The Ramayana

by Ramesh Menon

  “The solid banks of arrows from Mandhata’s bowmen were made ashes by flames from the burning trident. Lavana cast his trisula at the encircling army, and it went among them like the fire in which the worlds are consumed, when time ends. In moments, just whispering mounds of ashes remained where the Ikshvaku king, Mandhata, lord of the earth, and his vast, invincible forces had stood.

  “The trident flew back into Lavana’s hand, and his laughter filled the spaces of the earth and the sky.”

  Shatrughna looked stricken. Chyvana smiled, and gently took the prince’s hand. “Shatrughna, Mandhata sought to kill Lavana for his own glory, for undisputed kingdom. You have come at our bidding, and not out of any ambition. Rama has blessed you; you will not fail. Only remember you must not fight him when he wields his trident, and tomorrow Lavana will die.”

  That rishi spoke with such quiet conviction that Shatrughna smiled.

  The night passed quickly, and Shatrughna rose with the sun. He bathed in the deep-flowing river, took the rishis’ blessings, and, with his bow in his hand and his quiver strapped firmly to his back, Rama’s brother crossed the Yamuna.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, in the marvelous city that the Asura Madhu had once built, his son Lavana rose with an unaccustomed hunger roiling him. The Asura wondered at this, for he had eaten well the previous night. He did not, of course, dream that this was the final pang of hunger of his very life, death’s greed.

  His belly on fire, Lavana rose, took up a great cudgel, and strode out of his palace. He made for the forest in the heart of which his dark city was built. Every living creature in that jungle heard Lavana’s footfalls and fled from his approach. But not all of them escaped him. Soon, a small glade in the forest began to fill with corpses. Lavana hunted without favor for species; and a mound of leopard and tiger, peafowl, deer, rabbit, boar, bison, and even elephant, grew in that glade, and its grass was stained crimson.

  As he hunted Lavana ate, and blood leaked down his huge body from the beasts he devoured, often hardly chewing on their varied flesh, but only swallowing them with a perfunctory bite or two. However, today’s raging hunger would not leave him; it burned his insides with irresistible compulsion.

  Lavana slaughtered a thousand animals and birds. He stuffed their carcasses into a large net he had brought with him, and, by noon, dragged them along jungle trails toward his city. As he approached the gates he saw a lean, powerful kshatriya waiting for him. Lavana blinked; it seemed to him the young warrior was swathed in a pulsing light and the bow in his hand was like an arc of the sun.

  Lavana felt a stab of fear when he saw Shatrughna; but he thought it was the strange hunger that possessed him today. He said in his rumbling voice, “Young fool, why have you come to my gates seeking death? Don’t you know I have killed a thousand young kshatriyas like you?” He laughed, pointing at the bow in Shatrughna’s hand, “And is it that puny thing you mean to fight me with? Ah, I am so hungry today, and it is some time since I ate sweet human flesh. But before I eat you, tell me who you are.”

  Shatrughna quivered with anger, and light like flames spewed through the links of his armor, like rays from a red sun. He said evenly, “I am Shatrughna of the House of Ikshvaku. I am Dasaratha’s son and Rama’s brother, and I have come to kill you. Your vile life has lasted long enough. You are the bane of every living creature in the world, and you shall not escape me today.”

  Lavana grew thoughtful. Then wild laughter erupted from him again, triumphant laughter. The Asura said, “Ravana of Lanka was my uncle and your brother Rama killed him for a woman’s sake. Rama killed so many of Ravana’s people, my kinsmen. And today you have made my revenge easy, Shatrughna. You have come to me yourself so I can drink your blood. I have sworn to kill Rama and all his clan; let my revenge begin today. Wait here for me while I fetch my trisula from my palace. Then we will fight, Kshatriya.”

  But Shatrughna raised his bow, and replied, “You will not pass me. Look upon this mortal world a last time, Lavana. Fill your eyes with these green sights, before I shut them forever. And when you are as dead as your uncle Ravana, there shall indeed be peace on earth.”

  Lavana clapped his hands together like thunder. He pulled up a tree from the ground and flung it like a bolt of lightning at Shatrughna. The prince cut it in a thousand slivers with godlike archery. But quicker than thinking, Lavana drew out another tree and, rushing at Shatrughna, struck him over the head with it.

  Some rishis had gathered in the surrounding forest to watch the battle between the prince and the demon. They cried out in alarm when Shatrughna fell so quickly, and the Devas, gandharvas, and apsaras, who had gathered invisibly in the sky, shivered.

  Lavana thought he had killed the human and turned back to his net of the carcasses of the beasts he had hunted. The terrible hunger ravaged him again, and he began to drag the dead creatures into his city to begin his noon meal. He gave a howl when he saw Shatrughna stir and then jump up, his bow still grasped in his hand. The long hairs on the Asura’s bloated body stood on end when the prince drew a glittering shaft from his quiver and fitted it to his bowstring in a blur.

  That was the arrow Rama had given Shatrughna, and it shone as if the fires of the apocalypse were contained in it. Time seemed to give a lurch and stand still when Shatrughna fixed that astra to his bowstring. The kshatriya’s body was blinding now, and Lavana covered his baleful eyes.

  The Devas in the sky cried to Brahma their father, “Hah! What is this, Pitamaha? Are the worlds coming to an end?”

  Brahma said, “Shatrughna’s astra is the very form of Narayana. Vishnu killed Madhu and Kaitabha with it before the worlds began. Rama gave the ayudha to his brother, and Lavana shall die with it today.”

  The Devas crowded the sky below which the prince and the monster faced each other. Shatrughna saw their shadows and glanced heavenward. He saw the Gods above and, turning back to Lavana, gave a roar like a pride of lions. Lavana roared back, so the earth shook and the sky. With claws outstretched, his red maw yawning wide, the Asura rushed at Shatrughna to devour him.

  In a flash, Shatrughna drew his bowstring to his ear and shot Rama’s astra at the demon. With a report as if the sky had cracked open and the world had ended, the flaming missile flew into Lavana’s chest wide as a hill. It cut through gristle and bone like a dagger slicing through butter, and, leaving that mighty chest in scarlet shreds, bored down through the earth and into darkling Patala. Lavana swayed briefly on his feet like some thousand-year-old tree that had been cut down. Without a sound, but his ochre eyes full of surprise, the Asura fell onto the earth with a crash and was still.

  Shatrughna stood shaking from awe of the astra that he had loosed. The sky filled with uncanny, blissful light; the world seemed swathed in it. Blooms of light fell from above on the victorious kshatriya. The Deva host appeared plainly on high, with refulgent Indra and Agni at their head.

  The Gods said to Shatrughna, “O Lion among men! Ask for any boon you want and it will be yours.”

  Shatrughna said, “Let these lands be called the kingdom of Surasena and let this city of Madhu’s, Madhura, be its capital. Bless my kingdom and my city, O Devas!”

  And the Gods blessed Shatrughna. Soon he had a great army of men living with him in his city shaped like a crescent moon. No sickness entered Shatrughna’s city, and Indra sent the rains on time, so the harvest in that kingdom was always bountiful. Quickly, the fame of his city spread through the lands of Bharata, and men of all the four varnas arrived to live in Madhura and flourished under King Shatrughna of Surasena.

  * * *

  Twelve years passed thus, and truly, Madhura and the kingdom around it were like a bit of Devaloka fallen into the world of men. The dharma of Shatrughna of Madhura was immaculate, and his people were prosperous past imagining. Then, one day, as he sat in his sabha, where incense always burned for the Gods, an inexorable yearning came over Shatrughna. He longed to see his brother Rama and take the padadhuli from his feet.


  The same day, the master of the city that the Asura Madhu once founded gave orders for a small force to gather at his gates, to accompany him to Ayodhya. He would ride at once; it seemed to him he heard Rama’s voice calling him clearly in his heart.

  Shatrughna set out, and, after he had ridden seven days and nights, he arrived in Valmiki’s asrama. The muni received Rama’s brother with arghya and madhurparka; when Shatrughna sat comfortably with him, Valmiki took his hand and said feelingly, “The earth is free of darkness, that both Ravana and Lavana are dead.”

  The sage embraced Shatrughna and kissed the top of his head affectionately, blessing him. Later, as dusk gathered, some young rishis, Valmiki’s sishyas who were musicians, came and sat around the muni and his guest. They brought their vinas and mridangas with them, and began to play. The singers among them began singing the Ramayana, while Shatrughna sat astonished and enchanted. It seemed to the prince that his brother’s young life was being played out before his eyes again, in all its glory.

  It was past midnight when the singers brought their audience to Lanka, where Rama killed Ravana with the brahmastra. Shatrughna sat as if turned to stone by the magic of the Adi Kavya. All his soldiers who had come with him felt as if they were in the midst of a wonderful living dream and the rest of the world had ceased to exist around them. It truly seemed that Valmiki’s mystic song was, uncannily, realer than the world around them.

  When the singers arrived at Rama’s pattabhisheka in Ayodhya, Shatrughna fainted away, so powerfully did the past return to him. After the Ramayana had been sung, Shatrughna’s soldiers begged their king to ask the Rishi Valmiki what the strange and powerful song was and who had composed it. But Shatrughna said it would not be proper to ask their host that question, unless he told them himself.

  The king of Madhura said, “This asrama is full of all sorts of great secrets. It is beyond the likes of us to unravel any of them. Let us sleep now, for I long to see my brother and we must leave with first light.”

  But he could hardly sleep at all, for the visions of Rama and the Ramayana that filled the night. With dawn, he came to Valmiki, and, with folded hands, said, “My lord, my heart is full of my brother. Give me leave, Muni, that I may go at once to see Rama.”

  Valmiki blessed Shatrughna, and the kshatriya rode out again. He reached Ayodhya, his father’s city, built into a coil of the Sarayu, its golden towers reaching for the stars: Ayodhya of dharma, where perfect Rama ruled. After so many years, Shatrughna came into his brother’s presence and saw Rama again, who sat like Indra among his Devas, resplendent as a God.

  With a cry, Shatrughna rushed to prostrate himself before his brother. As always, Rama raised him up tenderly, kissed him, and made him sit beside him on his throne.

  Shatrughna said hoarsely, “Lavana is dead, my lord, and Madhura is renewed in dharma, just as you wanted. I rule that city in your name, Rama, and no evil passes its gates or comes anywhere into the kingdom around Madhu’s ancient city.”

  Suddenly his eyes were full of tears, and Shatrughna said, “I have been away from you for twelve endless years and no punishment could be more cruel. I cannot stay away from you any more. I beg you, Rama, don’t send me back.”

  Rama stroked his hair and said with a smile, “You are a king now, my little brother, a great kshatriya sovereign upon the earth. I have heard yours is one of the noblest cities in all Bharatavarsha. What will your people do if you desert them? A king’s first dharma is toward his subjects, Shatrughna: they are like his own children. Everything else is secondary, insignificant. A king has no life of his own. So, O King, I will keep you here with me for seven days; but after that you must return to your kingdom, to Madhura where your dharma and your destiny lie.”

  Sadly, Shatrughna said, “So be it.”

  And after seven days and nights with his brothers, Shatrughna set out once more for Madhura. Bharata and Lakshmana rode a long way out of Ayodhya with him, and then stood watching until their brother’s chariot disappeared in the distance.

  34. A brahmana and his son

  A few days after Shatrughna left Ayodhya, an extraordinary thing happened in the city of grace. It was known through all Bharatavarsha that since Rama sat on the Ikshvaku throne, no evil dared approach his people: no sorrow, no sickness, no misfortune of any kind. The kingdom was, truly, heaven on earth, that Vishnu’s Avatara ruled it.

  But then, as if to remind the people, and the king himself, that this was not Swarga but Bhumi, one day soon after Shatrughna came and went, a terribly distraught brahmana arrived at Rama’s gates. He was sobbing, heartbroken, and in his arms he carried the dead body of his son, a child of fifteen summers. During Ramarajya, Rama’s rule, the death of a child of just five thousand days was unheard of.

  Loudly the brahmana cried, “What dreadful sin did I commit in my past lives that my child is snatched from me like this? Surely, I have not sinned in this life to deserve such savage punishment. He was my only son, and look at him now. He was meant to light my funeral pyre when I died; instead, he has made me the son and died before me. Oh, I cannot bear this grief! I will die of it myself, in a day or two, and my wife as well.

  “Rama, they say you are a perfect king and sinless; and so there is no sickness or untimely death in your kingdom. But I say Rama must have sinned, or why has my child been snatched from me like this? My wife and I will die at your very gates, O King, unless you bring my child back to life! And you will be guilty of brahmahatya.”

  The brahmana was beside himself. “Damned is the House of Ikshvaku that a king like Rama rules it! Your subjects live in death’s shadow, sinner. Who can be happy in a kingdom of such darkness? The sins of the king kill the children of a kingdom. You have sinned, you have sinned terribly, Rama of Ayodhya. I demand redress from you for the death of my child.”

  And the brahmana held his son’s lifeless body to him, and sobbed and sobbed. Rama heard the man weeping, and came out of his palace and saw the pitiful spectacle at his gate. Tears flowed down his noble face and a cold pang clutched his heart. Rama staggered back into the palace, shaking.

  He called for a guardsman and said to him, “Bring Vasishta and Vamadeva to me at once, and the other munis. Send for Bharata and Lakshmana too. Hurry.”

  Rama sat waiting, ashen-faced. He could still hear the brahmana’s thin wailing outside and his wife’s stifled sobs. The brahmana sat down in the middle of the path that led into Rama’s palace, blocking it squarely. He held his dead child in his lap and railed against the king.

  Soon, Vasishta, Vamadeva, Bharata, Lakshmana, and some prominent citizens came hurrying into Rama’s sabha. Following them came Markandeya, Maudgalya, Kashyapa, Katyayana, Jabali, Gautama, and Narada, the greatest rishis in the world.

  When they were seated, Rama said to them, “The brahmana’s son has died, holy ones, and he says I am to blame. He means to kill himself at my door, because he says it is my sin that has killed his child.”

  The rishis saw the tears in his eyes and that his hands shook. Rama said, “Surely, some unspeakable sin has caused the child’s death. But am I to blame, Munis? Ah, if I am, it is I who must kill myself. Tell me, have I sinned? What is my crime?”

  It was Narada, the wanderer, who answered Rama. In his blithe and deep way, he began, “Listen to why this child has died. In the krita yuga, only the brahmanas of earth performed tapasya, only they ever sat in dhyana. It was a blemishless age, and the brahmanas of the earth were the support of the world; they were like Gods. All of them were born from the bloodlines of Brahma himself, and so they were called brahmanas. They were men of vision who saw through time as clearly as the men of the later ages see the world around them.

  “Rama, the krita yuga was ruled by the brahmanas, with the ways of peace, and it was a taintless time. There was no sin in the world. Then came the treta yuga, and adharma was born. The first sin was committed from pride; and violence, greed, and deceit entered the lives of men. The Gods created the kshatriyas, to rule other men and to
establish dharma again in an earth that sought to turn its blessed face from the ways of truth and vision. Manu divided humankind into the four varnas.

  “Annrita, agriculture, came into men’s lives, and this was the first step the rajoguna set upon the earth. Then came the dwapara yuga, and adharma, the beast Sin, now set his second foot upon the world, emerging further. In the krita, tapasya had belonged only to the brahmana. In the treta, both the brahmanas and kshatriyas were allowed dhyana. In the dwapara yuga, the traders, the vaisyas, also could sit in meditation and prayer, which was forbidden in the first three yugas.

  “It is only in the kali yuga, when dharma survives only on one foot, and evil has sway over the earth, having set three monstrous feet upon it, shall the sudra perform tapasya. For there is no sin, say the wise, as heinous as for the sudra to sit in dhyana in our yuga.”

  Narada paused, then said very quietly into the fallen silence, “Yet, Rama, a sudra sits in long and fervent tapasya on the very hem of your kingdom. And by his dhyana, the shadow of sin has fallen over us all, even you. His forbidden tapasya has killed the brahmana’s child. For you, O King, partake in a sixth portion of every pious deed and every crime committed in your kingdom. And because of this sudra’s dhyana, you have incurred sin.

  “You must go to him and right this wrong.”

  For a long moment, Rama gazed at the muni, Brahma’s son, born when the earth was made; and he knew exactly what Narada meant that he should do. A chill gripped his heart as he said, “I will right the wrong, my lord.”

  Narada smiled grimly, “And the brahmana’s son shall live again.”

  35. The death of a sudra

  Rama said to Lakshmana, “My brother, go and comfort the brahmana. Have a tub of oil drawn and let his child’s body be preserved in it.”

  Rama came out into the sun and stood briefly in prayer in his palace yard. With a silent mantra, he summoned the pushpaka vimana. At once the crystal ship appeared in the sky and alighted near the king.