by Valmiki
Sumantra saw Rāma seated on a golden couch covered with the finest linen, adorned with jewels like Kubera himself. His body was smeared with rare and sweet-smelling red sandal paste, the colour of a boar’s blood. Sītā sat beside him and Rāma appeared as beautiful as the moon in conjunction with the Caitra constellation. He blazed with his own effulgence like the sun and the humble Sumantra, who was held in the highest regard by King Daśaratha, bowed before Rāma.
‘Noble son of Kausalyā, your father and queen Kaikeyī wish to see you. You must go to them at once!’ Rāma was pleased and, giving the summons the respect they deserved, he said to Sītā, ‘Obviously my father and the queen are discussing something related to the consecration. The queen knows my father’s innermost thoughts. She probably wants to make him happy, which is why she has asked him to call me there. I am sure the king will crown me today. I must go there at once. Amuse yourself here with your attendants!’ Dark-eyed Sītā, who flourished in the respect that her husband gave her, accompanied him to the door of the palace and invoked the blessings of the gods upon him.
Rāma saw his well-wishers gathered outside and they cheered loudly when he appeared. Then he climbed into his magnificent chariot which blazed like a fire. It was covered with gold so bright that it dazzled the eyes and was drawn by the best of horses the size of young elephants. Like the thousand-eyed Indra, Rāma shone with his own splendour as he sat in the chariot which thundered through the streets of Ayodhyā like a rain cloud. Rāma left his palace like the moon emerging from behind a cloud. Lakṣmaṇa stood behind him, holding the ceremonial umbrella and plume. The massing crowds cheered with joy as he went by and Rāma could hear snatches of their conversations.
‘Rāma will receive a vast kingdom today because the king has shown him favour!’
‘We are fortunate to have Rāma as our ruler. He shall fulfil all our wishes!’
‘It will be to our great advantage if he rules for a long time!’
Rāma drove through Ayodhyā which was filled with the joyous sounds of horses neighing, elephants trumpeting and bards and musicians singing songs of praise. He looked upon his prosperous city, its squares and highways crowded with horses and elephants and chariots and its people who displayed their abundant wealth, lined with shops overflowing with goods for sale, and he felt proud and happy.
Rāma reached his father’s magnificent palace that shone like the peaks of Mount Kailāsa. He entered the king’s private apartments and saw his father sitting on his splendid throne along with Kaikeyī. But the king seemed unhappy, his face dark with grief. Rāma humbly touched his father’s feet and then, his mind calm and serene, he bowed at the feet of Kaikeyī. The grief-stricken king could barely speak and he dared not look Rāma in the face. His eyes filled with tears, he whispered his son’s name and fell silent.
When he saw how upset his father was, Rāma felt fear clutch at his heart, as if he had stepped unawares on a snake. He had never seen him like that before. Daśaratha’s deep sorrow was evident on his face and in his long sighs which were like the uneven sound of the ocean during a solar eclipse. Rāma sensed his unhappiness and his mind, too, resembled the ocean tormented by the full moon. Rāma was always concerned about Daśaratha’s well-being and wondered why his father did not greet him joyfully as usual. ‘Normally, he is very glad to see me, even if he has been angry before my arrival. But today, the sight of me does not appear to lift his spirits. He seems miserable and depressed.’
After he had greeted Kaikeyī, Rāma said to her, ‘Is my father angry with me today? Have I unknowingly offended him in some way? Tell me if this is so and then intercede on my behalf! He seems so unhappy, as if he were suffering some mental anguish or physical pain. I know one cannot be happy all the time, but what is the cause of his pain today? Has something happened to Bharata or Śatrughna or to any of my mothers? If he is angry with me, tell me what I can do to appease him. I cannot live for a moment with his anger. A man can do nothing other than to place himself at the mercy of the one he considers his master. Did you speak harshly to him, arrogant in the love that he has for you? Or did you say something to hurt him? I ask in all sincerity, why is the king so unhappy?’
‘The king is neither angry nor is he upset about anything,’ replied the selfish Kaikeyī without batting an eyelid. ‘But there is something on his mind that he is reluctant to talk about. He cannot bear to say anything unpleasant to you because he loves you so much. But you must fulfill what he has promised me.
‘Long ago, he honoured me by giving me a boon. And now, even though he is a king, he regrets his promise like a common man. He is trying to build a dam after the river has flooded. Rāma, good people know that dharma is the root of all action. You must ensure that the king’s anger does not allow him to ignore dharma. If you promise to abide by the king’s wishes, whether they be right or wrong, I shall tell you what he wants. He cannot bear to speak them himself!’
Rāma was disturbed by Kaikeyī’s words and, in front of the king, he said, ‘Madam, how can you speak to me like this? I would jump into fire or into the ocean, even take poison, if that is what the king commands! The king is my father as well as my teacher and he wishes the best for me. Tell me what the king wants and I swear that I will do it. Rāma does not speak with a forked tongue!’
‘In the distant past, during the war between the gods and the asuras, your father was wounded in battle,’ began ignoble Kaikeyī. ‘I took care of him and he gave me two boons. I have asked the king to install Bharata as his heir and to send you into the Daṇḍaka forest, Rāma!’ she continued cruelly. ‘Best of men, if you want to fulfil your oath and allow your father to keep his word, obey his command and go into the forest for fourteen years! Renounce the consecration and live as an ascetic in the forest with matted hair and rough clothes! Bharata shall rule the land from this city which is filled with jewels, elephants, horses and chariots!’
Her cruel and unkind words were like death, but they did not perturb Rāma in the least. ‘It shall be as you say. I shall live in the forest as an ascetic to fulfil the king’s promise. But I still want to know why the king does not greet me with joy as he normally does. Do not be angry with me. I say again to reassure you that I will gladly live the life of an ascetic in the forest. How can I refuse to do this when it is my father who asks? But one thing still rankles in my heart—why did the king not tell me himself about the consecration? I would gladly have given my brother Bharata everything myself—my kingdom, my wealth, my wife, all that I hold dear, including my life.
‘You must convince my father that I will do this without sadness. Why does he stare at the floor and weep silent tears? Let messengers be sent at once to bring Bharata back from his uncle’s home. And I shall leave for the Daṇḍaka forest to respect my father’s word.’ Kaikeyī was beside herself with joy and she urged Rāma to leave for the forest. ‘There is no need to delay things. The king was too ashamed to speak to you himself. But think nothing of it and do not hold it against him. Now go quickly, for your father can neither eat nor bathe until you have left.’
The king muttered ‘Damn you! Damn you!’ before he fell onto the gilded couch in a faint. Rāma lifted him up but urged by Kaikeyī, he made haste to leave for the forest, like a horse that has been whipped. ‘You know I do not crave wealth nor material things, that I am like a ṛṣi in my devotion to dharma. I would do anything to please my father. There is no greater dharma than service to one’s father and obedience to his wishes. Kaikeyī, did you think that I was lacking in virtue that you spoke to the king about this? You could have commanded me yourself!
‘I shall leave for the forest after saying goodbye to my mother and after telling Sītā that she has to stay here. Let Bharata rule the kingdom and serve my father, for that is his highest duty.’ Rāma bowed at the feet of his unconscious father and the wicked Kaikeyī and left the room. He came out of the inner apartments and did not even glance at all the materials that had been collected for his consecration. The
loss of a kingdom did not dim his royal lustre just as the darkness of the night cannot destroy the cool moonlight that soothes the world. Though Rāma had renounced the kingdom and decided to live in the forest, his mind was calm, as though he had transcended the world.
Collecting himself, he suppressed his grief as he went into his own apartments to tell his mother the unhappy news. He entered his palace where everyone was celebrating, but he disguised his emotions so that the ones that he loved most would suspect nothing.
Chapter Four
Rāma sighed as he entered the inner courtyards and saw his aged chamberlain and the learned brahmins whom the king held in special esteem. He greeted them with his usual courtesy and respect and went in to the next courtyard where he encountered the young women who guarded the entrance to his mother’s apartments. They invoked the blessings of the gods on him and ran inside eagerly to tell Kausalyā that Rāma had arrived.
Kausalyā had fasted all night and now that it was morning, she was praying to Viṣṇu for her son’s welfare. This devout woman, who always kept the prescribed fasts, was dressed in pure white and was pouring oblations into the fire as she recited the auspicious mantras. When she saw Rāma, she rose and ran towards him joyfully, as if she had not seen him for a long time, as a mare would run to her foal. Overflowing with love, she spoke sweetly to her resolute son. ‘May you be blessed with a long life and all success, like the other wise rulers of our clan! Your father has kept his word, Rāma. Today he shall anoint you his heir.’
Rāma, whose nature it was to be humble, joined his palms in respect and bowed to his mother. Dear Lady,’ he said, ‘you do not know what has happened. It is a terrible thing and it will bring great sorrow to you, Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa. I must go and live in the forest for fourteen years as an ascetic, eating honey, roots and fruit and renouncing meat. The king has chosen Bharata as his heir and has asked me to live in the Daṇḍaka forest.’
Kausalyā, who was as delicate as a banana plant, fainted when she heard these words. Rāma lifted her and gently wiped the dust that covered her when she had fallen like a mare who rolls on the earth after dropping her heavy load. Kausalyā deserved all happiness but now she spoke sorrowfully to her son who was attending to her with concern. ‘Had I never given birth to you, Rāma, I would have known the grief of a childless woman. But the sorrow I feel now is far greater. Earlier, too, I had neither the good fortune nor the happiness of being my husband’s favourite. But I waited for the joy that would arise from having a son!’
‘Though I am superior to all the king’s other wives, I have had to tolerate many remarks from them that have wounded me deeply. Whose sorrow could be greater than mine? I have been insulted while you were still here. Imagine what will happen when you are gone! Life for me shall be worse than death! Even my loyal retainers shall turn away from me because they fear Kaikeyī’s son Bharata!
‘From the moment you were born seventeen years ago, I have waited anxiously for an end to my sorrows. I have raised you with prayers and fasts and all kinds of austerities but these have brought me nothing but unhappiness. Ah! my heart must be hard indeed that it does not crumble like a river bank assaulted by fast-flowing waters! I cannot even die, for Yama has not approached me the way a lion approaches a deer. Yes, my heart is hard! It should have broken to pieces and fallen to the ground under this terrible load of grief. Death cannot come before its time! My fasts and penances for the birth of a son have been in vain, like a seed sown in the sand! There can be no greater sorrow than this! If only death would come when one wanted! Then, without you, I would die of grief today, like a cow without her calf!’ wailed Kausalyā as she thought of the unhappiness that lay in store for her.
As Kausalyā wept, Lakṣmaṇa spoke, his words appropriate to the situation. ‘Mother, I, too, do not like the fact that Rāma has to give up the kingdom and go into the forest because of a woman’s whim! The king is old and senile and succumbs to his lust. Who knows what he might say in the throes of passion! I cannot think of any crime that Rāma has committed, nor can I think of a flaw in his character. How can he be banished into the forest? There is no man on earth, even if he is Rāma’s enemy or someone that Rāma has insulted, who would speak badly of him.
‘How can someone who treads the path of dharma reject a son without reason, that, too, a son who is so god-like, so upright and so restrained? Which son would honour the word of a father who is so patently in his second childhood? Rāma, seize the kingdom with my help before the news of the king’s change of heart spreads! When I am by your side, protecting you with my bow, there is no one, not even death, who can get the better of you!
‘Best of men, if there is any opposition to you in Ayodhyā, I shall kill every single man with my sharp arrows! I will kill all Bharata’s supporters, for the cowardly are scorned in this world! If our father antagonizes you and me, what power can he possibly have to bestow the kingdom on Bharata?
‘Though I love my own mother dearly, I swear to you, lady Kausalyā, that if Rāma enters the forest or jumps into the fire to kill himself, I shall have gone ahead of him! I shall dispel your sorrow as the sun dispels the darkness. You and Rāma shall see my courage! I shall kill my father who is impotent and infatuated with Kaikeyī! His dotage beckons, but he frolics like a youth!’
‘Son, you have heard what your brother has to say,’ said the weeping Kausalyā to Rāma. ‘Follow his advice if the plan appeals to you. Ignore the unrighteous words of my husband’s wife. You cannot go away and leave me here tormented by grief! You know dharma and you are devoted to righteousness. Stay here and look after me—that would be the highest dharma of all! Even the great sage Kaśyapa stayed to care for his mother. He went to heaven because his service was equal to the most severe austerities!
‘Just as you honour the king and respect his majesty, so, too, should you honour me. I forbid you to go into the forest! I would eat grass with you and be happy but I have no use for a life without you. If you go without me, I shall starve myself to death. And then, my son, you shall go to hell and the whole world shall hear about it, just as they heard about how the Ocean was punished for the unjust killing of a brahmin!’
Devoted to righteousness, Rāma spoke gently to his weeping mother. ‘I cannot ignore my father’s wishes, but I bow my head before you and ask for deliverance. I want to go and live in the forest. The ṛṣi Kāṇḍu killed a cow at his father’s behest even though he knew it was wrong to do so. In our own family, long ago, the sons of Sagara died a terrible death digging up the earth because their father had commanded them to do so. Rāma, the son of Jamadāgni, killed his mother with his own axe in the forest because his father told him to. I am not the only one to obey my father’s order. All the men I have just named did exactly that and I must follow their example. I am doing the right thing by fulfilling my father’s wishes. Besides that, no one would ever come to harm by following his father’s command.’
Rāma then turned to his brother. ‘Lakṣmaṇa, I know you have the greatest affection for me. I also know you are upright and restrained. Dharma is the most important thing in the world, truth is established because of it. And obeying a father’s command is the highest dharma of all, as is conforming to the wishes of a mother and brahmin. I cannot disobey my father simply because Kaikeyī, our mother, asked him to command me thus. Give up your ignoble ideas inspired by the duties of a kṣatriya! Follow my example. Take refuge in dharma and not in violence.’
‘Allow me to go into the forest,’ said Rāma to Kausalyā, bowing his head. ‘I beg you on my life to let me go! When I have fulfilled this unpleasant promise, I shall return to the city. I cannot turn my back on the greatest good just for the sake of a kingdom. Life is too short for me to enjoy the pleasures of royalty unjustly!’
Lakṣmaṇa’s sorrow was mixed with anger and his eyes blazed as he listened to Rāma speak. But Rāma remained clam and composed as he went on. ‘Lakṣmaṇa, make sure that the preparations for my consecration are dismantle
d with the same speed and efficiency with which they were assembled. Do this in such a way that the fears of our mother Kaikeyī are allayed, since the thought of my installation makes her anxious. I cannot bear the fact that she should be unhappy on this account.
‘I have never knowingly or unknowingly caused the slightest pain to our father or to any of our mothers. My father is an honourble man and now he worries about his afterlife. Let him be relieved of this fear. If the ceremonies for me are not cancelled, his mind will not be at ease and that would make me uncomfortable. So, Lakṣmaṇa, cancel the preparations for my consecration. I want to leave for the forest as soon as possible. My departure will fulfil the wishes of the queen and she can begin the arrangements for her son’s coronation without further anxiety. Her mind will be at ease when I have left. And so will my father’s.
‘Lakṣmaṇa, you have to see destiny at work in my exile and in the reversal of the kingship that was entrusted to me. How could Kaikeyī have worked against me unless it was destiny that directed her to do so? Especially since I have never made any difference between her own son and me. It can only be destiny that has made her act like this. Why else would a noble princess, rich in virtues, speak like a common woman in her husband’s presence?
‘That which is unthinkable and which cannot be countered by any creature is an act of destiny. This is what I have learned from what has just transpired between Kaikeyī and me. Where is the man who can fight against fate which is manifest only in its workings? Joy and sorrow, fear and anger, gain and loss, existence and non-existence—destiny reveals itself in all these things. I have no regrets about the cancelled consecration and neither should you. Lakṣmaṇa, do not think badly of our mother who has taken the kingdom away from me. Understand that she was fated to do this and recognize the power of fate!’
