The Valmiki Ramayana
3.14: Sītā’s Ordeal
After witnessing Rāvaṇa’s destruction, the gods and ṛṣis departed joyfully for their various heavenly abodes. Mātali bowed before Rāma and received permission to return with his chariot to Indra. Rāma watched as the celestial vehicle rose high into the sky and disappeared. His fury with the Rākṣasas had completely subsided. He now thought of Vibhishana’s installation as the new king of Lanka. As the city was upon the earth, it was within the jurisdiction of the earth’s emperors, although inhabited by the Rākṣasas. Thus Rāma desired to install the pious Vibhishana as its righteous ruler so as to quickly reestablish order in the devastated city.
Rāma asked Lakṣman to perform the ceremony of consecrating Vibhishana on Lanka’s throne. Lakṣman immediately had the monkeys fetch seawater in large golden jars. With that water He duly consecrated Vibhishana, carefully following the directions given in the Vedas. Vibhishana sat upon the throne and blazed with regal splendor. The Rākṣasas were joyful to see Rāvaṇa’s brother assume the rulership of Lanka, and they brought him many gifts and offerings. Vibhishana offered all of these to Rāma, who accepted them out of His love for the Rākṣasa.
When the ceremony was complete, Rāma asked Hanumān to go quickly to Sītā. He was aching to see Her again and He said to Hanumān, “Please inform the princess of the good news. I long to see Her. Tell Her to make Herself ready so that very soon I may meet with Her.”
Hanumān at once left for the gardens. As he made his way through Lanka he was honored by the Rākṣasas, who folded their palms as he passed by. Quickly reaching the ashoka grove, he saw Sītā still lying at the foot of the simshapa tree. She was unaware of Rāma’s victory and appeared mournful. Upon seeing Hanumān, however, She quickly stood up in hope. Surely the monkey must be bearing good news. The princess listened expectantly as Hanumān told her all that had happened.
“O godly lady, Your husband has come out victorious. The demon Rāvaṇa is no more and the virtuous Vibhishana is now the ruler of Lanka. Dear mother, Your woes are ended. Please prepare Yourself to see Your Lord Rāma.”
Sītā was stunned with joy. She could not make any reply and simply stood for some time gazing at Hanumān with tears flowing from Her eyes. At last She said in a choked voice, “O good monkey, I cannot think of anything I can offer you in return for this news. Not gold nor silver nor gems nor even the sovereignty of all the worlds is equal to the value of this message.”
Hanumān replied that hearing Her joyful reply was itself more valuable than any gift. And, having seen Rāma emerge victorious and happy, Hanumān desired nothing more.
Sītā praised Hanumān again and again as the monkey stood with his head bowed and palms joined together. When the princess stopped speaking he said to her, “If you permit me, I shall punish these wicked Rākṣasīs who have made Your life so miserable. I would like to give them a good thrashing. They surely deserve death for their evil conduct against You, O divine lady.”
Sītā pondered for some moments within Herself. She looked at the Rākṣasīs who sat at a distance, no longer concerned with Her now that Rāvaṇa was dead. Turning to Hanumān, Sītā replied, “These Rākṣasīs were simply carrying out Rāvaṇa’s order. No blame should be attached to them. Furthermore, any suffering I felt was surely the result of My own past misdeeds, for such is the universal law. Indeed, there is an ancient maxim which is always the code of the virtuous: ‘A righteous man does not consider the offenses of others against him. At all costs he always observes the vow of not returning evil for evil, for the virtuous consider good conduct their ornament.’” Sītā said that compassion should always be shown toward sinners, for no one was ever found to be free of sin.
Admonished in this way, Hanumān bowed to Her and made no argument. Sītā had spoken well, quite in accord with Her noble character. After reflecting on Her words for some moments the monkey then asked, “I wish to return now to Rāma. Please give me a message for Him.”
Sītā replied that She only wished to see Him. Hanumān assured Her that She would very soon see Rāma. Bowing once again he left and made his way back to Vibhishana’s palace, where Rāma was waiting.
Hearing of Sītā’s condition, Rāma asked Vibhishana to arrange that She be given celestial clothes and ornaments. “O king of the Rākṣasas, please have that princess bathed with heavenly unguents and dressed in the finest silks. Then have Her brought here. My heart is burning with desire to see Her again.”
Vibhishana personally went to Sītā with Rāma’s instruction, but Sītā, anxious to see Rāma said, “I wish to see My husband immediately, without having bathed and dressed.”
Sītā had suffered through almost a year of torture. She had never stopped thinking of the day She would be reunited with Rāma. Here it was at last. How could She possibly wait another moment?
Vibhishana replied gently that it was Rāma’s desire that She prepare Herself. Sītā, accepting Rāma’s word as Her order, acquiesced, and Vibhishana immediately arranged for Her bath and clothing. In a short while the princess was adorned in costly robes and jewels worthy of the consorts of the gods. She mounted a golden palanquin bedecked with celestial gems and was borne into Rāma’s presence.
Crowds of Rākṣasas and monkeys filled the streets, all anxious for a glimpse of the princess. Seated on the palanquin behind a silk veil, Sītā shone like the sun shrouded by a cloud. Rākṣasas wearing dark jackets and turbans and carrying staffs fitted with bells cleared a path for Her. The crowds of onlookers, who were roaring like the ocean, parted as the palanquin made its way slowly along the main highway.
Vibhishana went ahead and informed Rāma that His wife was on Her way. Hearing that She was on a palanquin, Rāma said to Vibhishana, “The princess should be asked to dismount and proceed on foot. The people desire to see Her and that is not condemned by scripture. A house, a veil or a costume are never the protection of a chaste woman. Her character alone is her shield.”
Lakṣman, Sugrīva and Hanumān looked at Rāma with surprise. He appeared to be displeased with Sītā. His expression was stern and thoughtful. As Vibhishana conducted Sītā into His presence Rāma looked at Her without smiling.
Sītā was overjoyed to see Rāma again and Her face shone like the moon, but She felt abashed when She saw His grave expression. Her limbs trembled and She stood before Him with Her head bowed and hands folded.
Rāma’s heart was torn. He deeply wanted to show His love for Sītā and to take Her back at once, but He feared public censure. As a king He wanted to set the highest example for the people. Sītā had been in the house of another man for almost a year. Whatever the circumstances, that would surely be criticized by some of the people. Questions about Her chastity might be raised. That would never be acceptable for the wife of an emperor.
Looking at Sītā, whose face was bathed in tears, Rāma said, “O blessed one, I have won You back today. After conquering My enemies in battle, I have avenged the insult given Me through Your abduction. You, too, are fully avenged, O princess. The evil Rāvaṇa is no more.”
Rāma stopped speaking, His heart balking at what He had to say next. Steadying His mind He continued to address the tremulous Sītā. “Now that I have wiped off the stain of insult on My noble house and established My truthfulness and resolve, no further purpose remains for Me in this matter. O gentle lady, I have not undergone this endeavor out of a desire to again have You as My wife. You have long dwelt in the house of another. How then can I take You back into My house? Your good character has become suspect. Rāvaṇa clasped You in his arms and looked upon You with a lustful eye. Therefore, My attachment for You has ended. Please go wherever You may desire. Perhaps You may now find shelter with Lakṣman or Bharata or Shatrughna, or even Vibhishana. As beautiful as You are, O Sītā, how could Rāvaṇa have left You alone?”
Sītā was shocked. She wept loudly and shook like a sapling caught in a storm. Greatly shamed by Her husband’s words, She shrank into Herself. Rāma’s speech had pierced Her like poisoned arrows and She cried in pain for a long time. Gradually gathering Her senses She replied to Rāma in faltering tones.
“Why do You address Me with such unkind words, O hero, like a common man addressing some vulgar woman? You are judging all women by the standards of a degraded few. Give up Your doubts in Me for I am without blame. When Rāvaṇa snatched Me I was helpless and dragged against My will. Although I could not control My limbs, My heart remained under My control and did not deviate from You even slightly. If, in spite of Our living together in love for so long, You still do not trust Me, then I am surely undone for good.”
Angry, Sītā admonished and taunted Rāma. Why had He gone to such great endeavors? He could have sent a message with Hanumān telling Her that He was rejecting Her. Then She would have immediately given up Her life and saved Him all the effort of war. It seemed He had given way to anger alone, just like an ordinary man. Like a mean man, He had not considered Her devotion and chastity toward Him. He had forgotten Her divine origins and taken Her to be an ordinary woman.
Sītā, still weeping, turned to Lakṣman. “O prince, please raise for Me a pyre. This is My only recourse now. I no longer desire to live, being smitten with false reproaches. As My husband has renounced Me in a public gathering, I shall enter fire and give up My life.”
Lakṣman was indignant. How could Rāma act in this way? He looked at His brother, but Rāma remained impassive. He returned Lakṣman’s glance with a slight nod. Lakṣman understood His desire and, feeling deeply pained and perplexed, constructed a pyre.
Rāma stood like Yamarāja, the god of justice. No one dared approach Him or say anything. Only Sītā came near Him. She walked around Him in respect and approached the blazing fire. The princess then prayed with folded hands. “If I have never been unfaithful to Rāma either in mind, words or body, may the fire-god protect Me on all sides. As My heart ever abides in Rāma, so may the fire-god save Me now. As all the gods are witness to My chastity, let the fire-god protect Me.”
After uttering this prayer Sītā walked around the fire and then fearlessly entered it before the vast assembly. Sītā seemed like a golden altar with its sacred fire. Gods, ṛṣis, Gandharvas, Siddhas and other divine beings observed Sītā walking deep into the fire and all the women in the assembly sent up a great cry as they watched Her ascend the pyre, like a goddess fallen from heaven and entering hell. A gasp of amazement and shock came from the crowd as She disappeared into the flames.
Rāma was blinded by tears. He was afflicted to hear the cries of the people. With His mind set on virtue and His heart wracked with grief, He watched Sītā walk into the fire. From the sky the gods, headed by Brahmā, addressed Rāma. “How are You allowing this divine lady to enter fire? Do You not recall Your actual identity? What is this play of Yours, O Lord?”
Rāma looked at the gods and folded His palms. He replied, “I take Myself to be a human. My name is Rāma, the son of Daśaratha. Let Brahmā tell Me who I was in My former lives.”
From the sky the four-headed Brahmā, seated upon his swan carrier, replied, “O Rāma, I know You as the original creator of the cosmos. You are Viṣṇu and Nārāyaṇa, the one supreme person who is known by many names. All the gods come from You and the worlds rest upon Your energy. You exist within and without all things and reside in the heart of every being. Your existence and actions are inconceivable. You have appeared as Rāma for the destruction of Rāvaṇa and the deliverance of Your devoted servants. Now that You have accomplished Your purposes You should return to Your own abode.”
Rāma bowed His head and said nothing. At that moment the fire-god emerged from the fire holding Sītā in his arms. The princess was dressed in a red robe and She shone brightly like the rising sun. She wore a garland of celestial flowers and She was adorned with brilliant gems. Her dark, curly hair framed Her face, which glowed with transcendent beauty.
Agni placed Sītā before Rāma and spoke in a voice that boomed out like thunder. “Here is Your wife Sītā. No sin exists in Her. Neither by word, deed nor thought, not even by glance has She ever been unfaithful to You. Rāvaṇa forcefully snatched Her away while She was helpless and forlorn. Although kept captive by him, Her mind and heart remained focused on You at every moment. She did not give a single thought to Rāvaṇa despite being tempted and threatened by him in many ways. Therefore, O Rāma, accept Her back with an open heart.”
Rāma experienced great joy upon hearing Agni’s speech. His eyes flooded with tears as He replied to the fire-god: “Sītā needed this purificatory ordeal. Otherwise the world would have condemned Me as foolish and controlled by lust. She dwelt in Rāvaṇa’s house for a long time and Her chastity had to be proven to the world, although I know of Her undivided love for Me. Indeed, guarded as She is by Her own moral power, Rāvaṇa could not have violated Sītā any more than the sea could transgress its bounds.”
Rāma declared Sītā to be as inseparable from Him as sunlight from the sun. He could no more renounce Her than a virtuous man could renounce righteousness.
Sītā bloomed with happiness. She sat next to Rāma on a golden throne. The gods and ṛṣis appeared in the assembly offering praises to Rāma. Śiva personally came before Rāma and said, “You have killed the scourge and dread of the universe, O Rāma. You should now depart for Ayodhya and comfort Your relatives there. Then be pleased to rule over this world for a long time.”
Śiva told Rāma that His father Daśaratha was present, seated in a celestial chariot in the sky. Rāma looked up and saw the chariot descending slowly. His father, appearing in a body that shone with celestial splendor, gazed down at Him. Leaving the chariot, he came down to earth and embraced Rāma tightly. He sat next to his son and began to speak.
“Although I reside with Indra, I do not feel as much pleasure there as I do now upon seeing You again. The words uttered by Kaikeyi when sending You into exile are still impressed upon my heart, but today I am fully rid of my sorrow. I have been redeemed by You, dear Rāma. Fourteen years have passed and Your exile is ended. I long to see You return to Ayodhya and assume the throne, after pacifying Kaushalya and the mighty Bharata. O Rāma, I now understand Your identity. You are the Supreme Lord, born on earth for the good of the world.”
Rāma asked His father to retract the words He had uttered when he had disowned Kaikeyi and her son. They were both blameless in every respect. Daśaratha assented to Rāma’s request. He embraced Lakṣman and praised Him for His selfless service to Rāma, asking Him to continue that service when Rāma became the emperor.
Daśaratha then spoke to Sītā. “O daughter, do not think ill of Rāma for His repudiation of You. He only desired to prove Your absolute purity. Your entering the fire was an act which will forever overshadow the renown of all virtuous ladies.”
Sītā folded Her palms and bowed to Her father-in-law, who rose again to his aerial chariot and left for the heavens. The other gods paid their respects to Rāma and then left for their own abodes. Indra approached Rāma and said, “A sight of the gods can never go in vain. O Rāma, pray tell us what You desire and it shall be done at once.”
Smiling, Rāma asked Indra to return to life all the slain monkeys, even those whose bodies had been torn and devoured. He also asked that wherever the monkeys may live there should be abundant fruits and roots for their food.
Indra replied, “Although difficult to grant, Your desire shall be fulfilled. Let all the monkeys rise again, even those whose heads and limbs have been severed. Let them be reunited with their families and let trees full of fruits, even out of season, forever grow where they dwell.”
The powerful god sprinkled celestial nectar from the sky. The monkeys who were killed then rose from the ground, amazed to see themselves healed and restored to life. They looked at one another and asked, “What miracle is this?” They leapt and shouted for joy, coming together like a great roaring ocean.
Indra bid farewell to Rāma and departed along with all the other gods. As the gods’ blazing chariots disappeared into the sky Rāma ordered that the monkeys camp for the night, while He and Sītā rested in Vibhishana’s palace.
3.15: Back to Ayodhya
The following morning Vibhishana approached Rāma and told Him His bath was ready. The Rākṣasa said, “Hot and cold baths, as well as every sort of cosmetic, unguents and perfume are ready, and we have prepared heavenly garments and garlands. Excellent maidservants, well-versed in the arts of decoration, are at Your service, O Rāma.”
Rāma replied that He had no desire for any kind of pleasure until after He had seen Bharata. He told Vibhishana, “That prince is now living in austerity. He bathes in cold rivers and eats only roots and fruits gleaned from the forest. How can I accept any luxuries?”
Rāma asked Vibhishana to find some means by which He could return quickly to Ayodhya. Vibhishana replied that the heavenly Pushpaka chariot was available. “Rāvaṇa took this chariot, which moves according to one’s will, from Kuvera. It still remains in Lanka, desiring to render You service, O Rāma.”
Vibhishana bowed low before Rāma and repeatedly requested Him to stay for a while in Lanka and accept his hospitality, but Rāma was anxious to depart. He thought of His mother and of Bharata—how they must long to see Him again! His exile was now over. He had promised to return immediately. If He did not return, they would surely be consumed by grief and anxiety. Bharata might even give up His life.
Rāma said, “You have already fully honored Me with your first-class counsel and advice. You have served Me well on the battlefield and I am deeply indebted to you. But now you must grant Me leave, O valiant Rākṣasa. My task is accomplished and I must return quickly to Ayodhya.”
Vibhishana acceded. He at once invoked the Pushpaka, and it appeared in the sky. Rāma gazed with wonder at the glowing golden chariot, with its lofty, jewel-encrusted mansions and countless golden trellises wreathed with garlands of heavenly flowers.
After inviting Rāma to board the chariot, Vibhishana said, “Is there any final service I can render You before You leave?”
Rāma asked the Rākṣasa to bestow riches upon all the monkeys. “Give them abundant gold and jewels to take back with them. The king should always reward his army. They should be well cared for and given everything they desire, for they must lay down their lives for his sake.”
Vibhishana at once made arrangements for profuse wealth to be distributed to the monkeys. Then he helped Rāma and Sītā to ascend the chariot. Rāma again thanked Vibhishana for his service and the Rākṣasa sorrowfully watched Him prepare to leave.
Just as Rāma was about to depart, Sugrīva approached Him. “O Rāma, pray take the monkeys with You,” he begged. “We all desire to see You installed as the emperor. After that we will return to our own lands.”
Rāma smiled and agreed. He invited all the monkeys to mount the celestial chariot, which was like a golden city. Looking at Vibhishana He added, “You too should accompany Me, O noble one. With all your kinsfolk and friends, please mount this chariot and come to Ayodhya.”
Once everyone was on board, the Pushpaka rose high into the air. It flew gracefully, with an image of a great swan at its front seeming to draw it along. As it flew Rāma pointed out to Sītā the sights below. He showed Her the battlefield, telling Her how all the principal Rākṣasas had been slain. While they crossed the sea He explained how Hanumān had leapt to Lanka.
As the chariot reached Kishkindha, Rāma had it stop and He told Sugrīva, “Quickly descend and fetch your wives and kinsfolk, O monkey. They too should be brought to Ayodhya.”
With all the monkeys back aboard, the chariot continued. Soon they passed over the forest where Rāma had spent His exile. When they reached Bharadvāja’s hermitage, Rāma desired to meet with the ṛṣi. He stopped the chariot and went down to see the sage, bowing low before him. Bharadvāja offered his blessings and informed Rāma that Bharata was anxious to see Him. The sage knew of everything in Ayodhya from his disciples, who visited the city frequently. He told Rāma that everyone was expecting His return at any moment.
Rāma replied, “Please exert your power and make all the trees surrounding Ayodhya fill with heavenly fruits. All those who will travel to the city to witness My coronation should be amply fed.”
At once Bharadvāja meditated and, by his mystic power, all the trees for twenty miles around Ayodhya became heavy with fruits. The sage said to Rāma, “You should enter Ayodhya tomorrow after sending ahead a messenger.”
Rāma agreed and turned to Hanumān. He asked the monkey to proceed ahead to the city and inform Bharata that He would soon arrive. On the way the monkey should stop at Sringavera and inform Guha of the news.
Rāma then said to Hanumān, “Closely observe Bharata’s features when you tell Him that I am returning. I wish to know His reaction. A kingdom rich in lands and wealth could surely attract anyone’s mind. If He has developed an attachment for the kingdom, then I shall let Him continue to rule as emperor.”
Hanumān left at once. He bounded swiftly through the forestlands and soon reached Guha’s abode, telling him the happy news. The Niṣadha king was overjoyed and he immediately set about preparing to leave for Ayodhya.
Without delay Hanumān continued on to Ayodhya and he arrived early the following morning. At a distance of two miles from the city he found Bharata’s dwelling. There he saw the prince, clad in black deerskins, emaciated from fasting, His hair matted. He sat by His wooden hut and shone with ascetic glory, and He was surrounded by His ministers and priests, dressed in similar ascetic clothing.
Hanumān approached Bharata and found Him continuously repeating Rāma’s name. The monkey at once lay flat on the ground, offering his obeisances. Then, with folded palms, he stood before the prince and said, “Having completed His exile and slain Rāvaṇa, Rāma will soon arrive, accompanied by Sītā and Lakṣman. He has asked after Your welfare and He longs to be reunited with You.”
Bharata was overwhelmed with joy and sank to the ground in a faint. After regaining consciousness He stood up and embraced Hanumān. The prince shed tears of happiness and He spoke in an exuberant voice. “O monkey, I do not know if you are a god, a ṛṣi or what, but you have told Me the most wonderful news! I shall give you a hundred thousand cows and many beautiful maidens, adorned with gold and jewels.”
Bharata asked Hanumān to tell Him in full what had happened to Rāma since his departure and the monkey recounted the tale. Bharata was delighted. He told Shatrughna to go into the city and spread the news of Rāma’s impending return. Bharata ordered that the city be fully decorated with pennants and garlands, and everyone should come out to greet Rāma.
Hanumān could easily understand Bharata’s heart. Rāma should have no doubt about His brother. His devotion for Rāma was obviously no less than the devotion Hanumān himself felt. The monkey shed tears of joy as he witnessed Bharata’s display of love for Rāma.
Shatrughna, along with Bharata’s ministers, went into the city and began to prepare. They had Kaushalya and Sumitra placed upon palanquins and brought to Nandigram, where Bharata was living. Behind them came thousands of citizens, some walking, some on elephants or horseback, and others in chariots. The blast of conches and the roll of drums was tumultuous. A great roar came from the huge crowds, and it appeared as if the entire population of Ayodhya had come out of the city. The fourteen years of Rāma’s exile had already ended and all the citizens longed only for His return. Many other monarchs were also present in Ayodhya, having been invited by Bharata to be present when Rāma returned.
By the end of day the whole region of Nandigram was completely crowded with people, all hoping for a glimpse of Rāma. Bharata stood gazing to the south. He felt anxious. Had this monkey been telling the truth? Was Rāma really about to return? When would He arrive? He questioned Hanumān again and again, and the monkey repeatedly reassured Him.
Suddenly Bharata saw in the distance the shining Pushpaka. Hanumān then shouted, pointing it out to Bharata. “Here comes the highly glorious Rāma!” he cried.
The shout was echoed by the crowd of citizens and a great clamor arose. They looked with amazement at the celestial vehicle carrying Rāma and Sītā, which appeared above the horizon like the sun and moon joined together. Bharata fell to the ground like a rod, offering His prostrated obeisances with His arms outstretched toward the chariot.
The Pushpaka descended to earth and Rāma dismounted along with Lakṣman and Sītā. Bharata ran over to Them with Shatrughna, and the four brothers embraced each other for a long time. All the principal monkeys, headed by Sugrīva, Aṅgada and Hanumān, assumed human forms and disembarked from the chariot. Along with Vibhishana they were greeted warmly by Bharata, who embraced them all. Bharata said to Sugrīva, “You are like a fifth brother to all of Us, O monkey king!”
Rāma saw Kaushalya nearby and He broke free from the crowd of people who were pressing in around Him. Quickly approaching His mother, He fell before her and clasped her feet. She was pale and emaciated through grief and separation from her son. Next to her was Sumitra, who appeared in a similar condition. Rāma also bowed before her and touched her feet with reverence. As they met Rāma the faces of both of those ladies looked like celestial lotuses in full bloom.
Rāma greeted Kaikeyi and the other royal ladies who had come there. He offered His obeisance to Vasiṣṭha and the Brahmins, who uttered auspicious hymns from the Vedas. Rāma then bowed at the feet of His father-in-law Janaka, who shed tears of joy to see Him returned safe with Sītā. As He stood up and looked around, Rāma smiled at the citizens, bringing joy to their hearts.
Bharata brought Rāma’s sandals, which had been kept upon Ayodhya’s throne. He placed them before Rāma and said, “Here is the entire kingdom, held in trust by Me on Your behalf. Now I render it back to You, O Rāma. My birth has borne fruit today and My deepest desire is fulfilled, for I see You returned as the king of Ayodhya.”
Bharata told Rāma that everything in the kingdom, its exchequer, storehouses, army and crops, had increased tenfold while He was gone. “All this is due to Your influence alone, O Rāma, for I ruled the kingdom thinking only of Your example.”
Rāma embraced Bharata again and again, and the two brothers shed tears of joy. Seeing the display of affection between Them, the monkeys and Vibhishana wept.
Rāma then looked up at the Pushpaka and said, “O Pushpaka, you may now return to your master, Kuvera. I thank you for your service.” The heavenly chariot then rose into the sky and disappeared.
When everyone was seated, Bharata addressed Rāma. “Please assume the rulership of this world. Although I have officiated in Your absence, I can no more rule in Your presence than a candle can give light in the presence of the sun. Let the world see You shining with dazzling splendor after being consecrated upon the throne of Ayodhya. We all long only for this, O Raghava.”
Rāma replied, “Let it be so,” and a great cheer went up from the assembly. Rāma then had the royal barbers cut His hair which was still in a mass of matted locks. He took His bath and dressed in costly silks and brilliant gold ornaments. Many garlands of celestial flowers were hung around His neck and He was daubed with sandal-paste of various colors.
Emperor Daśaratha’s widows dressed and decorated Sītā. Her splendid beauty captivated the soul of whoever looked upon Her. When Rāma and His three brothers were all prepared, Bharata summoned Sumantra and the royal chariot. He personally took the reins and Rāma climbed aboard with Sītā. As the chariot proceeded toward the city, Lakṣman and Vibhishana fanned Rāma on either side with white whisks, while Shatrughna held the royal parasol over His head.
Hundreds of sages walked in front of the chariot chanting mantras and hymns. Behind the chariot came Sugrīva, still in human semblance, riding upon a great elephant and followed by nine thousand other elephants bearing other monkeys. The procession moved in state through Ayodhya accompanied by the blast of countless conches and the roll of thousands of drums. They were followed by crowds of citizens all anxious to see Rāma’s coronation.
The city streets were beautifully decorated with flags and garlands. From the balconies of the mansions women threw handfuls of flower petals and parched rice. Rāma looked around at everyone and smiled, raising His hand in blessing.
Rāma entered His father’s palace and ordered Bharata to take Sugrīva to his own palace. Bharata left Rāma to rest for the night and, after arranging for all the monkey’s accommodations, He told Sugrīva, “The coronation will take place tomorrow. Please arrange to fetch water from the ocean and rivers.”
Sugrīva agreed and summoned Hanumān, Jambavan, Rishabha and Gavaya. He gave each of them a golden pail encrusted with gems and told them to bring water from each of the four oceans in the north, south, east and west. The monkeys bounded away and swiftly carried out the order. Another five hundred monkeys fetched water from different sacred rivers all over the country. By morning all this water had been given to Vasiṣṭha for the ceremony.
The coronation began early in the morning and Rāma was ritualistically bathed by the Brahmins. Sixteen beautiful virgin girls consecrated Him, in accordance with the scriptural procedure. Following this, Rāma was bathed by His ministers and chief warriors, and then by the leaders of the trading community.
From the air the four guardians of the worlds sprinkled Rāma with celestial nectar. When the bathing was over Vasiṣṭha had the crown placed on Rāma’s head. This crown had been created by Brahmā and was first worn by Manu himself. It shone with the brilliance of the sun. Wearing that golden crown and seated upon a throne made of precious stones, Rāma was radiant and difficult to behold. Seated next to Him was the exquisitely adorned Sītā, enhancing Rāma’s grandeur and magnificence.
Vāyu came in person and presented to Rāma an unfading garland of a hundred celestial lotuses, which imbued its wearer with unfailing vigor and energy. At the urging of Indra he also gave Rāma a priceless necklace of pearls interspersed with heavenly jewels of every variety. Taking that necklace, Rāma turned and placed it on Sītā’s breast. She immediately lifted it in her two delicate hands and glanced over at Hanumān. Understanding her desire, Hanumān knelt before the princess and she placed the necklace over his head. Rising up again with that celestial ornament on his chest, Hanumān appeared like a dark thundercloud decorated with lightning bolts.
Gandharvas sang while the Apsarās danced their mind-stealing dances, filled with movements and gestures deep with meaning. The huge crowds cried out “Victory to Rāma!” and “All glories to Sītā and Rāma!”
The earth itself seemed to rejoice and gave forth abundant crops and fruits, as well as flowers which released a delightful fragrance carried on gentle breezes. The gods filled the canopy of the sky, and all the divine beings experienced the highest ecstasy upon seeing Rāma united with Sītā.
Rāma turned to Sītā and smiled. His purpose was fulfilled.
Epilogue
A month had passed since the coronation. Gradually the celebrations ended and life in Ayodhya returned to normal. Knowing that His guests were thinking of returning to their own kingdoms, Rāma began to say His farewells. He spoke first to His father-in-law, Janaka, who had been staying with Him in His palace. Folding His palms in reverence, Rāma said, “My lord, surely you are our immovable support. We stand protected by you, O king. By virtue of your ascetic power and your blessings I was able to slay Rāvaṇa. The bonds of affection between our two families are unbreakable. Please accept these gifts and then feel free to proceed back to Mithila at your pleasure. Bharata and Shatrughna will follow at your heels to escort you there.”
Tears filled Janaka’s eyes as he witnessed Rāma’s humility. He looked over at the great pile of riches Rāma was offering him. “I feel gratified simply by Your sight, O Rāma. Let all this wealth be bestowed upon my daughter Sītā. I have no wish to leave, but duty dictates that I return to Mithila. I shall now depart, but my mind will never leave You.”
Janaka rose to leave and tightly embraced Rāma. He then went out of the chamber followed by his ministers and by Bharat and Shatrughna.
One by one, Rāma said fond farewells to all the other kings who had come for the coronation, offering each of them gold and other wealth as parting gifts. Those kings all expressed their sorrow to be leaving and gazed at Rāma’s face without feeling satiated. After circumambulating Him in respect, they gathered together their followers and armies and slowly marched out of Ayodhya. The earth shook as the many hundreds of kings and princes left the city on their golden chariots, accompanied by their multitudes of troops. As they left they expressed their disappointment that they and their armies had not been able to join Rāma in His fight against Rāvaṇa. “Surely this great display of might is useless as we were not able to engage it in Rāma’s service,” they lamented. “Bharata summoned us too late.”
When all the kings had gone, Rāma spoke with the monkey chiefs. He thanked them again for all their service and embraced them with love. Taking valuable ornaments from His own body, Rāma placed them on the bodies of Aṅgada and Hanumān. He spoke affectionately to all the monkeys, offering them profuse quantities of riches. “O Vanaras, you should depart now for Kishkindha. Rule over your subjects with justice and love. You have all rendered Me a very great service which I shall never forget.”
Hanumān knelt before Rāma and folded his palms. “O Rāma, I do not know how I can leave You. I have one request before I go. Please let my supreme affection for You stand forever. May my devotion remain constant and may life remain in my body for as long as Your story is being told on this earth. Let me stay in some heavenly region, continuously hearing Your story being told to me by Apsarās and other celestial beings. In this way my pain of separation from You will be allayed.”
Rāma smiled. “It shall be so, O prince of monkeys. Your life and indeed your fame will endure for as long as My story lasts in the world. That will be for as long as the worlds themselves last. I am forever indebted to you, O monkey. May My obligation to you stay always in My heart. May the time never come when I need to repay your service, for such times are times of difficulty.”
The monkeys, who felt as if the past month in Rāma’s company had been only a day, reluctantly departed from Ayodhya, their eyes filled with tears and their minds absorbed in thoughts of Rāma.
Rāma then said his farewell to Vibhishana, asking him to rule Lanka with righteousness. He also instructed the Pushpaka chariot to make its way back to Kuvera in the heavenly planets. Within a few days everyone had left and Rāma began His rule of Ayodhya, assisted by Lakṣman and guided by the ṛṣis. Within some days of His guests’ departure, Rāma was visited by a number of great sages, headed by Agastya. After they had been received with all respect by Rāma, they took their seats in His assembly hall. Questioned by Rāma, Agastya related everything about Rāvaṇa’s birth and history, as well as that of all the principal Rākṣasas. The sage also told the royal court about the history of the great Vanaras.
After Agastya had finished speaking, Rāma said, “O all-powerful sage, I am amazed at hearing your wonderful narrations. By your very sight we have all been blessed, but I have one request. Soon I shall perform sacrifices for the good of the world. Please bless Me that these will be successful. Indeed, if it pleases you, then come again to Ayodhya at that time to grace us with your holy presence.”
Rāma requested all the sages to attend His sacrifice and they replied, “It shall be so.” Then they rose in a body and left the assembly.
* * *
As Rāma ruled over Ayodhya everything became auspicious. It was seen that nobody died prematurely, nor was their any fear of diseases. The world had no robbers and no one suffered any harm from others. Every creature felt pleased and all men were devoted to righteousness. They performed all their duties as service to Rāma, and they always thought of Him within their hearts. Rains fell when desired and the earth gave forth abundant produce. All people had everything they needed and were fully satisfied, being free from avarice.
Two years passed. One day Rāma was walking with Sītā in the palace gardens. Having just heard that She had become pregnant, He smiled broadly and exclaimed, “Excellent! O beautiful lady, tell Me what desire of Yours should be fulfilled.”
As they strolled Sītā admired the many blossoming trees and bushes in the garden. She was reminded of Her time with Rāma in the forest. Remembering the celestial beauty of the forest, she said, “O Lord, I have a longing to once more visit the penance groves inhabited by the sages. Let Me stay there for a night at the feet of those ṛṣis.”
Rāma squeezed Sītā’s hand. “O princess, be it so. You will surely go tomorrow.”
The couple sat down in a shaded bower where They were entertained by Apsarās and Nāga damsels, who danced to the exquisite music played by Gandharvas. Soon the sun set and They retired for the evening into the palace inner chambers.
The following morning after He had performed His religious rituals Rāma entered His council hall. Taking His seat on a great golden throne, He enquired from His chief minister, “O Bhadra, tell Me what are the talks of the people? What do they say about Me and about My rule? Kings who are not devoted to duty are criticized everywhere.”
With joined palms Bhadra replied, “O King, delightful are the talks I have heard from the people. Mostly they discuss Your conquest over Rāvaṇa and recovery of Mother Sītā.”
Bhadra glanced downward as he spoke and Rāma, catching the gesture, asked, “What else do they say, O minister? Leave nothing out. Tell Me both the good and the ill words which are spoken. I shall then know what must be done by Myself. O Bhadra, speak without any fear or anguish.”
Bhadra took a deep breath. “O Lord, listen as I relate the words I have heard while moving among the people. Everywhere—in market places, public squares, crossroads and in the forests—the people are heard to recite the glories of Your wonderful victory. However, O great emperor, I have also heard criticism.”
Bhadra described how some of the citizens were questioning Rāma’s acceptance of Sītā back into His home. “They say that the princess, having been taken onto Rāvaṇa’s lap and kept by him for almost one year, cannot now be considered pure. Because, O Rāma, You have allowed Her back into Your house, these people say they will have to tolerate similar unchaste behavior from their own wives. Whatever a king does becomes acceptable behavior for all the people.”
Bhadra looked down at the mosaic floor. Tears fell from the corners of his eyes. He had not wanted to tell his master about the criticisms, but he knew that nothing could be kept concealed from Rāma.
Rāma appeared shocked. He looked around at His other ministers. “Is this true? Are such talks indulged in by the citizens?”
All the ministers appeared aggrieved. They affirmed what Bhadra had said, each of them bowing low before Rāma as he spoke.
Rāma became pensive. He dismissed the court and asked that Lakṣman be summoned. As the prince entered the court He saw Rāma sitting with downcast expression, seeming like an eclipsed sun. He hurried to His side and asked what was wrong. Rāma explained everything, then said, “Dear brother, the calumny of the people eats into My very vitals. It can never be tolerated by a virtuous monarch. Surely I knew that this criticism would ensue, and thus did I test Sītā at the time of Her return. However, it seems that even though the gods have attested to Her purity the citizens are still not satisfied. Alas, surely one’s infamy is easily proclaimed in this world.”
Rāma shook His head as He went on, “Infamy is to be avoided by all means. It is censured even by the gods. As long as one’s infamy remains current on earth one stays in hell. Great souls always endeavor for fame and good repute in this world. To avoid disrepute I would give up My brothers or even My own life—what then of Sītā?”
Rāma instructed the astonished Lakṣman to immediately take Sītā out of Ayodhya and into the forest, where She should be left. She was already expecting to go there for a visit, so He would not need to tell Her the truth. Rāma spoke gravely, “I will not hear any arguments against this, dear brother. Sītā should be taken this very day to Vālmīki’s ashrama which lies on the banks of the Ganges. After leaving Her there, come back alone to Ayodhya.”
Having spoken, Rāma left the court and went with a heavy heart to His personal quarters. Lakṣman slowly made His way toward Sītā’s rooms. Surely this was the most difficult task He had ever faced. If it were left to Him, thought Lakṣman, He would go out and find the men who were criticizing Rāma and put them straight. Where was the question that Sītā could ever be unchaste? What fault had Rāma committed? But Rāma’s order could not be avoided. Lakṣman had Sumantra prepare His chariot and He went before Sītā, telling them that Rāma had asked Him to fulfill Her desire to visit the forest.
Highly pleased, Sītā asked Her servants to gather together many costly garments and precious jewels. “I shall distribute these to the wives of the ṛṣis,” She said, smiling.
Lakṣman said nothing in reply. He turned and walked toward the chariot, with Sītā following behind. As She walked She began to notice unusual omens. She spoke in surprise. “O son of Sumitra, why is it that My right eye throbs and My limbs shiver? My heart feels heavy and My mind is filled with anxiety. The earth itself seems distressed and all quarters appear desolate. May all be well with My lord and indeed with all living beings.”
Sītā prayed with folded hands as She made Her way out of the palace. Reaching the chariot, Lakṣman said, “All is well, O Queen. There is no cause for fear. I think Your mind is disturbed at the thought of separation from Rāma for even a day. Ascend the chariot and we shall leave at once for the banks of the auspicious Ganges.”
Feeling reassured, Sītā climbed aboard the large chariot and Lakṣman jumped up next to Sumantra in the front. The charioteer urged on the horses and they set off for the forest. After journeying for most of the day they arrived at the riverbank, close to Vālmīki’s ashrama. The three travelers got down and offered their respects to the holy river, bowing their heads to the ground.
Thinking of Rāma’s order that He return at once, Lakṣman looked at Sītā, who was kneeling by the side of the river offering prayers. The time had come to leave Her. She would have no difficulty finding Vālmīki’s ashrama, which lay only a short distance away along a smooth forest path. Ashamed of Himself for abandoning the queen, the prince did not want to enter the ashrama. He sighed deeply. Now He would have to tell Sītā the truth. Losing control of Himself, He suddenly let out a great cry and fell to the earth.
Sītā looked up in surprise. “What ails You, O Lakṣman? We are here by the banks of the sacred Ganges and about to see the great ṛṣis. Why do You wail at such a happy moment? You are making Me sad. I know You are always by Rāma’s side. Is it that separation from Him for even two days is so intolerable? O hero, take heart. Rāma is just as dear to Me, but I do not give way to such sorrow.”
Sītā asked Lakṣman to take Her to the ascetic’s hermitage. “Let us spend a single night with those sages, dear Lakṣman, and then return to Rāma’s presence.”
Lakṣman slowly got up. His face was covered with tears and His body trembled. He folded His palms and replied with difficulty, “O auspicious one, My heart feels as though pierced with a dart. I have been entrusted with a task that will make Me worthy of the whole world’s censure. Surely I would rather die.”
Sītā was mystified. She had no idea what He meant. Feeling perturbed, She asked, “What is wrong, My dear brother? Is something amiss with Rāma. Speak out the truth at once.”
Lakṣman sighed. Gazing downwards, He said, “O Janaki, before we left Ayodhya Your husband was told about a most painful rumor circulating among the people. The words He heard cannot be repeated by Me. Yet even though You have been proven to be free from blame by the gods themselves, Rāma could not ignore the complaints. Struck with grief, He ordered Me to bring You here and then return alone. O gentle lady, You have been forsaken by Him out of fear of disrepute.”
Lakṣman broke off, too pained to continue. Sītā stood as though petrified. She could hardly believe what She was hearing. Had She been born only to experience grief? Covering Her face with Her two bejewelled hands, She dropped to the earth with a piteous wail.
Getting a grip on Himself, Lakṣman said, “Do not give way to sorrow, O queen. Here is Vālmīki’s delightful ashrama. Approach him for shelter and live here peacefully. Remain loyal to Your husband, observe fasts and practice prayer and meditation. Keeping Rāma forever in Your heart, You will doubtlessly secure Your everlasting welfare.”
Sītā fainted and lay on the ground looking like a wild creeper bedecked with blossoms and torn from a tree. Coming round after some moments, She began to lament, “Alas, this mortal frame was certainly fashioned by the creator simply for sorrow. Indeed, today it seems like the very embodiment of grief. What sin did I commit that I should suffer in this way? How can I live all alone in the hermitages of the sages? What will I say to those ascetics when they ask Me why I was abandoned by the great Raghava? I would at once drown Myself in the flowing Ganges, but I would thus break Rāma’s line by killing His unborn child. O Lakṣman, do what You must. Forsake Me, the miserable one, but listen first to what I have to say now.”
Sītā got to Her feet. Shaking with sorrow, She held onto a tree for support as She spoke to Lakṣman. “O tiger among men, go then to Ayodhya and leave Me here. After offering My respects to all My seniors, please say this to My lord: ‘O Raghava, You should always act in such a way as to ensure Your unrivalled fame in this world. Surely My abandonment is necessary to save You from ill-repute. Thus, although torn by grief, I feel no anger. For a chaste woman the husband is the master, deity and preceptor.’”
Having spoken Her message for Rāma, Sītā dropped again to the ground. Lakṣman looked at Her with tear-filled eyes. Unable to make any reply, He cried loudly and bowed His head to the earth. He then walked around Sītā with His palms folded. After regaining His balance of mind, he said, “O faultless one, to say farewell I now look upon Your face for the first time. Oh, how can I bear to see You separated from Rāma and dwelling in the deep forest?”
Crying, Lakṣman bowed again to Sītā and then ascended His chariot, where Sumantra sat in silent sorrow. He urged on the horses and the chariot moved off. As He went along the path away from the river, the grief-stricken Lakṣman could hear Sītā’s plaintive cries echoing through the woods, resembling those of a peacock calling for its mate.
Shortly after Lakṣman had left, a couple of young ascetics were walking in the woods to gather firewood when they heard Sītā’s sobs. Spying Her through the trees, they ran back to their hermitage and spoke to Vālmīki. “Sir, some noble lady looking exactly like the Goddess of Fortune lies near the riverbank, crying loudly in despair. Perhaps She has descended from the heavens. She certainly does not deserve any pain or sorrow. In our view She is a divine woman who has sought your shelter. O lord, we feel She is worthy of your protection.”
Vālmīki could understand everything by virtue of his inner vision. Taking up an offering of arghya, he went quickly toward the river followed by his disciples. The effulgent sage found Sītā lying with Her arms outstretched, weeping. He spoke to Her comfortingly. “O gentle one, I know You are Daśaratha’s daughter-in-law and the beloved queen of Rāma. I am Vālmīki. Welcome to my hermitage. By my meditations I have understood why You are here. Indeed, all that exists within the three worlds is known to me. I thus know of Your purity and blamelessness. O child, be composed and accept this offering. Come with me to the ashrama of the female ascetics. They will surely take care of You as if You were their own daughter. It will be exactly like Your own home.”
Sītā bowed respectfully to the sage and accepted the arghya he was proffering. She replied, “Let it be as you say, O great ṛṣi.”
Vālmīki led the way to the ladies’ ashrama. As they reached that secluded and delightful part of the woods, some of the elder ladies came out to greet them. One of them asked, “What would you have us do, O greatest of sages?”
Vālmīki introduced Sītā to the ladies and asked that they take good care of Her. He told them that She was expecting Rāma’s child and should be afforded all affection and respect, exactly as they would show the sage himself. Receiving their assurances, he then returned back to his own ashrama, Sītā began to reside with the ascetics, Her mind always rapt in thought of Rāma.
* * *
For some time Lakṣman and Sumantra traveled in silence, thinking of Sītā. Finally, as the chariot came out of the forest and onto the main road leading to Ayodhya, Lakṣman said, “O charioteer, how great must be Rāma’s grief that He is again separated from Sītā. Truly this is the effect of destiny. Fate is inexorable. Is it not astonishing that Rāma, who could extirpate the entire celestial hosts, should have to submit to fate? It seems to Me that Rāma was more pained by banishing Sītā than He was by His own exile and even Her abduction. Why did He submit to the cruel words of the citizens? What virtue did He acquire?”
Sumantra comforted Lakṣman. He then told Him of a story he had long ago heard from the Ṛṣi Durvāsā. “This sage once stayed at Vasiṣṭa’s hermitage. O prince, at that time your father went there and I drove his chariot. He enquired from Durvāsā about the prospects for his sons—how long they would live and rule over the world. Durvāsā then narrated the following history.”
Lakṣman listened attentively as Sumantra repeated what he had heard from the ṛṣi. Durvāsā had described how in ancient times the Daityas had been conquered in battle by the gods. They had fled and sought shelter in the ashrama of the powerful sage Bhrgu. Only the sage’s wife had been present and, out of compassion, she let them hide in the ashrama. When Viṣṇu, who was assisting the gods in their campaign against the Daityas, learned of this, He became angry with Bhrgu’s wife and severed her head with His discus. Bhrgu had then returned and seen his wife slain by Viṣṇu. He immediately cursed Viṣṇu, saying, “As You have killed my innocent spouse, so You will take birth in the mortal world and meet with separation from Your wife for many years.”
Sumantra concluded his story. “As soon as he uttered the curse Bhrgu became sorry and he bowed at Viṣṇu’s feet and worshipped Him. However, Viṣṇu said, ‘O sage, for the good of the world I shall accept this curse.’ Durvāsā then went on to explain that, although Rāma would become the Lord of Ayodhya and rule over the earth for eleven thousand years, He would be separated from Sītā. Thus it has come to pass, O Lakṣman, for the words of the ṛṣis can never fail.”
As Sumantra ended his story the chariot approached Ayodhya. Entering the city, Lakṣman went at once to the royal court. He found Rāma seated on His throne with His face downcast. Lakṣman fell at His feet and told Him that Sītā had been left at Vālmīki’s ashrama. In a pained voice He said, “Do not grieve, O tiger among men. All gains end in loss, all elevations end in a fall, all union must end in separation, and life itself always ends in death. The wise therefore do not become attached to wives, sons, friends or riches. You know this well, O Rāma, therefore take heart and shake off Your sorrow.”
Lakṣman assured Rāma that the disrepute among the people would now be destroyed by Rāma’s act of sending Sītā away. Rāma appeared encouraged by Lakṣman. He smiled and replied, “What You say is true, O hero. I shall take joy in the execution of My duties, for this is the path to everlasting happiness. Let Us rest now for the night.”
Rāma stood up and embraced His brother, and They then retired to Their quarters.
* * *
Twelve years of Rāma’s rule went by. During that period His dominion over the earth became firmly established as all other monarchs paid Him tribute. His brother Shatrughna slew a powerful demon named Lavana and all other demonic elements were subdued. Rāma then thought of performing an Ashvamedha sacrifice for the benefit of the world. Arrangements were made and invitations sent out to all the kings of the earth, as well as to many great ṛṣis. Vālmīki was also invited and he prepared himself to go to Ayodhya.
While in Vālmīki’s ashrama Sītā had given birth to twin sons named Lava and Kusha. The boys had been lovingly raised by Vālmīki as if they were his own sons. Despite never having seen their father, they had flourished in Vālmīki’s ashrama and grown into powerful youths. Vālmīki had taught them all Vedic knowledge and had also taught them Rāma’s story, which they became expert in reciting.
As the time for Rāma’s sacrifice approached, Vālmīki took both Lava and Kusha, as well as hundreds of his other disciples, and went to Ayodhya. He entered the sacrificial arena like the sun surrounded by glowing planets. As soon as Rāma saw him He immediately ordered that he be worshipped and offered a place of honor in the sacrifice. After he had been shown to his quarters, Vālmīki said to Lava and Kusha, “Tomorrow you two should go among the Brahmins here and sing the Rāmayana. Go also to Rāma’s palace and sing this most holy narration where the king will hear it. If Rāma calls you before Him, then you should recite to Him the poem in its entirety. Sing it to the best of your ability and with a pure heart. Do not let your minds be captivated by the opulence and wealth that you see. If Rāma should ask whose sons you are, you should tell Him that you are two disciples of Vālmīki.”
The two humble and obedient boys replied, “We shall do exactly as you ask, O lord.” The boys were eager to meet Rāma. As well as knowing the Rāmayana by heart, they had heard their mother speak many times about Rāma and, although they had come to see Vālmīki as their father, they knew they were Rāma’s actual sons. Looking forward to meeting Rāma the next day, they lay down happily for sleep by the side of the sage.
Two hours before sunrise the boys rose and performed their ablutions. After saying their morning prayers they made their way to the assembly of Brahmins and began to sing the Rāmayana. As they sang they expertly played upon lutes, and the music they produced stole the heart and captivated the mind. The Brahmin sages were enthralled and they repeatedly applauded the boys. “Excellent! Well done! We are all amazed by this magnificent poem. Its exquisite music and meter are without compare. It is replete with the nine sentiments of love, pathos, mirth, heroism, terror, wrath, disgust, wonder and serenity. The boys’ expert singing creates a vivid picture of the story they are telling, and we feel as if we are seeing it actually happen.”
The sages gazed in wonder at the twins. They both looked like Rāma himself and were endowed with many auspicious marks. After making various gifts to the boys, the Brahmins said, “This song, composed by Vālmīki, will be sung by poets throughout all the ages. It is conducive to long life, begets prosperity, invokes all good fortune and ravishes the ears and mind of the hearer. Go now, dear boys, and recite it for the pleasure of Rāma Himself.”
The twins offered their obeisances to the sages and went at once to the palace compound, where they again began to sing. Hearing them from within the palace, Rāma immediately ordered that they be brought in. They were offered golden seats within the royal court and Rāma said to them, “O ascetics, we have heard your excellent singing. Please recite your poem here for the pleasure of the Brahmins in this court, as well as My brothers and Myself. I think there is no song its equal, nor indeed singers such as yourselves.”
Rāma looked carefully at the two boys. He turned to Lakṣman and said, “Although dressed as ascetics, these two appear like rulers of the earth. Surely they are from royal stock, or even have some divine origin. Let Us listen now as they repeat their wonderful poem.”
The entire royal assembly sat enchanted while the boys sang. As evening approached and they completed their recitation, Rāma said, “Wonderful, wonderful! O boys, we desire to know who you are and from where you have come. I wish to bestow upon you gold and other gifts in abundance.”
The boys replied that they were Vālmīki’s disciples. Remembering the ṛṣi’s instructions, they politely declined Rāma’s offer of wealth and asked His permission that they be allowed to return to Vālmīki. Rāma agreed and the boys departed, leaving the assembly astonished and entranced by what they had heard.
After they had gone Rāma dismissed the assembly and sat alone. Hearing His sons recite His life story had made Him think of Sītā. He longed to see Her again and it was ordained by scripture that a king should perform sacrifice with his wife. It had been twelve years since Sītā’s departure and He had not seen Her since. His heart had often ached with Her separation but He had wanted to make absolutely certain that the people had no cause at all to criticize Him. Feeling that this had now been achieved, Rāma desired to bring Sītā to the sacrifice. He summoned Bhadra and said, “Please have the venerable sage Vālmīki informed that I would like him to fetch Sītā. Let both he and the Queen Herself take oath before the assembly that She has always remained pure. I do not want any further obloquy about Myself or Sītā circulating in the kingdom.”
Bhadra, surprised and gladdened by Rāma’s request, replied, “It shall be done as You wish, my Lord.” Envoys left at once and told Vālmīki of Rāma’s desire. The sage immediately made arrangements for Sītā to be brought from his hermitage. He told the messengers that She would be present the following day and they left to inform Rāma.
The next morning Rāma addressed the royal court. “Today the noble Sītā will come to the sacrifice. There She will take oath as to hHer purity, supported by the great Ṛṣi Vālmīki, who has given Her shelter these last twelve years. I desire that all the kings and sages hear this testimony. Indeed, let as many people as may desire be present.”
The assembly cheered Rāma and everyone began to make their way to the sacrificial arena outside the city. All of them longed to see Rāma and Sītā united again. Although they did not question Rāma’s judgment, it had broken their hearts when He had sent the queen away. For twelve years they had prayed for this day when She might return.
Gradually the vast arena filled up with royalty and ṛṣis. All the greatest sages in the world came there. Nārada, Parvata, Vasiṣṭa, Vamadeva, Kaśyapa, Viśvāmitra, Durvāsā, Cyavana, and hundreds more were seen there. Representatives of the Rākṣasas, as well as many Vanaras, Gandharvas and other celestials arrived. In the sky the gods assembled and Rāma took his place in the arena.
Vālmīki then made his way into the center of the arena, followed by Sītā. She was dressed in an ochre-colored sari and Her golden earrings glinted in the sunshine as She walked with Her head down. Although She thought only of Rāma within Her heart, out of fear She did not look up at Him. She folded Her palms in respect and stood silently before Her husband.
Seeing the queen with downcast expression, the assembly was agitated and gave out various cries. Some were sorrowful, some praised Rāma, and still others praised Sītā. When everyone finally settled down, Vālmīki began to speak.
“O son of Daśaratha, out of fear of criticism this pious Sītā of righteous conduct was left by You near my hermitage. She will now testify to You as to Her unfailing purity. I too can swear that this chaste lady is sinless. I do not remember ever having spoken an untruth. O Rāma, know for sure that Sītā is entirely free from wicked conduct of any kind. Know also that the two boys who recited the Rāmayana to You are certainly both Your sons. I have practiced penance for many thousands of years and if my words are false, then may I not obtain the fruit of that asceticism. Knowing that Sītā was innocent, I accepted Her into my ashrama. She is devoted to You only, O Raghava, and will never sway from You under any circumstances.”
Rāma smiled. “It is exactly as you say, O Brahmin. I also know Sītā to be without blame. This was previously established by even the gods and thus did I allow Her to enter My house. Only due to public censure did I send Her away again, even though I never doubted Her innocence. Please forgive Me. I hereby proclaim My love for the chaste Sītā. I also accept these two boys, Lava and Kusha, as My sons. Let Her now take oath before this assembly and establish Her purity once and for all.”
Sītā slowly looked up at Her husband who gazed at Her with affection. She glanced around the assembly. As well as many kings and ṛṣis, She saw all classes of celestials standing there—Adityas, Vasus, Rudras, Sādhyas, Viśvadevas, Nāgas and numerous others. Above the assembly on his swan carrier sat Brahmā, the universal creator, surrounded by all the principal gods. Everyone waited silently for Sītā to speak.
With Her hands folded in front of Her face, Sītā looked down again and said in a tremulous voice, “If I have never even thought about anyone other than Rāma, then may the earth goddess grant Me shelter. As I worship only Rāma in mind, speech and action, so may the earth give Me space. If I have truthfully said that I know only Rāma as My lord, let the earth receive Me now.”
Sītā felt that She had become a problem for Rāma. Despite having been declared pure by even the ever-truthful gods, still the doubts remained. It seemed that as long as She was present there would be those who would find fault with Rāma. She would have given up Her life the very day She had been sent away to the forest if She had not been pregnant with Rāma’s sons. Now the boys were old enough to join their father in the city. It was time for Her to depart. Rāma’s reputation could not be sullied by even the slightest doubt and only Her departure could ensure that.
As Sītā finished speaking the ground next to Her opened up and a celestial throne rose up. That brilliant, bejewelled seat was borne on the heads of four great Nāga snakes. Sitting on it was Bhumi, the earth goddess, glowing with her divine effulgence. She rose up and held out her hand to Sītā with gentle words of welcome. Sītā got onto the throne and sat next to Bhumi. Suddenly a great shower of fragrant flowers fell from the sky and covered Sītā. The gods loudly praised Sītā and, as all the kings and ṛṣis looked on in amazement, the throne slowly re-entered the earth. Everyone glorified Sītā for Her incomparable devotion and chastity to Rāma.
Rāma himself cried out as Sītā disappeared into the earth, which again closed as the throne entered within. He leaned on the side of His seat and wept in grief. Wringing His hands in despair, He said, “Upon seeing Sītā enter the earth I am afflicted with a sorrow greater than I have ever known before. How can I tolerate it? How shall I allow Sītā to be taken by the earth? When She was stolen by Rāvaṇa I crossed the vast ocean on foot to recover Her. I shall again bring Her back or go with Her for good.”
Rāma looked down at the earth. Becoming angry, He said, “O goddess, you should return Sītā to Me or you will feel My wrath. Sītā was formerly brought out from your womb, thus you are My mother-in-law. Therefore be kind to Me and return Sītā, or else grant space to Me also. I will stay with Sītā wherever She has gone, whether it be heaven or the nether regions. O earth-goddess, hear My words or else I shall destroy you with all your mountains and forests.”
Rāma’s eyes blazed in anger and He stood up, reaching for the bow by His side. Brahmā then spoke from his position above the sacrifice.
“O Rāma, Lord of all the worlds, do not be grieved. Remember Your identity as Viṣṇu. By Your own arrangement has this separation from Sītā been ordained. The pure and noble daughter of Janaka has gone to celestial realms where You will see Her again without doubt. O Lord, listen now as Your sons finish the narration of Rāmayana. They will recite to You all of Your future acts, culminating in Your return to Your spiritual abode. Everything is happening according to Your will, O Rāma. Do not therefore destroy the world.”
Rāma was pacified by Brahmā’s speech and He sat down again. Seeing Him peaceful, the gods departed for the heavens. As evening fell the assembly dispersed and Rāma went sorrowfully back to His palace, taking His two sons with Him.
The following morning Rāma had Lava and Kusha sing the remaining portion of Rāmayana, dealing with future events. Sitting amid His ministers and the court Brahmins, Rāma listened as the two boys recited the beautiful poetry they had heard from Vālmīki. They briefly described the period of Rāma’s rule over the earth, a time of unparalleled peace and opulence. Their narration was concluded with a description of how Rāma and His brothers would finally leave the world.
* * *
After Sītā’s departure from the world, Rāma often thought of Her. He could not even think of taking another wife and He had an exquisite gold image of Sītā made by expert artisans. That statue sat next to Him in the royal court and at sacrifices, serving as the queen. A period of eleven thousand years passed with Rāma ruling the world, assisted by His three brothers. He performed ten thousand great sacrifices and the earth enjoyed unprecedented opulence. All creatures were happy and everything functioned in accordance with the arrangement of the Supreme Lord. Religion was firmly established and everyone led pious lives.
One day, toward the end of his rule, Rāma was visited by an unusual ascetic, who glowed with a divine radiance. That Brahmin, having been worshiped by Rāma, introduced himself as a messenger of Brahmā. He asked for a private audience with Rāma, saying, “O emperor, no one should hear the words that pass between us. If anyone should interrupt us, then they must be killed by You.” Agreeing to this request from the Brahmin, Rāma brought him into His personal quarters. He told Lakṣman to stand outside and prevent anyone from entering, explaining to Him what the ascetic had said.
When they were alone, the ascetic said to Rāma, “O Lord, You should know that I am Death. Brahmā has asked me to come here and inform You that the time allotted for Your earthly pastimes is drawing to a close. You have achieved all that You desired to achieve. Now, if it so pleases You, You may return to Your own eternal abode.”
Death described to Rāma some of His former incarnations in the material world, concluding by saying, “O Rāma, You are the eternal Supreme Being. You appear in the world to establish religion and destroy the demons. The time set by Yourself for this incarnation is now almost over. Be pleased then to resume Your place as the Lord and protector of the gods.”
Rāma laughingly replied, “O destroyer of all, welcome is your visit here. Surely your words fill Me with pleasure. It is indeed time for My departure. Please return to Brahmā and tell him that I and all My brothers shall leave within a short time.”
As Rāma spoke with Death, the great mystic Durvāsā came to the city. Desiring to see Rāma, he was shown into the palace, where he was met by Lakṣman. He asked for an audience with Rāma, but Lakṣman told him Rāma was busy at that time. Immediately blazing up with anger, Durvāsā said, “I will not be kept waiting. Go at once, O son of Sumitra, and inform Rāma of my presence. Otherwise know that I shall curse You, Your brothers, this territory and all Your descendents. Indeed, my anger is already difficult to contain.”
Seeing the irascible sage preparing to utter a curse, Lakṣman bowed to him and quickly went towards Rāma’s quarters. Thinking, “Let there be only My death rather than that of all My kinsmen,” He entered the room, where He saw Rāma speaking with Death.
When Rāma heard that Durvāsā was waiting, He immediately came out to greet him. Touching the ṛṣi’s feet, He asked, “What shall I do to please you, O great one?”
Durvāsā replied that he had been fasting for one thousand years and desired to take food that day and break his fast. “Kindly bring me cooked foods, O Rāma, so that I may end my long penance.”
Rāma had Durvāsā seated comfortably in the palace and He personally served him with varieties of excellent food. After the sage had left, and Death had also departed, Lakṣman said to Rāma, “I must now die, dear brother, for that was the promise You made to Death. Punish Me in accord with Your word to that deity.”
Remembering His discussion with Death, Rāma felt shocked. Speechless with grief at the thought of separation from Lakṣman, He shed tears and stood gazing at His beloved brother. How could He be killed?
Lakṣman folded His palms and said, “Do not feel sorrow for Me, O gracious one. Time is all-powerful. Bound by our former acts, we must all come under death’s sway. O King, keep Your promise without fear. Those men who break their promises will go to hell.”
Rāma sat down on His throne, struck with sorrow. He called for His ministers and informed them of what had taken place. Vasiṣṭa then said, “O Rāma, all this was foreseen by me. The time for the conclusion of Your pastimes has arrived. You should abandon Lakṣman now. Do not give up Your promise, for if You do, then righteousness in this world will perish. Along with righteousness all beings will also be destroyed. Therefore, O lion among men, be separated from Lakṣman today.”
Rāma looked at Lakṣman. “I leave You, O son of Sumitra. Let not virtue suffer. Desertion and slaying are considered equal according to the wise. Therefore do I abandon You today.”
Lakṣman prostrated Himself before Rāma with tears in His eyes. He then stood up and left the palace, going directly to the forest. Reaching the banks of the Sarayu, He sat down in meditation, preparing to observe the praya vow of fasting till death. With His eyes half-closed, He suspended His breathing and entered a deep trance. As He sat absorbed in thought of the Supreme, Indra came there invisible to all and took Him away to the heavens. Thus it appeared to all men that Lakṣman had died.
Hearing of this, Rāma was overcome by grief. He felt that He could not remain on earth any longer. Crying out in pain, He said, “I shall confer the kingdom on Bharat. This very day I will follow the path taken by Lakṣman.”
Bharat replied, “How can I think of ruling the world in Your absence, O Rāma? Along with Shatrughna, We shall all leave together. Bestow the kingdom upon Your two sons.”
Vasiṣṭa agreed with Bharat. “This is proper, O Rāma. The time fixed by Yourself for Your rule has all but ended. Surely You must now depart, taking Your brothers who are all a part of Yourself. Knowing this, the people have become afflicted with sorrow. They are lying prostrate on the ground, mortified at the thought of losing You.”
Rāma was upset to hear of the citizens’ unhappiness. He called for their chief representatives and said, “What should I do to assuage your grief? I must now leave this world.”
The citizens begged Rāma to take them all with Him. “Wherever You are going, O Lord, be it the forest, mountains, ocean, heaven or even hell, we desire to follow You. If it pleases You, let us accompany You.”
Rāma assented. “It shall be so.” He then arranged for His sons to be coronated. Lava and Kusha could hardly face the prospect of separation from their father. They loudly lamented and fell to the earth when they heard that Rāma was departing. Rāma gently raised them and said, “Dear sons, you must remain on earth to carry on a righteous rule. Establish your capitals in the northern and southern territories. Always thinking of Me, lead the people with justice and compassion. Surely we will be united again in the future.”
Lava and Kusha tightly embraced their father and then left Ayodhya for their respective kingdoms, which became known as Kushavati and Sravasti, taking vast amounts of wealth with them.
After this Rāma dressed Himself in pure white silks and prepared to leave Ayodhya. The next morning He had Brahmins take His sacred fire from the palace and lead the way toward the forest. With Vasiṣṭa reciting hymns from the Sāma Veda, Rāma went slowly out of the city seated on a great golden chariot. Those with divine sight could see by His two sides the goddesses Lakṣmī and Bhumi. Ahead of Him went the personified power of resolution, while all around Him were His weapons in human forms. Rāma was followed by the Vedas in the form of Brahmins, as well by the goddess Gayatri and the personified form of Omkara, the divine syllable always meditated upon by great yogīs.
All the female inhabitants of the palace then followed, accompanied by Bharat and Shatrughna. Crowds of ascetics, chanting Vedic mantras, came at the head of the citizens, who were grouped according to their respective classes. Hundreds of thousands of Vanaras, Rākṣasas and bears also followed behind. Everyone left Ayodhya to go with Rāma. Even the animals and birds left the city and went with the procession. No living creature of any kind remained in Ayodhya and they all made their way westward to the banks of the Sarayu.
As they travelled Rāma met one last time with Hanumān to say His farewells. Embracing the monkey, He said, “You have made your decision to remain here on earth, so do not let your words become false.”
Hanumān replied, “Surely I shall always be in Your presence simply by hearing of Your glories, O Lord. So long as Your divine narration circulates in this world, so I shall remain.”
Rāma also asked two other Vanaras, Mainda and Dwivida, to stay behind, as well as the king of the bears Jambavan. They all bowed before Rāma saying, “So be it.” Meeting with Vibhishana, Rāma said to him, “O best of the Rākṣasas, you should stay in the world to rule over your people. As long as the sun and moon stay in the heavens, so will your rule last. Always worship Viṣṇu in His form as Jagannatha, the presiding deity of the Ikṣvākus.” Accepting that order, Vibhishana prostrated himself before Rāma and then left for Lanka.
Followed by His vast entourage, Rāma traveled upriver to the point where it joined the Ganges, then went along the course of that holy river until He reached the foot of the mountain from where it emanated. At that place, where the path to heaven could be found, millions of divine chariots appeared. All the gods, headed by Brahmā, were visible. Celestial music played by the Gandharvas could be heard and showers of flowers fell from the skies.
It was seen that Viṣṇu appeared in the sky on the back of Garuḍa. Within the sight of all, and being praised by the gods, Rāma and His two brothers entered Viṣṇu’s form. Every creature present, who were all absorbed in thoughts of Rāma, then gave up their mortal bodies and assumed their eternal spiritual forms. The gods saw them rising up on celestial chariots toward Rāma’s undecaying abode in the spiritual world. It seemed to those celestials that the very city of Ayodhya went with Rāma.
Astonished by this unprecedented sight, Brahmā and the gods left for their own abodes, praising Rāma within their hearts. His pastimes were complete.
Jaya Śrī Rāma!
The End
1: The Story of the River Ganges
Told by Viśvāmitra to Rāma and Lakṣman upon reaching the Ganges
In the far north there stands Himalaya, the king of mountains, whose presiding deity is known as Himavan. This Himavan, through his consort Mena, the daughter of the celestial Mount Meru, begot two charming daughters, both matchless in beauty. The elder of the two was named Gaṅgā and, upon the supplication of the gods, she later became this holy river. The other girl was called Umā, and her father conferred her upon the unlimitedly powerful Śiva to be his wife. After marrying that girl, who is also known in this world as Parvati, Śiva sported with her in regions of celestial bliss.
Becoming concerned, the gods with Brahmā at their head went before Śiva. They fell prostrate before him and said to him, “O lord, the worlds will not be able to bear your seed should it be released into Umā. The combined power of you and your consort will surely be unbearable to all beings. Please therefore retain your vital energy within your supremely splendid self. You will thereby preserve the worlds from being burned by the brilliance of your progeny.”
Śiva, who always remains fixed in thought of Viṣṇu and is ever compassionate to all beings, replied, “It shall be as you say, for the words of the gods can never be denied. But my vital seed already stands dislodged from my heart. Where then shall it fall?”
Brahmā replied, “Your seed should fall upon earth, for she alone is capable of withstanding its power, bearing as she does the weight of all creatures.”
Śiva let fall his seed, which covered the whole globe. Brahmā instructed Agni, the god of fire, “Accompanied by Vāyu, move quickly across the surface of the earth and suck up Śiva’s mighty seed. Previously the gods had asked me that I provide them with a powerful commander for their army. Cause Śiva’s seed to be borne by Gaṅgā, so that she may bring forth a blazing son who will become the general of the gods.”
Agni at once caught up all of Śiva’s vital fluid and went before Gaṅgā, saying, “Be pleased to receive Śiva’s seed, O Goddess!”
Gaṅgā assumed an ethereal human form of exceptionally exquisite beauty. Upon seeing this form, Śiva’s seed melted and the god of fire impregnated Gaṅgā all over with that glowing fluid.
Burning with Śiva’s fiery seed coursing through her veins, Goddess Gaṅgā said to Agni, “O shining one, I cannot bear this flaming seed, which has been made even more powerful by your touch.”
Agni told her to discharge the seed upon the Himālayas and Gaṅgā immediately expelled it from her body. It emerged from her in a brilliant stream and fell upon the earth, forming vast veins of gold and silver. Even at a great distance mines of copper, lead and tin were created by that divine fluid.
At the exact spot where Śiva’s vital seed landed there grew up a thicket of brilliant white reeds. The union of Gaṅgā with the seed of Śiva conceived a child who was born from out of those reeds. He has become known in all the worlds as Skanda. Indeed, he is the powerful general of the gods, also famous as Kārttikeya, for he was raised by the six goddesses known as the Krittikas. Even now that god can be seen in the sky shining amid the constellation of Krittika.
After Kārttikeya’s birth the gods approached Śiva’s consort and, pleased in mind, worshipped her. However, she felt angry at having been denied union with her consort and, with bloodshot eyes, she pronounced a curse upon both the gods and the earth. “As I was denied my desire of getting a son, so too shall all you gods remain always issueless. This earth shall have a jagged surface of many shapes and forms and shall have many masters. She shall never enjoy the delight of having a son since she has deprived me of my own child.”
Some time after this, a king named Sagara ruled over Ayodhya. From out of his two wives the king had sixty thousand and one sons. By the gods’ arrangement, one wife gave birth to a fetus shaped like a gourd, which then split into sixty thousand pieces. These pieces were placed in sixty thousand pots of ghee and gradually they grew into babies. The other wife gave birth to a boy in the normal way.
The sixty thousand sons were of wicked conduct and caused pain to all living beings. The one son, however, was pious and became the beloved of all the people.
One day King Sagara performed a horse sacrifice for the good of the world. Upon seeing the sacrifice, Indra became concerned that Sagara may exceed him in pious merits and thereby take his post in heaven, which Indra himself had won by the performance of pious acts of sacrifice. Indra thus assumed the form of a fierce Rākṣasa and seized the sacrificial horse, taking it away to a distant place.
King Sagara ordered his sixty thousand sons to search out that horse. The princes traveled all over the earth, but could not see the horse. They excavated the earth’s surface and searched the subterranean regions, but still to no avail. Excavating and looking in all directions, the princes created havoc and killed innumerable creatures. The gods went before Brahmā and asked that he stop them. Brahmā informed them that Mother Earth is always protected by the Supreme Lord Viṣṇu, who was at that time dwelling in the earth’s subterranean region. Sagara’s sons would soon be destroyed by that very Lord, who had assumed the form of a sage named Kapila.
In time the princes arrived before Kapila and found him seated in meditation. The sacrificial horse was grazing nearby, left there by Indra. Becoming furious they said to Kapila, “O evil-minded one, you have stolen this horse! We shall now kill You and take it back!”
Hearing this threat and seeing before Him the sixty thousand sons of Sagara, Kapila, a sage of immeasurable power, became angry. Due to their offense in having assailed the divine Ṛṣi Kapila, all the princes were immediately burned to ashes by a fire which emanated from their own bodies.
After some time King Sagara became concerned about his sons. He ordered his one remaining son, Amsuman, to go after them. Amsuman also found Kapila sitting in meditation and saw before Him his brothers’ ashes, destroyed by their offense against the sage. Grieved by his brothers’ deaths, Amsuman looked all around and saw Garuḍa, Viṣṇu’s great eagle carrier who had come to serve his master. Garuḍa told Amsuman that he should devise some plan to bring the Ganges to earth so that her waters could flow across his brothers’ ashes and thus liberate them from hell. Amsuman offered prayers to Kapila and received from Him the horse, whereupon he went back to his father.
Despite every attempt to perform sacrifice and pray to the gods, neither Sagara nor his son were able to cause the Ganges to flow across the earth. It was several generations later that the famous King Bhagīratha finally succeeded. By dint of his great asceticism he pleased Brahmā, who ordered the Ganges to fall to earth.
The river Ganges, known in heaven as the Mandakini, emanated originally from Viṣṇu’s foot. When He kicked a small hole in the shell of the universe, the waters of the causal ocean, in which all the innumerable universes float, entered. Falling down to the heavens, the water was entered by the goddess Gaṅgā who then, on Brahmā’s order, brought it down to earth. This water filled the huge excavation made by Sagara’s sons and thereby became the great ocean. It flowed down to the subterranean region where it liberated the sixty thousand princes by covering their ashes. It is that same sacred river, made holy by the touch of Viṣṇu’s foot, which you now see before you, O valiant princes. To this very day anyone whose ashes are placed in this river is immediately liberated.
2: The History of Viśvāmitra
Told to Rāma by Satananda, the priest of King Janaka
The sage Viśvāmitra was once a king who ruled over the earth for many thousands of years. Collecting a great army comprising hundreds of thousands of soldiers on elephants, chariots, horses and foot, he set out on an expedition to examine his kingdom. Marching through many cities and states, over mountains and rivers, Viśvāmitra came at last to the dwellings of the ṛṣis. There he reached the hermitage of Vasiṣṭha, the leader best and indeed the best of all the ṛṣis. This most beautiful site was rich with all kinds of flowers, creepers and trees and was graced by the gods, Gandharvas, Siddhas and Cāraṇas. It thronged with multitudes of celestial seers and sages, who shone like fire, and it hummed with the constant recitation of sacred Vedic hymns. Some of the sages there lived on water and air alone, others on leaves fallen from the trees, while others subsisted on a spare diet of fruits and roots. All of them had mastered their senses and minds and were engaged in asceticism and meditation. The mighty Viśvāmitra looked upon this region as if it were the residence of Brahmā himself.
Approaching Vasiṣṭha and bowing low before him, Viśvāmitra greeted him with praises and prayers. Vasiṣṭha then said to Viśvāmitra, “Welcome is your appearance here, O king. Please be seated comfortably and ask of me anything you desire.”
The two of them spoke for some time in great delight, partaking of simple forest fare. Vasiṣṭha saw that Viśvāmitra was accompanied by a vast army and he said to the king, “I wish to offer full hospitality to you and all your troops. Please accept my desire without any question, O king. I am not satisfied by simply offering you fruits and water.”
Viśvāmitra was unwilling to take anything from Vasiṣṭha, whom he viewed as his superior. He declined politely, saying, “I am fully honored by your words and audience alone. Indeed your very sight is sufficient. How could I ask anything more? I am satisfied with the fruits you have offered. With your permission, I shall now depart. Please look upon me with love and let me leave taking only your blessings.”
But the sage was intent on offering Viśvāmitra further hospitality. Viśvāmitra tried again and again to dissuade him, but the pious-minded Vasiṣṭha would not be refused. He continuously requested the king to remain there longer. At last, seeing that this would be most pleasing to the sage, Viśvāmitra relented and agreed.
Vasiṣṭha felt joy and he stood up and called for his celestial cow, Sabala. “Come, come, my beloved Sabala,” he said. “I wish to entertain this king, Viśvāmitra, and all his army with a sumptuous feast. Please make every preparation.”
Vasiṣṭha’s wonderful cow began to produce from her body all kinds of food and drink in enormous quantities—steaming rice heaped high as hills, cooked vegetables of every variety, soups, breads, cakes, pies, pastries, sweetmeats, butter, cream and yogurt—all in silver dishes and plates filled to the brim. Streams of delicious juices flowed and pots filled with ambrosial milk drinks appeared there. Viśvāmitra and his entire army were fully satisfied by that splendid array of foodstuffs, every morsel of which tasted like nectar.
The king was astounded to see that it had all been produced from a cow, and he went before Vasiṣṭha, saying, “Your cow is highly amazing, O magnanimous one. I wish to ask from you that she be given to me in exchange for a hundred thousand other cows. As the king I should always be offered the best of everything and I see this cow to be the very best of her species. Therefore kindly give her to me, O sage.”
But Vasiṣṭha replied, “I shall never part with Sabala, even in exchange for a thousand million cows. Not even for heaps of gold and silver. Sabala is inseparable from me even as glory is inseparable from a man practicing asceticism.”
Vasiṣṭha had no interest in worldly wealth. His life was dedicated to the practice of sacrifice and austerity. All his happiness was derived from within himself. Even if Viśvāmitra had offered him the entire world, the sage would not have been interested. But Sabala was dear to him. She had long served the ṛṣi. Assisted by her Vasiṣṭha was able to perform many sacrifices for the good of the world. This was his sacred duty and he had no intention of renouncing it. He continued, “My very life depends upon this cow. For a long time she has sustained me with her milk. Each day she provides me with all the requisites for my sacrificial performances. She has become as dear to me as my own self and I shall not part with her under any circumstances.”
Viśvāmitra was not used to being refused anything. He was incensed by the sage’s insistence on keeping the cow. He did not want to be denied and spoke angrily to Vasiṣṭha. “How is it you are refusing to give this cow to your king? I am a warrior by nature and therefore see strength as the means of achieving my ends. If you will not give me this wonderful creature, then I shall remove her by force.”
The king was overwhelmed by pride and anger. Taking hold of Sabala with his exceptionally powerful arms, he began to drag her away, surrounded by his soldiers.
Vasiṣṭha looked sorrowfully upon the scene and said to Viśvāmitra, “As the king it is appropriate for you to use such force to achieve your purpose. As a Brahmin it also behooves me to exercise forgiveness, for that is my sacred duty in all circumstances. Nor can I ever use force, for gentleness is always prescribed for the Brahmins. Therefore, O king, I forgive you.”
Although deeply pained to see his cow being dragged away, Vasiṣṭha controlled his feelings. By his own power he was able to prevent her being taken, but he stood by silently, without doing anything. Sabala cried out in distress as the king seized her and she spoke to Vasiṣṭha, “Are you now abandoning me, O lord? What wrong have I done that I am now being removed in this wretched condition by wretched men, even as my master, the all-powerful Vasiṣṭha, looks on?”
Sabala broke loose from the king. She ran to Vasiṣṭha with tears in her eyes and all her exquisitely formed limbs trembling. Looking up at Vasiṣṭha she implored, “Am I now to be forsaken by you, O almighty son of Brahmā?”
Vasiṣṭha, his heart tormented with grief, replied to Sabala, “I am not abandoning you, nor have you ever wronged me, O Sabala. Intoxicated with power and depending upon his huge army, this great king, the ruler of the earth, is taking you away. What then can I do, being only a poor Brahmin?”
Sabala divined his deeper meaning and answered, “The wise have declared that a Brahmin’s strength is always superior to that of a warrior. The strength of the sages is spiritual while that of the warriors exists in their arms only. Therefore simply order me to stay and this arrogant king will not succeed in taking me away.”
Vasiṣṭha at once said to Sabala, “Stay!”
Immediately the wish-fulfilling cow brought forth from her body a vast army of fierce fighters, equipped with weapons of every kind, who fell upon the army of the king with terrible cries.
Seeing his own army routed by the fighters created by Sabala, Viśvāmitra stood his ground and released various kinds of weapons to beat them back. Wave after wave of ferocious looking warriors issued forth from Sabala, some rising up from her roar, some coming out of her udders, while others appeared from her anus. They rushed at the army of the king and in a short time Viśvāmitra saw his forces completely defeated and dispersed by the warriors of mystic creation.
Viśvāmitra had been accompanied by his one hundred sons. They became furious with Vasiṣṭha and surrounded him. They shot powerful weapons at the sage which sped toward him like blazing comets. Vasiṣṭha, not roused to anger, uttered a powerful Vedic mantra to check the weapons. Simply by the power of Vasiṣṭha’s utterance the princes were instantly reduced to ashes. Only one was left standing.
Viśvāmitra looked on in complete astonishment. He stood alone, filled with fear and shame. Resembling the furious ocean after it has become becalmed, he became lusterless like the eclipsed sun. He had lost his sons and his army and he felt miserable, his strength and spirit shattered. Ordering his remaining son to take on the earth’s administration, he resolved to retire to the forest to practice asceticism in order to increase his power.
After a long period of ascetic practice aimed at pleasing Śiva, the extremely powerful and beneficent god finally appeared and said, “Why are you engaging in such austerities, O king? What do you wish to achieve? I am capable of bestowing boons. Therefore ask from me whatever you may desire.”
At that time Viśvāmitra had only the knowledge of lesser celestial weapons and did not know how to use the missiles presided over by the principal gods. He fell prostrate before Śiva and offered many prayers, saying, “If you are pleased with me, O lord, then please bestow upon me the knowledge of every divine weapon presided over by all the gods, including the weapons of yourself and Brahmā. Tell me the complete science of archery and warfare with all its innermost secrets.”
Saying “So be it,” Śiva immediately disappeared, and by his mystic power he conferred upon Viśvāmitra the knowledge of warfare along with all the mystic weapons. After receiving the weapons, Viśvāmitra, who was already full of pride, became even more arrogant. Swelling with power like the ocean on the full moon, he took Vasiṣṭha, the most eminent of all seers, to be dead there and then.
He went at once to the hermitage and began to discharge all his weapons in Vasiṣṭha’s direction. The beautiful grove was consumed by the fire of the missiles and the sages rushed about in all directions, tormented and alarmed by the attack.
Vasiṣṭha saw the sages, as well as the beasts and birds, fleeing by the thousands, afflicted by Viśvāmitra’s weapons. He called out, “Do not fear! I shall now put an end to Viśvāmitra’s display of might, even as the sun dispels a morning mist.”
Vasiṣṭha was enraged. He went before Viśvāmitra, shouting, “Here I am, O wicked fellow. Show me, then, the limits of your strength!”
Viśvāmitra aimed at Vasiṣṭha the missile presided over by the fire-god, and it went toward him glowing like the sun.
Smiling even as the weapon raced toward him, Vasiṣṭha called out to Viśvāmitra. “What use is your martial power, O unworthy disgrace of your race? See today the power of the Brahmins!”
Vasiṣṭha was standing with only his staff. He held it up and the fire weapon was immediately absorbed into it. Viśvāmitra then let go each of the divine weapons one after another, including those presided over by Vāyu, Varuṇa, Indra, Yamarāja, Brahmā, the immortal Śiva, Dharma the god of virtue, and even Viṣṇu, the supreme controller. All of them were drawn into Vasiṣṭha’s staff and entirely neutralized.
As he stood there blazing in his own glory, Vasiṣṭha looked like the smokeless fire of universal destruction. Imbued with the force of the divine weapons, he shot forth tongues of flame from all his pores. Hosts of gods and celestial ṛṣis assembled in the canopy of the sky and, being fearful, spoke to Vasiṣṭha, “Today you have humbled the mighty Viśvāmitra. Your power is infallible, O most noble soul. Extinguish the fire blazing from your body and save the world.”
When he heard the heavenly voices, Vasiṣṭha regained his calm and stood silently with his mind controlled. Freed from anger, he told Viśvāmitra, “You may leave in peace. Do not act again in such a foolish way.”
Viśvāmitra, dejected, heaved a deep sigh. He considered his strength useless and said, “Weak indeed are my weapons when used against a Brahmin. Where is my pride now? The might of a warrior’s arms are nothing in comparison to Brahminical powers. I shall therefore return to the forest and perform severe penance until I attain the status of a Brahmin.”
Viśvāmitra went again to the forest, having made enemies with a highly exalted soul. Meanwhile, Vasiṣṭha recreated his hermitage by his mystic powers and began again the performance of his religious duties, meant only for the benefit of mankind.
Viśvāmitra practiced extremely difficult austerities. He lived only on fruits and roots and sat in meditation, perfectly controlling his mind by fixing it upon the Supreme and not indulging in any thoughts of sensual enjoyment. During the cold winters he would remain submerged in water up to his neck. In the blazing heat of the summer he sat surrounded by sacrificial fires on four sides. Once, for a very long period of time, he stood upon one leg with his arms upraised. A thousand years passed by as Viśvāmitra practiced his asceticism.
While Viśvāmitra remained in the forest, Vasiṣṭha had become the royal priest in Ayodhya. A king named Trishanku, a distant ancestor of Daśaratha, appeared in the line of emperors who ruled from Ayodhya. King Trishanku desired to attain the heavens in his own bodily form and he asked Vasiṣṭha to perform a sacrifice for that purpose. Vasiṣṭha replied, “O king, no man can attain heaven other than at the end of his life after the performance of piety and religion. This is the universal rule established by God. Therefore I shall not perform any sacrifice with the aim of placing you in heaven in your present body. You should give up this sinful desire.”
Trishanku, however, was set upon his aim and did not care for Vasiṣṭha’s good advice. He decided to seek out Viśvāmitra, knowing him to possess great powers as a result of his long practice of asceticism. He considered that Viśvāmitra, being a king who had preceded him in his own line, might be more amenable to his desire. Trishanku also intelligently considered the animosity of Viśvāmitra toward Vasiṣṭha, feeling that this would provide a further impetus to Viśvāmitra to perform the sacrifice refused by Vasiṣṭha.
After reaching the forest and finding Viśvāmitra, the king requested him to perform the sacrifice. Viśvāmitra, hearing that Vasiṣṭha had refused and remembering his enmity with the great mystic, agreed.
Viśvāmitra then began a sacrifice, carefully following the procedures laid down in the Vedas. He sat before a blazing fire and uttered prayers to all the gods headed by Viṣṇu, pouring offerings of ghee into the flames. At the proper moment he said, “Witness now my ascetic powers! By my command this king shall rise to heaven, even in this body of flesh and bones. O Trishanku, by virtue of the merits of my austerities, ascend now to heaven where you shall attain the state of the gods!”
As soon as Viśvāmitra said this, Trishanku rose up to the skies, but as he approached heaven, Indra checked him. Indra said in a voice booming like thunder, “O king, how are you trying now to enter heaven? You have earned no place here through religion or piety. Indeed, your own preceptor Vasiṣṭha has refused your illegal desire for heaven. O foolish man, fall headlong back to earth!”
Trishanku began to drop swiftly toward the earth and he cried out to Viśvāmitra, “Save me!”
Viśvāmitra, seeing Trishanku falling back down, called out, “Stop!”
Immediately the king’s downward progress was halted and he remained situated in the sky. Seated amid many ṛṣis the great sage Viśvāmitra became overwhelmed with anger at seeing Indra’s refusal to allow Trishanku into heaven. He said, “Since this jealous god will not let the king attain the heavenly regions, I shall now create a second heaven by dint of my mystic power. Trishanku shall then live there in peace.”
Like another Brahmā, Viśvāmitra evolved from his mind a galaxy consisting of twenty-seven lunar mansions which appeared in the sky. The sage then set about creating another hierarchy of gods to inhabit those heavenly planets. Observing this disturbance to the universal situation, Indra and the gods became alarmed and approached Viśvāmitra, saying, “This king does not deserve a place in heaven, O blessed sage. Rejected by his own guru, he now stands divested of all his pious merits.”
Viśvāmitra replied, “As I have pledged my word to this king, how shall I make it false? A promise of heaven has been given by me. Therefore please let this king enjoy heavenly bliss and let the lunar mansions I created remain in existence.”
Indra, out of respect for the great Viśvāmitra’s request, replied, “It shall be so. Your planets will endure in the heavens in the southern quarter beyond the celestial sphere. Trishanku shall remain in their midst, as happy as a god and shining brightly. All those stars shall circumambulate him, even as all the planets circle the pole star. May you be blessed.”
Viśvāmitra became pleased, but after ending the sacrifice he considered, “Driven by my anger toward Vasiṣṭha, I have now placed the impious Trishanku in the heavens here in the southern quarter. He will certainly exert a malefic influence upon this region. I shall now therefore move to some other place.”
Viśvāmitra realized he had considerably diminished his ascetic merits, expending them on the task of raising Trishanku to heaven. Still strongly desiring to attain the full status of a Brahmin sage, he continued to perform severe penances, gradually building his stock of pious credits and increasing his power. Indra became concerned, believing that Viśvāmitra may soon attain enough power to overthrow him from his post in heaven. The king of the gods desired to impede the sage’s penance and he sent the Apsarā Menaka to where Viśvāmitra sat in meditation.
Menaka entered a lake near to the sage and began to bathe. Hearing her anklets tinkling, and fully opening his half-closed eyes, Viśvāmitra saw the heavenly damsel, with her translucent clothes wet and clinging to her divinely formed body. Struck with passion the sage said, “You are most welcome, O celestial lady. Indeed, please dwell here in my hermitage. Heavenly Apsarās are not bound by earthly morality, so I will incur no sin by enjoying with you.”
Menaka took up her residence in the sage’s abode and they sported together in the beautiful grassy glades in that region. One hundred years passed as if it were only a day. Eventually realizing that he had again been diverted from his purpose, Viśvāmitra felt shame and he remonstrated himself, “Alas, I have been overcome by the ignorance born of lust. My mind has been completely bewildered by the beauty of this maiden. Surely this is the work of the gods.”
Menaka stood before him trembling. She feared his terrible curse, but Viśvāmitra dismissed her with kind and gentle words. Resolving then upon lifelong celibacy, the sage went to the bank of the Kaushiki River, his own sister, and continued his asceticism.
The sage practiced the most rigid austerities, eating only air. A thousand years passed by and he began to emit a blazing fire from his body, born from the power of his asceticism.
Again Indra became alarmed. He approached another Apsarā named Rambha and asked her to divert the sage from his austerity. She duly went to where he was sitting and began to dance alluringly before his gaze. However, Viśvāmitra did not allow his mind to give way to lust. Becoming angry with her he uttered a curse: “O nymph, since you have maliciously attempted to prevent my penance, you shall remain at this spot as a stone for one thousand years. You may then return to heaven.”
The sage realized that he had again diminished his piety, this time by becoming angry. He determined that he would never again give way to anger, nor even speak at all, and he resumed his austerities in that beautiful Himālayan region, suspending even his breathing as well as taking neither food nor water.
Finally, after another thousand years had elapsed, the gods went to Brahmā and, seized with anxiety, implored him, “Be pleased to grant this Viśvāmitra his desire. By his powerful penance we see the entire energy of the universe becoming disturbed. The earth is quaking with her mountains riven and her seas roaring in great turbulence. Violent winds are blowing and the four quarters are enveloped in darkness. If Viśvāmitra does not cease his practice of penance, then universal destruction will surely ensue!”
At this Brahmā went before Viśvāmitra and said to him in a gentle voice, “O highly blessed sage, you have attained your desire. You now stand equal to Vasiṣṭha as a Brahmin ṛṣi. All the Vedic knowledge will become manifest in your pure heart. Stop your austerities.”
Requested by Brahmā, the sage Vasiṣṭha also came there and befriended Viśvāmitra, saying, “You have surpassed all with your tremendous asceticism and have become a worthy Brahmin. No anger toward you exists in my heart. Be blessed, O great ṛṣi!”
Falling prostrate before Vasiṣṭha, Viśvāmitra sought his forgiveness and, forming a firm friendship with that son of Brahmā, left that place with his purpose fulfilled.
3: The Birth and History of Hanumān
As told to Rāma by Agastya Ṛṣi
There lived on Mount Sumeru a powerful Vanara leader named Keshari. His wife, Anjana, was beautiful beyond compare. One day Vāyu, the wind god, saw her standing alone and he desired union with her. After uniting with her in his mystical yoga form, she conceived a child who was named Hanumān. He cried out in hunger and Anjana placed him down amid some reeds while she went to collect forest fruits. Hanumān looked up from where he lay and saw the sun. Thinking it to be a large fruit he sprang upwards with outstretched hands. Gifted with the power of his divine father, he soared through the heavens toward the sun. Vāyu went with him, covering him with a cool breeze so that he would not be burned by the sun. The sun-god also withheld his blazing rays as he understood that Hanumān was a great servant of Viṣṇu who would later assist Him on earth.
As Hanumān went swiftly upwards through the skies, a demon named Rāhu was also approaching the sun with a view to envelop him. It was the day ordained for that demon to swallow the fiery sun-god, thus creating an eclipse, but Hanumān saw him and pushed him aside. Afraid of the mighty Vanara, Rāhu sped away toward Indra’s abode in the heavens. Going before the deity he said, “O king of the gods, having allotted to me the sun and moon as my regular food, how is it that you have now given over my share to another? See how another Rāhu has appeared in the sky, intent on consuming the sun.”
Indra immediately left his seat and, mounting his celestial elephant, Airāvata, he rose up into the heavens. He approached Hanumān, who was streaking through the sky like a blazing meteor. When the Vanara saw the effulgent god nearby, he considered him to be another fruit and he turned toward him. Indra then released his thunderbolt, which struck Hanumān and caused him to drop back down to earth.
The Vanara fell onto a mountain top and lay there apparently dead. Seeing this Vāyu became angry and he caused all creatures to begin to suffocate. Interrupting the flow of the vital life airs in all beings, Vāyu created a great disturbance in the universe.
Indra and all the other gods quickly approached Vāyu, who stood by the fallen Hanumān, and prayed to him to desist from causing so much suffering. Brahmā also appeared there and asked Vāyu what was the cause of his actions. Vāyu replied, “It is on account of my son being slain. See now how that innocent child lays here motionless, struck down by Indra’s terrible thunderbolt.”
Brahmā then reached out and ran his hand over Hanumān. The Vanara immediately sat up and looked around. The relieved Vāyu again began to move in the bodies of living creatures, and Brahmā said, “Listen, O gods, as I tell you about this Vanara. He will accomplish your purpose on earth and become a famous servant of Viṣṇu. You should therefore all grant him boons.”
Pleased to hear Brahmā’s words, Indra took off his garland and placed it around Hanumān’s neck, saying, “From this day on he shall be invulnerable to my thunderbolt.”
The sun-god then said, “I shall bestow upon him a hundredth part of my brilliance. Also, when he begins to study the scriptures I shall enable him to quickly learn all aspects of knowledge. None shall exceed him in scriptural understanding.”
Yamarāja granted him invulnerability to his rod and freedom from ailment. Kuvera also blessed him that he would remain unwearied in battle. Śiva said, “He shall be immune to my weapons and from death at my hands.” Viśvakarmā added, “This Vanara shall be invulnerable to all celestial weapons forged by me and he shall be long-lived.”
Finally, Brahmā said, “O wind-god, your son shall be invincible in battle. He will prove the terror of his foes and the shelter of his friends. This jewel among monkeys shall be able to change his form at will and go wherever he pleases at any speed he likes. No Brahmin’s curse will be able to kill him. His movements shall be unimpeded and he will become glorious. In war he will accomplish tremendous feats which make one’s hair stand on end, thus causing the destruction of Rāvaṇa and the pleasure of Rāma.”
After this the gods departed and Vāyu took Hanumān back to his mother. He began to grow up like a god. Overflowing with the exultation of his own power, and being possessed of the mischievous nature of monkeys, he started creating trouble for the ṛṣis in the forest, knowing that they could not harm him. He would playfully throw about and break their sacrificial ladles and vessels, and tear to shreds the piles of soft bark they kept for making garments. Despite the efforts of his mother and father to check him, Hanumān continued with his pranks and went on harassing the ascetics.
Eventually the ṛṣis, not wanting to harm the playful young Vanara, found a way to stop him. Touching sacred water, their leader uttered an imprecation. “As this one makes trouble for us depending upon his celestial strength, he shall forget his own power. Only when someone reminds him again by reciting his glories will he recall his strength.”
Bewildered by that curse, Hanumān forgot about his might and began acting like an ordinary Vanara. He formed a strong friendship with Sugrīva, going with him into exile when he was banished by Vāli. He finally again remembered his power when Jambavan reminded him at the time of searching for Sītā.
4: The Benefits of Reading Rāmayana
He who listens every day to this oldest epic, composed by the sage Vālmīki, which is calculated to bestow religious merit, renown and longevity, and which lends support to the Vedas, is completely freed of sin. Kings will overcome their enemies and conquer the earth, men will overcome all difficulties and women will be blessed with excellent sons and grandsons. Those listening to this epic will receive from Śrī Rāma all the boons they desire. Through a hearing of this work all the gods are satisfied. One who keeps a copy in his house will find all his obstacles coming to an end. A man offering worship to and reading this historical work is completely rid of all sins and attains a long life; all the gods are thus pleased and one’s ancestors are gratified forever. Those transcribing this work with devotion are guaranteed residence in heaven, while those hearing it will secure the growth of their family and wealth, supreme happiness and the accomplishment of all their objects on earth.
Yuddha Kanda
The gods, Gandharvas, Siddhas and ṛṣis always listen with great pleasure to the Rāmayana in heaven. This legend is the bestower of longevity, the enhancer of fortune and the dispeller of sins. It is the equal of the Vedas. A man reading even a quarter of it is freed from all sins; indeed, even if one sins daily he is released from the reactions if he recites just one verse of the Rāmayana. A man gets the results of one thousand Ashvamedha sacrifices and ten thousand Vajpeya sacrifices merely by hearing this great work. He has visited all the holy shrines and bathed in all the sacred rivers. One who listens to the story of Śrī Rāma with full reverence roots out all sins and goes to the world of Viṣṇu. The Rāmayana is the unsurpassed form of Gayatri. By hearing it with devotion one will undoubtedly achieve liberation, along with many generations of ancestors. The exploits of Śrī Rāma are the bestower of all four of life’s objects—dharma, artha, kama and moksha. Hearing even one line of this work with full devotion guarantees one’s attainment of the world of Brahmā.
Uttarā Kanda
Glossary
Aditya Hridaya: Hymns in praise of the sun recited by Agastya Ṛṣi to Rāma just prior to the killing of Rāvaṇa.
Agastya: A powerful ṛṣi who is a son of the god Varuṇa. said to have once swallowed the entire ocean and to have overpowered the terrible demons Ilvala and Vātāpi. Rāma recited many stories about this ṛṣi to Lakṣman and Sītā when They were in the forest.
Agni: The god of fire, thus also the Sanskrit word for fire.
Apsarā: Celestial nymph. “One who, upon embracing a man, drives him insane.” The beauty of the Apsarās is legendary and has made many great ṛṣis fall down from their ascetic practice.
Arghya: A milk-based drink used as a respectful offering made to a guest.
Ashoka: A tree bearing beautiful red flowers. Sītā was held in a grove of ashoka trees by Rāvaṇa.
Astra: A divine weapon, usually prefixed by the name of the particular god or force which presides over it; e.g. brahmāstra, a weapon presided over by Lord Brahmā.
Asura: Class of celestial demons.
Brahmā: The first of all the gods and the creator of the universe. He was directly manifested from Viṣṇu and is thus sometimes called “the unborn.”
Bṛhaspati: The preceptor of the gods.
Chamara: Whisk made from yak-tail hairs and used for highly respectable persons.
Cāraṇa: A class of demigod noted for their poetic abilities.
Daitya: A class of powerful demonic beings.
Dandaka: The forest where Rāma lived during his exile.
Dānava: A class of powerful celestial demons and enemies of the gods.
Dhātrī: Nurse.
Gandharva: A class of demigods noted for their martial and musical abilities.
Indra: King of the gods, also known as Purandara and Śakra.
Kinnara: A class of demigod, often having a half-human and half- animal form such as that of a centaur, and generally seen holding a lute.
Kusha: Darbha grass, considered sacred by the Vedas.
Kuvera: The god of wealth, who guards the northern quarter of the universe.
Lokapālas: Gods presiding over the four quarters of the universe.
Maya Dānava: A celestial demon who possesses great skills at architecture and building.
Nāga: A celestial serpent, often appearing in human form.
Nārada: A celestial sage also known as Devarshi, or the ṛṣi among the gods. He is famous as a devotee of Viṣṇu and frequently assists him in his pastimes on earth. The Vedas contain innumerable references to Nārada’s activities and teachings.
Niṣadha: Tribal people living in the forest.
Paraśurāma: A ṛṣi said to be an empowered incarnation of Viṣṇu. He is famous for having annihilated all the warrior kings of the world after his father, Jamadagni, had been killed by a king named Kartavirya.
Raghava: A name for Rāma, meaning the descendant of Raghu, a great king in Rāma’s line.
Rāhu: A powerful demon appearing as a planet. Said to be responsible for eclipses.
Rākṣasa: Celestial demon, antagonistic to humankind.
Rāma: The seventh of the Dasavatāra incarnations of Viṣṇu, who appeared as a king in the solar dynasty (i.e. descending from the sun-god).
Rāvaṇa: A powerful leader of the Rākṣasa race. His birth is described in Rāmayana as follows:
Long ago on the slopes of Mount Meru there lived a sage named Pulastya, who was a mind-born son of Brahmā. He was constantly engaged in the practice of severe asceticism. Many celestial maidens would come to sport in the beautiful region where he dwelt, and they would often disturb his meditations. Finally becoming impatient with them, he said, “If any maiden should again be seen by me, she will immediately become pregnant.”
The maidens then carefully avoided Pulastya’s ashrama. However, there was one girl, a daughter of another sage named Trinabindu, who had not heard about the curse. She ventured into the region where Pulastya sat and as soon as he saw her she found indications of pregnancy in her body. Astonished and fearful, she ran to her father and said, “Father, I cannot understand why I am suddenly appearing as if pregnant. No contact with any male has ever been had by me.”
Trinabindu sat in meditation and by his mystic power he understood what had happened. He then went with his daughter to Pulastya and said to him, “O venerable sage, kindly accept my daughter as your wife. By your power she now carries a child. Please therefore take her hand in marriage. She will surely render you very pleasing service.”
Pulastya agreed and he said to the girl, “O gentle one, you will give birth to a highly qualified son who shall be known as Visrava.”
Like his father, Visrava became an ascetic and engaged himself in much penance and study of scripture. In due course he married a daughter of Bharadvāja and through her begot a son named Vaishravana, who by the grace of his father became the powerful Kuvera, the god of wealth.
At that time a great battle took place between the gods and the Rākṣasas, who were finally put to flight by Viṣṇu. They sought shelter in the nether worlds, although one of them, Sumali, began to live on earth. As he wandered about he saw one day Kuvera flying overhead in the celestial Pushpaka chariot. The Rākṣasa was astonished to see Kuvera’s opulence. Knowing that the god was Visrava’s son, and desiring to do good to the Rākṣasas, he said to his young daughter Kaikasi, “It is high time you were wed, dear girl. Go quickly to Visrava’s ashrama and ask that he accept you. That powerful sage will give you sons equal to the lord of riches; there is no doubt at all.”
In obedience to her father, Kaikasi went to where Visrava was seated in meditation. She stood bashfully before him with folded palms, looking downward and scratching the earth with her toe. Seeing that girl, whose face resembled the full moon and who shone with a celestial beauty, the sage said, “Who are you and why are you here? Tell me the truth, O beautiful one”
The girl replied, “O sage, you should divine my purpose by your own mystic power, for I am too shy to tell you.”
The sage meditated for some minutes and read her mind. He then said, “I have understood your purpose, O gentle one. You desire sons by me. Surely I am attracted to you and will accept your hand, but you have approached me at an inauspicious time. You will therefore have sons who will be cruel-minded, fierce-looking and given to evil deeds. O lady of shapely limbs, you will bring forth Rākṣasas fond of drinking blood.”
Kaikasi was upset. “O lordly sage, I do not desire such offspring. Kindly be merciful to me.”
Feeling compassion, Visrava replied, “It cannot be any other way, dear girl, but I can bless you as follows. Although you will have such sons, your last son will be different. He will be virtuous and fully in accord with my family.”
In due course Kaikasi gave birth to a hideous child with the form of a Rākṣasa. He had ten heads, twenty hands, and was the color of coal. When he was born many inauspicious omens were seen. Vixens emitted flames from their mouths, blood fell from the sky, meteors dropped down and clouds thundered fiercely. The earth rocked with its load of mountains and the sea roared and sent up huge waves. Visrava named the child Dasagriva and he grew up fearful and cruel.
Next Kaikasi gave birth to Kumbhakarna, then Surpanakha, and finally Vibhishana. When this last son was born, flowers fell from the sky and the gods in heaven were heard to utter, “Good! Excellent!”
Some time after their birth Kuvera came on the Pushpaka to see his father. Seeing him blazing with glory and opulence, Kaikasi said to Dasagriva, “Son, you look here at your brother Vaisravana. Look at your self in comparison, so poor and lacking in power. Exert yourself so that you are the equal of your brother in every way.”
Spurred on by his mother’s words, Dasagriva said, “I swear to you that I shall rise equal to Vaisravana and even excel him in power. Do not grieve.”
In a mood of envy for his brother and greed for power, Dasagriva engaged himself in severe austerities for a very long time. In the end he won his famous boons from Brahmā, being blessed that he could not be slain by any creature other than a man or lesser animal, for whom he had no regard whatsoever.
Along with Dasagriva, both Kumbhakarna and Vibhishana also engaged themselves in asceticism. When Brahmā appeared before them, Vibhishana asked for the boon that his mind would always remain fixed in righteousness, even when he was in the greatest difficulty. Brahmā granted his request and then turned toward Kumbhakarna to accord him a boon.
At that time the gods became greatly fearful and they approached Brahmā, saying, “O lord, no boon at all should be granted by you to this one. He has already wrought havoc in the heavens, devouring seven Apsarās, ten attendants of the mighty Indra, as well as numerous seers and human beings. What will he do if made powerful by a boon from yourself? On the pretext of granting a boon you should instead place him under a spell of delusion, thereby saving all the worlds from him.”
Brahmā smiled and said, “Be it so.” He thought of the goddess of learning, Sarasvatī, and when she appeared before him he said to her, “O goddess, become the speech in Kumbhakarna’s mouth.”
The goddess agreed and Brahmā then asked Kumbhakarna, “What boon do you desire, O Rākṣasa?”
Kumbhakarna, weary from his austerities, replied, “Let me sleep for many years.”
“It shall be so. You will sleep for six months at a time and remain awake for one day.”
Having made his reply, Brahmā vanished along with all the gods.
After receiving his boon, Dasagriva, who became known as Rāvaṇa, considered himself invincible. He went to Lanka, where Kuvera lived, and challenged his brother. On the advice of Visrava, Kuvera left the city and it was taken over by Rāvaṇa and his hordes of Rākṣasa followers.
Ṛṣi: A spiritually advanced Brahmin, usually inhabiting higher regions of the universe.
Rudra: A name for Lord Śiva.
Sagara: A king of the solar race who was Rāma’s ancestor. The ocean is also called “sagara” as it was the sons of this king who first excavated it.
Shabda: Literally “sound”—but generally used to refer to Vedic recitations; thus the “shabda-astra” has the power to destroy illusions.
Śiva: A partial expansion of Lord Viṣṇu who acts as the universal destroyer at the end of a cycle of ages.
Siddha: Literally, a perfected being. These are a class of gods possessed of great mystic powers.
Sītā: The daughter of King Janaka who became Rāma’s wife. How she was born on earth is described in a Vedic literature known as the Devi Bhagavata as follows:
There was once a great ṛṣi called Kushadvaja who had a daughter named Vedavati, who was said to be an incarnation of the goddess Lakṣmī. Kushadvaja was petitioned by various celestials and demons for his daughter’s hand, but she had set her mind on getting Viṣṇu as her husband.
One day a demon named Shambhu asked for Vedavati’s hand in marriage, but he was refused. Becoming furious, he attacked and killed Kushadvaja. When Vedavati saw this she looked in anger at the demon and he was immediately burnt to ashes. She then went to the forest and began to meditate in order to propitiate Viṣṇu and get Him as her husband. It was at that time that Rāvaṇa came there and insulted her, as described in the prologue of this book.
After she immolated her body, it is said that Rāvaṇa took her ashes with him back to Lanka. He kept them in a gold box in his palace. However, soon after this he saw many inauspicious omens in Lanka. The Ṛṣi Nārada, on a visit to Lanka, informed Rāvaṇa that the cause of the ill omens was the presence of Vedavati’s ashes. The demon then had them thrown into the ocean.
The box containing the ashes was carried by the ocean and deposited on the seashore near Mithila. It went into the earth and it was at that place that Janaka performed a sacrifice for getting a child. A part of his sacrifice was the furrowing of the earth and he thus found the box. Lakṣmī had entered the ashes, and when Janaka unearthed the box he found a golden child inside. This child was named Sītā.
Vālmīki: The Rāmayana’s original author. The story of how he first came to compose the work is told in the Rāmayana itself as follows:
One day Vālmīki was visited in his ashrama by the celestial seer Nārada. Vālmīki asked him who was the most virtuous person in the world. Wanting to know if there was a perfect person anywhere, he asked, “Who is possessed of all power and knows what is right? Who is always truthful, firm of resolve and conscious of all services rendered? Who has subdued his self, conquered anger, is above fault-finding and, although being friendly to all beings, is nevertheless feared by even the gods when angry? O eminent sage, I have a great curiosity to know this and you are surely capable of telling me.”
Actually, by his own spiritual practices and meditations Vālmīki had been able to realise that the Supreme Lord, Viṣṇu, had appeared on the earth in a human form. He wanted Nārada, whom he saw as a spiritual master, to tell him about the Lord’s incarnation.
Nārada replied, “There is one descended in the line of Ikṣvāku and known by men as Rāma. He is powerful, radiant, resolute and has brought His senses under control. Intelligent, sagacious, eloquent, glorious and an exterminator of foes, He knows the secret of virtue, is true to His promise and is intent on the good of the people.”
Nārada went on at length describing Rāma’s many qualities. He then narrated in brief the whole story of Rāma’s pastimes. When he had finished he said, “This Rāma is now ruling in Ayodhya. Indeed, you have already met Him when He came to your ashrama. The remaining part of His pastimes are yet to be manifested. O sage, all this will soon be described by yourself. This sacred story of Rāma, known as the Rāmayana, should be heard by all men. It is on a par with the Vedas and capable of destroying all sins. Hearing or reading this narrative a man will, on departing from this world, be honored in heaven along with his sons, grandsons, followers and attendants.”
Nārada rose to leave and was worshipped by Vālmīki. As the celestial seer rose into the sky by his mystic power, Vālmīki stood thinking about Rāma. He had already sensed His divinity when he met Him some years back. Nārada had confirmed his intuition. Feeling thrilled with transcendental ecstasy, Vālmīki made his way toward the nearby river to take his midday bath, followed by his disciples.
As he went toward the riverbank, the ṛṣi surveyed the beautiful forest scenery. He saw playing among the reeds by the river a pair of cranes. Those two birds were engaged in mating and they sported together making a delightful sound.
Suddenly, as Vālmīki looked on, a niṣāda huntsman fired an arrow and struck one of the birds. Mortally wounded and covered in blood, it thrashed about on the ground screaming in pain. Its mate also cried piteously and fell about in sorrow.
Seeing this, the soft-hearted Vālmīki felt compassion. He saw the niṣāda approaching with bow in hand. In grief, he said to that hunter, “As you have slain this poor bird while it was absorbed in pleasure, may you have no peace of mind for the rest of your life.”
The curse came out in perfectly metered poetry. Astonished by this, Vālmīki said, “What have I uttered? Tormented by grief I have composed a stanza filled with that emotion.”
The sage, brooding over the incident, entered the river and took his bath. After coming out he went back to his hermitage still thinking on the rhyming couplet he had spoken to the hunter. When he reached his ashrama he took his seat and was about to commence his lessons to his disciples when Brahmā suddenly appeared there. Seeing the great creator of the universe approaching on his swan carrier, Vālmīki hastily rose and joined his palms in humility. He offered his prostrate obeisances and worshipped the deity with many prayers. Brahmā then sat down on an exalted seat quickly brought for him by Vālmīki’s students.
Even though Brahmā was present before him, Vālmīki could not stop thinking about the incident with the hunter. He again recited the verse he had composed. Feeling sorry that he had lost control of himself, he appeared dejected and sighed.
Brahmā laughed and said, “Let this poetic utterance of yours become the source of your glory. Do not brood any more, O sage. It was by my arrangement that this speech flowed from your lips. In that same meter you should now describe the pastimes on earth of the all-wise Rāma. Tell the story of that hero as you have heard it from Nārada. By my mercy you will be able to see every detail of that story, as clearly as a fruit held in the palm of your hand. Therefore, render this sacred and soul-ravishing tale into verse for the good of the world.”
Brahmā blessed the sage that his narrative would remain extant for as long as the mountains stood on the face of the earth. He also told him that he would be able to continue living anywhere he chose within the universe for the same length of time.
Having finished speaking, Brahmā disappeared. Vālmīki was filled with wonder. He and his disciples gazed in amazement at Brahmā’s seat for some time. Gradually regaining their presence of mind, the sage’s students began reciting the verse he had uttered to the hunter. They were overjoyed at the honor bestowed upon Vālmīki by Brahmā. The sage then began to meditate on Rāma’s pastimes, gradually composing the Rāmayana over the coming days.
Vanara: A type of celestial monkey.
Varuṇa: God of the waters and the nether worlds. He is one of the universal guardians. His famous weapon is the noose.
Vedas: Ancient Sanskrit scriptures.
Vidhyadhara: A class of demigod.
Viṣṇu: The Supreme Personality of Godhead.
Yakṣa: A class of gods who are servants of Kuvera.
Yamarāja: The god who presides over death and destiny. He is empowered by Viṣṇu to award all beings the results of their actions. He guards over the southern quarter of the universe
End
(My humble salutations to the lotus feet of Brahmasree Krishna Dharma and I am most grateful to Swamyjis, Philosophic Scholars and Ascetic Org. for the collection of this great and wornderful Epic of the world. )
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