by Valmiki
‘Sugrīva’s confidence in Rāma grew, as did his affection for him when he saw this. He returned to his cave in Kiṣkindha, taking Rāma with him. The yellow-eyed Sugrīva roared like thunder and Vālī, the king of the monkeys, came out to meet his challenge. Rāma kept his word to Sugrīva and killed Vālī in battle. Then he bestowed the monkey kingdom on Sugrīva.
‘Sugrīva called together the respected monkey chiefs and despatched them in all directions to look for Sītā. Instructed by the vulture Sampāti, Hanumān leapt one hundred yojanās across the salty seas and entered the city of Lankā which was protected by Rāvaṇa. Hanumān found Sītā in a grove of aśoka trees, where she sat with her mind fixed on Rāma. He gave her Rāma’s signet ring and told her all that had happened. After he had reassured and comforted Sītā, he tore down the city gate.
‘Hanumān killed five of Rāvaṇa’s generals and seven of his ministers’ sons. He pulverized the mighty Akṣaya and ground him into the dust. Then he allowed himself to be captured. Even though Hanumān knew he could not be harmed by the weapon Brahmā had given Rāvaṇa, he submitted to the rākṣasas and suffered many indignities. He burned the city of Lankā, sparing only the place where Sītā was. Then he returned to give Rāma news of his beloved.
‘He honoured Rāma and related all he had seen in great detail. Rāma went to the sea shore with Sugrīva and pierced the ocean with his blazing arrows. The Lord of the Ocean himself appeared before Rāma and on his instructions, Nala built a bridge over the seas. Rāma used the bridge to reach the city of Lankā where he killed Rāvaṇa in battle. He crowned Vibhīṣaṇa king of the rākṣasas.
‘Rāma took Sītā back but she was humiliated when he spoke to her harshly in front of all the people gathered there. Unable to bear the shame, that virtuous woman entered the fire. But as she entered the flames, flowers rained down from the sky and Agni declared her to be a chaste and honourable woman.
‘The gods and the sages and all the animate and inanimate beings in the three worlds were delighted with Rāma’s great deeds. The gods honoured Rāma and there was rejoicing among all the creatures. A boon from the gods brought all the slain monkeys back to life. Rāma climbed into Puṣpaka, the flying chariot, and set off for Nandigrāma. When he reached there, he cut off his matted locks. Now that he had regained his wife, Rāma, the sinless one, went back to his kingdom with his brothers.
‘The townspeople were glad to have him back. Rāma’s presence made them virtuous, free of sickness, famine, fear and danger. No one had to witness the death of their sons, no woman was widowed and they all lived lives of devotion to their husbands. There was no fear of storms, nor of death by water, nor fear of fire nor plague nor fever. With a great expenditure of riches and gold, Rāma performed all the necessary rituals and sacrifices, including the aśvamedha sacrifice.* He gave away many cows and large quantities of land. The prestige of his royal clan increased a hundredfold because of his deeds and all the four castes remained dedicated to their duties in this world. After ruling for eleven thousand years, Rāma went to Brahmaloka.
‘The story of Rāma is edifying and bestows merit. Anyone who reads it is freed of all sins. The man who reads the Rāmayana will be honoured along with his sons, grandsons and companions when he dies and goes to heaven. The brahmin who reads this tale will become eloquent, the kṣatriya will become a king, the vaiśya’s trade will prosper and even the śūdra will flourish in his own caste.’
Chapter Two
The great sage Vālmīki and his disciples honoured and praised Nārada when he had finished his story. Nārada bade them farewell, ascended into the skies and returned to the realm of the gods. Vālmīki went to the banks of the river Tamasā, not far from the Gangā. He gazed at the calm, clear waters of the river and said to his disciple who was standing behind him, ‘Look at these clear waters, Bharadvāja! They are as calm and serene as the mind of a good man! I want to bathe here. Child, put down your pot and fetch me my clothes.’* Bharadvāja obeyed and brought his teacher’s robe to him. Vālmīki who had controlled his senses, took the garment and walked around, enjoying the beauty of the verdant forests.
Vālmīki came upon two sweet-voiced kraunca birds making love. He saw a cruel hunter shoot the male, and the golden-crested bird fell to the ground. When his mate saw that he was dead, she cried out piteously. Compassion welled up in Vālmīki’s heart when he saw the fallen bird, killed so unrighteously, and the grief of its mate. Deeply moved, he said, ‘Hunter, because you killed this bird while he was making love, you shall never find a resting place!’
As soon as he had spoken, Vālmīki thought to himself, ‘What are these words that I uttered in my grief for the bird?’ Learned and wise, the sage said to his disciple, ‘My words came forth in a metre of four feet with equal syllables that can be sung to the notes of the vīṇā. Since this metre arose from my grief, let it henceforth be known as the śloka metre.’* Bharadvāja committed the new metre uttered by his teacher to memory and Vālmīki was deeply satisfied.
Then Vālmīki took his ritual bath in the river and returned to his hermitage, lost in thought. His humble and courteous disciple followed after him, carrying the pot of water. The sage who knew dharma entered his hermitage with Bharadvāja and gave his customary discourse. Then he passed into a deep meditative trance.
Lord Brahmā himself, the glorious four-faced Creator of the worlds, appeared before Vālmīki. Speechless with wonder the sage rose hurriedly and bowed before Brahmā. He honoured the god with arghya water and asked after his welfare.
Brahmā seated himself on a beautiful throne and motioned to Vālmīki to sit on another seat. Even though he was in the physical presence of Brahmā, Vālmīki found that his mind was distracted and he remained immersed in his own thoughts. He kept thinking about the awful thing he had seen, the death of the sweet-voiced kraunca bird at the hands of the hunter who was clearly inclined towards cruelty. Vālmīki recalled the metre he had created in his grief for the bird. As he recited it again for Brahmā, he was filled with sadness.
Brahmā smiled gently and said, ‘Your mind did not create this śloka metre. I produced this eloquence in you. O best of all sages, use this new metre to recite the tale of Rāma, the most righteous, the most virtuous and the wisest man in all the worlds, as you heard it told by Nārada. Recite the deeds of Rāma, deeds that are already known as well as those that are not, his adventures with Lakṣmaṇa and his battles with the rākṣasas. Recite the acts of Sītā, the known ones and the unknown ones. Whatever you do not know will become known to you. Never again will your words be inappropriate. Tell Rāma’s story in this new metrical form! It will prevail on earth for as long as the mountains and the rivers exist! And as long as Rāma’s story has currency, so long shall you live in my realm.’ Brahmā disappeared after he had said this, but Vālmīki and his disciples remained struck with wonder.
The disciples repeated the new metre that had emerged from Vālmīki’s sorrow over and over again and each time their delight and their wonder increased. Then the great-souled sage announced, ‘I will recite the history of Rāma as a poem!’
And for the benefit of all creatures, this entertaining story of the glorious and renowned Rāma was composed as a poem in the new metre by Vālmīki.
The great sage went on to compose the tale of how Rāma had regained his kingdom, in the unique metre he had created. He composed twenty-four thousand verses and divided them into five hundred chapters in six books. Once he had finished this composition, including the Uttara Kāṇḍa, he began to wonder whom he would teach it to. As he was thinking about this, he was approached by two young bards wearing ascetics’ clothes.* These two young boys were glorious princes who were well-versed in dharma. They were eloquent and had sweet voices and they lived, at that time, with Vālmīki in his hermitage.
When Vālmīki saw the two boys who had faith in the Vedas, he decided to teach them his new poem. The sage who had performed many sacrifices taught the boys the poem about Rā
ma’s deeds, including the part about Sītā. The poem was also known as ‘The Killing of Pulastya’s Descendant’.** This sweet composition can be sung in either of three tempos, slow, medium or fast, and fits into the musical scale of the vīṇā. It contains all the aesthetic emotions like humour, romance, compassion, awe, fright and disgust.
The two brothers were skilled musicians and they had an excellent knowledge of melody and rhythm. They had sweet singing voices as well as good looks, which made them seem like gandharvas.*** They were like twin images of Rāma himself. They committed the wonderful tale about dharma to memory and soon, they were able to recite it without a mistake. The two princes, who were learned and resolute, handsome and glorious, recited the poem before sages and brahmins as they had been instructed to do.
On one occasion, they sang the entire poem amidst a company of holy sages, The sages, who were devoted to dharma, were delighted and their eyes filled with tears of joy. ‘Oh! What an exquisite poem!’ they cried in wonder. ‘The things it speaks of occurred a long time ago but it feels as though they are happening right before our eyes!’ The boys continued to sing, their pleasing voices blending in sweet harmony. One of the sages affectionately gave them a water pot. Another sage, equally pleased, gave them a set of clothes. They exclaimed, ‘What a wondrous tale! Its rules of composition shall be the foundation for all poets henceforth!’
Rāma happened to see the two young bards as he passed on the royal highway. He took the boys, Kuśa and Lava, with him to his palace. Rāma, the slayer of his enemies, honoured them there, for indeed, they were worthy of honour. The king, the scorcher of his foes, sat on his golden, celestial throne surrounded by his ministers and his brothers. Gazing at the handsome young boys holding their vīṇās, he said to Lakṣmaṇa, Bharata and Śatrughna, ‘Listen to this tale set in this new metre as it is sung by these boys in their sweet, divine voices! This is a unique and wonderful story and it is exquisitely rendered by these ascetic bards who appear to carry all the marks of royalty!’
Encouraged by Rāma’s words, the boys sang softly, displaying their musical talents. And as Rāma listened to them, he allowed himself to be drawn into the tale.
Chapter Three
‘A mong all the victorious kings engendered by Prajāpati who ruled the earth in the days of old, one was named Sagara. He never went anywhere without his sixty thousand sons and he caused the entire ocean to be dug up. It was in his royal clan of Ikṣvāku that the ancient tale of the Rāmāyana was born and was told. This is the tale that I shall relate now from its beginning to its end. It is filled with dharma, artha and kāma.* Listen to it with a pure heart.
‘The great country of Kosalā lay on the banks of the river Sarayū. It was prosperous and beautiful and was inhabited by wealthy and contented people. Its capital was the city of Ayodhyā, famous in the three worlds, for it had been established by Manu, lord of all men.
Ayodhyā was a well-planned city. Its roads were wide, and as long as sixty yojanās. They were strewn with flowers and always sprinkled with water to keep the dust down. King Daśaratha ruled from there and protected his realm like Indra protected heaven. Ayodhyā’s wooden gates were symmetrical, beautifully proportioned and were adorned with fine carvings. Its markets were well laid-out and the city’s fortifications were carefully constructed by skilled artisans. Ayodhyā was filled with bards and musicians and its wealthy citizens hoisted colourful banners on their roofs.
Like a young bride adorned by a girdle of green, Ayodhyā was surrounded by gardens and groves. Its impenetrable fortifications were girt by a deep moat, making it impossible for enemies to enter the city. Horses, elephants, camels and mules added to the city’s wealth. Representatives from tributary states made their home in Ayodhyā and people from different lands traded there without obstacle or difficulty.
Ayodhyā was like Amarāvatī, Indra’s celestial city. Its tall and stately mansions with their jewelled upper chambers shone like mountain peaks, adorning the city that was filled with gems and wealth. Groups of enchanting women wandered through the streets, enhancing the city’s beauty. Even the houses of common people were carefully constructed so that they had no holes or leaks and they all stood on level ground. They were stocked with the finest rice and the water in Ayodhyā tasted like sugarcane juice. The music from drums, horns and stringed instruments filled the air. It was the best city on earth, equal to the celestial city in which the enlightened ones lived as a reward for their merit.
The best of men lived in Ayodhyā’s beautiful homes. These men never shot an arrow at a retreating enemy nor at the unarmed. They were such skilled archers that they could locate and kill an enemy just by following the sounds that he made. They used their strong arms to kill roaring lions and tigers and maddened boars in the forests. Thousands of these great warriors lived in Daśaratha’s city. There were also brahmins who performed sacrifices. They were learned in all the six branches of the Vedas and were so virtuous that they increased the value of the sacrificial offerings one thousand fold. In fact, they were like the great celestial sages and they strove for the welfare of all the citizens.
Ayodhyā was ruled by the great King Daśaratha who was learned in the Vedas. He was far-sighted and illustrious and he was loved by his people. The greatest of all the Ikṣvāku warriors, he had performed many sacrifices. Dedicated to dharma, Daśaratha was disciplined, equal to the best of seers and was known in the three worlds as a royal sage. The mighty Daśaratha was victorious over his enemies but he was loyal to his friends. He had complete control over his senses. His wealth and prosperity rivalled that of Indra and Kubera. Like the glorious Manu had protected his realm, so Daśaratha lived on earth and protected it.
Always associated with the truth, King Daśaratha supported the three upper castes and ruled his city the way Indra ruled Amarāvatī. The people who lived in Daśratha’s city were happy, learned and virtuous. There was no greed, for each was satisfied with what he had and spoke the truth. No one was poor in Ayodhyā. People lived happily with their cows, horses and families and with what wealth they had. Nowhere in Ayodhyā would you a see a man who was lustful, cruel or miserly, nor one who was illiterate nor an atheist. Men and women were righteous, disciplined and happy. They resembled the great sages in their conduct and behaviour. Everyone adorned themselves with earrings, coronets and necklaces. They bathed every day and anointed their bodies with sweet-smelling unguents. No one ate impure food nor did they let their neighbours go hungry. Just as no one was unadorned, so too, there was no one with a distracted mind.
Even though Ayodhyā had thousands of brahmins, people did not neglect the performance of household sacrifices and rituals. Brahmins were committed to the performance of public rituals and were allowed to accept gifts. They were learned and had conquered their senses because of their exalted characters. There were no unbelievers, nor were there any ignorant or unrighteous people in Ayodhyā. There were no libertines either. There was no sadness or poverty. Men and women were beautiful and wealthy and they were all devoted to their king.
A guest was honoured as a god in the homes of all four castes. People took refuge in the truth and lived well into old age. The kṣatriyas placed the brahmins first and the vaiśyas followed the kṣatriyas. And the śūdras, according to their duty, served the other three castes. Ayodhyā was full of warriors who were like the Fire, handsome and energetic. Skilled in the arts of warfare, they protected the city like fierce lions guarding their mountain lairs. They had the best of horses from Kāmboja and Bāhlika born of the celestial steed Vanāyu. The warriors also had elephants, as large and strong as the Vindhya mountains, whose temples ran with ichor. Protected by these mighty elephants of the Bhadra, Mandra and Mṛga breeds, Ayodhyā* was impossible to conquer. Thus, it was appropriately named and had gates with enormous padlocks. Ruled by a king equal to Indra, that city which was adorned with beautiful houses and thousands of worthy men, shone with a brilliance that could be seen for miles.
Chapter
Four
Even though he had performed many austerities in order to have a son, Daśaratha, who was great-souled, glorious and righteous, remained without an heir. One day, the king considered the matter again and thought, ‘Why don’t I perform a sacrifice to ensure the birth of a son?’ The wise monarch called together his ministers who were all intelligent men and said to his chief minister Sumantra, ‘Bring the priests and teachers here immediately!’
But Sumantra took the king aside. ‘Listen to the story that was told to me a long time ago by a priest who had performed many sacrifices!’ he said. ‘The blessed Sanatkumāra told this story among a gathering of sages about the matter of your having a son.
‘It had been ordained that Vibhāṇḍaka, a descendent of Kaśyapa, would have a son named Ṛṣyaṣṛnga. This boy would live in the forest all alone with his father and would have no contact with other men and women. He would observe the double vows of brahmacārya* that are well known in the three worlds and that are honoured by all the brahmins. Ṛṣyaṣṛnga would pass the time looking after his father and performing sacrifices.
‘At this time, the brave and glorious king Romapāda ruled in the land of Anga. But his misdeeds resulted in a terrible drought that inflicted great suffering on all beings. This made the king very unhappy. He said to the elders and the brahmins that had gathered at his court, “You are all learned in the moral and social traditions of the world! Instruct me in a suitable method of expiation!” The brahmins who were well-versed in the Vedas replied, “Do whatever is necessary to bring the son of the sage Vibhāṇḍaka here with all the respect due to him! Then offer him the hand of your daughter, Śāntā, in marriage.”
‘The king began to think about the best way to bring Ṛṣyaṣṛnga to his court. He decided that he would send his ministers and priests to bring the young man to the city with all the appropriate honours. But the ministers were apprehensive when they heard the king’s plans. They did not want to fetch Ṛṣyaṣṛnga because they feared his powers. At the same time, they did not want to incur the king’s displeasure and so they began to think of ways to lure the young man into the city. They said to the king, “Let the sages’s son be brought here by courtesans. The drought will end when you offer him your daughter in marriage!”
