgotten all this? And what
did be tell you then? He told you in gratitude: 'Ask me for two boons. I shall
give you anything you want.' Then you answered: 'I shall ask for my boons
later. I want nothing now.' Then he promised, did he not, 'You will have your
two gifts whenever you want them'? You told me all this long ago yourself. You
may have forgotten it, but I have not. The time has arrived to get him to
redeem his promise. Demand that he should crown Bharata instead of Rama. This
will be the first of two gifts he promised. For the second gift, ask that Rama
be sent to the forest for fourteen years. Do not be frightened. Do not fear to
ask. Do not think it sinful to demand this. Do what I tell you. It is only if
Rama is sent into the forest that his hold on the people will relax and
disappear in course of time and your son's position will be secure. Go now and
lie down in the sulking room. Throw away your fine dress and your jewels, wear
an old sari and stretch yourself on the floor. When the King enters the room,
do not speak to him. Do not even look at him. I am sure he cannot endure your
sorrow. You will then have your way with him. The King will try to get round
you. Do not yield. He will offer many alternatives. Accept none of them. Insist
on the two boons. Be firm. Bound by his promise the King will finally come
round. I know how passionately he loves you. He would give up his life for your
sake. To please you he would jump into fire. Do what I tell you. Do not be
afraid. Unless Rama is sent to the forest, your wish will not be fulfilled.
Rama must be sent away. Only then the position you get for Bharata will be real
and lasting. Remember this and mind you do not weaken." Listening to this
exhortation, Kaikeyi's face shone with hope. "What a brain you have,
Manthara," exclaimed Kaikeyi. "You have been the saving of me."
And she jumped about in joy like a filly. Manthara repeated again
and again that Rama must be sent to the forest. "Do not delay. What needs
to be done, do at once. It is no good strengthening the tank-bund after the
waters have flown out. Remember what I have told you. Everything depends on
your firmness. Victory is yours if you
do not yield." Kaikeyi assured
Manthara of her firmness and forthwith entered the sulking room, removed her
jewels and scattered them on he floor, changed her clothes and stretched
herself on the floor. Then, assuming a broken voice, she said: "Manthara, you
will yourself carry the news to my father Kekaya. You will yourself tell him
one of two things: either that Bharata is to be crowned or that Kaikeyi is dead.
My dear,
dear Manthara!" Kaikeyi in her anger
believed that Dasaratha had really been treacherous to her. Even then,
stretched on the ground divesting herself of all ornaments and putting on a
face of grief and anger, she looked inexpressibly beautiful. So great was her
beauty. The sinful thought had
found lodgment in her mind and her whole nature was transformed. The fear that
she would lead a slave's life, and that even Bharata's life was in peril, had
got hold of her. For the first time in her life she cast aside the sense of shame
and sin and hardened her heart. Heaving heavy sighs, perspiring, and with eyes
closed, Kaikeyi, beautiful like a Naga goddess, unbraided her hair and lay on
the floor with dishevelled tresses and sprawling like a bird shot down by a
hunter. The flowers and shining jewels, which once adorned her person, lay
scattered in the dark room like stars in the midnight sky. Having dismissed the
Assembly and given orders for the due celebration of the coronation ceremony,
Dasaratha, relieved of care and wishing to relax, sought the apartments of his
favorite consort. He had decided on the coronation of Rama after receiving the
approval of all those who had a right to be consulted and he felt happy and
free, as after laying down a heavy burden. He entered Kaikeyi's
chamber to tell her the happy news and spend in pleasant talk the night before
the coronation. The junior queen's residence was a beautiful palace with lovely
gardens and tanks, birds playing in the water and peacocks dancing with tails
spread out and trees resplendent with bright flowers. In Dasaratha's happy mood
it appeared unusually beautiful that night. Like the full moon
rising brightly before an eclipse, without knowing of the eclipse that lies in
wait for her, the poor old King entered Kaikeyi's dwelling with a beaming face.
The incense pots and drinks were in their usual places but he did not see the
Queen whom he was eager to meet. Of all his consorts
Kaikeyi was the one whose company he sought for joyous relaxation from all
cares of state, for she never interfered in public affairs, and always waited
for him at the entrance and welcomed him with a warm embrace. But, today, she
was nowhere to be found. The King was perplexed.
He went around and looked in vain for her in all her favorite haunts thinking
that she was playing a sweet game of hide and seeks. He did not find her. This
sort of thing had never happened before! He asked a maidservant where the Queen
was. Folding her hands in
reverence, the girl said: "Lord, the Queen is angry. She is in the inner
chamber." The surprised King
entered the room. And he saw a sight which amazed and distressed him, for there
she lay on the bare floor, with draggled robes and disheveled hair, like one in
mortal pain. She seemed too full of anguish even to look at him as he entered. The poor guileless
King, all unconscious of having
given any cause for offence, behaved with the doting fondness of an old husband
and seating himself by her on the floor stroked her hair and strove to console
her with loving words and caresses: "What has come
over you? Are you ill? Do you feel any pain? Have I not the best doctors in the
land? I shall send for them at once. They can cure any malady. Do not be afraid." Kaikeyi sighed heavily,
but would not speak. The King proceeded:
"Was anyone in the palace guilty of discourteous behavior? Tell me and I
shall punish him. Did anyone slight you or was there anything you wanted which
I neglected to give you? Tell me." In this way, he
mentioned faults that might have occurred in the running of a big house and
asked her what the matter was and why she was upset. Kaikeyi paid no attention
to his questions and was mute like one possessed. The King begged her
more importunately: "State your wish. It shall be done. Do you want anyone
punished? I shall punish him. Do you want anyone freed from punishment? I shall
free him, even if he be a murderer. You know my absolute authority, I can give
and I can take, as I please. Anything, to anyone, I can do what I wish. Ask
me anything and it shall be done at once." Kaikeyi sat up. The
King was pleased. And she began: "No one slighted or dishonored me. But
there is something which you can do and you must do it for my sake. Give me your
word that you will fulfil my desire. Then I shall tell you what it is." Hearing this, the
unsuspecting old man was filled with joy. Possessing absolute powers, he had no
doubt that he could fulfil her wishes whatever they were, and so boldly and
joyously he said: "Well, Kaikeyi, tell me your wish. It shall be done. I
swear it. I swear it on all I love most on you, the dearest among women, and on
Rama, dearest to me among men! I swear in the name of
Rama: Whatever you desire, I shall do, I promise, I swear." Guileful wickedness and
trustful misfortune were reaching the climax in their unequal encounter. The
King's swearing in the name of Rama filled Kaikeyi with supreme delight. She
was now sure that she had won, for the King would never break a promise coupled
with that beloved name. "Do you promise?
Very well!" she exclaimed. "Swear again in the name of Rama that you
will do what I wish without fail. Swear
it!" The King said: "My
beloved queen, I promise. I swear it on Rama. Whatever you wish I shall do.
This is my sworn word." At this stage, as she
thought of the tremendousness of her intended request, Kaikeyi's heart misgave
her and she feared that on hearing it her horrorstricken husband would exclaim:
'God forbid! No oath or promise is strong enough to justify so heinous a sin!'
and recoil from her with abhorrence. She stood erect and
with folded hands, turning in the four directions, invoked in a solemn voice
the heavenly powers to witness and confirm the oath: "Oh, Ye Gods! You
have heard and witnessed the promise given to me by my husband. Sun, Moon and
Planets, you are my holy witnesses. Ye, Five Elements! You have heard the
promise. He who has never broken his word, my husband, has sworn to do my wish.
Bear witness to this." Dasaratha was looking
at her with hungry, joyous eyes. She knew her man and she began boldly:
"Do you remember, King, how, when long ago in the field of battle you were
about to lose your life, I drove your chariot in the dark night, took you out
of the battlefield, removed the arrows from your body and comforted and revived
you? When you came out of your faint, you said something, did you not? You
said: 'You have restored to me the life which my foes had taken from me. I
shall give you any two gifts you ask.' Then I said: 'I want nothing now. It is
joy enough now for me that you are alive. I shall ask for my gifts
later.' Do you remember this?" The King answered:
"Yes, I do remember this. Ask for your two gifts. You shall have them
now." Kaikeyi said:
"Remember you have made a vow. You have given a pledge. You have sworn in
the name of Rama. The gods and the five elements have witnessed your promise. I
shall state my wishes. Your ancestors never broke their word. Prove yourself
their worthy descendant by being true to the word you have given. With the
preparations now afoot for the coronation, crown my son Bharata. This is my
first wish. The second boon that I demand is, send your son Rama to live in the
Dandaka forest for fourteen years. Remember your solemn vow that you cannot
break. The good fame of your great dynasty is in your hands." Dasaratha was
thunder-struck. When his mind resumed
its function, he doubted the reality of what had happened. "Could it be
other than a hideous dream? Or the phantasmagoria of a disordered brain? Or the
sudden materialisation of the sins of some past birth called up for my
chastisement? I am certainly the victim of an illusion. I cannot believe this
to be reality." Unable to stand the
confused agony of shapeless terrors, he closed his eyes and became unconscious.
Opening his eyes a little later, they fell on Kaikeyi and he trembled like a
stag at the sight of a tiger. He sat up on the floor
and moaned, swaying helplessly this
side and that like a cobra held by the spell of a potent charm. Again he
swooned. After a long interval,
be recovered his senses and, with eyes turned to his tormentor and inflamed
with helpless anger, cried out: "O wicked ogress! Destroyer of my dynasty!
What harm has Rama done to you? Has he not looked upon you as his own mother? I
thought you were a woman. I now see you are a venomous serpent brought from far
away and cherished in my bosom only to sting me to death!" Kaikeyi was unmoved and
spoke not a word. The King went on:
"On what pretext can I banish Rama, whom all the people love and praise? I
may lose Kausalya and survive. I may lose the pure-minded Sumitra and survive.
But if I lose Rama, I cannot live thereafter. Without water, without sunlight,
I may live for a while, but never without Rama. Expel from your mind this
sinful thought. With my head bowed at your feet, I beg of you. Have you not
said many a time, 'Two dear sons I have. And of them Rama, the elder, is dearer
to me'? In deciding to crown Rama, what have I done but carry out in action
your unspoken wish? Why then do you demand these cruel boons? No, no, it cannot
be really that you mean this. You are only testing me to find out if I indeed
love your son Bharata. Do not, through a great sin, destroy our famous line of Kings." Even then Kaikeyi spoke
no word, but her eyes blazed scornful anger. The King continued:
"Till this day you have done nothing to cause me sorrow, never spoken an
unworthy word. Who has corrupted you now? I cannot believe that this evil
thought is your own. How often have you told me, my dear, that, noble as
Bharata is, Rama is nobler still? Is it the same Rama that you now want to be
sent to the forest? How can he dwell in the forest? How can you even entertain
the thought of his going away into the wilderness infested by ferocious beasts?
How lovingly has Rama treated you and served you! How can you forget all this
and steel your heart and utter the words, 'Send him to the forest'? What fault
has he committed? Of the hundreds of women in the palace, has anyone ever
uttered a word against his honor or virtue? The whole world loves him for his
great and good qualities. How did you alone among so many find cause to dislike
him? Is not Rama like Indra himself? Is not his face radiant with goodness and
spiritual light like a rishi's? The whole world praises his truthfulness and
friendliness, his learning and wisdom, his heroism and humility. No one has
heard a harsh word from his lips. How can I, his father, say to him 'Son, go to
the forest'? This can never be. Have mercy on me, an old man nearing the end of
his days. Kaikeyi, ask for anything else in this kingdom, ask for everything
else, and I will give. With folded hands, I beg you, do not send me to Yama.
Clinging to your feet I beg you, I beg you humbly, save Rama! Save me from
sin!" To the King thus
struggling in a sea of grief, pitiless Kaikeyi spoke cruel words: "King, if having
promised the boons you regret it and will be forsworn, what sort of king would
you be and what right would you have to speak of satya and dharma? How can you
face other kings? Will you shamelessly confess to them, 'Yes, Kaikeyi saved me
from death and I gave her a promise. Later, I was sorry I gave it and I broke
it'? What else could you tell them? All monarchs will shun you as a disgrace to
their order! And common people will laugh in scorn at their rulers and say,
'Kings break promises even when given to their queens. Do not expect kings to
keep their word.' Do you not know that Saibya, to redeem the pledge he gave to
a bird, cut the very flesh off his bones and gave it away? Have you not heard
of Alarka who plucked his eyes out to keep his word? The sea stays within its
limits and does not overflow the land, because it feels bound by its agreement.
Do not violate your solemn pledge. Follow the path of your royal ancestors. O,
I fear that you, their unworthy descendant, will forsake dharma; you will crown
Rama and you will dally with Kausalya. What do you care what happens to dharma?
What do you care what happens to satya? If you deny me the gifts you promised
on oath, I shall this very night drink poison and end my life. You may anoint
and install Rama, but before your eyes, O, promise breaker, I shall be dead.
This is certain. And I swear it in the name of Bharata. It will be well and
good if you fulfil your promise and banish Rama to the forest. Else, I shall end my
life." With this firm
declaration, Kaikeyi stopped. Dasaratha stood speechless, staring at his
pitiless wife. Was this lovely creation really Kaikeyi or a demon? Then, like a
huge tree felled by a forester with his axe, the King shook and toppled down
and lay stretched unconscious on the floor in pitiful ruin. Regaining his senses
after a while, he spoke in a low voice: "Kaikeyi, who has corrupted your
mind to see me dead and our race destroyed? What evil spirit has possessed you
and makes you dance in this shameless fashion? Do you really think that Bharata
will agree to be king after sending Rama to the forest? He never will, and you
know it. Can I possibly bear to tell Rama to go to the forest? Will not the
kings of the world despise me, saying, 'This uxorious old dotard has banished
his eldest son, the best of men'? Don't you see that they would laugh at me? It
is easy enough for you to say 'Send Rama away to the forest,' but can Kausalya
or I survive his departure? And have you thought of Janaka's daughter?
Would it not kill her to hear that Rama is to go away to the Dandaka forest?
Cheated by your face I thought you a woman and took you for my wife. Like a
deluded man, tempted by the flavor of poisoned wine, I was lured by your beauty
into marrying you. Like a deer ensnared by a hunter, I am caught in your net
and perish. Like a drunken Brahmana in the streets I shall be universally
despised. What boons have you demanded? Boons that forever will taint the fame
of our dynasty with the ignominy of lustful dotage that drove an old fool to
the banishment of a beloved and peerless son. If I tell Rama to go to the
forest, yes, he will cheerfully obey and go to the forest. Myself and then
Kausalya and Sumitra will die. How will you enjoy the kingdom thus secured, O
sinful, foolish woman? And will Bharata agree to your plans? If he does agree,
he shall not perform my obsequies. O shameless woman, my life's enemy, kill
your husband and attain widowhood to enjoy the kingdom with your son. O, how
sinful are women and how pitiless! No, no. Only this woman is cruel. Why should
I insult other women? What a pity that my Bharata should have this monster for
a mother! No, I can never do this. Kaikeyi, I fall at your feet and
beg you. Have some pity on me!" The King rolled on the
ground and writhed in agony. What shall we say of this scene? A great emperor,
famous for his long and glorious reign, crying and rolling on the ground,
clasping his wife's feet and begging for mercy. It was like Yayati, thrown back
to earth when, his accumulated merit exhausted, he was ejected from Swarga. No
matter how humbly he begged, Kaikeyi was obstinate and said firmly: "You
have yourself boasted that you are a truth speaker. But now having sworn before
the gods that you have granted a boon, you attempt to retract your promise. If
you break your word, I shall surely kill myself and that, will not add greatly
to the glory of your dynasty, of which you are so proud!" "Very well,
then," said Dasaratha. "Let Rama go to the forest and let me die.
Having destroyed me and my race, a jubilant widow, you will gain your wish and
seek joy in your life!" Again, after a while,
the old King cried: "What good you will gain by sending Rama to the
forest, I fail to see. The only result will be that the whole world will
despise you. After many years of prayer and penance, I had Rama by the grace of
God. And him I now banish into the forest, I, most wretched of men!" Lifting his eyes to the
sky, he said: "Oh night! Stay on. For when you pass and day dawns, what
shall I do? What shall I say to those eager crowds, who, full of love for Rama,
will be awaiting the coronation festivities? O heavens! Stay still for my sake
with your stars! No, no. Stay not, for then I must keep looking at this sinful
woman. Depart at once, O night, so that I may escape this face." Thus delirious and
conscious by turns, the poor old man suffered agony, a king who had reigned for
sixty thousand years. "Pity me,
Kaikeyi," he said. "Forget the harsh things I uttered .in anger. I
beg you in the name of the love you bore me. You may take it that I have given
the kingdom to you. It is yours. And you can give it with your own hands to
Rama and see that the coronation goes through. The Raja Sabha has decided and I
have announced to the elders and to Rama that his coronation is to take place
tomorrow. Let not this announcement become false. Have pity on me. Give the
kingdom as you own to Rama. The fame of this magnanimous gift will last as long
as the world endures. My wish, the people's wish, the Elders' wish, Bharata's
wish, they are all that Rama should be crowned. Do this, my love, my
life." Again the King clung to the feet
of Kaikeyi. But she answered:
"Have done with this foolery, see that you do not break your word and
drive me to keep mine, and kill myself. It is useless for you to try to
evade." The King said:
"With due rites and in the presence of Fire, I took your hand and called
you wife. Here and now I renounce you, and with you the son you bore. Night is
gone; the dawn is near and the morning will see not Rama's coronation, but my
funeral." Kaikeyi cut him short: "You are prattling vainly. Send at
once for Rama. Let him come here. Tell him the kingdom is Bharata's and he
should go to the forest. Keep your promise. Do
not waste time." Dasaratha groaned:
"Very well. Let me at last set eyes on Rama's face. My death is near. Let
Rama come. Let me see his face before I die. Tied down by dharma this old fool is
helpless." And again he fell
unconscious. POOR Dasaratha was in
extreme agony, pulled by natural affection on one side and by the moral
obligation to fulfil a pledge on the other. He had fondly hoped that Kaikeyi
would relent and that somehow the conflict of duties would be resolved. But now
he saw that this was not to be. He had still one faint
hope: "Rama is in no way bound by my promises and pledges. Strong as he is
in people's love and in his peerless prowess, he may disregard my promise, and
stand on his own rights. But I cannot conceive his doing so, for my slightest wish
has always been sacred to him. Yet, if by some chance he did so, it would save
the situation." In the confusion and
anguish of his heart, the old King consoled himself with such false hopes,
forgetting that Rama would never think of disregarding his father's promise and
that filial obedience was a fundamental rule of his life. But the false hopes did
not persist long. He felt that his death was near. In this agonising conflict
of duties, death would be a relief, and save him from the disruption and sorrows
to come. As death drew near, his
mind recalled past events. He remembered a great sin committed by him in youth.
He felt that he was now reaping what he then sowed: "I killed the Rishi's
son and brought grief to his aged parents. How could this sin be wiped off
except by my suffering the anguish of losing a dear son?" Thus Dasaratha resigned himself to his fate as a just
retribution for the wrong he had once done. He concluded that be
had no alternative but to fulfil his word to his cruel wife and left the
ordering of things entirely to Kaikeyi. Day dawned. The hour
fixed for the coronation was approaching. The procession of Vasishtha and his
disciples carrying the golden vessels containing the waters of holy rivers was
coming towards the palace. The great street was
decorated and was crowded with eager men and women. They rejoiced to see
Vasishtha and his disciples march to the palace with the holy waters, and the
paraphernalia of installation. As they
saw the honey, curds, clarified butter, fried rice, sacred grass, flowers,
maidens, elephants, horses and chariots, the white umbrella, the bull, the
horse and the tiger-skin seat moving to the accompaniment of music from many
instruments, the people made loud and jubilant acclamations which filled the
air. Vasishtha, approaching
the palace gate, saw Sumantra and said to him: "Pray, go in at once and
inform the King that the people are waiting and all preparations are
complete." Sumantra approached the
King's bedchamber and chanting the morning hymn, conveyed Vasishtha's message.
"Oh King," he said,
"arise from slumber to the hymn of your charioteer as the king of the gods
does to Matali's waking songs. May all the gods be gracious unto you. The
elders, generals, and chief citizens are waiting for your darshan. The goddess
of night has withdrawn. The day's work awaits your ordering. Oh King of kings,
be pleased to rise. Holy Vasishtha and his men are waiting." At that moment the King
was speechless with agony, but Kaikeyi boldly answered for him and told
Sumantra: "The King spent the night talking of Rama's coronation and had
no sleep. So now he is in a slumber. Go at once and bring Rama." Thus the clever woman
sent Sumantra to fetch Rama to convey the King's command. She knew that
Dasaratha had agreed but had not the strength to do what had to be done. Hence
Kaikeyi resolved that she would herself do what needed to be done. Sumantra went to Rama's
palace. Sita and Rama were getting ready for coronation. Then Sumantra gave to
Rama the message that the King and Queen Kaikeyi wanted his presence. Rama
hastened to obey. The unexpected delay
and these strange goings and comings roused doubts, but no one dared to talk of
them. The men concerned hoped
that somehow things would turn out right and went on with their allotted work. The streets were
brightly decorated; the great hour was approaching as in the Queen's chamber
strange and sinister events were developing. "Why this long
delay?" the people wondered. "Perhaps the preliminary rites are more
elaborate than we had thought." The crowds in the
streets grew bigger and bigger and more impatient. Sumantra
accompanied Rama to Kaikeyi's palace,
treading the way with difficulty through the throng. Rama entered the Queen's
apartment. As he stepped over the threshold, he started as if he had set his
foot upon a snake, for he saw with awe-struck amazement his father lying on the
bare floor in anguish. The King evidently had been struck down with some great
sorrow. His face was like a parijata blossom wilted in the sun. He touched his father's
feet and paid the same filial worship to Kaikeyi. Dasaratha uttered in a
low voice the name of Rama and stopped. He could speak no more. He could not
look straight into the face of Rama. Rama was perplexed and
filled with apprehension at the sight of his father, lying there unable to
speak, in the grip of some great agony. What it could be Rama could not even
guess. He turned to
Kaikeyi and said: "Mother, this is
indeed strange. No matter how angry he was, my father would speak sweetly to
me. Have I without knowing it offended him in any matter? Has some sudden
sickness struck him down? Has someone spoken rudely to him? Do tell me what has
happened. I can bear this suspense no longer." Bold Kaikeyi seized the
chance and said: "The King is angry with no one. There is nothing wrong
with his health. But there is something in his mind which he is afraid to tell
you. That is all. He is afraid to say it to you, lest you should feel hurt. That
is why he is silent. Once upon a time, pleased with me he offered, and I
accepted, the gift to two boons. Now, like an uncultured person, the King
regrets he did so. Is this worthy of him? Is it not unbecoming of a King to
pledge his word and then regret it? You have the power to fulfil his promise,
but he fears even to tell you of it and is thinking of violating it. Would it
be right? If you assure him that he need not be anxious about your attitude and
that he should keep his word at all costs, you will give him the needed
strength to behave righteously. You must give him the help he needs. The thing
is in your hands. I shall tell you what it is, but after you promise me
that you will help the King to fulfil his
pledge." Rama, saddened at the
thought that he should in any way be the occasion of distress to his father,
said to Kaikeyi: "Mother, am I indeed the cause of all this trouble? I do
not deserve that you should have any doubts about me. If my father asks me to
jump into the fire, I shall not hesitate to do it. If he asks me to drink
poison, I shall drink it without hesitation. You know this. You know well
enough that at his bidding I would drown myself in the sea. Here mother, I give
you my solemn promise that I shall fulfil the King's promise to you, and I
never break my word." When Rama uttered these
words, Kaikeyi exulted, for she knew she had conquered. The King for his part
was in despair, seeing that all escape was now barred. Thereupon the pitiless
Kaikeyi uttered these terrible words: "Rama, your words are worthy of you.
What higher duty has a son than helping fulfilment of the word his father has
given? Now I shall let you know your father's promise to me. When in the battle
with Sambara your father was wounded, I rescued and revived him. Your father in
gratitude for having been rescued by me when grievously wounded gave me two
boons to be claimed and specified when I choose. I have claimed and specified
them now. They are that Bharata should be anointed Yuvaraja and that you should
be sent away this very day to the Dandaka forest, to remain in exile for
fourteen years. You have sworn solemnly to carry out his promise to me, and now
it is your duty to prove true to your pledged word. If you find right conduct
as hard as your father did, that is another matter. Otherwise, listen to what I
say. It is for you now to relinquish the installation and to go out into exile
with matted locks and hermit weeds, leaving the preparations now ready to serve
for Bharata's
installation." When she uttered these
cruel words the King writhed in agony, but Rama heard her untroubled. Kaikeyi
beheld a miracle. There was not the slightest sign of disappointment or sorrow
in Rama's face. Smiling, the Prince said: "Is that all, mother? Surely,
the King's promise must be fulfilled. My hair shall be twisted and I shall wear
the bark and I shall go this very day to the forest." Kaikeyi spoke prophetic
words when she said Rama's dutifulness would bring him glory undying. That
glory will continue as long as the Himalaya stands and the waters of Ganga flow
and as long as the ocean-waves beat on the solid earth. Rama said to Kaikeyi,
in unperturbed tones: "I am not in the least annoyed. Would I not be happy
to give anything to Bharata? Even if no one asked me, I would cheerfully give
him my all. And how can I hold back a moment when my father commands it? What
pains me a little is that father should have entertained any doubt about my
willingness. Why should he have hesitated to tell me what he wanted and left it
to you to say it to me? Am I not his son, bound to do his behest? What glory or
what joy can I look for except to make good his word? How did I deserve it that
my father should avert his face from me and refrain from speaking loving words
to me? My grievance, if at all,
is that he did not send for me straight and give me his command. I shall go to
the forest this very day, with no regret. Send swift messengers at once to
fetch Bharata home." The Prince's face
glowed like a sacrificial fire bursting into flame as the ghee is poured into
it. Kaikeyi felt glad at her apparent success. She could not look into the
future and its sorrow, for what greater grief can come to a woman than the
scorn of her own son? Greed deceived her into folly. It prevented her from understanding
aright the mind of her own son Bharata. Like a captive elephant
hemmed in on all sides, Dasaratha lay in anguish. With needless harshness,
Kaikeyi hurried Rama saying, "Do not wait for the King to speak and
prolong the affair." At this Rama said:
"Mother, you have not, it seems, known me. I value no pleasure higher than
to honor my father's pledge. Let Bharata carry the burden of kingship, and look
after our aged father. It will indeed give me the greatest joy." Dasaratha, silent till
now though listening intently, moaned aloud. Rama touched the feet of his
father and Kaikeyi and hurried out of the chamber. Lakshmana had been
standing outside. He knew what had happened and with eyes red with anger he
followed Rama. On the way Rama saw the
vessels holding the consecrated water for the coronation. He walked round them
in worship. With calm majesty lie left behind the white umbrella and other
royal insignia and advised the crowds to disperse. The Prince, in whom desire
had been vanquished, went to the house of Queen Kausalya to give her the news
and take her blessings before departing to the forest. Readers should exercise
their imagination and build up in their own hearts the passions and sorrows of
the persons figuring in this epic. Dasaratha's anguish, Rama's cheerful
renunciation and the greedy passion of Kaikeyi which smothered all noble
impulses these are familiar phases in our daily lives. Valmiki and Kamban saw
with the vision of genius and made the events in Rama's story live again in
song. We too should see them through imagination. This is the meaning of the
tradition that wherever Rama's tale is told Hanuman himself joins the gathering
and reverently stands listening with tear-filled eyes. May everyone that reads
this chapter receive by Rama's grace and strength to bear the sorrows that have
to be faced in life. RAMA went to Queen
Kausalya's dwelling. Many visitors were assembled there, eagerly awaiting the
coronation. In the innermost apartment, the Queen, clad in white silk, was
before the sacrificial fire invoking blessings on her son. As soon as Rama
entered, she embraced him and showed him, who she thought, was to become the
Yuvaraja, to a specially raised seat. "Mother, this seat
is now too high for me," said Rama. "I am a hermit and should sit on
grass spread on the floor. I have brought you news, which may sadden you.
Listen, and give me your blessings." And he told her briefly
what had happened: "The King wishes to give the crown to Bharata. His
command is that I should spend fourteen years in the Dandaka forest. I must
leave today, mother, and I come for your blessings before I go." When Kausalya heard
this, she fell on the ground like a plantain tree suddenly cut down. Lakshmana
and Rama gently raised her. She clung to Rama and
cried: "Is my heart made of stone or iron that I still live?" Lakshmana could not
bear the sight of the Queen's grief. Angrily he spoke: "This old King has
pronounced on Rama a doom that is reserved for the most wicked evil-doers. What
sin or crime has Rama committed? Not even his worst enemy could find any fault
in Rama. The doting old man has lost his senses over his young wife and is not
fit to be king any more. How can a king listen to a woman and violate dharma?
Even your enemies, O! Rama, when they look at you begin to love you, but this
dotard of a father sends you to the forest. Look here, brother, let us together
throw out this King and take charge of the kingdom. Who will dare oppose us? I
shall make an end of anyone who dares. Only give me leave and I shall do this
single-handed. A young brother to become King and you to go to the forest! The
world would laugh at this absurdity. Don't consent to this. I at any rate won't
stand this. I shall put down all opposition and see that you rule the kingdom
without delay or hindrance. Never doubt but I have strength to do it. Instead
of the sun rising, a great darkness has descended upon the land this morning,
for when we were expecting your coronation the King sentences you to
banishment! In the face of such injustice there is no use being nice and
polite. I cannot stand this. I must do my duty. Mother, now you will see the
strength of my arm and so will you, brother." Lakshmana's words were
some solace to Kausalya, but yet this strange talk of ousting the King and
seizing the throne frightened her. She said: "Rama,
consider well what Lakshmana says. Don't go to the forest. If you go away, how
can I stay here all alone among enemies? I too shall go with you." Rama had listened in
silence to Lakshmana's outburst, for it was wise to let the pent up passion
find outlet in words. Then, turning to Kausalya he said: "Mother, let
there be no talk of anyone going with me to the forest. It is your duty to stay
here serving the King and sharing the sorrow that has come to him in his old
age. How can the crowned Queen of an Emperor wander with me like a widow in the
forest? This cannot be. I shall return after my term of forest life. It is my
duty to fulfil my father's word. It is all the same to me, whether it is just
or unjust, spontaneous or extorted by force or fraud. If I fail in this primary
duty, I can gain no satisfaction or good name through any amount of wealth or
power. Lakshmana, your proposals are quite wrong. I know your great strength
and I have no doubt that you can vanquish and destroy all opponents and secure
for me the kingdom. I know also your affection for me. But the way in which you
propose to use it is not worthy of the dynasty to which we belong. Our highest
duty is to fulfil our father's word. If we fail in that, no other achievement
can make up for it." Rama tried to console
both his mother and his brother, but Lakshmana's anger could not be easily put
down. Perhaps it could have been, if he himself, not Rama, were the sufferer.
But it was Rama who was the victim of this cruel injustice. And so Lakshmana
writhed in anger like a wounded cobra. Rama took him apart, made him sit down
and tried to calm him: "Lakshmana, are
you not my other self, my very soul in another body? Listen to me. You are
courageous and strong. Control your anger and grief on my account. Don't allow
these evil spirits to possess you. Holding fast to dharma, let us convert our present
disgrace into a great joy. Let us forget all about the coronation, and think
worthily as becomes our race. Consider our father's condition. Our hearts
should go out to him in sympathy, for he is stricken with a great sorrow.
Whatever be the reason, he gave a promise and if he should break it, he would
be committing a shameful sin which would besmirch and blot out all his great
and glorious deeds. He is heartbroken at the wrong he feels he has done me. But
I do not feel it a wrong at all, for a king must keep his word and a son must
obey his father. You should show that you too are free from any sense of
injury. Only so can we bring him mental relief. He gave us the life that we
hold and we should give him peace of mind. He is afraid about the other world. We
should free him from this fear. So far, we have never given him cause for
sorrow or dissatisfaction. Now we have become the cause of a great fear in his
mind about what is to happen to him in the other world. We can easily relieve
him. Instead of doing this, are we to add to his troubles? For this reason my
mind has altogether turned away from the coronation and is intent on the
journey to the forest. My sole desire now is to go to the forest and see that
Bharata is crowned. This would please me best. If I delay, Kaikeyi will grow
suspicious. Hence I should go to the forest this very day and bring peace to
her mind. Rid of the fear of the sin of breaking a promise and assured of my
willing and cheerful acceptance of his command, our father will be happy. And
we should not be angry with Kaikeyi either. Has she not been kind to us all
these years? That she should suddenly conceive this idea is surely the working
of fate. We should not blame her for it. One proposes something and fate
decides otherwise. In this,
Kaikeyi is but a passive instrument in the hand of fate. Our little mother will
have to bear the grievous burden of the world's blame, but our love for her
should remain the same as ever. If, before this, there had been evil in her
thought, her conduct would have shown it. There is no doubt that some higher
force has made her say suddenly and harshly, 'Rama, go to the forest.'
Otherwise how could a high-minded woman who so far looked upon us as her own
children now behave so brazenly before her husband? Who can oppose destiny?
Even steadfast sages have swerved suddenly from their tapas. How can poor
Kaikeyi hope to resist fate? Let us
resolve firmly to change this sorrow into joy. That would be a proof of our
nobility and courage, Lakshmana. With the blessings of my mothers and elders, I
shall go to the forest. Bring here the water, the water from the Ganga for the
coronation. I shall use it for ablution before departing for the forest. No.
no, that water belongs to the State and is intended for the coronation. How can
we touch it? We shall go to holy Ganga ourselves and fetch the water for my
ablution. Brother, be not sad thinking of kingdom or wealth; life in the forest
will be my highest joy." So Rama revealed to his
brother his inmost thoughts. In these passages Valmiki uses the word daiva. In
Sanskrit literature, daivam means fate. Daivam, dishtam, bhagyam, niyati and
vidhi are all words conveying the idea of something unexpected and
inexplicable. Because of the belief in God as the Prime Cause, a natural
confusion arises between fate and God's will. What Rama said to Lakshmana on
the present occasion does not mean that he thought that the gods contrived
Kaikeyi's action for their own benefit. Rama offered no more than the usual
consolation: "It is the work of fate. Do not grieve. No one is to blame
for this." In the Kamban Ramayana
also, addressing his brother 'raging like the fire of dissolution,' Rama says:
"It is not the river's fault that the bed is dry. Even so, my going hence
is not the King's fault, nor Queen Kaikeyi's nor her son's. The wrong is the
work of fate. Why should one be angry then?" This explanation calmed
Lakshmana for a while. But soon his anger boiled up again. He said: "Very
well, then. This is the work of fate. Fate, I grant, is the cause of our
step-mother's sudden folly. And I am not angry with her. But are we, on that
account, to sit still and do nothing? It is Kshatriya dharma to overcome evil
and establish justice. A hero does not bow down before fate. Having announced
Rama's coronation by beat of drum to the town and country, the treacherous King
invokes some old forgotten boon and orders you to go to the forest. Is it manly
to call this fate and obey it meekly? Only cowards go down under fate. Heroes
should oppose and vanquish it. I am no weakling to yield to fate. You will see
today the might of a hero matched against fate. I shall tame the mad elephant
fate and make it serve me. I shall banish to the forest those who conspired to
banish you. If you wish to visit the forest for a change, you can do so later.
The proper time for it will be when you have reigned as king for many years and
then entrusted the crown to your sons. That was the way of our ancestors. If
anyone questions your kingship now, I stand here to annihilate him. Are these
two shoulders merely for beauty? This bow, these arrows and this sword hanging
on my side are they mere decorations? Or do you think they are theatrical
equipment put on for show? I await your orders. Give me the word and test my
prowess." Rama gently pacified
Lakshmana's rage which was flaming up into a conflagration. "As long as
our parents are alive," said Rama, "it is our duty to obey them. I
cannot dream of disobeying my father. It is our prime duty to do his bidding
and enable him to fulfil his pledge. What joy is there in getting a kingship after
insulting our parents and slaying Bharata, the embodiment of dharma?" And he wiped with his
hand the tears from Lakshmana's eyes. When Rama did this, Lakshmana grew calm
for the affectionate magic of Rama's hand could work wonders. What took place in the
inner apartments of the palace was not yet known to the town-people. But Rama
for his part lost no time in preparing for forest life. He went to Queen
Kausalya to receive her blessings before leaving the city. Kausalya said to him
again: "How can I stay in Ayodhya after you are gone? It is best that I go
with you to the forest." Of course, she knew that her duty was to serve
her husband in his old age and share his sorrow in Ayodhya. And yet her mind
was now so confused by grief that she did not see things clearly. But Rama would not hear
of it and put her in mind of her duty to be with the heart-stricken old King in
his sad solitude. She recognised the
justice of this counsel. She gave him her benedictions in sweet words diluted with
the salt of broken tears. "Do as your father has decreed and return in
glory." Rama put heart in her with a smile saying: "The fourteen
years will pass quickly and you will see me back." The poet says that, as
Rama received his mother's benedictions, his bright face glowed with added
effulgence. How truly he pictures the sublime loveliness that comes of a great
renunciation that illumines one's being as with an Inner Light! We saw that Rama left
Sita and went to the King in answer to the message brought by Sumantra. Sita
was expecting Rama to return in a chariot with the royal umbrella, followed by
a great retinue. But now she saw Rama return alone, unattended, with none of
the royal insignia. And she noted on his face the glow of some fixed resolve.
Rama was thinking as he came how he could break to his beloved the news that
his father had decreed that he was to go to forest. "Something
troubles the mind of my lord," thought Sita, "but what can anything
matter so long as there is our love?" And she asked him: "What is the
matter? Why do you look so strangely?" Rama told the story
briefly and then added: "Princess, my love, I can well imagine your sorrow
at having to part from me and stay here. Janaka's daughter requires not my
guidance to her duty. Be thoughtful of the comfort of the King and the three
Queens, your mothers. Do not expect any better treatment than that given to the
other princesses in the palace. Be respectful to Bharata who will be ruler and
guard against any offence to his feelings. Your love for me, I trust, will not
grow any less during this absence. I shall return from forest after these
fourteen years. Till then do not neglect customary rites and ceremonies. Mother
Kausalya in her sorrow will need your attentive care. Bharata and Satrughna are
dear to me. You will look upon them as your brothers. Conduct yourself as
befits your royal race and your own nature. Avoid extolling me so as to give
possible offence to other good men. I must go to the forest today. Keep your mind steady and
calm." When Sita heard this
unexpected speech, her love for Rama manifested itself as anger that he should
for a moment conceive that she could consent to part from him and live in
comfort in the palace while he was a homeless wanderer in pathless forests.
"A fine speech you have made, knower of dharma. It is to me a strange
doctrine that a wife is diverse from her husband and that his duty is not hers,
and that she has no right to share in it. I can never accept it. I hold that
your fortunes are mine, and if Rama has to go to the forest, the command
includes Sita also, who is a part of him. I shall walk in front of you in the
forest ways and tread the thorns and the hard ground to make them smooth for
your feet. Do not think me obstinate. My father and mother have instructed me
in dharma. What you tell me is totally opposed to what they have taught me. To
go with you wherever you go, that is my only course. If you must go to the
forest today, then today I go with you. There is no room here for any discussion.
Do not think that I cannot bear forest life. With you by my side it will be a
joyous holiday. I shall not be a source of trouble to you. I shall eat fruit
and roots like you and I shall not lag behind as we walk. I have long wished to
go to the woods with you and rejoice in the sight of great mountains and
rivers. I shall spend the time most happily among the birds and flowers,
bathing in the rivers and doing the daily rites. Away from you, I do not care
for Heaven itself. I shall surely die if you leave me behind. I implore you to
take me with you. Have pity on me. Do not forsake me now." Beginning in anger, her
speech ended in sobs. Rama explained to Sita that life in the forest was not as
easy as she thought and set out at great length the difficulties and dangers
and again insisted that she should not think of accompanying him. Sita's eyes filled with
tears. "Tigers, lions, bears, snakes none of them will come near me. They
will flee from us at the sight of you. The sun, rain, wind and hunger and the
spikes and thorny shrubs you speak of, I shall endure them all cheerfully. I am
not in the least afraid, and on the other hand you may be certain life will
depart from this body if you leave me here and go." "When I was in
Mithila," she said, "the Brahmanas and astrologers told my mother
that I was destined to live in the forest for a while. Can I fulfil this
prediction alone in the forest? Here is the opportunity for me to fulfil it in
your company which will make the forest a garden of delight. For whom is forest
life unpleasant? Only to those men and women who have not controlled their
senses. You and I can be masters of our senses and miss nothing. I implore you,
put me not away from you, for parting from you is more cruel than death." There is a strength in
supreme love which defies reason and laughs at death itself. And Rama suffered himself to be persuaded,
partly because his love was great as hers and every passionate word she spoke
found ready lodgment in his heart, and partly because he was confident of his
ability to protect her. It was settled that Sita should accompany Rama to the
forest. She sent for the poor
and gave away all her belongings and prepared herself for life in the forest.
Lakshmana also decided to go with his brother and be of service to him in the
forest, and Rama had to agree. The three went to take leave of the aged King. In the streets and on
the balconies were crowds of people looking on. Through the windows and from
the terraces of mansions, men and women saw Rama and Lakshmana and the princess
proceeding on foot, like the poorest in the land. Filled with boundless
grief and indignation, the people said to one another: "What kind of a
King is this who sends so noble a prince to the forest? And their Sita walks a
princess that should command the service of the royal chariot. Can she bear the
heat and the rain of the forest? This is monstrous! We shall go then to the
forest too. Let us gather up all we have and get away to the forest with these
princes. The forest where Rama dwells shall be our Ayodhya. Let these houses
here henceforth deserted be infested with snakes and rats. Let Kaikeyi rule
over the ruins of Ayodhya. Wild beasts and vultures of the forest will come to
stay here. This will become a forest, and the forest will become Ayodhya."
Rama heard people
talking thus, but took no notice. At the entrance to Kaikeyi's palace, Rama saw
Sumantra seated sorrow fully aside in a corner. Rama tenderly spoke to him:
"The three of us have come to meet the King. Sumantra, crave leave for us
to enter his presence." Sumantra went, in
accordingly to announce them to the King. What a sight met him there! Like the
sun in eclipse, like an oven filled all over with ash, like a tank gone dry,
the King was stretched flat on the floor, his glory gone and his face shrunken
and distorted with anguish. Sumantra, his voice
trembling with grief and his hands clasped together, said: "The Prince
waits at the entrance and seeks audience to take your blessings before he gives
away all he has to the Brahmanas and starts for the Dandaka forest." The King bade Sumantra
let the Prince in. Rama came and bowed to
the King from a distance. As soon as he saw Rama, the King suddenly rose and
rushed with out stretched arms to embrace him, but dropped in a swoon before
reaching his son. Rama and Lakshmana
tenderly lifted him up and put him on the couch. "My Lord," said
Rama, "we have come to seek your leave to go to I the forest. Vaidehi and
Lakshmana too are going with me in spite of all I could do to make them desist.
Pray give us your benedictions and leave to depart." Dasaratha then said:
"Rama, I am bound by the boons that I have given to Kaikeyi. But you are
not so bound. Why do you not brush me aside and seize the kingdom by
force?" That had long been in
the King's mind as the best and only solution of this cruel problem and came
out now clearly in words. But Rama said: "I
have no desire for kingdom or power, father. May you reign for a thousand years
more. My heart is now set on going to the forest and I am even now in readiness
to start after receiving your blessing. When the fourteen years have passed I
shall return and tender obeisance." The King's faint hope,
it was now clear, must be abandoned. "My son! Bring glory to our line of
kings. Go, but come back unscathed. May danger flee from your path. Cling to
dharma. You are unshakable in resolution. Firm and unchangeable is your will.
But do not go away today. Spend but this night here with me. Let me fill my
eyes with the sight of you. You can go away at dawn. Like one handling a live
coal deceptively covered with ash, I gave the promise to Kaikeyi not knowing
what was in her mind. I am now helpless and caught in her net. And you say, 'I
shall fulfil my father's promise. I shall not let dishonor blot the name of my
father. I shall give up the kingdom and go to the forest.' Where in the world
can one find a son like unto you? I swear to you, I did not intend this great
wrong." Thus piteously spoke
the King. It was Dasharatha's wish to die without losing, even in his last
moments, the respect of Rama. "Father, send for
Bharata at once and fulfil the promise you have given to mother Kaikeyi. Do not
be troubled by the thought that you are doing me a wrong, for I had no desire
for the throne, and do not feel it a deprivation to be denied it. Untroubled by
grief or doubt, have Bharata crowned and give him your blessings. Cast all
grief aside. Shed no tears. Can the ocean dry up? So may you too not lose your
balance ever, great father. My sole wish is to make good the word you gave. If
I got all the wealth of the world, but falsify your word, what joy would that
be to me? I shall spend my time happily in the forest. Where but in the forests
can one find beauty or joy? Father, you are my God. I take it that it is God
that sends me to the forest. When the fourteen years are over, you will see me
again. Do not grieve. What profits it that I stay here a night longer and go
tomorrow? Time is made up of a succession of tomorrows and one day is just like
another. Inevitable sorrows do not become joys by postponement." "Well then, send
for the commanders," said the King to Sumantra, "and order them to
get ready the chariots, elephants, horses and foot soldiers, to go with Rama to
the forest. And along with the army send all the necessary stores for Rama to
live with the Rishis of the forest. Let there be nothing wanting in men, money
or things." Poor Dasaratha imagined
that he could make Rama's exile to the forest something like a royal tour
affording a pleasant change from routine and enlivened by exchange of gracious
hospitalities with the sylvan population. As he spoke Kaikeyi's
face paled with anger. She glowered at the King, and in a voice tremulous with
scornful wrath she said: "A good and
generous monarch surely! You will give Bharata this kingdom after squeezing out
of it all the good it holds, as one might offer in mockery an empty drinking
vessel to a man dying of thirst! What pleasure or glory will my son have in
ruling a deserted state?" Dasaratha groaned in
helpless chagrin and marveled at a cruelty that could stab a man already
crushed under an intolerable burden. Angry words rose from the mouths of those
around, for even the courtiers found this open heartlessness more than they
could suffer in silence. Rama put an end to all recriminations by saying he
would not agree to take paraphernalia incongruous with what was intended in forest
life. "Honored
Lord," he said, "what use have I, who am departing to the forest to
live on what sylvan nature yields, for an army or the glittering equipage of a
royal pageant? After gladly renouncing the throne, what use have I for its
restrains? Would it not be covetous folly, after having parted with the
elephant, to burden oneself with the ponderous chain? Father, I have cheerfully
relinquished my claim to the kingdom in favor of Bharata and his mother, and
with it all the incidents of royalty. For my fourteen years of forest life I
require nothing but bark garments such as Rishis wear and simple necessaries of
forest life such as spades and baskets."
Hardly had Rama spoken
these words when the unabashed Kaikeyi hastened to produce the forest dress!
She had kept it ready and gave it herself without a blush to Rama. Then and
there Rama dressed himself in bark. And in these garments be shone like a
Rishi. Lakshmana too changed into bark dress, while Dasaratha watched all this
in helpless anguish. Then Kaikeyi brought a
bark dress for Sita too. She received it and stood bewildered, for she had
never worn such garments before and did not know how to change into them. Approaching Rama, who
stood there resplendent with divine effulgence, Sita said shyly: "Pray
tell me, how does one put this thing on?" As Rama took up the bark dress
and, wrapping it over Sita's silk, made a knot over her shoulder, the
ladies-in-waiting wailed aloud and Dasaratha fell into a
swoon. When he regained
consciousness, he loudly reviled Kaikeyi, but she only smiled scornfully. She
surely was not responsible for Sita going to the forest. The princess sought
her own pleasure by going to the forest with her husband and would not be
dissuaded. Lowering his eyes as he
was leaving, Rama said: "Father, I leave behind my mother Kausalya,
blameless and tenderhearted lady, bereft of her son in her old age. This sudden
fate is bitter to her as death, but she consents to live only for your sake, to
share your sorrow and console you. She is incapable of harboring an unkind
thought towards anyone, and she has never before felt the pang of such poignant
parting. Be kind to her when I am no longer here and, when I return after my
long exile in the hope of putting my head on her feet, let me not hear that she
has died of sorrow." Thus Rama spoke, unable to bear the thought of his
mother's grief. As Rama went out speaking thus, Dasaratha could not endure the
sight and covered his face with his hands. AFTER Rama left his
father's presence with these words, the stricken King lay prostrated in
speechless sorrow, and it was some time before he could muster his faculties
sufficiently even to think. When he recovered some
strength, he muttered half unconsciously: "Surely I must in a previous
birth have inflicted hideous suffering to loving hearts. I must have torn
calves from their mothers, children from their parents, husbands from their
wives. How else could I suffer thus? And death does not come when we want it.
And I have to endure the torture of always having before my mind's eye my
godlike son deprived of his birthright and forced into the bark-garments of a
hermit. O life, how bitterly you cling to those who would be rid of you! Rama
has gone into exile and yet I do not die! Rama ... Rama ... Have you
gone? ..." A little later, his
mind clearer, the King said: "Sumantra, get ready the chariot and take my
sons and Janaki to the frontier of the kingdom." Lakshmana touched the
feet of his mother Sumitra and uttered the single word "Mother." She
embraced him, kissed his head and said: "Your devotion to your brother has
filled your mother's heart with pride and joy. It is your duty, child, to guard
and serve Rama. Always stand in vigilant watch by Rama's side in the forest.
Your elder brother is to you both preceptor and king. This is the dharma of our
race. Go with my blessing, Lakshmana. In the
forest, regard Rama as your father and look upon Janaki as myself and the
forest will be to you as Ayodhya. Go cheerfully,
my dear son, and God bless you." In the Ramayana,
Sumitra is a woman of few words and mature wisdom and great tact and infinite
courage, full of faith, in whom 'hope shines like a fame when it has gone out
in all others.' The tradition is that Sumitra knew Rama's divinity and the
purpose of his incarnation and that this enabled her not only to comfort
Kausalya but to see a holy ministration in Lakshmana's sharing Rama's exile. Sumitra said: "Ascend
the chariot, O Prince. God blesses you. Tell me where I am to drive, for the
fourteen-year period has begun, my Prince." Sita got up the chariot
cheerfully. Kausalya had made up for her a packet of personal requirements. The
shields, bows and arrows and other weapons of the two brothers together with
pickaxes and baskets were placed in the chariot. Pickaxes and baskets are
essential in the forest. Rama and Lakshmana ascended the chariot. Sumantra
drove it forward. Let us pause a while at
this stage when Rama's forest life begins, and pray that we may be purified of
our sins. Truth, courage and love are the gospel of the Ramayana to us. To give
it to us was Rama born. We shall gain these gifts if we meditate on the Princes
and Janaki in the bark habiliment as they left the city. The crowds in the
street cried to the charioteer: "Go slow, go slow. Let us have a look at
Rama's face. Alas, Alas, who could send such children to the forest? How could
their mothers endure this sorrow and survive? Look at Vaidehi's face. She is
indeed blessed. And Lakshmana is happy to have such a brother to whom he can
give devoted service. He is indeed a hero and a knower of dharma." So the
people of the city talked among themselves as they followed the chariot. And their
grief swelled like a flood. Rama was saying to the
good charioteer, "Faster, faster" The people were saying, "slow,
slow." And the crowd became bigger and bigger. Sumantra managed somehow to
take the chariot out of the press of the mourning town where, in addition to
the loud sorrow of the crowded streets, the houses were full of mourning women
and children. The King stepped out of
Kaikeyi's apartment and looked at the departing chariot. A long time he stood
there watching the cloud of dust as though he saw in it the beloved form of
Rama. When even this went out of sight, he fell down, moaning. Kausalya and
Kaikeyi sat on either side. "Do not touch
me," said Dasaratha to Kaikeyi. "I hate the sight of you, sinful
woman! Everything is at an end between you and me. I renounce you here and now." "If Bharata agrees
to your arrangements and accepts the kingdom," he said again, "he
need not perform my obsequies, and even if he did, my departed spirit would
reject his offering of waters. How can Rama live in the forest? Will he sleep
on the bare ground with a stone or a log for a pillow? Will he eat fruits and
berries?" Thus the king went on
lamenting helplessly. Sometimes he would turn
to Kaikeyi and say, "May you be happy in your success! Long may you live a
happy widow." Heart-broken and empty
like one returning home from the cremation ground, he entered Kaikeyi's
apartment by force of habit; then suddenly he said, "Not here. Take me to
the dwelling of Kausalya." And so they did, and
there he lay waiting for his end. At midnight, he said,
"Kausalya, are you there? Touch me with your hand. My sight is gone with
Rama." Poor Kausalya did her
best to comfort the King, but what comfort was there in her wounded heart to
give? For as the slow sorrow-laden hours crawled from watch to watch, the cold
night seemed to her a devouring flame, and the gentle moon fierce as the
noonday sun. To her thus sorrowing
Sumitra said: "Sister, you have heard the Shastras and know dharma. Why
should you grieve like this? It is your office to put courage in others, you
should not lose heart yourself. Rama has gone to the forest for guarding the
King's honor. You are indeed blessed among women, for you are the mother of a
hero who has scorned a kingdom and preferred to uphold his father's honor. Why
should you grieve for a son who fulfils a difficult duty to perfection? We
should not feel sorry for one who walks in the path of his ancestors and wins
undying fame. I am proud that Lakshmana has accompanied Rama. Janaki, though
knowing well the hardships she has to face, has also gone with her husband.
Rama's glory will shine like an undying lamp. This is no occasion for grief.
His purity, his virtue shall be a shield and armor to them. He is so great and
holy that the sunrays falling on him will not burn him and the wind that blows
will caress him with its coolness. His pure frame, as he sleeps at night, will
be embraced and protected by the moonbeams as an infant is by its loving
mother. Shed all anxiety over your heroic son. No foe can en counter him and
escape with life. Our Rama is endowed with all auspicious qualities. Your hero
son will surely return to Ayodhya and ascend the throne. The Lord of the world,
and no other, is Rama. Sita is with him, and Sita is no other than the Goddess
Lakshmi. Rama will return and ascending the throne will fill with delight the
kingdom which now laments his exile. You saw the grief of the citizens as they
watched his departure. My heroic son, the devoted Lakshmana, armed with bow and
sword, has gone with him to guard his person. No harm, no danger can approach
Rama. You will see with your own eyes Rama returning after fulfilment of his
vow. Believe me, Rama will return, beautiful like the full moon, and touch your
feet with joy and devotion. You will then shed tears not of grief but of joy.
Dear, dear Kausalya, give up your grief. You will see the three of them
returning. You should console and encourage the other women in the palace and
not stand broken-hearted yourself. Who else in this world stands firm by dharma
like Rama? Is this a cause for grief? No, be proud of your son, Kausalya!" Listening to Sumitra's
words, Kausalya was somewhat consoled. The people of the city
followed Rama's chariot in a huge crowd. They tried to stop the chariot,
shouting, "Do not go to the forest. Return to the city." "I am going to the
forest to uphold my father's, word," Rama said. "There is no time for
sorrow here and you should not seek to hinder me." But the people would
not listen to him, and went in crowds after him shouting wildly: "Do not
go to the forest, do not go to the forest!" Rama stopped the chariot and
addressed them with his eyes full of love for them: "Citizens of Ayodhya,
I know the love you bear for me. You will show it best by transferring it on my
behalf, and at my behest, to my beloved brother Bharata. Nothing else will
please me more. Bharata is good and noble, has all royal qualities and is fully
worthy of love. So conduct yourselves as to please him. Young in years, he is
old in wisdom and his heart is at once heroic and tender. He has the strength
to protect you. He is your king, and you owe him loyalty and affection. I am
going to the forest to fulfil my father word and the King has appointed Bharata
as Yuvaraja. He is in every way fitted for that position. You and I alike should obey the
King's commands. You should go back and try to mitigate the sorrow of my
father at parting from me." Thus Rama spoke to them
in kindly tones. But they loved him all the more because of this and would not
be consoled. Some Brahmanas, old in years and excellent in virtue, looking at
the chariot wept and cried: "Why, O horses, do you carry our Rama into the
forest? We have heard it said that horses are sharp of hearing. Listen to us
then and bring back our Rama." Hearing these words of
yearning from old Brahmanas, Rama stopped the chariot. The three descended from
it and went forward walking. The common people,
leading citizens and wise elders, men of penance, why, even the birds on wings,
tried to prevent Rama from going to the forest. The river Tamasa, says the
poet, seemed to conspire with them, for now it flowed across his path. The
chariot stopped on the riverbank. Sumantra unyoked and watered the horses and
let them loose to graze. Rama said: "Lakshmana, this is the first night of our
forest ilfe. Let us spend it on the bank of this holy river. Life in the forest
holds no hardship, as you and I know. Look, the birds, the animals and even the
trees seem to sympathise with us. The only pain is when we think of the grief
of our parents in Ayodhya, though I feel reassured as I think of Bharata's
nobility and goodness. He will assuredly tend our parents with true affection.
Sumantra, go, look after the horses." Then, Rama offered
the evening
prayers by the river
and said: "Let us fast on this first night of our forest life, Lakshmana.
Your presence by my side rids me of all
care." Lakshmana spread some
grass on the ground for Rama and Sita to sleep on but he himself spent the
night in vigil talking with Sumantra. Long before dawn Rama
rose from sleep and told Sumantra: "The citizens who have followed us,
fatigued by their long journey, are fast asleep. I am deeply moved by their
affection; but I cannot permit their love to force me to go back. Let us
therefore, move on even now, while they are yet
asleep." The horses were
harnessed and the chariot slowly crossed the river. Standing on the southern bank,
Rama told Sumantra: "If you take the
chariot to the other shore, where the people are asleep, and drive it for a
little distance towards Ayodhya and then bring it back to this side, we can
proceed on our journey before they wake up. They will see the track of the
chariot going towards the city, and thinking that we have returned home, may
themselves go back. Unless you do this the crowd will go
on following us." Sumantra did this and,
when the chariot returned, the three got into it again and proceeded
southwards. The citizens who had
slept on the bank of the Tamasa woke up in the morning and looked round. They
were surprised to see that Rama and the chariot had disappeared. They followed
the track of the chariot-wheels but were disappointed to find that it was lost
in the main road to the capital. They returned home to
their own houses and sought satisfaction in reviling Kaikeyi. Without Rama, the
city was bereft of beauty and wrapt in gloom. Sumantra and the
princes had crossed the Tamasa long before dawn and travelled far into the
forest. Crossing several streams, they approached the southern boundary of the
Kosala country. As they journeyed on, Rama said to Sumantra: "I wonder
when I shall hunt again in the forest of Sarayu. Is hunting good for princes?
Perhaps, it is, in moderation." Thus conversing on many
matters, they went forward. When they reached the southern boundary of the
kingdom, Rama stopped the chariot and facing north towards Ayodhya, bent his
head in a prayer, saying: "O, jewel among cities! O ancient capital of the
Ikshwakus! Shall I finishing my penance in the forest, live to see my father
and mother and you? Grant me that supreme joy." The chariot reached the
bank of the Ganga. They proceeded along the bank, admiring the beauty of the
river. Finding a spot of surpassing charm, Rama said: "We shall spend the
night here." Untying the horses,
they sat under a tree. Guha, the chief of the region, having learnt already
from his men that Rama would be coming there, came forward with his retinue to
greet Rama and Lakshmana. He had unbounded love
for the royal family and for Rama. Being the chieftain of the tribes who dwelt
on the banks of Ganga, he was a man of great prestige and power. Rama and
Lakshmana rose to greet Guha, even while the latter was still at some distance
from them. Guha welcomed them with a hearty embrace, saying: "Regard this
land as your own. This place is as much yours as is Ayodhya. Who can hope to
have a guest like you? It is indeed my good fortune." Guha had prepared a
lavish entertainment. He said, "Feel perfectly at home and happy in my
kingdom. You may spend all the fourteen years with us here. You will not lack
anything I assure you. Looking after you will be a pleasure and privilege to
me. Be gracious enough to accept my hospitality." Warmly embracing Guha
again, Rama said: "Brother, I know how deep is your love for me. Your wish
is itself as good as hospitality rendered. I am bound by my vows and must
refuse anything more. I have come to dwell in the forest and not to enjoy life
as a chieftain's guest. These horses are my dear father's favorites. Pray feed
them well. We shall be content with simple food and rest for the night." They lay under the tree
for the night. Guha and Lakshmana kept awake, conversing with Sumantra. Said Guha to Lakshmana:
"Brother, do go and rest. There is a bed made ready for you. My men will
keep careful watch. None dare do anything in the forest unknown to me. Have no
anxiety regarding Rama. Do
sleep." Lakshmana replied:
"How can I find sleep, Guha? Here, lying on the bare ground, is Sita,
daughter of the great Janaka and daughter-in-law of the great Dasaratha. The
great Purushottama himself who could subdue the three worlds lies stretched on
the grass. How can I sleep who sees this? I wonder how Ayodhya is bearing it.
He queens' apartments must be loud with wailing. I even doubt if at this moment
Kausalya and my mother are alive. My father indeed found strength somehow to
say to Rama, 'Go to the forest,' but I doubt if he has strength enough left to
survive Rama's actual departure. And if he has passed away, our mothers too
will have given up their lives. And here we are, deprived even of the privilege
of doing the last offices to the dead. In any case it is hardly possible that our
father and mothers will be alive to greet us, when we return to Ayodhya after our term
in the forest." Thus spoke Lakshmana in
sorrow. Guha was in tears. The night was spent in such sad conversation. Early next morning,
Rama told Lakshmana: "We must now cross the river. Ask Guha to make ready
a boat big enough for crossing this broad river." Guha ordered his men to
get this done and informed Rama. Sumantra bowed low and
stood before Rama seeking his further commands. Rama understood
Sumantra's unuttered grief and, laying his hand on Sumantra's shoulders, said:
"Sumantra, return to Ayodhya with all speed and be at the side of the King. Your duty
is now to look after him." "O
Rama," exclaimed Sumantra, "rectitude,
learning and culture seem to be of no value. You and your brother and Vaidehi
are going to live in the forest. What is going to be our lot? How are we going
to fare under Kaikeyi's rule?" He now wept like a child. Wiping the tears from
Sumantra's eyes, Rama said: "Our family has known no nobler friend than
you. It will be your task to console my father. His heart is river by grief.
Whatever his commands carry them out dutifully. Do not ask yourself whether he
wants a thing for himself or with a view to pleasing Kaikeyi. Avoid giving him
any pain of mind. Have no anxiety about us. You should say this on my behalf to
my aged father who is stricken with a grief he never knew before. Clasp his
feet as you have seen me do, and assure him from me that none of us, not I nor
Lakshmana, nor Sita, feel injured or sorry at having been sent away from
Ayodhya. We look forward to fourteen years of forest life which will speed on
happy wings, and then surely we shall return to his feet for blessings. Give
our love to my mother Kausalya, and tell her that protected by her blessings we
are well and give a like message to my stepmothers, especially to Kaikeyi, lest
she should think we have parted in anger. Tell the Maharaja that
it is my earnest prayer that he should hasten with the installation of Bharata,
so that he may be a comfort to him in our absence." But Sumantra, unable to
restrain his grief, burst out: "How am I to return and with what words can
I give comfort?" And when he looked at the empty chariot, he wept and
said: "How shall I drive this chariot that stands desolate without
you?" Once again Rama spoke
words of comfort and courage to Sumantra and urged on him the duty of patience,
and sent him home. "Guha", said
Rama, "I could indeed spend fourteen years in your kingdom as you desire.
But would that be fulfilling my vow? I have left Ayodhya to fulfil my father's
pledge. I must therefore lead the life of a tapasvi. I must not touch dishes
daintily cooked and served. We have to live only on fruits, roots and
permissible kinds of meat such as we offer in the sacrificial fire."
Comforting Guha thus,
the brothers got their locks matted with the milk of the banyan. They helped
Sita into the boat and then got into it themselves. Guha bade the boatmen to row
it across. The boatmen took them
quickly across the river. At midstream Sita offered a prayer to the goddess of
the river: "Devi, help us fulfil our vow and return safe to our
homeland." They talked as they
went on. They reached the farther bank of Ganga. And there for the first time,
the three stood alone, unattended by friends! "Lakshmana, you
are my sole armed guard now," said Rama. "You will go first. Sita
will follow. And I shall walk behind you both. We must save Sita as far as
possible from the hardships of forest life. Hereafter there will be none to
keep us company and no fun or amusement." Rama's thoughts went to his
mother Kausalya. "Lakshmana,"
he said, "should you not go back to Ayodhya and look after mother Kausalya
and Sumitra Devi? I shall manage my forest stay somehow." Lakshmana replied:
"Forgive me, brother; I am not going back to Ayodhya." Rama indeed
expected no other answer. Thus now and again we
shall see the human element come up and the divine prince grieve and talk as
common people do. This is the fascination of the Ramayana. If Almighty God
remains almighty and does everything Himself, then where is room or need for an
avatar and how could the dharma of common men be established? This is the difference
between the earlier avatars and the later. In the Rama avatar, the course of
human conduct and the dharma governing it come linked together. This has been
made explicit by Valmiki. On the occasion of
Sita's ordeal by fire at the end of the battle, Rama says to Brahma who appeared
then among others and deprecated the idea of putting Sita to proof: "I regard myself
only as Rama, son of Dasaratha, an ordinary human being. Who I am in reality,
where I belong, why I took birth, are matters on which you must enlighten me,
and I do not know." While Rama was plunged
in thinking of the mothers left behind, Lakshmana ministered to him with loving
words of courage and hope. They spent that night
under a banyan tree and left early next morning for Bharadwaja's ashrama which
they reached at sunset. Partaking of the
hospitality of the sage, they besought him to tell where they could spend the
years quietly in the forest and on his advice and with his blessings left for
Chitrakuta. Rama spent the night in
Bharadwaja's ashrama. Getting up in the morning, they paid their respects to
the Maharishi and, taking leave of him, set out for the Chitrakuta hill. The
muni treated them affectionately as if they were his own children and sent them
forth with his blessings after explaining to them the way they should take
through the forest. The three followed his
topographical instructions closely and in due course came upon the river
Kalindi. They constructed a raft with logs and bamboos and creepers of the
forest and on it Lakshmana made a seat for Sita with little twigs and leaves on
which she sat. The passage of the river was accomplished in safety. In midstream Sita
offered salutations to the river goddess and prayed that Rama might fulfil his
vow and the three be enabled safely to return home. After crossing a few
more streams, they came to a big banyan tree which had been described by
Bharadwaja. And under this tree Sita again offered prayers saying: "Grant,
O holy tree, that my husband may complete his vow and that I may see again the
queens Kausalya and Sumitra." Rama asked Lakshmana to
walk in front with Sita behind him while he himself followed in the rear.
"Whatever, flower or fruit she asks for on the way," he said,
"get it for her and keep her spirits up." As Sita went she showed
an eager curiosity, asking about forest trees and creepers and was lost in
admiration at the many-sided beauty of forest life. They greatly enjoyed
the journey and rested for the night on the bank of a river. Here and in other
places, Valmiki describes how Rama and Lakshmana secured food by hunting. He
makes it quite plain that they had to subsist largely on meat. Some good men
are troubled by this. But meat was not prohibited for Kshatriyas. Indeed, it has
always been the rule in India to permit any food legitimately obtained and
consecrated as a sacrifice. Rama was a Kshatriya and he lived in the forest in
the Kshatriya way, though abstemiously. The following morning
Rama woke up Lakshmana and said: "Listen, the birds are singing to the
morning sun. It is time for us to start." The popular story that
Lakshmana spent the whole period of forest life without food or sleep is not
found in Valmiki. Sometimes, even, through fatigue Lakshmana did not get up quite
early in the morning and Rama had to rouse him from slumber! They performed their
ablutions and worship and resumed their journey in the path indicated by
Bharadwaja. The season was summer and the trees and plants were ablaze with
multi colored flowers. The branches bowed under the weight of fruits and
blossoms. Rama pointed out the
beauty of the forest to Sita from time to then, saying as they walked:
"How beautiful is the forest unspoilt by human interference! Look at the
beehives hanging there! Look at the ground entirely covered with fallen
flowers! Listen to the birds! How beautifully they sing to one another and live
in joy! Life would indeed be pleasant if we could always enjoy such sights and
sounds." Then they saw at a
distance the Chitrakuta hill. They were glad and began to walk briskly towards
it. "How beautiful this region is!" exclaimed Rama. "The forest
here has fine edible roots and fruits. The water is clear and sweet. Rishis
dwell in ashramas in this forest and we may most certainly live happily here in
their holy company." They proceeded to put
up an ashrama there for themselves. Lakshmana was a clever workman. He soon
constructed a strong hut, which was weather-proof and made it comfortable and
convenient. Single-handed, he completed the mud hut with windows and doors all
made of bamboos and jungle material. Kamban and Valmiki vie
with each other in their accounts of this episode. Kamban says that when
Lakshmana had completed the structure, Rama embraced him weeping and asked him:
"When and how did you learn all this?" One can imagine the scene. Rama, his eyes filled
with tears of joy, said, according to Kamban: "The flowersoft feet of the
Princess of Mithila have traversed the hard forest floor. If her feet have done
a wonder, why, Lakshmana, your hands too have wrought a miracle of
house-building! I have seen today the gain that is in misfortune." Here, beside the lovely
Chitrakuta hill, on the bank of the river Malyavati, in that cottage the three
young people lived, free from care, performing their daily devotional routine.
They forgot that they were in exile and spent the time happily, like Indra in
Heaven surrounded by the gods. The happy life in
Chitrakuta is a wonderful background to set off the later sufferings and
sorrows of the three. Sumantra and Guha stood
watching the three figures as long as they could. When they disappeared from
sight, they were plunged in sorrow and went back to Guha's town. After a while
Sumantra returned to Ayodhya. As the charioteer
approached the city, he found it desolate and devoid of the usual cheerful
bustle of urban life. As soon as he crossed the fortress-gate and entered the
city, his chariot was surrounded by a crowd eagerly asking: "Where did you
leave Rama? How was he when you left
him?" "Dear people of
Ayodhya," said Sumantra, "Rama and Lakshmana have crossed the Ganga.
Ordering me to return home, they entered the forest on foot." A great cry of grief
rose from the multitude and many cursed themselves and attributed the
catastrophe to their own sins. On both sides of the streets, women stood as the
chariot passed and cried: "Look at the car which departed with the princes and Sita and
has come back empty." Sumantra drove forward
covering his face with the end of his upper garment, ashamed of himself. He
stopped the chariot in front of Dasaratha's palace and alighted. There in front of the
palace a great crowd had gathered. Women were saying, "How is Sumantra
going to meet Kausalya and tell her that he left her son in the forest? How
will she survive the report?" With increasing sorrow
and confusion, Sumantra entered the Queen's apartment. There he saw the King
more dead than alive. In low tones, he spoke of Rama's message to the King who
heard it in heartbroken silence. Then Kausalya, unable
to control her wrath, addressed the King: "Here stands your minister who
has returned from the forest after leaving my child to fulfil your command. Why
are you silent? It was easy and pleasant to give boons to Kaikeyi. Why are you
ashamed of it now? Did you not know that this would be the result of what you
did? You have honored your word. You may be happy over that. But who can share
my sorrow with me? I have to bear it all. My grief cannot be reduced by your
pain. No convention binds you to feel or appear to be grieved for what you have
deliberately done. Why are you silent? You need not refrain from giving
expression to sorrow for fear of offending Kaikeyi, for she is not here. Surely
you should inquire of Sumantra about Rama. Have you no humanity? Why do you try
to suppress even natural feelings?" Her grief and love for
Rama blinded her to the state of her husband's body and mind. Instead of
lightening, she aggravated his suffering. Dasaratha opened his
eyes and Sumantra reported duly Rama's message in his own words. Sumantra tried his best
to console Kausalya. But she went on repeating: "Take me and leave me
where Rama is. Young Sita is there with him facing the hardships of the forest.
I cannot bear this agony. Let me go to Dandaka and be with Sita." Sumantra answered:
"Queen, be brave. Banish this grief. Rama spends his time even more
happily in the forest than he did in Ayodhya. He feels no sorrow. Lakshmana finds
joy in the supreme job of dutiful service to the brother he loves. He is very
happy. As for Sita, there in the forest, as here in the palace, she lives for Rama with every breath
and knows neither fear nor sorrow. She spends her time as though she was a
sylvan goddess and is as happy there as she was here playing in the groves and
gardens of Ayodhya. The beauty of her face is still like the rising moon's.
Like a forest fawn she lives there with care-free grace, spending the, golden
hours with Rama by her side. Every sight and sound is a new source of joy to
her and the theme of talk with Rama and Lakshmana. Walking barefoot, her feet
are red like the lotus, and need no painting with henna. She walks in the
forest as if she were dancing. She only lacks the
tinkling anklets to make it complete. All that I say is true. There is no need
for you to grieve. The three of them are fulfilling their sacred duty and
offering an object lesson to the world. They are making the King's word good.
Their life will be remembered and praised forever. Why, then, should we grieve
for them?" With such talk,
Kausalya would be consoled for a while. But soon she would break down again and
cry: "Alas, alas, Rama, my child." Her grief seemed redoubled when
she saw Sumantra come back, leaving Rama in the forest. 22. IDLE SPORT AND TERRIBLE RESULT Dasaradha had been
driven ruthlessly by circumstances to an action which not only broke his heart
but made him hate himself and deprived him even of selfpity. The only way out
of the dilemma of either breaking his plighted word or doing a great wrong to
Rama would have been for the latter to disobey him and insist on his rights.
But Rama placed his duty to his father high above all other things. And Rama
was all the world to Sita and Lakshmana. So they had
all gone together. To Dasaratha, agonising
on his bed of pain in desolation and remorse, Kausalya spoke reproachful words.
The stinging words in
which Kausalya's sorrow found expression caused excruciating pain to Dasaratha,
but she seemed to find some relief in giving vent to her feelings in this way. "Proud of having
kept your word and happy in young Kaikeyi's approval and gratification, have
you any thought for others? You have been my world and my god, my joy in this
world and my hope for the next and you have forsaken me. My son, the light of
my life, has been wrenched away from me and banished. I live here alone, old,
helpless woman, without the love of my lord or the sight of my only son. Was
ever a woman left more desolate? But you, are you not delighted with what you
have done? It is enough for you that Kaikeyi and Bharata are happy. You need
not entertain any fear that Rama will mar that happiness, even if he returned
from the forest after fourteen years. He will not touch the kingdom once ruled
by Bharata. The tiger does not touch the leavings of another animal's. Like a
fish, eating its offspring, you have killed your own child." Touched to the quick,
the King even in the intensity of his anguish turned to his wife with a humble
prayer for forgiveness with clasped hands. "Have pity on me,
Kausalya," he moaned. "You have been kind and forgiving even to
strangers. Do have some compassion on your husband who has always loved and
honored you and whose heart is broken by a sorrow which knows no remedy!" These piteous words and
the sight of her husband in supplication and the memory of happier hours
pierced the noble queen to the heart and she fell at his feet imploring
forgiveness for unbecoming words forced out of her by grief. As the leaden hours
crept slowly on, Dasaratha remembered something that had happened long ago and
it aggravated the anguish of his heart. The King turned to
Kausalya and said: "Are you still here, my dear? The fruit of one's action
can never be escaped. I now endure the result of a great sin that I committed
in the days that are gone. Men in their ignorance sometimes do great evils for
the sake of some slight momentary pleasure. Then when the time comes, the price
has to be paid. When I was young, I had the skill to use my bow against unseen
targets aiming by sound only. For the pleasure of exercising this skill, I once
killed an innocent man and committed a great sin. Listen, I shall relate to you
that sad adventure. It was before you came to me. One night I went, out in my
chariot to hunt on the banks of the Sarayu. It had been raining heavily and,
from the mountainsides, the streams were running dyed with the rich colors of
minerals and fresh soil. The birds were silent. The forest seemed asleep. I could
take the aim by the ear and shoot, without seeing, a tiger or bear or other
wild beast that might come to slake its thirst in the stream. I wanted to test
this skill of mine. It was dense darkness. I waited for some wild animal to
come. Then I heard a gurgling sound as of an elephant drinking. At once I aimed
an arrow in the direction whence the sound came. Like a venomous serpent, swish
went my dart and hit the object. But I was shocked to hear a human voice
exclaim 'Alas! I am dead!' I heard the man cry again piteously, 'Who can be my
enemy? Never have I done any harm to anyone. Who then could want to kill me
thus as I was filling my pitcher with water? What could he gain by this? Why
should anyone bear hate against one living his innocent hermit life in the
forest? What is to happen to my old blind parents now, with none to look after
them? O misery!' Horror-struck, I stood trembling in every limb. My bow and
arrow slipped from my hands. I approached the place from where the voice came
and I found a young ascetic lying on the ground with dishevelled hair, covered
all over with blood and earth. Beside him lay an upturned pitcher. The look of
his eyes was as fire. When he saw me, he cried, 'O Sinner that has killed me!
Why did you aim your arrow at me that was taking water from the stream? My old
blind parents are thirsty and are waiting for me in the ashrama, thinking that
I would return with my pitcher filled. Why did you kill me? O God, my penances
and my devotions have all gone to naught. My parents do not know that I lie
here stricken and helpless. They will go on waiting for me and even if they
knew it, what could they do, blind and helpless? Who are you? What! Are you not
the King of Kosala? And so, you, the King, who should by right protect me, have
slain me. Very well, O King, go yourself and tell them what you have done. Fall
at their feet and beg for forgiveness. Else, their anger will reduce you to
ashes. Go straight to the ashrama. Take that path there. Go at once and save
yourself. But this arrow is a torture. Pull it out and relieve me of the pain
before you go.' I knew that if I pulled out the arrow from his body, his pain
would end indeed, but so would his life in a gush of blood. My hand refused to
do the deed. For a while I stood, not knowing what to do. Then, the young
ascetic said: 'Do not hesitate. Do end my pain. My mind is now clear and I have calmed myself.
Boldly pull out the arrow and release my life.' Gently I pulled the arrow out.
The young ascetic turned on the ground, heaved a sigh and, with his eyes fixed
on me, breathed his last. It is this crime of mine that is now pursuing me. The
agony of those blind parents who were deprived by me of their son has come now for me to
endure." Dasaratha continued:
"Listen, I shall tell you what followed. Having committed a sin and seeing
the young ascetic die, I stood wondering what-to do next. Finally I decided
that it was my duty and my interest to do what he advised me. I cleaned the pitcher,
and filling it with fresh water, took it and went along the footpath he had
pointed out. I reached his cottage and there I saw the old couple waiting for
the return of their son. They sat there like two birds with broken wings
shrivelled in body and unable to move. Both were blind. They were speaking to
each other about the long delay of their son in fetching water from the stream.
I was filled with terror as I slowly approached them. The old man, hearing my
footsteps, mumbled: 'Why this long delay, my son? Quickly give me some water to
drink. Your mother too is athirst. Were you making your pleasure in the stream?
Was this the cause of your delay, son? Why are you silent? Even if your mother
or I have offended you in any manner, you should not take it to heart. You are
a perfect son and our only prop. We have lost our eyesight and you serve as our
eyes. Indeed you are more than our life to us. Why are you still silent? Are
you still angry. I trembled in fear when I heard the toothless old man talking
thus. Gathering courage I began: 'O, holy one, I am Dasaratha by name, a
Kshatriya, bound to obey and serve you, though not your son. Driven by my
former karma, I have committed a terrible sin and stand in abject humility
before you. I went to the riverbank for sport, hoping to shoot wild beasts. I
thought I heard in the darkness an elephant drinking water. I aimed my arrow,
as I am a marksman that can aim by sound as well as by sight. It was my
misfortune and his fate that my arrow struck your son as he was filling his
pitcher, with the gurgling I had mistaken for that of an elephant drinking.
Thus, without intending it, I fatally wounded your beloved son. When I went to
the spot and saw him rolling in blood with my arrow stuck in his breast, I
cursed myself. I was filled with horror and stood not knowing what to do. At
his request I pulled the arrow out to release him from the mortal pain. He is
dead. I have told you the horrible sin I have committed. I throw myself at your
mercy. I await your judgment.' The miserable couples were struck dumb by my
dreadful tale about their son. Tears poured from their sightless eyes, and the
old man said: 'King, your sin is indeed great. But it was done in ignorance.
And you have come yourself to tell me your crime. So you shall live. Now take
us both to the spot. Let us touch our beloved son with our hands and send him
into Yama's keeping.' I carried them to the
river bank where their son lay dead. They felt his body all over, cried and
blessed his soul and performed the cremation. Then before ascending the funeral
pyre and giving them selves up to the fire, they turned to me and said: 'This
great grief you have brought about for us, you too, will endure in good time.
You will die of grief parted from your son.' Saying this, they burnt themselves
and their souls joined the gods. My sin has pursued me and I am now in its
grip. My old crime is killing me now. As food prohibited by they doctors
foolishly consumed by a sick man kills him, what that old father uttered in
unbearable grief has now come true. I have sent my innocent son to the forest
and, unable to bear the grief, I now enter Yama's abode. How else could these
unnatural events occur? How else could I be thus deceived and betrayed? Even if
I ordered Rama to go to forest, why should he obey my unjust command? Why
should he insist on being exiled? It is the curse of that old blind couple,
nothing else. Kausalya, I do not see you. My sight is gone. Death is fast
approaching. Come nearer and let me feel you. All is over. The messengers of
Yama are calling me. Will Rama come? Shall I see him before I die? Oh, I am
dying. The oil is all consumed and my light is going out! Ah Kausalya! Oh
Sumitra!" His life slowly ebbed
away and that night at some time unobserved by any, the King breathed his last.
As described by Valmiki
in the early pages of the epic, Dasaratha was one who had mastered all the
Vedas and Shastras, was a farsighted person, the hero of many battles, the
performer of many sacrifices, follower of dharma, a far-famed king with many
friends and no foes, and one who had conquered his senses. His power was like
Indra's. His wealth was like Kubera's. In statesmanship, he was like Manu. Fate
had ordered that such a one should exile his beloved son and die of a broken
heart, with none by him in his last moments but two faithful women stricken by
himself with a common sorrow. Since the King had so
often fainted and recovered, his death was not immediately noticed by Kausalya
or Sumitra. They were weary, too, with grief and watching, and fell into a
sleep of fatigue in a corner of the apartment. At dawn, the musicians and
singers, whose duty it was to rouse the King from slumber, came to his
bedchamber and played on instruments and sang the usual hymns. But they saw no sign of
the King waking. The royal servants who attended to the King's morning needs
waited long and wondered why he slept till so late. Then they made bold to
enter the apartment and saw him lying dead. Soon the news spread
and filled the palace with grief. The widows of the great Dasaratha cried like
orphaned children, embracing one another in unavailing lamentation. Kausalya clung to the
King's body and cried: "I shall go with the King to Yama's abode. How can
I live without my son and without my husband?" The elders and officers of the palace managed to separate
her from the dead King and take her away. Then they discussed about the funeral
rites. They could not be performed immediately, for Rama and Lakshmana had gone
to the forest and Bharata and Satrughna were far away in their uncle's place.
It was decided to send for Bharata and to keep the body immersed in oil till
his arrival. The great monarch's
remains were thus kept waiting for Bharata's arrival. Ayodhya, the city of
splendor, was sunk in darkness and lamentation. Crowds of women met here and
there and reviled Kaikeyi. There was anxiety in men's hearts. The crown prince
had gone to the forest. Bharata too was far away. Anarchy was feared, for no
one in those days could imagine a people going on without a king. After the long night
had passed, the ministers, officers and elders assembled in the hall in the
morning. Markandeya, Vamadeva, Kashyapa, Katyayana, Gautama, Jabali and
other learned men, with Sumantra and the other ministers, bowed to Vasishtha
and said: "Sir, the night we
have passed was like a century. The King is no more. Rama and Lakshmana are in
the forest. Bharata and Satrughna are in far
off Kekaya in their grandfather's house. Someone must forthwith be asked to take
up the responsibility of rule. A land without a king cannot survive. Order will
disappear, son will not obey father, nor wife her husband. The rains will hold
back. Thieves and robbers will range at will. There will be no mutual trust
among people. Neither agriculture nor trade can flourish. Without a king, the
land must lose its prosperity. The springs of charity will dry up. Festivals
and services will cease to be performed in temples. There will be no expounding
of Shastras or epics, nor any listeners. People will no more sleep with doors
open. Culture will decline and soon disappear. Penances, vows, enjoyments,
learning, all depend on the king's protection. The beauty of women will vanish.
The sense of security will be lost. Men will eat one another up as, fish do.
Cruelty and misery will grow apace and lay waste the land. For good to prosper
and evil to be restrained, a king is essential." Thus Valmiki describes
at length the dangers of anarchy through the mouths of leaders in that
assembly. "It looks as if a
great darkness has enveloped the land," they said. "Dharma is in
danger. Let us forthwith secure a king." Vasishtha sent for
tried messengers and said to them: "Start at once. Go straight and swift
to Kekaya. See that you wear no sign of sorrow on your face or show it in your
behavior. Bharata should not know that the King is dead. Tell him simply that
the family preceptor and ministers want his presence at once in Ayodhya and
bring him along with you with all the speed you may. Tell him nothing about
Rama and Sita going to the forest or the King's death on account of grief. To
avoid all suspicion, take with you the usual gifts of jewels and precious
garments for presentation to the
King of Kekaya." From this we can
understand the meaning of what the Shastras and Kural say about Truth.
Truthfulness should be such that it needlessly hurts no being in the world. The
test for right conduct including truthfulness is harmlessness. This does not
mean that truth is underrated. Soon the messengers
were provisioned and equipped for the long journey and furnished with gifts of
honor. Mounted on swift and sturdy horses, they sped past rivers and forests,
up hill and down dale, and reached Kekaya, which was somewhere to the west of the
modern Punjab, and found themselves in Rajagriha, its capital,
where the Ikshvaku princes were residing in the palace of their maternal uncle.
They decided to wait on the princes the next morning. The night the
messengers arrived, Bharata had evil dreams and woke up in the morning filled
with anxiety as to what they might portend. His face showed the state of his
mind. His companions tried to entertain him with dance and mirth to make him
forget his cares, but did not succeed. We still do not know
all the secrets of nature and the telepathy of affection. Maybe, Dasaratha's
mental anguish and death throes reached Bharata across space and caused him his
bad dreams. He said to himself: "It seems to me that death is approaching
my brother Rama or Lakshmana or myself. They say that an early morning dream
does not fail to be fulfilled. And mine has been a terrible dream. I am full of
fear. I know not what to do." Just then the
messengers were announced. The King of Kekaya and his son Yudhajit received the
envoys with due courtesy. They paid their
respects to the King and that princes, then turned to Bharata and said: "The priests and
ministers send you their blessings and request you to return at once to
Ayodhya. They want us to convey to you that the need for your presence there is
most urgent. Please touch for acceptance these garments and jewels to be given
to your uncle and to the King as gifts from the palace of Ayodhya." Bharata questioned the
messengers after the welfare of all at home. The manner of his inquiry suggests
that he had an uneasy premonition that his mother's headstrong and ambitious
nature might have had something to do with this hasty summons home. "And
is my mother, the haughty and irascible Queen Kaikeyi who believes herself all-wise
and must always have her way, is she in good health?" The messengers must
have been at their wits' end for an answer. The best they could make was:
"O tiger among men, all are well whose welfare is dear to you. Lakshmi,
the goddess of sovereignty, whose abode is the lotus, woos you. Get into your
chariot without loss of time." There was an enigmatic thought in this
greeting, for according to them Bharata was to be installed on the throne. The prince took leave
of his uncle and grandfather for returning home and preparations were made for
his departure. The old king and Yudhajit collected rare and valuable things of
their country to be sent as gifts to King Dasaratha and Prince Rama of Ayodhya.
Bharata and Satrughna mounted their chariots and started with a big retinue
towards Ayodhya. They travelled fast, unmindful of fatigue, and by forced
marches reached Ayodhya on the morning of the eighth day. As he approached the
city, Bharata's mind was filled with misgiving. Nothing seemed to be as it was
before, and the air seemed heavy with disaster. He asked the charioteer:
"Why does the city wear such a strange look? I do not see the usual crowds
of people going in and coming out in the gardens outside the city. One used to
see young men and women with bright, cheerful faces. But now they all seem sad." Bharata's chariot
entered the city through the Victory Gate. The streets, houses and temples were
bare and unadorned. The faces of
the people looked drawn and famished. "Why are the
musical instruments silent?" he asked. "Why are the citizens not
decked with flowers and sandal paste? These are all bad signs. I cannot repress
my anxiety." Inauspicious omens were
seen everywhere. Bharata concluded that some great misfortune had overtaken the
city and that was the reason why he had been so hastily sent for. He entered
Dasaratha's palace. The King was not to be seen. His anxiety increased. He then entered
Kaikeyi's palace. When she saw her son after a long absence, she jumped from
her golden couch to embrace him. He bent down and touched her feet. She kissed
his head and welcomed him with maternal blessings. "Did you have a
good journey?" she asked. "Are your uncle and grandfather well? Tell
me all about them." He answered: "The
journey took seven days. All our people at Kekaya are happy and well.
Grandfather and uncle send you their love. They have sent rich gifts for you,
but these will arrive later. I have come in advance. The envoys hurried me,
saying there was urgent work demanding my presence here. What is all this
about? I went to the King's palace to pay him my respects. He was not to be
found there and here too his couch is empty. Perhaps he is with one of my
senior mothers. I must go and see him and tender my respects." When Bharata, innocent
of heart and unaware of what had happened, said this, the foolish queen
intoxicated with a new sense of power answered: "My child, your father had
his full share of the blessings of this life. His fame was great. He performed
all the sacrifices enjoined by tradition. He was a refuge for the good. He has
now entered the higher world and joined the gods." On hearing this,
Bharata fell down uttering a cry, his long arms stretched out on the ground.
Rising, he looked at his father's empty bed and sobbed like a destitute orphan.
The mighty hero threw his god-like frame on the earth and wept like a child in
uncontrolled grief. Looking at her son, who
lay on the ground like a big tree fallen to the axe, Kaikeyi said: "Arise,
O King. Stand up. It is not right for a king thus to mourn and roll on the
ground. Honor and glory are waiting for your acceptance. You are to uphold the
dharma and perform sacrifices in the way of your royal fathers. Your
intelligence shines like the noonday sun. No misfortune dare come near you.
Son, strong of limb and brave-hearted, stand up." Bharata's mind was
immaculate, spotless. He did not see all that Kaikeyi had put in this her
appeal! After lamenting long,
he got up and said: "When I went to my uncle's house I had hoped that
Rama's installation as Yuvaraja would come off soon and that on my return I
would see the great festive ceremonies. How differently have things turned out!
How am I to bear this calamity? No more shall I see my father's 'face. What did
he die of? How did he get the illness? And I was not by his side when he lay
sick! It was given to Rama to tend him in his last moments. How affectionate
the King was towards me! If some dust settled on my body, he would wipe it with
his hand. And how soft and pleasing was his touch! And it was not given me to
serve him in his need. But mother where is Rama? Hereafter he is both father
and preceptor to me. I must see him at once and kiss his feet. He is now my
sole refuge. What was my father's last message to me? I want his very
words." Kaikeyi's answer had to
be consistent both with truth and her designs. She was pulled in contrary
directions by her culture and her ambition. She found words which conveyed that
the King did not think of Bharata in his last moments. She also wished to
prepare him for the rest of the news. She said: "Your father breathed his
last crying, 'Ha, Rama, Ha, Lakshmana, Ha, Janaki.' These were his last
words." He died saying: "It is not given me to live to see Rama,
Lakshmana and Sita return. Happy they who will see their return." Listening to this,
Bharata gathered that Rama and Lakshmana too were absent from the Kings side.
His grief increased and he asked Kaikeyi: "Where. Were they? What business
took them away from our father's side during his last moments?" Hoping to pacify him,
Kaikeyi said: "My son, Rama put on the garments of an ascetic and, taking
Lakshmana and Sita with him, went to the Dandaka forest." Bharata's amazement now
knew no bounds. He asked: "I understand nothing of what you are saying.
What sin did Rama commit that he should undertake such expiation? Did be rob
any Brahmana or cause bodily hurt to any innocent person or desire somebody
else's wife? Why did he have to go to the forest? Who laid on him this
penance?" In those days people
went of their own will or were sent to the forest as a purifying punishment for
such and other heinous crimes. Now Kaikeyi shaken out of silence by this
tempest of questions came out with the truth foolishly hoping for the best. "Rama committed no
crime. He neither robbed nor harmed anyone. And it was not in Rama's nature to
cast eyes of desire at other people's wives. What happened was that, seeing
that preparations were afoot for installing him as crown prince and regent, I
approached the King for your sake and secured the fulfillment of two boons he
had long ago granted to me. I asked that the kingdom should go to you and that
Rama should be exiled to the forest. Bound by his past promise, the King
agreed. Rama has therefore gone to the forest with Sita and Lakshmana. Unable to bear this
separation, your father expired of grief. Do not waste yourself in vain
lamentations now. Think now what you should do. You know dharma. Your duty is
to accept the burden of kingship. I did all this for your sake and you should
accept the fruit of my action in the spirit in which I acted. The city and
kingdom have come into your possession without your wanting or working for it.
Following the injunctions of Vasishtha and other learned men, perform duly your
father's obsequies and then prepare for the coronation. You are a Kshatriya.
You have inherited your father's kingdom. Attend to what has fallen to you as
your duty." Now Bharata understood
everything and realised the enormity of the harm wrought by his mother. Overwhelmed by grief
and near, he could not control himself. At the thought of what she had done and
the eternal infamy she had incurred, his grief grew wild and he hurled cruel
words at her. "What have you
done?" he cried. "Did you ever hope to make me accept the kingdom?
Deprived of such a father and such a brother, am I likely to care for power?
After causing the death of the King and the banishment of Rama, you ask me to
take their place and rule the land. This is like pouring oil into the fire of
my grief. How unfortunate was my father to have chosen you for a wife! Kausalya
and Sumitra will also die of grief. Oh, how could you bring yourself to do this
to Rama who was so devoted to you? Revered mother Kausalya treated you like her
own blood-sister. How could you think of plotting against her beloved son? And
did you not know how much I loved Rama? Greed destroyed your understanding. How
else could you so foolishly plan for my happiness? Even the great King relied
on Rama and Lakshmana. How could you believe that in their absence I could rule
the kingdom? And, even if I could, would I agree? Never will your wish be
fulfilled through my cooperation. I can no longer regard you as my mother. I
cut myself off from all relation with you and decline to regard you as my
mother. How could you ever think of setting aside rule and custom and getting a
younger son crowned? Would not the world revile us for all time? The general
law of kings and the tradition of our family cannot be violated. I will not carry
out your wish. I shall go to the forest and bring Rama back. I shall set the
crown on his head and rejoice in being his loyal servant." To understand Bharata's
feelings, we should keep in mind his innate noble nature, his love for Rama,
his grief for his father and the sense of guilt and shame that for his sake his
mother had done this grievous wrong. We should not weigh his words in dry air
and a chemical balance. In such contexts, poetry flashes fire. One sees it both
in Valmiki and Kamban. Bharata raised his
voice and spoke again: "Banish Rama indeed! It is you that ought to be
banished, cruel woman, who have forsaken the path of dharma. So far as you are
concerned you may take it that I am dead, for I would rather be dead than be
son to a murderess! Murderess of your husband! You are not the daughter of the
good King Asvapati. You are a Rakshasi. To what hell should you go, you, who
banished the only child of mother Kausalya? What punishment would be too great
for the grief you have caused her? Kamadhenu,
the cow-mother,
had hundreds of thousands
of children, yet she shed tears at the sight of the suffering of two bulls
yoked to a plough and her tears scalded Indra on his throne in high Heaven. And
Kausalya's only child you sent to the forest, hoping thus that you and I could
be made happy! I shall do the obsequies and go to the forest and fall at the
feet of Rama and bring him to his kingdom. And then, to cleanse myself of the
sin and the shame you have brought on me, I
shall lead the life of an ascetic in the Dandaka forest. What a flood of sorrow
have you let loose on the earth? By what penitence, by what selfmortification,
can you redeem yourself? I shall go myself at once to Rama and get rid of my
guilt by restoring the kingdom to him." Finding no relief for
his anguish by angry words, sighing like a young elephant newly captured, hot
tears-falling from his eyes, he felt he could bear no longer the sight of his
mother and rushed to Kausalya's apartment, there to find a better place to give
vent to his sorrow. Thus did Kaikeyi's
castle in the air go up in smoke. She lay down on the floor and wept. The most
painful of all reflexions is that of a crime perpetrated in vain. Among the characters in
the Ramayana, Bharata is the perfect embodiment of virtue. In the villages of
the North, the people celebrate an annual festival for the episode of the
meeting of Rama and Bharata at Chitrakuta, which they consider the most
sanctifying part of the Ramayana epic. There have been through the ages great and
noble souls whose virtue shines eternally in the midst of the sordid
self-seeking of a sinful world, as a beacon light to seekers of the right path,
and as a token of the god in man. Soon the news of
Bharata's arrival spread throughout the palace. Kausalya, still laboring under
her grief, heard this, and was glad and told Sumitra, "Come, let us go and
meet Bharata." Hardly had they taken a couple of steps when they saw
Bharata himself rushing wildly towards them to plead for mercy. Kausalya's first thought
when she heard of Bharata's arrival was that he had hastened back to assume the
fortune which had come to him. Had not the elders and ministers, led by
Vasishtha, decided to send for Bharata so that he might perform his father's
obsequies and be crowned king? Hence, seeing Bharata, Kausalya, her heart
desolate with her loss of husband and son, said in a low voice: "Bharata,
the kingship is waiting secured for your sake by Kaikeyi. You need not fear any
let or hindrance from us. Take it, and may all happiness be yours. Only one
boon I crave of you to let me join your father on the funeral pyre." These words were like
stinging poison in Bharata's ears. He fell at her feet and clung to them,
unable to speak. Kausalya said again:
"Oh Bharata, at least take me where Rama is in the forest." Unable to bear all
these piteous words of Kausalya and unable to speak, Bharata fell into a swoon.
After a while he sat up and said: "Mother, why do you thus torture me who
am innocent? You know I was far away and knew nothing of the wicked things
going on here. Do you not know the love I bear for Rama? Would I ever do such a
thing to him? May all the sins of the world descend on me if I had the least
notion of the evil brewing here! I had nothing to do with it. I have no desire
to reap its fruit." He raised his hands and
recited all the horrible sins that one could commit and invoked on himself the
punishments due to them if he had any part in the plot. In those days as now it
was hard for a son to prove that he knew nothing of a scheme carried out by his
mother for his benefit. Bharata could only swear his innocence again and again.
He cared nothing for kingdom or wealth or power and it was a terrible torment
to him that Kausalya should think him capable of greed for them at the expense
of his brother. Indeed such a thought was hardly less cruel and unjust than
Rama's exile! He could never accept the crown which was his beloved brother's
birthright. His passionate
sincerity convinced Kausalya of the injustice of her suspicions, and her heart
went out to him. Tenderly she raised him from the ground and took his head on
her lap and caressed him as though he were Rama himself. "My dear son, my
grief is doubled by seeing the pain raging in your innocent heart. What shall
we do child? We are the playthings of fate. May the reward of goodness come to
you in this world and the next!" Kausalya had not
believed Bharata privy to the plot, but she feared that he would condone it and
yield to the temptation of its results. Now she was convinced that Bharata's
heart was completely free from stain. Though her own son had gone to the
forest, she was pleased that such another son had come to her in his place. Here, Kamban
beautifully sings how Kausalya shed tears of joy over Bharata and embraced him
imagining that Rama himself had returned from the forest. Kausalya said amidst
her sobs: "Many were your ancestors who attained fame. You have surpassed
them all in glory by renouncing the kingship that has come to you. You are
indeed king among kings." The Kausalya and
Bharata portrayed by Kamban embody a culture. May these heroic figures and that
culture live forever in the land of Bharata! The obsequies of the
dead King were duly performed. Vasishtha and other learned men and elders
offered grave shastric consolation to Bharata and Satrughna. Fourteen days
after the King's demise, the ministers called the Assembly and addressed
Bharata thus: "The King has gone
to the world above. Rama and Lakshmana are in the forest. The land is now
without a king. It is right that you should assume the rule at our request. The
preparations for the coronation are all complete. The citizens and ministers
are awaiting your acceptance. This is your kingdom lawfully descended from your
ancestors, It is for you to be anointed and rule righteously over us." Bharata went with
folded hands round the materials gathered for the coronation and said in grave
tones to the assembled elders: "I do not consider
it proper that you should ask me thus to accept the kingdom. According to the
custom of our house, the throne belongs to the eldest son. With all respect to
you, I have decided to go to the forest and bring Rama back to Ayodhya with
Lakshmana and see that Rama is crowned. Please get ready the men and materials
for this purpose. Prepare the road for the journey. Let laborers be mobilised
for it. It is my final and irrevocable decision not to accept the crown." Listening to the
prince's words, the whole assembly was beside itself with joy. They applauded
Bharata's suggestion. The army and a big retinue were got ready to accompany
the prince to the forest. Quickly an army of workers with their tools went
forward to prepare the road. Men who knew the
forest, pioneers who could dig wells and canals, builders of rafts and boats,
carpenters and engineers, worked enthusiastically, because they were engaged in
getting beloved Rama back. Culverts were built, trees felled, a broad road for
the prince and his retinue was soon laid. Ups and downs were levelled, marshes
drained, resting-places for the army and facilities for drinking water and all
other conveniences were soon made ready. Though thus
preparations were made for Bharata's journey to the forest, Vasishtha and the
other ministers formally summoned the Assembly again. They did not give up
their desire to get Bharata to agree to be crowned. They sent messengers to
Bharata palace and invited him to the Hall. They approached him with music
playing on many instruments. All this pained him. He stopped the
musicians and sent the messengers back and told Satrughna: "Why should
they still persist in tormenting me when I have refused the kingdom? This is
the result of our mother's intrigue. My father has gone to Heaven leaving me to
bear all this alone. The land needs a king; without one it drifts like a
rudderless and derelict ship. We must soon get Rama back." The Assembly sat
eagerly looking for the entrance of the blameless prince. He entered the Hall
as the full moon rises in the sky He bowed to the elders and sat down. Vasishtha said:
"This kingdom has been given to you by your father and your brother Rama.
Accept it and protect us according to ancient custom." Bharata's heart was far
away with Rama. Tears fell from his yes. The young prince wept aloud in the
midst of the royal Assembly and in a voice struggling with tears, he addressed
words of respectful reproach to the preceptors: "How can you ask
one of my race and upbringing to usurp what belongs to another far nobler and
more worthy than I? Can any son of Dasaratha possibly dream of such iniquity?
This kingdom and I, and all else in it belong to Rama. He is the eldest son,
the noblest among us, a lover of dharma, an equal to Dilipa and Nahusha of old.
He is the rightful king. He is fit to be sovereign in the three worlds.
Standing here I pay my homage to Rama there in the forest. He is the King, not I." The Assembly burst into
tears of joy when they heard Bharata speak thus. And Bharata continued:
"If I am unable to persuade King Rama to agree, I shall stay there
performing penance. It is your duty, O Elders, to use every means to bring Rama
back. I shall do all I can to make Rama come back to Ayodhya and make him
King." He then ordered
Sumantra who was standing near him to hasten the preparations for going to the
forest. The city rejoiced in anticipation of Rama's return, for all felt sure
that nothing could resist the force of Bharata's dutiful love. GAZING across the river
Ganga, Guha, the hunter-king, noticed unusual commotion on the bank opposite. A
great army had encamped there. He pointed it to his kinsmen standing by his
side and said: "Who is this and
why has he come here with a large army, apparently to cross the river? The flag
suggests that it is Kaikeyi's son Bharata and his army. Yes, I see the flag
flying on the top of the chariot and I can recognise the tree painted on it.
That is the flag of the King of Ayodhya. Is not Rama's enemy, Bharata, the King
of Ayodhya too? Having secured the kingdom unjustly through his mother Kaikeyi,
it looks as though he has pursued Rama here to slay him. Get together our
warriors and kinsmen and friends. Let them stand ready on this bank. Gather all
the boats and fill them with armed men ready for battle. Let us wait and see.
If the newcomers are well disposed towards Rama, we shall help them to cross
the river and come over to this side. But, if their intention is hostile, we
shall prevent them from crossing the Ganga." And so having made all
preparations, Guha, in accordance with rules of courtesy, took some presents,
got into a boat and went to meet Bharata. On the other bank at the same time
Sumantra, was telling Bharata: "Look! Guha, the
hunter-king, devoted friend of Rama, has come with his people to welcome us. He
is the ruler of this region. He and his kinsmen are well acquainted with every
nook and corner of this forest. They could tell us where Rama is to found and
lead us safely and swiftly to the place." Meanwhile Guha crossed
the stream and, approaching Bharata, bowed and said: "Though we have been
taken by surprise by your unexpected visit, still all that is mine here you may
consider as your own and command me. I consider it an honor to be able to
welcome and entertain you and your
army." Bharata answered:
"It is very kind of you, O friend of my brother, to offer hospitality to
such a large army. I wish to proceed to the hermitage of Bharadwaja. We do not
know the way, and, we also need to cross this
great river." Guha bowed before him
with clasped hands and said politely: "My lord, my servants and myself are
ready to go with you and act as guides. But you must excuse me for expressing a
doubt which occurs to me on seeing this large army you have brought. Surely you
have no intentions hostile to
Rama?" Pained by these words
and from a heart clear and pure as the summer sky, Bharata said: "Alas,
what greater shame can come to me than this, that men who love Rama should fear
and suspect me? Have no misgivings, Guha. Rama is my father now, for he has
taken the place of my lost father. I have come here to beg of him to return to
Ayodhya. I swear, I have no other purpose in my mind." Guha rejoiced to see in
Bharata's face his intense love for Rama and his grief at what had happened. He
said: "My Lord, who in the world can equal you in sacrifice? Who but you
would renounce such wealth and power coming to him unsought? Your glory
will shine forever." The hunter-king
supplied Bharata's army with all it needed. The hosts and the guests retired
for the night. The meeting with Guha
only increased Bharata's sorrow. Bharata was endowed with a heart of utter
innocence. He sighed and said: "AIas, that it should come to this,"
and rolled sleepless on the ground. His whole body burned with thoughts of the
infamy that had come as a cloud over him, his father's death and the parting
from Rama. Guha spoke words of comfort and tried to console him. This meeting
of Bharata and Guha and the way they shared their sorrow is an episode dear to
the Vaishnava Alvars and other true Bhaktas. Bharat questioned:
"What food did Rama take when he was here? Where did he sit? Where did he
sleep? What did he say? And what did he do?" Guha answered every
question lovingly and pointed the spot where Rama had slept. And when he was
asked, "Where did Lakshmana sleep?" He replied: "Lakshmana said,
'When Rama and Sita lie stretched on the bare earth, how can I sleep?' and he
shed tears and, like me, stood on guard the whole night, bow in hand." As Bharata pictured
this scene, his grief became unendurable. He saw the spot where Rama and Sita
had slept that night and showed it to the weeping queens. Asked what Rama ate,
Guha answered: "My Lord, they fasted that night. Lakshmana brought some
water and Rama drank of it and handed it back to Lakshmana to drink. The food
brought was returned untasted. The following morning, they matted their locks
and walked into the
forest." Bharata had found some
relief from sorrow in his resolve to seek out Rama and persuade him to return,
but his talk with Guha and the sights he saw brought it back in full flood. "For my sake,
Rama, you slept on the grass. I have seen the spot and still live. And they
want me to wear a crown, on top of all this!" Thus he lamented
inconsolably. Then he told himself:
"I shall somehow take Rama back and seat him on the throne. If he wants
his vow fulfilled, I shall replace him in the forest for fourteen years. He
will agree to this arrangement as it is only right and proper." Thus he
calmed himself. Early next morning,
Bharata woke up Satrughna: "What are you still sleeping? The day has
already dawned. The army has to cross the river. We should send quickly for
Guha and arrange for the journey." Satrughna answered:
"I am not asleep, brother. Like you I spent the whole night thinking of
Rama." While they were
speaking, Guha arrived and after courteous greetings announced that he had a
fleet of many boats ready. All the baggage and the whole army were put on
boats. The loaded vessels crossed the great river. The transport across raised
a joyous clamor like some great festival. The people did not see
the sorrow in Bharata's heart for they had concluded, even when Bharata set
out, that Rama would surely return. They went forward rejoicing that soon Rama
would be in their midst as crowned king and all their recent sorrows would pass
like a bad dream. Valmiki describes the
scene on the bank of the Ganga in a way that recalls to one a crowded railway
station during a popular festival. When the whole army had crossed the river,
Bharata followed it in a boat specially fitted up for him. They reached the
ashrama of Bharadwaja. The story of Bharata in
the Ramayana portraying a character of unrivalled purity and sublime
selflessness is something, more than an episode, and stands out by itself even
in that noble epic, as holy shrines do on the banks of the Ganga. It uplifts the heart,
and gives one a glimpse of the heights to which human nature can rise when
cleansed by love and devotion. Whether Rama and Bharata were incarnations of
the Deity or merely supreme creations of a nation's imagination this episode is
among the masterpieces of the world's literature. Jnana and bhakti will
automatically grow by a contemplation of the personality of Bharata.
In order to recreate the scene and the person in his own mind the reader must
bring into play his reverent imagination. We bring with us into this world as
our inborn gift some wisdom and reverence. This gift is always in us and though
sometimes obscured by prejudice or passion it keeps alive the divine in man
which prevents him from reeling back into the beast. Bharata and his retinue
went on towards Bharadawaja's ashrama. When they reached the Prayaga wood, they
saw at a distance a beautiful grove with a cottage in its midst. Learning that
this was Bharadwaja's ashrama, Bharata left his retinue behind and, accompanied
only by Vasishtha and a few other elders, walked towards it with due humility. Divesting himself of
his silk garments and his weapons and accompanied only by the ministers he went
on foot behind Vasishtha. A little further on, he left behind even the
ministers, and he and Vasishtha alone went forward. When Bharadwaja saw
Vasishtha, he rose from his seat and went to meet the illustrious visitor and
bade his disciples to bring the customary water for the feet of the guests. Bharata offered humble
salutations to Bharadwaja. Learning who he was, the rishi received him with the
respect due to a king and made inquiries concerning his welfare. He
thoughtfully refrained from making any mention of the sad fate of Dasaratha. The narration that
follows is as told in Valmiki's epic. A few words by way of explanation may be
useful. Bharadwaja suspected and questioned Bharata, just as Guha had done
earlier. This is, however, not so put in the Tulasidas Ramayana which is a poem
of pure bhakti. There is nothing that was not within the knowledge of rishis.
How then could Bharadwaja (in the Tulasidas Ramayana) entertain any doubt about
Bharata? Kamban, the Tamil poet
of the Ramayana, follows Valmiki closely not only here but in many other places
where Tulasidas differs. Although Kamban carefully follows Valmiki, he adds
many beautiful passages out of his own imagination. With a touch here and a
touch there, Kamban manages skilfully to disentangle many knots. The changes he
makes are very few, while Tulasidas deals freely with the story, taking such
liberties as he likes with the story as a great bhakta may who has made his god
his own by self-forgetting surrender. Following Valmiki,
Kamban reports the conversation between Bharadwaja and Bharata and very
beautifully expresses Bharata's indignation. We may not, reading it
all today, appreciate Bharadwaja's doubts about innocent Bharata. Such
suspicion was perfectly natural to Guha, but not so in a wise rishi. Valmiki
makes the rishi justify himself saying: "Don't I know you, young prince? I
put you these questions only the more clearly to reveal
your innocence." Valmiki pictures rishis
not as omniscient sages, but as very human wise men and seekers after truth,
liable to love and fear somewhat like the rest of us. Just as Valmiki
delineates Rama as a hero rather than as an avatar, so he makes Bharadwaja
doubt Bharata because of his tender affection for Rama. Bound by his attachment
to Rama, he hurts Bharata. Seeing the latter suffer, he at once consoles him
with an explanation. All Valmiki's
characters are human beings with heightened human qualities. It is only under
great stress or in exceptional circumstances that divinity shines faintly
through the human nature. In the time of Tulasidas, bhakti had reached its
noonday height. It shone dispelling every shade. Though bhakti predominates in
Kamban's picture also, he contrives to retain the humanity of Valmiki's
characters and in places makes them even more beautiful. Bharadwaja, after making
the usual personal inquiries, asked Bharata: "Why did you leave your
kingly duties and go over here? Should you not stay in Ayodhya? Listening to
his young wife, Dasaratha ordered Rama to live for fourteen years in the
forest and the prince accordingly left the city with his brother and Sita. Do
you feel that even now the way is not clear for your rule and have you come to
complete what Dasaratha began and make assurance doubly sure?" Hearing these words,
Bharata wept. The tears gushed and he could hardly speak. "Death," he
said, "would be better than such a life as this." "Do you doubt me,
master?" he asked. "Do not blame me for what was done by my mother in
my absence without my knowledge or consent. I have come now to do my utmost and
persuade Rama to go back with me to Ayodhya, and there to be crowned King. And
it is my purpose to be his humble slave all my life. I have come here to ask
you where Rama dwells, to go and beg of him to return home. And me, you
suspect!" Bharadwaja said:
"Bharata, I know your real nature. You are a scion of the race of Raghu. I
questioned you because I wished to draw out a revelation of your affection and
loyalty and thereby establish and spread your glory. Do not grieve. The Prince
is dwelling on Chitrakuta hill. Stay here today. Tomorrow, you and your
ministers shall go there. You will please me by accepting hospitality for a day
in the ashrama." Bharata said: "My
Lord, your wishes and words of affection are a feast. What more is
required?" Bharadwaja smilled
because he could see that Bharata was unwilling to cast the burden of feeding
an army on a poor ascetic. He said: "I am bound to entertain you in a
manner worthy of your status and goodness. Why have you left behind your army
and retinue?" Bharata answered:
"I followed the rule that one should not approach a rishi's dwelling with
a retinue. There is a big crowd following me. It would be a great disturbance
to you if they all come here." The rishi said: "Nothing of the sort.
Order
them all to come up." And so Bharata ordered. Bharadwaja went to the
sacrificial fire and, uttering mantras, sipped water thrice and called on
Viswakarma, Maya, Yama, Varuna, Kubera, Agni and other celestial beings and
ordered them to produce a great feast for Bharata and his followers. Then a miracle
happened. The feast that was ready in Bharadwaja's ashrama was like that which
Vasishtha gave of old to Viswamitra. The only difference was that here, there
was no quarrel or commotion. Everyone had ample accommodation. Sandal paste,
flowers, food and drink, music and dance by divine performers were all
provided. Bharadwaja's feast was
more sumptuous than that given by emulous kings to one another. Dwellings,
vehicles, servants rose suddenly into being. The guests forgot themselves in
the feast. The soldiers in Bharata's army in the ecstasy of present enjoyment
exclaimed to one another: "We shall not go to the Dandaka forest. We shall
not return to Ayodhya. We shall stay here
forever." How were they to know
that the good things they enjoyed were for a day, and would disappear at dawn,
like the stage and the crowd after a village play is over? The guests ate fully
and soon fell fast asleep. The following morning
Bharadwaja said to Bharata: "At a distance of two-anda-half yojanas from
here runs the river Mandakini. On its banks is an unpeopled forest with
Chitrakuta hill to its south. On the slope of the hill, in a hut your brothers
and Sita are dwelling." And he explained in detail the way they should
follow. The three queens were
presented to receive the sage's blessings. "This is Queen Kausalya,"
said Bharata, "the mother of Rama and here, to her right and supporting
her, stands the mother of Lakshmana and Satrughna, sorrowstricken and limp like
a creeper stricken by summer winds." "And here is my mother, the cause of
all our sorrow," said Bharata, pointing to Kaikeyi who along with the
other Queens prostrated before the sage. "Do not judge your
mother harshly," said Bharadwaja casting his gentle eyes on the sorrowing
lady. "All that has happened has happened for the good of the world."
This episode of
introducing the mothers is placed by Kamban in the earlier scene with Guha.
Guha reverently inquires about the queens and Bharata explains. What Valmiki
describes as having taken place in Bharadwaja's ashrama is, with more poetical
effect, transferred by Kamban to its proper place. Introducing Kausalya to
Guha, Bharata says, in the Ramayana of Kamban: "This is the mother of
Rama. Her treasure was Rama and she lost it because of me." Of Sumitra he said:
"This is the mother of Lakshmana, truer brother to Rama, who has a
happiness beyond the reach of poor me." Kaikeyi in Kamban, as in Valmiki,
is introduced by Bharata in harsh terms. Bharata and his great
retinue took the forest path as directed by Bharadwaja. They saw from afar the
Chitrakuta hill and as they proceeded eagerly a column of smoke indicated the
spot where the prince's dwelling was and shouts of joy arose from the crowd.
Leaving his following behind, Bharata went forward accompanied only by Sumantra
and Vasishtha. WHILE Bharata was thus
engaged in trying to undo the mischief wrought by others, in the forest hut at
Chitrakuta, life went on fairly cheerfully. With Lakshmana and Sita by his
side, Rama lacked nothing. The grandeur of the mountain scenery and the forest and
the sweet songs and play of the birds pleased his heart. He forgot the sorrow
of his exile from kinsfolk and city. "Look, Sita, at
those birds playing," he would say. "Look at that rock on the hill
with the blue, yellow and red veins shining on it. Look at these plants and
creepers with their flowers. We feared life in the forest, not knowing how
pleasant it would be. I am so happy here. And I have in addition to this
pleasure the feeling that I carry out my father's promise. We have the joy of
duty done besides leading a happy life here. Over and above all this, I am
happy that my brother Bharata is ruling the
kingdom." Thus Rama, free from
sorrow himself, made Sita happy. Descending from the hill they would sometimes
go to the river Mandakini and spend time there.
"Look at those
sand hillocks," Rama would say. "Look at the swans playing among the
lotuses. The stream is as lovely as yourself, beloved. The fords where animals
come to drink are beautifully red with new earth. Even the river in Kubera's
kingdom cannot be as beautiful as this. Sea the rishis bathing there and
standing in supplication and offering hymns to the sun. Look at the flowers
falling from the boughs on the water. Look at that pearlscattering cascade. We
are indeed lucky to be far away from the crowded city here in the forest.
There, we cannot see rishis and pure souls such as we see here bathing
everyday. This hill is our Ayodhya. The birds and beasts are our subjects. The
Mandakini is our Sarayu. With you and Lakshmana by me, I am so happy and
content. How pleasant it is to see the animals drinking water in the stream
without any fear! Plunging in the water here, eating fruits and roots, walking
about in the forest and climbing the hills, why should I think of kingdom or
power?" Thus, in the company of
Sita and Lakshmana, Rama was spending happy days. One day as they were
sitting as usual on the slope of the hill in utter peace, suddenly at a
distance, they saw a cloud of dust rise in the sky which seemed moving towards
them. And soon they heard a great noise as of a big crowd. Rama saw the forest
animals stampeding hither and thither in fear. It looked as if an army entered
the forest. "Do you hear that
noise?" Rama said to Lakshmana, "'The elephants, bisons and deer are
running helter skelter. What could it be? Could it be some king come here
hunting? Or is it that some tiger or other fierce wild beast has come rummaging? Just see and
tell me." Lakshmana climbed up a
tall tree and looked all around. He saw a large army approaching from the
north, a complete force of all limbs, chariots, elephants, horses and foot
soldiers. He shouted to Rama in
warning: "Listen, brother. A great army is approaching with flags flying
and in complete formation. Let us be careful. Put out the fire. Take Sita into
the cave for safety. Let us don our armor and get ready for battle." Rama said: "Do not
be in such hurry. Look again at the flag on the chariot and tell me which king is
leading his army here." Lakshmana looked and
was filled with anger. "O my brother, it is Bharata. Not satisfied with
getting the kingdom, he is pursuing us here. I can see the tree on our flag
flying in the breeze. He has come to slay us. But the son of Kaikeyi shall not
escape with life from me today. What sin is there in killing this destroyer of
dharma? The only question now is, shall we wait for them here, or shall we give
them battle on the top of the hill? We will make him pay for all the harm be
has done us. It is surely no sin to kill one who comes to slay us. With him
will be destroyed the greed of his mother. You will soon see the forest paths
running with blood. Like a tree uprooted by an elephant, Bharata will be felled
to the ground by me. We shall destroy this army. We shall feed fat the beasts
of prey in the forest. " Lakshmana spoke thus, beside himself with rage. Rama proceeded to calm
him. "I know you can destroy the seven worlds if you are so minded.
Listen, you can easily kill Bharata and his army, but there is a thing to
consider before you set to work. Disobeying and disgracing our father and
killing our brother and earning infinite obloquy, what good shall we gain by
battling for and winning the kingdom? What we gain by killing our kinsfolk will
be like food with which is mixed poison. Why and for whom do we seek wealth and
kingdom? Is it not for the sake of others, whose joy is our own? Who would want
to acquire a kingdom by wrong means? And what joy is there in a kingdom which
you cannot share with those you love? Truly I tell you, I will never look at
wealth and power that you and Bharata and Satrughna cannot enjoy with me. I
know why Bharata is coming here now and I will tell you. He knows the way of
dharma. He is coming here to give the kingdom to me. If he had been in Ayodhya
instead of in the far-away land of his uncle he would have dissuaded Kaikeyi,
and saved our father from the great sorrow which has befallen him. I am certain
he is coming now to take me back to the city. It is wrong of you to think ill
of Bharata and speak such harsh words about him. If it is desire for the
kingdom that makes you so cruel in your suspicion, tell me. I have only to tell
Bharata to pass it on to you, and I have no doubt he will do it with
pleasure." Rama said this
laughing, and Lakshmana shrank into himself with shame. "Perhaps our
father, the King," Lakshmana said. " Is himself coming to see us." After listening to
Rama, he was convinced that his fear was improper. He wondered then why the
army was marching and thought that perhaps Dasaratha was coming to
visit them in the forest and a large retinue followed the King. The commentator
remarks that Lakshmana, realising his folly in having spoken ill of Bharata,
was trying by some explanations to cover up his shame. Rama cheered up
Lakshmana saying: "Yes, it may be as you say. Thinking that life in the
forest was hard, the King might have come to take us, and specially Sita, back
to the city. But then, we do not see the King's great white umbrella. But
whatever be the case, you should be calm." Lakshmana stood humbly with
folded hands by Rama. Halting the army at
some distance, Bharata sent a few men to observe and report on the place whence
the smoke rose. They brought the news that this was the very spot described by
Bharadwaja and that the cottage was very probably Rama's forest abode. Bharata started forward
with Satrughna, Vasishtha and Sumantra. As they advanced, they saw indications
that the ashrama was habited. There was a path that led to the river and the
trees were blazed on either side of it as though to make it easy to find it in
the dusk. Presently they came to a cottage thatched with leaves, near which
were stacks of faggots and the dry dung of deer and wild buffaloes heaped for
use in winter. In the cottage, on the
walls were mighty bows and quivers full of deadly arrows, swords which seemed
to radiate victory and other weapons all of superlative excellence. They saw
also, spread out to dry on the branches of trees, garments of bark. Bharata
beheld all these sure signs of his brothers' residence in the hermitage with a
swelling heart. From inside came smoke
from the oblations of daily worship. Entering, Bharata saw the altar with its
blazing fire and Rama himself seated by it with matted locks, majestic, though
in deer-skin and bark, a ruler of the world, with his mighty arms, breadth of
chest and a countenance made to command love and obedience. By him were Sita
and Lakshmana. He had been thinking all the time of the infamy that had
gathered on his head, and wondering what to say and what to do when he met
Rama. But now when he saw
Rama, he forgot all this in the great love that surged within him and submerged
all other thoughts and fears. He sprang forward to the spot where Rama was
seated. He could utter no word, beyond "Brother," and fell at his
feet, and sobbed. By this time, Sumantra and Guha joined him. Rama saw before him
lying on the ground Bharata with hands clasped in supplication, with matted
locks and in garments of bark. With grief and fasting, his body had grown lean
and he was tanned with fatigue and exposure. Rama embraced him, and kissed him
on the head, and said: "Brother beloved, why did you leave our father's
side and come all this way into the forest? And why have you grown so
thin?" Bharata was speechless.
Rama put to him the formal questions which members of the royal family asked
each other when they met after an absence. After an interval,
Bharata gathered strength and gave answer. "Why do you question me about
the kingdom, brother, as though I were its ruler? What connection is there
between the kingdom and myself? When you are the rightful king, how could I
call myself king or rule over the land? My duty is to do you humble service. It
has not been given to me to do it. The eldest son should bear the burden of the
kingdom. This is the law and custom. Come with me to Ayodhya, wear the crown
and shower your grace on our family and people. The old King's work in the
world is over and he has entered Swarga. When you had left Ayodhya for the
forest and before I returned from Kekaya the King gave up his life, slain by
the grief of separation from you. Do not give way to sorrow. Perform the
obsequies of our father. Thinking of you, he gave up his life. The obsequies
you perform will alone satisfy his spirit." Thus Bharata steadied himself
and spoke. When Rama heard that
his father was dead, he fell down like a tree felled by an axe. Bharata had no
need to repeat before Rama all the apologies and explanations which he had to
give to Kausalya, Guha and Bharadwaja. Where was the need for explanations when
Rama set his eyes on that grief-stricken body and that ravaged face? Bharata,
whose one concern was to take Rama back to Ayodhya, spoke only of this and not
at all of himself. The princes, with Sita
and Sumantra went to the river and offered libations for the peace of the
departed soul of the King. After other customary ceremonies, the princes
returned to the cottage. They held each other's hands and relieved their sorrow
by loud lamentation. In this episode, where
Bharata meets Rama, we read in Valmiki a long lecture on the art of government,
delivered by Rama to his brother. Often in our epics, we come across such long
dissertations on politics or morality. Modern fiction gives high priority to
narrative vigor, dramatic suspense and surprise. In old works, in addition to
plenty of these qualities, there were generous doses of didacticism. It may be added here
that even old commentators noticed that the chapters of this episode have got
mixed up and displaced in Valmiki. Kamban has of course regularised and modernised
the narrative. In Tulsidas the meeting of Rama and Bharata is steeped in bhakti
and there is no room for any complications. 28. BHARATA BECOMES RAMA'S DEPUTY WHEN it was known that the four princes and the three
queens were reunited and could be seen together in one place, a chorus of joy
went up in the army and retinue and they came surging forward to witness that
happy spectacle. They were sure now that Rama would return to Ayodhya and the
people embraced one another for the very joy. The sage Vasishtha
conducted the three queens to the hut. On the way, they saw the river
Mandakini. When he showed them the spot where the princes daily took water for
their use, Kausalya and Sumitra broke down and sobbed. Said Kausalya: "From this pool in
the river, Sumitra, your son takes water to the ashrama every day. Lakshmana is
prepared to do the commonest task cheerfully for his brother. He does not mind
the weight of the water pot on his princely shoulder." They saw the spot where
Rama and Lakshmana poured out libations for their father's Spirit. The darbha
grass lay with the ends facing south, beside the oil cake. Kausalya clung to
Sumitra and said: "O Sister! This is the food that the mightiest kings
have to be content with after death." They reached the hut.
There they saw the princes with faces clouded with sorrow, seated under a
thatched roof. Unable to bear the sight, the royal mothers sank to the floor. When Rama lifted
Kausalya tip, she stroked him with her flower-soft hands and was at once sad
and happy. She embraced Sita and said: "My child, Janaka's daughter,
daughter-in-law to the King of Ayodhya, do you live in this hut in the forest?
O, faded lotus-flower! O, golden image covered
with dust! My heart melts at the sight of you." Rama reverently touched
the feet of Vasishtha who seemed another Brihaspati, the preceptor of the gods,
come down to earth, and then sat by his mother. Bharata humbly sat apart facing
Rama. The elders surrounded them, eagerly awaiting what Bharata would say and
how Rama would react. "Bharata, why have
you left your kingly duties and come here in deer skin and with matted
locks?" asked Rama. Bharata attempted to speak several times, but at first
could not get beyond the word 'Brother.' Then he pulled himself together with a
great effort and said: "Sending you to
the forest, but unable to bear the pain, our father's soul fled to heaven. All
the good my mother has got from her evil plan has been that she has become a
sinner and a widow and is in deep sorrow. Despised by the world, she experiences
hell on earth. Only you can save us. Undo all the evil that has been done and
wipe off our tears by agreeing to be crowned. It is to implore you for this
that we and the citizens and the army and the widowed queens have come and are
all here waiting on your word. Grant us our prayer. This alone will put an end
to our sorrow and re-establish the dharma of our race. Without a rightful king,
the land is like a widow, desolate and helpless. You must come back and make it
happy and secure. Like the full moon rising, dispel our darkness. The ministers
here and I fall at your feet and beg of you. Do not refuse, O, brother!" Saying this, the great
Bharata, with tear-filled eyes, clung to the feet of Ramachandra. Rama raised him from
the ground and embracing him said: "Child, we were
born in a noble family and brought up in good ways. Neither you nor I can do
anything wrong. I see no fault in you, my blameless brother! Do not feel sad
and do not speak unkind words about your mother. It is not proper that we should
blame her. Surely our father had the right to tell us what to do, aye, even to
decree banishment, just as he had the right to order a coronation. Our duty is
to honor our father and our mother. How could I disobey or question their
command? Was it for me to refuse my father's command that I should go to the
forest? He gave you kingship and he ordained for me life in the forest. He
certainly had the right to settle the manner of our lives. What right do we
have to alter or reject his plans? Far from being wrong, it is your duty to
rule the land. And I too shall do my duty and fulfil our father's last command
by living fourteen years in the Dandaka forest. Failing to fulfil our father's
wish, can I find contentment in the possession of the whole world?" Bharata repeatedly
besought and importuned Rama. Rama realised that Bharata grieved that it was
for his sake injustice had been done and that he endeavored to remove the blot.
"Do not blame
yourself," he said. "Do not think that all these things took place
for your sake. Destiny rules everything. Give up your grief. Return to Ayodhya
and rule the kingdom. Let us each perform the duties assigned to us by the
father we love and revere." The people who watched
the talk and saw the determination of the prince were filled with joy and
sorrow in equal measure. Bharata's affection and purity filled them with pride
and joy. Rama told Bharata his
unalterable decision. "I cannot possibly disobey my father's word. You
will please me by not persisting in trying to persuade me. Satrughna is there
to help you in ruling, as Lakshmana is here to help me in forest life. With
Lakshmana by my side, I lack nothing. Let us all four, brother, do our other's will." The learned Jabali, one
of the priests who had accompanied Bharata, here interposed a lesson on worldly
wisdom for the benefit of Rama. "You talk again and again of your father's
command. Dasaratha was a
physical body which has now rejoined the five elements. You talk as though
there is some continuing relationship between that person who is now no more
and yourself. This is sheer illusion. Why do you like the foolish prating of
dharma and seek to give up the good fortune to which you were born? Like a
woman mourning with dishevelled hair, the city of Ayodhya is plaintively longing
and waiting for your return. Go back. Accept the crown. Enjoy life's pleasures.
Listen to Bharata. Do not fail in your proper duties." This lecture angered
Rama. He said with much sharpness: "Sir, you seem to set little value on
truth and rectitude. Your materialist talk fills me with such abhorrence that I
wonder that an unbeliever like you should have been tolerated in the
court." Jabali hastened to
explain that, far from being an infidel, he had all his life been a teacher of
the Shastras and that he had only spoken as he had done out of an earnest wish
to persuade Rama to return. Vasishtha also intervened on his behalf and that
unlucky interlude came to an end. Vasishtha then put the
case for Rama's return this way: "On the whole, my
opinion is that you should return to Ayodhya and accept the throne. Of course,
your father's command also has to be considered, and reconciled to this step.
You have obeyed that command at once and unhesitatingly, but now a new
situation has arisen. Bharata in his helplessness, fearing infamy, has sought
shelter at your feet. How can you spurn him? We all know that you love him as
your life. You never refuse those who approach you for help. How then can you
deny it to Bharata now? Is it not your life-principle to help those who seek refuge at your
feet?" But Rama showed no
signs of relenting. Then, Bharata turned to Sumantra and said, "My brother
has no pity for me. Please spread a bed of darbha grass here for me. I shall
take the pledge of fasting unto death." Sumantra hesitated and
looked at Rama. Then Bharata himself fetched and spread the grass and sat on
it. "My child, this is
not right," said Rama firmly. "Rise. Go to Ayodhya and fulfil your
duties. Do not go against Kshatriya dharma." Bharata got up and as a
last resort appealed to the people who had accompanied him, a representative
crowd of soldiers and citizens from Ayodhya: "O, citizens of Ayodhya! Why
do you stand mutely looking on? Do you not want Rama to return? Why
then are you silent?" The people answered:
"Rama will not swerve from truth. He will stand firm by his father's
promise. He will not return to Ayodhya. What is the use of pressing him
further?" Rama said, "Listen
to them, brother. They wish well by both of us. Virtue dwells in their hearts."
Bharata said: "Here I am as guiltless
as Rama and a fit
substitute for him. If the King's word should be fulfilled let me stay here in
the forest in place of Rama. Let him fill my place and rule in Ayodhya." Rama laughed and said:
"This procedure of exchange cannot apply here. This is not trade or
business for barter and agreement. It is true that sometimes one discharges the
duties of another, when the latter is too weak and unable to do it. But how does
it fit on this occasion? Can any of you say that for life in the forest I have
no capacity but only Bharata has?" Then the wise Vasishtha
found a solution for the problem in which righteousness struggled with
righteousness as to which should be more right. "O, Bharata, rule the
kingdom under Rama's authority and as his deputy. No blame would attach to you
then and the pledge would be kept." Rama took Bharata on
his lap and told him, "Brother, look on the kingdom as my gift to you.
Accept it and rule it as our father wished." A glory descended on Rama and Bharata at that moment
at they shone like two suns. Bharata said:
"Brother, you are my father and my God. Your least wish is my dharma, Give
me your sandals. That token of yours shall reign in Ayodhya till you return.
And for fourteen years I shall stay outside the city and discharge the King's
duties in your place, paying reverent homage to your sandals. At the end of
that period, you will return
and accept the kingship." "So be it,"
answered Rama. He placed his feet on
the sandals and handed them to Bharata who prostrated himself on the ground and
accepted them and put them on his head. Bharata and his retinue
turned back towards Ayodhya. On the way, they met the sage Bharadwaja and
reported what had happened. He blessed Bharata saying: "Your virtue will
be for ever remembered. Are you not a son of the solar race? As water flows downwards,
the virtue of your family runs its inevitable course in you. Your father
Dasaratha is indeed happy. He is not dead but lives again immortally in
you." They met Guha again and
crossed the Ganga and reached Ayodhya. Bharata and his followers entered Ayodhya.
The city, bereft of the King and Rama, appeared desolate to Bharata. It seemed
to be enveloped in the darkness of a moonless night. When he returned in haste
from Kekaya, he had entered the city in fatigue and shapeless fear and
suspense; but today he entered it again fully realising all the tragedy. He remembered the past
and thought of the present and grieved afresh. He went to the palace and took
the queens to their desolate apartments. He went to the assembly hall, and
said: "Great is my sorrow. But I shall bear it. I shall stay in Nandigrama
and carry out my tasks as I have promised Rama. Make all arrangements for this
purpose." This was done and he
solemnly announced in the assembly, "This kingdom is Rama's. For
the time being, he has asked me to be in charge. In my brother's place I have
installed his sandals. Deriving my authority from them I shall do my work as
king." Accordingly, Bharata
stayed in Nandigrama and with the help of ministers ruled the kingdom as a
religious duty until Rama should return after completing his forest life. And
indeed, is it not the law laid down in Scripture that one should serve the
world unselfishly and without attachment, leaving the fruit of one's work at
the feet of the Lord? Rama did his penance in the forest for fourteen years and
all the time Bharata too did his penance at Nandigrama near Ayodhya. NOT far from Chitrakuta
was an outpost of the Rakshasas, called Janasthana, in charge
of a famous warrior named Khara, who was a brother of Ravana. From this
station, fierce Rakshasas ranged the forest round, molesting the rishis in
their isolated ashramas. They made life so insecure that the rishis abandoned
their hermitages in the Chitrakuta region in spite of all that Rama could do to
dissuade them. After Bharata's
departure Rama was not quite happy in Chitrakuta. The face of his beloved
brother tearful with disappointment and the sad drooping form of his widowed mother
were ever before his mind's eye. Now that the going away of the rishis had
deprived him of even their companionship, the lonely hut was so full of sad
memories that he made up his mind to seek some other resting place in the
Dandaka forest. So they left Chitrakuta
and proceeded to the hermitage of Atri, a rishi who knew the country, to seek
his advice as to where they might establish themselves. They were most
affectionately received and Sita won the heart of Atri's wife, the saintly
Anasuya. Anasuya delighted at finding in Sita a perfect embodiment of wifely
virtues, blessed her and presented her with beautiful garments and auspicious cosmetics that set out
the charms of lovely young wives. Anasuya was the
embodiment of pure womanhood and her gifts added beauty and inner strength to
Sita. She received the gifts and said: "My Lord the prince loves me with
the love of a mother and a father. I am indeed blessed." Then they made
inquiries concerning the way and resumed their journey. Walking, through the
great Dandaka forest, Rama, Sita and Lakshmana reached a spot where many rishis
lived. Even as they approached the place, they saw the sacrificial materials,
bark garments and deerskins spread out to dry and they knew it was a colony of
holy men. The place was beautiful
to look at. Birds and animals moved about with the freedom from fear born of
affectionate familiarity with their human neighbors. Ripe fruits hung from the
trees. The beautiful sound of Vedic chanting was heard. As they came near, they saw the radiant faces of the
rishis. They welcomed Rama. "O, King! You are our protector," they
said. "Whether we are in the town or in the forest, you are our
king." And they gave the new comers all they needed and a place in which
to rest. The following morning,
the three took leave of the rishis and re-entered the forest, which was now
denser than before and there were tigers and other wild animals. They proceeded
slowly and cautiously. Suddenly, a gigantic
form distorted like a broken fragment of a hill rushed at them making a
blood-curdling noise. It was a man-eating rakshasa and his roar was like
thunder. He was unutterably ugly and the tiger-skin he wore was covered with
blood and gobbets of flesh of the slaughtered beast were sticking to it still. The corpses of three
lions and the head of an elephant recently slain were impaled and strung in a
row on the great spear which he shook menacingly at them. The rakshasa lifted his
weapon, roared horribly and, springing forward lifted Sita and as he held her,
shouted at the princes: "Who are you, little fellows? How dare you enter
this forest? You look young but wear matted locks and bark garments. You have
disguised yourselves as ascetics; yet you carry bows and arrows, and go about
with this woman by your side. Whom are you trying to cheat? Are you not ashamed
of yourselves? You are besmirching the good name of the rishis by your conduct,
you hypocrites! Know that I am Viradha himself. The flesh of rishis is my daily
food. I shall have this lovely damsel for my wife, do you understand? I shall
now drink your blood, you villains!" Held in his grasp, Sita
trembled with fear. Rama lost his usual self-control and said: "Lakshmana,
this is unbearable. Kaikeyi must have known all this when she sent us to the
forest!" Rama was bewildered and
did not know how to meet the Rakshasa. But Lakshmana, hissing like an angry
snake, said: "Rama, you are strong like Indra and, with me by your side,
you should not talk dejectedly. Look at what my bow and arrow can do. The earth
will presently drink this monster's blood. My wrath which was denied outlet at
Ayodhya, I shall now direct on this monster, and shatter him as Indra did the
winged mountains of yore. I shall attack this creature and slay him." Viradha roared again:
"Who are you? Tell me at once." Rama's mind now cleared. His face
glowed with courage and calmly he said: "We are princes of the Ikshvaku
race. We have come to live in the forest. May we know who you are?" The Rakshasa answered.
"And so, you are the sons of Dasaratha, are you? My father's name is Jaya.
And I am known among rakshasas as Viradha. You puny kshatriyas carrying arms,
what can you and your ridiculous weapons do to me? I have secured a boon from
Brahma that no weapon can hurt me. Leave this girl here and run away, if you
wish to save your lives." Rama's eyes grew red
with anger. "It is time for you to go to Yama," he said and bent his
bow and shot a sharp arrow at the monster. It pierced his body and emerged red
with blood, glistening like fire, and fell on the earth beyond. But the
rakshasa was not killed. Enraged by the pain, he placed Sita on the ground, and
lifting his spear and opening his mouth wide rushed towards Rama and Lakshmana.
The princes sent a shower of arrows at him. The arrows stuck so thick on his
body that he bristled all over like a gigantic porcupine. The rakshasa however
laughed and shook his limbs, and down fell all the darts. He straightened
himself and lifted his spear again. Rama and Lakshmana with two arrows broke
the spear and rushed at him sword in hand. But he lifted them both up with his
hands and put them on his shoulders and strode off into the forest. Sita saw
them disappear in the darkness of the jungle and wept loud. Rama and Lakshmana,
seated one on each shoulder, knowing that weapons could not kill him, wrenched
off his arms and threw them down. They then attacked him with their hands and
feet. Still they could not kill him on account of Brahma's boon, but the agony
of his wounds was so great that he howled with it. Unfortunately for him he had
asked for immunity from slaughter, but not from pain. The brothers threw down
the exhausted monster and Rama planted his foot on his neck to prevent him from
rising. The touch of Rama's
feet cleared the mist in which the curse incurred in a previous birth had
shrouded his understanding, and in the sudden light of recollection he joined
his hands and said humbly, "Your feet have touched me, Lord, and my eyes
are opened. I have realised who you are. I am under a curse, but you can save
me. I am not a rakshasa by birth, but a Gandharva. The boon I secured prevents
my liberation. If you could somehow kill me, I shall recover my original form
and go to heaven." Accordingly Rama and
Lakshmana smashed him without weapons and buried him in a pit they dug in the
earth. And the rakshasa returned to the world of Gandharvas. Then the princes went
back to the place where Sita stood terrified and told her all that happened. They proceeded to the
ashrama of Sarabhanga. Indra was there with other gods, talking to the rishi.
Knowing that Rama had arrived, he cut short his talk and went away. Then Rama,
with his brother and wife, approached the rishi and humbly saluted him. The old ascetic said:
"It is for you I have been waiting. It is time for me to leave the body
but my wish was to see you first. And so I have been waiting. Now my desire is
fulfilled, I pass on to you all the merit of my penances." Rama answered: "My
Lord, should I not earn my own merit? How can I receive what you have
earned? I have renounced everything to live in the forest. Advise me where I
can best find an abode in the forest and send me forth with your
blessing." The rishi knew the
secret of Rama's avatar and told him: "Learn from the sage Sutikshna where
in the forest you should dwell." Then Sarabhanga kindled
a fire and entered it. The gross body perished in the flames and a youthful
ethereal form rose from the pyre and floated up the heavens. When the rishis of that
forest heard the news of Viradha's death they came to Rama and surrounded him.
"It is our good fortune, O King," they said, "that you have come
to dwell in this region. Hereafter, we shall perform our penance untroubled by
rakshasas. Look at those bones scattered all round. They are the remains of
ascetics killed and eaten by the rakshasas. The rishis on the banks of Pampa
and Mandakini live in constant fear of their lives from these man-eating monsters.
The King's duty from which he may not fail without sin is to protect his
subjects. Just as householders pay taxes, a share of the merit of our penances
goes to the King's benefit. You are radiant like Indra, king of the gods.
Protect us from this persecution of the rakshasas. You are our only
refuge." Rama answered: "I
am bound, O great ones, to obey your command. I gave up kingship and came to
the forest in obedience to my father's wish. If in discharging my duty as a son
I can also serve you and do some good, I shall count myself twice blessed. I
shall stay in the forest and destroy the rakshasas and free you from trouble.
Shed your fear." Rama's promise of help
gave relief and joy to the rishis. Rama, Lakshmana and Sita then proceeded
towards the ashrama of Sutikshna. They came to a big hill surrounded by a thick
forest which they entered. There they saw bark garments drying in the sun and a
little later came upon the old rishi himself. Saluting him, the
prince said: "My name is Rama, O holy sage. I have come to have darshan of
you. I pray for your blessing." The sage rose and
embraced him. "Welcome, defender of dharma. My ashrama is fit up by your
presence. It is now yours. When I heard you had left Ayodhya and taken up your
abode at Chitrakuta, I knew you would come here, and have lived in hope of
seeing you. Else I would have long ago given up this body. The merit I have
accumulated I now pass on to you. Take it for yourself, your brother and the
princess." The sage's face was bright with the light of long holy life. It was the custom of
the rishis thus to offer their acquired merit to those who came as their
guests. From Rama's answer, we can see how such courtesies were to be received.
"O sage, I must
earn merit by my own good deeds. With your blessing, I still hope to do so. I
wish to dwell in the forest. The sage Sarabhanga directed me here to receive
your blessing and seek your instructions as to where I could build a home for
the rest of my stay in the forest." The rishi's face was
bright with joy and he said meaningfully: "You may live in this ashrama.
There are many rishis living round about. The forest is full of fruit and
roots. But evil beasts are abroad molesting the rishis and obstructing their
penance. The sages are unable to
bear this trouble. But for this, the place
is good." The prince understood
what the sage meant to convey. He bent and strung his bow and said: "Holy
sage! I shall destroy these evil-doers. My bow is strong and sharp are my
arrows. It is not proper that we should dwell in this ashrama. It may interrupt
your penance. We shall find a place for ourselves in the neighborbood. Permit
us to do so." That night they stayed
in the sage's ashrama as his guests, The following morning, the three got up
and bathed in the cool water fragrant with flowers, lit the sacrificial fire,
performed their worship and touched the feet of the sage. "By your grace, we
spent a good night. We desire to see the other rishis in the region and receive
their blessings. It is good to set out before the sun grows hot. Pray, give us leave to
go." The sage embraced the
princes and blessed them, saying: "Visit the good rishis in the Dandaka
forest. They have all gone through great austerities and obtained divine
powers. The forest is indeed beautiful with deer and birds and lotus-filled
tanks, and the hills with cascades and peacocks. Lakshmana, go now with your
brother and with Sita. Come to this ashrama whenever you feel like it." The three walked round
the sage according to custom and took leave of him. Sita handed to them their
swords, bows and quivers and the princes set out, more radiant than before
because of the great sage's blessings. Now begins the Aranya
Kanda. The poet begins with an episode that prepares us for the misfortunes of
Sita. A new responsibility has been cast on the prince. He is to destroy
rakshasas who molest the rishis in the Dandaka forest. A fear arose in Sita's
heart like a shadow cast by events to come. "Why should you
and Lakshmana who are properly to be merely ascetics in the forest" asked
Sita of her beloved husband, "take on yourselves this task of protection? You have
come here to fulfil a promise of the late King. The duty of protecting the
rishis belongs to the ruler who is actually reigning. It is not for you,
engaged in penance, to protect rishis. To kill anyone, except in self-defence,
is opposed to the vow of ascetic life. But you have rashly promised protection
to the rishis. I wonder where this will lead us?" Thus Sita argued in
soft and affectionate words while they were going from Sage Sutikshna's ashrama
towards some other ashrama in the Dandaka forest. "Bear with me, my
Lord," she said, "for seeming to counsel you. I speak but as a weak
woman out of my infinite love for you. You know what dharma is. But, men, it is
said, are driven by desire into three kinds of sin: falsehood, lust and
violence. Falsehood is unthinkable in one who for truth's sake has renounced a
kingdom and is here in the forest. And as for lust do I know that you will not
allow even the thought of another woman to enter your mind. But I am afraid of
the third kind of sin. Should we kill one who does not attack us? Whether it is
a rakshasa or anyone else, why should we kill anyone who leaves us alone? You
were in a hurry, I feel, to give your word to the rishis. To destroy the wicked
is no doubt the duty of a kshatriya but can that duty still cling to you when
you have renounced the privileges that go with it, and elected the life of a
recluse in the forest? The duties of kingship go with actual status. Dressed in
garments of bark and with hair matted, you are now an ascetic, pure and simple.
Of course, you know best. I am only asking you to think well before undertaking
anything." Rama's love and
admiration of Sita rose all the more for her is misgivings. "Indeed, my
love," he said, "you speak like a true daughter of Janaka. But, Sita,
did you not once say yourself that the weapons borne by kshatriyas are for
protecting others? When helpless people suffer persecution, how could a
kshatriya sit still? When we came here the sages complained of their sufferings
and entreated our protection. They could not endure the cruelties of the
Rakshasas who looked on them as so much meat and made shambles of the
hermitages. Did they not show us a great heap of bones to show what had been
done? 'You are the king's son,' they said. 'Our troubles will now end as
darkness before the rising sun. You are our only refuge.' Could we princes hear
their piteous appeal and refrain from helping them? Every kshatriya, everyone has
to do his duty, not the king alone. You are, of course, solicitous for my
safety. Even granting that what you say is right, I have given my word and I cannot
go back. They said, 'You are our refuge,' and I have given my word to protect
them. A pledge thus given cannot be withdrawn. What I have spoken cannot now be
unsaid. You and I must tread together the path of dharma. How can we
differ?" Talking thus, they went along the forest path. This conversation
occurs in the poem like the cloud that precedes the storm. It is the artistic
creation of a changing atmosphere and not a random casting up of facile verses.
For ten years, Rama,
Lakshmana and Sita lived quietly among the rishis. In the great Dandaka forest,
there were a number of ashramas where the rishis lived practising their
austerities and living their lives of abnegation. The princes spent a month in
one ashrama, three months in a second and perhaps a year in a third as welcome
and happy visitors. The forest was
indescribably beautiful, with deer and bison, boars and elephants. The birds,
the trees, the creepers, the blue waterlilies, all live again in the beauty of
Valmiki's poetry. Rama was very happy
these ten years, the joy of association with great and holy men being added to
his joy in the quiet companionship of Lakshmana and Sita. These ten years are
disposed of in a small chapter. Time happily spent seems short and needs no
length in recording. When after ten years
had thus passed, the end of their forest life was approaching, Rama wished to
have darshan of the sage Agastya who lived in the south. The sage was, like Vishwamitra, famous
through the three worlds. It used to be said that if all the wisdom and
spiritual merit between the Himalayas and the Vindhyas were put on one scale
and Agastya sat on the other, the southern scale would go down by his weight. There is also the story
of Agastya's service during the wedding of Siva and Parvati. All the rishis had
gone to Mount Kailas for the great event. Agastya alone, staying in the south,
maintained the balance of the earth. Once the Vindhya Mountain steadily grew
towards the heavens and threatened to obstruct the sun's passage between the northern
and southern hemispheres. The gods grew
frightened and approached Agastya for help. The Sage stood before the mountain
which bent low in reverence before him. Then he blessed it saving: "May
you ever remain thus", and so the mountain stretches low and long even
now. So goes the story. Two Rakshasas, Vatapi
and Ilvala, gave much trouble to the rishis. The former had obtained a boon
that no matter into how many pieces his body was cut up, they would all reunite
and his body would be whole and strong as before. IIvala, disguised as a
brahmana, would go to the ashrama of one rishi after another and say, "O
Learned One! Go over to my humble home and oblige me by accepting the
consecrated food prepared for my manes." On no account,
according to ancient rule, could one refuse such an invitation. The rishis
therefore had to accept the invitation. To them Ilvala served as food his
brother Vatapi cut up and cooked lusciously and after the unsuspecting guests
had eaten the meat, the host would, according to custom, ask the guests,
"Are you satisfied?" The answer would be "Yes. We are
content." Then, Ilvala would shout, "Vatapi Come out!" And at
the call of Ilvala, Vatapi reunited into life would come out tearing the bowels
of the guests. Many rishis had to die
in this way. One day, Ilvala tried
to play this trick on Agastya. As usual, Vatapi entered Agastya's entrails as
meat. Agastya of course knew this, but he was a devotee of Ganapati and had
obtained the power to digest the Rakshasa. "Are you
satisfied?" asked Ilvala. "Yes,
I am
satisfied," answered Agastya. IIvala shouted,
"Vatapi, come out." Agastya, laughing,
said, "Vatapi has been digested, my host!" "What?" cried
Ilvala. "Have you killed my brother?" And he rushed against Agastya. The Sage opened his
eyes in indignation and the rakshasa was reduced to ashes. No rakshasas would
thereafter come near Agastya and he protected the other sages also. Rama first
went to the ashrama of Agastya's younger brother and obtained his blessings
before visiting Agastya himself. Proceeding south and approaching Agastya's
place, Rama noticed the brightness
of the whole region, the birds and animals playing about without fear and
brahmanas gathering flowers for worship. He told Lakshmana to go
in advance and announce him to the sage. Lakshmana met one of the disciples of
the sage and sent word through him: "Ramachandra, son of Dasaratha, has
come with his brother and wife to seek the great sage's blessings. Agastya warmly welcomed
the princes. He said: "I heard of your having come to dwell in Chitrakuta,
and I was looking forward to your visit. The end of your exile is approaching.
Stay here during what remains of it in peace. This place is free from the fear of
rakshasas." Rama answered: "I
am happy to receive your blessing and I thank you for your gracious welcome.
But I have promised protection to the rishis in Dandaka and now that I have
received your blessings, I must return to that forest." And Agastya answered:
"What you say is right." Then the Sage gave to Rama the bow made by
Viswakarma for Vishnu and an inexhaustible quiver, as well as a sword. He
blessed him saying, "Rama, destroy the rakshasas with these weapons which
of yore Vishnu gave me." Agastya advised the
prince to spend the rest of his exile at Panchavati. "May God bless
you, O, Prince," said Agastya, "take good care of Sita who for love
of you cheerfully submits to hardships to which she was not born or accustomed.
Women are by nature fond of comfort and averse to hardship but no such weakness
is found in Sita. She is like Arundhati.
Wherever you
are, Ramachandra, with
Lakshmana and Sita by your side, the place will be filled with beauty. But
Panchavati is itself a beautiful spot and Sita will love to live there, secure
in the protection of you both. Fruit and roots are there in abundance. Stay
there on the bank of the Godavari. The period of your exile is coming to an
end. You will soon fulfil your father's plighted word. Like Yayati, Dasaratha
is served by his eldest son." 31. THE SURPANAKHA EPISODE THE Princes and
Sita, following
Agastya's instruction,
took the way to Panchavati. On the way they met a huge figure perched on a big
tree. They took it to be a Rakshasa. "Who are
you?" asked Rama in an angry tone. The vulture however answered in a voice
full of mildness and affection: "My child, I am your father's aged
friend." Then he proceeded to tell his story. Jatayu was the brother
of Sampati, the son of Aruna the dawn-god, who was brother to Garuda the great
eagle-vehicle of Vishnu. He said: "When you
leave Sita alone and go hunting in the forest, I shall be looking after her
safety." The prince was pleased
and accepted the offer of the bird with gratitude. They then proceeded on their
journey. Rama was thrilled by
the beauty of Panchavati and gratefully offered praise in his thoughts to
Agastya for recommending the spot to them. He told Lakshmana: "We can
build our ashrama and enjoy our stay here for any length of time. Those hills
are near and yet not too near. Look at those herds of deer. The trees with
their flowers and the sweetly singing birds, the river, the clean sand,
everything is beautiful. Choose for us a good site and build a cottage." Lakshmana did as he was
told. He constructed an ashrama. Valmiki pauses here to
explain the skill and swiftness of Lakshmana's workmanship. He describes in
detail how the mud walls were raised and the thatched roof was made. Rama
admires Lakshmana
enthusiastically. "You are more than
a father to me," said the prince shedding tears of love and joy. We, too, may pause to
think how the noble prince Lakshmana acquired this skill. We may infer that in
those days education even of princes included a knowledge of the realities of
life and development of manual skill such as could enable one to collect
materials in a forest and put a neat cottage for oneself. In the ashrama at
Panchavati, Rama and Sita lived happily, lovingly served by Lakshmana. One morning in early
winter the three went as usual to the Godavari for their bath and to offer
their morning prayers and fetch water for the day's needs. They walked
conversing about the beauty of the season. Lakshmana thought of Bharata and how
he would then be busy performing the ceremonies appropriate to the month. He said: "Bharata
is entitled to live in ease but he has taken on himself a life of hardship
because we live a life of hardship in the forest. My heart is full of sorrow
for him. Even in this cold weather poor Bharata no doubt eats sparingly and
sleeps on the bare floor. This cold morning he too is probably walking towards
the Sarayu. How fortunate we are to have such a noble brother! Pure in mind and
speech and conduct, renouncing all pleasures, he lives a life of austerity for
our sake. He is exactly like our dear father and quite the opposite of his
mother. How could so cruel a woman as Kaikeyi bear so good a son?" Rama stopped him,
saying: "Talk as much as you like of Bharata and our father, but stop
condemning Kaikeyi. All that you say of Bharata is true and my thoughts too
today go to him in love. How long yet to see him again? When shall we have that
pleasure, Lakshmana? When shall we four brothers live together again? Bharata's
loving words are still sweetly ringing in my ears." Thus thinking longingly
of home and Bharata they bathed in the Godavari on that early winter morning. After offering
oblations to their ancestors and prayers to the sun, Rama rose transfigured
like the Lord Siva and returned to the ashrama with Sita and Lakshmana. Their morning duties
over, they sat whiling the hours with wistful talk of old days and tales of
long ago. While they were thus
recapturing the past in sweet companionship suddenly there came a Rakshasa
woman who saw them. She was Surpanakha, Ravana's sister who was roaming the
forest full of the idle thoughts of well-fed ill-taught youth. She was horribly
ugly, but had the magic power to assume any lovely form at will. When she saw
the godlike beauty of Rama, she was filled with uncontrollable desire for him
and accosted him. "Who are you,
dressed like an ascetic but accompanied by a woman and carrying warlike weapons
and arrows? Why are you here in the forest that belongs to the Rakshasas? Speak
the truth." On such occasions it
was the courtesy of those days for the person accosted to announce himself and
recite his name, city and history and inquire of the newcomer concerning his or
her family and the purpose of the visit. Rama began, "I am
the eldest son of the great King Dasaratha. My name is Rama. This is my brother
Lakshmana. And this is my wife Sita. Obeying the behests of my father and
mother and in fulfilment of dharma, I am now in the forest. And now please
announce who you are. What is your family? You look like a woman of the Rakshasa
race. What is your purpose in coming here?" She answered,
"Have you heard of Ravana, the heroic son of Visravas and the king of the
Rakshasas? I am his sister. My name is Surpanakha. My brothers Kumbhakarna and
Vibhishana are also renowned warriors. The lords of this region, Khara and
Dushana, are also my brothers. They too are mighty men at arms and wield great
authority in these regions. But I am not subject to their control, but am a
free person, free to do what I like and please myself. Everybody in this forest
is, as a matter of fact, afraid of me." She said this to strengthen her
wooing position. "The moment I set
eyes on you," she continued, "I fell in love with you. You are now my
husband. Why do you wander around with this midget of a woman! I am the mate
worthy of you. Come with me. Let us wander at will through the forest. I can
take what shape I please. Do not mind this girl of yours. I shall cut her up in
a trice and dispose of her. Do not hesitate." Under the influence of
lust, she thought in the manner of her race and prated thus. All this amazed
and amused Rama. He smiled and said: "Oh beautiful one! Your desire for me
will end in trouble for you. My wife is here with me. I do not care to live the
life of a man with two wives. But my hefty brother here is untrammelled with a
wife, and is as good-looking as myself. He is the proper husband for you. Offer
your hand to him and leave me alone." Rama said this, being
confident that Lakshmana would deal with Surpanakha suitably. The Rakshasi took
Rama's advice seriously and approached Lakshmana saying, "Oh, my hero,
come with me. Let us together wander at will in joy through this Dandaka
forest." Lakshmana entered into
the humor of the situation and said, "Do not be foolish. He is trying to
cheat you. What is your status and what is mine? I am here a slave to my
brother, while you are a princess. How could you become my wife and accept the
position of a slave's slave? Insist on Rama's taking you as his second wife. Do
not mind Sita. Soon Rama will prefer you to her and you will be happy with
him." Some critic might ask
whether it was proper thus to torment a woman, especially a woman in love. But
if we exercise our imagination and have before us a monster of ugliness we can understand the
situation. It is true that she could assume any charming form she chose, but in
the intoxication of lust, she seems to
have omitted even this allurement. "This ugly,
corpulent and paunchy Rakshasi, with leering eyes blood-shot with lust, her red
hair all dishevelled and her voice hoarse with passion, accosted the handsome,
beautifully built and smiling Rama", says Valmiki. The Tamil poet Kamban
varies the situation by making Surpanakha assume a lovely shape from the outset.
Impelled by brute
passion, the Rakshasi did as she was told by Lakshmana and went again to Rama.
She thought and acted like a Rakshasi for she knew no other way of life. The sight of Sita
enraged her. "It is this wretched little insect that stands between you
and me. How could you love this girl without a waist? Look. I shall finish her
off this instant. I cannot live without you. Once I have put her out of the
way, you and I shall live together happily." Saying this, she sprang on
Sita. Rama intervened just in
time to save Sita. The farce had gone too far and threatened to become a
tragedy. Rama shouted to Lakshmana, "Look, I have just been able to save
Sita. Attend to this monster and teach her a lesson." Lakshmana at once took
up his sword and maimed Surpanakha and drove her out. Disgraced and mutilated,
Surpanakha uttered a loud wail and disappeared into the forest. Bleeding and mad with
pain and rage, she flung herself on the ground before Khara, as he sat in state
with his colleagues. Yelling with anguish, she related the story of her wrongs.
The scorn and mutilation she had suffered was an insult to the Rakshasa race
which only blood could efface. She said: "Look at me. Rama and Lakshmana have done
this and they are still alive and roaming in your domain. And you sit here doing
nothing." Khara stood up and
said: "My dear sister, what is all this? I understand nothing. Calm
yourself and tell me what has happened. Who dared to do this thing to you and
is he in this forest? Who is he that wants to become food for crows and
vultures? Who has stirred up the black cobra? Who is that fool? Where is he?
Tell me, and he shall die at once. The earth is thirsty for his blood. Stand up
and tell me everything as it happened." "Two handsome
young men," said Surpanakha, "have come into the forest, dressed like
ascetics and accompanied by a girl. They say they are the sons of Dasaratha.
These two together, making an excuse of the girl attacked me and have hurt me thus
shamefully. I am thirsting for the blood of these villains. Slay them first. Everything else can
wait." Khara ordered his
generals: "Go at once, slay these men and bring their lifeless bodies.
Drag hither the woman also. Delay not." Fourteen generals set
out to do his bidding. In Kamban's Ramayana,
Surpanakha is delineated as having come in the shape of a beautiful young
woman, entirely human, who tried to tempt Rama. Kamban departs widely from
Valmiki in this episode and he makes a beautiful episode of it as will be seen
in the next chapter. There are some people
who pose as critics of our holy books and traditions saying, "This hero
killed a woman. He insulted and injured a woman who offered him her love. He
killed Vali from behind, rather than face him and accept honorable defeat. He
unjustly banished Sita to the forest at the end of all the adventures. If the
banishment of Sita was not unjust and if he rightly suspected Sita's fidelity,
why then, we too, must suspect her fidelity." All such criticism is
based on a mentality of hatred. We have unfortunately plenty of barren,
heartless cleverness, devoid of true understanding. Let those who find faults
in Rama see faults, and if these critics faultlessly pursue dharma and avoid in
their own lives the flaws they discover in Rama, the bhaktas of Sri Rama will
indeed welcome it with joy. If they exhibit the virtues of Rama and add to
these more virtues and greater flawlessness, who can complain? RAMA and Lakshmana
drove out Surpanakha, as one takes a stick and drives out a donkey straying
into a garden. Such is the brief and simple treatment of this incident by
Valmiki. Kamban, the Tamil poet,
however, deals with it more elaborately and has made a number of changes in the
story. Sitting on the
riverbank, Rama watched a swan walking and then looked at Sita, also walking.
Noting the similarity in the gait, Rama was pleased and smiled. Sita, for her
part, observed an elephant returning from the river and, reminded of Rama's
gait, smiled. Thus in Panchavati, beside the river Godavari, love flowed
smoothly between the banks of dharma. Just then fate conspired with lust to
drag Surpanakha to the
presence of Rama. The Lord Vishnu had left the Ocean of Milk and taken birth as
Dasaratha's son, to rid the earth of the enemies of the gods. But how was
Surpanakha to know this? Beholding the beauty of
his person, she wondered: "Is this Manmatha or Indra or Siva or Vishnu?
But Manmatha has no body. Indra has a thousand eyes and Siva has third eye in
the forehead, and Vishnu has four arms; so he cannot be Indra, Siva or Vishnu.
Perhaps, after all, this is Manmatha who has recovered his body through
penance, after it had been reduced to ashes by Siva's wrath. If it be Manmatha,
why should this handsome hero still perform penance? Why should this lotus-eyed
youth waste his time in tapas?" So she stood there
wondering, watching, unable to turn her eyes away. She thought, "My own
form would fill him with disgust. I shall change my appearance and then
approach him." She transformed herself
into a beautiful young woman and appeared before him like the full moon. Her
slender frame was like a golden creeper climbing up the Kalpaka tree in Heaven.
Her lovely lips and teeth were matched by her fawn-like eyes. Her gait was that of a
peacock. Her anklets made music as she came near. Rama looked up and his eyes
beheld this creature of ravishing beauty. She bowed low and touched his feet.
Then she withdrew a little with modesty shading her eyes. Rama welcomed her,
imagining that she was a visitor from some distant place and inquired:
"Which is your place? What is your name? Who are your kinsfolk?" She answered: "I
am the daughter of the grandson of Brahma. Kubera is a brother of mine. Another
is Ravana, conqueror of Kailasa. I am a maiden and my name is Kamavalli. And
what is your purpose in coming here? It is not proper for a woman to speak out
the trouble in her mind. And yet I suppose I must speak it out. The God of Love
has invaded my heart. You can and should save me." She paused. Rama
remained silent. And she went on. "You may wed me
with Gandharva rites. You know it is permitted for lovers to come together in
this manner. Once we are joined in this way, not only will happiness be ours,
but friendship between you and my brother, the great Ravana, will follow. You
are alone in this forest and the Rakshasas will molest you. Even if you do not
provoke them, they will give you trouble because you are dressed as an ascetic.
If you marry me, you will be free from all this danger. Not only that, my
powerful people will be ready to serve you in all ways. Consider this
well." Thus she pleaded for
the fulfilment of her desire, citing authority and appealing to Rama's
self-interest also. Rama laughed revealing
his beautiful pearly teeth. Just then, Sita was coming towards them through the
plants and creepers, herself looking like another creeper. Surpanakha saw and
marvelled at her loveliness. Not knowing whom she
was, Surpanakha angered by lust, told Rama: "This girl is a Rakshasi in
human form. She has come to deceive you. Beware of her. Demonic is not her real
form. She is a Rakshasi that eats raw meat. Throw her out. Have nothing to do
with her." Rama laughed again.
"You are indeed wise," said he. "You have found out the truth
about her." Meanwhile, Sita had
come and stood by Rama. Surpanakha could not understand what Rama was laughing
for. In her lust, she had quite lost her wits. She hissed at Sita: "Why do
you approach this hero of mine, oh Rakshasi? Go away from here." Sita, bewildered and
afraid, hung on the prince's shoulder, and she then seemed like a lightning
flash hugging a rainbearing cloud. Rama now saw that the
joke had gone too far and said: "Dear lady, please stop, lest my brother
should hear you. He is quick-tempered and terrible when angry. I advise you to
go back quickly the way you came." Saying this, Rama took Sita with him
and went into the hermitage. The fire of her desire unquenched, the Rakshasi spent the
night somewhere, somehow. In the morning, she thought: "I shall die
if I do not get this man. So long as this girl is with him, he will never come
near me. I must contrive to carry her off and put her away somewhere and then I
may secure his love." Thus resolved, she came again to the ashrama. Rama had gone to the
river for his morning ablutions and prayer and Sita was alone in the ashrama.
Surpanakha reckoned this was her chance to carry her off. She did not notice
that Lakshmana was in the wood nearby. She rushed towards Sita. Lakshmana
shouted and sprang on the Rakshasi. Catching hold of her hair, he kicked her
and drew his sword. Surpanakha when attacked resumed her own shape and at
tacked Lakshmana. Lakshmana easily caught hold of her and mutilated her and
drove her off. Surpanakha ran into the
forest, bleeding and loudly appealing to her kinsfolk: "Oh, brother Khara!
Oh, brother Ravana! Oh, Indrajit! Oh, kings of the Rakshasa race! Are you all
asleep? A mere man has insulted me and cut off my nose. Do you not hear my
lamentations?" This is Kamban's
version of the episode. Surpanakha approaches and tries to attract Rama, hiding
her true form and appearing like a beautiful human girl. This variation is
supported in a way by Valmiki's description of Surpanakha as Kamarupini, that
is, one able to assume what form she liked. The Tamil poet appears
to have felt something wrong or wanting in Valmiki's story and has woven an episode
showing how bestial passion works. 33. KHARA AND HIS ARMY LIQUIDATED ACCOMPANIED
by the
fourteen generals of Khara,
Surpanakha came back to Rama's ashrama, determined to avenge herself and drink
the blood of the princes. Pointing to the two young
men, she told her escort, "Look, there stand the men who insulted and
mutilated me. Slay them immediately." Rama understood the
situation at once and told Lakshmana: "Take care of Sita for a while,
while I deal with those fellows." Saying this, he took up
his bow. Following the
prevailing rules of war, Rama announced himself to Khara's generals and said,
"Tell us the reason that you come here. Know that we are here in the
forest at the bidding of the rishis for the purpose of destroying their enemies.
If you wish to escape with life, leave us alone." But the Rakshasas
wanted not peace, but war. And the battle began. It did not take long for
Rama's arrows to annihilate the Rakshasa generals. Once again, lamenting
loudly, Surpanakha went to Khara. The destruction of the powerful detachment he
had sent was inconceivable. He could not believe it. He sought to soothe his
disturbed sister with soft words. "I have sent
warriors unconquerable, each one like Yama. They must have by now fulfilled
their mission. Why do you weep'? Why need you bewail while I am here?" Surpanakha rose, and
wiping the tears from her eyes, said: "True, you sent your fourteen
warriors with me. But the fourteen now lie stiff and cold in death, slain by
Rama, whose skill with weapons baffles description. If you have a spark of
pride in you, start at once, fight with Rama and save the Rakshasa race. If you
do not, the destruction of our people is certain. But if you are afraid, tell
me so and I shall understand. These young men who have entered your satrapy are
determined to destroy your race, unless you first meet and destroy them." These words, spoken by
his sister in a loud voice before all his courtiers, pierced Khara's heart. "Why do you speak
thus terrified by a puny human being? Hold yourself in patience for a moment
and you will have his blood to drink." So saying, Khara rose. "Do not go
alone!" she said. "Take your army with you." Khara gave orders
accordingly. A great army, fully armed, went in advance under the leadership of
Dushana. Behind the army Khara proceeded majestically in a chariot. On the way
he met with many bad omens which affected the spirits of his host. He laughed
and reassured his army, saying: "Never have I been
so far defeated in battle. Do not mind these portents. We shall soon crush
these two little men and return in triumph." The army took heart at
these bold words of their leader. Hearing the tumultuous
noise of the approaching army, Rama and Lakshmana prepared for battle. Rama
told Lakshmana: "Do you
see the signs? It is certain that the Rakshasas of Janasthana are coming here
to their death! I see in your face the glory of the victory that awaits us. Arm
yourself and take Sita with you to a cave in the hill and look after her. I shall
encounter the Rakshasa hordes and destroy them. Go at once. I do not require
any help." Saying this, Rama put on his armor and strung his bow.
Lakshmana did as Rama bade and took Sita to a mountain cave. A great battle was to
follow. So the Devas and Gandharvas hovered in the heavens to watch the fight.
They uttered benedictions and prayed for Rama's victory. The rishis had
misgivings. How was Rama, standing single, to meet and quell this huge army? As
Rama stood there, bow in hand, the radiance of his face was like that of Rudra
himself when he bent his great bow Pinaka. The Rakshasa force
advanced in proud array, with drums and trumpets and the clanking pageantry of
war filling the quarters with clamor and causing the denizens of the forest to
stampede in all directions. Rama stood holding his bow with his band on the
string. Like great black clouds disturbing the sun the Rakshasa hordes
surrounded him. The battle began. But
while even the Devas wondered how he could withstand the yelling masses which
rushed on him, a constant stream of deadly arrows sped from his bow before
which the Rakshasa ranks withered and fell like moths before a blazing fire. Dushana himself now
stood in front of Rama. Rama bent his bow and sent his shafts in all directions
in an unceasing stream. Like rays from the sun, and with the speed of light,
arrows shot out from the spot where Rama stood, spread out in all directions
and brought down warriors, chariots, elephants and horses. The shafts pierced the
bodies of the Rakshasas and came out, covered with their blood shining like
fire. The army was utterly destroyed and Rama stood still, like Siva at the end
of Time. Dushana came again with
another great army. For a while he seemed indomitable. But soon Rama's arrows
laid low his chariot, drivers and horses. He jumped down and sprang towards
Rama. Rama's arrows, however, severed his arms from his trunk. And the monster
fell dead on the ground like a huge elephant. Other Rakshasas, who saw Dushana
falling, rushed against Rama and were also slain by the arrows that sped from
his Kodanda bow. In this way, the whole
army of Khara was destroyed. It had come roaring like an ocean and now it lay
still, a mass of corpses and severed limbs and derelict weapons and broken
chariots. Only Khara and Trisiras remained. As Khara rushed forward to
meet Rama, Trisiras stopped him saying: "I shall go first and kill Rama.
Or else, I shall be killed. After I am dead, you may meet him." The three-headed
Rakshasa mounted on his chariot attacked Rama with his arrows. Rama met them
with arrows that hissed like deadly serpents. At last Trisiras collapsed and
fell spitting blood. His followers fled like deer. Khara, seeing this,
cried: 'Hold' to the fugitives and directed his chariot against Rama. His
confident pride was gone but he fought manfully. The shafts sent by the two
warriors covered the sky. Khara stood like Yama in his chariot, sending his
stream of arrows. For an instant, Rama leaned on his bow. In that interval
Rama's armor was pierced by Khara's arrows and showed the prince's body shining
like the sun. Rama now took up the
bow of Vishnu and laid low Khara's chariot and cut his bow in twain. Khara then
took his mace and approached Rama. The Devas and rishis watching the battle
became anxious and renewed their benedictions. "You have been a
terror and a plague to mankind!" exclaimed Rama. "Strength of body is
no protection to an evil-doer. You have persecuted and killed rishis engaged in
penance in the forest. You will now receive the punishment due for these sins
of yours. The spirits of the rishis whose flesh you fed on are now witnessing
your punishment from their aerial chariots. I have come to the Dandaka forest
to destroy wicked Rakshasas. My arrows will pierce the bodies of all your
kinsfolk. Your head will soon roll on the ground like a ripe fruit."
"Human worm!" exclaimed Khara. "Son of Dasaratha! Have done with
boasting! You are proud because you have killed a few common Rakshasas. A hero
boasts not as you do. Only a Kshatriya banished by his people can talk boasting
like this. You have shown you can brag. Let us see now if you can fight! Your
words have blazed up like burning straw with little heat or life. Here I stand
mace in hand, like Yama to take your life. Evening approaches. Be prepared to
lose your life. I am here to avenge the death of these my followers whom you
have killed." So saying, he whirled
his mace, and hurled it at Rama. The mace was split by Rama's arrows into
splinters which fell harmless on the ground. "Have you finished speaking,
Rakshasa? Now you shall die. This forest will be safe hereafter and the rishis
will live in peace," said Rama. Even while Rama was
speaking, Khara pulled out by its roots a huge tree, and gnashing his teeth,
threw it at Rama. But this too Rama split by his arrows. And fearing further
delay, he aimed deadly darts at Khara. The wounded Rakshasa sprang on Rama
intending close combat with him. But the latter avoided contact by stepping
back and laid him dead with a shaft which clove his breast. The Devas showered
flowers from on high and cried in joy: "Rama has killed the sinful
Rakshasa. Men can live in peace in the Dandaka forest hereafter. Within an hour
Rama has destroyed Khara, Dushana, Trisiras and their whole army. Indeed he is a hero." Sita and Lakshmana
returned from the cave. Lakshmana embraced Rama and rejoiced that single-handed
he had fulfilled the promise of safety he had given to the rishis. How did Rama all alone
perform these feats? If one observes a cow guarding her calf and scattering a
whole crowd of men, one can realise the power of love. Love is a supreme
quality which according to occasion manifests itself in diverse heroic forms
such as valor and self-sacrifice, just like gold which can be changed for
silver or goods or other things of value. When God assumes human form and is
engaged in fulfilling His promise to save the helpless, His limitless power
comes into play. AKAMPANA, one of
the few Rakshasas who
survived the great slaughter at
Panchavati, fled to Lanka and seeking audience of Ravana, said: "Almost
all our people who occupied Janasthana are dead and Janasthana is now an empty ruin. I
alone have managed to escape with life." Ravana was furious with
anger. He stared and violently shouted: "Who destroyed my lovely
Janasthana? Was it Yama or Agni or Vishnu? I shall deal death to the god of
death. I shall burn up both the god of fire and the sun. I shall strangle and
suffocate the god of wind. Tell me, who was it that destroyed Janasthana and
killed my men heedless that I am here to avenge? Speak out at once." It was ever dangerous
to carry unpleasant news to tyrants. Akampana was frightened by the king's rage
and said, "I shall speak, if you give me protection." He then told
his tale. "Rama, son of Dasaratha, a young warrior, lion-like in fierce
valor, a hero who has already acquired fame among men, fought with Khara and
Dushana at Panchavati and destroyed them." The Rakshasa king
hissed like a cobra and said: "What are you talking? How did this happen?
Did Indra and the divine hosts come down to earth and fight on Rama's
side?" Akampana answered: "No such thing happened, great king. Alone
did Rama stand against our whole army and its commanders and destroyed them
all. And Khara and Dushana too were slain. The deadly arrows issuing from
Rama's bow like five-headed serpents pursued the Rakshasas wherever they went
and destroyed them." And he went on to describe at length Rama's skill and
speed in the use of his weapons. And so Ravana learnt
that Dasaratha's son, Rama, with his younger brother Lakshmana was at
Panchavati and that he, alone without even his brother's aid, had done it all
and that no gods had come to their aid. "Well,"
said Ravana,
"I do not understand this but I
shall start at once. I shall destroy these little worms of men and
return." And he rose. "Hear me, great king, before you go," said
Akampana, and explained once again Rama's strength and courage. "Listen to me. No
one can fight with Rama and conquer him. When I say 'No one,' I mean 'No one.'
Not even you can do it. Because you have promised me protection, I dare thus to
tell you the plain truth. There is only one way of killing him. His wife is
with him. The whole earth holds not her equal in beauty. If you contrive to
carry her off, separation from her will kill Rama; so great is his love for
her. Consider how you can do this. Do not think of battle with him." When he heard of Sita's
beauty, the Rakshasa's desire was kindled. He began to think that the defeat of
Khara and his hosts was indeed a fortunate event that brought him an
opportunity for gaining one more beautiful queen and wife. He welcomed
Akampana's advice and said: "Tomorrow morning I shall go. I think your
plan is good." Accordingly Ravana set
out in his mule-yoked flying chariot which gleamed like the moon among the
clouds as it sped fast in the air. He went straight to Maricha's dwelling. Maricha duly welcomed
his king and inquired what urgent necessity brought him there. Ravana answered:
"Hear me, Maricha. You and you alone can help me. Janasthana has been
destroyed and so too the whole army I had stationed there. All this is the work
of Rama, son of Dasaratha. Isn't it amazing? To avenge myself, I am resolved to
carry off his wife. In this I need your advice and help." Maricha ,whose
experience of Rama's prowess had seared into his soul, was horrified and tried
to dissuade Ravana from his mad enterprise. "What plan is
this? Some enemy determined to destroy you, but pretending to be your friend,
has given you this plan of carrying off Sita. Whoever gave you this advice
wishes the end of the Rakshasa race. It is like advising you to put your hand
into the mouth of a sleeping cobra and pull out its fang. Haven't you a happy
home and devoted wives? Return to them, and enjoy your life and prosperity. To
hanker after Rama's wife is the highway to disgrace and destruction and the annihilation of the
Rakshasa race." Ten-headed Ravana went
back to Lanka, for Maricha's counsel appeared right to him. Ravana must have
then remembered the omission in the series of boons he had secured. He had
obtained immunity from the attacks of all beings except men. Rama's shafts had
conquered and killed the whole army with Khara, Trisiras, Dushana and other
mighty warriors. Thinking of all this, Ravana accepted Maricha's advice. But fate would not let
him be. Ravana was seated on his throne with his counsellors around him.
Majesty shone on his face like a sacrificial flame fed with ghee and his mighty
body showed the scars of many wounds received in victorious battle against
gods, asuras and others. His strength and
courage were limitless, so was his
adharma. He had no equal in persecuting Devas, spoiling sacrifices and carrying
away women. The hosts of Devas and asuras were mortally afraid of him. He was a
terror to all creatures. Enjoying wealth and varied pleasures, freed from the
fear of death, the ruler of Lanka knew no master or rival and feared neither
God nor sin. With his ten heads,
large eyes and huge limbs, his figure was terrible, but it also possessed the
marks of royalty. Gorgeously dressed and bejeweled as he sat on his throne,
surrounded by his ministers in the midst of the splendor of the despoiled
world, there suddenly appeared before him like the vision of the doom to be,
his sister Surpanakha, bleeding and mutilated, a shape of pain and sorrow and
shame. While all looked at her with horror struck eyes in stunned silence, her
anguish broke out in burning words. "What a fool are
you that, sunk in sensual pleasures and arrogantly secure of sovereignty.You
are not awake to the deadly danger that threatens your existence at your very
doors! Surely that king who is drunk with self-importance and dead to all
portents that threaten his state is doomed to shame and destruction! No object is of less
account or more contemptible than a ruler who falls through his own remissness.
Know you not that your brothers, Khara, Dushana and Trisiras and your gallant
army of fourteen thousand fierce Rakshasas have been exterminated by Rama, a
mere man, and that your outpost at Janasthana has been destroyed? One moment I
saw a single warrior stand proud in the glittering pageantry of war and the
next, they lay dead slain by that man's arrows, strewing the ground like ripe
crops devastated by a terrible hail-storm. And you see me, your own sister,
disgraced, mutilated and heartbroken! Have you no thoughts of vengeance, you, a hero,
a brother, king?" Stung by her contempt
and heart-struck by her suffering and sorrow, Ravana said: "Be sure you
shall have vengeance. But this Rama, who is he? What sort of man is he? What
are his weapons? How does he fight? What seeks he in Dandaka forest? And how
happened it that you were so cruelly
mutilated?" She gave a description
of the brothers and Sita, dwelling on the virile beauty and powers of the
brothers, probably with a view to provoke the envious jealousy of the Rakshasa.
And growing enthusiastically eloquent about the superlative loveliness of Sita,
she said: "I have no words to describe her perfections. I have never seen
such sublime beauty in any created thing, be it Gandharva or Kinnara or a
daughter of man. And now, I will tell you why this ghastly outrage was
perpetrated on me. On seeing this Sita, I felt that none but you deserved her
and that she was fully worthy to share your bed and out of my love for you I
tried to carry her off for you. Lakshmana, who was standing by, prevented it
and, springing on me, disfigured and disgraced me thus. For your sake, all this
I have suffered. If you wish to avenge this insult and protect the honor of the
race, rise and go at once. Apart from revenge for the insult I have suffered,
secure for yourself a wife worthy of you. If you capture her and disgrace Rama,
the spirits of the warriors who were slain in Dandaka would be satisfied. I too
shall feel that some amends have been made for the dishonor done to me. You do
not know your own strength. You can easily secure Sita, and make her your own.
And can you remain indifferent to the insult to your race? Khara and Dushana
lie dead in Janasthana because they dared oppose Rama. Think of all this and do
what is right. Save, oh, save, the honor of our race." Listening to these
words of his sister and her praise of Sita's beauty, Ravana dissolved the
council and retired to muse alone. He had to think and think again, because he
remembered what Maricha had told him. He turned in his mind the pros and cons
and finally coming to a decision ordered a chariot to be kept ready in secrecy.
It was ready, his
golden chariot, drawn by mules bearing demon faces. Mounting it, he passed over
sea and land and cities. As he looked from his magic chariot at the sights of
the summer season down below, his passion grew stronger. He reached Maricha's
ashrama and met Maricha who, with matted hair and bark garments, lived the life
of an ascetic. Seeing his king and kinsman, Maricha welcomed Ravana duly and
said: "Why have you come all this way a second time and unannounced?"
Ravana, skillful in
speech began: "I am in great trouble from which only you can save me. I
beg you for help. Do you know how my brothers, under my orders, ruled
Janasthana and how they and their warriors knew no opposition all these years?
But now this man Rama has killed them and their whole army. Without a chariot,
and standing on the ground, his arrows have pierced to death all our kinsmen.
Today, in the Dandaka forest, rid of Rakshasas, the rishis live fearless lives.
This Rama is a worthless prince banished by his father, no doubt for some
crime. He has been wandering in the forest alone with his wife, Sita. This
fellow dressed like an ascetic but enjoying sense-pleasures, this renegade from
dharma, proud of his strength and for no other reason, has mutilated the face
of my sister and insulted our race. My sister who has suffered this pain and
shame had come and complained to me. If, with all this, I sit still and do
nothing, would I still be a king? To avenge myself I have decided to carry off
Rama's wife from the Dandaka forest. To disgrace and punish this Rama is a duty
I owe to my race. And for this I need your help. With you to help me, I have no
fear. In courage, strength, skill and magic powers, none on earth can equal
you. That is why I have come to you. You cannot refuse me. I will tell you how
you can help me. You should turn yourself into a golden deer, a golden deer
with silver spots, casting a spell on all eyes. In that shape romp in front of Sita
near Rama's ashrama. True to the character of women, she will insist on Rama
and Lakshmana pursuing and capturing you for her.
When they are thus engaged and she is left alone, I shall easily carry her off.
Sita is a most beautiful woman. Rama losing such a wife is sure to languish in
sorrow and lose his manly spirit. It will then be easy to kill him and avenge
ourselves." Maricha stared at
Ravana. His face became pale and his mouth grew parched. He was frightened by
Ravana's plan. With his experience of Rama's prowess and his own wisdom born of
penance, Maricha saw what was going to happen. He knew that Ravana's
sinful purpose had not the ghost of a chance of success. It was clear to him
that the noose of fate was round Ravana's neck dragging him to inevitable ruin.
He had spoken no doubt of the honor of the Rakshasas, of the duties of kingship
and of the insult to Surpanakha. But he was really impelled by a lustful desire
to possess Sita. All this Maricha saw. We should analyse
Surpanakha's motives too. She had suffered because of her own uncontrollable
carnal desire. Though it was Lakshmana who mutilated her she was not so angry
with him as with Sita who stood between her and her desire and whose beauty and
virtue she hated as darkness hates light. The one desire that now
burned in her heart was to avenge herself by bringing disgrace on Sita. In
order to use Ravana for this purpose, she described Sita in such glowing terms
to him and kindled his lawless passion. The rest of her talk was ancillary to
her main purpose. Reference to the honor of the race, the security of his
empire, the slaying of his kinsmen and so on was only to serve her main purpose
which was to rouse Ravana's lust and make him desire Sita and he was caught in
the snare. MARICHA
told Ravana,
"I have listened, my king, to
all that you have said and I am filled with boundless sorrow. It is easy to
flatter. Flattery is ever pleasant to the ears. Those who utter good though
unpalatable advice are few; and fewer still are those who welcome it when
given. Yet it is my duty to speak to you the harsh truth. Sweet words might
please you now, but will surely lead you to danger and ruin. Your informants
have not told you the truth about Rama. Do not be deceived by what you have
heard from others about this Rama. He is neither a renegade nor a criminal, but
a dutiful son who is in the forest to honor his father's word. Far from being a
weakling or coward, he is a mighty warrior, whose equal in arms does not exist.
Do not make him your implacable enemy and bring ruin on your people and your
kingdom. From what you are bent upon, it looks as though Sita was born only to
compass your ruin. The race of Rakshasas and Lanka itself will soon be
destroyed on your account. Who is the enemy that has put this disastrous
thought into your head? Who has given you this bad advice to take you, your
kingdom and your race to danger and destruction? Who told you that he was a
lover of pleasure and falsehood? Rama is the embodiment of dharma. He employs
his strength and courage in the service of dharma. As Indra is surely the first
among the gods, Rama is first among mortal men. How dare you, how could you,
cast longing eyes on Sita? Will Sita ever yield to
you? Take her from Rama indeed! Can one deceive the sun and steal from him his
light? You will be reduced to ashes if you approach the blazing fire of
Janaka's daughter. Do not fall a prey to Rama's shafts. Do not seek your own
death. Do not approach the fire guarded by Rama. One should not launch on a
course of action without full thought. You can never vanquish Rama in battle.
O, Ruler of the Rakshasas, do not turn a deaf ear to my words. Do you remember
how, in olden days, proud of my strength, I disturbed the rites and sacrifice
of the sage Viswamitra. In those days Rama was but a boy; yet Viswamitra had,
with Dasaratha's permission, taken young Rama to protect his sacrifice. That
sage knew Rama's prowess. I approached the place to put out the sacrificial
fire with contaminating blood and flesh and then I came up against the boy
Rama. What do you think happened? He let loose an arrow which killed Subahu on
the spot and with another he swept me off my feet and hurled me into the sea.
Rama the boy is now a man, immeasurably stronger and more skillful in arms! Do
not incur his wrath. Do not bring ruin on your people who are now enjoying
wealth and pleasure. Do not harbor thoughts about Sita and bring down
destruction on your rich and beautiful city and certain death on yourself. If
your persist in your foolish project, O Ravana, I see before my eyes the ruin
that awaits you. I see Lanka in flames and her streets littered with death, and
her widows and orphans loud in lamentation. Avoid this great sin. If you are
angry with Rama fight him face to face and meet your death like a hero. Do not
follow a fraudulent path and drag me into it. Go back and be happy with your numerous
wives. Do not invite Yama to your land and race!" Thus Maricha earnestly
pleaded for the good of Ravana who, however, was far from pleased or convinced.
How could good advice prevail on a victim of lust? Like a sick man rejecting
medicine, Ravana refused to listen to Maricha's counsel. "If a king"
said Ravana, "wants to know whether a thing should or should not be done,
it is open to his adviser to examine its advantages and disadvantages, but I
have not come to you for such advice. I am king and I have come to tell you
that I have decided to do this. I expect and want your help to carry it out.
You forget the loyalty due from you and dare tell me that what I contemplate is
wrong. On this matter, I have considered everything and reached a decision.
This insignificant creature whom you extol is unworthy of the honor of a formal
challenge to battle from me. What more is he than a man driven out of his own
country, a fool who has allowed himself to be cheated by a woman and has been
deprived of his rights? The proper treatment or such a fellow is to disgrace
him by carrying off his wife. This is a matter determined and concluded. Your
remarks are therefore irrelevant. You should do what I want you to do and that
is not much. Transform yourself into a strange and beautiful stag and appear
before Sita and attract her attention. Sita will send Rama to pursue and
capture you. You should draw Rama away to a distance and simulate Rama's voice
and cry 'Ah, Sita, Ah, Lakshmana!' Hearing this Sita will conclude that Rama is
in danger and she will force Lakshmana to go to his help. When thus she is
alone, I shall carry her off to Lanka. Once you have rendered me this help, you
will be at liberty to do what you like. But if you will not help me now,
understand, your life shall be forfeit." Maricha thought within
himself. "My frenzied Ravana who is already under the shadow of doom will
not listen to advice. Sinful desire is driving him to Yama. It is better for me
to be killed by Rama than by Ravana. At least then I would yield my life to a foe." And so be agreed to the
proposal. He said: "I have
given you good advice, but you will not listen. If I carry out your wishes, I
am sure to die. But not more sure than that you will also perish, not long
after with all that is yours. So will our race. Some enemy of ours wishing our destruction
has set you on this course, someone who envies you. I would rather be killed by
a foe whom I respect than by you. Come, let us go to Dandaka." Ravana was overjoyed
and embraced Maricha saying: "Now you are again my dear old Maricha."
The two ascended the
chariot and proceeded towards the Dandaka forest. They flew over cities,
mountains, rivers and kingdoms. Reaching Dandaka, they espied Rama's ashrama in
a banana garden. They alighted at a
distance and Ravana took Maricha by the hand and, pointing to the ashrama, told
him to do his part according to their plan. At once Maricha
transformed himself into a wonderful deer. Every part of the animal had its own
different hue and exquisite beauty. Like a rainbow in the sky, it charmed the
eye of the beholder. Gold, silver, diamonds, gems and flowers seemed to appear
in succession on its beautiful skin. It was like a living stream of jewels
flowing on a beautiful golden body. With such surpassing
beauty the magic deer wandered here and there, now resting for a while and now
pursuing its graceful gambols. It would sometimes bend and nibble the grass on
the ground, again lift its head up to eat the tender leaves of plants. Sometimes
walk slowly near the ashrama and again jump away and disappear and reappear at
a distance. Sometimes it would join a herd of deer; then it would part from it
and walk alone. The other deer would smell him and move away in sudden terror. Sita, who was then
gathering flowers in the forest, looked at the stag and stared spell-bound at
its wondrous beauty. The deer, too, stared back at her and ran here and there
in front of her, shedding a new beauty on the landscape. "Do come and look!
Do come and look!" cried Sita, eager that Rama and Lakshmana too should
see that wonderful stag. "Come quickly,
quickly!" she cried. Rama and Lakshmana came out of the cottage and saw
the exquisite creature and marvelled at its beauty. Lakshmana grew suspicious.
It seemed to him it was no ordinary deer, but a Rakshasa in disguise. Both Rama
and Lakshmana had heard about Maricha and had been told how, assuming the form
of a deer, he would often beguile and destroy those who came for hunting deer
in the forest. Lakshmana said,
"This is no ordinary animal. This is a trick of the Rakshasas." But Sita said: "Do
catch this deer for me. We shall bring it up as a pet in the ashrama. This is
the most beautiful creature I have so far seen in this forest. Look! Do look at
it. What color! What playfulness!" And so she went on,
talking of the deer and desiring to possess it. And she pleaded: "Do
somehow catch it for me." She begged Rama:
"Soon we shall have to return to the city. Should we not take some rare
thing from the forest to Ayodhya? How beautiful it will be, this exquisite
creature moving in the inner apartments of our palace? Bharata would be so
pleased. I should love to give it to him. Do my beloved, catch it for me. Somehow catch it for
me." Sita saw that Lakshmana
did not seem to like her importunity. This only made her more determined to
persuade Rama to get it for her. If a strong desire creeps into our heart and
someone stands in the way of it, we are angry with him no matter how dear he
may be to us. This unfortunate truth
about the way that desire works in the human mind is explained clearly by the
Lord in the Gita. It was demonstrated by what happened in Sita's heart now. "Look!" she
exclaimed, "it is all gold! Look now! It is all silver! If you cannot
capture the creature alive, at least bring it down with an arrow and let us
take the skin home. We shall never again see such a beautiful skin. It would be
a lovely thing to sit on. Look. It is going away. Do go and catch it alive. Or
else, let me have at least the skin." Again she said,
"Look, look again. All these long years, I never saw such a beautiful
thing in these forests. It is like a cluster of shining stars!" Rama could no longer
resist her entreaties. He said to
himself: "Even if Lakshmana be right and
the creature is a Rakshasa so much the better reason for killing it. What is
there to be afraid of? If I cannot catch it alive, I can bring it down with an
arrow and give the skin to Sita. When she is so keen on having it, is it not my
duty to get it for her?" And he told Lakshmana
to bring him his bow and arrows. Lakshmana's heart was not in it, but he
obeyed. And Rama set out
saying: "Mind, Lakshmana, remain by Sita's side and guard her vigilantly.
I shall come back soon with this stag alive or killed. Do not be anxious. Even
if this is a Rakshasa, what does it matter? It will share the fate of Vatapi.
If this has come here to cheat me, as Vatapi tried to cheat Agastya, why then,
it will be the victim of its own deceit. What can this animal do to me? Stag or Rakshasa, it is
all the same." Again he said, "Be careful. Mind Sita. Anything might
happen at any time. Be vigilant." Destiny had set the
stage for misfortune. Strangely enough Lakshmana, who was by nature hasty and
quick to act, was suspicious on this occasion and Rama, who was usually
circumspect now yielded to Sita's foolish wish, and disregarding Lakshmana's
warning, went in pursuit of the Maricha-stag. In order to give Ravana
plenty of time and opportunity, Maricha kept within sight of Rama, but beyond
his reach, and drew him on and on like fate. The deer would take a few steps,
then stop and turn and stare at the pursuer. Then suddenly it would start as if
in fear. Pricking its ears, it would spring drawing up its hooves to its
breast. It would disappear for a while among the trees. Emerging soon on some
tall mound, it would display its lovely outline framed against a passing cloud.
Sometimes it allowed near approach as though tired and so easy of capture but
presently it would spring up and bound far away. This went on until
Maricha took Rama far out. Then the Rakshasa realised this game would not go on
forever and that his end was near. Rama, tired of the pursuit, bent his bow and
sent forth an arrow. It pierced the stag. Maricha resumed his natural form and
simulating Rama's voice called out, "Ah Sita, Ah Lakshmana!" and fell
dead. "Lakshmana was
right," said Rama to himself. "This deer was indeed a Rakshasa." He thought further:
"Hearing his last cry, maybe, Sita will be deceived. She is likely to be
overwhelmed by fear." He then said to himself
again: "What if Sita entertains false fears? Lakshmana is there by her
side." His heart then swelled
with pride and joy, that he had a brother like Lakshmana, so loving and so
steadfast. How could Rama guess what was happening at that very instant in the
ashrama, and what painful words Lakshmana had to bear from Sita? Truly, the way
of destiny is cruel. "ALAS, alas! Ah
Sita! Ah Lakshmana!" So cried Maricha simulating Rama's voice. And Sita
was deceived. Trembling like a plantain tree in a storm, she cried:
"There, Lakshmana, do you not hear your brother's
voice? Run, run at once to his help!" Overwhelmed by fear and
seeing Lakshmana unwilling to move, she appealed to Lakshmana again and again
in an agony of anxiety: "I hear my Lord's voice in distress. Go, go at
once! Do not delay!" she cried. "He is in some great danger. Did you not
hear his cry for help? Why do you still stand here? Your brother is no doubt
surrounded by Rakshasas and cries for help. Instead of rushing to his rescue,
you stand still here!" Lakshmana knew the
wiles of the Rakshasas and remembered his brother's command. He would not move.
Sita grew furious in
her agony of fear and doubt. She beat her breast with both hands and shouted in
uncontrollable fury: "Son of Sumitra! Have you too turned foe? Have you
been an imposter all these years? Have you been with us waiting only for Rama
to die? Pretending to be his friend, were you hoping all the time for his death
to secure me thereafter? Why else do you stand here, wicked wretch, and refuse
to go to his rescue when he cries for help? Traitor! Imposter!" These cruel words
pierced Lakshmana's heart like
poisoned arrows. He closed his ears with his hands. He spoke gently to Sita,
who was in tears of wrath: "Vaidehi, Rama can encounter and vanquish any
foe in the world. There is no need to fear, O more than mother! Calm yourself.
None in the universe is strong enough to touch our Rama or do him harm. What
you have uttered is unworthy of you, my mother. Do not fear or grieve. You will
surely see Rama return with the body of the stag you wanted. The voice we heard
was not his. It is a Rakshasa's trick. Do not be deceived and grieve for
nothing. My brother has posted me here to watch over you. Do not ask me to
leave you alone and go. I cannot disobey my brother. Since we slew the
Rakshasas of Janasthana, their people are trying to avenge themselves in
various ways. We should not be misled by their false forms and voices. It was
not Rama's cry for help. You need not be afraid
in the least." But Sita's fear grew to
a frenzy and with eyes red with anger she uttered terrible words: "Taking
advantage of what you call your brother's command, you stand unmoved by his cry
of anguish and are prepared to let him perish! Oh, how completely have you been
deceiving us, Rama and me, all these years! Base, wicked, selfish wretch calling
yourself brother! O, you false friend, do you rejoice that Rama is in dire
peril? I now see why you followed us into the forest. Have you been set on by
Bharata? Have you all become my lord's enemies? Have you all joined together in
a wicked conspiracy? I, who have lived with Rama, shall I ever look at you or
another? When Rama dies, I die with him. Know this for certain." Sita burst into a rage
which completely overwhelmed Lakshmana. Her cruel words pierced and burnt into
him like poisoned arrows. His hairs stood on end. He clasped his hands in
worship and said: "O Mother! O Goddess! How can such words issue from your
mouth? Like redhot iron they burn my ears. Cruel and unjust are these thoughts
of yours. With all the gods for witness, I swear, your suspicion is wrong. I
see now that after all you are a woman like other women quick to think evil of
others. I fear a great tragedy is about to befall you. Otherwise you could not
have thought and spoken evil of me." And innocent Lakshmana
trembled in fear of some dire calamity that was to come over them. But Sita said:
"Look here, here is plenty of dry fuel. I shall light a fire and fall into
it. Or I shall drown myself in the Godavari. Or I shall hang myself dead,
unless you run immediately to the help of Rama. Now, once again, I ask, will
you not go? Or shall I perish?" She beat her breast and
cried. Lakshmana could bear this no longer. He raised his hands in solemn
worship and said: "Very well,
sister. I shall obey you and disobey my brother. I shall leave you alone. May
you be safe and well! May the gods of the forest protect you! I shall do your
bidding. I see bad omens. I fear greatly. I wonder if I shall ever see you with
Rama again. Yet I shall go!" And he went,
unwillingly and looking back every now and then. Lakshmana walked with
his heart troubled and heavy with anger and sorrow. How could he bear to hear
the cruel words of Sita? How could he forget them? Sorely wounded was the heart
of the prince who had renounced everything to be with his brother. Lakshmana went in the
direction that Rama had taken. Ravana, who had been waiting for this, now
approached Rama's ashrama. He transformed himself into a mendicant ascetic,
clad in clean saffron clothes and his lips uttered beautiful Vedic hymns while
in his heart was ugliest evil. Sita was standing at
the entrance of the cottage, her eyes fixed on the forest, eagerly looking for
Rama. Ravana beheld Sita. At sight of her, the
desire planted in his heart by Surpanakha took good root and grew rapidly
irresistible. He was more determined than ever to possess Sita. Seeing this wandering
ascetic, clad in saffron clothes, carrying his water-pot and staff, Sita
greeted him respectfully, according to the courtesy due to holy men. He desired
hospitality. As in duty bound, she offered him a seat and placed before him
some fruits and roots as was the custom. The ascetic sat and looked again at Sita. His desire grew
stronger. Sinner and Rakshasa though he was, he had an instinct that made him
wish to win her heart; he wished not to ravish but to secure Sita's willing
consent and make her his wife. The King of Lanka
wanted and hoped to persuade Sita. He thought she would yield to him for his
wealth and power, turning her back on poverty-stricken Rama. He thought also
that this would be the best way of disgracing and punishing Rama. He expected
Sita to behave like other women he had known. Seated in front of the
fruits and roots offered by Sita, the ascetic began to praise Sita's beauty in
terms too warm for a genuine ascetic. He dwelt on the charms of her person and
asked: "Who are you? Why are you here alone in the forest haunted by
Rakshasas and wild beasts?" She was astonished but
answered his questions. She hoped the prince would return at once and kept her
eyes fixed on the doorway. Little by little the
visitor revealed who he was and described the greatness of his origin and
family, his power and wealth. After exalting himself, he proceeded to run down
Rama and concluded. "Be my wife and
live a glorious life with me in Lanka. Come, let us go!" In this unexpected
situation, Sita's purity gave her courage to defy the powerful monster whom she
now knew for what he was. "Base and wicked fellow!
Your destruction is near. Leave this ashrama if you would escape with
life" she said, hissing like an angry cobra. The Rakshasa was
furious. He completely threw off all pretence of disguise and gentleness and
assumed his real imperious wickedness. With one hand he caught hold of her hair
and with the other lifted her up and carried her to the chariot which waited
for him behind the trees. Forcing her
into it, Ravana rose with her into the air. Sita cried aloud:
"O my lord! Where are you, my Rama? Oh Lakshmana, most faithful of friends,
why did I. with obstinate folly, drive
you away?" The Rakshasa held her
firmly down and drove on in the aerial car. Sita addressed the trees and plants
down below and begged them to tell Rama of her fate. It happened that old
Jatayu, half-asleep upon a tree, saw the chariot flying past. Startled by a
woman's cry of distress he was wide awake in a moment and recognised Sita by her
voice. She also saw him and appealed to him for rescue. Jatayu's blood was fired
by the sight of her piteous plight and he threw himself in the way of the
aerial car crying: "Hold, hold! What is all this?" "The King of Lanka
is carrying me away by force," wailed Sita, "but what can you do to
prevent it, my poor old friend? O fly to Rama and
Lakshmana and tell them my helpless
plight!" But Jatayu's fighting
blood, the blood of generations of lordly ancestors who ruled the air and knew
not fear, was on fire. He cared not for Ravana and his might. He only saw a
princess in distress. He thought of his friend Dasaratha and his promise to
Rama and he was resolved that this outrage should not occur while he lived to
prevent it. Jatayu now addressed
Ravana directly: "Oh king, I am Jatayu, king of the eagles, a king like
you. Listen to me, brother king! Forbear from this wicked act. How can you call
yourself a king and do this shameful wrong? Is it not the rule of kings to
protect the honor of women? And Sita is a princess. I warn you, you shall
surely perish unless you leave her and go. Her very look will reduce you to
ashes. You are carrying a venomous cobra in your bosom. The noose of Yama is
round your neck and dragging you to perdition. I am old and unarmed and you are
young, fully armed and seated in a chariot. Yet I cannot look on, while you
carry off Sita. Why do you do this
cowardly act behind Rama's back? If you have any grievance against him, meet
him face to face. O, you would fly away from me, would you? You shall not
escape while I am alive! I care not for your chariot or your ten heads, or your
glittering arms! Your heads shall roll on the ground that you have polluted
with your presence. Get down from your car, and fight if you are not a coward
as well as a thief!" Ravana flared up in a
rage. He attacked Jatayu. It was like a clash between a mighty wind and a
massive rain-cloud. The battle raged in the sky above the forest. Jatayu fought
like a winged mountain. Ravana aimed deadly
darts at him. But the eagle intercepted them all and with his talons tore
Ravana's flesh. The enraged Rakshasa despatched sharp, serpent-like missiles
against the bird. The bird-hero was
desparately wounded, but fought on undauntedly while Sita watched the unequal
combat with beating heart and tearful eyes. The sight of her made Jatayu all the
fiercer in his attacks on Ravana. But his years were telling on him and he felt
he must gather all his strength for a supreme attempt to conquer. Regardless of
the wounds, he attacked Ravana fiercely and with his wings broke off and threw
down his jewelled crown and deprived him of his bow. He attacked the chariot
and killed the demon-faced mules and the charioteer and smashed the vehicle
into a thousand pieces. Ravana fell on the ground, still clutching Sita. The
elements rejoiced to see Ravana fall. The gallant old bird
swooped down on Ravana's back and tore great chunks of flesh off it, and tried
to wrench off the arms which held Sita. But Ravana had twenty arms, and no
sooner was one pulled off than another took its place and Sita was held in writhing
helplessness. At last Ravana let go
Sita and unsheathing his sword cut off the bird's wings and talons. The old
bird was now helpless and fell on the ground unable to move. Janaki ran and embraced
Jatayu and cried: "O my father! You have given away your life for my sake.
You are a second father to my Lord! And now you are no more. O our devoted
brave friend!" Then Ravana turned
towards her to take her up again. Helplessly she ran hither and thither,
crying. She clung to the trees and cried. "O my Rama, where are you? O
Lakshmana, where are you? Won't you, come to my rescue?" The Rakshasa at
last caught her and rose in the air. As the dark and massive
Ravana flew in the sky with her, Sita struggling in his grasp looked like a
flash of lightning across a great black cloud. The Rakshasa carrying her
appeared like a mountain covered by a forest-fire. The body of Ravana, lit up
by Sita, coursed through the sky like a calamitous comet. Thus was Sita carried
away by the Rakshasa. The sun grew dim and untimely darkness descended on the
earth. All beings lamented: "Dharma is destroyed. Righteousness has
disappeared. Virtue and pity are no more." The dumb creatures of
the earth, looking upwards, shed tears. Ravana, cruelly clutching the princess,
flew as towards his ruin. As she was carried away, the petals fell down from
the flowers she was wearing at that time and as they were strewn along the path
below, they seemed to announce the scattering of Ravana's fortune and
affluence. SITA opened her eyes
red with anger and grief, and facing Ravana cried: "Base fellow! You
boasted of your fame and your great origin and your warlike qualities, but have
you behaved like a brave warrior? Are you not ashamed of yourself? What sort of
warrior is he who waits for the husband's absence to steal his wife and carries
off a lonely helpless woman when no one is nearer to prevent it? What heroic
deed to kill the old bird that tried to save me! How brave was your talk in the
ashrama! The world will no doubt remember and praise this great hero who dares
not fight but is prepared to steal! If indeed you come of a noble family, what
a shame you have brought upon it! And what do you hope by thus carrying me off?
How long do you hope to live? Very soon Rama's arrows will seek you out and end
your life. Know that the moment Rama sets eyes on you, you are dead. Do not
hope to escape. Your death is certain at his hands. What then do you gain by this
cheating? I will never be yours. I shall die
before I yield to you and you cannot escape my lord, having incurred his wrath.
Very soon you will see the river Vaitarani in hell. The red-hot image is
awaiting you there for your embrace. So is the tree with iron spikes. Rama
within an hour slew your army of myriad Rakshasas in Janasthana. Will he let
you escape? Soon will he send you to Yama." While Sita was speaking
words of contempt and warning, Ravana, chariotless, sped like
an arrow across the sky towards Lanka. They went over many mountains and rivers
and Sita saw some people below standing on a hilltop. She took off her sash and
tying up her jewels in it threw the bundle down. She did this hoping
that the ornaments thus dropped may be seen by Rama and give him a clue of the
direction in which she was carried away. Crossing the Pampa and
then the sea, Ravana entered the city of Lanka. He went to his apartments with
the griefstricken Sita. The fool thought that he had secured the prize, but he
was taking home his own death in a woman's form. Then, summoning some
demon-like Rakshasis, he ordered them to keep watch over Sita, specially
commanding them to let none approach her without his permission. "Give her whatever
she wants, clothes or gold or jewels. Serve her and do her honor as you would
serve and honor me," he enjoined them. And he added the
warning: "Anyone who utters a word which might offend her will be punished
with death. No one, knowingly or unknowingly, should cause her anger or
grief." Having thus installed
Sita in the inner apartment, he considered what should be done next. He sent
for some clever spies and gave them this mandate: "Go at once to
Janasthana where Khara lived. Watch carefully and bring me word what Rama is
doing. So long as that Rama is alive I cannot sleep. He is my greatest foe.
Somehow, he should be killed. Go boldly now and do your job and return." Imprisoned within a
fortress in a seagirt island, Sita did not know where she was or how far from
Rama. She expected that her lord would somehow arrive, kill Ravana and redeem
her. Though full of grief,
thinking of the strength and prowess of her lord she was bold and steady in
mind. It was also some consolation that the Rakshasa king did not behave like a
beast with her. Having despatched his
men to Janasthana, Ravana returned to Sita's presence. He saw her overwhelmed
by grief and shedding tears. The Rakshasis were watching her with care. He thought that if she
saw his wealth and power she would yield to him. She was therefore taken round
in the great palace and shown the wealth and grandeur there displayed. No king
on earth had ever possessed such wealth and means of enjoyment. Sita was shown gold and
jewels and silks in plenty; curiously wrought platforms, vehicles and towers;
thousands of maid servants and every symbol of wealth and royal power. But her
thoughts were elsewhere. Ravana tried to
convince her also of the vastness of his army. But then she had already formed
her opinion of his prowess and had described it to him in scathing terms. Yet, Ravana argued:
"All this you can count and enjoy as your own. You shall be my queen,
dearer to me than life itself. I have many wives but you shall be mistress of
them all. Hereafter my love shall be for you and you alone. Listen to me. Do my
desire. For hundreds of miles the sea surrounds this island which is guarded by
thousands of mighty soldiers. No one can enter this city. No one among the gods
or asuras can match me in might; and they know it. What pleasure or honor is it
for you to stick to a poor human creature banished from his kingdom, a
destitute wandering in the forest? To match your beauty, you need my wealth. Do
not waste the years of our youth. You are never again going to set eyes on
Rama. Be certain of that. Rama cannot approach this city. Treat this kingdom as
yours. Treat me and all the obedient gods as slaves. Till now, because of your
sins in some previous birth, you have suffered hardship. Here after you will
enjoy with me the fruits of your former merits. You will be the queen of Lanka
and the wife of the Lord of Lanka, the conqueror of Kubera. Let us take our
pleasure floating about the world in the Pushpaka vimana. Let the cloud of
sorrow disappear from your face and let the moon of joy appear." As Ravana went on
speaking thus, tears flowed from Sita's eyes. She covered her face with the end
of her sari as she did not want her enemies too think that she was afraid. Ravana begged and
importuned her: "Do not be shy. There is nothing wrong in accepting me,
nothing to be ashamed of. It is laid down that one should accept the gifts of
God. O beautiful one! I bow my head at your feet and beg you for your grace. I
am your slave. Forgetting my greatness and power, I thus beg for your favor.
Never in my life have I bowed in this way before anyone." He really thought he
could persuade her and gain her affection. If one's mind is clear,
one can courageously face any situation. In spite of her grief, therefore, Sita
spoke boldly to the Rakshasa. She placed a little bit of grass between Ravana
and herself before answering him. Boastful words were
uttered by Ravana in sanyasi garb, sitting in front of the fruit served by her
in Panchavati. Imprisoned Sita now spoke as if in echo of those words. "Know who I am.
Dasaratha was famed in all the three worlds and reigned long years and stood as
a bulwark of dharma and defender of truth. His son Rama, of godlike presence
and lion-like valor, is my husband. He and his brother Lakshmana will surely
take your life. You know how Khara and his army were destroyed in Janasthana by
my lord. As easily as an eagle carries a venomous serpent, he destroyed your
huge army in Janasthana. Because you have secured a boon that no god or Asura
can kill you, you have dared to make Rama your enemy. You think your boon will
save you. But I tell you, you cannot escape. You will surely meet your death at
his hands. You are, like the goat tied to the altar-post for sacrifice, doomed
to death. The moment Rama sets his angry eyes on you, you will meet your fate.
My lord will dry up the sea or bring down the moon, if necessary, to kill you
and redeem me. It is certain. Your evil deed will bring destruction on yourself
and your kingdom. My noble lord lived unafraid in the midst of the Rakshasas in
the forest. Like a hero, he fought and killed the Rakshasas who encountered
him. Like a thief, you stole me in his absence. But you cannot escape. Your
fate impelled you to this sin because the hour of your ruin and the destruction
of your race are near. You ask me to accept you. How foolish! Can the craw
approach the swan? Can a heinous sinner be allowed near the sacrificial fire? I
do not value life or body. Do you imagine I would wish to live despised by the
world? Do not dream that out of fear or for saving my life I shall yield to
you." Having spoken those
words, she was silent. "Is that so?"
said Ravana. "Very well then, I shall give you twelve months' time. If you
agree to accept me, well and good. If at the end of that period, you refuse, my
cooks will make meat of your body for my breakfast." After warning Sita
thus, he gave orders to the attendant Rakshasis: "You should break her
pride and obstinacy by some means or other. Put her alone in the Asoka garden
and skillfully use fear and temptation to bring her to her senses. As we tame a
wild she elephant, you should train her to submission." And angrily he
went to his palace. The Rakshasis took Sita
to the Asoka garden. It was a beautiful park attached to the women's
apartments. The trees were full of flowers and fruits, and beautiful birds
played among them. Here, surrounded and guarded by terribly ugly Rakshasis,
Sita was kept prisoner. Though overwhelmed by
grief, she had the faith that Rama and Lakshmana would somehow discover where
she was and rescue her, that her lord would destroy Ravana and take her back to
a happy life with him. Sustained by this
faith, she was neither frightened by threats nor deceived by temptations. Not
for one day, or two, but for months, Sita suffered thus a close prisoner in the
Asoka garden. The day was yet far off
when the mighty Hanuman, crossing the sea, would visit Sita in her sorrow and
bring her the message of hope and love and the assurance of relief: "Rama
loves you infinitely. He will be here soon. Be not afraid." All the women in our
land who suffer sorrow in any way are so many replicas of Sita. May all the men
be like Hanuman, pure and heroic helpers of such suffering women! We shall now
go to Rama and Lakshmana. WHEN Maricha was struck
by Rama's arrow and was about to die, he resumed his own Rakshasa shape and
cried aloud in a voice which was an exact imitation of Rama's: "Ah
Lakshmana. Ah Sita!" Rama now realised how
the Rakshasa had beguiled them and how be had been drawn away a long distance
by the crafty Maricha and he was full of anxiety as to what it all could mean. "Alas, we have
been badly deceived. It would be terrible if Lakshmana is also deceived by this
cry and leaves Sita alone to come to my succour. It looks as though the
Rakshasas have planned this ruse to carry off Sita and eat her. When Sita hears
what she will take as my cry of distress she is sure to insist on Lakshmana
leaving her and rushing to my help. The howling of jackals and the behavior of
birds do portend disaster. There is trepidation in my heart and it is a portent
in itself of some danger close at hand." Saying thus to himself,
Rama hurried back to the ashrama. On the way, he saw Lakshmana running towards
him. "Alas, the worst I fear has happened," exclaimed Rama. He held Lakshmana's
hands and cried in sorrow: "Why did you leave Sita alone in the forest,
Lakshmana? You may be sure the Rakshasas have killed and eaten her. It was not
right for you to leave her and come away. It is
now all over with Sita!" Fatigued and thirsty
with the futile chase, and now overwhelmed with anger and unbearable anxiety,
Rama cried again: "If I do not see Sita in the ashrama when we return, I
shall surely die, Lakshmana. You will return to Ayodhya, the survivor of us
three, and tell them what has happened. O, how will Kausalya bear her grief?
Lakshmana, you have more than fulfilled Kaikeyi's wishes. The Rakshasas will by
now have visited on Sita, poor unprotected Sita, all their pent-up hatred
against us. They must have killed and eaten her up by now. How could you leave
her alone and come away? How could you be deceived by Maricha's false cry? What
shall I do now? I shall see Sita no more. The Rakshasas' plan has succeeded. My
trust in you was misplaced and I shall never see Sita. How could you leave her
and come away, how could you, Lakshmana?" Lakshmana answered with
tears in his eyes: "What else, brother, could I do? When Sita heard the
cry, 'Alas Sita! Alas Lakshmana!'
she was
frightened. Quivering with fear she
urged me to go to you at once and would tolerate no delay. She persisted,
whatever I said to the contrary. I told her again and again not to be afraid
and assured her that no foe was strong enough to do you harm, and that the cry
of distress was not yours, but she would not listen. She charged me with having
turned traitor to you and with having come to the forest with treasonable
intentions. And, O brother, she found it possible in her anguish to say I would
be glad of your death out of sinful intentions towards herself! I was half-dead
with horror on hearing those words of hers and then she announced that she
would kill herself if I did not go on the instant. Mad herself, she maddened me
with her words of reproach and I ran towards you not knowing what else to
do." But Rama was not
satisfied. "Whatever a foolish woman might have said in her fright, you
should have stayed and not left her unprotected. How could you do such a
foolish thing? You have brought calamity on me. I shall never see Sita
again." The two hurried to the
ashrama. Many bad omens appeared on their way. And Rama repeated, as he saw
them one by one: "I fear, I fear we shall never see Sita again!" Reaching the ashrama,
they found it, as they had feared, empty. Sita was not there. The deerskin, the
kusa grass, the mat spread as a seat, all lay scattered on the ground. Rama wept and ran
hither and thither in the grove round the cottage. The leaves and flowers on
the trees had faded. Sita was nowhere to be seen. He wandered about like
one mad. His eyes were bloodshot. He cried, "Alas, have they eaten her up?
Have they carried her away? O, bow she must have trembled in terror! I cannot
bear the thought of it. Could it be that she has gone to the river to fetch
water? Could it be that she has gone out to cull flowers? Let us see." And he went searching
among the trees, hoping that perhaps she was hiding and playing a practical
joke on him. His sorrow swelled like the sea and seemed to have drowned his
reason. He called the trees one by one by their names and beseeched them for
help. "Oh Asoka tree! Be
true to your name, remove my sorrow you must know the truth. Tell me where Sita
is now. Oh tall palm tree! You must be
able to see where Sita is. Tell me where
she is." He talked to the
animals too. "Oh tiger!" he said, "the elephant and the deer are
afraid to tell me the truth. But you know no fear. You can tell me what has
happened. You know everything. Tell me then the truth." He cried: "Oh
Sita, you are biding somewhere. There! There! I see you there! Stop this fooling. I
can stand it no longer." After wandering and
weeping in vain for a long time he fell on the ground, moaning, "Ha
Lakshmana! Ha Sita!" He cried like an elephant trapped in a pit. "Lakshmana, Sita is
nowhere. The Rakshasas have captured her and torn her to pieces and eaten her
up. How can I live any more? My end is near. But when my father sees me in the
other world, he will say, 'Why have you come here, my son, before fulfilling my
command?' I have failed. In everything,
I have failed." Lakshmana could bear
this sight no longer. "Brother, it is not right that you should cry like
this," he said. "Let us search through the forest. You know how fond
Sita is of entering caves and thickets. She may be bathing in the river or
playing somewhere or culling flowers. Let us search again. She is only testing
us. Come let us search again. Do not cry." The two searched again
all over the place on hills, by pools and on the river bank. But they did not
find her. "Sita is not to be seen, Lakshmana," said Rama. "What shall I do
now?" Lakshmana tried to
encourage him with words of hope, but Rama was inconsolable. "No, no, my
brother. There is no hope," he said, "Sita is nowhere. I have lost
her forever. I shall live no more." He lay unconscious for
a time. Then he came to himself and lifted his voice and wept. Nothing that
Lakshmana said could comfort him. "Lakshmana, how
can I go back to Ayodhya?" he cried. "Won't they laugh at me for
returning alone after allowing Sita to be killed and eaten by Rakshasas? Having
brought her to the forest and having failed to protect her, what shall I tell
Janaka? No, you should go alone to Ayodhya. Go and look after our mothers.
Greet Bharata from me and tell him it was my dying wish that he should continue
to rule as king." All Lakshmana's efforts
to console him were in vain. He was convinced that the Rakshasas had carried
away Sita and torn her to pieces and eaten her up. He pictured to himself in
detail the horror of her suffering and cried in his grief: "I must have
committed terrible sins. How else could such suffering come to me? Sita who
accompanied me, thinking I could protect her, has been eaten by the Rakshasas
and I can do nothing about it. Is there another sinner like me in the
world?" Lakshmana said:
"Do not lose heart. You must be bold and energetic. A resolute mind can
conquer fate. But you must first conquer your weakness. Let us make a more
thorough search of the forest. Instead of yielding to unavailing sorrow, let us
be manly and active." But Rama would not listen. Rama behaved as a human
being, not an avatar of Vishnu. Though elsewhere his words and actions give
room for a different view, here Valmiki describes Rama as a mere man enveloped
in the gloom of a supreme misfortune. His feeling and
behavior are exactly those of any noble and virtuous man who has lost his
beloved wife, dearer to him than life itself, and that in a forest infested
with Rakshasas. We see that all the efforts of Lakshmana to console him had no
effect. Our common human
dharma is
illustrated by the
sorrow of Rama. We see here the picture of true and equal love between a
virtuous man and woman and the anguish of loss. The episode may also be
interpreted allegorically. Rama's sense of privation, when he misses Sita, is a
measure and image of the mind of God when a single human soul is lost through
sin. One may ask whether God
can lose, or can suffer pain of mind. If one realises that all life is divine
leela, the play of God, no further exegesis is needed. Sin, merit, devotion,
all are aspects of that sport. Each one of us is
beloved of the Lord. If for any reason we are swept away from the right path,
He suffers like a lover who has lost his love. And His sorrow too is a part of
His great play. THE two brothers
searched every mountain, forest and riverbank calling Sita's name aloud. But
all in vain, and they did not so much as find a clue anywhere. Baffled and
grief-stricken, Rama cried out against the river Godavari, against the gods and
against the five elements. The poet sage ascribes
the silence of the rivers and the gods and elements to their fear of the
powerful Rakshasa king. A herd of deer, however, moving southwards seemed to
indicate to Rama and Lakshmana that they too should travel in the same
direction. They did so and, after a time, found some flowers scattered on the
way. Rama at once recognised
the flowers and cried excitedly: "These are the very flowers I gave her.
They must have fallen from her hair." His grief and anxiety
grew greater and he sobbed aloud fearing the worst for Sita. They searched the
forest all around the spot where they found the flowers. They noticed the marks
of a Rakshasa's big feet and little footprints that they knew were Sita's. They found some gold
beads spilt from Sita's jewels. Rama cried again: "Look! The Rakshasa has
been chasing her like a beast of prey to tear her tender flesh!" Then they saw several
fragments of a chariot and great clots of blood, as also royal headgear and
jewels scattered on the ground. They wondered what these things could mean. Soon they came upon a
large bow broken, flag torn and armor crushed. A little later they saw the dead
bodies of a charioteer and of mules. It was clear that a vehement battle had
been fought on that spot. "Two powerful
Rakshasas must have struggled here," groaned Rama, "each claiming the sole right
to eat Sita." Conjecturing and
lamenting in this way, Rama went on: "Dharma could not save Sita! No god
came to her rescue! It will be right to destroy this wicked world." Rama
was beside himself and talked wildly. Lakshmana did his best
to calm the distracted Rama. "Great sorrow unbalances all minds, even the
strongest," he said. "Else why should you thus lose self-control? Why
should you hate and curse the whole world for the evil deed of one person? How
often have you, my brother, calmed my anger and led me on the right path! But
now a great grief has upset your mind and it is the turn of the younger brother
to give courage and counsel patience to the elder and restore him to his
natural heroism. Let us find out who our enemy is and deal with him." With such loving words
Lakshmana sought to give courage and consolation and both walked on. They had
not proceeded far when they came on Jatayu, bloody and mutilated,
unrecognisable, lying on the ground. At first Rama thought
it was some Rakshasa disguising himself to deceive them and, wild with anger,
cried: "Look! Here is a Rakshasa who has eaten Sita!" and rushed
towards him, bow in hand. Then raising his
ruffled and gory head with great pain, Jatayu spoke in a feeble voice that
seemed struggling with death. "Do not kill me, dear Rama, who has but a
few moments more to live! The dear princess you are searching for has been
carried off by Ravana and he could do so only by first robbing me of my life! Seeing Sita in his
flying chariot in the air, I intercepted it and gave him battle. I struck down
his bow and smashed his chariot. His charioteer I slew. The marks of my last
great fight you can see all round this place. I did my best. How I wish it were
better for your sake! At last as, weary with toil, I was still waging a
hopeless combat. Age against youth, beak and talons against keen weapons and
panoply of steel, he cut off my wings and legs. And as I fell wounded to death,
he lifted Sita and flew with her into the sky in a southern direction. Though
racked with the pangs of death, I have clung to life for love of you to tell
you what I know. Now that I have done this, bless me and let me die."
Tears flowed from Rama's eyes as he
listened to Jatayu's tale. He flung aside his bow and embraced the bird. The
princes' sorrow knew no bounds. They lamented loudly, rolling on the ground. "I am the most
unhappy man alive, Lakshmana," said Rama. "Giving up the kingdom, I
came to the forest, and here I have lost my Sita. This Jatayu, who was a second father to us,
has, laid down his life for my sake. Why, if I fell into the fire, I fear my
bad luck will put even the fire out. If I fell into the sea, I fear it would dry
up. What a terrible sinner I am, Lakshmana! Who knows, one day I might lose you
too, Lakshmana." Embracing Jatayu, he
said: "O, my father! Really, did you see Sita?" But Jatayu lay
speechless on the ground. After a few moments
Jatayu spoke again in a low voice: "Be not afraid, Rama. You will surely
find Sita. No harm will come to her. Regaining the treasure you have lost, you
will greatly rejoice." With these words, he spat out blood and gave up
life. They were foolish and
committed errors of omission and commission and lost Sita. Trying to save Sita
from the calamity that their carelessness had brought upon her, Jatayu, old,
unarmed, had fought with wing and beak and talon and given up his life. When
their father died in Ayodhya, his obsequies were performed by Bharata and
Satrughna. Rama and Lakshmana.
were denied this privilege because they were away in the forest. They regarded
Jatayu as their own father and in performing his obsequies derived some
consolation for not being by Dasaratha's side and performing the last offices
to him. What other help or honor could they accord to heroic Jatayu? The bhaktas worship
Jatayu as the best of bhaktas. Exercising our imagination, we should behold
with Sita's eyes the poor old bird's hard struggle against the Rakshasa king.
Then we would realise the love and gratitude and sorrow that must have surged
in her heart as she watched his sufferings. Thus we shall be purified by the
grace of the Mother. What wonder is there in the rank assigned to Jatayu among
the bhaktas? Later, when Rama fights
and is victorious in Lanka, Sita does not see it; she is a prisoner in the
Asoka forest. She has to be content with listening to reports of the battle and
of the prowess of her lord. But Jatayu's devotion and heroism Sita saw with her
own eyes in the Dandaka forest.
Unarmed, he opposed the Rakshasa who had all his weapons and armor, and humbled
his pride at the cost of his own life. Jatayu's battle with
Ravana is more important than the battles in Lanka. Hence the pious revere Jatayu
along with Bharata and look upon him as an Alvar, a guide in the spritual path.
"Lakshmana,"
said Rama, "gather dry faggots. I shall churn the fire. We failed to
perform our father's obsequies, let us do it for the eagle-father who gave up
his life for us." The princes chanted
holy invocations as they poured libations to the departed spirit: "O king
of birds, may you enjoy all the bliss of the virtuous who perform great
sacrifices! May you enjoy the bliss of Vanaprasthas who have performed great
penance! May you enjoy the bliss of those who have made great gifts of land!
May you enjoy the bliss of those who fight heroically in the field of battle!
May the bliss of all good people be yours!" After the ceremony Rama became
steadier and stronger in mind. To millions of men,
women and children in India, the Ramayana is not a mere tale. It has more truth
and meaning than the events in one's own life. Just as plants grow under the
influence of sunlight, the people of India grow in mental strength and culture
by absorbing the glowing inspiration of the Ramayana. When we see any
helpless person in danger or difficulty, let us think of Jatayu and with firm
mind try to help regardless of circumstance. Rama's losing health
and lamenting in sorrow may be compared to the behavior of another incarnation
honored by another faith. It is said in the Bible that Jesus, nailed to the
cross and about to give up his ghost, cried with a loud voice: "Eloi!
Eloi! lama sabachthani!" which is Hebrew for "My God, my God, why
have you forsaken me?" The mystery of
incarnations is ever the same. They are weighed with the dust and tears of the
body they have taken and suffer and grieve like mortals. IN face of the
unexpected difficulties that overtook them one after another, Rama and
Lakshmana often lost heart. Their fortitude yielded place sometimes to great
despair. But they managed to encourage each other and proceeded on their way. Passing through the
forest, the two princes were suddenly caught by a tremendously big Rakshasa of
ugly form without head or feet. His mouth was in his great belly and he had two
enormous arms which, without moving from his place, he would stretch out and
clutch tiger, bear or any other living thing within reach, and swallow them. He had only one eye
which was placed in his chest but which was terrible to behold. Caught by this monster,
the princes were, for a while, bewildered and did not know what to do. Then Rama told
Lakshmana: "Let us not be confused. You will cut off one arm, I shall cut off the
other." And so they did. The
name of the monster was Kabandha, which means the barrel-shaped one. Once his
arms were severed, he was helpless and began to explain: "On account of my
evil deeds I was cursed by Indra to bear this form and this name. I believe you
are Rama and Lakshmana. Indra promised me freedom from the curse when you two
should come and cut off my arms and commit this body of mine to the flames."
The princes set fire to
his body as desired by the unfortunate monster and there arose from the flames
a lovely being which entered a heavenly chariot and ascended to the celestial
world. Before going, he said
to Rama: "You will assuredly regain Sita. Go to the beautiful banks of the
Pampa and seek the help of Sugriva living there on the Rishyamuka hill. Driven
out of the kingdom by his brother Vali, he lives in constant fear and danger.
Gain his friendship, and you will succeed in your attempt." Saying this
Kabandha disappeared. Rama and Lakshmana now
set forward in the direction of the Pampa. In that lovely region they visited
the ashrama of the aged sanyasini, Sabari, the disciple of Rishi Matanga, and
accepted her hospitality. Sabari was a woman of a forest tribe and a faithful
serving sister in the ashrama of the old saint Matanga. When he departed this
life, she wanted to die too. But he said the time was not yet and she should
await the arrival of Rama, an incarnation of Vishnu, for the bliss of his
darshan was in store for her. So the old and wrinkled
woman lived her saintly life, looking faithfully after the ashrama as of old
and keeping it sweet to receive the promised guest. When the princes came,
she produced the fruits she had gathered and kept for them, and described and
showed to them the wonders of the Matanga ashrama. Then with their leave,
she kindled a fire and entering it ascended to heaven. The meeting with this
saintly woman and the waters of the river Pampa gave strength of mind to the
princes. They thought over what should be done next. Said Rama:
"Lakshmana, I am beginning to think that we shall succeed. Let us search
the forest for Sugriva whose help we should obtain." They went all over the
Pampa area. The place was lovely, but the loveliness of the spot and the
animals, birds, trees and creepers only increased Rama's grief. Every beautiful object
wrung his heart and made him think: "How much would Sita have enjoyed
this?" Try as he might, he could not control the human sorrow which by his
incarnation he had undertaken to endure. Lakshmana tried to
revive his spirit. He said: "Even if Sita is kept hidden in the womb of
Aditi, the mother of the gods, we will discover her. Ravana cannot escape. It
is certain we shall kill him and redeem Sita. It is not proper that you should
thus despair. How can you let anxiety or weakness come over you? If we lose a
precious thing, we should work for its recovery with perseverance. Sometimes
our very affection becomes our enemy. Too much love brings on grief and grief
weakens effort. What need is there for me to tell you all this? You know it
all. Let us not lose hope. Let us forget the grief brought on by love and bend
our mind and body to exertion. Be brave. Be hopeful. We shall succeed. Get rid
of your sorrow, brother!" The younger brother
thus advised
Rama. Commentators look
upon Lakshmana as Adisesha.
Adisesha, the serpent, is said to be ever the protecting spirit of Vishnu. So
Lakshmana ever tried to give Rama fresh energy and enthusiasm. The fugitive Vanara
prince Sugriva and his faithful adherents with the watchful vigilance of fear
saw Rama and Lakshmana roving in the
forests and were troubled with doubts. Having been ejected from his kingdom by
Vali, Sugriva chose this mountainous spot because he believed that it was made
by the curse of a rishi inaccessible to Vali. And now he feared that here, too,
Vali in disguise was following him in order to kill him. Or else, he feared,
some Kshatriya warriors taking the side of Vali were there to kill him. The
other Vanaras ran hither and thither in panic. Hanuman was Sugriva's
chief minister. He reassured Sugriva, saying: "This is not Vali, nor are
they friends of Vali, it seems to me. There is no ground for fear. I shall go
and talk to them and find out the truth." Sugriva was pleased and
said: "Do it, but be careful. Go, find out the truth and come back. Use
all your skill. I am full of suspicion. They behave as if they are searching
for someone. Could it not be that it is me they
seek?" Taking
the form
of a
brahmana, Hanuman
approached Rama and Lakshmana. As he went
and stood in front of them, a confident feeling possessed his heart. Straight
away he started speaking out frankly. Hanuman went forward to
learn the truth without discovering himself. But as he went on speaking, he
threw all caution away and told in detail all about himself and the Vanara
King. Looking on Rama and
Lakshmana, he was beside himself as a devotee in the presence of the Lord, and
praised them. He said that he was a Vanara and had come there in disguise as
desired by his King. "Royal
saints," he said, "your presence here fills my heart with joy. There
is an aura round you as if you were gods. I take it, you are here in the forest
for doing tapas. But why have you come to this inaccessible spot? Please tell
me who you are. This river and this forest are made lovelier by your presence.
Your faces and forms are radiantly beautiful. The creatures in the forest look
on you with reverence and awe. Your strength and courage are manifest. Who are
you? From which country do you come? It is clear you are entitled by birth to
rule some mighty kingdom and yet you are dressed like ascetics. With matted
hair and bark garments you carry also bows and arrows. Why are you silent? Here
Sugriva, the Vanara King, driven out of his kingdom by his brother Vali, is in
hiding. He is full of grief. I am his minister. My name is Hanuman. I am the
son of Vayu. As ordered by my king, I put on the appearance of a brahmachari
and am now here before you." Listening to these
courteous words of Hanuman, Rama said to Lakshmana: "Brother, this speech
of Hanuman has inspired me with confidence. I trust him absolutely. Did you
notice the beauty of his language and how correct and rhythmic his enunciation
is? He speaks like one who has mastered the Vedas and the science of grammar.
An ideal messenger he is.
Fortunate is the king who has such a messenger. He whom we are searching for is
himself in search of us. We came here to see Sugriva and he has sent this
messenger to us. Let us welcome him." Then they began to talk
freely to one another. Rama and Lakshmana on the one hand and Hanuman on the
other related their history, their joys and sorrows, hopes and fears. As a result of this
talk, Lakshmana conceived a great affection for Hanuman. He said to Hanuman:
"My brother, born to great wealth, the eldest son of an emperor, has left
his kingdom and come to the forest. Here his wife, dearer to him than life
itself, was abducted by Ravana, who had by a fraudulent trick inveigled us far
away from the hermitage where she was. We seek Sugriva's help to rescue her and
recover her, for a daitya, who under a curse took on the form of a Rakshasa,
told us: 'If you secure the help of Sugriva, the Vanara King, you will regain
the princess stolen by the Rakshasa.' And so we are here. We seek the
friendship of your king." Hanuman answered:
"Sugriva too has been persecuted by Vali and deprived of his kingdom and
his wife. It is now certain that he will regain both. My king will gain much by
your friendship and with his help you will also succeed
in your efforts." Then the three went to
Sugriva. The way was such that only a Vanara could traverse it. Hanuman resumed
his natural shape and carried both the princes on his back. The hearts of good men
meet and instantly come together. As the Kural says, the spontaneous mutual
attraction of two hearts and not long acquaintance creates friendship and this
friendship was part of the divine dispensation. It was predestined that
Hanuman's sublime devotion should be at Rama's service for the fulfilment of
the purpose of the incarnation. And so there was acceptance at first sight. His carrying the two
princes on his shoulder was an outward symbol of inward union. As friends and
lovers embrace each other, Hanuman, the loving servant, rejoiced in carrying
his Lord on his shoulders. Ascending the Malaya
hill, Hanuman went in advance to Sugriva and, announcing the visit of Rama and Lakshmana, said: "Rama is a prince
full of wisdom and virtue. He is the eldest son of the famous Emperor
Dasaratha. To fulfil his father's promise, he left Ayodhya with his brother and
wife and came to the forest. King Dasaratha was compelled by his younger wife,
in fulfilment of an undefined promise given long ago, to banish Rama. In the
forest, taking advantage of the princes' absence, Ravana carried away the wife
of Rama. Rama has come here, seeking your help in finding her. The princes are
worthy of your friendship. You too will gain greatly from friend ship with such
heroes." Sugriva assumed the
form of a handsome man and had a long and heartto-heart talk with the princes.
Stretching forth his hand to Rama, he said: "Princes, if you
care for the friendship of a Vanara, here is my hand, accept it. Hanuman has
told me all about your virtue and
greatness." Rama clasped his hand
and embraced him. Soon Hanuman got together some faggots and kindled a fire. Circumambulating the
flames Rama and Sugriva swore mutual friendship: "Let us share our joys
and sorrows." They vowed: "Let our
friendship be eternal." They cut down the
branch of a tree and sitting on it, Rama and Sugriva were engaged in cheerful
talk and so, too, were Hanuman and Lakshmana
seated on another. Sugriva narrated the story of his life. How greatly he and
his elder brother, the mighty Vali, were once devoted to one another, and how
malignant fate had through no fault of Sugriva's made deadly enemies of them. It had comes about this
way. Once a Rakshasa named Mayavi came at midnight to the gate of Kishkindha,
their capital, and vauntingly challenged Vali to instant combat in pursuance of
an ancient feud. Vali, who never refused
a fight, rushed forth impetuously, followed by Sugriva; and seeing them, the
Rakshasa fled. Pursuing him they saw him disappear into a great cave the mouth
of which was overgrown with brushwood. Vali bade Sugriva, exacting an oath from
him, to wait at the entrance for him and plunged into the darkness of the cave
after the foe. Sugriva waited long,
but Vali did not come out. As he stood racked with doubt, indistinct shouts and
groans, which seemed to his horror-struck ears his brother's, issued from the
cave. Presently there gushed out of it foaming blood which made him sure that
Vali had perished in the struggle. To make sure that the
victorious Rakshasa would not rush out in the elation of triumph and destroy
Kishkindha, Sugriva blocked the entrance of the cave with a huge rock and
returned to Kishkindha with his
tale of Vali's death. As a rulerless state invites disaster, he was persuaded
by the ministers and elders to occupy the vacant throne. While he was enjoying
the sweets of power, like a bolt from the blue, Vali burst on them. Haggard
with wrath and wounds, and accusing him of treason and unnatural conduct
towards one who was at once his brother and his king, Vali drove him out with scorn and contumely as
a wretch too vile to live, but whom he forebore to slay only because he was
unfortunately also his brother. So by a cruel fate he
had been deprived of his home, throne, and all, including even his wife, and had
to seek asylum in the forest with a few faithful friends. Here at least he was
safe, for Vali had been forbidden by a rishi from entering the precincts on
pain of instant death. This incident between
Vali and Sugriva is a good example of the moral teaching conveyed in the
Puranas. There was nothing terribly wrong in the conduct either of Vali or of
Sugriva. Anger confuses the mind. One who yields to anger loses the capacity to
see the truth. That way lies destruction. Vali's anger led to his end. Sugriva
humbly confessed the truth, but Vali would not listen. He was beside himself
with rage. Sugriva too, was guilty of imprudent haste. He concluded too quickly
that his brother had died. He was afraid that the Asura who was victorious
would come out and kill him also. So he closed the entrance of the cave and
returned home. At first he was not keen on becoming king and yet he allowed
himself to be persuaded by the people. He yielded to a
subconscious desire without sufficient thought. So difficulties came upon him.
Thoughtless action leads to unhappiness. This is what we learn from the story
of Sugriva. One should not desire what belongs to another. One has to exercise
great care, and control one's desires. In contrast to Sugriva,
when the ministers and subjects in Ayodhya pressed Bharata to accept the crown,
he was firm in his refusal. Bharata's strength of character was great. But
Sugriva was different. He was weak, and suffered in consequence. Bharata had
the courage to refuse and his name lives forever. In every episode of the
Ramayana some lesson which we should learn for our daily life is taught. The
meaning is in some places plain; in others it may lie hidden. If we read with
reverence and think deeply, we can always see the moral. Sugriva concluded his
story with a piteous appeal to Rama. "For fear of Vali I am a wanderer in
the forest. I live concealing myself here. Could you, will you, kill Vali and
restore to me my kingdom and my wife?" Rama answered:
"Certainly I will. Vali cannot escape this now. Be assured." As Sugriva and Rama
were talking thus, in the Asoka grove far away, the left eyelids of Sita
throbbed, which is a good omen for women. At the same time, the left eyelids of
the Rakshasa king also throbbed as an evil sign. THEN Sugriva heard the
story of the calamity that had befallen the Raghu princes at Panchavati and how
Rama's heart was breaking with the ache of separation from Sita and anxiety as
to her fate. Deeply touched, Sugriva tried to console Rama. "I have heard
everything from Lakshmana," he said. "Lay aside all doubts and fears.
We shall surely discover Sita, wherever she may be concealed, and that, soon.
My companions and myself noticed a Rakshasa carrying a weeping lady and speeding
fast across the sky. She was crying 'O Rama! O Lakshmana!' She too noticed us
and, removing her sash, tied up in it her jewels and threw down the little
bundle. We picked up and have kept it. See if the jewels are Sita's." On hearing this
Rama excitedly
shouted: "Fetch
the bundle, fetch it." They brought it from
the cave and when Rama saw the sash he was beside himself with grief. The
little bundle brought before his eyes the suffering of Sita at the hands of the
Rakshasa. He closed his eyes and
told Lakshmana to untie the bundle and examine the jewels since he himself
could not bear to look at them. Lakshmana did so.
"Indeed these are Sita's anklets," LakShmana said. "There is no
doubt they are hers. These I know, for often have I seen them while laying my
head on her feet in worship. The others I am not familiar
with, never
having presumed to look
closely at them." How full of loving
reverence is this speech which Valmiki puts in the mouth of Lakshmana and how
cruelly must Sita's unjust words have pierced his heart on the fateful day when
she drove him from her. Rama took all the
jewels in his hands and pressed them one by one to his eyes. He said:
"They must have fallen on the soft grass and so they
are intact." Then, grief giving
place to rage, he said: "Yama's gates are wide open to receive the
Rakshasa. Soon will he be destroyed with all his
people." Seeing Rama's grief and
wrath, Sugriva became somewhat anxious. Though their mutual friendship and help
had been pledged in the presence of the sacred fire, Sugriva was concerned over
the question of priorities. Sugriva's heart went to
Rama in his suffering, indeed, he himself knew what it was to lose kingdom and
wife. But then, first thing must come first. He must approach the subject
guardedly and not seem to place his own affairs before Rama's. That might
jeopardise their newborn friendship. But it was not purely selfish to say that
he, as King of Kishkindha and lord of
his tribe, would be a far more serviceable ally than he could be as a fugitive
pretender. Besides, if he launched
on the enterprise of reclaiming Sita when Vali was still king of the Vanaras, one
could not guess what Vali's course may be. Oh no! There could be no doubt that
the first move in the enterprise must be to secure the resources of the Vanara
kingdom by killing Vali and placing himself on the throne. This alone would bring success to Rama as well as
himself. But realising Rama's state of mind, he resolved to act with
circumspection. He said: "I do not
know the strength or the dwelling place of this wicked Rakshasa. We do not know
where he has taken Sita and where he keeps her hidden. Still, I promise you
solemnly, wherever Sita may be, I shall find her and her captor and find ways
of destroying him and recovering her. You will kill the wicked Rakshasa and win
glory. Do not despair or yield to grief that weakens the spirit. Look at me. Like
you, I have lost my wife. I have been turned out of my kingdom and disgraced.
And yet I control my sorrow and keep my courage up. If I a Vanara, can do this,
it should be far easier for you. If sorrow overwhelms,
one becomes helpless and can do nothing. Therefore, friend, I beg of you to
control your grief." These words of Sugriva
made an impression on Rama's heart. He wiped the tears off his eyes and
embraced Sugriva. He got over the weakness that possessed him at the sight of
Sita's jewels and recovered his fortitude and self-control. "Sugriva, your
friendship is dear to me," he said. "I shall follow your advice.
Think out when and how we should begin the search for Sita. I shall make your
cause mine, and place you on the throne of Kishkindha and I, who say this, have
never uttered a vain or false word in my life and never will. Tell me frankly
how I can bring you relief. I shall do it." Sugriva and his
ministers were overjoyed to hear Rama's words. They were convinced that soon
their troubles would end and Sugriva would once again become king of the
Vanaras. SUGRIVA was keen on
regaining his kingdom and family, but he could not see how this was to be.
Vali's strength stood as an impossible barrier between him and the fulfilment
of his desire. Hanuman, his minister,
tried to convince him that is would succeed with Rama's help, but Sugriva's
doubts persisted. Could Rama's strength overcome Vali's? It all looked
hopelessly impossible. Vali's body was like steel. How was Rama going to kill
him? Sugriva had these
doubts about Rama. But he had none else to help him. And he was not prepared to
give up his desire. He decided to test Rama's strength. But how is one to
subject a friend to a test without discourteously betraying one's suspicion?
Rama had promised to get the thing done. How was an occasion to be created to
measure his ability? Sugriva thought long and formed a plan. He told Rama softly:
"My Lord Rama! Your words have banished sorrow from my heart. I know your
valor. An arrow from your bow can destroy the three worlds. How can Vali's
frame stand against it? Still it is my duty to tell you all about Vali's
strength. He can go round to the four oceans to take up in his palm and sip the
water with the morning prayers. He can toss and play with a heavy rock as if it
were a ball. He can pull out mighty forest trees as if they were blades of
grass. Once Dundubhi, an Asura in buffalo form possessing the strength of a
thousand elephants, challenged Ocean to a fight. Ocean evaded saying: 'You
should fight with an equal. There in the north stands Himavan. Go and challenge
him. Leave poor me alone'. Dundubhi agreed and, speeding northwards, met and
challenged Himavan, going his rocky side with his horns. Himavan controlled his
temper and said: 'Why do you assault me? I am not a fighter. I spend my life in
the company of sages who love to stay with me.' Dundubhi answered:
'Very well, then. But tell me of some one I can fight with. I want a worthy
foeman today.' Himavan said: 'There is one in the south who is a foe worthy of
you. He is Vali, the Vanara King. His strength is like his father Indra's. If
you care, you may go to him and challenge him to fight.' Dundubhi went straight
to Vali's place and raised a loud uproar at the entrance of Kishkindha. He tore
up trees and pulled down the gate and roared, 'Come out and prove your strength
in a fight with me.' Vali was then resting with his queen. On hearing the
challenge he came out accompanied by the women of his palace. 'Why, O Dundubhi, do you raise
this clamor at my city gate?' be asked. 'Are you tired of life?' Vali's scornful
address enraged the Asura who said: 'Don't boast of your strength in the
presence of your admiring women. I have come here for a fight with you. If you
have any manliness in you, come out and show it. You will say you are too drunk
now to fight; but I am willing to wait till you become sober. If you like you
may spend the night in your pleasures and bid a tearful leave of all your dear
ones and come to me in the morning to be slain by me.' Vali laughed at
Dundubhi's words and said: 'My dear women, go inside. O Asura, I am not the
worse for drink and if you want a fight, there is no time like the present. The
drinks I have had are what the warrior takes before he goes into battle!' So
saying and with a laugh he took hold of the Asura by his tail and whirled him
round and flung him. Dundubhi spat blood and fell on the ground. After a while
the Asura rose again and a great battle followed. Vali, son of Indra, pounded
the Asura to death. And he flung the dead buffalo so that it fell on the ground
at the distance of a yojana. Drops of blood from the Asura's body were carried
by the wind and fell on the ashrama of Matanga. The sage was wroth and soon
found out who was responsible for this contamination. He saw at once that Vali
in his pride had flung a bleeding carcass and desecrated the holy spot. The
sage pronounced a curse, 'If this Vali enters the precincts of this ashrama, he
will lose his life.' That is why, O Rama, with my friends I am living here in
safety. Vali dare not approach this place for fear of the curse. Look at these
sal trees. He can pluck one of them and just shake all the leaves off as one
dusts a jacket. Such is his strength. How could I, having incurred this
terrible brother's enmity, feel secure?" Lakshmana understood
that Sugriva needed a demonstration of Rama's prowess to give him confidence
and he said: "How would you like Rama to show you his confidence to
conquer Vali?" Sugriva answered:
"Indeed, I have no doubts. I know Rama's prowess though now it is hidden
as embers in ashes. I have sought refuge under him. And yet, when I recall
Vali's mighty deeds, I tremble. That is all." Seeing Sugriva's faith
in him and his great fear of Vali, Rama resolved to put an end to his doubts.
By a playful flip of his toe he sent the enormous skeleton of Dundubhi which
was lying there, flying in the air to a distance of ten yojanas. But Sugriva
though impressed was not convinced. "When my brother sent Dundubhi's carcass
hurling in the sky, it was full of flesh and blood and far heavier than this
weather-beaten skeleton," he said. Then Rama bent his bow
and, pulling the string to his ear, sent forth an arrow. It pierced the sal
tree pointed out by Sugriva and six other trees standing behind it. Piercing
the seven trees the beautiful arrow touched the earth and returned to Rama's
quiver. Sugriva, seeing this,
was beside himself with joy. He was now certain that Rama's arrow could pierce
the adamant frame of Vali. He fell prostrate before Rama and said: "With
my own eyes I have now seen your prowess. Even if all the gods with Indra at
their head should come and oppose you, your victory is certain. Why then talk
of Vali? I have gained your friendship and I have no more use for fear or
grief. Slay Vali and save me. Let us go to Kishkindha today." Both Rama and Lakshmana
agreed. They talked how to set about and it was finally agreed that Sugriva
should appear in Kishkindha and challenge Vali to single combat. Vali was sure
to come out, and as the brothers were fighting, Rama would kill Vali with an arrow.
They proceeded to Kishkindha. Sugriva went ahead. Rama followed him and stood
away behind a tree in the dense forest. Sugriva shouted. Vali
heard the shout and in great rage emerged from the fortress, radiant like the
morning sun. The two brothers fought
each other fiercely. But Rama, who was
standing bow in hand behind a tree, was bewildered. As they wrestled together
the brothers were so similar in form and feature, in equipment and method of
fighting, that Rama could not distinguish Vali from Sugriva and was afraid
to shoot lest he kill the wrong combatant. Meantime Sugriva,
having the worst of the fight, broke from his brother's grip with a desperate
effort and, wounded and weary, disappointed and despondent, fled for life and
reached Rishyamuka forest. Even this he was able
to do because Vali did not wish to slay him and was not unwilling to give his
brother another lease of life. Rama and Lakshmana
rejoined the woebegone Sugriva. He looked down at the ground without lifting
his eyes. He was angry that Rama had broken his word and failed to help him. "If you did not
like to kill Vali," said Sugriva, "you could have told me so earlier.
In that case, I, who know Vali's might, would never have challenged him to
fight. On the contrary, you made me believe you, and I have had such a drubbing that it is a
wonder I am alive." "Do not be angry,
Sugriva, but listen," said Rama. "There was a good reason why I could
not send forth my deadly arrow. You and Vali were alike in height and girth, in
gait and shouts, in dress and ornaments. Once the fight began, I could not tell
you from Vali. And I stood bewildered and helpless. It would have been terrible
if I killed you instead of Vali. Do not be angry. Challenge Vali once again.
This time I shall surely slay him. Here, Lakshmana, fetch that flowering
creeper. Tie it round Sugriva's neck as a garland. I shall then know who is our
friend and who is Vali as they fight. Now, Sugriva, you shall see Vali rolling
on the ground." Sugriva was satisfied.
His spirits recovered. Lakshmana tied the creeper round his neck. Once again,
and handsomer than ever, Sugriva proceeded to Kishkindha. And Rama and
Lakshmana followed him as before. EVENING was
approaching. Once more Sugriva roared at the gate of Kishkindha and
challenged Vali to fight. Vali who was then
resting happily was startled and for a moment paled with puzzled concern, but
was presently overwhelmed with rage and sprung stamping the earth as though he
would split it. Tara, his queen, her
heart full of loving fear, held him in arms in a close embrace and tried to
restrain his impetuosity with affectionate counsel. "Put away this wrath,
my dear lord, as one puts away a used garland, for you have had enough fighting
today. Tomorrow would do as well for another battle, for you lack neither
enemies nor valor. I pray you not to rush out on the instant. It seems to me
that you should think calmly before going out now to meet your brother. I am
afraid there is a deeper game. Your brother was defeated and disgraced and ran
for dear life and concealed himself for safety. Now he has returned and raises
this noise. Your brother is not such a fool as to challenge you again so soon
after the punishment you inflicted on him unless he was assured of help and
protection from an invincible ally of tried prowess. Did you not observe that
his very roar of challenge had a new note of confidence in it? I shall tell you
what I heard from Angada who had it from our scouts who range the forests. Two
princes of unrivalled valor, Rama and Lakshmana have come from Ayodhya and
Sugriva has secured the promise of their assistance. After all, my lord, your
brother is virtuous and brave. Why should you hate him? Who in the world is
closer to us than he? He will be your devoted servant and strong ally. It is
best to forget the past and make it up with Sugriva. My dear Lord, listen to my
words!" Vali disliked this
advice. Anger clouded his intellect. Caught and dragged by the noose of death,
he could not see reason and only became more fixed in his resolve. Tara, bright and
beautiful as became her name Tara meaning star, spoke in vain. "What are you
saying?" he said. "Am I to hear in silence the ringing challenge of
this enemy-brother? When a foe calls to battle is a warrior to hang back? Death
would be better than such cowardice. Don't you worry about Rama. He knows
dharma; he is one brought up in the fear of sin. Oh, let me alone, will you? I
may tell you I shall not kill Sugriva, only I will teach the presumptuous
fellow a lesson he won't forget and let him go. Let me go, I tell you. You have
spoken out of the fullness of your love for me. I shall humble Sugriva and send
him back and return soon with victory. Have no fear for me." Thus Valmiki pictures
Vali, his chivalry, his dauntless and impatient valor, his tenderness. It is
true Valmiki's hero has to kill the Vanara king, the epic requires it. But the
slain warrior was a noble knight, worthy of the reader's admiration and tears. Tara, with tears in her
eyes, circumambulated him and praying for his success returned to her apartment
full of grave apprehension. Leaving Tara and her companions behind, Vali issued
from the fort hissing like an angry cobra and went to meet Sugriva. As he saw him standing
there, radiant and courageous, he girt his loins and sprang on him. And Sugriva
too ran forward to meet Vali. "If you love your
life," warned Vali, "run away. Do not fall a victim to this fist of
mine!" Sugriva retorted
angrily and the battle began. Fierce with remembered wrongs and keyed up above
himself by the certainty of Rama's help, Sugriva maintained for long an equal
combat. But presently Vali's greater might began to prevail and Sugriva was in
such obvious distress that Rama who was watching with ready bow knew he could
not hold out much longer. It was now or never and
placing a deadly arrow on the string and pulling it to his ear, Rama sped it at
Vali's mighty chest. Pierced by that irresistible shaft Vali crashed down as
falls a great forest tree cut asunder by the woodman's axe and lay stretched on
the ground empurpled with blood as lies the festival flag-staff pulled down
when the festival is ended. Even so, he was
radiantly handsome, his noble figure shining like a cloud lit up by the setting
sun. The divine necklace given to him by Indra shone on his breast, which
guarded his life and fortune. This jewel, Rama's dart, the bleeding wound, all
added lustre to his mighty body. Valmiki describes
beautifully the majestic appearance of the fallen hero. A true warrior is never
so beautiful as when he lies dying on the field of battle. Astounded at being hit
and laid low, when he least expected it from an unknown quarter, Vali looked
round in perplexed surprise and saw Rama and Lakshmana approaching him bow in
hand. With tears of indignant wrath, and in a voice faint with approaching
dissolution, he accused them of ignoble perfidy in dealing causeless death to a
person engaged in combat with another. "Rama," he
said, "you are the son of Emperor Dasaratha. Born of a noble race and
famous by your own exploits, how did you bring yourself to do this deed? The
world is full of praises for your valor and virtue. And yet, while I was
absorbed in a battle with another, you came unseen, and from behind, shot a
fatal arrow at me. How false and undeserved is your reputation for manly
virtue, for truth and forbearance! What will the world think of you now? What
harm have I ever done to you? Did I come out to fight with you? You have killed
me like an assassin concealing yourself behind the trees. For a royal prince to
kill an innocent person in this way is grievous sin. You are unworthy for
kingship. The goddess Earth will never consent to take you for a bridegroom. My
greatest sorrow is that I am killed by a base and sinful wretch. If it was
battle with me you wanted, I would have given it to you, and slain by me in
fair combat you might have been lying in the dust as I do now. Or if it was
help to recover your Sita I would have won her back for you in a day. I would
have killed Ravana and dragged his body with a rope round the neck and placed
it at your feet. No matter where he has
hidden Sita, I would have discovered her and restored her to you." Thus Vali, son of Indra,
reproached Rama with his dying breath. And all this is fully set out by
Valmiki, the divine poet, as well as by Kamban. Against this accusation what
defence could Rama offer? Valmiki has it that Rama gave some explanation with
which Vali was satisfied. But I am omitting all this as pointless and pray that
the learned may forgive me. What I think is that an
avatar is an avatar and that among the sorrows that the Lord and His consort
had to endure in their earthly incarnation, this liability to have their
actions weighed on the earthly scales is a part. Vali bruised and bleeding from
the many wounds of his fight with Sugriva, lay in the
throes of death. He lived just long
enough to see his queen and his beloved son Angada. The poor bewildered lad who
at his mother's bidding 'to fall at the feet of his father who was going on a
long long journey' prostrated himself in silence, too stunned to realise the
extent of his loss. This will be narrated later. Vali's words were addressed to
Rama. "All is over, I shall blame you no
more. My dear, dear son
Angada is orphaned. You and Sugriva should look after him. I entrust him to
you. Look after him it is your duty to see that he does not pine away like a
withering lotus-plant in a dried-up tank. Tell Sugriva that he should not
imagine that it was Tara who set me up against him. Ask him to treat Angada as
he should treat a prince, with honor and affection. Do this for me. I want no
more. The warrior's Heaven is calling me!" So ended Vali's life. Owing to the protective
virtue of Indra's necklace, Rama could not have met Vali face to face and
vanquished him, just as Ravana could not be conquered by the gods. Rama could
kill Vali only when himself unseen. And still the question stands, why should Vali
have been killed at all? Perhaps the answer is
to be found in what Kabandha said to Rama in gratitude for being released from
his curse. "Through Sugriva's friendship you will recover Sita,"
Sugriva's help not Vali's. And so Rama went in search of Sugriva, found him and
pledged his friendship and consecrated it by fire. Sugriva had committed no
unforgivable offence against Vali. Yet Vali, with his supernatural strength,
persecuted his brother. Hearing the latter's
complaint, Rama had pledged his word to kill Vali and restore to Sugriva his
wife and make him king as his part of the contract of alliance. Thereafter,
Rama had no alternative. To kill Vali from cover became an inevitable
necessity. Rama erred in running after the magic deer to please his wife. Consequent on this,
difficulties and sorrows and conflicts of duty pursued him. If we keep in mind
that when God takes a lower and limited form by His own ordinance, limitations
follow and we should not be confused thereby. This is my humble view as against
other explanations propounded by the pious. THERE was panic in
Kishkindha when the news came that Vali had been slain by an archer, and the
Vanaras fled hither and thither in hopeless confusion. Tara, seeing this, laid
aside her own grief and like a queen put courage in her husband's subjects
saying: "Till this day you walked before the King to battle! Why, then do
you flee in fear now? There is no danger for you. Rama killed Vali only to make
Sugriva king. Your lives are in no danger; you will only have a different
ruler; that is all. You need not fly or fear." When she tried to go to
the spot where her husband lay dead, the Vanaras stopped her saying: "We
shall crown Angada king and we shall make safe the fortress. We shall defend the
town against Sugriva and his allies." But she said: "Now
my noble lord is dead, nothing matters." And boldly she went straight to
where Rama and Lakshmana were
standing. When she saw her
husband lying wounded to death she could not control her sorrow. She sobbed and
cried. "Ah my hero!"
she wept embracing the wounded Vali. "How many heroes have you laid low
and now you lie low yourself! And you have
left me here!" Soon Vali's son Angada
reached the spot. And Sugriva, witnessing this scene, was filled with remorse
at the thought that it was all for him that this calamity had happened. The
remorse was no doubt genuine. For invariably revenge, especially revenge
wreaked on those who have been friends in other day; brings nothing but
bitterness and grief, and the momentary feeling of triumph is all ashes to the
taste. How few of us realise this in the confusion created by desires and
anger! Tara rolled on the
ground and lamented: "Leaving dear Angada an orphan and myself a helpless
destitute you have gone on the journey from which there is no return. My
Lord! My hero! " Hanuman tried to
console her: "The dead reach their places in heaven. Why lament for Vali?
Angada will be crowned in due course and we shall then rejoice. It is our duty
to look after Angada. Let us now think
of performing
Vali's obsequies." "I care for
nothing," answered Tara. "It is for Sugriva to perform the obsequies
and to look after Angada. What is there for me to do? Can a thousand Angadas
equal in my eyes my husband? With him I shall enter the house of Yama. That
alone will please me." Vali, unconscious till
now, opened his eyes for the last time and addressing Sugriva said:
"Brother, we two could have been friends and reigned happily over the
kingdom. But it was not given to us to be so wise and happy. I am more to blame
than you, but why talk about that now? Hereafter you shall rule the kingdom. I
have entrusted to you Angada, my son, dearer than life itself to Tara and me.
He is a warrior equal to you in prowess. Be a father to him and look after him
with kindness. This is my only request to you. And be kind to Tara who was not
only a blameless and affectionate wife, but also a very wise and far-sighted
counsellor. Whatever she foretells is bound to happen. Do not disregard her
advice on any matter. Here, take the necklace that Indra gave me and take with
it its secret power. My life is over and so is my resentment. May you be
happy!" Thus the generous Vali blessed his
brother Sugriva. He gave good advice to
Angada: "Sugriva is now your king. Be loyal to him and give him patient,
affectionate service." Like a flowering
creeper embracing a forest tree felled down by an axe, Tara lay on the ground
clinging to Vali. Nila, as gently as he
could, drew out the dart from Vali's chest. Blood gushed out of the
wound and spread into a pool. Vali's life left his body. Tara lamented loudly.
"For the last time salute your father," she bade Angada in
heart-broken accents. "O my husband! Your dear son is bowing
before you. Will you not say a word to him? Alas! I am a widow and he is an
orphan." The sight of all this
struck Sugriva to the heart. He said to himself: "Moved by desire I closed
the entrance of the cave and leaving Vali there, I seized and enjoyed his
wealth. What a sinner have I been!" It may be that in his
penitent mood Sugriva accused himself wrongly, but it is also true that,
without our knowledge, desire corrupts our mind and leads us to wrong actions
and entangles us in sin. Sugriva felt that desire had unknowingly blinded and
betrayed him. Kama in Sanskrit stands
for lust and greed and every kind of desire. Kama is man's internal foe which
he has to vanquish. This is the lesson taught in the last seven slokas of the
third chapter of the Gita. Sri Krishna concludes his exhortation with these
words: "Jahi Satrum Kamaroopam Durasadam."
If desire corrupted
Sugriva's mind, anger corrupted Vali's. When Vali saw that Sugriva had barred
the entrance and left him shut up in the cave he felt convinced that Sugriva
had accompanied him in his pursuit of the Rakshasa not as a brother but with a
treacherous motive. He concluded that Sugriva had planned to sacrifice him to
the Asura and usurp his place. He became a prey to his
own fury. He disgraced and drove out his blood brother and nursed his anger.
Anger (krodha, as it is called in Sanskrit) betrayed Vali into sin. Indeed kama and krodha
are the ultimate causes of all sin. Unless we defend our heart against these
foes and keep them out, we cannot escape sin. Sugriva lamented:
"Though my sin was great, he would not kill me. He drove me out and
allowed me to escape with life. That was all. But I
conspired to slay him and succeeded. There is no sinner like me in the world
and yet with his last breath he gave me the kingdom to rule and gave, too, the
gift of Indra, the necklace of power. Indeed he was noble. Why should I still
cling to this base life, I, who brought about the death of my heroic
brother?" At least once a year,
men that follow ancient custom utter the prayer Kamokarsheet manyurakarsheet.
That is: 'Desire lured me into sin, anger lured me into sin.' So saying many
times with humble penitence, they seek to cleanse their hearts. This is a
practice that all should follow, to repent and purify the heart and surrender
it to the Lord, Kamokarsheet manyurakarsheet, Narayanaya namah. With fear and
hesitation, Rama gently approached the weeping Tara. But there was no sign of
anger on her face. The words she addressed to the slayer of her husband were
worthy of a hero's queen. "With the weapon with which, O Warrior, you
killed my husband, kill me too and enable me to join him. Even in heaven, he
will not be happy without me. Do not fear it would be a sin. It will be a
meritorious act to unite husband and wife. This will cleanse your sin, your
treacherous slaying of my husband." Valmiki says at this
stage that Tara knew the truth of Rama's incarnation and saw Vishnu in him. The
traditional belief is that, like Sumitra, the mother of Lakshmana, Tara, the
wife of Vali, was a jnani, a knower of Reality. Though at first she hated Rama
for his treachery, yet when she saw him face to face she saw his divinity, so
it is said. Those who read the Ramayana as a mere tale would find
all this pointless. But to the followers of bhakti marga, this will not sound
improbable. Tulasidas sings at this point that Siva explains to Parvati:
"Look, Uma, how Rama, the Supreme Being, moves all creatures like puppets
tied to strings!" Bhakti is needed to realise the full meaning of Hindu
ancient mythology. Even on a rational
basis, Tara comes out as a diplomat, an expert in statesmanship. She had the
intelligence to anticipate coming events. What had happened had happened. By
his address and good fortune, Sugriva had secured the alliance of Rama. Vali
was no more; Angada's welfare was all that she should care for hereafter. Could Angada afford to
antagonise Sugriva with Rama and Lakshmana ready to support him bow in hand?
Peace, not war was indicated. Hence, when she
concealed her anger from Rama and put on an appearance of patient submission to
events, she was really securing the best interests of Angada and winning for
him the compassion and sympathy of all. Vali's obsequies were
performed with due form and ceremony. After the auspicious bath, Sugriva was
crowned king and Angada was made Yuvaraja. THE rainy season began.
Sugriva and his companions spent the time in Kishkindha in enjoyment but Rama
and Lakshmana spent the weary days waiting in a cave nearby. The forest paths were
flooded and became rushing torrents, impossible to traverse. The search for
Sita, therefore, had to be suspended. Rama brooded over Sita's predicament and
was plunged in sorrow. Lakshmana counselled him to bear with the delay till the
rainy season ended. And Rama held his soul in patience. The edge of the keenest
sorrow wears with time and perhaps Heaven's kindest gifts to men are sleep for
the fleeting cares of the day and forgetfulness for the deepseated injuries of
the heart. Kishkindha mourned her Vali for a time, and then rejoiced in Sugriva
and the survivors. Sugriva forgot the privations of his exile and the remorse
for his brother's death. He enjoyed to the full his present prosperity and even
Tara reconciled and adapted herself to altered circumstances in the interests
of her son. The royal palace of
Kishkindha was full of joy and drinking, and the gloomy months of rain, which
the Raghu brothers spent in leaden repining, sped with golden-winged enjoyment
for Sugriva and his household. Only Hanuman felt anxious. He could not forget
Rama's business. He was looking out for an opportunity to remind the king of
his pledge to Rama. At last, the rains
ceased and the sky was cleared of cloud and lightning. The air was sweet with
the perfumes of flowers and the songs of birds and joy came to life in the
forest again. The intelligent and high virtuous Hanuman now approached his
king. Sugriva had entrusted all official duties to the ministers and was
absorbed in pleasure. Hanuman knew that the wisest and best of men neglect
their promises in such circumstances and addressed the king with great
politeness: "You have regained
the kingdom of your ancestors and are in secure possession and enjoyment of it.
But something yet remains to be done. You must fulfil your promise to your
allies and so increase your fame and strengthen your power. Even at the
sacrifice of one's own interests and pleasure, one should carry out the
business of one's friends according to one's promise. Only so can a king's
authority and reputation grow. It will be best to fulfil one's promise before
the due date. In any case delay should be avoided. Fulfilment after the
promised date is worse than useless. One should not wait to be reminded by
one's friends of what had been promised to them. All this you know without my
telling you. Remembering what Rama had done for us. We must take steps to
fulfil our promise without waiting to be reminded by him. The rainy season is
over. There is no ground for further delay. We can no longer postpone the task
of searching for Sita. Rama may be very patient, but that does not justify any
further delay on our part. Did not Rama kill your foe promptly, not minding the
danger or the blame involved? We should fulfil our promise with
equal promptness." Thus politely did
Maruti convey his advice to Sugriva. The latter accepted it and, thanking
Hanuman, ordered Nila to mobilise the Vanara army. "All the world must be
searched and Sita found," he said. "Order therefore
the most powerful Vanaras to come and join up at once. Those who fail will be
summarily punished." Having said this, Sugriva went back into private
apartments. Rama and Lakshmana
spent the time in their cave waiting for the end of the rainy season and the
fulfilment by Sugriva of his promise. But when the rains were over and the
forest and its creatures shone with renewed beauty, Rama grieved intensely at
the thought of Sita suffering at the hands of the Rakshasas. "The world is full of life and
joy," said Rama. "But Sita is
in agony somewhere. And I sit still here, awaiting the favor of this ungrateful
Vanara king. Alas, she walked cheerfully through the Dandaka forest, as if it
were a palace-park. She did not mind the stony ground and the thorns in the
path. What must be her suffering now? But this king, drowned in his cups and
revelling in the company of his women, has forgotten his promise to me.
Lakshmana! Go at once to Kishkindha and tell this base king: 'Remember! Know
that the path still yawns open whereby the slaughtered Vali went to his doom.
Do not follow him, but fulfil your promise to me. Ruin awaits him who forgets
kindness and, neglects friends. Beware of Rama's arrows. The four months of the
rainy season are over. These four months were like four ages to Rama, but to
you, steeped in pleasures, they have perhaps sped like minutes! By delay you
incur Rama's wrath and seek your destruction.' Go, Lakshmana, and tell him
this." This was the angry and
impatient message Rama wanted Lakshmana to take to Sugriva. Carrying this weight of
his brother's grief and anger, Lakshmana was about to leave. Then Rama thought
again. He knew Lakshmana's nature and feared danger from his rashness. So he
called him back and said to him: "In conveying my complaint to Sugriva, do
not be harsh. Whatever his faults, he is our friend. Point out his faults to him,
but say nothing harsh." Lakshmana agreed, but
he found it hard to control his own anger as he approached the gates of
Kishkindha. Noting the severe face
of Lakshmana who was fully armed, the Vanara sentry became alert and made ready
to guard the fortress. This enraged Lakshmana still further. Some Vanaras ran to the
inner apartments and reported to Sugriva: "Lakshmana, furious with anger,
is coming here bow in hand. We could not stop him." But the Vanara king was
tipsy and surrounded by women and he took no notice. The king's servants
ordered the sentry at the gates to stand firm and prevent the entry of any one.
Lakshmana's anger became quite uncontrollable. Lakshmana forced his way in.
There he met young Angada, the thought of whose youth and misfortunes took away
something of the edge of his wrath. "My child go and tell the Vanara
king," he said, "that Lakshmana is waiting at the palace gate to have
audience of him on behalf of his grief stricken brother." Angada went accordingly
to the king's apartment and informed him of Lakshmana's visit. But
Sugriva was in no condition to understand. Angada saw this and took counsel
with the ministers as to what should be done. Hanuman and some of the fellow
ministers gently explained what was happening and Sugriva was at last roused
from his tipsy condition. Sugriva said: "I am not at fault, am
I? Why should my friends
Rama and Lakshmana be angry with me? Some enemy must have carried tales and set
them up against me." Hanuman answered:
"It is my duty, O king, to say these things and I say them. Do not be
angry with me. We have delayed in carrying out our promise to Rama. We have
forgotten Rama's grief. It is late, but not too late. Hence let us do quickly
what we should. Let us seek forgiveness from Lakshmana. Let us, without further
delay, take steps to fulfil our promise to Rama." Then Sugriva agreed to
receive Lakshmana. As Lakshmana went into
the Vanara town, he marvelled at its beauty and the culture of Kishkindha.
Passing through beautiful streets, he stood outside the king's palace. Hearing
the sounds of revelry, of dance and song, proceeding from within, he saw that
the Vanaras had forgotten their promise and were lost in enjoyment. He could
hardly control his anger. Still he held back from entering the women's chamber
and, standing in a corner, outside, he twanged his bowstring. The sound filled all
Kishkindha with fear and trembling. Sugriva, hearing it, realised that the
prince was, indeed, angry. He saw the danger and asked Tara to go and pacify
the prince. "A chivalrous man like Lakshmana will find his anger slip from
him, when he speaks to a lady and it will be impossible for him to continue
wrathful." said the king, shrewd even in his tipsy condition. Tara advanced towards
Lakshmana. In looks, in knowledge of the world and skill in speech, Tara was
unrivalled She said to Lakshmana: "After enduring for a long time poverty
and persecution, Sugriva is enjoying the pleasures and the prosperity you have
secured for him. This enjoyment has gone to his head and he has lost his
senses. I know his fault, but you should forgive him. The high souled that
knows the foibles and imperfections of our common nature should temper their
censure with compassion. So be not too harsh in judging of King Sugriva's
surrender to temptations of the flesh, especially after his long trials and
privations. But I can assure you, he has never lost sight of his debt or his
duty to you. He has already issued orders for mobilising the Vanara warriors
from all quarters. Today or tomorrow they will all be here. Then the search for
Sita and the war against Ravana will begin. Have no doubts. And now, pray come
in and see the King." Lakshmana, now no
longer angry, entered the apartment. Sugriva, descending from his seat,
welcomed Lakshmana. "Forgive my
faults," he said. "With Rama's friendship and help I am King today.
How can I ever forget what I owe to the valorous and good Rama? He can destroy
his foes without any help from me. I, with my armies, can only follow him. That
is all. Surely Ravana will perish. The search for Sita will soon begin. Do
forgive the delay of which I am guilty." Lakshmana was pleased.
"Rama is your equal in honor and prowess, none else," he said.
"Come with me to Rishyamuka and give him words of comfort in his
grief." Sugriva and Lakshmana
went in a litter to Rama and, explaining the arrangements already made,
satisfied him. Rama was pleased. He
said: "You indeed are a real friend. Like the clouds yielding rain, the
sun destroying darkness and the moon pleasing human hearts, a good friend comes
to one's help spontaneously. I am happy in your friendship. Now the end of
Ravana and his race is
certain." Even as Rama was
expressing his gratitude and joy, great multitudes of Vanaras under their
respective leaders arrived and assembled. They came from distant forests,
mountains and coasts. The dust they raised darkened the sky. Millions of
monkeys and bears in a variety of shapes and colors were there. Sugriva addressed this
enormous army and showed them their appointed camping places. Later, he divided
the host into eight divisions and sent each under its commander, thoroughly to
search in the eight directions for Sita. One point is worth
noting here. The Tamil poet Kamban describes Tara as a chaste widow living a
life of discipline and privations. It is different in Valmiki, who includes
Tara and the other women as part of the inheritance Sugriva won from Vali, in
fact, as an appendage of the throne. When Sugriva lost himself in bodily
pleasures and forgot his duty to Rama, Tara shared his revels and is described
as being flushed and unsteady with wine when she went out at her lord's command
to allay Lakshmana's
resentment. In ancient times, when
an elder brother died leaving a wife, there was a custom in royal and other
noble families for the younger brother to take the widow as wife and protect
her. It is difficult for people of one age to judge the customs of another age.
Imagination and great flexibility of mind are needed to assess the merits and
defects of usage's with which we are not familiar. "LOOK, Rama, at
this Vanara army," said Sugriva. "All these myriads, of wondrous
strength, are yours to command. They are willing and able to do you all the
service you demand. Consider this huge army as your own and bid them to do
whatever you wish." Rama, beside himself
with joy; embraced Sugriva. He said: "First we should find out whether
Sita is alive, and if so where she is. Next we should know Ravana's
whereabouts. Then we shall do what needs to be done. But it is for you, not for
me or Lakshmana, to command this army. You are their King. Besides, you know
best what needs to be done and how to do it. Blessed am I to have a friend like
you and a brother like Lakshmana!" Then Sugriva issued
stringent orders to his commanders at once to send divisions of the army to the
four quarters of the earth to make a thorough search for Sita. After sending away the
other leaders, Sugriva took Hanuman aside and told him: "Son of Vayu,
possessing the strength and splendor of your father, you alone can succeed in
this task. You have strength, courage and intelligence and on you I rely to
take up and discharge this responsibility of discovering Sita." Rama too felt that
Hanuman's efforts would be crowned with success. Whatever obstacles turned up,
he felt that Hanuman would find a way of overcoming them. He gave his signet
ring to Hanuman and said: "Take this ring. I am full of hope that you will
discover Sita. This ring will tell her that you are my messenger. Dear Hanuman,
may you bring Sita and me together again!" Readers should realise
the solemnity and pathos of the scene. Rama full of abiding trust in the
devoted loyalty and valor of Hanuman placed the ring as though it was his own
hungry heart in his servant's hand. The ideal servant accepted the sacred trust
with a deep reverence and an unshakable resolve never to fail his master. Sugriva gave orders to
his army. "Sita must anyhow be discovered. No matter where she is hidden,
you can and must find her. Within a month you must return with news of
her." And the army swarmed
out like ants from an anthill and spread in the four directions. Satabali and his army
proceeded northwards. Vinata went east, Sushena westwards, Hanuman, Angada and General Tara travelled
southwards. All were equally
enthusiastic and equally eager to catch and kill Ravana and redeem Sita. Each
group was anxious to be first to return with success. There was tumultuous
rivalry. Rama enquired of
Sugriva: "You describe every quarter and region of the earth like one who
has seen the whole world with his own eyes. How and when did you see it
all?" "You will
remember, my Lord," said Sugriva, "how Vali pursued me in all
directions. Wherever I went, he still pursued me. And so I had to wander over
the face of the whole world. I thus had occasion to see every part of this
planet. Later, I learnt about the spot where Rishi Matanga had built his
ashrama. If Vali entered that region, his head would go to pieces by the sage's
curse. I knew that he would not come to that place and could not harm me even
if he came. So there I lay protected." The hordes that went
north, east and west returned in a month and reported that Sita was not to be found
anywhere. "Carefully we searched forests, mountains, rivers and cities,
but nowhere could we find her. Hanuman, who had gone southwards, is the lucky
one. Did not the Rakshasa carrying Sita also travel southwards? And Hanuman has
not yet returned." Rama, hearing this, was
satisfied that the Vanaras had done their best. Hanuman and Angada
entered and searched the caves and forests of the Vindhyas. Then they came upon
a desert, where a rishi was performing tapas. By his curse it was devoid of
trees and plants, of birds and beasts. Travelling further south, they saw a big
Asura. The cruel one, regarding the Vanara crowd as a good meal sprang up to
catch them. They thought at first that this was no other than Ravana. Angada rushed towards
him and gave him a mighty blow. Unable to stand it, the Asura spat blood and
fell on the earth and lay dead like a great hill. Rejoicing in the thought that
Ravana was dead, the Vanaras searched the
forest for Sita. But, there was no sign of her. And so they carried the search
elsewhere. Often they would weary
of their fruitless search and sit down in blank despair. At such times, Angada,
Gandhamadana or some other leader would encourage them and make them resume the
search. Many days were spent in this way. Yet Sita was not to be seen and they
dreaded Sugriva's displeasure. Very far they travelled
southwards in their search. Passing through a
desert, fainting with hunger and thirst, they saw a cave from which issued a
variety of birds full of the joy of life. The gentle breeze which came out of
it covered them with the pollen of lotus flowers and filled them with
fragrance. The Vanaras concluded: "undoubtedly there was water where the
birds and perfume came from." And the Vanaras forming a chain with linked
hands plunged cautiously into the dense darkness of the cave with hearts full
of hope, though too parched with thirst even to shout. At long last, all of a
sudden, light appeared and they saw a lovely grove with streams of pellucid
water and trees bowing under their wealth of fruit. Then they came to a city,
with streets paved with jewels set in gold and great palaces beautiful as a
dream. They went along and then they saw an aged tapasvini clad in the garments
of a recluse and seated on a dark skin. The Vanaras trembled before the divine
splendor of her face. Hanuman took courage to
approach her. Bowing low before her, he said: "Salutations to you, Mother.
May we know who you are? Thirsty and tired, we entered the dark cave hoping for
some water. And now that we see this unpeopled golden city with trees and tanks,
we are afraid, lest this be a vain vision arising from the madness of too great
sufferings. Explain all this to us and remove our fears." She answered: "How
did you find your way into this cave? You will have plenty of fruits and drink
here. This palace was built by Maya, the architect of the Danavas. He learnt
the art from Sukracharya. Long and happily did Maya live here, till he incurred
the enmity of Indra, who slew him. Later Indra gave this golden palace to Hema,
my friend. These buildings and parks are hers. At present she has gone to the
abode of the gods. But what is your purpose in coming here? Why did you weary
yourselves wandering in the forests? First eat, drink and refresh yourselves
and then tell me all about yourselves." They ate and drank and
refreshed themselves and were happy. Then Hanuman explained to the ascetic the
purpose of their wandering. "Rama, son of
Emperor Dasaratha, for some reason, left his kingdom and lived in the forest
with his brother and wife. Then a Rakshasa carried off Sita, the wife of Rama.
The two went out searching for her. They made the acquaintance of Sugriva, the
Vanara King, and became friends with him.
He has sent us on this mission to search for Sita and find her for Rama.
Our King fixed a time limit for us to return with a clue. We lost our way in
the darkness of this cave and the period is now over. Now we do not know what
to do. Sugriva is a strict master. For failure to do his bidding within the
time set, he is sure to visit us with the penalty of death." Swayamprabha, that was
the name of the ascetic woman, said: "Alas! You cannot by yourselves go
out of this cave. No stranger who enters it can go out of it with life. But
yours is a great mission and I must, by my tapasya, transport you out. Now shut
your eyes." Accordingly they shut
their eyes. All at once they found themselves on the seashore. Reaching the seashore,
they looked round and they were start led to discover that it was the beginning
of spring. Angada lamented: "Alas! The time set has been transgressed. If
we return to Kishkindha without any clue about Sita, the King will surely
punish us with death. He hates me. It was under pressure from Rama that he
agreed to make me Yuvaraja, not because of love for me. Instead of going there
and losing our lives, let us fast and seek death here and now." Many of
his companions agreed with Angada. The Vanara General Tara
said: "I do not agree. Why should we end our lives? Let us return to the
cave of the tapasvini Swamyamprabha and live there happily. There is everything
in plenty there. Neither Sugriva nor anyone else can reach this spot. We shall
spend the rest of our lives, free from care." But Hanuman said:
"What unworthy talk is this! What pleasure is there in eating, drinking
and sleeping in the cave, leaving our families in faraway Kishkindha? Sugriva is
a good king whom we need not fear. And if indeed Sugriva is angry with us and
determined to punish us, how can this cave give us safety? Can it stand against
Lakshmana's rage? Will he not smash it to pieces and kill us? I see no benefit
in Tara's counsel. Let us return and tell Sugriva the whole truth and beg for
his forgiveness. This is the only way to safety." "I do not agree
with Hanuman," said Angada. "Sugriva has no love or pity for me. He
is sure to kill me. He is of a cruel nature. Remember how he killed my father.
He does not want me to live. He will find some excuse or other for killing me.
He regards me as an obstacle in his way and that of his progeny, who but for me
would inherit Kishkindha. To break a promise is nothing to him. Did he not forget his solemn pledge to Rama
that he would search for and recover Sita? Was it not only for fear of
Lakshmana and his bow that he sent us on this search? My poor bereaved mother
has succumbed to fear and accepted Sugriva's protection. She clings to life for
my sake. Hearing that I am dead, she will end her life. Alas! I am miserable
and know not what to do." "My
death is certain", he said again, "if I return to Kishkindha. It is
far better to fast to death here." He spread on the ground
the kusa grass in the manner prescribed for the vow of death, bowed to the gods
and the dead and sat facing east, determined to die. When Angada the
Yuvaraja took this vow and sat in the posture of a fast unto death, the other
Vanaras cried in grief and, resolving also to fast with him and die, sat facing
east. From a neighboring
hill, Sampati, the vulture King, saw this crowd of Vanaras, resigning
themselves to fate. Having lost his wings and being unable to move, Sampati had
been famishing for a long time. He now rejoiced, saying to himself: "So
many monkeys are going to die here together. I shall have enough food for a
long while without effort." Meanwhile, the Vanaras,
expecting death, were recalling the past and talking to one another and loudly
lamenting over all that had happened. "Because of Kaikeyi, Dasaratha
died," they said: "Because of Dasaratha, Rama had to dwell in the
forest. Ravana carried off Sita. The heroic Jatayu lost his life in the attempt
to save Sita. If the heroic bird had strength enough to continue the struggle a
little longer, Rama and Lakshmana would have arrived on the spot and recovered
Sita. By fate did all these things happen and the end of the tale is that we
are dying here. In what curious ways does fate work!" Listening to these
lamentations, Sampati stared at the mention of Jatayu who was his brother.
Hearing him spoken of as dead, he naturally wished to hear the whole
story. Sampati was very old.
He and Jatayu were the children of Aruna, the god of Dawn and brother of
Garuda, Hari's vehicle. Jatayu and Sampati in their youth competed with each
other as to who could fly higher and rose in the sky. As they approached the
sun the heat became intolerable and Jatayu was about to be burnt up. But Sampati spread his
wings and protected his brother from the fury of the sun. Jatayu was saved, but
Sampati's wings were burnt off. Unable to fly, he fell down on a hill. Since
then he could not move but stayed in the same place ever hungry for meal and
just alive. "Who brings sad
news of my dear brother Jatayu?" he cried in agony. "Oh, Vanaras, is
beloved Jatayu dead indeed? Why did Rama son of King Dasaratha, go to the
forest? Why did he lose his wife? Was Jatayu killed by Ravana? Tell me all." The Vanaras had
resolved to end their lives. The wingless, old vulture had desired to make an
easy meal of them. But now things turned out otherwise. The Vanaras got up,
went to Sampati and gently led him down from the hill. Then they talked and
exchanged information. Sampati recounted his story. Angada related all that had
happened in Kishkindha and asked old Sampati how Rama could be helped. Sampati was old and
weak, but his eyes had not lost their keenness. He could see things very far
off. He could see Sita captive in Lanka and described in detail the wealth of
Ravana's kingdom. He saw and described how Sita sat surrounded by Rakshasis in
Lanka. The Vanaras were wild with joy. They jumped about saying, "Now we
know all about Sita. There is no need for us to die, Rama's purpose will be
achieved." Sampati's troubles were
also over. The boon he had received that when he helped Rama he would get back
his wings came true and even as they were talking, young feathers began to
spring and grow on his sides. Sampati now shone with fresh beauty and he found
satisfaction in performing the funeral obsequies of Jatayu. FROM Sampati the
Vanaras learnt the place where Sita was kept a prisoner in the land of the
Rakshasa, a hundred yojanas across the ocean. But of course it would not do to
return to Sugriva at once with this second-hand information. They had outstayed
the allotted time and only outstanding success could save them from punishment.
They could not stop their search till they saw with their own eyes what Sampati
had described only then could they fulfil Rama's purpose. But then they had to
cross the sea. They went to the edge
of the water and discussed matters. "How can we cross the sea, enter
Lanka, see Sita and return?" Anxiety and fear overwhelmed them. Angada said: "No
matter how hard the task, one should never lose courage. Courage is the key to
success. To lose heart is to lose
everything." Then he asked each one
of his followers to state truly the maximum length that he could jump. "Oh Vanara
warriors!" he said, "much have I heard from Sugriva of your prowess.
Your strength and your enterprise are beyond dispute. We should fulfil this
task. We cannot return to Kishkindha without seeing Sita. That is certain. It
is better for us to end our lives here than to be slain in disgrace by the
king. Therefore, tell me, one by one, the longest jump you have the strength
and courage to attempt." Gaja said modestly:
"I can jump ten yojanas." Gavaksha said: "I can do twenty."
Another Vanara leader claimed he could do thirty. And so each improved on
the figure of the other. At last Jambavan, the oldest of the warriors, spoke: "I am now old and
infirm. Yet I would gladly spend myself to fulfil our king's command. But what
will mere devotion avail if not seconded by strength? I think I can manage
ninety yojanas, but this is not enough to cross the sea and reach Lanka. I can
only regret my lost youth." The Yuvaraja himself
said: "I can do a hundred yojanas and reach Lanka, I have no doubt. But I
wonder whether I shall have the strength for another jump of equal length for the
return journey." Jambavan answered,
"O prince, you need not doubt your strength. Your prowess is as great as
Vali's. Yet it is not proper for the crown prince to undertake this task while
there are others to do it under his orders. It is neither statesmanlike nor
safe for a king to act directly." Then Jambavan cast an
appraising and admiring look at Hanuman, who had sat apart, listening to the
talk, but saying nothing. "I feel that the
son of Vayu, sitting there in silence is the one best fitted by strength and
skill to do this deed," said the old Vanara and walked up to Hanuman and
brought him to their midst. Addressing Hanuman in
the hearing of the myriad's of gloomy Vanaras, Jambavan said: "O
warrior, learned in all branches of knowledge, why are you sitting silent and
apart? You are the equal of King Sugriva, are you not? In strength and splendor
do you not surpass all the rest of us? Why, are you not the equal of Rama and
Lakshmana themselves? I have seen Garuda, the king of birds crossing the sea.
The might of your shoulders is not less than that of Garuda's wings. You are
not inferior to the son of Vinata in strength or speed, but you are not aware
of your own prowess and intelligence. There is no equal to you in the whole
world. Anjana, your mother, was a maiden among the goddesses above. By the
curse of a rishi she was born as a Vanari. One day, while she was wandering
carefree on a mountain slope, Vayu saw her beauty and fell in love with her and
embraced her. She was wroth. 'Who are you, O wicked one' she asked, 'who dares
insult me? The Wind-God answered: 'Be not angry, your body is not tainted by my
touch and loses not its virgin purity. Not in body but in my heart's desire did
I embrace you and out of this ethereal embrace, a child will be born to you,
equal to me in strength and vigor. He will be the mightiest and most
intelligent amongst the Vanaras.' Thus did the WindGod pacify Anjana. When you
were a little child, O Hanuman, you imagined the rising sun to be a fruit and
flew towards it in order to pluck it. Seeing your effortless and fearless
flight Indra, king of the gods, became concerned for the sun's safety and
hurled his thunderbolt at you. Struck down by it, you fell on a, mountain and
your right jaw was broken. Enraged by this, your father the Wind-God stopped
his movements and stood still. All living creatures became breathless and felt
strangled in the stillness. The gods begged Vayu to lay aside his anger and
showered blessings on you. Brahma and Indra gave you boons. No weapon can slay
you. Death can only come to you at your will and not other wise. You are
immortal. Born of Anjana and begotten of the spirit of the Wind-God, you are
equal to him in splendor, intelligence and power. But, for all your strength,
you are virtuous and modest. You alone can help us to fulfil Rama's purpose.
Crossing the sea is no hard task to you. This great army of Vanaras, struggling
in a sea of distress, you should rescue. You, who can cross the sea, should not
leave your power unused. Increase your
stature. You are the equal of Garuda. Once I too was
strong like you and traversed the globe twenty-one times. At the churning of
the ocean of milk, I fetched herbs from the four quarters at the bidding of the
gods. But now I am old and weak. You are the sole hope of the Vanaras. O, son of
Anjana, we beg you, noble one! With your heritage of divine strength, delay no
further. Realise your true strength and spring forward. Like Trivikrama, you
can cross the sea at a single jump. Do it and end our troubles." The aged Jambavan thus
praised Hanuman, reminded him of his strength and roused his dormant courage.
At once Hanuman's form began to swell like the sea in high tide. Even as the
Vanaras were watching him, the son of Vayu grew in size. The radiance of his
body filled Angada and his companions with wonder and joy. From now on, Hanuman is
the hero of the Ramayana. The devotees of Vishnu lovingly call him the Junior
Servant of Hari. The Senior Servant is Garuda who is always with Vishnu in
personal attendance. How the Junior Servant
of Hari ended the grief of Sita, destroyed by fire the city of Ravana and
returned to the Lord and told him: "I found have Sita," we shall now proceed to relate. Reminded of
his might by Jambavan, Hanuman was now determined to fulfil Rama's purpose. And
with fervor he uttered his faith: "May your words
come true. Flying through the sky and alighting in Lanka, I shall see Janaki. I
have no doubt. I shall return and bring you good news. To take the jump I must
press my foot hard against the earth. This hill may stand it," he said and
climbed up the Mahendra hill. There for a while he
threw his whole strength into his foot and walked a few steps. The creatures in
the hill could not endure it and came out. Standing on the hill,
Hanuman looked at the sea and directed his yogaconcentrated mind towards Lanka.
He said to himself: "I shall search and find Sita. I shall fly in the sky
and cross the sea." With this resolve he
offered worship and prayer to Surya, Indra, Vayu, Brahma, and all creation.
Then facing east, he made obeisance to his father Vayu and, magnifying his
frame still further, turned towards the south. He pressed the hill
with his feet and struck it with his hands. At this impact the flowers fell
from the trees and covered the hill. Squeezed irresistibly by the pressure of
his feet the hill threw out springs of water, like the rut flowing down the
cheeks of the elephant. Many colored veins of ore burst out of the rock. From
the caves the beasts emerged with panicstricken outcries. Hooded serpents
emitting venom bit the rock and sparks flew out. The hair of Hanuman's
body stood on end and he roared and lashed his tail on the ground. He
contracted his hind parts, held his breath, pressed down his feet, folded his
ears and stiffened his muscles. Then with a roar of triumph he rose into the
sky and like Garuda flew with the speed of Rama's arrow. With the momentum of
his speed, many trees were uprooted and followed in his wake. Like friends who
speed a parting guest, they accompanied him a little way, showering down their
flowers, and dropped. One by one the trees
that followed Hanuman fell into the sea like the mountains which of old were
pursued by Indra and denuded of their wings. Covered with bright-colored
flowers the sea shone like the sky with its stars. Hanuman's arms with their
outspread hands as he flew through the sky appeared like two five headed
cobras. He seemed to swallow the sky as he flew forward. His eyes glistened
like mountain forests on fire. His red nose shone like the evening sun. His huge frame spanned
the sky like an enormous comet. The air roared as he sped fast. Beneath him his
shadow travelled like a ship
on the sea. It looked as though a huge mountain with wings was flying in the
sky. Hidden at times by clouds and again emerging from them, he shone like the
moon sailing across the sky. The Gandharvas showered flowers. The Devarishis
blessed him. With courage equal to
every occasion, with foresight, skill and resolution, Hanuman met and survived
the trials on the way. Shooting up suddenly from the sea, a mighty mountain
rose and stood, in his way. Hanuman struck it with his chest and the Mynaka
Mountain yielded, like a cloud struck by the wind. The mountain said:
"My son, I am Mount Mynaka. My king Ocean bade me help Sri Rama, the
descendant of the Sagara race. The Ocean is an old friend of that race. In
honor of that ancient, association, stay here on me for a while. You will
fulfil Rama's purpose all the better for this rest. When Indra struck with his
thunder all the hills, I fled from his persecution and hid myself in the ocean
and survived. The Ocean who gave me shelter now bids me help you. The sons of
Sagara dug and deepened the ocean. Did not your father Vayu help me to escape
from Indra's thunderbolt and find sanctuary in the sea? Both the Ocean and
myself will be pleased if you will accept my hospitality and rest here for a
while." But Hanuman could
not yield
to Mynaka's importunity
and said politely: "I cannot stop, my friend. I have no time to lose. My
vow to fulfil Rama's purpose permits no delay. Your kind words are enough to please
me." He stroked the mountain
affectionately with his hand and took its leave. Later, a huge form
stood in his way and said: "Enter my mouth. I have been without food for a
long time and am eagerly waiting for you," and the monster opened its
mouth wide like a cave. Hanuman answered: "I am bent on doing Rama's purpose.
Do not stop me." "Impossible!"
said the monster. "You must enter my mouth." Hanuman thought quickly
and decided what to do. Step by step he made his body grow bigger and bigger.
The Rakshasa form (which had been assumed by Surasa, the Naga maiden) opened
its mouth correspondingly wider and wider.
When the mouth was thus
enormously wide, all of a sudden Hanuman contracted his body into a speck and,
darting through the demon's mouth and body, came out again and resumed his
former normal shape. He then laughed and
said: "You have had your wish, mother. I have entered your mouth. What
more do you need?" And the Naga goddess
blessed him saying: "Your effort will be crowned with success. I did this
at the bidding of the gods who wanted to test you. Rama's purpose, which you
seek to serve, will assuredly triumph." This was not the last
of his trials. As he was flying in the sky, for no reason which he could
discover, he found his speed obstructed and he suffered like a ship against a
contrary wind. Some mighty force, he felt, was holding him and dragging him
down. He looked up and down
and on all four sides. Then he discovered the cause. It was a huge she-demon in
the sea holding him by his shadow below, arresting his speed, and dragging him
down. The demon, holding him
by his shadow, said: "Come, come! Long have I been waiting for you. No
longer can I bear my hunger," and she opened her mouth like a cave. At once Hanuman entered
her mouth and ripped a way out through her entrails and emerged. The demon died
and sank down in the water. Like the full moon emerging from an eclipse,
Hanuman shone in the sky and resumed his journey. Thus surviving many
trials with the help of his subtle wit, courage and strength, he flew across
the ocean and approached the coast of Lanka covered with plantain and coconut
trees. On the shore of the
island he saw groves and mountains and forests and the mouths of rivers. Hanuman saw the wealth
of Ravana's kingdom and the beauty of the fortified city. "I have reached
the destination," said Hanuman to himself. "Now without letting the
Rakshasas know who or what I am, I must search the place and find out where
Sita is kept." He reduced his huge
form to the size of a normal monkey and alighted on a hilltop in Lanka. 48. THE SEARCH IN LANKA FULL of hope, Hanuman
alighted and set foot in Lanka. But soon the flush of triumph at the
accomplishment of the journey gave place to sober thinking. "True I have
crossed the sea, but that is only the beginning of my mission. There, on mount
Trikuta, stands Ravana's magnificent city, as if suspended in the sky. How
beautiful, how wealthy, how well secured it is! The city and the fortress are
not inferior to Amaravati or Bhagavati. The lovely
groves, the elegant buildings, the engines of defence, deep moats, these fill
me with much admiration but also with greater concern. Who can attack and
vanquish this Ravana? How can an army cross the sea that I have just crossed?
Even if it crosses the sea and reaches this shore, how can it attack and bring
down this fortress defended by bulwarks manned by well-armed warriors! Neither
guile nor force can bring it down. But first I must find out whether Sita is
alive or not. Other questions can wait. When and how can I best enter this well
guarded city? I have to search it thoroughly, if I am to discover the place
where Sita is kept. If thoughtlessly I do something wrong now, this error would
be irretrievable and a great purpose would fail because of haste or negligence
on my part. If I enter the, city by day, it will be noticed by the Rakshasas.
It is best I go in at night. But in what shape shall I go? To ward off
suspicion, I must put on a trivial, inconspicuous shape." Accordingly he shrank
to the size of a little monkey, no bigger than a cat. To enter and search the
palaces and parks of this vast city, this would be most convenient. His present
form was as much smaller than his usual size as the latter was than the mighty
proportions he had assumed as he crossed the sea. By now the sun had set. The little Vanara
walked towards the fortress gate. The moon shone brightly. Hanuman was glad and
grateful for this help in his search. Even on a distant view
Hanuman wondered at the wealth and beauty displayed in Ravana's capital. The
streets and mansions were bright with flags and festoons and glittered with gold
and precious gems. The breeze blew gently from the sea. Like Indra's Amaravati
and Kubera's Alakapuri, Ravana's capital had attained the peak of prosperity.
The messenger of Rama was filled with wonder and anxiety how to overcome the
master of such wealth and military power. As he was walking along
in amazement and anxiety, he was rudely accosted by the terrible-looking
Guardian Goddess of the city. "Who are you,
little monkey? How did you manage to come here and why are you here at all? Speak
the truth." "Yes, I am indeed
a little monkey and I have come here to look at this beautiful city. I shall go
back after I have gone round and seen everything and satisfied my
curiosity." The deity struck an
angry blow at the monkey. Hanuman returned the blow carelessly with his left
hand. It doubled her up with agony on the ground. But soon she got up and
remembered the prophecy that, when a monkey should strike and throw her down,
the city she guarded would be destroyed. She said to herself:
"Ravana's sins are many and grievous. The end of Lanka is approaching. The
word of the gods is about to be fulfilled." And she stood aside. The
goddess of Lanka was not a servant of Ravana. She was the spirit of the city. Hanuman climbed over
the wall and jumped into the city. It was part of the ancient code of warfare
that one should not enter the enemy's fortress through the regular gate, but
should make his entry in an out-of-the-way manner. Vowing that the
Rakshasas should be destroyed he entered the fortress of Lanka with his left
foot foremost, for that meant defeat for the enemy. He went along the royal
street that was strewn with beautiful flowers. Like lightning shining through
the clouds the buildings shone against the sky. Clambering up the mansions and
going along on their roofs, he admired the beauty of the city. The Rakshasa
mansions and streets and their decorations shone with ineffable beauty. The
sounds of cultivated and correct music were heard. Lovely women moved about to
the accompaniment of tinkling anklets. The city was filled with sounds
indicating a full and joyous life. In some houses mantras
were being chanted. In some others Vedic chants were heard. In others songs
celebrating the heroic exploits and glory of Ravana were being sung. Soldiers
and scouts were everywhere. In the streets were people dedicated to particular
religious practices and vows. There were others cruel in looks and ugly. The
guards were armed with bows, swords, cudgels, slings, lances and other weapons.
All the warriors were clad in armor. Some were handsome,
some ugly, complexions varied from fair through brown to black. Some figures
were very tall, others very short. Thus Hanuman saw that the population had
been drawn from a wide area with varying climates and that the army had been
recruited from the pick of many nations.
He examined mansion
after mansion. He saw women of exquisite beauty, some of them in the company of
their husbands and others by themselves. He saw many young damsels, bright and
beautiful like images of molten gold. Some were seated on the terraces, others
were sleeping in their beds. Some were playing, others singing. Innumerable beautiful
women he saw, but not Sita pining for Rama. The sight of so much beauty only
filled Hanuman's heart with disappointment and sadness. He entered and examined
the homes of many Rakshasas. There were war elephants, pure-bred horses,
chariots and armories. Soldiers stood fully armed. After passing through
many mansions and gardens filled with merriment and music, he came to a great
palace rising aloft in a nobility of splendor far transcending all the
magnificent buildings around. Looking at the
elephants, horses and foot-soldiers in front, the high walls surrounding it and
the beauty of its structure and the richness of its decorations, he concluded
that this was Ravana's own palace, the central glory of splendid Lanka. He
entered this palace. It was in every way a heaven on earth worthy of Ravana's
peerless power and glory. The park, the birds sporting there, the shrines
scattered here and there, filled Hanuman with wonder. He said to himself:
"What wealth, what beauty and what bliss!" He was for a while lost
in amazement. But soon he recollected that he had not yet found Sita.
Admiration gave place to concern over the yet unfulfilled purpose for which he
had come. Passing through many
mansions, he entered the innermost private apartment of Ravana and was almost
overcome with the luxury and richness of its apartments which made it look a
very abode of the gods. Everywhere was gold and silver, ivory and gems and
pearls, and beautiful carpets and furniture and in their midst he saw the
Pushpaka Vimana. It was a magic vehicle
obtained from Brahma by Kubera. Vanquishing Kubera, Ravana brought it to Lanka
as his booty. As from Vasishtha's cow, in the Pushpaka car one could get
anything one desired. Ravana's chamber, which
Hanuman now entered, was a very ocean of delight. Countless lovely women lay
sleeping in the spacious chamber, some linked arm in arm and all in undress and
the careless attitudes of sleep, making the place look like garden of bright,
flower-laden creepers. With his spirit
controlled by dharma, Hanuman looked at all these sleeping women, each more
beautiful than the other and all filled with joy and love, to see if any of
them could be Sita. Ravana's power to take what shape he would and to please
all women was evident from the sight of these lovely women. Hanuman pulled himself
together reproachfully at his own folly in supposing for a moment that Sita
could be in that sensual paradise of happy damsels. "It is certain that
Sita is not in this crowd. What a fool am I to search for her in this company!
This is no place for her." Then he went elsewhere.
In another chamber he saw many beds. He saw one more gorgeous than the rest,
covered with gold and diamonds and Ravana stretched on it, like another Mount
Meru. His form and majestic splendor mace made even Hanuman tremble for it
moment. He stood on one side
and scanned the sleeping figure unable for a time to take his eyes off the
majestic and virile beauty of that mighty form. The great muscles now in
repose, the symmetrical grace of limbs which made the Rakshasa King at once
beautiful and terrible. Then Hanuman looked at
the women in the beds around and on the carpets. Some, who had fallen asleep
while singing, were still hugging their musical instruments. His eyes finally fell
on a figure lying on a divinely beautiful cot. The shapeliness of her limbs and
the beauty of her features made Hanuman imagine it might be Sita. He leaped up
with joy. The next instant he
cursed himself for his folly. "Fie, fie," he said to himself,
"how foolish have I been! Could Sita sleep thus carelessly, covered with
jewels, in a stranger's chamber? The very thought is a sin." And he was
overwhelmed with shame and sorrow at his error. Then he said to
himself: "Because she would not yield to him, this Rakshasa must have
killed her. What use is there in continuing the search?" He had now searched the
inner apartments of Ravana's palace. The bedroom, the dining room, the hall of
drink, the music room, all places had been searched and Sita was nowhere found.
"I have entered every nook and corner. Against all the rules of propriety,
I have even looked at every one in the women's chambers. But all in vain."
Saying this he left the
hall of drink and went to the garden and looked into the little shrines and the
arbours made of creepers. But all was in vain. "I have seen all
of Lanka," he thought with irrepressible grief. "I have seen every
inch of Ravana's palace. What more could I do here? Am I to return without
seeing Sita? No. I shall rather end my life here. Yes, that is the only thing
for me to do." But again he said to
himself, "Fie, fie on me for yielding to such despondency unworthy and
dishonorable." He sprang up again and
searched once again every inch of the places he had been through. He opened
every door and window and looked in. There were ugly women, beautiful human and
Naga maidens, all captured
by the Rakshasa, but not Sita. Once again his heart
sank. He did not know what to do. He said to himself: "If I return to
Kishkindha failing in my mission, with what face shall I meet my friends? If
Rama loses all hopes of recovering Sita, what would happen to him? He would
surely die. And after that, what would happen to others? Instead of going back
to Sugriva and telling him that all my labors have been wasted, it would be far
better to stay here and spend the rest of my days in the forest and seashore of
Lanka. But why live on? Is it not best to end my life? But, then, was Sampati
wrong in saying that Sita was in Lanka? Or has she been killed by the Rakshasa
since Sampati sighted her in this island? She might well have been devoured by
the Rakshasis. Nothing is clear, everything is enveloped in doubt. What shall I
do?" Thus was Hanuman lost
in anxiety and thought. Just then his eyes lighted on what he had so far left
unexplored, a park attached to a shrine and surrounded by high walls. "Oh,
here is a park, I have not seen or searched so far. Here surely I shall find
Sita." With these words as the
son of Vayu meditated on Rama, hope sprang within his breast. The secluded park
was well protected by high walls. "Yes, Sita must be here," he said
to himself. Again he bowed to the gods. He jumped up and sat on the wall of the
Asoka Vana and surveyed the beautiful park.
As HANUMAN stood on the
high wall, he did not know why, a thrill of joy passed through his frame. It
was the invisible atmosphere which envelopes an accomplished mission and
influences subtly the devoted heart. As be had at last reached the spot where
Sita was, his whole being throbbed with exulting expectation without any
apparent reason. It was an early spring
night. Trees and plants were in flowers. Hanuman jumped to a place where there
was a thick cluster of trees. This disturbed the birds that rested there and
they flew out with sweet noises. Deer and other animals moved about. Flowers
dropped from the branches and covered the body of Hanuman. The creatures in the
park, looking at the lovely figure of Hanuman covered all over with flowers,
thought that the God of spring was visiting the grove in the early dawn. The garden was
entrancingly beautiful. Lovely tanks, terraces decorated with gold, silver,
ivory, pearl and coral crystal steps, artificial hills and waterfalls, the
sight filled Hanuman's heart with joy. Around some trees were platforms
overlaid with gold and silver. Little bells suspended from the trees made music
in the breeze. Hanuman climbed up and
sat hidden among the leaves of a tall spreading tree with a golden platform
around its stem. "If she be alive and in Lanka " said Hanuman to
himself, "Sita would surely visit this garden. She would choose this place
above all others for solitude and contemplation of Rama. They said, did they
not, that she loved groves and trees? She would surely come
here at dawn to offer worship to the Universal Mother." He gazed all round,
hiding himself among the leaves. He sat on a branch and looked below. He beheld
a female figure seated on that platform, blindingly beautiful and divinely
pure. Thin and pale, she
shone like the streak of the moon in the beginning of the bright half of the
month. Her beauty glowed fitfully through deepest dejection like flame through
enveloping smoke. Wrapped in a soiled upper garment she resembled a lovely
lotus obscured by miry moss. Her face was bathed in tears, and she was wan and
thin for want of food. She had no thoughts but of sorrow, no glimpse of friends
or hope. There were only Rakshasis wherever she turned her eyes, and she felt
like a doe which had lost its herd and found itself beset by a pack of wild
dogs. A single snake-like
braid of hair wandered unregarded down to her hip. She seemed to Hanuman at
once adorable and pitiful, like the holy word torn from its context by
infidels, like prosperity sunk in unmerited ruin, like shattered hope and faith
betrayed, like frustrated fulfilment, like intellect muddied by insanity, like
blameless purity besmirched by foul slander. Hanuman said to himself
with conviction: "This image of beautiful despair is surely Sita. For,
behold, hanging unregarded on the branches of the tree are the jewels described
by Rama as having been on her when she was carried away, all except those which
she dropped during the flight and which were picked up by us on the hill. And
see the scarf she wears, though soiled and crumpled, is the fellow to the one
we found. Surely this sublimely beautiful lady, who seems like one steadfast in
true love in a tempesttossed sea of troubles, is Rama's beloved queen. It is
for her that Rama is consumed by a three-fold agony, grief for her suffering,
wrath for the insult to her and heart-broken pangs at separation from her.
Surely he is ever in her heart and she in his, and in truth they are not parted
or they could not live." And as he continued to
see her, his heart leapt back across the ocean and sought Rama's feet in
adoration. And again he looked at Sita and said to himself: "It was
for the sake of this divine lady that the mighty Vali, the peer of Ravana in
prowess, was slain. For her that Kabandha and Viradha met their death, and
fourteen thousand fierce Rakshasas with Khara, Dushana and Trisiras crimsoned
with their gore the glades of Janasthana. It was for her that the splendid
sovereignty of the Vanaras was wrested from the heroic Vali and given to
Sugriva. It is to do her service that I crossed the sea, the lord of rivers,
and am now here in Lanka. All this seems much, but verily, if for her sake Rama
should transform or even destroy the universe, I would say from my soul it is
well done! She is worth it all and more!" And again Hanuman's
heart crossed the sea back and dwelt on Rama far away. Just then, as off the
clear surface of a lake a swan might glide, so in the blue sky the moon swam
into sight and shone brightly as if on purpose to help the son of Vayu. Peering between the
leaves and not knowing what to do, Hanuman took another long look at the face
of Sita, a face that disclosed a sea of care like a heavily-laden ship caught
in a storm. The Rakshasis who guarded
her were intolerably ugly. One had only one eye, another only one ear. Some
were without ears and some without noses. Some had noses turned steeply upward.
Some were bald, while some had done their hair in grotesque styles. Some had pendant
stomachs and some had camel's lips. Some were hunchbacks. Some were dwarfs and
some tall like palmyrah trees. Swine-face, tiger-face, buffalo-face, goat-face,
all were to be seen. These unsightly creatures were holding spears and other
weapons in their hands. And in their midst, the
pale-faced princess sat trembling, befriended only by her virtue, like an
unsupported beautiful creeper fallen on the ground. It was still dark and
not yet dawn. Ravana was roused from his slumber by the chanting of the Vedas
and the morning songs of the court bards. The moment he awoke, he thought of
Sita and started towards the park where she was kept. With all his retinue,
he entered the palace park, accompanied by scented torches and the royal
umbrella, surrounded by maidens, covered all over with brilliant ornaments and
clad in spotless white clothes. Ravana appeared charming like another Manmatha.
As the procession
entered the gate, Hanuman could hear the noise of the crowd and the tinkling of
women's anklets. Soon he saw the Rakshasa king approaching. At once Hanuman hid
himself more effectively than before among thick leaves. As Ravana came towards
Sita, his strength and splendor were wonderful to behold. At this sight Sita's
body shrank and trembled like a plantain tree in a storm. As one reads or listens
to this sacred story, one should form a mental image of Sita in her present
state. One can imagine the agony of despair of any good woman who has by
misfortune fallen into the power of a lustful man. What must be the state of
Sita, daughter of Janaka and wife of Ramachandra, in such a predicament? To
appreciate Valmiki's metaphors and similes in this context, one should purify
one's heart and fire it with piety. One feels unequal to
rendering into another language the beautiful similes by which Valmiki
illustrates her condition. Only a few are cited here to give some idea of them.
Ravana approached Sita
still in the hope of obtaining her consent. Sita was covered with dust and had
no jewels on her person but she shone as if wearing all the jewels that a
princess must wear. She looked like a beautiful tree felled down and lying low. Her face was covered by
light and shadow, like a lotus flower stained by mire. She swayed like a cobra
bound by charms. Her state was like one surrounded by raging fires on four
sides, like an army which had lost its chief warriors, like a river which had
run dry, like a vessel for sacrificial fire that suffered desecration, like a
lovely lotus tank destroyed by elephants, like a flowering creeper uprooted and
cast aside, like a cow elephant separated from the leader of the herd, captured
and tied as a prisoner. Sita sat trembling,
overwhelmed with grief and fear. When she perceived Ravana's approach, that
very instant her heart travelled to Rama like a chariot drawn by swift steeds.
With faded face and wasted form, she thought of her protectors far away. "When
will they come? Will they ever come?" she asked herself and meditated on
God. Ravana approached and
spoke to her. Hidden in the branches of the tree, Hanuman watched what went on
below. TO SITA, plunged in a
sea of sorrow and clinging to dharma and to the thought of her lord, Ravana
spoke these words: "O beautiful one!
Why do you shrink from me? Do you not see how much I care for you? Though it is
lawful for a Rakshasa to take another's wife and possess her by force, I am a
beggar for your love. There is no need to fear me. I shall never touch you till
your heart turns towards me. Do not be afraid. My one wish is that you should
care for me as I do for you. You must accept me with affection. Why do you make
your body a prey to unavailing sorrow? O beautiful one! There is none like you
in loveliness, none in all the world. It is not right for you to reject
beautiful jewels, and clothes, to sleep on the ground and leave your hair
unkempt. O gem among women, do not thus waste your youth and beauty. Now you
have come under my protection, you should lack nothing. All pleasures are
suitors for your selection. I cannot take my eyes away from your face bright
like the full moon. Wherever on your body I set my eyes, there they remain
fixed and immovable. Why should one with so much beauty suffer so much sorrow?
Accept me and enjoy all the pleasures of the world. I will conquer the world
and give it to Janaka for your sake. What will I not do for you? You will be my
sovereign consort. All the queens and women in the palace will be ruled by you.
My wealth, my kingdom, all shall be yours to enjoy. Lanka and myself, why, the
whole earth, shall belong to you. My strength and courage are known to the
Devas and Asuras. Vanquished by me, they stand with bowed heads. With jewels and garments fit for you my
handmaidens will adorn you. I long to see you splendidly decked. And you will
be free to give away generous gifts in charity. Your authority will extend over
all mankind. My subjects and kinsfolk will deem it a joy to serve you. Why do
you waste your thoughts on wretched Rama, wandering in the forest? How can you
love, how can you trust one who has been deprived of his rights and driven out
of his kingdom and is roaming about clad in bark garments? What can this
helpless fellow do? The Goddess of Wealth, she that presides over power and she
who rules over success have all abandoned him, and you know it. It is even
doubtful whether he is alive today. Anyhow, you may take it, he will never set
eyes on you again, much less come near you. Like Garuda seizing a serpent, you
have captivated my heart. I am unable to escape. Even in your present state,
devoid of jewels or good clothes, you have drawn me away from my other wives.
What can I do now? In my apartments are innumerable lovely women. But after
seeing you, I can bear the sight of none of them. You will be Queen over all of
them and receive their humble service. In what sense can Rama equal me? Do you
not see that in severe austerities gone through, in strength, wealth and glory,
in every way I am superior to him? Shake off your fear. We shall wander over
the whole world, happy in each other's company. With me you will enjoy
limitless wealth and pleasure. Life will be one continuous joy. O beautiful one,
have pity on me. Let us sport together in the parks and groves by the sea. Only
say 'yes'." Thus Ravana uttered his
impassioned appeal for love and pity. When Ravana had finished speaking, Sita
plucked a little blade of grass and, placing it between them, laughed in
derision and gently spoke: "Ravana, lay aside
all such vain thoughts concerning me. It is altogether improper for you to
desire me. Turn your heart to your wives. Never can I agree to what you say.
Think of the family I was born in. Think of the family I was married into. How
can you ever hope to persuade me? Do not give room for such foolish and
impossible desires and make sorrow for yourself!" Then she turned her
face away and continued: "How can I become
your wife, when I am the wife of another? Do not violate dharma. Do not tread
the path of sin. Listen to me. Think how carefully you watch over your wives to
keep them safe from the touch of others. Would not other husbands do the same
by their wives? Remember other men are like you. Do not cast your eyes on
another's wife. To be happy with your own is the way of true happiness. But if
you allow your mind to dwell on another's wife, sorrow and dishonor will be
your portion. Is there none in the world to advise you aright? Why do you do evil
and bring destruction on yourself and on your people? When a king loses
self-control, his kingdom and wealth will all be destroyed. Be sure, this Lanka
and its great wealth will be utterly destroyed if you persist in your sin and
the foes whom you have conquered and humiliated will rejoice. I have no use for
the wealth and the pleasures that you promise. They do not tempt me. I have
married Rama and I cannot take my mind and heart away from him. I, who held his
hand, can never touch another, never. I am his, the prince's, entirely and
forever. I belong to him, as the Veda belongs to one who has reverently
mastered it. It is not right for anyone else to look on me with longing eyes.
Listen to me who speaks for your good. Beg Rama humbly for forgiveness and escape
from his anger. Do not go in search of your own ruin. Rama is generous and will
surely forgive you if you seek his mercy. Seek forgiveness and safety. Do not
seek death and destruction. There, I hear even now the twang of Rama's bow. You
cannot escape. Yama stands very near, ready to carry you away. The arrows of
Rama and Lakshmana will soon be here in Lanka and your city will be in flames.
Did not Rama utterly destroy the Rakshasas at Janasthana? Did you not, knowing
his strength, come like a thief to our hut, when Rama and Lakshmana were away,
to steal me? Can you for a moment stand before them face to face? Can a dog
approach a tiger? Will it not flee from the very scent? As the sun sucks up
moisture from the wet earth, Rama and Lakshmana will drink your life. Will you
run to hide yourself among the mountains? Will you try to escape under the sea?
Even then, as at the appointed hour the tree is struck by lightning, so will
you perish at their hands. You cannot escape." Thus Sita ended with a stern warning. Ravana controlled his
anger and spoke: "O Sita, doting on
this spurious ascetic Rama, you talk foolishly and repay my loving words with
insult and contumely. Because of my love for you, I have refrained, else you
would be dead by now. Of the time I had allowed you, two months more remain.
Change your mind before they pass. Be my wife and come to my bed. If you
refuse, you will be sent to my kitchen and cooked for my meal. Beware!" It was well-known that
the food of the Rakshasas included human flesh. Hence this threat of Ravana was
no exaggeration, but conveyed a clear possibility. Yet Sita was unafraid, and
answered: "Alas! Alas! Is
there none to give you good advice? Have you no friend to save you from this
sin and put you on the path of virtue? You cannot escape Rama's punishment.
Like a rabbit antagonising a wild elephant you have incurred the wrath of Rama.
O wretch, who stole me in his absence, are you not ashamed? Your destruction is
certain. Your evil fate has driven you to this act. And yet you are the brother
of Kubera. You are famous as a warrior. You are the master of a complete four-limbed army. Why
should you do this mean deed in this
mean way?" Ravana's eyes rolled in
anger and he looked fiercely at Sita, hissing like a snake. Seeing his mounting
anger, one of his young wives, Dhanyamali walked up to his side and, embracing
him, said: "King! Why do you
vex yourself over this mean human creature who does not seem to care for you?
She has not the good fortune to be your wife, that is all. And what is there so
attractive about her? Why do you waste your thoughts on this puny creature?
Come away. Let us enjoy ourselves." She drew him away
affectionately and the Rakshasa went with her, laughing. Before he went, Ravana
ordered the Rakshasis who guarded Sita to bring her round somehow, and with
resounding steps left the Asoka park, followed by his retinue. As soon as he
turned his back, the Rakshasis surrounded Sita. The princess, who had
been bold up till now, trembled when she looked at these ugly creatures that
began speaking to her. "When Ravana,
scion of a noble family, a world-famous warrior, desires you," said one,
"how can you refuse him, O foolish girl? Who do you think Ravana is? Know
that he is a direct descendant of Brahma. He is the grandson of Pulastya Prajapati, son of
Brahma, a hero who has won many battles and vanquished many foes. How foolish to
slight him!" "Let not pride
ruin you," said another. "Ravana is the son of rishi Visravas. Do not
think he is a nobody. Accept him and be happy." "The king of the
Rakshasas, who defeated in battle and put to flight the gods of heaven, invites
you to be his wife," said another. "You must yield, poor girl, or you
must die." "Slighting all his
other wives," said another, "Ravana wants you and promises to make
you chief among his queens. Forsaking all his noble wives, the King, bewitched
by your beauty, begs for your love and offers to make you first among his
consorts. Why are you foolishly obstinate?" "None in all the
world can equal Lord Ravana," said another. "Good fortune comes
seeking you and you spurn it. How foolish!" "The Sun and the
Wind gods are afraid of the Rakshasa king. And he comes seeking you and wants
to make you his favorite wife! Do not let your pride betray you. Do not reject
the fortune that comes to you unsought." And another concluded:
"We have given you good advice. We have done our best and we leave the
rest to you. If you reject his offer, you
must surely die." THE boldest and most
strong-minded woman may, if kept in captivity for a long period, lose heart and
become depressed. Sita hoped month after
month that her lord would discover her whereabouts and come to her rescue. Sick
with disappointed hope, alone in the midst of enemies, she clung to life only
from an abiding faith in the love of Rama that made her feel that he would
surely come. The Rakshasis plied her
with what from their point of view was well-meant counsel. "Won't you
listen to our advice? You are a human and so lack sense. You still hold on to
this wretched man-husband of yours. Your proper place is our King's bedchamber.
That is the place for every kind of pleasure. But spurning his offer, you are
forever thinking of your worthless husband. Why are you still fond of this
luckless wretch driven out of his kingdom? You will never see him again. Yield
to Ravana and be happy." Sita, hearing these
words, could only shed tears. "What sinful words
you utter!" she said. "Never can I do what you say. You tell me that
Rama is poor, wretched, and an exiIe from his home. All this I know. But among
us of the race of men, no wife would think of giving up her husband on such
grounds. It is wicked for the Rakshasa king to desire me for his wife. As the
sun's brightness belongs inseparably to the sun so do I belong to Rama. As
Sachi is faithful to Indra, or Arundhati to Vasishtha, so am I ever to
Rama." The Rakshasis gave up
all hopes of persuading her and said to one another: "What can one do with
a stubborn fool like this? It is best to eat her before she gets too thin with
brooding!" "I am in the
family way," said one. "I have a great longing for human flesh. I
shall tear her out and make a meal of her soft body. We shall strangle her and
report to Ravana that she died of grief," said another. "The King is
lost in unavailing grief because of this obstinate woman. Once he knows that
she is dead, he will forget all about her and sleep soundly." Another said: "I
long to eat her liver. It must be very tasty." Another added
decisively: "Let us kill her and share her limbs. Fetch some sauce and
strong liquor. Let us feast on her and drink and
dance in the temple of
Nikumbhila." Hearing these horrible
words and seeing these terrible forms, Sita broke down and cried aloud. Her
physical courage failed and nature had its way. She sobbed like a child. But
even in her sobs her mind was clear and it was fixed on Rama. "In Janasthana
Rama destroyed thousands of Rakshasas. Why does not Rama come yet to redeem me?
The warrior princes who killed Viradha in Dandaka, why are they still indifferent
to my fate? It could only be that they do not yet know where I am! Jatayu, the
vulture king, was slain by the Rakshasa. If he at least were alive, he would
have told them the news that he saw the Rakshasa carrying me. But he gave up
his life in trying to save me. But how long, will Rama remain ignorant of my
being here? How long can Lanka and the Rakshasas survive? It is certain that,
in every house in this city, Rakshasa widows will soon be lamenting loudly. It
is certain that this city of Ravana and the whole Rakshasa race will perish." Thus she thought within
herself and slowly recovered courage. But soon again other thoughts came to her
and filled her with gloom. "Could it be that
Rama gave up his life, unable to bear my loss? It might well be so. Otherwise,
could he neglect me and leave me all alone these so many days? Indeed he is
happy now and with the Gods. I must have been guilty of many sins to be thus
left to suffer. My heart must be made of stone. How else can I suffer all this
and yet survive? Yet something tells me that Rama is alive else I should be dead!"
Then again another
thought occurred to her. "Perhaps he has resolved to spend his life in
penance and has laid aside all thought of me. No, no. How could a warrior
forsake his duty and, leaving his wife in the hands of his foe, take up the
life of sanyasa? How foolish of me even to think of this! The fact is that they
do not know where I am. Could it be that Rama has lost his love for me? 'Out of
sight, out of mind,' they say. Could it be that he has forgotten me? Fie, fie!
What a sinful thought! How can my Rama forget me? He never can. And what wrong
have I committed that he should cease to think of me? This cannot be the
reason. Perhaps Ravana has played some trick and treacherously slain the
prince." Thus her mind wandered
from one sad thought to another and sank ever deeper in the sea of sorrow. She
decided that it was best by hanging herself. She could hang herself with her
long braid of hair round her neck and jump down from a branch of the Simsupa
tree. Having failed in their
attempt to persuade Sita, the Rakshasis did not know what to do next. Some went
to inform Ravana of their failure. Some stayed behind to look after Sita. Appearing among them
Trijata, a Rakshasi, reprimanded them, saying: "O foolish ones, you are
talking nonsense! Listen to me, I shall tell you of a dream that I dreamt. The
time has come when Lanka shall be
destroyed." Then she proceeded to
recount in detail the terrible dream that she had dreamt: "I saw in my dream
Rama, shining like a sun, come to Lanka to find Sita. I saw Ravana entering the
abode of Yama. I saw Rama mounting Sita on his elephant and carrying her home.
I saw Ravana and all the Rakshasas, clad in soiled garments and dragged away by
Yama." Relating this dream to
the Rakshasis, Trijata warned them: "Don't persecute this saintly woman.
Don't seek your own destruction. Fall at her feet and beg for grace." Even as Trijata was
speaking to her companions, Sita, who resolved to slay herself, suddenly began
to see many good omens. Her left eyelids, hand,
and foot throbbed auspiciously. A vague courage once again came into her heart.
All ideas of self-destruction disappeared. Hanuman, sitting hidden
above and watching all that happened in the grove, wondered what he should do
next. One might imagine that,
having reached Lanka and seen Sita, Hanuman had nothing more to do. But he was
not so easily satisfied. He thought within himself. "I have done
something which no one else could do. I have crossed the sea and discovered
Sita. I have seen the city of the Rakshasas and noted its defences. All that a
spy can do without revealing himself to the foe, I have done. But the situation
here is fraught with danger. If I go back now to report what I have seen to
Rama and my king, who knows what meanwhile will happen here? Before Rama,
Lakshmana and the Vanara host arrive here, Sita, unable to bear her suffering,
might put an end to her life. All my labors would then be lost. It is not
enough to have seen Sita. I must talk to her, give her news of Rama and put
hope and courage into her heart, so that she may hold with life in spite of
all. How would Rama receive me if I return without speaking to Sita? I must
find some way of speaking to Sita." In the rosary of
Hanuman's name occurs the title, Buddhimatam Varishtham, 'First among the
Astute.' It is a true description. "In what form
should I appear before Sita? In what language should I speak to her? If
suddenly a monkey came and spoke to her in this Asoka grove, Sita would surely
suspect foul play and imagine that Ravana was playing some new trick on her. If
I appeared suddenly before her, she might cry out in fear. In her present
condition this is most likely to happen. The Rakshasis guarding her, who have now
fallen asleep, will be startled awake and discover me. They would know that I
have come from their enemy and in disguise, and they would bring the Rakshasas
to attack me. A great battle would ensue. Of course I shall slay most of them.
But the task of comforting Sita and bearing news of her to Rama would be
jeopardised if I were to be captured and held a prisoner here. This would never
do. Even if I escape being caught and come out successful in the struggle, I
might be wounded and lose strength and be unable to cross the sea. What then
would I have gained having seen Sita? One should never do things in a hurry.
One should keep in mind one's main business. King Sugriva and Rama are
confidently awaiting my return. Even a little fault on my part now may lead to
great disaster. The first thing to do is to speak with Sita and put joy and
hope in her heart. I must approach her in such a way that she can never for a
moment entertain a doubt about my good faith. Well, I shall recite in a sweet
low tone, and for her hearing only, the story and virtues of Rama. Her heart
would then be filled with joy and trust, displacing suspicion. Only thus can I
proceed." So he thought and,
still hidden by the branches of the tree, he began to utter in a low voice, the
sweet words, "Rama," "Rama." HIDDEN by the branches,
Hanuman sang in a sweet and gentle voice the story of Rama so that it fell on
Sita's ears: "King Dasaratha
ruled his kingdom well. His army was mighty and comprised of chariots,
elephants and horses. He was virtuous and a doer of great deeds. He kept his
word and was foremost among the famous kings of the world. He was equal to the
rishis in virtue and to Indra in statesmanship. He hated no one and harmed no
one. All his endeavors were crowned with success. Therefore men called him
Satya-parakrama, truly valiant. The richest of the Ikshavaku race, a king of
kings, the ruler of the world, he enjoyed and communicated happiness. The
eldest of his four sons was Ramachandra, whose face was like the full moon.
Wise, virtuous and a master of the bow, Rama was beloved of all. And he was
full of kindness for all the people in the kingdom, a warrior wedded to dharma.
He was the heir to the throne. And yet, to preserve the honor of his father, he
left the kingdom with his wife Sita and his brother Lakshmana and lived in the
forest. There he vanquished the Rakshasas and protected the rishis. He
destroyed Khara and Dushana and their mighty army. Coming to hear of this,
Ravana, bent on revenge, induced a Rakshasa to assume the form of a deer and
beguile the princes in pursuit and, in their absence, carried off Sita by
force. Grief-struck Rama went in search of Sita. He met Sugriva, the Vanara,
and made friends with him. Rama slew Vali, the Vanara king, and secured to his
brother Sugriva the Vanara kingdom. And Sugriva sent his Vanara warriors to all
the quarters of the globe to find out where Sita was. These Vanara warriors,
who could assume what shape they would, searched the whole world for the
missing Sita. Following a clue given by Sampati, I crossed the sea a hundred
yojanas broad, and have come here. And now I see one whose form, complexion and
qualities are those described to me by Rama as his royal spouse's." Having said this,
Hanuman paused. These sweet words,
uttered by some one from somewhere, filled Sita with wonder and delight. She
looked around in all directions to discover who conveyed such sweet matter in
so sweet a voice and in such exquisite language. She looked round, and
up and down but found no human form to match this perfect speech. She only saw
a lovely little monkey seated on the branch above her. Sita saw the son of
Vayu, the wise minister of the Vanara king, in the form of a little monkey,
radiant like the rising sun. The reader should
imagine for himself the joy of Rama's messenger, as Sita's eyes fell on him.
The reader who experiences this joy will find God in his heart. Narayana, who
is waiting eagerly to enter and take possession of our hearts, would leave the
great and boundless ocean of milk and come to dwell within us, when we cleanse
ourselves of sinful thoughts. Seeing Hanuman, Sita
said to herself: "The words I heard the form I see, they cannot be real. I
am only dreaming. One sees in one's dream what one is constantly brooding over.
How often has my mind dwelt on the story of my Lord! Is it any wonder then that
I seem to hear the tale as told by some one? It is not real. It is only a
dream. They say that if one sees a monkey in a dream, it forebodes evil to
one's kinsfolk. May God protect Rama from harm! May God keep all harm away from
Lakshmana! May God bless all my kinsfolk in Mithila! No, no, this is no dream.
My eyes are open and I see the same form still seated above me. There it is,
clear and solid. No, this is no dream. And I am not asleep. How can one dream
without sleeping? This is no dream. All this is real. Oh Gods! Could this
indeed be a messenger from my dear Lord? Oh grant that it be so! Oh Vachaspati!
Master of speech, I salute you. Oh Agni! I salute you. Oh Swayambhu! I salute
you. Oh Gods! Protect me. May this be Rama's messenger!" Hanuman, radiant with
the joy of seeing Sita, descended to the ground and stood before her, palms
joined and head bent in salutation. And he said in a deep
soothing voice: "Mother, tears are falling from your eyes like drops from
lotus petals. May I know who you are, who stands there, leaning on the tree
trunk, face clouded with sorrow and eyes wet with tears? Are you a goddess or a
Naga maiden? The radiance of your body makes me question whether you could be
of merely terrestrial birth! Are you Rohini separated for a while from the
Moon-god? Or are you Arundhati parted from sage Vasishtha? No, on closer
observation, you seem to be a human woman, maybe a princess adorable in your
distress. Please tell me who indeed you are. May God bless you! Are you the
princess Sita carried off by Ravana from Janasthana? Is mine the bliss of seeing
Sita, the beloved of Rama?" Sita was beside herself
with joy. "My child," she said, "indeed I am Sita, daughter of
the king of Videha and Sri Ramachandra's spouse. For twelve years I enjoyed all
happiness with him in Ayodhya. In the thirteenth year, King Dasaratha made
preparations to crown my husband. Then Kaikeyi, his youngest wife, reminded him
of boons he had granted long ago, and demanded that in redemption of his word
he should crown her son Bharata king, and exile Rama to the forest. She threatened
to kill herself if this was not done. Bound by promise the king had to yield to
her insistence. At his bidding Rama relinquished the crown and betook himself
to the forest not only without regret, but happy that it was given to him to
enable his father to keep his plighted word. I refused to be left behind and
insisted on going with my lord into the forest. Even before me, Lakshmana had
put on bark-garments, determined to accompany his brother to the forest and
serve him. The three of us entered the forest and were living in Dandaka. One
day the evil-hearted Ravana carried me off by force. And he has kept me a
prisoner here in this Asoka garden. Of the time limit of twelve months he has
set for me, only two more months remain. When they are over I shall
end my life." Thus spoke the helpless
princess in her sorrow. The speeches of Hanuman
and of Janaki are sung by Valmiki in two brief chapters. As Hari appeared
before the emperor Bali in the form of Vamana and measured the universe in two
steps, so Valmiki has given the tale of Rama in a short recital by Hanuman and another
by Sita. What greater joy can we have than reading Hanuman and Sita telling the
divine story themselves? As Vamana got the better of Bali and saved him from
his ahankara, may this tale of Rama as told by Hanuman and Sita rid us of the
sense of 'I' and 'my'. Sita concluded her
story with the statement that two more months remained of the allotted
twelve-month term and that her life would then end. To Sita overwhelmed by
grief, Hanuman spoke words of comfort. "O princess of
Videha! Rama, the noblest of men and the mightiest of warriors has sent me to
you with good news. His beloved brother Lakshmana, ever anxious for your
welfare, sends through me his
salutations to you." "Ah! What
happiness is mine!" she exclaimed. "I now see the truth of the common
saying that so long as life lasts there is hope." Thus between these two
utter strangers a profound confidence and affection sprang up like the sudden
blossoming of the Parijata in Indra's garden. Yet when, in his joyful eagerness
to console and encourage Sita, Hanuman took a nearer step towards her, Sita
lost the confidence inspired by his words and again grew suspicious. She shut her eyes and
moved away further from the tree. Hanuman, noticing this, withdrew respectfully
and stood with hands clasped in obeisance. "I have been
deceived," she cried. "You are no other than Ravana. Once you came
disguised as an ascetic and imposed on me. Now you have come again in another
disguise and speak sweet words. All this will bring you no good. Why do you
torture me, O Ravana? I am weary and full of sorrow. You call yourself a
warrior. Is it a warrior's part to persecute a helpless woman?" Then she opened her
eyes and thought again, "No, no. This cannot be Ravana. Trust and
friendship spring in my heart at the sight of him. He can be no enemy of mine.
It is wrong to suspect him." She addressed him
saying: "O Vanara! Are you indeed a messenger sent by Rama? May God bless
you. Tell me more concerning Rama. Let my
ears hear and my heart rejoice."
Then once again doubts
assailed her. "Am I a victim of delusion, imagining good news? Is this a
dream that mocks me with the illusion of joy to make my despair blacker when I
am awake? Am I in my right senses? Of course, I am. My thoughts, my words are
all normal. I am sane and sensible. But then he says that he crossed the sea a
hundred yojannas broad. No, no. This cannot be true. He is Ravana and none
else." So she concluded in her mind and without lifting her eyes to look
at Hanuman sat apart in silence. Hanuman understood her
doubts and fears. They were natural in one who had been deceived by the
Rakshasa. He thought for a while and realised that the only approach to her
confidence was to awaken hope and joy in her sorely tired heart by extolling
Rama and harping on the certainty of her rescue and his victory. And he began:
"Rama has sent me. Rama is radiant like the Sun. Rama is pleasant to look
at like the moon. Rama is praised by all the rulers of the earth. Rama is
valiant like Vishnu. Rama is wise like Brihaspati. Rama is handsome like
Manmatha the god of love. Rama's words are ever sweet and true. Rama's
indignation is ever righteous and well directed. Rama is the peerless warrior.
Rama has sent me. While a Rakshasa in the shape of a deer beguiled Rama and
drew him away in the forest, you were left alone and Ravana carried you off by
force. Soon he will pay dearly for this evil deed. You will see it with your
own eyes. Soon the shafts of Rama and Lakshmana will strike Lanka and destroy
it along with Ravana and all his race. At Rama's bidding have I come to you to
learn about your safety which is his constant concern. On Lakshmana's behalf I
place at your feet his respectful salutations. And so too homage from Sugriva,
the Vanara king. Rama, Lakshmana and
Sugriva are ever thinking of you. It is my good fortune to have seen you alive.
Now there will be no more of loss of time. Soon Rama, Lakshmana and Sugriva,
accompanied by the whole Vanara army, will descend on Lanka. I am Sugriva's
minister. My name is Hanuman. I crossed the sea and reached Lanka. You may take
it that my foot is already on the head of the evil-minded Ravana. By Rama's
grace, even more than by my own prowess have I, his servant, crossed the sea to
behold you. Do not suspect me. Have faith in my words, mother." So said
Hanuman with tears in his eyes. These sweet words of Hanuman acting on her
great love for Rama and confidence in him, put an end to Sita's fears and gave
her courage and faith. "Forgive my
suspicion, O Vanara friend," she said. "Deceived by the Rakshasa and
surrounded by his artifices, I am prone to needless fear. O friend and
messenger of Rama! How did you first meet Rama? How did the Prince make friends
with the Vanaras? Tell me all". To confirm her faith,
Hanuman recounted once again the virtues and attractive qualities of Rama and
Lakshmana. He said: "What wonder is there in Rama becoming friends with me
and my king and the Vanaras when the whole world lives and finds bliss by his
loving kindness?" He proceeded to
describe fully how the quarrel arose between Vali and Sugriva, how the latter
first met Rama and Lakshmana, how they became friends, how Rama promised to
slay Vali and secure the Vanara kingdom for Sugriva, how the Vanaras had picked
up and preserved the jewels dropped by Sita, how with mounting sorrow Rama
recognised them, how Vali was slain and Sugriva crowned, how after the rainy
sea son was over the Vanara hosts searched the whole world for Sita, how the
party led by Angada and proceeding south having failed to find her, decided to
fast to death, how they met Sampati and received a clue from him, how he,
Hanuman, crossed the sea and searched the inner apartments of Ravana, all this
he recounted. At the end of the
narration he placed in her hand Rama's signet ring that he had brought. Sita
received the ring and pressed it to her eyes with joy. Now all fear of Ravana's
deceit and Rakshasa magic was over. She had complete faith in Hanuman and
infinite affection for him. " My child!"
she said, "how foolish was my error! How could I suspect one like you?" The son of Vayu
explained to her who he was and who his father was and what his own might was. "Though I, who
enjoy the grace of my father Vayu, should not sing my own praises, I do so now
to end your sorrow. Soon the Vanara warriors will be here to destroy the
Rakshasas and their kingdom. I must first return and tell them where you
are." And then he described
Rama's desolation in being parted from Sita, and the ascetic life he led, and
Sita's heart melted in loving sorrow. Sita forgot her own suffering thinking of
Rama's grief. 53. SITA AND HANUMAN "DEAR, dear Vanara
friend," said Sita, "I do not know whether to rejoice or grieve at
the news you have brought. Your words are like nectar mixed with poison. My
lord's love for me is sweetest nectar, and his grief over my plight is
bitterest poison." Thus Sita spoke what she felt and found comfort in
putting in words her love and her grief. Pleasure and pain,
happiness and misery alternately impel human beings. Sita was consoled but also
pained by the thought that Rama had not forgotten her, but was thinking of her,
grieving and searching for her. "We are puppets
manipulated by the twin strings of joy and sorrow", said Sita. "None
of us can escape their pull. My lord and Lakshmana and myself are all subject
to this law. You say my lord suffers like a sailing ship caught in a storm on
the high seas. O! When will he come here? Dear Vanara friend, when will he
destroy Lanka and Ravana and the other Rakshasas? All this must take place
within the two months' time still left. Please explain this to my lord. Only
two months remain to me. Vibhishana, the younger brother of Ravana, tried his
best to persuade the latter to change his ways. 'Return Sita,' he said
to Ravana, 'and save Lanka and the Rakshasa race.' All his words have gone in
vain. My heart is strong within me. I know Ravana is on the road to the abode
of Yama. Soon my lord will vanquish his foes and redeem me. I have no doubt
about this. My innocent heart tells me this and it cannot prove false." Thus Sita went on
speaking with tears in her eyes. Hanuman could not bear the sight of her
suffering. "Mother!" he
exclaimed, "I shall go at once and bring back Rama. He will descend on
Lanka with a mighty army. But why should you suffer any longer? If you are
agreeable, sit on my back. I shall carry you across the ocean and restore you
in a moment to Rama. Do not for a moment doubt my ability to do this. As Agni
carries the sacred offerings to Indra, so shall I transport you to my Lord
Rama. Permit me, O pure of heart, to do this service. I can not only carry you
and restore you to Rama, but I have the power to wrench Lanka from its
foundations and throw it and its ruler at Rama's feet! Sit on my back now and,
like Rohini rejoining the Moon, you will rejoin Rama. As I sprang and came
here, so shall I spring and reach the other shore with you." Thus Hanuman went on
speaking out of his affection and enthusiasm. And Sita wondered how the little
monkey before her could hope to carry her across the ocean. Hanuman saw her doubt
and so, to demonstrate his powers, he jumped off from the platform and began to
grow big in size. Sita was pleased. But she said: "O
Son of Vayu! I realise your strength and yet it is not right that you should
carry me. On the way the Rakshasas are sure to intercept and challenge you.
They will hurl their weapons at you. Your care will be to guard me. You will not
be able to fix all your mind on the battle and that may be a serious set-back
to the strongest warrior. In a battle, one cannot be certain of victory and
what would be my fate if you should fall? And besides, in the violent
convulsions of a heady' fight, how could I be sure of maintaining my position
on your back? I may slip and fall into the sea. It is clear, therefore, that
you should not try to cross the sea with me. Apart from that Hanuman, if you
snatch me away stealthily from the Rakshasas it would be no credit to the valor
of my lord. The honor of the Kshatriya race demands that he should come and
fight and vanquish Ravana and redeem me as the prize of victory. Would Rama
have me stolen back even as Ravana stole me from him? No, my son, return and
quickly bring Rama here with Lakshmana and the Vanara army. Let my lord's
arrows destroy Lanka and send Ravana to Yama's abode. His victory is certain.
Like the fierce sun at the hour of doom, Rama's arrows will burn the Rakshasa
people to ashes." "You are right,"
said Hanuman, "I shall return alone. But what shall I tell Rama? What sign
shall I carry of my having met you and talked with you?" Hearing these words,
all her happy life with Rama came like a flood to her memory and her eyes were
filled with tears. If she told Hanuman and Hanuman told Rama some intimate
happenings known only to herself and her lord, it would be proof of Hanuman
having seen her and also make Rama see her present disconsolate state. With flowing tears, she
recounted incidents of their forest life. "Once in
Chitrakuta my lord and I wandered about in the grove beside the river and
became weary and rested on the ground. He laid his head upon my lap and fell
asleep. While thus, a crow came down and hungrily pecked at my bosom, I drove
it off, but again and again it returned and troubled me. I then flung a pebble
at it. But even that had no effect. Rama was roused from slumber and saw me
thus troubled and weeping in pain. At first when he saw what the matter was and
found it was but a crow, he was inclined to laugh at my discomfiture. But he
saw the bruise the crow had made and discovered that the bird was really an
Asura. The bird flew for its life, but Rama sped a dart at it that pursued it
wherever it went, till at last the crow-Asura sought Rama's feet for refuge and
found pardon there. Tell him of this incident. O Hanuman, I cannot wait for
many more days. Tell him to come quickly and save me." Again she was in tears
as she said: "On another occasion we were both wandering all alone in the
forest. I was tired. Perspiration had washed off the tilaka on my forehead. My
lord playfully plucked a pinch of red mineral from the rock and applied it
between my brows with his own sweet hands. Ask him if
he remembers this incident." As she went on
recalling happy memories of the past the weight of her present sorrow
overwhelmed her and she wept and said: "What should I
tell Rama? What is there that he does not know? Does he need my words to rouse
his indignation? Only tell my lord that I embrace his feet. That is enough.
There is Lakshmana beside him, the brother born to serve him and of unrivalled
skill in arms. Looking at his sweet face, my Lord even forgot his grief for the
father's death. The purehearted hero, dear Lakshmana, parted from his own
mother and came away with us and regarded me as his mother. Tell him he should
come and end my suffering." As she thought of
Lakshmana's heroism and devoted loyalty, Sita's eyes were filled with tears.
When Rama had gone chasing the golden deer, did she not insult him and fling
burning words at the selfless and devoted friend? The thought of this injustice
filled her repentant heart with insufferable pain. She was unwilling to
part from Hanuman, who had come to her and consoled her just as
she was about to put an end to her life. At the same time, she wanted him to
return quickly to Rama and give him news concerning her. At last she said:
"My child, here is the jewel given by my mother at my wedding and fixed on
my forehead by the late Emperor. Take it and give it to my husband as a sign from
me." So saying she untied a
knot at the corner of her sari, took out the divine jewel and handed it to
Hanuman who received it with humble reverence. When Hanuman had the jewel in
his hand, pride and joy filled his mind. His heart was far away
with Rama. Mentally he had recalled Rama's presence and conveyed the glad
message of his discovery. Only his body now stayed in Lanka. "Dear
friend," said Sita, "you must tell Rama all you have learnt here, and
it will be your good fortune to help him to achieve victory." As Hanuman was about to
leave, Sita spoke again: "Dear Hanuman, convey my affection to the Prince
and also to king Sugriva and the other Vanara leaders. Tell them from me that I
implore them to give help to Rama to save me from this sea of sorrow. You, more
than anyone else, I hope will encourage and show the way to the prince
in all matters." Hanuman answered:
"Lay aside your sorrow, dear princess. Rama, Lakshmana and the Vanara army
will descend on Lanka destroy the Rakshasas and redeem you. Have no
doubt." As he was about to go,
Sita said again: "Should you not stay here somewhere, for a while, and
rest? Should you return at once? Your visit has given me such great consolation
and made me forget my grief for a while. When you leave, I shall sink again in
my sea of sorrow. You came here crossing the great ocean. How will Rama and the
big army cross it? Have you thought of that?" Doubts assailed her once
again. "Have no doubt, my queen!" said Hanuman. "Do you
think I am the only Vanara that could cross the sea? There is not a Vanara but
has more power and skill than I. Not only Sugriva, but many in his army can fly
round the world. What is this narrow sea to them? There are thousands among us
who can roam in the sky. Have no doubt whatever. Do you think they would send
the best among them as a mere messenger? Dear lady, have done with sorrow, for
you will soon see me with the two mighty princes on my back. They will lay
waste this city with the arrows. They will destroy Ravana and all his race. You
have as good as crossed the ocean of sorrow and reached the other shore. God
bless you. In a few days you will see the two princes standing, bow in hand, at
the gates of Lanka, destroying the Rakshasa host. You will see the Vanara army
leaping with joy over the ruined city. Once they hear the news from me, they
will not delay a moment. I have only to tell them and they will start at once.
Do not lose heart." Saying this and bowing profoundly, Hanuman prepared to
go. "Tell Rama and
Lakshmana that I am alive," cried Sita. "See that no time is lost. May God bless
you." And Hanuman left. Let
us meditate with reverence on the heroic son of Anjana, the wise messenger who
gave consolation to Sita and quenched her grief. AFTER taking leave of
Sita, Hanuman sat for a while on the top of the garden wall and began to think:
"What can I do to
put courage into Sita and some fear into Ravana and his friends to shake their
arrogant confidence? It would be good to leave them some souvenir of my visit,
some indication of what the future has in store for them. It is clear I must
instill some fear into Ravana to prevent him from troubling Sita in the
meantime. Fear is the only argument they understand. Ravana has untold wealth
and one cannot part his friends from him. Hence sama (conciliation), dana
(buying over) and bheda (sowing discord) are useless in this case. I should
therefore do something terrible to frighten them, and warn them, not to
ill-treat Sita. Yes, I must do this before I go away." At once he began to
grow and assumed a huge form and began to lay waste the grove. Trees fell
cracking to the ground, bowers collapsed, tanks and artificial hills were disfigured
and destroyed. The beautiful Asoka Park soon became a mass of ruin from which
the deer and the birds fled in fear. The slumbering Rakshasis woke up and were
bewildered to see this unaccountable sight. Hanuman sat on the top
of the wall of the garden, a huge figure of wrathful menace, waiting for the
answer to his challenge. The Rakshasis quaked with terror at the sight of this
stranger and some ran to tell Ravana the news. Some approached Sita and asked:
"How did this huge monkey come here? You should know who he is. Did he say
anything to you? Tell us the truth. Do not be afraid to speak out." "How do I know
what can happen in this charmed world of Rakshasas?" Sita answered,
parrying, the question. "This monkey is probably one of the Rakshasas and
you are likely to know more about him than I." The Rakshasis fled in fear
from the park and reported to Ravana what had happened. "O king! A huge
monkey terrible to look at has laid waste the royal garden. It was in secret
talk with Sita." Of course they omitted
to add that they had fallen asleep and given a chance for Sita to talk to the
monkey. "We tried our best
to get some information from Sita," they added. "We asked her who he
was, and how he came there, and what he told her. But she refuses to answer.
You should seize and slay this creature. Do send a strong foe. The beautiful
grove is completely devastated except for the Simsupa tree under which Sita is
seated. Its spreading branches have suffered no damage. The monkey which laid
waste the tanks and bowers has spared the habitation of Sita. There must be a
reason for this. We suspect that this is not an ordinary wild animal. It must
have been sent by some enemy of yours, either Indra or Kubera. Or could it have
anything to do with Rama? How did this monkey dare to talk to Sita? He must be
a messenger from Rama. Do send your warriors to capture this terrible
beast." Ravana was furious on
hearing that his favorite park, set apart for his queens, had been destroyed.
His eyes glowed like twin torches and hot tears rolled down from them like
drops of burning oil. He turned to the
bodyguards standing beside him ever eager to do his bidding and ordered them at
once to go and destroy the monster-monkey. A strong force started to execute
the king's commands, armed with maces and spears and other weapons. THE Rakshasa warriors
saw with amazement a mighty Vanara seated on the garden gate, who at their
approach grew to still bigger size and formidable menace. "Oh! You have
come, have you?" he said and, jumping down, brandished his tail, and
striking the ground with it, roared till the four quarters shook. He snatched
the huge iron bar from the gate and, armed with this weapon, began
to attack them all. He sprang and leaped in
all directions and, whirling the iron rod, struck the Rakshasas down, one by
one. After finishing them thus, he resumed his seat on the top of the pillared
entrance, and roared once again. "Long live Rama!
Long live Lakshmana!" he loudly proclaimed. "Long live King Sugriva!
Oh! Ye Rakshasas of Lanka,
your doom are near. The great warriors Rama and Lakshmana and King Sugriva have
sent me here to destroy you. Come on in your thousands. I stand here ready to
hurl you to destruction. I have saluted Sita and received her blessings. And now
I am going to destroy your
city!" All Lanka heard the
thunder of his words and quaked in terror. When the news reached Ravana that
the warriors sent against Hanuman were all slain, he opened wide his fierce
eyes in amazement and wrath. "What is it you
say?" he yelled, and called Jambumali, the matchless warrior, son of
Prahasta. And be said to him. "Go at once! Punish this monkey and report
to me." The Rakshasa Jambumali
took some time to put on armor and to take up weapons and get ready to meet his
foe. Meanwhile, Hanuman was
not sitting still. He climbed to the top of a temple in the park and stood
there, shining against the horizon like a second sun suddenly risen in the sky.
He magnified his body still further and looked like a golden mountain range up
in the heavens. His roar filled the
city of Lanka and raised echoes from all the eight quarters. The hearts of the
Rakshasas trembled in fear. "Long
live Rama!
Long live
Lakshmana! Long live
King Sugriva! I have come as an envoy of the King of Kosala. I have come to
destroy Lanka. I am Hanuman, son of Vayu, come here to utterly destroy the
enemies of Rama. I have vowed before Sita
and received her blessings. Know that I possess the strength to vanquish a
thousand Ravanas. Big boulders and uprooted trees I shall aim at the Rakshasas
and destroy them. That is what I have
come here for!" The sentries in the
temple took up various weapons and attacked him. Hanuman jumped down and
plucked up a big pillar, supporting the temple, and stood there like the
destroyer. Whirling his massive weapon easily as though it was a willow wand,
Hanuman struck down and slew the sentries. The temple, from which the pillar
had been removed, collapsed. As Hanuman struck the ground with the pillar, sparks
of fire flew all around. "In Sugriva's army
there are monkeys much mightier than I and they will soon be here," he
roared. "You and your king and your city will be destroyed by them, root
and branch. Your king has incurred the enmity of the Lord of the Ikshvaku race,
has he not? Lanka is nearing its end. Destruction awaits the Rakshasas. The God
of Death is approaching Ravana." Jambumali arrived at
last. With wide, glaring eyes and ugly, irregular teeth dressed in scarlet,
with large golden rings in his ears, bow in hand, garland round his neck, sword
at his hip, he came in a chariot rattling like thunder. Hanuman set eyes on the
chariot dragged by enormous mules. And he got ready. Seated in his chariot,
Jambumali bent his bow and aimed a few arrows at Maruti who was seated on the
wall. They wounded his face and drew blood, which added to the beauty of his
face. It was as if a red lotus had suddenly blossomed in the heavens. The
wounds enraged Hanuman, who picked up a big boulder and flung it at the chariot.
He uprooted a sal tree
and, twirling it, flung it at Jambumali. Then he plucked out a huge iron rod
from the temple and aimed it at the chariot and reduced it to splinters and
crushed the huge body of Jambumali into a shapeless mass, in which neither head
nor limbs could be distinguished. The issue of this
battle was duly reported to Ravana. He was struck with wonder. ""This
is indeed something strange," he said to himself. "This murderous
brute is not an animal, certainly not a mere monkey. It is some new creature
devised by my old enemies the gods to annoy me." And be ordered mighty
commanders to go with a great army to capture the creature and produce it
before him. The Rakshasa chiefs
went forth in a great array of chariots. In full force they attacked Hanuman,
who was as before stationed on top of the entrance and was laughing aloud in
disdainful unconcern. They showered missiles
on him that mostly glanced harmlessly off his adamantine frame. With each dart
or arrow that struck him, he grew in stature and fierceness. And ranging all
round with energy pelted them with rocks and huge tree boles, till all the
leaders lay crushed and slain, and the survivors fled in panic and despair. Having killed or put to
fight the entire contingent of Rakshasas, Hanuman roared in triumph and Lanka
trembled at the roar. He resumed his seat on the stonebattlement on the top of
the garden-gate. Hearing of the defeat of the force sent to capture Hanuman and
the slaughter of five of his best commanders, fear for the first time entered
Ravana's heart. "It is extraordinary that a solitary monkey should have
this devastating valor and purposeful malevolence," Ravana thought with
anxiety. "This is clearly a conspiracy of the gods." But he kept his concern
to himself and laughed derisively. He looked round at all the members of his
great council. His son the heroic Aksha stood foremost, eager for battle, and
the proud father bade him go forth to battle against the tremendous foe.
Radiant with youth and health and glowing with high courage at this opportunity
of distinguishing himself, Aksha went forth in a shining chariot, confident of
victory. 56. HANUMAN BOUND VALMIKI describes in
beautiful verses how the youthful warrior Aksha, the equal of the gods, rode to
battle in a chariot drawn by eight horses.
Who can put up in a
different tongue Valmiki's poetry describing the beauty of forests and the
terrible fury of encounters between warriors? The rhythm and grandeur of his
words convey the terror and majesty of what he describes. This power is
Valmiki's special gift. We can only summarise in pedestrian prose his glowing
account, of the battle between Aksha, the beloved son of Ravana, and Hanuman. In a golden chariot
acquired through tapasya rode Ravana's young son. When he saw Hanuman, seated
on the stone battlement above the gateway, and noted approvingly the beautiful
symmetry of his mighty limbs, and the majestic intrepidity of his look, Aksha
felt that here was a foe worthy of his steel. He summoned all his strength and
resolution to do him honor. The young warrior aimed
three sharp arrows at Hanuman. They struck his body and drew blood. But
Maruti's strength increased and his face shone with new splendor. He too was
pleased with the prowess of the youthful Rakshasa. Fierce grew the battle
between the two. Hundreds of arrows rose in clouds into the sky and hit Maruti.
Like rain falling on a rock, they fell on Hanuman's body. Rising in the air
Hanuman dodged about evading the arrows. Slipping as it were through the meshes
of that deadly network of missiles and finding a favorable opening closed with
Aksha. Hanuman admired Aksha's
youthful promise and heroism, and was sorry to have to slay him, but there was
no help for it for the prince seemed to get more and more formidable as the
fight went on. And it was unwise to take chances with him. At last Hanuman
hardened his heart and decided to destroy the youth. He rushed against
Aksha's chariot and broke it to pieces. The horses fell dead. The Rakshasa
prince stood on the ground chariotless. Nothing daunted, he rose in the air
with bow and sword and attacked Hanuman. A great battle took place in the air.
In the end Aksha's bones were crushed and splintered and he fell down
dead. Hearing that the prince
had been killed by Hanuman, Ravana shook with rage, but controlling himself he
called his son Indrajit, the conqueror
of Indra. "You have mastered
all weapons," he said. "You have vanquished the Devas and Asuras in
battle. You have by your austerities called Brahma down and secured from him
the Brahmastra. There is none in the world who can oppose you. Fatigue cannot
approach you. Your knowledge of battle is unique. You have attained strength
through tapasya. Nothing is impossible for you.
None can equal you in foresight. The Kinneras I sent and Jambumali and
the five generals of our army, and your dear brother Aksha have all been slain
by a terrible foe who has raided us in the form of a monkey and it is yours now
to avenge them. Do not underrate him. It seems he cannot be vanquished by
weapons. He cannot be brought down in wrestling. Consider well therefore what
needs to be done. Do it and return victorious. The astras you have secured
through tapasya can serve you at this moment.
Without allowing your mind to wander, fight with concentration and
return triumphant." Indrajit, bright like
the gods, accepted his father's command with reverence and receiving his
blessings went with courage and eagerness towards the Asoka Vana. Standing in a chariot
drawn by four fierce lions and twanging his bowstring, Indrajit proceeded
towards Hanuman. His chariot sounded like the wind off the monsoon. His
lotus-like eyes shone victory. As Hanuman saw the
chariot coming towards him, he was filled with joy. Indrajit too, skilful
in battle, bent his bow and got his sharp arrows ready for Hanuman. Knowing
that a great battle was at band, the Nagas, Yakshas and Siddhas assembled in
the sky to see. At the sight of
Indrajit Hanuman roared and increased his stature still further. Silently the
Rakshasa warrior dispatched his darts.
Showers of arrows began to descend as in the battle of the gods and
their cousins, the Asuras. Hanuman rose in the sky and, moving with speed like
lightning, struck down the sharp arrows. His roar made the quarters echo,
drowning the drumbeats and the bow-twangs of the Rakshasa. The battle raged with
increasing fury and filled all beholders with amazement. In skill and strength
the two warriors were perfect equals. No matter how often he was wounded,
Hanuman's strength showed no signs of lessening. Indrajit therefore resolved: "My
arrows cannot vanquish this monkey. What my father said is true. He can be
bound only by using the Brahmastra." The Rakshasa Prince
sent forth the Brahmastra. At its touch the Vanara warrior lay bound and
helpless. Hanuman realised what had
happened. He said to himself: "I have been bound by the
Brahmastra." Hanuman too had
secured a boon from Brahma, and this he now remembered. "This will keep me
bound for only one muhoorta (four fifths of an hour)," he said to himself.
"I run no real risk. Let me see what the Rakshasas do to me while I lie
bound and helpless. I might find here a further opportunity to function as a
messenger." As instructed by Brahma
when he gave him the gift of immortality, he surrendered himself to
the Brahmastra and lay down on the ground, inactive but in full possession of
his faculties. When they saw Hanuman
thus lying helpless on the ground the Rakshasas who till then stood at a
distance in fear, surrounded him and danced with joy and called him insulting
names and praised their prince. "We shall cut you
to pieces!" they shouted. "Let us eat him up. We shall drag him to
the throne of our Ravana." Thus and in many other ways they shouted. A few among them feared
and said: "This fellow is only pretending. He may get up suddenly and
attack us." So they brought ropes of jute and coconut fibber and bound him
hard and shouted exultingly: "Now we have bound him, let us drag him to
the Lord of the Rakshasas." Indrajit, who
discovered too late and could not prevent this foolish mistake of the
Rakshasas, felt sad. "Alas!" he
thought with sorrow. "They have undone all my work. These fools do not
know the secrets of supernatural weapons. When they have thus used ropes and
jute for binding him, the astra withdraws its power. The bound of the mantra is
undone when physical bonds are added. Hanuman is now held only by the ropes
that he can burst asunder and the Brahmastra cannot be used a second time." Hanuman too understood
this, and knew he could spring up free if he liked. But he welcomed the
opportunity to meet and talk to Ravana and allowed himself to be dragged to the
king, patiently bearing all their insults and cruelties in seeming helplessness.
They belabored and foully abused him,
and dragged him through the streets and women and children came out to look at
him and jeer. His captors took him to the court of Ravana and placed him
in front of the King. Forgetting the pain and insults he had borne, Hanuman
gazed with wrathful curiosity at the giant monarch. As he gazed at him
resplendent on his throne a sort of pitying admiration of the doomed Rakshasa
entered his thoughts. Clad in silk of golden
hue, with the royal crown on his head, the jewels inlaid in it shining
brilliantly, Ravana sat there, a figure of dazzling splendor. The whole court
was brilliant with shining gold and gems, pearls and silk. His dark body, lit
up by the marks of royalty, looked like a great radiant hill. "Alas!"
thought Hanuman full of anger, wonder and pity. "If only this great one
had not swerved from the path of dharma, not even Indra could equal him. What a
form, what radiance, what strength! Trusting to the boon he had secured, he took
to wicked ways and has lost his happiness and forfeited
his greatness." As Hanuman was lost in
thought thus, Ravana addressed his ministers: "Find out from this wicked
fellow who he is, where he has come from, who has sent him here and why he entered
Lanka. Tell him to speak truthfully."
As ordered by the king,
Prahasta questioned Hanuman. "Do not be afraid, monkey! If you speak the
truth, you will escape punishment. Did Indra send you here? Or are you Kubera's
servant? Whose orders are you carrying out? Speak the truth and save yourself.
Why have you come here thus disguised? Take care you hide nothing!" Hanuman, facing Ravana directly, said: "Neither Indra,
nor Kubera has sent me here. I am a Vanara. I came here to have a look at the
Rakshasa king. That was why I laid waste the garden.
Otherwise I could not get to the king's presence. And because they attacked me
and tried to kill me, I killed them in self-defence. I have come here as the
messenger of Sugriva, the Vanara king. O Rakshasa king my lord looks on you as
a brother and sends you his greetings. Ramachandra, the famous son of king
Dasaratha of Ayodhya, has become a friend of Sugriva and slaying Vali has made
Sugriva king. When Ramachandra, heir to
the throne of Ayodhya, was living in the Dandaka forest to fulfil his father's
word, his consort who had been left alone for a while was lost and at the
behest of Rama and Lakshmana, Sugriva has sent his servant to look for her
throughout the world. I came to Lanka on this search and here I saw the good
princess. O lord of the Rakshasas, I speak to
you with the respect due from the messenger of a brother king. I speak to you
also as a devoted servant of the Prince of Ayodhya. You know well it was a
cowardly act and totally contrary to dharma to carry off the princess Sita.
This is sure to end in the destruction of your race if you persist in your
wicked folly. Restore Sita to the prince and seek his forgiveness. Know that
Death has come to you in the form of Sita. Do not mistake poison for food. It
is not wisdom to oppose dharma and run into deadly danger. You know well enough
that the sin of desiring another's wife will consume utterly the merit you have
earned through tapas and destroy you inevitably. Your only recourse now is to
seek refuge at Rama's feet. Do not make Rama your enemy and bring about your
own destruction. The boons you have secured will avail you nothing against the
Prince of the Raghu race. Consider well and realise the danger you are in. Pay
heed to the words of this humble messenger of the Vanara king. Turn to the
right path and find safety. These words from a brother king are true and meant
for your welfare." Hanuman uttered this
bitter warning in a loud and clear voice. When the Rakshasa king heard it,
his eyes grew red with anger, and he ordered that Hanuman should be killed
forthwith. But Vibhishana pointed out
that it would be improper to kill a king's envoy. "According to the
law of kings it is not permitted on any account to kill envoys and messengers.
You can have him mutilated, whipped or branded, but not killed," so
counselled Vibhishana. "What is wrong," asked Ravana,
"in killing one who has
sinned so greatly?" Answered Vibhishana
with due politeness: "No matter how grievous his offence, it was done at
the bidding of others. To leave his royal masters alone and to slay their
instrument, a mere messenger, what use or sense is there in it? Let us by all means
seek ways of punishing those that sent him here. They must be brought here and
given due punishment. If he is slain now, what chance is there of our real
enemies being brought here? If, on the other hand, he is sent back alive to
them, they will come here and attack us. Then they will receive proper
punishment at your hands." Ravana agreed.
"Very well," he said, "a monkey's most cherished possession is
his tail. Set fire to his tail, flog him soundly and turn him out." At these words of the
Rakshasa king, his servants took Hanuman out. They wrapped his tail in rags of
all kinds. His tail grew in size and, as it grew, they brought more and more
old rags and wrapped them round. They soaked the whole in oil and set it ablaze
like a huge flaming torch. Thus bound by ropes and
with tail ablaze, Hanuman was taken through the streets of Lanka. "Here goes the
thief that entered our city!" cried the women and children. They jeered at
him as he was taken round by the exulting Rakshasas to the accompaniment of pipes
and drums through all the highways and byways of Lanka. In the Asoka Vana the
Rakshasis told Sita: "The monkey with whom you had secret talk, do you
know what has happened to him? They have wrapped his tail in cloth soaked in
oil and have set fire to it. His tail is ablaze. They are taking him in
procession through the town." They told Sita the tale
and laughed in scorn. She kindled a fire
and offered a prayer to the god of Fire: "O Agni! If there be any goodness
in me, any purity, be cool to Hanuman; do not hurt him." Hanuman endured the
blows and the insults heaped upon him, and proceeded from street to street
quietly observing everything. The
Rakshasas, to amuse their women and children took him through all the streets
and bylanes of the city. And he noted in silence, for future, use all the
secrets of that fortified city. "But what is this
miracle?" he thought. "The rags soaked in oil burn brightly but the
fire does not hurt and is cool on my tail. The elements themselves seem kind to
one engaged in Rama's purpose. Did not the mountain rise above the sea and
offer me hospitality? Even so the god of Fire is gracious to me now and does
not harm me. Or may be, Agni being a friend of my father Vayu, is gentle with
me. Now, I think I should not let slip this opportunity which has come to me unsought to put the
fear of God into these Rakshasas." Suddenly he shrank in
size and shook off the ropes that bound him and, resuming his huge shape,
jumped with his blazing tail to the top of a tall building. He plucked a pillar
there and whirled it round, striking terror in all beholders. Then he jumped from
mansion to mansion, setting fire to them. In a little while a strong breeze
began to blow and the whole city was in flames. The Rakshasas and their women
and children shouted in terror and ran hither and thither. "This monkey is no
other than Yama," said some. "No, he must be the god Agni," said
others. And they all fled from their burning houses. Recalling the insults
he had suffered, Hanuman was pleased when he saw the flames rise. He sat on the
summit of the Trikuta hill and contemplated with satisfaction the red glow of
the burning city. Then he went to the
sea and, plunging in, put out
the fire in his tail and came ashore. "Alas! Alas! What
have I done?" he said with uncontrollable grief. "I have lost my
senses in my rage. What is the use of strength and skill and all other gifts if
one cannot control one's anger? Sita too must have perished in this great
conflagration I have raised. My angry deed has led to the utter ruin of my
whole purpose. Alas, there is no fool, no sinner, like me on earth. My rage
against the Rakshasas has ended in the death of Sita. Here and now I must put an end to my
life and to my shame!" Then he heard some
voices in the sky. The Charanas and Yakshas were rejoicing and saying,
"What a miracle! Glory be to Hanuman's prowess! Except the spot where Sita is, all
Lanka is in flames!" Hearing this ethereal
conversation, Hanuman was relieved. "Sita has saved herself. She saved me,
for it was her purity and power that kept the fire from harming me. How can
fire help paying homage to the goddess of chastity? What can fire do to
fire? This fire that I started could not
go near Sita. And is not all this Rama's purpose? Did not the ocean king and
Mynaka Mountain come to my help?" Thinking thus, Hanuman
went straight to the Asoka Park again. There, under the Simsupa tree, he saw
Sita who was greatly relieved to see him alive and cheerful. Rejoicing, he bowed
before her and said, "Oh mother! I have seen you safe and sound. This is your
power and my good fortune. Now give me
leave to go." And Sita said,
"You are indeed a hero. For you there is nothing impossible. See that my
lord comes here soon and lays low the Rakshasas and redeems me. I depend on
you. You alone can achieve this." "Be assured,"
said Hanuman. "Sugriva will soon be here with Rama and Lakshmana and the
myriads of Vanaras. Ravana and his wicked hordes will perish. The happy prince will
return with you to Ayodhya. Grieve no more. God bless you." Thus consoling her,
Hanuman took leave of Sita. He went to the shore of the sea and, climbing up
the beautiful hill called Arishta, rose into the sky. On the way he saw
Mynaka eagerly awaiting him. He affectionately stroked it with his hand, but
did not stop. He flew straight like an arrow shot from a bow. At the sight of
Mahendra hill he knew that he was near the other shore and he roared. The Vanaras, meanwhile,
who saw Hanuman flying towards them like a great eagle across the sky, shouted:
"He is come. He is come!" Till now their hearts
had been full of care and their eyes wet. Now they jumped in their joy. "It is certain he
is returning in triumph," said Jambavan. "Else he would not roar in
this manner." They climbed up trees
and hills and stood watching with joy the approach of Hanuman returning from
Lanka. And Hanuman rejoiced to
see the mountains and trees all covered with his friends. Amid their glad
uproar, he alighted on the Mahendra hill. BESIDE themselves with
joy at the sight of Hanuman, the Vanaras assembled on the Mahendra peak. And
the veteran Jambavan welcoming the son of Vayu with great affection, spoke on
behalf of all. "We are eager to
hear a full account of your journey and its triumphant conclusion. More
particularly, we are anxious to know how you discovered Sita. How is she now?
What is the state of her mind and body? And dear son of Anjana, tell us about
Ravana's state and behavior. After knowing everything we shall be in a position to consider
and decide what needs to be done next. " Hanuman tendered mental
salutations to Sita and began his story. "You know how I
sprang into the sky from this peak. As I was flying over the sea, a golden
mountain rose suddenly above the surface of the water. I thought it was
something rising up to obstruct me and I gave it a flick with my tail. Meekly
receiving the blow, the mountain said in a sweet voice: 'My son, I am no enemy. I was saved by your
father from the dire wrath of Indra and am ever greateful to him. I now live in
safety sheltered by the sea. In olden days, we mountains had wings and flew
hither and thither in the sky and the world was in dread of us. Then Indra, to
rid the world of this terror, relentlessly pursued us and cut off our wings. It
was from this common fate that your father rescued me. You are engaged in the
most fatiguing task of flying across the sea. I have come up here to offer you
some rest. Stay here for a while and then fulfil Rama's purpose.' I declined
the offer for lack of time and, taking leave of him, went on my way." Thus, in proper
sequence and without omission, Hanuman recounted all that happened during the
passage and in the city of Lanka. He told them how he searched for Sita in vain
in Ravana's palace, how he found her at last in the Asoka Vana, how Ravana
sought and importuned her and was spurned by her. He narrated what dire threats
Ravana held out, how the Rakshasis teased her and drove her to think of putting
an end to her own life, and how it was at this juncture that he approached and
gave her news of Rama and hope and interest in life. With tears in his eyes
he told them what a divinely precious soul Sita was and how nobly she had borne
herself. Then he narrated how he destroyed the park and killed the Rakshasa
warriors, how he was finally bound by Indrajit and produced before Ravana. He
described what took place at the interview, and how as a punishment for his
boldness of speech they set fire to his tail, furnishing him thereby with a
great torch with which he set their city ablaze. On such occasions, when
a character has to recapitulate past events, we can see Valmiki's skill in
retelling the story in beautiful words. This is a source of special pleasure to
those who read the Ramayana as a religious exercise. They do not dislike such
repetitions. Indeed it is one of the special charms in a large epic. But I have
abridged the recital to suit the general reader who has no time or taste for an
oft-repeated tale however edifying. Those who wish to avert some calamity or
desire success in some great undertaking usually make a Parayana (devotional
reading exercise) of the whole of the Sundarakanda, the canto dealing with
Hanuman's expedition to Lanka. It is believed that the same result can be
obtained even by a Parayana of only this chapter where Hanuman relates to the
Vanara warriors all that happened between his crossing and recrossing the
sea. After this full
narration of the happenings, Hanuman proceeded: "Our efforts have been
successful so far because of the power of chastity of Sita who is chastity
incarnate. When I think of her I wonder how the Rakshasa could seize and carry
her away and yet escape being burnt to ashes. But Ravana too had accumulated
great power through his tapas. Even so, Sita could have reduced him to ashes if
she had chosen, but she patiently endured all this, because she wanted the
punishment to proceed from her lord. And now what is your advice? Shall we go
straight to Lanka, destroy Ravana and the Rakshasa
hordes, recover Sita and restore her to
Rama? It is not as if we have not the strength to do this. Single-handed I can
destroy them and leave not a trace behind. And Jambavan too, all by himself,
can utterly destroy the Rakshasas.
And so
can our
Prince Angada; and so can
Panasa or Nila; so can Mainda and Dwivida, the sons of Asvini. Yes, there are
many among us who can slay Ravana and the Rakshasa hordes. Indeed I proclaimed
aloud in Lanka: 'I, the messenger of Rama and the minister of Sugriva, am come
to destroy you.' But while we are talking, Vaidehi, the Goddess of purity, is
there under the Simsupa tree a closely guarded prisoner pining with aching
heart for rescue. In her hour of despair, I showed myself to her, and comforted
her with the assurance of her lord's speedy arrival. Consider well and decide
what should now be done." Angada, listening to
all this, full of indignation jumped up, saying: "I can do it all alone.
And there are so many of us here, eager warriors thirsting for battle. It would
be improper, after all these days, to go to Rama empty-handed and without Sita.
Let us go straight to Lanka, destroy Ravana and the Rakshasa army and return to
Kishkindha with Sita in our midst." Jambavan, old and wise,
uttered a gentle protest. "No, it is not right, dear prince," he
said. "We should report everything to Rama and Lakshmana and then do what
they desire. Rama's purpose should be fulfilled in the manner that he desires.
That alone is proper." All the Vanaras,
including Hanuman and Angada, agreed that this was the right thing to do. They
then rose into the sky and flew towards Kishkindha. They alighted near the
protected park of the Vanara king. They made their way into it, drank honey and
ate fruit, regardless of the warnings of the guards. They indulged in
unrestrained revelry and ruined the beautiful park. Unable to stand the
riotous behavior of the mirth-makers, Dadhimukha, Sugriva's uncle and keeper of
the royal park, hurried to the king and complained. "Your protected
park has been laid waste. The Vanaras that went south have returned and,
alighting in the garden, are behaving outrageously. They pay no heed to my
words. On the contrary, they assaulted and insulted me. They drank up and
ruined all the honeycombs and plucked and ate fruit
as they liked and are now lying senseless as a result of their revelry. The
trees and plants are all in ruins. The king should forthwith inflict suitable
punishment on these undisciplined
Vanaras." Sugriva understood the
position at once. "Lakshmana, it is clear that Hanuman, Jambavan and
Angada have succeeded in their search and are celebrating their triumph in this
manner." Saying this he turned to Dadhimukha and said to him: "Send
them all here at once." Dadhimukha now
understood the real state of affairs and, hastening to the Vanaras, conveyed to
them the king's command. SUGRIVA'S conjecture
was like nectar to Rama's ears. They eagerly awaited the arrival of the
Vanaras. In a short while a great clamor was in the air and the Vanara hordes
alighted with cries of triumph. Hanuman and Angada
leading, the Vanaras marched to the presence of their king who with Rama and
Lakshmana was awaiting their coming. Hanuman bowed and said:
"Seen have I the Goddess of purity, your queen. She is safe and well in
Lanka. I salute her from here across space." And he turned southwards and
offered worshipful salutation. Thus succinctly did
Hanuman convey to the prince the glad news that Sita was found and was well in
body and mind. Sugriva and Lakshmana, beside themselves with joy, embraced
Rama. "Dear Vanara friends," exclaimed
the Prince of Ayodhya,
"tell me where exactly Sita is. How is she? How did you manage to see her?
Tell me everything in detail." His eager inquiries came quick upon one
another. The other Vanaras
turned to Hanuman who stood behind, and asked him to narrate all that he had
seen and done. Hanuman began to tell the tale. With his unrivalled courage and
strength and single-handed, he had performed a mighty task. Yet he did not push
himself forward into the presence of Prince Rama or King Sugriva, but gave
precedence to Angada and the aged Jambavan and the others, and was silent until
they asked him to speak. Indeed, generally,
great men who dare and do mighty deeds are disinclined to speak about their
exploits. In painting this scene the poet brings out this law of natural
conduct. Another thing to note here is Hanuman's reverence for Sita. From the
time he first saw her, his reverence for Sita appeared to surpass even his
devotion to Rama, if the two could be distinguished. This is the case with all
pious devotees who regard and worship the Supreme as Mother. When that aspect
of the All immanent Power is before true devotees, their reverence becomes
ecstatic like the child's joy in the mother's lap. "Crossing the
hundred yojanas of water, I reached the city of the wicked Ravana on the
southern shore. There, in a park attached to the palace, I saw Sita held prisoner
and closely guarded. It was wonderful to see her emaciated form. She maintained
life only in the thought of her lord and repetition of his name. Cruel and ugly
Rakshasis surrounded her. I saw her lying on the ground, her hair unkempt and
her face clouded by sorrow and care. When I reached there, she had resolved to
put an end to her life to escape from the Rakshasa king's importunities and
threats. I began uttering praises of your glory in a low voice. Unknown to her,
and a mere monkey, I had to secure her confidence first. Then I spoke to her. I
told her of the alliance between King Sugriva and yourself. I told her of
your great grief and unchanging love. This filled her with sweet sorrow and
awakened hope in her and the desire to live. Asked for a token which I might
convey to you, the angel of purity gave me this jewel to be given to you. She
also told me how once a crow had troubled her while you were asleep and how you
were grieved about it, she asked me to remind you of the incident. She wanted me
to remind you of another occasion when, roaming among the hills, perspiration
had made the tilak trickle down her forehead and you replaced it with red ochre
rubbed out of a rock. She bade me tell you that she would struggle and keep
alive for a month, but then she would perish at the hands of Ravana, or she
would seek her own release of death. She bade me convey her respects to the
Vanara King. Now let us think and make preparations at once for proceeding to
Lanka to redeem the princess." Saying this, he handed
the sikhamani, crest-jewel, of Sita to the prince. Rama took the jewel
from Hanuman's hand and at the sight of it fainted, racked beyond bearing
between extremes of joy and grief. He pressed the jewel to
his bosom and cried: "O Lakshmana!" Again he embraced Hanuman and
said: "Heroic son of Vayu, blessed are you who have seen Sita. I too see
her now before me. You have, indeed, brought her to me." "Dear hero, my
heart's friend!" he cried "tell me everything again in full. Tell me
once again what Sita said. Let me hear her words which are sweet like water to parched lips." Hanuman narrated the
whole story to the eager listeners and Rama wept when Hanuman repeated these
words of Sita: "Many Rakshasas
has my Rama slain, but why has he not come here yet to slay Ravana and save me
from my sufferings? Why has he not sent brave Lakshmana to slay the wretch? It
cannot be that my lord has grown indifferent towards me! For I know of no wrong
I have ever committed in thought or word or
deed to lose his love." Hanuman said: "I
tried to console her saying: 'Rama is ever thinking of' you and grieving for
you. He knows no rest. Do not imagine that Rama and Lakshmana have forgotten
you. No words of mine could describe their grief. Now that I am going to tell
them you are here, it will not be long before they come and destroy Ravana and
return with you in triumph to Ayodhya.' It was then she untied the jewel from a
knot in a corner of her sari and gave it to me. I placed it on my head in
reverence and, securing it, started to return. She stopped me and uttered a
benediction again and said: 'Friend Hanuman convey the news of my welfare to
the lions, my lord and his brother, to king Sugriva and his ministers. Devise
your plans and help him to come here and redeem me. I trust in
you, Hanuman, absolutely. May God bless you." "Lay aside your
grief, my Lord," continued Hanuman, "and think out now what has to be
done. Sita doubted how you and the Vanara army could cross the sea. I assured
her that she need have no fear or doubt on that score, since, by no means the
strongest among the Vanaras, I myself had crossed it as she could see. I said
to her that I myself could carry Rama and Lakshmana on my shoulders and cross the sea and bring
them there." RAMA heard Hanuman with
heart and eyes overflowing and, when he had come to the end of his narrative,
said: "The deed done by
Hanuman none else in the world could even conceive of attempting, crossing the
sea, entering Lanka protected by Ravana and his formidable hosts and
accomplishing the task set him by his king not only fully but beyond the fondest
hopes of all." And it saddened him to
think that it was not in his power to reward Hanuman at all adequately for the
supreme joy he had brought. "O Hanuman, let this embrace of mine stand as
an acknowledgment of all that my heart feels of gratitude for your great
service to me." So saying while his
whole being thrilled with grateful love, he took Hanuman into his arms and
clasped him to his breast. "Sugriva," he
said, "Hanuman has indeed wrought a wonder. He entered Lanka so strongly
guarded by the Rakshasas. He has
discovered Sita and, by consoling her, preserved her life. Bringing back good
news of her, he has saved my life also. But how are we now going to cross the
sea? How can our huge army reach the other shore? Before we can attack Ravana's
city and the Rakshasa's army, we have first to cross the sea. I see no way of
doing it. Our joy in Hanuman's achievement and the good news he has brought is
overlaid by anxiety about our future course." But the Vanara king
said: "What is this, my Lord Rama? What need is there for dejection? Here
are my warriors, ready to lay down their lives for you and let it be our joy to
transport you and Lakshmana to Lanka. Have no doubt that we can do it. The
moment Hanuman saw Lanka, you may take it the fortress has fallen. Doubt only
makes the warrior weak and afraid and should be cast aside. Our victory is
certain. The feeling of confidence in my heart at this moment is a good enough
omen for me." Thus Sugriva reassured
Rama, and inspired him to action. Then Rama and Hanuman discussed matters about
Lanka, the town, the fort, the moat and other defences. Understanding this,
Hanuman described the wealth of Lanka, the happy lives of the Rakshasas, their
confidence in Ravana and their affection for him. He told Rama of the
might and size of Ravana's army; the strength and structure of the fortress;
the alertness of the sentry; the moats, walls and gates, catapults and
drawbridges, the care and thoroughness of all the arrangements for defence. He
also explained how the coast too was carefully guarded so that no enemy ship
could approach it. "And yet you may
be certain," he said, "our Vanara army is fully equal to the conquest
of Lanka. We have with us peerless warriors like Angada, Dwivida, Mainda,
Jambavan, Panasa, Nala and Nila. We have an enormous army. We shall fly in the
sky and without touching the ground destroy Lanka. Its mountains and forest
defences are nothing to us. We shall raze the city to the ground. Fix the
auspicious time and give us the order to start." Under the star of
triumph, Uttara Phalguni, at high noon, the army set forward towards the
southern sea. Good omens greeted them. As they marched, Rama,
Sugriva and Lakshmana went conversing with one another. "If only Sita
could know that we have set out,"
said Rama, "it would encourage her to keep
life going." Scouts who knew the way
went ahead, looking out for enemies lying in ambush. They led the army through
regions that could provide food and drink for the huge army. With speed the
army crossed mountains and forests. The Vanaras sometimes
carried Rama and Lakshmana on their shoulders so that the march might be
speedy. Every moment the enthusiasm of the Vanaras increased. They jumped and
roared and sported. Rama could hear them saying to one another: "I shall
kill Ravana! I shall meet and kill Ravana!" Nila and Kumuda went
ahead reconnoitering in front of the army. Strong warriors were kept in the
rear, guarding it from behind. King
Sugriva, Rama and Lakshmana were in the middle. Rama gave strict orders that
the army should inflict no harm or hardship on the towns and villages on the
way. The noise of the marching army was like the roar of the sea and filled the
eight quarters. The dust they raised covered the sky. When they came to the
Mahendra Mountain, Rama climbed the peak and surveyed the sea. "We should now
think and decide," he said, "how the army can cross the sea. Till
then let it camp and rest in the forest." And Sugriva passed the order to
the commanders. The Vanaras camped in the forest by the seashore. When Sugriva, Rama and
Lakshmana had satisfied themselves that the whole army had settled in comfort,
the two brothers retired apart. Rama said: "If a
person loses a dear thing, people say that time will enable him to forget about
it and he will cease to grieve. But Lakshmana, this is not what I find." Dejection again seized
Rama for the thought of Sita and her condition preyed on his mind now more than
ever before. "When Ravana seized Sita and carried her off," Rama
said, breaking down with fresh grief, "she must have cried aloud 'Ha my
Lord! Ha Rama! Ha Lakshmana!' But she saw no one coming. We failed to go to her
help. Every time I think of the suffering she then must have gone through, my
grief swells up afresh. What am I to do? Like the limbs of one who has drunk
poison, my whole body burns with pain. She is held in the grip of the cruel
Rakshasis and she is in great anguish. Janaka's daughter, the bride who entered
the home of great Dasaratha, she lies on the bare ground, a prisoner surrounded
by Rakshasis!" "Rama!" said
Lakshmana, "cease from sorrow. Soon we shall destroy Ravana and rescue
Sita and take her home to Ayodhya. She will enter the city like the goddess of
chastity. Give up your grief. Arm yourself with
courage." Now let us leave Rama
and his host here and go back to Ravana. Great poets in all languages delineate
with sympathy even their bad characters allowing gleams of goodness to shine
through occasionally, for nature has not made anybody wholly and unredeemably
evil. The poet's aim is to
direct the reader's mind into the path of good, the satvik way. For this
purpose they use all their skill and power in developing even their rajasik and
tamasik characters. The reader who is held
by rajasik and tamasik qualities, naturally tends to sympathise with such
characters; much more so readers below the average who are untouched by the
satvik element. They would regard the
deeds of the hero and other satvik characters as mere fiction invented for
blind worship, and identify themselves with the rajasik and tamasik characters
and even claim these as their own kith and kin. They would find themselves
attracted by such characters and follow their doings with considerable
interest. Paradise Lost, the
English epic on a Biblical theme, is famous throughout the world. In this poem
Milton delineates the Almighty and Jesus, His spiritual son and human
incarnation, as well as several orders of angels. But the most impressive
character in the great epic is Satan who rebelled against God and brought sin
and death into this world. Critics of English
poetry admire Milton's wonderful success in the characterisation of Satan.
Similarly, the great dramatic poet Shakespeare has created a wonderful
character in Shylock, the usurer and miser. Even such embodiments of despicable
qualities are presented by the poets as possessing courage, determination,
energy and other good qualities that attract us and serve as a bright
background to their blackness. In Valmiki's portraits
of Ravana and Kumbhakarna too, we notice the same artistic skill. The cook who
meets all tastes shows his skill in making out of bitter vegetables an
attractive dish. So does the poet show his skill in portraying evil. The Rakshasa king
was somewhat
ashamed and afraid at
the thought of what Hanuman had achieved in Lanka. He summoned his ministers
and took counsel with them. He began in an
apologetic tone. "What has happened is something strange and unexpected.
No one has till now been known to enter our city, but this envoy of Rama has
not only entered Lanka, he has met and talked with the imprisoned Sita. He has
destroyed temples and palaces. He has slain some of our best warriors. He has
filled our people with fear. And this thing is not likely to stop here. Hence
we have to consider what should be done. You know that the king
should decide his course of action only after consulting his loyal ministers of
clear vision and wellversed in statecraft. And so I have summoned this Council.
Rama has become an inveterate enemy. Let us consider what we should do about
it. The king has no use for ministers who are not straight forward or who not
knowing their own minds wobble in their advice. The matter before us is most
important. Rama is strong, and so is his army. It is certain that they will
contrive some how to cross the sea. It would be unwise to trust to that single
defence. Consider well and tell me how we can strengthen and secure our city
and army and what steps we should take to defend ourselves." After listening to the
king, the members of the Assembly spoke with one voice. "Great king!
Knowing well that our army and our weapons are the strongest in the world, why
need you be anxious? Where is the enemy who dares to attack your fortress and
who can oppose your army with any hope of success? The world knows your might.
Did you not invade the city of Bhogavati and defeat the Naga king? Did you not
attack powerful Kubera and defeat him and his Yakshas and capture his Pushpaka
Vimana as well as this island of Lanka? Did not Maya in fear of you sue for
your favor and friendship and give you his daughter in marriage? How many
cities in the nether region have you not attacked and taken? You fought and
defeated the Kalakeyas. The sons of Varuna, yea, and Yama himself have been
suppliants for your mercy. And who is this Rama? Your son Indrajit by himself
can destroy Rama and his Vanara army. Did he not seize and imprison Indra
himself and afterwards let him go? How can Rama and his Vanaras stand against
such a warrior? You have only to bid Indrajit destroy this Vanara crowd and all
will be over. Why should you, great king, be anxious?" Thus they spoke in praise of their
king. The Commander-in-chief
Prahasta rose like a great black cloud. "You, who subdued in battle the
Devas, Danavas and Gandharvas, why should you, oh King of kings, feel anxious
because of these little creatures? It is true that the monkey came here and
caught us napping and did some mischief. But this sort of thing will never
happen again. If he comes again, I know how to manage him. I alone can destroy
the whole Vanara race, if only you will order it. You need not fear any danger
from this small indiscretion of yours, the abduction of Sita." Next Durmukha rose and
roared: "We shall not let this monkey's bravado and undeserved good luck
go unavenged. I shall go this very instant and destroy the Vanara army, root
and branch, and return." Vajradamshtra stood
with a terrible iron club in his hand and cried: "Here is my weapon
unwashed and still covered with the blood and flesh of my foes. Why waste your
time talking about this monkey? Are not Rama and Lakshmana our enemies? I shall
slay them first and then destroy the Vanara army and re turn immediately. Only
let me go. I have a piece of advice to give you, King, if you would listen. Let
us order some Rakshasa warriors to put on human form and approach Rama, telling
him, 'Bharata has sent us in advance. A great army is coming behind to help
you.' While Rama is thus fooled into negligence, our Rakshasa army can travel
through the sky and destroy him and his followers on the other shore. This is
my advice." Nikumbha, son of
Kumbhakarna, rose and said: "All of you may stay here with the King. I
shall go alone and meet and destroy the enemy and bring you the news." Another Rakshasa,
licking his lips, said with gusto: "I shall go alone and kill and feast on
the flesh of these two men, Rama and Lakshmana. Please let me go." Thus one after another
they got up and spoke brave words to please Ravana and then all of them stood
up together and, raising their weapons, roared aloud. At that Vibhishana, the
younger brother of Ravana, made them all sit down, and said to the king with
folded hands: "Brother, what
these people say is sweet to hear but not true or good to act upon. Anything
done in violation of Niti shastra (the Science of Politics) can only lead to
grief and ruin. It is only after trying sama (conciliation), dana (buying off
the enemy) and bheda (sowing discord) that one should think of using danda
(force of arms.) against a foe. If you take the advice of these people and
start a war now, it would mean the destruction of Lanka and all of us. We
should also consider the demands of dharma. It was not right, it was indeed a
great sin for you, to have seized and brought Rama's wife here. We should first
cleanse ourselves of this sin. What harm did Rama do to us? What Rama did in
the Dandaka forest was in pure self-defence and the defence of those that
looked to him for protection. He fought with and slew only those that went out
to slay him. His actions surely do not justify your carrying away his wife. And
even if we had any just complaint against him, we should have met in battle.
Instead of that, to contrive his absence and seize his wife was very wrong and
sinful. When the fault is on your side, it is morally not right that we should
think of battle. Further, warcraft requires that before fighting we should take
some measure of Rama's strength and that of his army. We have had some taste of
Hanuman's strength and skill. It is pointless to talk lightly of him. Did he
not do remarkable things? Though our own
strength may be great, we should weigh it against the enemy's strength and then
decide whether we should seek war or avoid it. But first it is essential that
we should restore Sita. My advice is this, before Rama and the Vanaras attack Lanka, let us restore
Sita. Dear brother, I am saying all this for your good. Pray, do not be angry
with me. We should first set right our own fault and then think of other
things." Thus with folded hands
Vibhishana besought Ravana. Though Ravana was
pleased with the vainglorious words of his ministers and generals, there was
doubt lurking in his mind. Hence, after
listening to Vibhishana, he said: "Let us meet again tomorrow and consider
this matter." He adjourned the Council, and retired. 62. RAVANA
CALLS A COUNCIL AGAIN AS soon as
the day
dawned, Vibhishana went to the
king. He had thought deeply over the matter and had come to a decision. His brother's welfare demanded that he should
seek somehow to convert and save him. Vibhishana entered the
royal palace and stood with folded hands before the king. Ravana sent away all
but the principal Ministers and asked his brother to speak. "My brother and my
lord," began Vibhishana, "forgive me if what I say is not pleasing to
your ears. My desire is not to flatter but to save you from a great danger
while there is yet time. I beg of you to listen to me, consider well what I say
and then decide on your course of action. "Ever since you
brought Sita to Lanka we see only evil omens. Even when the libation is poured
with the correct mantra, the flame does not spring to receive it. One finds
snakes in places of worship. Ants infest food offerings. The udders of cows are
dry and yield no milk. Elephants, horses, camels and monkeys fall sick, reject
food and behave strangely. Medicines have lost their efficacy. Crows perch in
numbers on the housetops making hideous noises. Vultures circling overhead fill
the augurs with anxiety. Foxes boldly enter the city and howl at unusual hours.
Wild beasts haunt the streets. These portents should not be disregarded. I beg
of you, restore Sita to her husband. It is only since her coming here that
these omens are noticed as you can verify by asking others. Why should we, who
have so much to lose, needlessly incur any one's enmity? Let us restore Sita to
her people and live happily."
Thus did Vibhishana plead earnestly with his brother. "Never,
never!" exclaimed Ravana. "Let there be no talk here of Sita being
returned to her people. I do not think much of this enemy. I see nothing to be
afraid of. Now, you may go." Though he spoke thus
and was obstinate, Ravana had no peace of mind. Sita had not yielded to him and
his own near kinsmen disapproved of his conduct. He was agitated, but putting
on an air of confidence and unconcern he summoned the Council again. Lust and injured vanity kept him from the
straight path, but he found some consolation in taking counsel from others. From the palace to the
Hall of Council he drove through the street in a golden chariot drawn by noble
steeds. Warriors, holding swords and shields and wearing brilliant uniforms,
marched in front, behind and on the sides. Others mounted on elephants and
horses and armed with axes, spears and other terrible weapons, followed the
chariot. Trumpets were blown and drums beaten.
As the Lord of Lanka,
accompanied by his retinue, passed majestically through the royal street, his
people bent low their heads and folded their hands and invoked victory for him.
As he entered the hall, drums and trumpets sounded loudly and filled the eight
quarters. Ravana took his seat on
an agate throne in the great hall constructed by Maya which shone in all the
splendor of gold and silver and precious carpets. Hundreds of demons
stood sentry without. Obedient to the call of the King, thousands of Rakshasa
warriors had assembled in the chamber. Long rows of vehicles stood in the
streets. Within the chamber each was assigned a seat appropriate to his rank. Priests and chanters of
the Vedas came in hundreds and after receiving tokens of respect from the king
were seated in the hall. Vibhishana, Suka,
Prahasta and others bowed before the king and sat in their respective places.
Devoted officers thronged the hall, all brave and efficient and waiting to
fulfil the commands of their king. The air was heavy with
rich perfume. The assembly equalled Indra's in splendor and everyone felt that
momentous decisions were to be taken. Ravana broke the hushed expectant silence
of the great assembly in a voice deep and resonant as thunder. He said: "You are
strong, brave and skilled in the arts of peace and war. You can find a way out
of every difficulty. Never so far has your advice miscarried. And so, once
again, I seek your counsel. You know well what I have done. I have brought here
Sita who was living in the Dandaka forest. My desire for her so entirely
possesses me that sending her back is to me unthinkable. She has not so far
submitted to my wishes and entertains a foolish hope that Rama will come here
and redeem her. I have told her that it is an impossible wish and a vain hope.
Finally, she asked for a year's time and I gave it to her. I now seek your
counsel. My desire is unfulfilled. I can never agree to sending Sita back and begging
forgiveness from Rama. Till now neither you, my great warriors, nor I have
known defeat in battle. True, a big monkey somehow contrived to cross the sea
and wrought some mischief here. But hard indeed will it be for Rama and the
Vanara army to cross the sea and come here. And even if they did come, what
need we fear? What chance have they against us? On the other side of the sea,
Rama, Lakshmana, Sugriva and the Vanaras are encamped. Think how we can slay
Rama and Lakshmana. I should
have summoned the Council earlier. But Kumbhakarna was in his period of sleep
and I waited till he woke up." Thus spoke Ravana,
blinded by lust, hiding his real anxiety and mixing a little falsehood with
truth. For Sita had not asked for a year's time. She had absolutely rejected
his advances, but he asked her to reconsider and gave her a year's time. KUMBHAKARNA, the
younger brother of Ravana, spoke in the assembly: "Great King!
Ignoring the principles of statecraft, you have run into a great danger. If you
had any grievance against Rama and Lakshmana, you should have met them face to
face and defeated and slain them before carrying off Sita. If you had acted
thus, even Sita would have admired you and there would then have been a
possibility of her accepting you. As waters flow down a mountain, she would
have followed a victorious warrior. You did not consult us before committing
the offence and incurred the enmity of Rama, but now, when it is too late, you
seek our counsel. This is not the right way of doing things that a king should
follow." Having
spoken thus harshly, Kumbhakarna looked at
the king and saw he was pained. Affectionate as he was brave, he could not
endure the sadness in his brother's face. "Let
by-gones be by-gones," he thought, "one
cannot forsake one's honor." Kumbhakarna was under
no delusion as to the consequences, but his generous spirit accepted them for
the sake of the brother he idolised. He knew that Rama was a peerless warrior. He knew the power of
his bow and also the limitations of the boons that Ravana had received from the
gods. But it was no good taking the heart out of others in the face of
unavoidable peril and so be also began to speak vaunting words like the rest: "What You did may
be wrong, and so too the way you chose to do it. You have done first what you
should have done last. And yet, it does not matter. I shall slay Rama. Do not
be afraid. One or two of his arrows may touch me. In spite of it, I shall kill
him and drink his blood and victory will be yours. My brother, lay aside your
care, and think of other things." Some people suggest
that Kumbhakarna was dull
and so he thus contradicted himself. But it was not stupidity, it was due to
generous affection that he accepted the inevitable fearlessly. He was a proud
warrior who loved his brother and his people and he decided on honorable death
with them. Prahasta was Ravana's
chief counsellor. He spoke of the King's invincible strength and cheered him
up. Ravana now grew
enthusiastic and said: "Didn't I vanquish Kubera? Didn't I drive him out
and make Lanka my own? Who dare come here and oppose me? Let us see!" The assembly applauded these words. Vibhishana alone did
not join in the applause. He did not mind the wrath of his royal brother. He
felt it was his duty to warn him of the danger and the error of his ways. He felt bound to make
his utmost effort to save him and the Rakshasa race from doom. He stood up and
spoke: "You have brought
Sita and with her, death for yourself and your race. Your first duty to
yourself and your people is to restore her to Rama. If you fail in this, we
shall all assuredly perish. This is certain." He went on describing
Rama's strength and skill and his mastery of weapons. He spoke frankly and
without fear. "If we oppose
Rama," he said, "defeat is inevitable. Our fortune is sinking. Let us
restore Sita, seek Rama's pardon and thus save our kingdom, our lives and
possessions and honor." At this importunity of
Vibhishana, Indrajit, Ravana's son, lost patience and burst out: "My uncle's words
fill me with shame. What race are we? What is our strength? I marvel that a
descendant of Pulastya should talk in this strain and that the assembly should
meekly sit and listen. My uncle has only betrayed his evil intentions. We can
never agree to his proposal. Are we to be afraid of two petty humans? Did I not
beat Indra down in battle and his hordes of gods? Does not the whole world
tremble even now in terror before us? Vibhishana's counsel is an insult to our
race!" Vibhishana answered
gently: "Boy, you lack experience. That is why you talk thus. You are the
king's son and should be his best friend. But I am afraid you are proving
yourself his worst enemy. And you, ministers who ought to give good advice, you
are leading the king to ruin. My Lord of Lanka! Do not reject what I say.
Return Sita honorably to Rama and seek his forgiveness. This is the only way.
There is no other. Failing to pursue the only available course, we shall all
perish." Ravana's rage was now
uncontrollable. "I put up with your talk thus far," he shouted in
anger, "because you are my brother. Else you would by now be dead. A
brother, I see, is one's worst enemy. All the world knows that the envy of
brothers brings dishonor and discomfiture to the brave. They hide their real
desire and wait for their time and, when it comes, do not hesitate to practise
their treachery. How true is the complaint of the wild elephants in the story!
We are not afraid of the burning fire. 'We do not mind the hunters and their
long spears. The noosed ropes and the chains can do little harm to us. But the
elephants which join the hunters and give us trouble, these brothers and
cousins who turn against us, they are our terror!' Yes. So long as one is safe
and prosperous, the brother smiles and talks pleasantly. But when danger comes,
he is ready to leave. The bee does not stay with the flower after the honey has
been sucked. It goes in search of another flower. Brothers and cousins are no
better than these bees. One cannot trust them in adversity. If any one else
should have spoken as you have done, Vibhishana, I would have slain him here
and now. Base fellow! You are a disgrace to our race!" Unable to bear the
insult, Vibhishana rose and said: "My brother, you may speak as you
please. Though you have wandered from the way of dharma, you are still my brother
and I warn you that, drawn by the noose of Yama, you are going along the path
of destruction. My advice, salutary but unpleasant, you reject. It is easy to
speak sweet words. Your ministers are doing it. I spoke for your good. But
truth is bitter and you hate it. The terrible vision of Rama's darts destroying
you is before my mind's eye and makes me speak as I do. You call me your enemy.
Defend your city and your life as well as you can. God bless you! I am going.
May you be happy! I thought I could serve you in your
need, but you will not let me. You imagine that I envy you and your
possessions. Good counsel is rejected by one whose end is near." Having spoken thus, and
realising that there was no place for him in Lanka thereafter, Vibhishana renounced
all his possessions and, rising into the sky, proceeded straight to the spot
where Rama and Lakshmana were encamped. Four good Rakshasa friends went along
with him. 64. THE VANARA'S DOUBT HAVING committed a sin
and run into danger, Ravana did not see how to extricate himself. Like other
kings in a quandary, he called a council for consultation. Many spoke
flattering words. Only two spoke harshly. One said: "You
have committed a fault. But I will give up my life for you." This was
Kumbhakarna. The other, Vibhishana,
said: "You have committed a sin, but there is still time for repentance
and escape from consequences. If you take this right and wise course, we shall
all escape destruction and live happily. Restore Sita and seek pardon of Rama."
"Never," said Ravana. "Then our ways
part and I leave you," said Vibhishana.
In a conflict of
duties, each one follows his own nature. All cannot follow one and the same
path. Ravana's self-indulgent
vanity would not let him admit his error or retrace his steps. Very rarely does
one who has committed a sin confess defeat. It requires some courage of a bad
sort to commit a sin. But it requires much greater courage of a noble kind to
confess it. It was this noble
courage that Ravana lacked. When an evil is being perpetrated, the friends of
the evil-doer face a difficult problem. Some are constrained against their
better judgment to espouse the wrong cause through gratitude for past kindness,
a sense of loyalty, or affinities of blood.
Others think it their
duty to try and reform the sinner, regardless of his anger and hatred and
consequent danger to themselves and if their efforts fail they part company
from the sinner, rather than abandon dharma and give their support to the
sinner who persists in crime. They bold that it can never be one's duty to
support or cooperate with adharma. It would indeed be
adharma to refrain from doing one's best to reform the sinner or to cooperate
in his sin. In the Ramayana, Kumbhakarna
and Vibhishana represent these two different types. If Ravana had told
Vibhishana: "Come, let us go to the Dandaka forest and carry off
Sita," it is inconceivable that Vibhishana could have complied. That is
why we respect Vibhishana. "At least now
restore Sita and be happy," Vibhishana said and tried to persuade Ravana.
"Rama will surely forgive you. Take the way of dharma." But Ravana
would not listen, and Vibhishana, as an enemy of sin, had no alternative but to
part company from the perverse wickedness of Ravana. Hence it would be wrong to
find fault with Vibhishana. And if we
find fault with him, it is because our concern for dharma is weak. But can we
find fault
with Kumbhakarna? We cannot
do this either. He is one of those noble soldiers of lost causes whose faults
we forgive for their selfless loyalty and sublime acceptance of death. But, because we cannot
condemn Kumbhakarna, it does not follow that we must condemn Vibhishana. There
are some people today who rejoice in arguing against dharma and against
Vibhishana; hence this elaboration of a simple point. Men are restrained from
evil by the wholesome fear that if they commit sin they would forfeit the
affection and goodwill of their friends and kinsmen. This fear is a strong
incentive to good behavior and its removal would be a serious loss in
society. All this is forgotten
by those who argue that Vibhishana was a traitor. Ravana was the first,
unfortunately by no means the last, to dub him by that name. Those who are
anxious to retain the support of kinsfolk while pursuing evil ways disapprove
of Vibhishana's conduct. But Vibhishana was not afraid of being a traitor. He
would have nothing to do with adharma. His course was, however, not easy as we
shall see. The Vanara chieftains
standing on the northern seashore saw all of a sudden the sky lit up with a
golden glow like the summit of Mount Meru. It was too steady to be a flash of
lightning. In the brightness could
be distinguished the forms of five big Rakshasas. Sugriva, the king and
commander of the Vanaras, looking at them said: "There is no doubt these
are Rakshasas come from Lanka with hostile designs." On hearing this, the
Vanara warriors armed themselves with trees and boulders and said: "Let us
go. We shall intercept and slay them and bring them down to earth." Vibhishana, hearing
these words of the Vanaras, showed no signs of fear but from above with calm
courage spoke out in a clear voice: "Vibhishana stands
here before you, the brother of Ravana, the wicked king of the Rakshasas. I am
here before you, none other than brother to Ravana, who killed Jatayu and
carried off Sita by force and is how keeping her a prisoner in Lanka. In vain I
strove to turn him from his wicked designs and counselled him to restore Sita
and seek Rama's forgiveness. All the response I got was disdain and public
insult. Hence I am standing here before you. Renouncing kingdom, wife and
children, I seek service and sanctuary at Rama's feet. I pray you, convey this
information to Rama." Sugriva mistrusted the
good faith of the Rakshasa king's brother and reported thus to Rama:
"Vibhishana, the brother of Ravana, has come here with four Rakshasa
friends seeking sanctuary at your feet. They are standing there in the sky.
Consider well, you who are skilled in affairs, what should be done now. These
Rakshasas are adepts in duplicity. They
can make themselves invisible and do many other tricks. They have all the skill
and courage of the wicked. One cannot trust them. I believe that these Rakshasas
have been sent by Ravana himself. They have come here to mix with us for
subversive purposes. Or else they intend seeking an opportunity to assassinate
the leaders in our camp. Whatever Vibhishana may say, we cannot forget that he
is the brother of our foe. By birth he belongs to the wicked Rakshasa race. How
can we trust him? This is some trick of Ravana, I have no doubt. It is best to
kill Vibhishana and his companions right now. If we admit him into our camp, he
will betray us at the first opportunity and return to his own people. Permit
us, therefore, to destroy forthwith Ravana's brother and his followers." Having thus frankly
expressed his feelings at the sight of the Rakshasa, Sugriva stood in silence,
awaiting Rama's reply. Rama listened
and turned to Hanuman and other leaders and said: "You have heard
the words of the King who is well-versed in policy. Ravana's brother has come
and waits there for our pleasure. I wish to know your opinion on this matter.
In times of crisis, one should ask for the advice of friends. Tell me without
reservation what you feel in your hearts." Angada, the Vanara
prince said: "He has come from our enemy's camp. We do not know whether he
has come of his own accord or was sent by our foe. While perhaps it would not
be right to reject him out of hand, it would be dangerous to accept him without
testing him. Let us at least watch his behavior carefully without giving him
any opening for mischief. If his movements are suspicious, we can throw him
out. If they are friendly and show good faith, we shall accept him." Thus
spoke the son of Vali. Sarabha said: "I
do not think it safe to admit him now or to decide later what to do with him.
Even now, let us test him through skilful questioners and decide once and for
all what to do with him." Jambavan said:
"Nothing can be discovered by testing such persons. If he is come here
hiding treacherous intentions, no test can discover the truth. Ravana is our
inveterate foe. His brother says that he has all of a sudden broken with him
and come over to us. This sudden rupture with a brother is hard to believe. We
have not yet crossed the sea. What is his motive in seeking safety with us
while we are on this hither shore? All this is very suspicious. They are a
deceitful race. I think we should not admit him." Mainda said: "How
can we reject a man on mere suspicion? Only after careful examination can we
decide how to deal with him. He says that he has forsaken Ravana and come over
to us. We can find out the truth of this statement. Some of us should talk to
him and then decide. Surely we have enough ability to do this." Then Rama turned to
Hanuman the wise. 65. THE DOCTRINE OF SURRENDER AND GRACE IN response to Rama's
invitation, Hanuman expressed his opinion in clear, sweet and pregnant words: "Why should you
ask for our advice? Not even Brihaspati has anything to tell you that you do
not already know. If it is dangerous to admit Vibhishana, how is the danger met
by delay and trial? Where is the time or opportunity for a test? More over,
Vibhishana has not approached us stealthily. He has come to us with frank
openness and a clear object. What is there for scouts to discover about him? It
has been said by some that his sudden advent is suspicious. But why? What
wonder is there if Vibhishana became disgusted with Ravana and foresaw his
certain disgrace and a defeat? What wonder is there if he recognised your
heroic virtues and nobility and the certainty of your victory? To me the time
and manner of his coming give no room for suspicion. It has been suggested that
before admitting him our leaders should put him questions and examine his
answers. But one who knows that he is suspected would cease to speak or behave
naturally. He would be afraid that we are out to find only faults in him. And
thus his real nature will not be revealed. I see no cause for suspicion in the
face or speech of this Rakshasa suppliant. His carefree looks disclose a
guiltless heart. The wise say that the face is a perfect mirror of the heart. I
think that Vibhishana has come here honestly to seek sanctuary at your feet.
And there is nothing strange in his action. He knows Ravana's real weakness. He
knows that the lord of Lanka is fated to fall. He knows too that you have slain
Vali and given his kingdom to Sugriva. Granting that his real motive is to
secure for himself the sovereignty of Lanka, there is nothing wrong in it and
certainly it is a guarantee that he will be loyal to us. Hence I feel that we
should admit him." The Vanara chiefs thus
differed in their views. Kumbhakarna
acted according to ordinary morality. This was a simple thing that everybody
could understand. But Vibhishana followed a higher morality. The path he chose
was more difficult and likely to be blamed. He
knew (how could anyone else know?) his inward suffering at the thought of
Ravana's evil doings. Ordinary people could not sympathise with his situation.
Hence the Vanaras failed to understand the conflict in his mind. Even today
people find it hard, without elaborate explanation, to appreciate Vibhishana
aright. Patiently, Rama
listened to the various views of the Vanara chiefs. When at last he heard
Hanuman's words he was filled with joy. Rama, steadfast in his
own dharma, found satisfaction in Hanuman's utterance. A good man is glad when
a friend's opinion supports his decision on a question of duty. "If a man comes as
a friend," said Rama, "how can I reject him? It is against the law of
my life. All of you, my friends and helpers, should know this. Once a man
surrenders himself, one should overlook all his
faults." But Sugriva was not
satisfied. He said: "This
Rakshasa has
on his
own showing deserted his
brother whose cause he considers lost. How can one put faith in a person who
forsakes his own brother in his need?" Valmiki records that on
bearing these words of Sugriva, Rama turned to Lakshmana with a smile. Probably
the smile was provoked by Sugriva's forgetfulness of his own fraternal conduct
in his indignant condemnation of Vibhishana! Rama said to Sugriva:
"I see what you mean. But listen. It is natural for kings to suspect
brothers and neighbor kings. Good kings who entertain no such suspicion are
exceptions. Most kings imagine that brothers envy them. What wonder then if
Ravana suspected and insulted Vibhishana? It follows that Vibhishana feared
danger to himself if he stayed on in Lanka. I conclude therefore that he has no
sinister motive against us in coming here for refuge. Let us go further and
grant that he has eyes on the kingdom, expecting Ravana's defeat at our hands.
Even in this ambition there is nothing wrong. Well, Lakshmana, can we expect
all people to be like our Bharata?" Having said this, Rama
was silent for a moment, lost in remembrance of Bharata's selfless love. Then he spoke: "Who in the world is as
lucky as I am? Who has a brother like Bharata? And what a father I had! His love for me
was so great that his life fled when I came away to the forest. And my friends,
who else is blessed like me with friends such as you?" Having spoken thus he
wiped the tears in his eyes, and went back to the subject on hand. "I see no point in
the argument that Vibhishana will forsake us, as he has forsaken his brother.
He had cause for forsaking his brother, and can have none for leaving us. We do
not want Lanka, and if, as is natural, he wants it, he can get it only through
our victory. From the point of view of policy, it would be a mistake to reject
Vibhishana. "But there is a
stronger reason. When one comes to me for refuge, I cannot reject him. This is
my dharma. It does not matter if as a result of this I suffer. Even at the cost
of life I must do this duty of mine. Never can I deviate from it. Verily, I
tell you, even if Ravana himself came to me for sanctuary, I would accept him
without hesitation. How then can I reject his brother who has done me no wrong?
Go and fetch Vibhishana." "My Lord Rama! It
is wonderful how clearly the right stands out demonstrated when you
speak!" said Sugriva. "I see things clearly now. I shall go and bring
Vibhishana. May he too become a loving friend of yours, even like us!" And
Sugriva went to fetch
Vibhishana. In the Vaishnava
tradition, this, episode, in which Vibhishana is taken by the prince into his
camp and innermost council, is held to be as important as the Bhagavad Gita
episode in the Mahabharata. It illustrates the
doctrine that the Lord accepts all who in absolute surrender seek shelter at
his feet, regardless of their merits or defects. Their sins are burnt out by
the mere act of surrender. This is a message of hope to erring humanity. It is
the heart of the Vaishnava faith that there is hope for the worst of us if only
we surrender ourselves to the Lord. But why should I
restrict this doctrine to the Vaishnava tradition? Is not this the heart of all
the religious traditions in our land, yes, and of all the religions in the world?
Every world teacher stresses this certainty of relief and redemption. It is not
to Arjuna only that Krishna said: "Have no fear, cast off all doubt, I
shall destroy all your sins." Wherever in the world God has spoken to
mankind in a human voice, He has given this assurance. There are two ways in
which we can regard Valmiki's account of Rama's acceptance of Ravana's brother.
The poet describes the rules of policy, the matters to be examined before one
can accept a visitor from the enemy's camp.
This is shown in the speeches of the Vanara king, the
cultured and accomplished Hanuman, and Rama, the firm upholder of dharma. But
in addition to right policy, we see here Rama's character and personality due
to nature and nurture. He said: "I cannot
reject anyone who comes to me for protection. This is my dharma. If Ravana
himself came to me, I would not reject him." Those who look on Rama
as an avatar of God find in this utterance the essence of scripture. The solemn
assurance which Krishna gives to Arjuna later in the Gita, that assurance the
Prince of Ayodhya declares in the presence of Sugriva and others in this Vibhishana
episode of the Ramayana. This divine assurance
is the life and light that a world filled with sin and darkness, needs. 6. Lanka Kand MEANWHILE
Ravana did something foolish. He sent a
scout to seduce Sugriva from his loyalty to Rama. This Rakshasa, Suka by name,
flew across and in disguise met Sugriva in secret and with every appearance of
benevolent solicitude spoke to him thus: "Ravana, the king
of Lanka, has sent me because of his affection and regard for you. He sends you
his fraternal greetings. You are a king and he is another and there is no sense
in your staking your high heritage and making common cause with a disinherited
prince against an allpowerful king. If Ravana desired Rama's wife and carried
her off, how does it concern you? What do you lose by it? Consider well and
choose your course with description. It is most expedient that you and your
army should return forthwith to
Kishkindha." But Sugriva's response
was scornful and definite: "Base fellow! Go
and tell your king that he is no brother of mine. He is wicked and, being an
enemy of my friend Rama, he is my enemy too and we are out to rid the world of
him and his wicked gang. He is a fool to imagine that he can offend Rama and
still survive. Tell him that there is no escape for him, tell him all this as
from me." When Sugriva delivered
this message to the Rakshasa spy the Vanaras caught hold of him and began to
handle him roughly but Rama sternly forbade it and set him free to go the way
he came. The spy rushed back to Lanka and conveyed the result of his adventure
to Ravana. As soon as Vibhishana's
adherence was accepted by Rama, Lakshmana and Sugriva crowned Vibhishana king
of Lanka and performed the abhisheka with seawater. Vibhishana pledged
unchanging friendship to Rama and Rama in turn gave his word that he would not
return to Ayodhya without slaying Ravana. Then Sugriva,
Vibhishana and Lakshmana deliberated on how to cross the sea. They thought it
best to begin with a prayer to the ocean-god and submitted their opinion to
Rama. Rama accepted their
counsel and, spreading darbha grass on the seashore and laying himself on it,
began a fast, addressing his request for a passage across, to the king of the
sea. For three days he
prayed to the god of the sea but received no response. Then Rama, his eyes
glowing with anger at the sea-god's arrogance, turned to Lakshmana and said: "The low-minded
mistake courtesy and gentleness for want of strength. Mildness is simply wasted
on them. See now how I shall bring this misproud sea to its senses with my
arrows which shall not only choke it with the carcasses of mighty fish but even
dry it up with their fierce odour. Bring me my
bow and
quiver, O
Soumitra!" Then bow in hand and
blazing with wrath like the destroying fire at the end of the world he shot
arrows irresistible as thunderbolts into the bosom of the sea. These missiles
of power disturbed the sea to its depths carrying death and dismay to all it
contained and presently the tortured waters began to exhale steam in their
agony. It looked as though
Rama in his wrath would convert the sea with its infinitude of waters into a
desert of blazing dust bereft of all life. The sea-god could stand it no
longer. Shining like the rising sun behind Mount Meru, he appeared and stood
before Rama. With folded hands he
said: "My Lord
Ramachandra! I am subject to the laws of nature like the earth, the air, space,
light, and all constituents of the universe. How can I depart from my nature,
which is to be vast, deep, wavefilled, and impassable? But this I can do. Ask
the Vanaras to bring boulders and trees to build a causeway. I shall permit it.
I shall help you by receiving and keeping in place the rocks and trees. This is
all that I can do and I shall also show the most favorable place for this
causeway. There is Nala, son of Viswakarma, with you, who has the ability to
build this path. May victory be yours." Rama, true to his
nature, graciously accepted the sea god's apology and offer of help. And then,
ordered by Rama, they all began to work. Thousands of Vanaras went at it with
enthusiasm and soon finished building the causeway. Valmiki describes the
work at length. He sings with gusto of the noise and confusion of the gigantic
project. The Vanaras went to the mountains and forests and, plucking rocks and
trees, dragged them to the shore. The bigger Vanaras brought big boulders and
threw them into the sea. As they fell down, the water splashed up sky-high. Nala stood and
supervised their labors. The leaders in charge of companies kept them active.
On top of the rocks and trees, when the base was firm, a dressing of grass and
little pieces of wood was given to produce a level surface. The noise raised by
the dam-builders drowned the roar of the ocean.
The construction was
complete. The new path shone across the sea like the milky way in the sky.
Hosts of gods above rejoiced, as hosts of Vanaras shouted below in exultation.
The gods and the rishis uttered benedictions. Then they went on the
causeway. Hanuman carried Rama on his shoulders and Angada carried Lakshmana on
his. The Vanara army crossed the sea.
There is a principle expounded here. As Rama stood bow in hand, the
ocean-god bowed before him with clasped bands and said: "Dear Ramachandra!
Earth, air, ether, water, fire, these five elements must follow the eternal
laws of their nature. Tempted by pleasure or reward or frightened of
punishment, can I ever swerve from my nature? Can water harden and become
stone? Or can I reduce my depths into a
shallow pond for your easy crossing?" Thus the ocean king
protested with all politeness to Sri Rama.
Valmiki puts into the mouth of the ocean king a fundamental of our
religious philosophy. He explains the
primordial relationship between God and Nature. God's law operates in
and through Nature. The laws of nature were created so that the universe may
proceed by itself. So too the law of Karma. The five elements, all objects
without life as well as all living creatures, must follow their own permanent
laws. According to the Hindu
Shastras, Nature itself, the sequence and chain of cause and effect, the
properties of matter, and the law of Karma, all are ordained permanently by
God. Nature itself is a
witness to God. He is not proved by a suspension of the laws of nature. This is expounded clearly in the ninth
chapter of the Bhagavad Gita: "Under my
supervision Nature gives rise to all that exists movable and immovable, and the
universe, evolves from this cause." This is put briefly by
Valmiki in the speech of the ocean king.
Malyavan, the aged Rakshasa, tried his best to impress on Ravana the
error of his ways. He said: "Your time of good
fortune is over. Your sins have begun to bear their fruit and to dim your
radiance. You can trust no longer the boons you have obtained from the gods.
Make peace with your enemies. Look at the army that has arrived, the terrible
host of Vanaras and bears. Look at this wonderful causeway so quickly built. It
seems to me, this Rama is Vishnu himself come in human form." Ravana had no patience with such talk.
"Your words are wormwood in my ear," he cried. "It looks as
though you too have joined my enemies. Are not human beings well known to be
weaklings? Why are you afraid of this wretched man driven into the forest by
his father? And he relies on the support of monkeys and bears! Of such a man
you are afraid. Really I am ashamed of
you. Or could it be that you cannot bear to see me happy? Why do you talk like
this to me? I cannot bend before Rama. If it is wrong policy or wrong ethics, I
cannot help it. You may take it that it is part of my nature and I cannot
change it. I would far rather die fighting than sue before Rama for
peace!" Malyavan replied:
"Consider well and do what you think best." And he returned home,
uttering the usual benedictory words: "Victory to the King! Victory to Ravana!" The old man was Ravana's grandfather. Ravana
carefully stationed his warriors. He posted
Prahasta at the eastern entrance, Mahaparsva and Mahodara at the southern
entrance and Indrajit, his illustrious son, accomplished in the arts of secret
magic, at the western entrance, while he decided himself to guard the northern
entrance. Virupaksha, the mighty, was appointed commander of the army within
the city. Having ordered the
disposition of his forces and chief warriors, he felt he had ensured victory.
As his end was approaching, he listened to no one and foolishly believed
himself unconquerable. The ministers raised shouts of victory to please the
King and then dispersed. Rama, Sugriva,
Vibhishana and others held a council of war. Vibhishana duly laid before the
council the information gathered by scouts who had gone out and watched
Ravana's arrangements. "In numbers,
strength and courage," Vibhishana said, "the army now mobilised by
Ravana surpasses that with which he opposed Kubera. Still I have no doubt of
Rama's victory." Rama distributed his
forces to meet Ravana's disposition and assigned to each commander the task he
was to perform. He ordered Nila to meet Prahasta at the eastern gate. Angada
was to meet Mahaparsva and Mahodara
at the southern entrance. At the western entrance Hanuman was to encounter
Indrajit, the master of black magic. "Lakshmana and I shall meet Ravana, the
terror of the world, and we shall direct the assault on Lanka. Sugriva,
Jambavan and Vibhishana shall stay behind with our main army." The army rested for the night on Mount
Suvela. The following morning, standing on the mountaintop, they took a good
look at Lanka. The beautiful city on
the summit of Trikuta seemed as if suspended from the sky. Behind the thick
fortress wall the Rakshasa army stood sentry, looking like another massive
wall. Observing the great and beautiful
buildings in Lanka, Rama was moved to pity. And he said: "Alas! Because one
person, drawn by the noose of time, has committed a sin, all this wealth and
the whole Rakshasa race must now be destroyed. Alas that this scion of a noble
race should forget his real greatness and pull death and destruction on himself
and his people!" Rama continued:
"However, we should now bend all our thoughts to the task before us to win
this battle and destroy Ravana. There will be much confusion in the course of
the battle. The Rakshasas will try to deceive us with many disguises. Let the
Vanaras and bears retain their own shape while fighting. Vibhishana and his
friends alone need assume human forms, like Lakshmana and myself. The Rakshasas, our enemies,
will never take the form of man or monkey. They would think it beneath their
dignity to do so. If we stand together maintaining due order we can know who is
who, slay our enemies and help our
friends." THE Vanara army descended from Mount Suvela and entered the
forest adjoining the city of Lanka. As the army burst in like a flood the
frightened beasts and birds in the forest fled in all directions. Valmiki describes the
scene and the event in his characteristic style. Gazing now from below at the
mountain fortress and the divinely beautiful city constructed by Viswakarma,
Rama was again filled with wonder and exclaimed: "Oh what beauty!
What wealth." The Vanaras, for their
part, noted the Rakshasa warriors' strength and readiness for battle, the thick
walls and mighty engines of defence. From Lanka, all ready
for war, the sounds of drums and trumpets issuing from the city increased the
eagerness of the Vanaras for battle. The army stood in ordered divisions as
instructed by Rama. Looking
at Lanka
he said:
"Lakshmana! Look
at the beauty of the city." His mind turned to
Sita. She would have known by now, he thought, of his arrival with the army and
her depressed heart must have revived. But he spoke nothing of this and engaged
himself in the arrangements for the army. Suddenly, and without
any noise or warning to any one, Sugriva sprang up into the sky and alighted on
the terrace on top of tower in Lanka, where he saw Ravana seated clad in
red royal robes like a thick black cloud seen in the red evening sky. The scar
caused by the tusk of Indra's elephant, shone like a crescent moon on his
chest. "Ravana! You are
caught!" cried Sugriva. "I am a friend and servant of Rama. This is your last
day!" And he sprang on him,
knocked off his crown and gave him a mighty blow. The two wrestled together for
a long time. Both were experts in wrestling. All the tricks of that science
were tried by each. Ravana was at the end
of his resources and so he discarded wrestling and took to magic and Sugriva
seeing this disentangled himself and sprang back to where Rama was. The Vanara leaders, who
saw the son of Surya return, shouted praises and made a great noise of
congratulations at this daring-do, rash and reckless no doubt, but such as
would give the Rakshasas some idea of the mettle of the foes they were up
against. Rama too was glad to
see that Sugriva had returned safe. Observing bleeding wounds on his body, he
said: "Sugriva! I am
filled with wonder and joy at this, your valorous exploit. But what you did was
not right. It is not for a king to rush into risks. How could you suddenly and
without consulting anyone take such a dangerous course?" Sugriva confessed his fault. "True, it was
improper to rush into battle without consulting you. But when I saw the villain
who had insulted Sita I was overwhelmed by anger and forgot my duty." The Vanara army
surrounded Lanka on all sides in the manner laid down by Rama. Rama sent for Angada and said to him: "Prince! Take this
message from me to Ravana. Tell him: 'Great sinner, your end is approaching.
Rama waits at your fortress gate, ready
for battle. Trusting to the boons of the gods, you have become proud and
wicked. You have troubled the world too long and committed too many heinous
sins. The time has now come for the world to be cleansed of you. If you come
out into the open and fight and die in battle, your sins will be washed away
and you will gain a place in the world above as a hero. But if you love your
life, humbly restore Sita to her lord and beg for forgiveness. Then you can
escape with life. Whatever happens, you are fit to be king no longer. The
kingdom of Lanka now belongs to Vibhishana. He is worthy to rule and protect
his people. If you are not willing to surrender and seek safety, then have your
obsequies performed in advance. Bid final farewell to all your dear possessions
in Lanka. Prepare for death. Come out and meet Rama in battle.' Go, Angada, deliver
this message to Ravana." As instructed by Rama,
bold Angada delivered his message: "Listen, Ravana. I am the son of Vali
whom you no doubt remember. I have come as Rama's messenger. The time for your
liberation from sin has come. You may, if you choose, die in battle
and attain the swarga of brave men, cleansed of your foul sins. But if life is
dear to you, you may beg it of Rama after humble surrender, and he never
refuses mercy to a suppliant. If what I have heard about you is true, you will
elect to fight, which means you choose to die. I would advise you to take last
leave of your kinsfolk and complete your obsequies yourself, for none of your
race will be left to perform them. Look your last on lovely Lanka!" Ravana's rage flared up
like a flame. "Seize him, kill him, the villain!" he shouted. At once, two Rakshasas
caught hold of Angada. He rose in the sky carrying these two Rakshasas on
either side of him and then flung them down. He rose higher up and,
coming down kicked and broke off the tower of the king's palace. Then with a
single leap he returned to where Rama was. Dazed by Angada's
exploit, the Rakshasas were filled
with fear, but they did not disclose it. Ravana, too, heaved a heavy sigh at
the sight of the broken turret. He looked on it as a bad omen. As soon as Angada
returned, Rama issued orders to the army to begin the assault on Lanka. The Rakshasa scout,
went and reported to Ravana: "I did my job according to your instructions.
But my efforts were fruitless. They were rough with me and made me feel
thankful to be allowed to come back. Rama, to whom it was sport to slay
Viradha, Kabandha, Khara and others, has arrived with the army of Sugriva. They
have somehow come to know of the place where Sita is held captive. The bears
and monkeys have crossed the sea and are standing ready for battle before
Lanka. The visible earth is covered with this army. There is nothing to be
gained by discussions and debates. Their strife can only be quenched with our
blood, Oh King! Consider well what needs to be done, and
do it." And then he added with
fear, in a suppressed voice: "We may yet escape if Sita is restored."
Ravana was enraged.
"What did you say?" he cried. "Let no one talk to me of Sita
being restored. They do not know my strength who talk like this. I can slay the
gods, the Vanaras, the Gandharvas and the Yakshas. My darts can burn up Indra
himself and Yama too. Wait and see how this wretched fellow Rama and his army
will be destroyed." Ravana believed what he
said. He had dwelt long on his previous achievements and, filled with pride,
had become foolishly obstinate. Then he sent for two of
his ministers and told them: "Scouts have come and reported that a large
army has built a causeway to Lanka and has come over here. This is indeed strange
news, but as yet nothing serious has happened. Go and observe the enemy and
bring me a full and detailed report of their strength." Accordingly, the spies
assumed the shape of Vanaras and coming to Rama's camp and mixing with the
other Vanaras looked all around. But Vibhishana, discovering their disguise,
caught hold of them and produced them before Rama. They pleaded that they were
mere messengers sent by their king and prayed for release. Rama said: "Show
them our army. Let them have a good look around before they return. Give them
free and full opportunity to see our strength. And, Oh you Rakshasa messengers!
When you go back to Ravana, tell him, 'The strength on which you relied when
you carried Sita away is to be put now to the test. Your fortress, your city
and your army will be destroyed, Rama's darts will pierce your body.' Yes,
convey this message to your king." The spies heard Rama's
words and agreed to convey them to their master. Then, impelled perhaps by
force of habit, they said: "Victory to thee!" The Vanara army took
this to be a fine omen. The spies went back to
Ravana and said: "O King! We were discovered by Vibhishana and were in
fear of death but Rama would not let them kill us and he ordered our release.
King! Our enemies are determined. Rama and Lakshmana, Sugriva the Vanara king
and Vibhishana, they are all of one mind. It is difficult for us to prevail against
an army led by such warriors. We have seen Rama, son of Dasaratha. He impressed
us as being by himself strong enough to destroy our city and army. We have seen
the courage of the Vanaras and their eagerness for battle. It is not expedient
to try the fortune of war with them. It seems best to restore Sita to Rama. Do consider what
should be done." Of course the advice
was sincere and well meant, but Ravana could not control his fury. He said:
"Even if the whole world turns against me, I shall not yield to fear. Even
if all the Devas, Gandharvas and Vanaras join together to oppose me, I shall
not return Sita. Because you were thrashed by the enemy, you give me this
cowardly advice. Faint hearts! Where is the foe who can vanquish me?" Having said this, he
went to his high tower and himself surveyed the enemy's strength. His ministers
and officers were with him. Those who had gone out
to reconnoitre described at length the Vanara chiefs and the army behind them.
They recounted the strength of that huge army of bears and monkeys gathered
together from the farflung forests, mountains and river-valleys of the
world. They spoke of their
physical strength and courage, their firm devotion to Rama, their unity and
eagerness to slay the Rakshasas. All those that had gone confirmed this. "Look!" one of them said.
"That majestic and graceful youth with matted locks and bow in hand is
Rama. See how he looks round him with eyes of love and command and how his
glances seem to brighten the quarters and to fill all with devotion and
confidence. The mighty armed warrior near him is his brother Lakshmana, a
peerless bowman and Rama's second soul. And look! Next to him is Sugriva,
wearing Vali's garland. He is the equal of Vali himself. There, next to him you
see Vibhishana, your brother. It is not easy to vanquish such warriors.
Consider well and take all steps necessary for victory in such a
situation." As the ministers
extolled the strength of the enemy, Ravana's rage grew more and more furious.
This is the way of a tyrant. The wise king is never angry with those who bring
him true information or with ministers who give him good advice for his
welfare. But now Ravana's mind was confused. He had no use for true facts or
good advice. His thought followed a
strange line. He judged Rama by his own character. He thought that, if Sita
could be made somehow to yield to him, Rama would return home disgraced and
broken hearted. Hence be resolved to make one last attempt with a different
technique. He sought the help of a
Rakshasa sorcerer. "Oh, Lightning-Tongue!" he said (that was his
name), "prepare a head which looks so exactly like Rama's that it will
deceive Rama's nearest and dearest into believing it is his. When I send for
you, come to the park where Sita is incarcerated and place
it before her." The sorcerer agreed to
do as he was bidden. Then Ravana went once
again to the Asoka Park and tried to beguile Sita. "Your husband and his
army have been destroyed." be said. "My warriors crossed the sea and
attacking Rama and his monkeys, when they were tired and asleep, killed them
all. A warrior has brought the head of your husband for me to see. Why do you
still persist in your obstinacy? Join my wives now and reign as their chief.
Take my advice and become the queen of Lanka." Then he ordered a
Rakshasa to fetch Vidyut-Jihva, the sorcerer. The conjurer came and placed
before Sita a head that looked exactly like Rama's. Startled by the sight,
Sita cried, "So then, is this my fate?" and broke into hopeless
lamentation. Meanwhile, Rama's army
had come close to Lanka and the ministers and generals sent word to Ravana
desiring an immediate interview. Ravana, therefore, had to leave Sita at once
and go to the Assembly Hall. Ravana's presence was
necessary to keep up the sorcerer's illusion. So, when he left the place, the,
apparition of Rama's head vanished like smoke. Sarama, who was a lady of the
royal household posted as a companion of Sita, consoled her explaining the
illusion. She said: "No one has killed Rama. He has reached Lanka at the
head of a great army. They have built a wonderful causeway across the sea and
are all over Lanka like a submerging sea. The Rakshasas are panic-stricken.
Ravana is only trying to
deceive you through sorcery." Sarama went on to
inform Sita: "Several ministers advised Ravana to restore you and save
himself by unconditional submission. But he would not listen to them. 'I may
perish in battle,' he said, 'but I will not bow, a suppliant before Rama. I
shall never return Sita and sue for peace.' Holy lady! No harm can come to you,
Rama will surely triumph and this wicked one
will perish." Even as Sarama was
speaking, the noise of the drums and trumpets sounded by the Vanara army
reached Sita's ears and filled her with joy. She knew that Ravana's end was
near. The Rakshasas in Lanka heard the same noise and trembled in fear. RAVANA as duly informed
that Rama's Vanara host surrounded Lanka like a tumultuous sea. In an angry
mood he went up the tower of his mansion and surveyed the scene. On every side
he saw Vanara warriors who had
armed themselves with trees and boulders. He wondered how he could destroy this
vast invading force. At the same time, Rama
saw the City of Lanka guarded by the Rakshasas. He could see with his mind's
eye the sad figure of Sita held captive within those walls. He ordered an
immediate assault. Shouting: "Victory
to the Vanara king! Victory to Rama and Lakshmana! Polish off the
Rakshasas," the Vanara army rushed on the doomed city. Some hurled big
boulders against the fortress wall and on the city gates. Others armed with
huge trees torn up by the roots rushed on the Rakshasas. Then Ravana sent forth
a big army. He commanded it to go out and slay at once all the Vanaras. They
beat their drums and blew their trumpets till the sky resounded. They fell upon
the Vanaras. The Vanaras used boulders and trees and their own nails and fists
to oppose the Rakshasas. Thousands fell dead on either side. The field was
covered with blood and mangled bodies. Besides this gruesome
engagement, there were many duels between individual warriors. Angada
encountered Indrajit like Rudra against Yama. There was a duel between the
Rakshasa Prajangha and Sampati, one of the companions of Vibhishana. Hanuman
fought a duel with Jambumali, Nila with Nikumbha, Lakshmana with
Viroopaksha, and so on. The chariot and horses
of Indrajit were destroyed and Angada received a blow from the mace of
Indrajit. Jambumali hit Hanuman with his weapon and Hanuman smashed his chariot
to pieces. The Rakshasas concentrated their attack on Rama, and fell in
thousands under his arrows. Vidyunmali aimed his
darts at Sushena. The latter smashed with a rock the chariot of the Rakshasa.
Vidyunmali jumped out with his mace and attacked Sushena who crushed him to
death with a rock. In this way many warriors fought and many died. The battle raged
throughout the day. And at night the Rakshasas would not stop fighting. The
battle became fierce. Blood flowed in streams. There was terrible slaughter on
both sides. Angada attacked Indrajit, slew his horses and charioteer and
smashed the chariot. The Vanaras admired the skill and strength of their prince
and raised shouts of joy. All the warriors in the
army praised the Vanara prince's prowess. Indrajit lost his temper along with
his chariot and resorted to sorcery. Making himself invisible he aimed many
darts at Rama and Lakshmana who were
greatly harassed at this attack from a foe whose whereabouts no one could
discover and who seemed to shower deadly missiles from all sides. Then Indrajit shot
serpent darts at Rama and Lakshmana. Bound by them, they could not move and lay
helpless on the battlefield. They looked at one another, wondering what to do. Lakshmana's grief at
Rama's plight was great. As for the Vanaras they stood round in mournful
bewilderment. Indrajit congratulated
the Rakshasa army and returned to the city. Exulting in his victory, he went to
his father and announced that the story of Rama and Lakshmana was over. Ravana
was beside himself with joy. He embraced his son and praised his prowess. The Vanara warriors
wounded and downcast, seeing Rama and Lakshmana laid low, concluded that all
was over. Vibhishana, who saw Sugriva standing helpless and forlorn, put
courage in the Vanara king. "It is foolish to lose hope," he said.
"Look at Rama and Lakshmana. Their faces are still bright. They are not
dead. Be not afraid. Soon they will recover from this swoon and resume fighting." The chief took heart
and did everything to save the army from panic. The ranks were reformed with
their respective chiefs. Meanwhile
Ravana had it proclaimed in Lanka that Rama and Lakshmana had been slain by
Indrajit. He sent for his women and said to them: "Go at once and inform
Sita that Rama is no more; that the two princes lie dead on the battlefield and
the Vanara army is destroyed. Also, to convince her finally, take her in the
Pushpaka Vimana and show her the battlefield from above. Let the obstinate one
see for herself what has happened. Seeing that she has now no one to look to
besides myself, she will turn to me." The Rakshasis did as
they were told. From the Vimana Sita saw the field of battle. She saw Rama and
Lakshmana lying motionless on the ground with their weapons scattered by their
side. She was filled with grief. She thought that it was now all over and
cried: "To this end has fate brought me, giving the lie to the predictions
of saints and astrologers that I would live as a happy wife and mother and a
glorious queen. Poor Kausalya! Who shall console you now. Like one who, having,
crossed the ocean, gets drowned in a little pond, these warriors, who had done
so much, lie dead now. Oh princes! How did your
divine weapons fail you. Alas,
all-powerful is destiny!" When Sita was thus in
the desperation of utter sorrow, Trijata, her Rakshasi companion, who was
looking closely at the motionless figures of the princes, suddenly burst out:
"Dear Sita, there is no cause for grief. Neither your husband nor
Lakshmana is dead. Look at their faces. Is this how the dead look? They are
bound by a charmed weapon and are unconscious for a while. Look at the orderly
array of the army. Have courage. Be not frightened." Her words fell like
nectar in Sita's ears. The Vimana returned to Lanka and Sita was taken back to
the Asoka Vana. In time the force of
the arrows charged with sorcery weakened. Rama opened his eyes and sat up.
Though sorely wounded, he recovered his strength by an exercise of will power
and sat up. He looked at his brother lying on the ground and cried out:
"Alas! What is the use of victory now for me? Why did I bring you, dear
brother, with me to the forest and get you killed like this? How can I return
without you to Ayodhya? You used ever to console me in my sorrow. You are
silent now when I face the greatest sorrow. How can I survive you? Where in the
world is a warrior like you? One can replace anything lost, but
where can I find anyone to fill your place? Like Kartaviryarjuna with his
thousand hands, you with your two hands discharged showers of arrows and slew
the Rakshasas. How could death come to you? You came with me into the forest,
and now I shall repay my debt to you by joining with you to the abode of Yama.
I confess defeat. The word I gave to Vibhishana cannot be fulfilled. Oh Vanara king!
Return to Kishkindha with all your warriors. You have worked hard for me. You
have fulfilled all the duties of friendship. You have my gratitude. But there
is no use in more of you dying. Go back to your city. Let me perish here."
Thus did Rama lament in helpless grief. Then Vibhishana arrived
there, mace in hand. Seeing his huge dark form, the Vanaras imagined it was
Indrajit again and started to fly. In another part of the
battlefield Sugriva and Angada were discussing. "Why are the Vanaras thus beginning
to scatter in fear? What has happened?" asked Sugriva. Angada answered,
"Do you not know that Rama and Lakshmana are lying wounded?" Sugriva said: "It
is not that. Look at the way they are running helter-skelter. There must be
some other reason for it." Then he learnt that the
Vanaras, who had suffered at the hands of Indrajit, mistook Vibhishana for him
and were frightened. He sent Jambavan to rally the troops by disabusing them of
this fear. Vibhishana
looked at
Rama and
Lakshmana. When he saw
them wounded, covered with arrows all over, and unable to fight, he broke down
crying: "It is all over. What more is there to do?" Sugriva turned to
Sushena, his uncle, and said: "Take Rama and Lakshmana to Kishkindha. I
shall kill Ravana, redeem Sita, and bring her
there." Sushena answered:
"There are herbs which can heal the wounds of the princes and restore them
to health. Some of us know where these herbs are to be found. Here is Hanuman.
If you send him, he will fetch the herbs." As they were speaking,
the sea and air were churned up by a mighty wind and the great bird Garuda
burst into view. When Garuda arrived,
the serpent darts that covered Rama and Lakshmana disappeared instantaneously. They
were all venomous serpents which had become arrows through the magic of
Indrajit and had bound the princes' bodies. When their inveterate
and dreaded enemy Garuda appeared, they took flight. Then Garuda gently stroked
the bodies of Rama and Lakshmana and restored to them their full strength. The
wounds were all healed and they rose up, stronger and more radiant than before.
And Rama asked:
"Who are you, my benefactor?" He did not know that he was Vishnu and
Garuda was his own bird on which he always rode. Garuda answered,
"I am your good friend, and old companion. Glory is yours! Let me go now.
When the battle is ended, we shall know each other better." Saying thus
Hamsa bird flew away. Seeing Rama and
Lakshmana fully recovered and ready for battle, the Vanaras were enthusiastic
once again and resumed attacking Ravana's fortress. RAVANA from within his
palace was surprised to hear, borne on the wind, the jubilant acclamations of
the Vanaras, who he thought must then be mourning their vanquished leaders and
slaughtered comrades. He turned to the Rakshasas standing beside him and asked:
"What has happened to make the Vanaras so happy? Something strange must
have occurred. Go and find out what it
is." Some Rakshasas climbed
up and looked over the wall. Returning, they said to Ravana with fear and
trembling: "King! The Vanara army, led by Sugriva, is attacking the
fortress with spirit. Rama and Lakshmana are both alive. Like elephants that
have broken their bonds, Rama and Lakshmana have shaken off the naga darts with
which Indrajit bound them and have rejoined the army and are raging about the
field like hungry lions. The darts of Indrajit have proved
futile." Ravana's face fell. He
was filled with anxiety and said: "I marvel at what you say. No one till
now has escaped these darts. If those weapons were powerless against these men,
we are in deed in danger." Then with an access of
anger, he shouted: "Listen, Dhumraksha! Why should I worry when you are
here? Get together all the men you want. Go at once and destroy these two
little men and return quickly." Dhumraksha was indeed
happy and proud to be thus singled out by the king. He took a party of warriors
and, issuing out of the fort, came into contact with the group who, under
Hanuman, were attempting to enter the western gate. In the battle that ensued
there was great slaughter on both sides. In the end Dhumraksha was slain by
Hanuman. A few Rakshasas escaped into the fortress, but most of them lay dead
without. News of this
discomfiture filled Ravana with uncontrollable fury. He hastily summoned
Vajradamshtra and said: "Oh bravest of warriors, go without delay and
destroy these wicked fellows." Vajradamshtra bowed low
before the king and followed by a mighty army sallied out of the southern gate
and encountered Angada. The Rakshasas under the
leadership of Vajradamshtra waged grim battle and slew countless Vanaras. And
yet the Vanara army stood firm and would not withdraw. Armed with boulders and
trees, they killed innumerable Rakshasas. On both sides the fighting was
intense. In the end, Angada and the Rakshasa chief fought hand to hand for a
long while. Vajradamshtra was slain, gallantly fighting to the last,
and the Rakshasas fled in confusion. The Vanaras surrounded Angada and shouted in
exultation. Then Ravana ordered
Prahasta: "Send Akampana and let him have the most terrible Rakshasas to
accompany him. Let them go and slay Rama, Sugriva and the Vanara army. None can
resist Akampana's might and skill." Accordingly, Prahasta
sent an army of Rakshasas under the leadership of Akampana. True to his name,
Akampana was firm and immovable in battle. He had chosen his weapons and his
warriors carefully. As he advanced, bad omens met him. But neither he nor his
followers regarded them. The noise of their challenge rose above that of the
ocean. A great battle ensued.
Blood flowed in streams. Dust rose and cut off the sun plunging the earth in
portentous gloom. The slaughter on both sides was enormous. Kumuda, Nala,
Mainda and Dwivida attacked Akampana who defended himself with courage. The battle went against
the Vanara warriors and they were about to take flight when Hanuman arrived
bringing courage and hope. Akampana sent forth a shower of arrows at him but
Hanuman took no notice and lifting a huge boulder and swinging it above his
head hurled it at Akampana. The Rakshasa's darts intercepted the stone and
reduced it to powder. Then Hanuman grew in
size and shone with blinding brightness like the sun and uprooting a big tree
attacked the Rakshasa with it and slew him. The Rakshasa army was smashed like
a forest in an earthquake and the survivors fled in panic from the fatal field
that was strewn thick with the dead, and spread the dismal news in Lanka. The
Vanaras surrounded Hanuman and uproariously expressed their admiration. Ravana's spirits fell
when he received the news of Akampana's death but he found strength in anger
and desperation and began thinking of new plans. He went round the defences of
the city again and took counsel with Prahasta, the commander-in chief. "We must break
this Vanara siege. We should issue at the head of the whole army and slay the
Vanara chiefs. Myself, Kumbhakarna, yourself, Indrajit or Nikumbha, one of us
five should take up the responsibility of leading the army out of the fortress.
Are we to be afraid of monkeys? Why! They used to flee in terror on merely
hearing the roar of a Rakshasa. They do not know the science of war. They are
unskilled brutes. How have they managed to stand all our attacks?" Prahasta answered
humbly: "Things have happened as we foresaw. We respectfully submitted
long ago that it would be best to restore Sita and make peace. But I am bound
to obey you. I am prepared to sacrifice my life, my family, my all for your
sake. I shall lead this sortie, if such is your
pleasure." A huge army was
collected and everything was got ready for a supreme endeavor, including the
solemnisation of special rites and sacrifices.
Then Prahasta marched out
to the beating of drums. Evil omens presented themselves. But he disregarded
them. Seeing the great army
led by Prahasta issuing out of the eastern gate of the fortress, the Vanaras
roared with joy and prepared for battle.
Like moths rushing at a flame, the Rakshasas fell on the Vanara army. "Look," said
Rama, "there comes out a Rakshasa at the head of an enormous army. Who is
he?" Vibhishana replied:
"It is Prahasta, the commander-in-chief of Ravana. A third of the imperial
army is his to command." Then ensued a grim
battle between the Vanaras armed with boulders and trees and the Rakshasa
equipped with swords, spears, bows and axes. Exchanging showers of stones for
arrows and grappling in death grips at close quarters, both sides fought
fiercely, deluging the field with blood.
Prahasta's followers,
Narantaka, Mahanada, Kumbhahanu and others were opposed by Dwivida, Durmukha
and Jambavan and stain. There was a prolonged battle between Prahasta and Nila.
At last Prahasta, armed with a massive mace of iron rushed towards Nila. Nila,
for his part, uprooted a big boulder and with it smashed Prahasta's head
killing him on the spot. The Rakshasa warriors
fled in all directions. After this great victory, Nila went to Rama, and
Lakshmana and, bowing low, told them what happened. Rama and Lakshmana praised
his prowess and congratulated him. Some of those who fled
from the battle carried to the Rakshasa King the news that Nila, son of Agni,
had slain Prahasta. Ravana was beside himself with rage and grief. "My
warrior chief," he said, "who could vanquish Indra and his host of
gods, has been killed by these Vanaras. We cannot treat this lightly. We must
destroy Rama and the monkey host." So saying, Ravana got into his chariot
and went forward like Rudra, the destroyer. Seated in his radiant chariot and
issuing from the city, Ravana beheld the Vanara army and heard their uproar
which resounded like the ocean. Seeing a new Rakshasa
army issuing out, the Vanaras stood ready to receive them with stones and trees
in hand. Vibhishana pointed out the Rakshasa warriors one by one to Rama.
"There seated in the chariot and shining like the rising sun, is
Indrajit." And so he went on from one renowned warrior to another till he
came to Ravana. "There, in the big chariot, radiant like the sun, sits the
tenheaded Ravana." Rama beheld the
majestic and glowing form with interest and pity. "A great warrior no
doubt," he said, "but he is so wicked that he has to be
slain." Ravana attacked
innumerable Vanaras and laid them low. Nila opposed Ravana gallantly but was
felled by a fire-dart. Hanuman attacked Ravana with violence and the two fought
an equal battle for a while but Ravana could not be subdued and wrought great
havoc in the Vanara host. There was a fight
between Lakshmana and Ravana. Lakshmana fell down unconscious but Hanuman
intervened and carried Lakshmana away to Rama.
Then Rama, riding on
Hanuman's shoulders, gave battle to Ravana. The Rakshasa king was sorely
wounded. His olden crown was broken. So was his chariot. Deprived of every
weapon, he stood before Rama. "You may go
now," said Rama. "You have fought well today. Go away and rest and
come back tomorrow, refreshed and with weapons." And Ravana retreated
shamefacedly to the city. WHEN Ravana returned
humbled and dejected, the gods rejoiced foreseeing the speedy end of their
troubles. Ravana entered the fortress, ashamed and anxious. After deliberating
a while, he recovered his courage and ordered his sleeping brother Kumbhakarna
to be roused. As the result of a
curse, Kumbhakarna used to sleep for months together and he had gone to sleep
just a few days before the events last narrated. Ravana asked his ministers to
spare no efforts to rouse Kumbhakarna at once and get him ready for battle. "All my penances
have proved futile. It looks as though the prophecy of the rishis will be
fulfilled," thus said Ravana to himself, but rooted in his determination
to fight to the last he issued orders as if he were certain of ultimate success:
"Let the warriors guard the fortress on all sides. My brother is sound
asleep. He sleeps blissfully, unaware of my anxiety. He will not wake up for
months together if left alone. It is only nine days since he started sleeping.
Rouse him at once. If he wakes up and goes to the battle, the enemy will be
surely scattered. Who can stand before my Kumbhakarna? If he wakes up and
opposes my enemies in battle, I need have no fear." Ravana's officers and
their servants accordingly went to Kumbhakarna's palace. They knew that as soon
as he opened his eyes, he would be rapaciously hungry. So they first prepared
and piled up mountains of food for him. Then they made a great din beating
drums and blowing conches. Many Rakshasas
exhausted themselves pushing and shaking the huge body of the Rakshasa. The
noise that they made with their shouts and drums and trumpets filled the sky
and frightened all the birds and beasts of Lanka, but Kumbhakarna in his sleep
heard nothing. The Rakshasas worked hard at rousing him. They made elephants
walk on his body. They took cudgels and belabored him. At last his eyelids
opened slightly and as one might brush away a mosquito while still asleep he
pushed them all aside and yawned.
Kumbhakarna was thus disturbed in his sleep which otherwise would have
been months long. But before be could
find out the cause for this, he began to eat and drink. The heaps of meat and
the pots of blood and wine kept ready for him were finished. When his hunger
was somewhat mitigated the Rakshasas approached him to acquaint him with the
situation. Ravana's minister
Yupaksha said: "My Lord, we have been defeated in battle and stand in
grave danger. You will remember the quarrel about Sita. The Vanaras with Rama
and Lakshmana have arrived and are breaking through the fort. They have
slaughtered and defeated our army which never knew defeat before. Lanka is
surrounded by the Vanara host as by an ocean. Ravana himself went to battle but
he retired from the field having had the worst of it. It was our good luck that
he escaped with life." Hearing this,
Kumbhakarna was beside himself with rage. "This very instant I shall go
and destroy this enemy. I shall kill the Vanaras and drink the blood of Rama
and Lakshmana. After finishing this first, I shall go and wait on the
king." The ministers were
delighted to hear this furious speech but pleaded with Kumbhakarna that he
should first see the King and take counsel with him as to what should be
done. Kumbhakarna agreed,
washed his face and then strode in sombre majesty to the hall of the king of
Lanka. The Rakshasas standing
on the royal highway felt new courage and joy as they saw him pass and bowed
low before him and showered flowers on him. He entered the palace and stood in
the presence of Ravana. Rejoicing at the arrival of his peerless brother,
Ravana stepped down from his throne and embraced him. "What can I do for
you, brother?" asked Kumbhakarna. "Why did you get my sleep broken?
What makes you afraid? Tell me who is tired of life and wants to be turned into
a corpse!" "Brother! You do
not know what has happened," said Ravana. "You were lost in sleep.
The man Rama has become a real menace to me. He has built a dam across the sea
we considered inviolate and now the Vanara army surrounds Lanka like another
sea. Our warriors who sortied out and met them have been defeated and almost
annihilated. It is for you now to save us from destruction and I know you can
do it. You have put the gods to rout. I know your love for me. I know your
keenness and your courage in battle. Go at once and annihilate
these enemies and help us in our need and save Lanka." Kumbhakarna, when he
heard Ravana's words of anxiety, was moved at first to fury against the enemy
but soon he remembered the whole story and Ravana's vainglorious confidence in
his invincibility and that made him smile a little bitterly. He said: "Excuse
me, my brother. The warning we gave you when you consulted us went unheeded.
Our fears have come true. You rejected the good advice we gave you. Now, you
suffer the consequences of your error and your sin. You brought away Sita. What
else can happen when, driven by lust, one acts without thinking. If you so
desired, and you had the confidence and strength, it would have been wise first
to have slain Rama and Lakshmana and then seized her. You have done things
without due thought and in the wrong order. When one acts without seeking or
regarding the advice of wise and faithful friends and kinsmen, it is no wonder
if he runs into danger and ruin. Did you not know that these things must
follow? Should not a king understand who gives him good advice and who
bad?" Ravana did not like all
this lecturing. He had no use now for lessons in ethics or politics. His face
flushed with anger but he controlled himself and said: "Brother! The time
is now past for such talk. What I need now is not your criticism but your
prowess. What is done has been done and it is useless discussing whether it was
just or unjust, wise or unwise. The question now is what we should do in our
present predicament. It is your duty now to use your strength and skill and ward
off the present disasters resulting from past errors. He is a true friend and a
true kinsman who helps one out of the trouble that has been brought on oneself,
maybe because of folly. If indeed you care for me, the time is now to show it
by helping me instead of commenting on my conduct. I depend on your strength
and prowess. Out of your infinite courage, give me comfort." Kumbhakarna was moved
by this appeal. "Have no more care," he said. "I am your brother
and can never forsake you. Rest assured that Rama and Lakshmana are dead. I
shall scatter and slay their monkey army. I shall fling at your feet the head
of Rama and you shall see the Vanara King's blood flowing on the battlefield.
Rama can only approach you, if he does, over my dead body and that is not
possible, for no one can vanquish or slay me." Kumbhakarna's pride
swelled. "No matter who the enemy is," be cried, "I shall
destroy him. Be he Yama or Surya or Agni, I shall eat them all up." In
this mood he rushed out to the field of battle. The sudden waking from
deep slumber had completely upset his temper, but when his consuming hunger and
thirst had been appeased, he had recovered his balance and spoke wisdom to
Ravana. Again seeing Ravana's plight, fraternal affection and pity made him forget
everything else. Ravana was pleased.
"O my true warrior! O my brother! What a friend in need I have in
Kumbhakarna!" he exclaimed, confident that Kumbhakarna would return
triumphant and he now felt like one recovering from a mortal sickness. Kumbhakarna armed with
his great spear was about to go to battle alone, but Ravana stopped him and
sent an army to aid him. He covered his brother's big body with jewels and
garments and blessed him saving:
"Go, my hero! Destroy the
enemies and return
victorious." Tall and mighty-limbed
Kumbhakarna, covered with shining jewels, was radiant like Trivikrama himself.
He circumambulated his brother, bowed and marched out spear in hand at the head
of a great army, amidst the plaudits of the Rakshasas, and under a shower of
flowers and good wishes. As the huge form of
Kumbhakarna, a giant even among the Rakshasas, was seen stepping across the
fortress-wall like Yama at the end of Time or some great natural cataclysm, the
Vanaras were frightened and started fleeing in all directions. With great
difficulty their chiefs rallied them and put them in battle formation. 72. IS
THIS NARAYANA HIMSELF? RALLIED by Angada, the
Vanaras recovered courage, reformed in battle order and prepared to receive Kumbhakarna. They
hurled rocks at him and dealt heavy blows with trees plucked by the roots. But
he disregarded them all and with a smile on his face went on dispatching the
Vanaras with a methodic cruelty that was most terrifying. Some of them retreated
to the newly built dam, while others tried to save themselves by concealing on
the shore of the sea and the forests. Once again Angada had
to encourage the Vanara chiefs and warriors and get them to reform and attack
Kumbhakarna. Dwivida, Hanuman, Nila, Vrishabha, Sarabha and other
chiefs attacked Kumbhakarna fiercely. But he disregarded them all and continued
his ruthless slaughter of the Vanaras. Angada himself received a blow, as a
result of which he fainted and fell on the earth. Sugriva was struck down.
Picking up the unconscious Vanara King, Kumbhakarna carried him with joy
towards Lanka. The Rakshasa army rejoiced greatly and raised a triumphant
uproar. Kumbhakarna wished to make a present of the captive Vanara King to his
brother Ravana. As Kumbhakarna went
through the royal highway carrying in triumph the unconscious Vanara king, the
Rakshasas and their women-folk, standing on the terraces, showered flowers and
poured sandal paste. This incidentally revived Sugriva. He opened his eyes and wondered
where he was and what had happened. He soon understood everything. He then began to bite
with his teeth and tear with his nails the ears and nose of the Rakshasa who
was carrying him. Worried thus Kumbhakarna threw him down intending to crush
him with his feet. But when he was once on the ground, Sugriva jumped and flew
off across the sky and arrived at the place where Rama was. Hanuman was sure that
Sugriva would somehow come back. Foreseeing this escape of Sugriva, Hanuman had
rallied the Vanara ranks and prepared them again for battle. Grim and gruesome with
torn nose and ears, Kumbhakarna, like a great blood-red evening cloud, and
raging like Death at the end of Time, returned to the battlefield with a huge
iron mace in his hand. None could now stop
Kumbhakarna. He began to kill and devour the Vanaras. The whole army began to
disappear in this way. They tried to deter him by climbing on his mountain-like
body and tearing at it with nails and teeth but without effect for he shook
them off as if they were flies. None of the Vanara chiefs could hold him. Lakshmana tried with
his arrows to obstruct his progress but the Rakshasa passed him by and rushed
forward to face Rama himself. For a long time Rama
kept aiming powerful darts at the Rakshasa. The arrow that pierced the seven
sal trees and the adamantine body of Vali was powerless against Kumbhakarna. Sending sharper and
stronger arrows, Rama wounded the arms and the feet of the Rakshasa, but
nothing short of death would stop him. His legs were cut off, but legless he
moved about on his stumps and went on with demoniac ferocity, fighting his
brother's battle. At last, Rama cut off
his head with an arrow. The severed head,
carried by the force of Rama's arrow, rose into the sky and red with blood fell
in Lanka like a hill with its forests aflame. The news was carried to
Ravana. "Your brother
Kumbhakarna, terrible like all-destroying Death at the end of Time, has entered
the heaven of slaughtered heroes! He
killed thousands of Vanaras and for a long time kept the army of Rama and
Lakshmana in fear of destruction. But at last he was, slain by Rama himself,
and deprived of arms and legs his mutilated body lies like a mighty tree
disfigured by a forest fire. A part has fallen into the sea. Another big part
blocks the entrance to the fortress. The severed head, flying across the sky,
has dropped in the city and is lying there. Your beloved brother is gone to Heaven!"
When the Rakshasas told
this tale, Ravana felt that his own life had left him. He swooned. After recovering consciousness, he cried in
grief and anger: "Ah mighty warrior! How could you go to Yama's world
leaving me behind? My right hand is cut off! How did Rama kill you, you whom in
the whole world no enemy dared approach? I see the gods rejoicing in their
heavens at your fall. The Vanara are dancing with delight. Of what use is this
kingdom to me? Why should I cling to life when my dear brother has left me?
Yes, I have to torture and slay the man who killed this dear brother of mine!" Then with sudden and
futile remorse he wailed: "Alas! Why did I refuse to listen to
Vibhishana?" Trisiras and his other
sons tried to console Ravana. "What is the use
of lamentation" they argued. "You who have secured from Brahma
strength and armor, why should you fear or lose yourself in grief?" And
Trisiras himself set out for the battlefield. Many others eagerly followed him,
riding on elephants and chariots. A great battle ensued.
Narantaka, riding on horseback spear in hand, wrought havoc among the Vanaras
and was proceeding towards Sugriva. Angada opposed him and killed him and his
horse. Likewise, Devantaka and
Trisiras were slain by Hanuman, and Mahodara by Nila. Atikaya fell a prey to
Lakshmana's arrows. But before they died, these four had fought like four Yamas
and caused enormous loss to the Vanara forces.
When Ravana heard that
Atikaya was dead, he was be wildered. "This is
incredible! These my warriors, firm and mighty like mountains and irresistible
like the ocean, have been slain one by one by these enemies. Those, who till
now have never known defeat, have been defeated and lie dead in the
battlefield. There stand my foes who have broken out of the serpent
entanglements with which my peerless son Indrajit had bound them. I cannot
explain the marvel of this man Rama's strength. May it be that he is Narayana
himself?" Thus bewildered, Ravana
lost heart. He wanted that the enemy forces should not enter the fortress and
in particular should not enter the Asoka Vana. He supervised the defences again
and returned to the palace, downcast and forlorn. INDRAJIT comforted his
father. "Why should you worry when I am here alive?" he said and
gathered an army, and with it made another sortie. He swooped down on the
Vanara forces and killed and wounded thousands of them. They were helpless
against his fury. The Brahmastra of Indrajit was effective against even Rama
and Lakshmana who were tied up by it. They lay unconscious on the ground and
the Rakshasa prince went straight to his anxious father with the glad news of
this achievement. Vibhishana rallied the
Vanara leaders who had scattered in all directions and put hope and courage
into them. Jambavan, who was more
dead than alive, moved slowly among the Vanaras, inquiring: "Is Hanuman
alive?" "Yes, I am
here," said Hanuman, and bowed low before Jambavan. "My son,"
said the old Vanara, "proceed northwards at once across the sea to the
Himalaya range. Between the Rishabha and Kailasa peaks, there is the Hill of Herbs.
In that hilltop are four medicinal plants. If you bring them here quickly, Rama
and Lakshmana and the Vanara army will recover consciousness. Their wounds will
be healed and they will fight again. Do this without loss of time. Only you can
do this." Accordingly, Hanuman
sprang up into the air and moved fast. He reached the hill described by the
venerable Jambavan and as he could not identify the plants, he carried the
whole hill and returned with it to Lanka. Even with the approach
of the Sanjivi hill, Rama and Lakshmana and the Vanaras felt the darts
slip off their bodies. Their wounds healed and they became strong and stood
up. The battle was resumed.
Taking counsel with Rama, Sugriva now chose a few Vanaras and ordered them to
enter Lanka and set fire to
the city. Towards midnight they
entered the city with torches. They attacked and overpowered the sentry
and set fire to the palaces and turrets of Lanka. Houses in their thousands
were reduced to ashes. The proud city was reduced to a mass of ruin. Valmiki describes this
incident in detail. It reads very much like the destruction of cities in modern
battles with which we are now familiar. Seeing Lanka being
burnt down by the Vanaras, Ravana was furious and sent to the battlefield
Kumbha and Nikumbha, the sons of Kumbhakarna, together with Yupaksha and other
Rakshasa warriors. After another terrible
battle, Kumbha was slain by Sugriva and Nikumbha by Hanuman. Makaraksha, son of
Khara, who opposed Rama, fell to his fiery arrows. Many more mighty Rakshasas
perished. Then, at the bidding of Ravana, Indrajit went once again to the
battle. He rose into the sky
and became in visible. Thus he fought again unseen by the Vanaras. Indrajit, by
his necromancy, created a maya-Sita and, putting her in a chariot, took her
before the Vanara army and seemingly killed her in their presence. Deceived and horrified
by this, the Vanaras asked themselves: "What good is it now to continue
this war?" They left the field and went to Rama with the heartrending
news. As a result of this
trick, Indrajit gained time to perform an asuric sacrifice. Rama and Lakshmana,
like the Vanara warriors, believed that Sita was dead and were lost in grief.
They were completely bewildered and helpless when Vibhishana came and inquired
what had happened. He listened to their story. Then he
said: "You have been
deceived. Never would Ravana allow Sita to be killed. This is only a trick of
sorcery. Indrajit tries to defeat you through magic. Having given up all hope
of achieving success by normal means, he has gone to perform an asuric
sacrifice of great power. If he completes it, we cannot vanquish him. We should
therefore go and obstruct the sacrifice. Let Lakshmana go at once and mar
Indrajit's purpose." Accepting
this advice,
Rama sent
Lakshmana who was ac
companied by Hanuman and other
Vanaras, besides Vibhishana. They went to the spot where Indrajit was about to
offer oblations to evil spirits. The sacrifice was interrupted and a long and
fierce battle ensued. Ascending his chariot, the son of Ravana sent forth his
arrows. Standing on Hanuman,
Lakshmana did the same. As they were well matched in strength and skill, the
battle lasted long. The chariot of Indrajit was destroyed in the course of the
combat and both the heroes stood on the ground and continued the battle. At last, Lakshmana used
the Indra-astra spell and uttering the name of Rama discharged the fatal arrow.
The head of Indrajit was severed and fell to the ground and as it fell, it
shone like fire. The Devas and Gandharvas showered flowers from the heavens. Lakshmana then went to
Rama. He was wounded all over and bleeding. He walked slowly, supported by
Jambavan and Hanuman. Rama had already heard the news of the death of
Indrajit. "Lakshmana!"
he cried, "this is the end of the Rakshasa race. You have achieved it." Lakshmana modestly
stood back but Rama seated him on his lap, kissed his head and gave vent to his
joy. "You have
performed a mighty deed, impossible for anyone else. You have deprived Ravana
of his right hand. Who in the world can equal you or Vibhishana or Hanuman? I
have no more care. You have vanquished the conqueror of Indra. I feel I have
already recovered Sita." The news reached Ravana
that Indrajit had been slain by Lakshmana. When he heard that Vibhishana helped
Lakshmana in slaying Indrajit, his grief and anger swelled and the tears he
shed burnt where they fell. And from his mouth issued fire. "Alas, my son! O
peerless warrior! O hero! Vanquisher of the great Indra! Has Death won after
all? Have you entered the heaven of heroes? But I should not grieve," he
said. But the father's heart
would not thus be denied, and again he cried: "What! Is Indrajit gone? The
world is now empty for me. Oh son, you have left your mother Mandodari and your
dear wife and myself heart-broken and disconsolate. Nothing remains to us now
but revenge and despair. It is best to
kill Sita, the cause of all this tragedy. My son killed the mayaSita. Now I
shall kill the real Sita her self." So saying he rushed out, sword in
hand, intending to do it. Some fierce Rakshasas, seeing Ravana issuing out in
anger, applauded him with joy; but the minister Suparsva was horrified and
appealed to Ravana's better sense and what was due to himself as a man and a
king. "King!" he
cried, "how dare you think such a thought? How can you do it? Oh, Lord of
ten heads! Brother of Kubera! Are you thinking to kill a woman? Are you going
to incur this shame and sin? Can you thus be tempted by anger? You have
mastered the Vedas and all the sciences. You have performed many penances. How
can you end up with such a thing as this? Who is equal to you? Let us direct
our anger against Rama. It will be new moon tomorrow. Gather all your armies,
issue out of Lanka, slay Rama and Lakshmana and achieve victory. Then take
Sita. Put on the armor you have secured from Brahma. Ascend your chariot and go to
battle." Ravana felt that
Suparsva was right and his words were good. Seated on his throne, he was silent
for a while, lost in profound meditation. Then he addressed the commanders with
folded hands, saying: "Go now with all
your strength and slay Rama. If even you fail, I shall go myself and destroy
him." Never before had he
been so courteous and humble when dealing with his officers. Adversity had
taught him this lesson. Mounted on chariots that shone like the hills on the
evening horizon and on the back of great elephants and beautiful horses,
Ravana's army went in full force for the great battle. The Vanaras tore up
rocks and trees and attacked the Rakshasas fiercely. The Rakshasas returned the
attack with equally grim ferocity. The Vanaras jumped
about everywhere and worked havoc among the Rakshasas, their chariots and
animals. Each of the Rakshasas was surrounded by many Vanaras and slain. The Rakshasas too did
not spare the Vanaras whom they killed in tens of thousands. Rama bent his bow and
sent showers of arrows against the Rakshasas who destroyed their army like a
raging fire. Warriors only saw their companions fall. They could not see Rama
because of the shower of arrows. Their fear conjured up a multitude of Ramas,
who dealt death in all directions. Countless elephants and
horses perished. Thousands of chariots were broken. The Rakshasa army was
destroyed, all but a handful who fled into Lanka. The Devas, Gandharvas
and Siddhas sang the praise of Rama from above. In Lanka, the Rakshasa women
clung to each other and lamented loudly that Ravana's folly should have brought
this great calamity on them. THERE was wailing in
every house in Lanka. In Ravana's breast grief, shame and anger seethed like a
raging sea. He had so far sent his commanders and men in detachments, and, brave
as they were, they had been destroyed in detail. This had been the result of
overweening confidence in his invincibility and contempt for the enemy, most of
whom fought with no better weapons than sticks and stones. But repeated
reverses had brought him no wisdom. He had not even
disputed the passage of the sea but allowed the enemy a lodgment in his island.
But negligent and reckless as a general, he was brave and finally resolving to
fight himself and with his sole strength to destroy the foe, he set out. He had
full faith in his prowess and in the efficacy of the boons he had secured and
he went forth with confidence mounted on his divine chariot that was drawn by
eight horses and filled with all manner of weapons accompanied by a division of
Rakshasa chariot-warriors. As Ravana issued out of
Lanka, the sun seemed obscured by an unpredicted eclipse, and foul birds and
beasts of the night roared at large with weird illomened cries; but
disregarding it all, Ravana drove out to battle accompanied by Virupaksha,
Mahodara and Mahaparsva. The mighty Rakshasa
warriors who followed Ravana were mowed down by a deadly flight of arrows and
chunks of rocks and presently Ravana found himself facing Lakshmana, who tried
to oppose his further progress. Forcing his way past Lakshmana, Ravana
precipitated himself against Rama with all the pent-up fury of hatred and
revenge and strove to overwhelm him with a spate of arrows. Rama easily baffled
these arrows with his own and struck Ravana repeatedly, without however being
able to penetrate his armor. Thus they fought, these supreme bowmen, each bent
on slaying the other and using increasingly potent missiles of secret power,
while the gods in heaven looked on with marvel and admiration. Neither hero had
met such an opponent before and on both sides admiration was mingled with
wrath. Rama pierced with his
darts every limb of Ravana. And yet he did not fall. Then Lakshmana and
Vibhishana together attacked Ravana. Furious with his brother and determined to
kill him, Ravana flung at him a powerful weapon. But intercepted by a dart of
Lakshmana it broke into two and fell on the ground like a burning brand. Once
again, Ravana aimed another mighty sakti against Vibhishana. This too Lakshmana
intercepted. Then
Ravana hurled a sakti at Lakshmana crying:
"Now you are dead!" Under its impact
Lakshmana fell down unconscious on the ground. Not observing this,
Rama went on keeping up his pressure against Ravana. While the battle raged
between the two, the Vanara leaders took counsel and sent Hanuman once again to
the Hill of Herbs to save the life of Lakshmana. For the second time,
Hanuman flew northwards and, not wasting time searching for the plants,
returned with the whole mountain. Lakshmana got well again and resumed his part
in the battle. Meanwhile, Matali
brought his master Indra's chariot to the battlefield for the use of Rama. "Indra, king of
gods, has sent this for your use," said Matali. "Be pleased to ascend
this chariot and destroy Ravana, the enemy of the gods!" Rama bowed to the gods,
circumambulated the divine chariot and ascended it. Then followed a wonderful
battle. Sorely wounded, Ravana
fell unconscious and, noting this, his charioteer quietly took him out of the
battlefield. When, a little later,
Ravana recovered consciousness, he was highly wroth, with his charioteer for
taking him out of the battlefield and insisted on being taken back to face
Rama. The grim battle began again. Every astra was met by another. In new and
wonderful ways, the two chariots moved and the two warriors fought for a long
time, while both armies watched the spectacle with breathless admiration and
anxiety. Matali, the charioteer,
whispered into Rama's ear: "The Rakshasa's end is approaching. Delay no
further. May I remind you of Brahma-astra?" Rama uttered the spell
and sent the Brahma-astra. Though the Rakshasa's ten heads had often been cut
off before, they had grown again and baffled Rama. The Brahma-astra, emitting
flames, went towards Ravana and pierced his chest, where was enshrined the
secret of his invincibility, and shattered it. Then the bow slipped
from the Rakshasa's hand and he fell down from the chariot and lay stretched on
the battlefield. The gods blew their
trumpets. Rama and his chariot were covered by a heap of flowers showered from
the heavens. Lakshmana, Vibhishana, Jambavan and other warriors surrounded
Rama, lost in joy and adoration. When the first flush of
triumph was over and Vibhishana looked at his brother's body, the natural call
of blood and memories of boyhood days when Ravana and he had loved and played
quite overwhelmed him and he burst into lamentations over his lost brother. "O warrior!"
he cried. "O brother of heroic deeds! O scholar learned in all Shastras! O
valiant and famous King of kings! Your great arms are, now sprawling helpless
on the ground! Selfwilled and self-deceived, surrounded by bad advisers, you
would not heed my warning! The worst I feared has happened now! You reaped what
you sowed and you lie on the bare ground, O once mighty ruler of the
Rakshasas!" To Vibhishana thus
lamenting, Rama spoke: "Ravana fought
like a true warrior and fell fighting like a hero! Death has washed his sins.
It calls for no mourning. Ravana has entered Heaven." Rama cleared all
confusion from Vibhishana's mind and bade him do the funeral rites for his
departed brother. Said Rama: "It is
for you now, his brother, to do the rites. Death ends all enmity. I, his former
foe, even I can rightly perform his obsequies. Your brother is my brother
too, is he not?" The women of Ravana's
palace came to the field to mourn. They led the Queen Mandodari, who looked
like the goddess of grief incarnate. The crowned queen and beloved wife of
Ravana was in utter desolation. "Indra, King of
gods, dared not face your anger," she cried. "The Rishis and the
Gandharvas at the very sight of you fled in fear in all directions. And now a
mere man, a wanderer in the forest, has brought you down! I do not understand
how this could have happened. Truly, Fate is all-powerful! But lord, my lord, I
warned you long ago. Did I not tell you that this Rama is no mere human being,
but someone greater than Indra or Agni or Yama, whom you could not vanquish?
This Rama is no other than Vishnu Himself in human form, God without beginning,
middle or end. Even when we heard that he stood on the ground riding no car and
slew your brother Khara in Janasthana, did I not say this? When Hanuman penetrated Lank
the impenetrable fortress, and laid it waste, I knew the truth. I begged you
not to incur their enmity but you would not listen. Why did you cast lustful
eyes on chaste Sita? This was the
madness that drove you to your death! Was it not a heinous sin to carry her off
when she was alone? Death in the form of Sita drew you to your end! Sita and
Rama are now reunited and happy after their brief separation. But me and all
our race you have thrust for very into the depths of sorrow. Alas, my husband,
my lover. You lie dead. Yet how beautiful you look with your body pierced by
Rama's darts, covered with blood and dust of battle! What should I do now? I
had a lord who was the Lord of Lanka! I had a son who had vanquished Indra.
They have left me and I am a mere helpless widow without
friends or home!" Lamenting thus,
Mandodari fell on Ravana's body and lay unconscious. VIBHISHANA was crowned
King of Lanka in a magnificent ceremony. The new Lord of Lanka came out to the
Vanara camp and bowed low before Rama. Then Rama said to
Hanuman: "With the King's permission, enter Lanka and tell Sita what has
happened." Hanuman accordingly took permission from Vibhishana and went to
Asoka Vana to convey the news to Sita. Sita's joy was beyond
words. She was silent. "Why,
mother," asked Hanuman, "why do you not speak?" "What is there to
say, my son?" she answered. "How can I repay my debt to you? Your
wisdom, your valor, your prowess, your patience, your humility are all your
own. None in the world can equal you." As she said this, her eyes filled
with tears of gratitude and affection. Hanuman looked at the
Rakshasi women who had guarded Sita and turning to Sita said: "I wish to
slay these cruel women who troubled you. Do give me leave!" "No, my son,"
she answered. "Who in the world is blameless? It is the part of noble
souls to be compassionate towards all sinners as well as good people." These words of Sita are
treasured like nectar by generations of pious men. The worst of sinners,
clinging to the golden feet of the Mother, can gain forgiveness. "These
Rakshasis," she continued "but
carried out their master's orders. How are they to blame? Their king is dead
and has paid for his crime. It is unjust to punish these Rakshasis now." All that Hanuman could
find to say in reverent admiration was that what she said was only what was
worthy of Rama's wife. "What message am I to carry to Rama?" he
asked. "I am eager to be
in his presence," she answered. "That is all." Hanuman returned to
Rama and gave an account of his visit. For some reason Rama's face now darkened
and with lacklustre eyes he fell into a frown study. A little later he turned
to Vibhishana and said: "Ask Sita to bathe
and bedeck herself and bring her here."
When the message
reached Sita in the Asoka Vana, she said: "I would rather go as I
am." "Not so, my
lady," said Vibhishana, "the prince's orders should be obeyed." So, after a bath and
bedecked with jewels and seated in a palanquin, Sita went to the camp. When he heard that Sita
was coming, Rama woke up from his meditation. Events of the past rose like
waves and battering against his mind threw it into a wild commotion of shame,
grief and joy. As Sita's palanquin was
taken through the great concourse of Vanaras, they thronged round the princess
and caused confusion. It was made worse by the Vanara leaders trying to push
them aside and make way for the palanquin. "Let no one be
kept away," said Rama. "These dear Vanaras have stood and suffered for me. Sita
will be pleased to see me surrounded by such friends. Let no one be pushed
away." Rama's face showed a
strange transformation of mind. None of those around him, not even Lakshmana
could understand. Alighting from the
palanquin, Sita, with downcast eyes, proceeded towards Rama.
"Aryaputra," she said and sobbed, unable to speak more. Aryaputra in Sanskrit
means beloved and noble one and is an intimate form of address of wife to
husband. "I have slain the
enemy," said Rama. I have recovered you. I have done my duty as a
Kshatriya. My vow is now fulfilled." Incomprehensible and
wholly unexpected were these words that he uttered. His face darkened for some
reason. Then he spoke even harsher words.
"It was not for
mere attachment to you that I waged this grim battle but in the discharge of
duty as a Kshatriya. It gives me no joy now to get you back, for doubtfulness
envelopes you like a dark cloud of smoke."
"What do you wish
to do now?" he continued. "You must live alone, for we cannot live
together. You can stay under the protection of any of our kinsmen or friends.
How can a Kshatriya take back a wife who has lived so long in a stranger's
house?" Sita looked at Rama.
Her eyes flashed fire. "Unworthy words
have you spoken!" she said. "My ears have heard them and my heart is
broken. The uncultured may speak such words but not one nobly born and brought
up like you. Your anger, it seems, has destroyed your understanding. My lord
does not remember the family from which I come. Janaka, the great seer, was my
father and he brought me up. Is it my fault that the wicked Rakshasa seized me
by force and imprisoned me? But since this is how you look at it, there is but
one course open to me." Then turning to
Lakshmana, "Fetch the faggots, Lakshmana, and kindle a fire," she
said. Lakshmana, who had been
watching Rama's behavior in dismay and indignation turned to look at Rama's
face seeking his orders, but Rama did not say 'No' to Sita's request nor show
any sign of softening. Obeying Sita, Lakshmana kindled a big fire and the princess,
with eyes fixed on the ground, circumambulated her lord and exclaimed: "Ye Gods, I bow
before you. Oh rishis, I bow to you. Oh Agni, you at least know my purity and
will take me as your own!" With these words she
jumped into the flames. And wonder of wonders! The lambent flames were crowded
with celestial figures, for
all the gods came and assembled there. Brahma spoke: "Narayana! Mighty God
that took human form to slay Ravana! Is not this your own Lakshmi?" Agni, God of fire, rose
in his own body out of the flames and lifting Sita in his arms with all her
clothes and jewels untouched and intact, presented her to Rama. Rama said to Brahma:
"Who am I? All that I know and can tell is that I am Rama, son of
Dasaratha. You know who I am and whence I came and more. It is you who must
inform me." Saying this to Brahma, Rama accepted Sita fire-proved. "Think you that I did not know your irreproachable
purity? This ordeal was to satisfy the people. Without it, they would say that
Rama, blinded by love, behaved with a strange weakness and broke the rule of
well-brought-up men." So saying he drew her to his side. Then Dasaratha
descended from above and, placing the prince on his lap blessed him. "My child!"
he said to Sita. "Forgive my son. Forgive him for the wrong he did you to
preserve the dharma of the world. God bless you!" Indra gave his boon,
and the Vanaras who died in battle for Rama regained their lives. Rama and Sita, now
reunited, ascended the Pushpaka which carried them swiftly in the air with
their friends, the Vanara warriors and Vibhishana, to Ayodhya. As they travelled in the sky, he said: "Look there! That
is the causeway built by Nala." Again,
"Look there, that is Kishkindha," he said, "where I met and made
friends with Hanuman and Sugriva." And Rama pointed out to Sita the spots
where he and Lakshmana had wandered disconsolate and related to her all his unforgettable
experiences. Alighting at
Bharadwaja's ashrama, they sent word in advance to Guha and Bharata. The city of Ayodhya
swam in a sea of joy. Rama and Bharata met. Planning for Bharata's sake,
ambitious Kaikeyi and her hunchback maid had contrived and concocted plots. But
now, as Bharata bowed at the feet of Rama, a joy deeper than what they had
planned for him was his. What kingly crown could equal the joy one found at
Rama's feet? What sovereignty could bring one the glory that was now Bharata's
forever? The Vaishnava hymns
exalt Bharata even above Rama for a spotless mind and unblemished
unselfishness. For fourteen years till the return of Rama, Bharata installed
Rama's padukas and administered the kingdom as a devotional exercise in the
service of his brother. Now that Rama was crowned King as his father had
wished, Bharata's penance was at an end and his heart was filled with joy. The smile of divine
grace brightened Sita's face as she cast her merciful glance on Hanuman. What
more could Hanuman desire? I have retold in brief
compass the story of the Prince of Ayodhya as sung by Valmiki. Those who read
or listen to the tale, it is said, will be saved from sin and sorrow. Sri Sankara, the master of wisdom, has said
that, if one keeps in one's heart the son of Dasaratha and meditates on him
with reverence, one's sins will all be burnt up as chaff in a fire. After the avatar of
Rama, the lord appeared again among men with greater soulabhya (easy
accessibility) as Govinda. He lived among cowherders as one of them and served
Arjuna as a chariot driver. At the end of the Gita, the Lord says to
Arjuna: "Believe in me as
the sole refuge, cast aside all doubt and come unto me. I shall save you from
all sins. This is truth, friend. Cast off your
fear." This promise of Sri Krishna
is addressed to all of us. We, like Arjuna, have our doubts and fears in the Kurukshetra of life and
this assurance of grace is for all of us, for we are all dear to Him. On one occasion
Gandhiji and I were talking about a girl very dear to both of us. I said:
"How did she get all these ideas and phrases of love without having read
any of present-day love stories?" Gandhiji said in
answer: "But has she not read the Ramayana? Is the Ramayana not a love
story too?" This struck me as profound. Then we turned to other matters. Dasaratha's troubles
began with love. Then the love of Rama and Sita is the theme and substance of
Ayodhya Kanda. In love that is not
opposed to dharma, we find a manifestation of God. So was it affirmed by Sri Krishna
when he explained his manifold being to Arjuna. The Ramayana has, for its twin
theme, love that is opposed to dharma also. The Ramayana is undoubtedly a great
love story. Those who regard the
Ramayana as an allegory interpret Sita as the individual soul and Rama as the
Supreme Being. God seeks and pursues the human soul till He secures it. He is
eager to save us. It is enough if we just do not obstruct or resist. There are also other
interpretations and applications of the Ramayana. Sita, the female counterpart
of the Supreme Being, is the embodiment of compassion and grace. Compassion is
the Supreme Mother and she is enthroned in the heart of the Lord. When she
casts her merciful glance on us, we reach the feet of God. Parvati's function in
relation to Siva and Lakshmi's in relation to Hari are both identical, and are
just variations of the same creed of dependence on God's grace. God as Father
and God as Mother are not distinct. If the Lord were to be parted from
compassion, our plight would be just that of Ravana who separated Sita from
Rama. The quality of the Lord's compassion can be understood from the
experience of true human love. Many meanings can be
read in the Ramayana and its beauty appreciated in many ways as from a real
diamond many glorious colors emanate. Seventeen months ago I began writing
these weekly chapters not without fear and trembling. This week I close it full
of thankfulness for the health of body and peace of mind that enabled me to
complete this humble service. Learned men will no doubt find many faults in
what I have written. But they must be glad also that it has done some
good. A word to the children
who read these chapters. I have told the story of the Prince of Ayodhya mainly
for your sake. Grown up people may
read Valmiki and Kamban. Those who know how to sing can render with joy the
sweet songs on Rama given to us by Tyagaraja. But this story that I have told
can be read direct by you, children, without anyone's help. You should look
upon Rama,
Lakshmana and Hanuman
like your own fathers and elder brothers who are by your side ever eager to
help you. Grow to be like Bharata, Lakshmana and Hanuman, good and brave souls,
full of love and strength. Mothers too, I know,
have been reading this story with joy. This has been a great encouragement to
me. They can understand why I have told the story in simple words and short
sentences for the sake of our children. Everything we do, we do for the sake of
our children, do we not? Only women can realise and relive the experiences and
feelings of Sita. The story of Sita as
told by Valmiki and Kamban can be fully appreciated only by women. Only they
can fully appreciate the courage of Jatayu and the prowess of Hanuman. Sita's
sorrows have not ended with the Ramayana. They go on, still, in the lives of
our women. In the Rama avatar,
Rama did not know that he was God incarnate. Krishna knew that he was an avatar
and acted accordingly. We should read the two stories with this difference in
mind. The despair and grief that the man Rama experienced, Krishna never knew.
When he sucked at the demon-woman's breast or was bound with a rope and
thrashed for mischief, he cared not nor grieved. Standing weaponless in the battlefield,
he led the warrior to destroy the wicked. In every episode of Krishna we see
the difference between the two avatars. I have followed the
story of the Prince of Ayodhya as told by Valmiki. There was a legend current
among people, I think even before Valmiki's time, that after recovering Sita,
for fear of scandal, Rama sent her away to live in the forest. This pathetic episode
must have sprung from the sorrow-laden imagination of our women. It has taken
shape as the Uttara Kanda of Ramayana. Although there is beauty in the Uttara
Kanda, I must say my heart rebels against it. Valmiki had disposed of this old
legend through the fire ordeal in the battlefield. Even that ordeal does not
seem to me as consistent with Rama's character. It is painful to read it. As the prince returned
from Mithila he met Parasurama. I have heard it said that with that meeting
Parasurama's avatar came to an end. Likewise, it should be held, I think, that
Rama's avatar came to an end with the slaying of Ravana. After that battle,
Rama remained only as a King of the Ikshvaku race. On this theory, Rama's
treatment of Sita after the battle and in the Uttara Kanda can be explained
simply as the behavior of a king in accordance with the customs of the times. But, how can we comment
on a work composed thousands of years ago and coming down to us in palm-leaf
manuscripts subject to corruption? If, even after the fire-ordeal in the Yuddha
Kanda, it is said in the Uttara Kanda that Sita was sent to the forest, we may
take it that it mirrors the voiceless and endless suffering of our women
folk. Sorrow and joy are both
alike the play of God. God himself took with him his divine spouse, the
embodiment of his own supreme compassion, into the world of men and women, and
enacted with her a great drama of joy and sorrow in the Ramayana. Rain falling from the
heaven flows into the rivers and flows down to join the sea. Again from the sea
the water is sucked up by the sun and rises to the sky, whence it descends
again as rain and flows down as rivers. Even so, feelings and values rise from
the people and, touching the poet's heart, are transformed into a poem which,
in turn, enlightens and inspires the people.
Thus in every land the
poets and their people continuously reinforce each other. The tenderness and
purity and the untold sufferings of women took shape as the Uttara Ramayana.
Like an unflickering lamp, it throws light on the quality of their hearts.
Whether the epics and songs of a nation spring from the faith and ideas of the
common folk, or whether a nation's faith and ideas are produced by its literature is a
question which one is free to answer as one likes. Does a plant spring
from the seed or does seed issue from the plant? Was the bird or the egg the
first cause? Did clouds rise from the sea or was the sea filled by the waters
from the sky? All such inquiries take us to the feet of God transcending speech
and thought. One other point, in
describing how Ravana carried off Sita, Kamban differs from Valmiki. In
Kamban's Ramayana, Ravana does not seize and carry Sita as Valmiki describes;
without touching her he lifts her with the earth on which she stands. Kamban's
version is followed by most popular expositors because this version is less
painful to our feelings. It is no sin or shame
to an innocent woman if a villain behaves like a brute. Yet, mistakenly, we in
this country look on the violence of a brute as causing a blemish to the
woman's purity. It is in deference to this wrong feeling that Kamban departed
from Valmiki here. For the same reason,
Tulasidas relates that the Sita seized and carried off by Ravana was not the
real Sita at all but a palpable image of hers left behind by the real Sita.
Thus the story is told in all North India. During the fire ordeal, it is the
maya-Sita that disappears and the real Sita springs again and returns from the
flames. It was perhaps
presumptuous on my part to have begun the task, but it was a joy to retell the
Ramayana. Now, when it is over, I feel like one awaking from a dream of joy.
When the prince left the city, he felt no sorrow. It was only when he lost Sita
that he knew grief. So with me too. When I had to step down
from high office and heavy responsibility, I did not feel at a loss or wonder
what to do next. But now, when I have come to the end of the tale of the Prince
of Ayodhya, the void is like that of a shrine without a God. Let no one look upon work as a burden. Good
work is the secret that keeps life going. While one should not hanker after
results, life without work would be unendurable. Adisesha : The
primordial Serpent which is Lord Vishnu's bed. Agneyastra : A missile
charged with an invocation to the God Agni (Fire). Aryaputra : Noble prince; classical form of address by wife
to husband, betokening love and respect combined. Ashrama : Hermitage. Asuric Yajna : Sacrifice pertaining to Asuras. Demoniacal sacrifice and necromancy for
gaining power. Abhisheka
: Religious rite of pouring or sprinkling sacred waters on the head of one who
is installed as King or First Prince. Adharma : Sin,
unrighteous action, opposite of dharma. Agni : The God of Fire. Alakapuri : The capital of Kubera,
the God of Wealth. Amaravati : The city in
heaven where Indra has his abode. Aruna
: The God of Dawn, first son of Kasyapa Prajapati and Vinata. He was born lame.
Aruna was the elder
brother of Garuda. Aruna is the charioteer
of the Sun God Arundhati : Wife of
Sage Vasishtha, a pattern of chastity. Astras : Miraculous weapons whose power lay in the
invocations they were charged with. Asuras : Enemies of the
Gods. Aswapati : King of
Kekaya, father of Kaikeyi and grandfather of Bharata. Aswini Devatas :
Celestial beings, twin sons of Surya. Avatar : Incarnation. Bala, Ati Bala: Two invocations to obviate hunger, thirst and
sleep. Bhagirathi : Another
name of Ganga. Bhagyam : Fortune,
prosperity. Bhakta : Devotee. Bhakti
: Devotion to God, loyalty, faith. Bheda : Diplomacy of playing one against another in the
enemy camp. Bhogavati : The capital of the Serpent King in the nether world. Brahmana : The first of the four castes devoting their
lives to study and teaching and the performance of
religious ceremonies. Brahma : The Creator,
one of the Trinity Brahmastra
: The most powerful among Astras (mantra invoked weapons). Brahmachari : One who is in the first of the four stages in
a Brahmin's life, the stage of study and practice of a disciplined life. Brahmadanda : Holy
staff of an austere Brahmin. Brahmajnana : The realisation of the Supreme
Being, higher wisdom. Brahmarishi
: The highest type of sages. Brihaspati
: The preceptor of the Devas, the planet Jupiter. Chaitra : The month falling in the second half of April and
the first half of May. Chandala : Outcaste,
untouchable. Dana : Gift, bribing of
the enemy, Danavas : Sons of Danu and Kasyapa Prajapati, enemies of
Devas. Daityas : Sons of Diti and Kasyapa Prajapati, enemies of Devas. Daivam : Divine,
celestial, fate. Danda
: Physical punishment, force used in meeting the enemy's tactics. Darbha : A species of
sacred grass used for religious rites. Deva-Loka : The
celestial regions. Devarishis : Sages of Heaven.
Devas : Celestial
beings, sons of Aditi and Kasyapa. Dharma
: Duty as laid down by religion or custom
Dishtam : Indicated. Gandharvas : A Class Of
semi-divine beings. Celestial musicians. Garuda : The bird king
who is Vishnu's vehicle. Govinda : One of the
names of Krishna. Guru : Acharya,
preceptor. Hari : One of the names of Vishnu. The second of the Hindu
Trinity. Other names are Krishna, Mukunda, Madhava, Kesava, Narayana. Himavan : The presiding
deity of the Himalaya range. Ikshvaku : King of the
Solar race from whom the name came for the race of Solar kings. Indra : The chief and
the king of the Gods. Indra-Astra : Missile
charged with an invocation to Indra. Jambavan : Leader of
bears in the army of Sugriva. Jamadagni : A great
sage, father of Parasurama. Jnana
: Spiritual knowledge, realisation. Jnani : A knower of
Reality. Kama : Desire, usually
referred to in relation to sex. Kamadhenu : The Divine cow of Heaven. It was born of the
Ocean when the Devas and Asuras churned it for Nectar. Kamavalli : A name
which Surpanakha gave to herself. Kartaviryarjuna : Son of King Kritavirya. He had a thousand
hands and his golden chariot could go wherever he wished. He was a contemporary
of Ravana and had him imprisoned in his city. Parasurama killed him for
carrying away Kamadhenu and killing Jamadagni
Kailasa : The abode of Siva. Kalpaka : A Tree which issued out of the Ocean when
it was churned by Devas and Asuras. A
celestial tree which grants any wish to people who are under it. Karma
: Action, the law that governs all action and its inevitable consequences on
the doer. Karma Yogin : One who
practises the way of action for salvation. Kasyapa
: A celebrated sage, son of Brahma. He
had many wives through whom were born the various forms of life on earth. Kekaya
: A country north-west of Kosala, the place where Bharata's maternal grand
father ruled. West of modern
Punjab. Kinkaras
: Soldiers, personal attendants. Kinnaras
: Celestial beings like the Gandharvas, who played on musical instruments.
Kodanda : Rama's bow. Kokila : The cuckoo. Krodha : Anger. Krouncha : A bird. Kshatriya : The second
of the four castes. Kubera : God of Wealth. Kurukshetra : The battlefield where
the Pandavas and Kauravas fought. Kusa : A kind of grass
used in religious ceremonies. Lakshmi : The Goddess
of well-being, wife of Vishnu. Leela : Play, the
unexplainable ways of Providence. Malyavan : The aged
Rakshasa grandfather of Ravana. Malyavati
: A stream flowing by the foot of the Chitrakuta Hill. Maruti
: Name of Hanuman being son of Marut, the Wind-god. Mahabali : An Asura who became a powerful ruler and a rival
to the gods. He was the son of Virochana and grandson of Prahlada. Mahadeva : One of the
names of Siva. Maharshi : A great
Sage. Manmatha : The God of
Love. Mantras : Scriptural
verses, incantations. Maya : The architect of
Asuras. Meru : A fabulous
mountain around which the Sun is supposed to revolve. Naga : Semi-divine
serpents. Narayana : Vishnu. Narada : The celestial
rishi with the lute. Namah : Bow,
salutation. Nandigrama : A village near Ayodhya where Bharata lived and
ruled Ayodhya as a deputy of Rama. Nikumbhila
: A cave and grove in Lanka where oblations were offered to Kali. Niti Sastra : Science
of government and diplomacy. Niyati : Law. Paduka : Footwear. Parayana : Reading a
Purana or Epic as a daily devotional exercise. Parijata : A celestial
flowering tree. Parvati : Uma, wife of
Siva. Patala : The nether
regions. Payasam : A sweet
preparation of milk and rice. Parasurama : The sixth
incarnation of Vishnu who curbed the growing arrogance of the Kshatriyas. Pinaka : Bow of Siva. Puja : Worship. Prajapati : The
Creator. Puranas : Sacred
legends. Pushpaka
Vimana : Aerial chariot of Ravana which originally belonged to Kubera. Sitting
in this chariot, one could obtain anything he or she desired. Rajagriha : The capital
of the Kekaya country. Rajasabha : Council of
State. Rajasik : Appertaining
to the principle of activity egoism, arrogance. Rakshasas : Evil-minded
strong beings similar to Asuras. Rakshasi : Feminine of
Rakshasa. Raghu
: An ancestor of Rama. He was a king of the Solar race. Raja Rishi : An eminent
sage, a philosopher-king. Rishabha : A peak in
the Himalayas. Rishi
: A sage who has undergone severe austerities. Rudra : Siva. Sama :
Peaceful approach to the enemy, negotiation. Sastras : Sacred lore. Satvik : Appertaining to the element of equanimity as
distinguished from the principles of activity and inertia. Sanyasini
: A female recluse, feminine of Sanyasi. Sarama : Wife of Vibhishana. She and Trijata were the
friends among the Rakshasis that Sita had during her incarceration in the Asoka
Vana. Sarayu : A tributary of the river Ganges on the North bank. Satyaparakrama
: Righteous and strong. Strong in righteousness. Siddha : One who attained special powers through penance. A
class of heavenly beings. Siva : One of the Hindu
Trinity. Sloka : Couplet or
Quatrain in Sanskrit. Surya : The Sun God. Soulabhya
: Ease of access. Sri Krishna : The eighth incarnation of Vishnu, who gave the
Bhagavad Gita. Sruti : Veda, Revelation. Sukra : The Guru or acharya of
the Asuras, the planet Venus. Swarga
: Heaven, where the blessed are received after death. Tamasik : Pertaining to
the element of inertia. Tamasa : A river
flowing into Ganga. Tapas : Austerities and penances. Tapasvi : One who does
Tapas or penance. Tapasvini : Feminine of
Tapasvi. Tapasya : Power
obtained through Tapas or penance. Tilaka : A mark put on
the forehead of women. Trivikrama : See
Vamana. Vamana : The fifth
incarnation of Vishnu to curb the power of Mahabali. Vamana became Trivikrama of huge stature who measured Earth
and Heaven in two steps Vanaprastha
: The third stage of a Brahmin's life retiring with his wife as a preparation
for sanyasa. Vayu : The Wind God who
was father of Hanuman. Vaidehi : Another name
of Sita. Vaishnava :
Appertaining to Vishnu or worship of Vishnu. Vaitarani : A terrible
river in Hell. Varuna : The Lord of
the Ocean. Veda :
Scripture. Four books: Rig Veda, Yajur Veda, Sama Veda, and Atharvana Veda. Vidhi : Law, decree of
fate, that which is ordained. Vidyut-Jihva :
Lightning Tongued, a Rakshasa sorcerer. Vinata : Mother of
Garuda. Vishnu
: See Narayana. Visravas : A rishi who was father of Ravana. Viswakarma : The
celestial architect. Vritra : An Asura killed by Indra. Yaga : Sacrifice, a
religious ceremony accompanied by oblations. Yajarmana : He who
performs a sacrifice, Master of Ceremonies. Yakshas : A class of
celestial beings. Yama : God of Death. Yojana : A measure of
distance equal probably to nine miles. Yudhajit : Son of the
King of Kekaya. Brother of Kaikeyi. Yuvaraja :
Prince-Regent. |