The Ramayana
Page 18
As he was doing so, the sun rose. Rāma had spent his first night on the banks of the Tamasā with his subjects sleeping nearby. Rāma woke and saw the people. ‘Ah Lakṣmaṇa! Look at those people asleep under the trees!’ he said. ‘They love us so much that they show little concern for their own homes. They are so determined to take us back that they would rather die than give up their mission! Let us climb into our chariot and slip away quietly while they are still asleep. Then the citizens of Ayodhyā will no longer have to sleep under trees for my sake. It is the duty of a prince to protect his people from hardship that he has created. They cannot be made to suffer on account of the prince!’
‘I like the plan,’ said Lakṣmaṇa as Rāma stood there like dharma incarnate. ‘Climb into the chariot quickly!’ Sumantra had harnessed the horses and stood waiting for Rāma’s instructions. ‘Turn the chariot around. Drive us far away and then return here, so that the people will not know where we have gone,’ said Rāma. Sumantra did as he was told and quickly came back to where Rāma was. The princes and Sītā mounted the chariot and drove down the road that had no obvious dangers but was still frightening to behold.
The citizens awoke to find Rāma gone. They were terribly disheartened and fell to grieving. They looked everywhere but they could not see him and soon, they were exhausted by their tears. They followed the chariot tracks for a while but they soon disappeared and the people were plunged into a deeper grief. They turned back saying, ‘What can we do now that even fate is against us?’ Utterly distraught, they went home along the road on which they had come.
The people who had accompanied Rāma went back to their homes and surrounded by their wives and children they wept bitterly. There were no signs of joy anywhere. Shops looked bare and empty as merchants did not lay out their wares. Even food was not cooked in homes that night. Mothers did not celebrate the births of their first sons nor was there rejoicing among people who had recovered long-lost wealth. In every home, weeping women berated their returning husbands with words as sharp as a goad on an elephant.
‘What use is a home, work, family, wealth, sons and happiness to someone who cannot see Rāma?’
‘There is only one heroic man in the world and that is Lakṣmaṇa. He has followed Rāma and Sītā into the forest!’
‘The rivers and the lotus pools are fortunate indeed, for Rāma shall plunge into their clear waters to bathe!’
‘The mountains and forests shall welcome Rāma like a beloved guest when he arrives!’
‘Trees laden with flowers and haunted by bees shall burst into unseasonal fruits when they see Rāma! Mountains and flowing streams shall proudly display their rushing waterfalls for Rāma!’
‘There can be no fear or suffering where Rāma is, for he is a great hero and Daśaratha’s son!’
‘Let us go after him quickly before he gets too far away. The shadow cast by so great a man is a blessing in itself! He is our protector and our refuge!’
‘We shall serve Sītā and you can serve Rāma,’ said the grieving women to their husbands. ‘Rāma will see to your welfare in the forest and Sītā will look after us women. Why should we stay in this city with its unhappy memories and its despairing citizens?’
‘If Kaikeyī’s reign turns out to be unrighteous and we are all made vulnerable, what will the be the use of our sons and our wealth, of even our lives?’
‘Kaikeyī has already betrayed her husband and his son for the sake of power. How can we expect this woman who has dishonoured her family to take care of us?’
‘With Rāma gone, the king will not live very long. Everything will be destroyed when he dies.’
Thus did the women of Ayodhyā lament, tormented by their grief. They suffered Rāma’s exile as if it were the banishment of their own son or brother, for he meant more to them than their families.
Chapter Eight
Meanwhile, in what remained of the night, Rāma travelled as far as he could, keeping his father’s command in mind. When the sun rose, Rāma performed the morning rituals and found that they had reached the borders of the kingdom. He looked around and saw the well-ploughed fields and further, in the distance, the flowering trees of the forest. He sped the horses on faster and as he drove along, he could hear the villagers criticizing his father for being a slave to his lust.
‘O that cruel and wicked Kaikeyī, so bent on making mischief! She has transgressed all the bounds of decency!’
‘She made the king banish his wise and righteous son, a son so self-restrained and calm, into the forest!’
Listening to these and other similar sentiments, Rāma, the ruler of Kosalā, passed beyond the frontiers of his kingdom. He crossed the river Vedaśruti with its cool and pleasant waters and turned the chariot in the direction of Agastya’s hermitage. Crossing the rivers Gomatī and Syandikā, Rāma showed Sītā all the lands that Manu himself had bestowed upon the Ikṣvāku kings in the distant past. ‘When shall I return to the flowering groves of the Sarayū and hunt the deer in the company of my parents?’ he said sadly to Sumantra, his voice as sweet as a bird’s. ‘Not that I wish to hunt all the time in these woods, but it is a prescribed recreation for kings!’ And so they travelled further, Rāma speaking sweetly to the charioteer about all the things that entered his mind.
Rāma turned towards Sṛngaverapura and soon they came upon the Gangā, the magnificent river that flows in all three realms. Her waters are so clear and pure that they are constantly frequented by ṛṣis. The air was filled with the sound of swans and cranes and cakravāka birds and the waters were full of porpoises, crocodiles and all kinds of water creatures. Rāma looked at the dancing waters with delight and decided that they would spend the night there. He dismounted from the chariot under the shade of a tree with Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa while Sumantra freed the horses from their harness.
The king of this region was a man named Guha. He was a Niṣāda and famed for his strength and courage. He was a good friend of Rāma’s. As soon as he heard that Rāma had arrived in his kingdom, Guha hurried to meet him, accompanied by the elders, his ministers and his family. Knowing that the Niṣāda king had come a long distance, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa went to greet him. Guha embraced Rāma sadly and said, ‘Treat this place as you would treat your own city. Tell me, Rāma, what can I do for you?’
Guha sent for all kinds of food and drink and performed the arghya ritual for his honoured guest. ‘Welcome, great hero! The whole earth belongs to you. We are your servants. Treat this kingdom as yours. Accept all that we offer you, this food and drink that we have brought and this fodder for your fine horses.’
‘You have honoured us and made us very happy with all these things,’ said Rāma affectionately as he embraced Guha tightly in his strong arms. ‘You came all the way here on foot! I am delighted to see you, Guha, in good health and surrounded by your family. I trust that all is well in your kingdom, with your family and with your finances.
‘I thank you for all the gifts you have brought with so much affection, but I cannot accept them. You know that I have taken the vows of an ascetic. I must live in the forest, wear simple clothes and eat only fruits and roots according to the ascetic’s code of conduct. I can accept nothing other than the fodder for the horses. You will have honoured me adequately by giving me that. These horses are very dear to my father Daśaratha and if they are cared for then I, too, am satisfied.’
Guha told his men to feed and water the horses. Rāma performed the evening rituals and drank only water that Lakṣmaṇa had brought for him. Lakṣmaṇa washed Rāma’s feet and when Rāma and his wife lay down for the night, he went and sat under a nearby tree. Guha, armed with his bow, sat and talked with Lakṣmaṇa and Sumantra as they kept watch through the night. As that mighty son of Daśaratha, who was made for happiness and was unused to sorrow, slept, even the night seemed to linger in vigil.
At dawn, the broad-chested Rāma woke and spoke to Lakṣmaṇa. ‘The sun has risen, Lakṣmaṇa! The black koel sings and you can
hear the cries of the peacocks from the forest. Let us make preparations to cross the Gangā as she hastens towards the sea.’ Lakṣmaṇa alerted Guha and Sumantra and returned to his brother. The princes strapped on their armour, picked up their weapons and went down to the river with Sītā. Sumantra, the humble charioteer, came up to Rāma and with his palms joined in respect, he said quietly, ‘What shall I do now?’
‘You must return,’ replied Rāma. ‘You have done all that you were supposed to do for me. We must release the chariot here and go onwards to the forest on foot.’
Sumantra was filled with sorrow when he learned that he was to go no further. ‘There is no one who approves of your going to live in the forest with your wife and brother like a common person,’ said Sumantra. ‘If you are faced with hardships, I cannot believe that there is any merit in abstinence and fasting, in goodness or in honesty. By living in the forest with Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa you will gain as much fame as you would have if you had conquered the three worlds. But we who come to you for refuge shall surely die, left under the power of wicked Kaikeyī!’ Gazing at Rāma whom he loved more than his own life and who was going so far away, Sumantra began to weep.
When he stopped crying, Rāma consoled him gently. ‘The Ikṣvāku clan has no greater friend than you. Make sure King Daśaratha does not grieve for me. I say this to you because the king is very upset and he is also swayed by his lust. Whatever the king orders for Kaikeyī’s pleasure must be executed without any delay. Kings rule for the sole purpose that their wishes never be denied. Behave such that the king never knows a moment of sorrow or displeasure. Give that aged and sorrowing man who has conquered his senses my regards. Tell him of my words and my intentions.
‘Say to him, “Neither Sītā nor I nor Lakṣmaṇa have any regrets about leaving Ayodhyā for the forest. These fourteen years shall pass quickly and when we return, you shall see us again!” And when you have said this to the king, Sumantra, then tell my mother and all the royal noble ladies with her, including Kaikeyī, that Sītā and I and the noble Lakṣmaṇa touch their feet and inquire about their welfare. Tell the king to send for Bharata immediately and to install him as heir as soon as he arrives. Tell him that once he has anointed Bharata his heir, he has no further need to grieve for me. And tell Bharata that he should behave towards all our mothers the way he behaves towards the king. He should treat my mother Kausalyā exactly the way he would Sumitrā and Kaikeyī.’
Sumantra heard Rāma through and spoke to him affectionately. ‘What I am going to say now may seem inappropriate but my words come from my love and devotion to you, so you should pardon me. How can I return to the city without you? It has been plunged into grief as if for a lost son. The citizens will be overcome with despair when they see the empty chariot, like an army that sees the empty chariot of its commander who has been killed. The noise they made when you left will be nothing in comparison to the sound of wailing that will rise when they realize that you have really left them and gone.
‘What will I say to your poor mother to prevent her from grieving further—that I have taken her son to his uncle’s house? I cannot tell a lie, but I cannot speak the painful truth either. If you leave me here despite my pleas, I shall drive the chariot into a raging fire. Rāma, I can use my chariot to drive away any animals that disturb the practise of your austerities. You let me be your charioteer. Show the same kindness and let me stay happily with you in the forest.’ Sumantra pleaded over and over and proffered many reasons.
But Rāma was compassionate towards his retainers and so he replied, ‘Faithful servant, I know how devoted you are to me. Listen and I will tell you why I am sending you back into the city. Kaikeyī, my youngest mother, will be convinced that I have gone to the forest when she sees you return. That will make her happy and then she will no longer suspect my righteous father of speaking an untruth. I fully intend to give my youngest mother the joy of seeing her son Bharata rule this prosperous kingdom. You must take the chariot back to Ayodhyā and give everyone my messages. That will please me and my father most!’
Then Rāma turned to Guha and choosing his words with care, he said, ‘I must mat my hair. Bring me the sap of the nyāgrodha tree.’ Guha fetched the sap and Rāma matted his own hair as well as Lakṣmaṇa’s with it. But even with their matted hair and their simple clothes, the two brothers shone like ṛṣis. Rāma took the required vows and thus it was that Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa took their first steps along the ascetics’ path.
Before going further, Rāma gave Guha good advice on how to administer his kingdom, the army, the treasury, the fort and all the citizens, since the ruling of a kingdom is a difficult task. He bade Guha farewell and went quickly onwards with Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa, his mind serene.
They came to the swiftly-flowing Gangā and found a boat tied to the shore. Lakṣmaṇa helped Rāma and Sītā into the boat and after a last farewell to Guha and Sumantra, the boat was pushed off into the river. Sītā honoured the mighty river, and soon, they reached its southern shore.
‘Walk ahead, Lakṣmaṇa,’ said Rāma. ‘Sītā and I will follow you. I shall bring up the rear, walking behind you and Sītā so that I can protect you both. Today Sītā will be acquainted with the hardships of forest life!’
Sumantra had kept his eyes on Rāma until he reached the far shore. Now that he could no longer see him, he wiped away his tears. Meanwhile, the two brothers had killed a boar, two antelopes and a deer to appease their hunger as they made their way into the forest.
Chapter Nine
They found a large tree and Rāma performed the evening worship. ‘This is our first night away from human habitation and without Sumantra. You must not give in to despair,’ said Rāma to Lakṣmaṇa. ‘You must stay awake and watch all night because Sītā’s safety depends on us. Let us make some sort of bed with all the materials we have collected. We shall get through this night somehow!’
Rāma, who deserved the best of beds, lay down on the bare earth and continued talking sadly. ‘Lakṣmaṇa, I am sure that the king will have trouble sleeping tonight! But Kaikeyī’s wish has been fulfilled so she should be happy. But, when she sees Bharata, she may want to kill the king for the sake of the kingdom. And what will that poor helpless old man do, now that he has succumbed to lust and placed himself in Kaikeyī’s power? Especially since I am not with him!
‘When I think of the disaster that has befallen me as a result of the king’s infatuation I feel the pursuit of pleasure must be even more compelling than the pursuit of wealth or dharma. Even an ignorant man would not renounce his son for the sake of a beautiful woman. But our father has abandoned me, his most obedient son!
‘Ah! Bharata is so fortunate! He is happy with his wife by his side, enjoying the pleasures of ruling over Kosalā. He alone enjoys the pleasures, since my father is too old and I am stuck in the forest! He who abandons wealth and dharma and chases after pleasure shall soon destroy himself, like Daśaratha did! Kaikeyī must have come to our family with the sole intention of destroying Daśaratha, banishing me and securing the kingdom for Bharata!
‘Suppose Kaikeyī, intoxicated by her good fortune, starts to torment Kausalyā and Sumitrā because of me? Lakṣmaṇa, I do not want Sumitrā to suffer on my account. You must return to Ayodhyā as soon as it is morning. You can protect Kausalyā as well. She is so vulnerable. I shall go into the Daṇḍaka forest alone with Sītā!
‘Kaikeyī is base and mean and may treat Kausalyā badly. Place my mother under Bharata’s care, for he is a righteous man! My mother must have caused the separation of mothers and sons in her past life for her to be in this situation now! She looked after me for so many years and bore a number of burdens for my sake. Now I have been snatched away from her just as it was time for her to bear the fruits of her efforts! Damn me! May no woman ever have a son like me, one that causes her so much sorrow!
‘I could easily conquer Ayodhyā and the entire earth in anger with just my arrows. But one should never use one’s strengt
h without reason. If I do not crown myself today, Lakṣmaṇa, it is only because I fear the consequences of violating dharma in my next life!’
Rāma wept in his sorrow and then spent the rest of the night in silence in that lonely forest. When his tears had spent themselves as a forest fire dies down or the ocean calms itself after a storm, Lakṣmaṇa consoled his brother. ‘Rāma, best of all warriors, I know the city of Ayodhyā has lost all its lustre today, like the night without a moon! But there is no use in your being miserable. You will only make Sītā and me feel worse. Neither of us can live without you for a single hour, like fish cannot live without water. I have no desire to see our father or my mother Sumitrā or Śatrughna or even heaven if I am not with you!’
Fortified by Lakṣmaṇa’s wise and sensitive words, Rāma resolved to stay in the forest with Lakṣmaṇa for the stipulated period.
After they had spent the night under the huge tree, Rāma, Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa waited for daylight and then proceeded towards Prayāga, the confluence of the Gangā and the Yamunā. They travelled through regions that were more beautiful than anything they had ever seen before. They walked at an easy pace, looking at the trees and plants around them.
Around noon, Rāma said, ‘Look, Lakṣmaṇa, the smoke around Prayāga rises up like the banner of the fire god! We must be close to the great sage’s hermitage. We must have reached the confluence of the rivers. I can hear their waters crashing against each other!’ By sunset, they had reached the sage Bharadvāja’s settlement.
Though they were eager to see the sage, the three of them stopped at some distance from the hermitage. ‘We are Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, the sons of Daśaratha,’ announced Rāma. ‘And this is my virtuous wife Sītā, the daughter of Janaka. She has followed me into the deserted forest where sages practice austerities. When my father banished me, my beloved younger brother, who is a man of firm resolve, decided to come with me. We shall enter the mighty forest as my father decreed and we shall live on roots and fruits as prescribed by the dharma of the ascetics!’