Indian Myth and Legend
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Dasaratha cried in his grief: “O shadow-robed Night, decked with stars! arrest the hours that pass by, or else give my heart release. Cover with thy darksome mantle my sorrow and my shame, and hide this deed of crime from the knowledge of mankind. Let me perish ere the dawn; may the sun never rise to shine upon my sin-smeared life.”
So he lamented through the night, and unto Kaikeyi he said: “I grant the boons, but I reject thee for ever and thy son Bharata also.”
Morning dawned.... The city was decorated with streamers and flowers. A golden throne was set up for Rama; the tiger's skin was spread for his feet; the white umbrella waited for him. Elephants and chariot horses were harnessed.... The preparations for the sacrifice were completed.... The crowds began to gather in the streets waiting for the Maharajah and noble Rama, whom all the people loved.
Towards the palace went Sumantra, the chief counsellor. He entered the chamber in which Dasaratha had spent the night to awaken him and conduct him to the ceremony.
Kaikeyi met the counsellor and said: “Summon Rama hither, for the Maharajah must speak with him.”
Wondering greatly, Sumantra hastened to the prince's dwelling and spake the royal command. Said Rama: “I will go quickly. Tarry here, O Sita, and await my return.”
Sita followed Rama to the doorway and invoked the gods so that they might bless and protect him.
The multitudes of people hailed the prince as he was driven in his chariot towards the palace, and women threw flowers upon him from the housetops.... He entered the gate, driving through the first three courts; he dismounted and walked across the two inner courts; he then bade his followers to remain without, and soon he stood before the Maharajah and made humble obeisance.
Rama beheld his father sitting beside Kaikeyi; his body was bent, his face was worn with grief. Tears fell from Dasaratha's eyes as his son kissed his feet and the feet of Kaikeyi also; he strove to speak while tears streamed from his eyes, but all he could utter was, “Oh! Rama....” The sorrow of Dasaratha rose and fell in his heart like to the waves of a stormy sea.
Said Rama: “Oh! have I offended my sire? Speak, mother, and tell. Wherefore do tears fall from his eyes? Why is his face clouded with grief?… I would rather die than wound his heart by word or deed.”
Kaikeyi said: “The Maharajah is not angered, nor is he grief-stricken, but he fears to speak his purpose until thou dost promise to serve his will.”
Said Rama: “O speak and I will obey even if I am asked to quaff poison and die ere my time. My promise is given and my lips have never lied.”
Kaikeyi said coldly: “The Maharajah vowed to grant two boons when I cured his wounds and saved his life, although he repents his promise now like to a man of low caste. I have asked him to fulfil his vow, and the boons I crave are that Bharata, whose star is bright, be installed as Yuvarajah, and thou shouldst be banished for twice seven years.... If thou art ready to obey thy father's will and preserve his honour, thou wilt depart this day from the city and permit Bharata to govern the kingdom.”
Dasaratha's heart was pierced with agony at these words, but Rama heard them unmoved; they fell upon his ears like to sparks falling into the sea. Calmly he spake and said: “I will depart this day in fulfilment of my father's vow. Cheerfully will I obey his command. Let Bharata be summoned quickly from Girivrajah, and I will hasten to the jungle of Dandaka.”
Said Kaikeyi: “So be it.... But tarry not, for thy sire will neither wash nor eat until thou hast departed hence.”
Rama bowed before his sire who was prostrated with sorrow; he bowed before Kaikeyi also.... All the royal attendants wept, but Rama was unmoved as is the ocean when a pot of water is drawn from it or poured in.
He went towards Kausalya, his mother, who was engaged making offerings to Vishnu on his behalf, and informed her what had taken place.
Kausalya wept and cried: “O dearly beloved, if thou hadst never been born I would not have to suffer this calamity.... My son, I am the chief queen, but Kaikeyi hath supplanted me, and I am disliked and neglected by my husband.... I am old and unable to endure the loss of thee, my son.... Hath my heart grown hard as rock that it will not break now? Is Yama's mansions so full that I am not called away? I have no desire to live any longer.... Can a son obey a sire in his dotage?… Rama, Rama, the people will rise in revolt; seize thou the throne, and if thy father remaineth hostile slay him, because he hath become contemptible before all men, being but a woman's slave.”
Lakshmana said: “Mother, thy words are just. Who will dare oppose Rama so long as I serve him?”
Said Kausalya: “Hear the words of thy brother, Rama. If thy sire's command must be obeyed so must mine, and I command thee now not to depart to the jungle. If thou wilt not obey me, I will eat no more food and thou wilt be guilty of my death.”
Rama said: “I must obey my sire's command. Permit me, therefore, O mother, to depart now.... O Lakshmana, I have promised my sire to obey. Do not ask me to break my plighted word.”
Still Kausalya pleaded with Rama to remain, and he sought to comfort her, but her grief was too heavy to be removed, for she loved her son dearly and hated her rival Kaikeyi.
With darkened brow and saddened eyes, Rama then went unto Sita and told her all, and said: “My mother is heartbroken, O Sita; she hath need of thee to soothe her grief. O dearly beloved, I must now depart and leave thee. Be ever obedient unto Bharata, nor laud me ever, for a rajah cares not to hear another praised in his presence.”
Said Sita: “A wife must ever accompany her husband and share his sufferings. If thou must depart to the forest, it is my duty to go before thee and smooth the thorns in thy path. So long as I am with thee I will be happy even in the jungle. Dearer to me than the palace is the place where I can hold sweet converse with my husband. I will lighten thy burden of sorrow, O Rama, but if thou wilt leave me here alone I will surely die.”
Rama spoke of the perils of the jungle, which was full of wild beasts and venomous reptiles, where food was scarce, and, when found, bitter to taste, where they would find no home and would have to lie on the bare ground, and where they would suffer greatly from heat and cold, from tempest and rains. “O Sita,” he cried, “thou art dearer to me than life itself. How can I permit thee to suffer for me? My love will grow greater when I know what it is to be separated from thee.... Wait here, O loved one, until I return again.”
Said Sita: “I know nor fear the perils and sorrows of the jungle. Rather would I sleep with thee on the bare ground than lie here alone on a bed of down. Without thee I have no desire to live.... Take me with thee, O Rama, and let me share thy sorrow and thy joys. Sweeter will be the jungle with thee beside me than the palace when thou hast departed.”
In vain Rama remonstrated with her, but she refused to be separated from him. She fell at his feet, weeping bitterly, and at length he consented that she should share his sufferings in the jungle.
Then Lakshmana pleaded to accompany Rama also, nor could he be persuaded to remain behind.
Thereafter Rama and Sita and Lakshmana went together, walking barefooted, towards the palace to bid farewell to the Maharajah and his queens.
Rumours of what had happened were passing through the city, and the people gazed with sorrow on Rama, his bride and his brother, and some said: “The Maharajah is possessed by demons.” Others said: “Let us desert the city and follow Rama. Then Bharata will have none left to rule over.”
Rama entered the palace with his wife and brother, and stood before the Maharajah with folded hands.
Dasaratha lamented and said: “A woman hath deceived me. She concealed her wicked designs in her heart as a fire is concealed by ashes.... The evening is late; tarry therefore with thy mother and me until day breaks.”
Said Rama: “Kaikeyi commanded me to depart this day to the jungle, and I promised to obey.... When fourteen years have gone past we shall return again and honour thee.”
The Maharajah and his counsellors desired to send the royal army and the huntsmen and much grain and treasure to the jungle with Rama, although Kaikeyi protested loudly, but Rama refused to have soldiers and followers, and asked for the raiment of bark which he must wear, and for the spade with which to dig roots and the basket to carry them.
The shameless Kaikeyi then went away and returned with three dresses of bark. Rama and Lakshmana immediately cast off their royal garments and all their ornaments, and assumed the rough attire of devotees. But Sita, who from childhood had been clad in silk, wept and said: “How can I wear raiment of bark? I cannot use such attire.”
All the women shed tears at these words, and Dasaratha said: “Kaikeyi's command is binding on Rama only, and his wife and brother may assume any garments they desire.”
So the robe of bark was taken away from Sita; it was not permitted that she should be put to shame.
Then Rama and Sita and Lakshmana took leave of all those who were in the palace, and, amidst lamentation and wailing, took their departure from the palace. They were conveyed to the frontier of the kingdom in a chariot, and many people followed them from the city, resolved to share exile with Rama. The night was spent on the banks of the Tamasa, and all slept save Rama alone. As soon as dawn came, he awakened Sita and Lakshmana and the charioteer, and together they departed ere the slumbering multitude were aware. The exiles thereafter parted with the charioteer, and crossing the river Tamasa, journeyed on till they saw the sacred Ganges, in which the gods are wont to bathe, and on whose banks many sages had chosen hermitages.
When the people awoke and found that those whom they loved and honoured had hastened away, they returned with hearts full of sorrow to the mourning city of Ayodhya.
CHAPTER XXV
The Abduction of Sita
The Maharajah's Doom—Tale of the Hermit's Son—A Curse Fulfilled—Death of Dasaratha—Bharata Refuses the Throne—Visit to Rama in Exile—Loyalty to a Dead Sire—Javala the Sceptic—Bharata Honours Rama's Sandals—Wanderings of the Exiles—A Love-stricken Rakshasa—Jesting ends in Bloodshed—A War of Vengeance—Rama's Great Victory—Ravana's Cunning Plot—The Magic Deer—Rama and Lakshmana Lured from Hermitage—Sita Taken Captive.
Now the Maharajah Dasaratha was doomed to die a sorrowful death. Be it known that in his youth, when he loved to go a-hunting, he heard in the jungle depths one evening a gurgling of water, and thought an elephant or a deer had come to drink from a hidden stream. He drew his bow; he aimed at the sound and discharged an arrow.... A human voice uttered a cry of agony.... Breaking through the tangled jungle growth, Dasaratha discovered that he had mortally wounded a young hermit who had come to draw water for his aged parents. The poor victim forgave the king and counselled him, saying: “Hasten to my sire and inform him of my fate, lest his curse should consume thee as a fire consumes a withered tree.” Then he expired.
Dismayed and sorrowing deeply, Dasaratha went towards the dwelling of the boy's parents, who were blind and old. He heard the father cry: “Ah! why hast thou lingered, my son? I am athirst, and thy mother longs for thee.”
In broken accents the king informed the lonesome parents of their son's death. The sire lamented aloud, and said: “Oh! lead me to my son. Let me embrace him for the last time.”
Dasaratha conducted the weeping parents to the spot where the lad lay lifeless and stained with blood. The sire clasped the body, and cried: “Oh! wilt thou not speak and greet me, my son? Thou liest on the ground; thou dost not answer me when I call. Alas! thou canst not love me any longer.... Thy mother is here. Oh! thou who wert dutiful and kind, speak but one tender word to her and to me.... Who will now read to us each morning the holy books? Who will now find roots and fruits to feed us?… Oh! tarry with us yet a little longer, my son. Wait for us ere thou dost depart to the Kingdom of Death—stay but one day longer, and on the morrow thy father and mother will go with thee on the weary and darksome path of no returning.... How can we live now that our child and protector is taken from us?”
So the blind old hermit lamented. Then he spake to the king, and said: “I had but this one child and thou hast made me childless. Now slay me also, because Death is blunted and unable to hurt me any more.... A father cannot feel greater agony than when he sorrows for a beloved son. This peculiar sharp sorrow thou wilt yet know, O king. As I weep now, and as I am hastened to death, mourning for my son, so wilt thou suffer in like manner, sorrowing for a dearly-beloved and righteous son. Thy death, O Dasaratha, will cleanse thee of this crime.”
Having spoken thus, the hermit built the funeral pyre for the dead boy, and when it was lit he and his wife leapt amidst the flames and entered the Kingdom of Death.
After Rama had departed from Ayodhya, his mother, Kausalya, reproached Dasaratha, saying: “Thou wouldst not break thy promise to Kaikeyi, but thou didst break thy promise made to thy counsellors that Rama should be thy successor.”
The Maharajah was bowed down with grief, and cried: “Oh! forgive me, Kausalya, because my heart is breaking while I mourn for my beloved son. Oh! do not wound me again, I pray thee.”
Kausalya wept and said: “Alas! my grief hath made me speak cruelly to thee.”
In the middle of the second night after Rama had departed, Dasaratha awoke and cried: “O Kausalya, I am dying with grief. Mine eyes have grown blind with weeping. Take my hand in thine and speak unto me. Oh! bitterly I grieve now that I cannot look upon Rama ere I die. Happy are they whose eyes behold him.... My heart beats feebly”....
When he had spoken thus, Dasaratha fell back and was silent. Kausalya, mother of Rama, and Sumitra, mother of Lakshmana, knelt beside him, and they swooned when his spirit fled.
In the morning messengers were sent speedily to Bharata, who sojourned in the kingdom of the Kaikeyas with his mother's sire, the rajah Aswapati, bidding him to return without delay. Seven nights passed while the prince journeyed towards Ayodhya. He knew not that Dasaratha had died until he reached the palace. Then Kaikeyi, his mother, informed him without tears. Bharata wept, and flung himself down upon the floor and cried aloud.
Kaikeyi said: “Thou shouldst not thus give way to grief, my son.”
Said Bharata: “If the Maharajah were alive, he would have embraced and kissed me on my return. But where is Rama, who is now as a sire unto me?”
Then Kaikeyi told him all that had taken place, and said: “For thy sake, my son, I have accomplished this. Sorrow not, because thou wilt be installed as ruler here.”
Said Bharata: “I have lost my father and my elder brother. Of what good is a kingdom unto me now? O evil-hearted woman, thou hast bereft this house of all joy; thou hast slain my sire and banished Rama.... But I will bring my brother back from the jungle; he shall be seated on the throne.”
Satrughna sorrowed like Bharata, and when he beheld the wicked hunchback Manthara he threw her down and dragged her across the floor, saying: “This hateful creature is the cause of our calamities. I will slay her.”
Kaikeyi flew away in terror, and Bharata said: “Slay her not, because she is a woman. I would have killed my wicked mother, but, had I done so, Rama would ne'er have forgiven me nor have spoken to me again. Spare this wretch, O Satrughna, lest Rama should be angry with thee.”
Kausalya, mother of Rama, then approached Bharata and said: “The raj is now thine, O ambitious one. Thy mother hath secured it for thee.”
Bharata fell at her feet and vowed that he would never sit on the throne, but would hasten after Rama to entreat him to return.
Then Kausalya wept and embraced him because that he was loyal to his elder brother.
When Bharata had performed the funeral rites for the Maharajah, he left Ayodhya with a strong army to search for Rama.
The two brothers met in the jungle of Chitra-kuta, and they embraced one another and wept for their dead sire.
In the morning Bharata spake to Rama in the presence of the army, saying: “This raj, which was given unto me against my will, I now gift unto thee, mine elder brother. Accept it and remove the stain of my mother's sin.”
Said Rama: “O Bharata, my royal sire, fulfilling his vow, banished me to the jungle and appointed thee to the raj. A faithful son cannot recall the mandate of his sire.”
Then Java´li, the Brahmanic counsellor of Dasaratha, spake and said: “O Rama, why dim thine understanding with empty maxims? Thou hast already obeyed thy sire. It is foolish to think that thou shouldst continue this allegiance to one who is dead. A man enters the world alone and departs alone; he owns not friendship to kindred. His parents are to him like a wayside inn which he leaves in the morning; his allegiance to them is temporary. He meets them like a traveller who tarries on his journey and then goes on his way as before. In this world we have only one life to live. If thou wilt refuse this raj thou wilt destroy thy one life. I am sorry for those who scorn the blessings of this world so long as they are alive in the hope that they will reach a Paradise which does not exist. When this life is spent we are extinguished for ever. Alas! that men should make to their ancestors useless offerings. Can a dead man eat thereof? These offerings are a waste of food. If the soul endures and passes into a new body how can it benefit from food eaten by another? These practices were invented by cunning priests with selfish motives.... There is no Hereafter. Therefore snatch the joys of life while thou canst, O Rama, take the raj which is offered to thee and return to Ayodhya.”
Said Rama, whose heart was filled with anger: “O Javali, thy motive is excellent but thy doctrines are false. A good man is distinguished from an evil man by his deeds. How can I, who have embraced a virtuous life, turn now into the path of evildoing? The gods who read a man's heart would curse me for my sins. Vain are thine idle words; thy reasoning is cunning but false. Truth is our ancient path. Truth endures when all else passes away. The venom of falsehood is more deadly than the venom of a serpent's sting. Thou hast said that there is no Hereafter, and that we should snatch pleasures while life endures. If that is so, why do wise men condemn what is evil if the vicious are simply pursuing the quest of happiness? Why do sages live austere lives, eating fruits and roots, instead of feasting on flesh and drinking wine? There would be no sciences if we believed only those things we behold. Inferential proof must be permitted. Is a woman to consider herself a widow when her husband is out of sight?… Know, all of ye, that I will be faithful to the mandate of my sire. I will keep my promise which I cannot recall. Let Bharata reign, for I will dwell in the jungle.”
Bharata said: “If my sire's wish must be fulfilled, let me remain in the jungle for fourteen years so that Rama may return to Ayodhya.”
Said Rama: “Neither Bharata nor I can recall or change the commands of Dasaratha.”
Thereafter Bharata gave to Rama a pair of new sandals decked with gold, saying: “Put these upon thy feet and they shall accomplish the good of all.”
Rama put on the sandals and then returned them to his brother, who said: “I will live as a devotee for fourteen years with matted hair and in a robe of bark. These sandals, O Rama, will be placed upon the throne which I will guard for thee. If thou dost not return when the time of thy penance is ended, I will perish upon the pyre.”
The brethren then took leave of one another. Bharata returned to Ayodhya, and to his counsellors spake, saying: “I will dwell outside the city in Nandigrama until Rama returns again.”
Then he clad himself in bark and went to the jungle. There he conducted the affairs of government, holding the royal umbrella over Rama's sandals. All presents which were given were first presented to the sandals, because Bharata ruled the kingdom for his elder brother. The sandals of Rama were the symbol of royal authority.
Meanwhile Rama with Sita and Lakshmana went southward towards deeper jungles, visiting various holy sages, and having crossed the Vindhya mountains, they wandered together in the Deccan and Southern India. At Panchavati341, nigh to the sources of the river Godavari, the royal exiles built a hut with four rooms, and lived peaceful and pious lives. Thirteen years and a half went over their heads.
It came to pass that one day there came to the quiet hermitage a Rakshasa woman, named Surpa-nakha, the sister of Ravana, the demon King of Lanka, Ceylon. She was misshapen and ugly and her voice was harsh and unpleasant. When she beheld Rama, who was comely as a lotus, and of lofty and loyal bearing, her heart was filled with love for him. Made bold with this love, she resolved to assume another form so as to induce him to leave the faithful Sita.... In time she stood before the prince in the guise of a young and beautiful woman, and said: “Who art thou who hast come hither with thy bride to dwell in this lone jungle which is haunted by Rakshasas?”
8
RAMA SPURNS THE DEMON LOVER
From the painting by Warwick Goble
Said Rama: “I am Rama, the elder son of a Maharajah named Dasaratha. I dwell here in exile in fulfilment of my sire's vow, with Sita, my spouse, and Lakshmana, my brother. Why dost thou, O fair one, who art as beautiful as the bride of Vishnu, wander about here all alone?”
Surpa-nakha said: “I am a Rakshasa woman, the sister of Ravana, and have come hither because I love thee. I have chosen thee for my husband, and thou shalt rule over my great empire. Thy Sita is pale and deformed and unworthy of thee, but I am of surpassing beauty and have power to assume any form at will. I must devour Sita and thy brother, so that we may range the jungle together and visit the lofty hills.”
Said Rama: “Sita is my beloved bride, nor would I leave her. But Lakshmana hath no consort and is a fit husband for thee.”
Surpa-nakha at once departed from Rama, and went and found Lakshmana, who jested with her.
Then the enraged Rakshasa woman sprang towards Sita in jealous anger, but Rama thrust her back. Like to lightning Lakshmana leapt forward with his sword and cut off the ears and nose of the evil-hearted Surpa-nakha, whereat she shrieked and fled away, wailing like to the storm wind. The rocks answered back her awesome cries.
Surpa-nakha hastened to one of her brothers who was named Khara, and when he saw her disfigured and bleeding, he cried: “None but a Celestial could have done this deed. This day will I drink the blood of Indra as a crane drinks milk and water.”
Then Surpa-nakha related what had taken place, and said: “Rama and Lakshmana attacked me to protect the woman Sita, whose life-blood I desired to drink. I entreat thee to bring her to me now.”
Khara called upon fourteen Rakshasas and commanded them to capture the three royal hermits who dwelt in Dandaka jungle. They hastened away and Surpa-nakha went with them, but soon she returned wailing, because Rama had slain the Rakshasas with Celestial arrows.
Khara immediately called upon his brother Dush´ana, saying: “Assemble an army of fourteen thousand Rakshasas, and bring my weapons and my chariot with white horses, for, verily, this day I must kill the hateful Rama.”
Evil were the omens as the army marched to battle. Jackals howled and birds screamed at dawn; the sky was blood-red, and Rahu endeavoured to swallow the sun and caused an awesome eclipse; a headless horror appeared in mid air. The arrows of Rama emitted smoke, and he said to Lakshmana: “Hasten with Sita to a secret cave in the mountains and protect her there. I will battle with the demons alone.”
Lakshmana did as his brother commanded. Then Rama girt on his glowing armour, and, armed with a Celestial bow and many arrows, he awaited the coming of his enemies. When the Rakshasas appeared they quailed before him, because he appeared like to Yama at a Yuga end, but Khara drove on in his chariot, urging his followers to attack; they followed him roaring like a tempest, and they appeared like to black tremendous clouds rushing towards the rising sun.