The Ramayana

by Valmiki

  As Rāma was consoling Bharata, Jābāli, the greatest of all the brahmins, spoke these unrighteous words. ‘Rāma, a noble and intelligent man like you should not think like a common person! Every man is born alone and dies alone. Who is related to whom? What is the meaning of family? A man who clings to a mother or a father must be considered deluded. No one is anything to anyone! Just as a man arrives in the village and stays somewhere for the night and leaves the next morning, so mothers and fathers are mere stops along the way in life. A wise man does not cling to these.

  ‘Do not renounce your father’s kingdom and take the difficult path which will cause you much hardship. Crown yourself in the prosperous city of Ayodhyā which waits for you like a virgin bride, her hair in a single braid! Enjoy the royal pleasure of your city as Indra enjoys heaven. Daśaratha is nothing to you and you are no one to him. You and the king are entirely unrelated to each other. The king has gone where he had to go, for that is the destiny of all mortals. You concern yourself with irrelevant matters!

  ‘I feel sorry for those people who pursue wealth and those that pursue dharma. They suffer in this life and the next. See how men waste food by performing rituals for the dead! Can a dead man eat? The books that tell you to perform sacrifices, do penance and give gifts are written by wily men who want to help others spend their money! You are wise enough to know that there is no world other than this one. Believe in what you can see and turn your back on the unseen! Take the kingdom as Bharata has asked you to!’

  ‘What you have just said is totally unacceptable though it seems appropriate, completely improper even though it seems reasonable,’ replied Rāma passionately. ‘The man who lives without restraints walks an unrighteous path. He does not live in accordance with our sacred teachings and he shall never have the respect of good men. It is a man’s character and his deeds that determine whether he is high or low born, pure or impure, brave or simply a hoax.

  ‘The timeless rules of kingship are bound by truth and compassion. Truth is the mainstay of kingship and the world is established in truth. The gods and sages declare truth to be the highest goal. It is supreme in the world and exalts one to heaven. Men despise a liar as they despise snakes. Truth controls the world and is the only refuge. It is the basis of everything. Nothing is greater than truth. Gift giving, sacrifices, penances, good deeds, even the Vedas, are established in truth and, therefore, it is the highest good.

  ‘How can I fail to carry out my father’s promise when I am committed to it by an oath of truth? I cannot violate my father’s bond with truth out of greed, delusion or even out of ignorance! Gods and ancestors reject the offerings of men who are fickle and do not keep their word. It is clear to me that every man must hold to the truth, that it is his dharma. It is for this reason alone that ascetics command so much respect. I renounce the dharma of a kṣatriya because it is fundamentally unrighteous even though it has some good things about it. It attracts the base, the cruel, the greedy and those inclined to be wicked.

  ‘What you have just asked me to do is wrong, even though you have supported it with a great many arguments. I promised my father in the presence of elders and teachers that I would live in the forest. How can I do what Bharata wants without breaking that promise? By living in the forest, I shall be able to pursue purity by eating simple foods and making offerings to the gods and the ancestors. I shall nourish my body but go through life without deceit, depending on my powers of discrimination!’

  ‘Every man born into this world has three mentors, Rāma, his father, his mother and his teacher,’ said Vasiṣṭha, the royal priest. ‘His father gives him birth. A teacher gives a man knowledge and wisdom and so he, too, is called a mentor. I was your father’s teacher and I am yours too. If you do as I say, you shall not be acting unrighteously.

  ‘All the leaders of the people are gathered here. If you do your duty by them you shall not be acting unrighteously. You cannot ignore the wishes of your virtuous mother. If you do as she says, you will not be acting unrighteously. You who are devoted to truth and dharma shall not be untrue to yourself if you do as Bharata asks!’ said Vasiṣṭha gently.

  ‘My father Daśaratha brought me into this world,’ replied Rāma. ‘I cannot ignore what he ordered me to do. Neither Bharata nor I can invalidate what my father said and did while he was alive. Nor can I appoint a substitute to live in the forest. That would be worthy of contempt. What Kaikeyī asked for was right and what my father did was appropriate.

  ‘I know Bharata to be self-restrained and respectful to his elders. He is a virtuous and honourable man and with him as the king everything will be all right. When I return from the forest, I shall rule the kingdom along with my honourable brother!’

  ‘Place your sandals adorned with gold upon your feet,’ said Bharata to Rāma who was as beautiful as the moon and shone like the sun. ‘They shall guarantee the welfare of the worlds in your absence!’

  Rāma placed the sandals on his feet and then took them off and gave them to Bharata. Bharata bowed to the sandals and said, ‘I too shall mat my hair and wear simple clothes for fourteen years. I shall live on roots and fruits outside the city and wait for your return even as your sandals inspire me in the affairs of state.’ Bharata received the sandals humbly, bowed to Rāma and placed them on the head of the royal elephant.

  Then Rāma, steadfast as the mountains and firm in the pursuit of his own dharma, said goodbye to his brothers, his ministers and his elders with all the respect that was due to them. His mothers, choked by their tears, could say nothing to him as he bowed to them and went into his hut, weeping quietly.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Bharata and his mighty army with its horses and elephants and chariots departed for the city. Soon after they had left the pleasant surroundings of Sṛngaverapura, Bharata saw Ayodhyā in the distance. ‘Look how dark and silent Ayodhyā lies!’ said Bharata sadly to his charioteer. ‘All joy and brightness have deserted the city!’

  Travelling quickly in his chariot that rumbled like thunder, Bharata entered Ayodhyā. Cats and owls prowled the streets but there were no men or women to be seen anywhere. The city was shrouded in a darkness deeper than the black nights during the dark fortnight of the moon. ‘How sad that the city stands silent today,’ sighed Bharata. ‘It used to be filled with music and song! The sweet smells of unguents and flower garlands and liquor no longer fill the air. Now that Rāma is gone, there are no sounds of elephants trumpeting, horses neighing and chariot wheels rumbling.’ Deeply depressed, Bharata entered his father’s apartments that were now like a mountain cave without a lion.

  Though he was still very upset, Bharata said to his ministers and advisors, ‘I ask your permission to leave. I am going to Nandigrāma. Bereft without Rāma, I shall live there with my grief! The king has died and my older brother is in the forest. I shall wait for his return for he is the rightful king.’ Bharata honoured his mothers and with a lighter heart, climbed into his chariot with Śatrughna.

  As Bharata left, he was followed by his priests and ministers and the entire army with its horses and elephants and chariots as well as by all the citizens who came along unbidden. Holding Rāma’s sandals on his head and filled with love for his brother, honourable Bharata soon reached Nandigrāma.

  ‘This kingdom has been entrusted to me by my brother,’ said Bharata to the elders after he had dismounted. ‘His sandals, adorned with gold, shall guarantee the welfare of the kingdom until he returns! I shall place them on his feet myself when he comes back.

  ‘I shall lay down the burden of kingship when I am reunited with Rāma and serve him as an elder brother should be served. Only when I have returned the sandals as well as the kingship that has been entrusted to me shall I be free of this terrible shame. When Rāma has been crowned in front of his rejoicing people I shall be four times as happy as I could ever have been as king!’

  Bharata matted his hair and put on the clothes of an ascetic. He lived in Nandigrāma with his army and his ministe
rs and ruled from there with the authority bestowed upon him, waiting for his beloved brother’s return so that his pledge could be fulfilled.

  After Bharata returned to the city, Rāma continued to live in Citrakūṭa. Soon, however, he noticed signs of discomfort among the ascetics who lived there under his protection. They would raise their eyebrows, give him sidelong glances and whisper amongst themselves with great agitation. Rāma wondered if he had offended them in some way and so he went to their master and bowed before him.

  ‘Have the ascetics noticed some change in my behaviour which makes them act differently towards me?’ he asked deferentially. ‘I trust that Lakṣmaṇa has not acted indifferently through carelessness. Has Sītā, in her devotion to me, slighted you all in a way that is not appropriate for women?’

  The master was an old man who had aged further by the practise of severe austerities. Trembling, he replied, ‘Not at all! How could virtuous Sītā ever fail in her duties towards ascetics? The ascetics whisper among themselves because your presence here makes them fear an attack by rākṣasas. Khara, Rāvaṇa’s younger brother, lives close by and he wants to throw all the ascetics out of Janasthāna. He is cruel and crude, and impossible to defeat in battle. Arrogant and wicked, he is a man-eater and he does not like you at all, my child!

  ‘Ever since you came to live here, the rākṣasas have been tormenting the ascetics. They appear in unnatural shapes and in disgusting and terrifying forms. They turn their malicious gaze on us. They throw impure things at the ascetics who are performing sacred rituals and frighten others by suddenly appearing before them. They hide all over the place and take great pleasure in harassing us. When it is time for us to perform our rituals, they throw our sacrificial vessels around. They pour water on our sacred fires and break our pots.

  ‘The ascetics want to leave the area these vile creatures have desecrated and move to another place. We must leave here before the rākṣasas inflict bodily harm on us. There is a pleasant wooded area not far from here, full of roots and fruits. I plan to live there with my followers. You can come with us if you like, before Khara begins to torment you. You have to be doubly alert at all times because your wife is with you. Even though you are capable of looking after yourself, it will not be easy for you to live here.’

  The ascetics were so disturbed by the rākṣasas’ behaviour that Rāma could not persuade them to stay. They honoured Rāma and left with their master to form a new settlement.

  After the ascetics had left, Rāma was disinclined to continue living there for a number of reasons. ‘This is the place where I last saw Bharata, my mother and all the people of Ayodhyā. I am constantly reminded of them and this makes me sad,’ he thought. ‘It has also been spoiled by pitched tents, trampled grasses and horse and elephant droppings. We should go on to another place.’

  Rāma, Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa set off for the hermitage of the sage Atri who welcomed them as if they were his own children. He presented them to his wife, Anusūyā, who was so virtuous that she was honoured by all people.

  ‘For ten long years,’ said Atri, ‘the world was scorched by a terrible drought. Anusūyā, known for her awesome austerities and rigid discipline, forced the Gangā to flow and made roots and fruits appear. She practised severe penances for ten thousand years and by the strength of her vows, she was able to remove all obstacles to the sacred practices of the sages. Intent on helping the gods, she compressed ten days into a single night.

  ‘She will be like a mother to you, Rāma. Let Sītā serve this virtuous woman who has controlled her anger and is worshipped by all creatures!’ Rāma instructed Sītā to do as the sage had said, for Anusūyā was renowned in the world for her deeds.

  Anusūyā was old and wrinkled. Her hair was white and she was so enfeebled by age that she shook like a slender banana tree in a high wind. Sītā touched her feet and stood before her with her head bowed and her palms joined in respect.

  ‘You are truly virtuous, Sītā,’ said Anusūyā kindly. ‘You have given up your family and friends, splendour, wealth and adoration, to follow your husband into the forest. Women who love their husbands no matter whether they live in the city or the forest, whether they be wicked or virtuous, are the ones that go to heaven. Even if a husband be immoral, or lustful or a pauper, he is the supreme divinity to a noble woman. A husband is the best companion in any situation, like the imperishable fruits of penance.

  ‘There are some women whose hearts are filled with a lust for power. They dominate their husbands and choose between right and wrong for themselves. They are ruled by vice and they fall from propriety, becoming notorious because of that. But you are not like that, Sītā. You are virtuous and there is a place for you in heaven.

  ‘Here is a flower garland worthy of the gods and clothes and jewels and rare unguents and ointments for your body! Take these and adorn yourself for they shall never fade or wither. You shall add to your husband’s glory by using these, as Śrī enhances the glory of Viṣṇu!’ Sītā accepted the affectionate gift with due respect.

  ‘Now the sun has set,’ continued Anusūyā, ‘ushering in the lovely night. Birds that have flown all over in search of food chatter as they settle down to sleep in their nests. Ascetics walk back together from their evening baths with their pots of water, their clothes still wet. Smoke, grey as pigeon feathers, rises from the sacred fires of the sages and is scattered by the gentle wind. The trees around us appear like clumps of darkness and nothing is visible in any direction. Look how the deer lies down beside the sacrificial altar. It is time for the creatures of the night.

  ‘Sītā, the night has arrived adorned with stars and the moon fills the sky with a veil of light. Go to Rāma and take care of him. I have derived much happiness from your company. I have been waiting for you to adorn yourself with these ornaments. Let me have the pleasure of seeing you wear them all!’

  Sītā adorned herself with the jewels and garlands and was as beautiful as a daughter of the gods. She bowed to Anusūyā and went to Rāma. Rāma was delighted with the affection that the old woman had shown Sītā and both Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa were gratified with the honour done to Sītā, an honour rare in the world of men.

  Rāma spent a pleasant night at the hermitage, honoured and entertained by the ascetics. The next morning, after the rituals had been completed, the mighty warriors prepared to depart. The ascetics told them how the rākṣasas created obstacles to their movements in the forest. ‘This is the path that the sages take when they go into the forest to collect fruit,’ they said. ‘Take the same path, Rāma!’

  The ascetics called blessings upon Rāma as he entered the forest with his wife and Lakṣmaṇa as the sun enters a circle of clouds.

  WILDERNESS

  Chapter One

  When Rāma entered the mighty Daṇḍaka forest, he saw that it was inhabited by deer and various other animals, including bears and tigers. The trees in the forest had been enveloped by enormous creepers and vines and none of its ponds and lakes had been looked after. The birds were silent and the only sound that filled the air was the chirping of crickets.

  In that forest which was the home of all kinds of fierce animals, Rāma came upon a huge rākṣasa who fed on human flesh. The rākṣasa, with his sunken eyes and huge maw, roared like thunder. His limbs were twisted and deformed, his huge belly quivered and shook when he moved and he was terrifying to look at. This awful creature, who wore a tiger skin dripping with blood and fat, tormented all the forest animals. He had three lions, four tigers, two wolves, ten deer and an elephant’s head, it’s tusk still smeared with gore, impaled upon the point of his spear as he came rushing towards Rāma, Lakṣmaṇa and Sītā.

  Looking like Death, the rākṣasa charged at them and his roar made the earth tremble. He grabbed Sītā and tucked her under his arm. ‘You are in the forest with the matted hair of an ascetic. But you have brought your wife with you!’ he shouted. ‘Consider your life at an end! You have entered the Daṇḍaka forest armed wi
th bows and arrows! How can you live an ascetic’s life when you have a woman with you? Who are you, unrighteous men, who malign the life led by the great sages?

  ‘I am the rākṣasa Virādha. Every day, I wander through this dense forest preying on sages and eating their flesh. This beautiful woman shall be my wife! And I shall drink the blood of both you wretched creatures on the battlefield!’ Sītā trembled like a slender banana plant in a high wind when she heard the rākṣasa’s terrible words.

  ‘Look, Lakṣmaṇa,’ said Rāma, his face pale as he saw his wife under the rākṣasa’s arm. ‘This beautiful princess, the delicate daughter of Janaka and my lovely wife, who has been reared with every comfort imaginable, is being forced to sit on Virādha’s hip. What Kaikeyī wished for when she asked for her boons has come to pass all too soon! Not satisfied with the kingdom for her own son, she sent me, whom everybody loves, into the forest. That mother of mine has been granted her wish today! I cannot bear the thought of Sītā being touched by another man. It upsets me more than the death of my father and the loss of my kingdom!’

  Rāma broke into tears as he said this but Lakṣmaṇa was enraged and burst out, hissing in his anger, ‘Rāma! You are Indra’s equal and the lord of all creatures! How can you act so helpless! You have nothing to fear when I am at your service. I shall kill this rākṣasa with my arrows and the earth shall drink his blood. I shall direct the anger that I feel for Bharata over the loss of the kingdom towards this creature, just as indra turned his anger upon the mountains. My mighty arms shall release an arrow with great force. May it drive the breath from his body and leave him lifeless upon the ground!’