The Ramayana

by Ramesh Menon

  Vasishta put an arm around him. “Compose yourself, my child. Sorrow weakens the mind, and you need your strength more than ever now. You must perform the rituals calmly, with courage. The people must not see you like this or they will panic.”

  Bharata stopped crying. A sudden numbness was upon him. The priests carried Dasaratha’s body into the sabha, where the ritviks had assembled. The brahmanas performed the last rites with the sacred fire that Dasaratha kept kindled in his palace, the fire he had worshipped every day. Oblations were thrown onto it, while Bharata and Shatrughna stood by, solemn and silent.

  Then a palanquin was brought in, covered with silk, embellished with flowers, and the body lifted onto it. Bharata and Shatrughna walked at the head of the procession. They came out into the dazzling sun. All Ayodhya had gathered in the streets to pay its last respects. In the end, Dasaratha had redeemed himself with the only sacrifice that could have appeased his people after Rama was banished.

  In the royal cremation ground, the pyre was piled high with fragrant wood. The remains of so many illustrious kings had been made ashes here. With chandana and sarasa, padmaka and devadaru, Dasaratha’s pyre had been built. In their palanquins the queens followed the procession through the sorrowing streets.

  The ritviks intoned the Sama Veda. Dasaratha was lifted from his litter and placed ceremonially upon the pile of logs. Tears streamed down Bharata’s face again and he touched his father’s pyre alight with a burning branch. It caught, blazed, and soon a great sovereign of the earth was made ashes.

  Kaikeyi dared not attend the cremation.

  The princes bathed in the Sarayu and came home to the palace, where they and the queens spent the night lying on bare ground. On the twelfth day the srarddha was performed, and on the thirteenth the poor were fed and gifts distributed among them. Cows, horses, clothes, and land for the landless Bharata gave as alms, bountifully like his father.

  But before the almsgiving, at dawn of the thirteenth day, the prince went to the cremation ground to collect Dasaratha’s ashes and bones. In the cold morning, as he reached down to pick up those mortal remains with the golden tongs Vasishta had handed him, Bharata broke down once more.

  “Father, is this all you are today, a handful of ashes and bones? Where are you now, mighty Dasaratha; where are all your regal and loving parts? These gray flakes of ash and a few cold pieces of bone? I should kill myself today if this is all that life finally is.”

  Vasishta took him by the arm. His guru said sternly, “The women who must cry already do so. You are a kshatriya; behave like one. You should comfort your people, and instead you stand here sobbing like a lost child.”

  It was a tone of voice his guru seldom used, and it brought Bharata up sharply. The prince looked into his master’s eyes and saw such compassion there. He wiped his tears and controlled himself. With some semblance of calm, he collected his father’s remains, to float them down the river to the sea.

  With Shatrughna at his side, he offered anjali to the dead king at the cold pyre, and came back to the palace. That evening, Bharata and Shatrughna sat together in their apartment, trying to pick up the pieces of their broken lives.

  Shatrughna said thoughtfully, “I wonder why Lakshmana did nothing to prevent this. He is my twin and we think alike.” He touched his sword meaningfully. “I know what I would have done if I had been here. Yet my brother did nothing. I wonder what stopped him?”

  With a wry smile, Bharata said, “Rama must have.”

  Suddenly they saw a grotesque sight in the doorway: Manthara stood there wearing garish finery. Her arms were red with sandal paste; her humped body glittered with ornaments. She wore a golden girdle round her waist, studded with diamonds and rubies. She stood smiling at the brothers, a smile as crooked as her back, and warded off the evil eye from them by cracking her knuckles against her temples.

  With a growl, the faithful old doorkeeper pushed her into the room and said, “This is the demon who poisoned your mother’s mind. She had Rama exiled and caused your father’s death. She is sure that this is your moment of triumph, and wants you to know she contrived it.”

  Shatrughna gave a hiss of anger. Before Bharata could stop him he sprang at Manthara and struck her down. He seized her hair and began to drag her around the apartment, and then out into the passage so everyone saw, all the women and the servants. But no one came forward to help Manthara; they all hated her. Her screams and shrill abuse echoed through the harem. Shatrughna hauled her along; from time to time, he kicked her savagely, roaring, “I will reward you for what you have done!”

  Scattered along that passage in the palace of Ayodhya, Manthara’s ornaments were like stars strewn across the autumn sky. She bled from her nose and mouth, and there was a crimson trail where the wrathful prince dragged her. No one moved to stop Shatrughna and it seemed he meant to kill her.

  Then Kaikeyi arrived. She ran to Bharata and begged him, “She has been with me since I was a child. Spare her life for my sake!”

  Bharata looked coldly at his mother. “For your sake?”

  Seeing her mistress, Manthara screamed louder. Kaikeyi shouted an order at the palace guards to restrain Shatrughna; none of them stirred to obey her. Roaring still, Shatrughna dragged the hunchback, pausing only to kick her.

  Then Kaikeyi screamed at Bharata, “What would Rama say if he saw this?”

  Bharata held up his hand and said, “Enough, Shatrughna.”

  Reluctantly, Shatrughna let Manthara go. She lay howling on the floor in a wretched heap. Kaikeyi ran forward to kneel beside her, and called her maids to bring cloths and ointments to stanch the hag’s wounds. Shatrughna stood smoldering still, sorely tempted to finish what he had begun.

  Now Bharata said clearly, so everyone heard him, “Shatrughna, except for Rama, my sword would be buried in Kaikeyi’s heart. But it is not dharma to kill a woman, my brother.”

  He put an arm around Shatrughna and led him away. What Bharata said spread like light through Ayodhya.

  28. To the vana

  The next morning, when the brothers had finished their ablutions and had performed Suryanamaskara, Ayodhya’s council of ministers filed into Bharata’s chambers. Sumantra said, “Kosala cannot be without a ruler. The days of mourning are over. The people are waiting for you to be crowned; it is time you were king.”

  Bharata only stared at the old sarathy, and made no reply. Sumantra went on, “If you are doubtful, come and see how many of the noble are waiting for you in the sabha. They will all support you. The people know you were not involved with Rama being exiled, or your father’s death. They are anxious to see you become their king.”

  They went out to the sabha, where Bharata saw the white parasol unfurled and forlorn. He saw the hundred urns of holy water in their neat rows; he saw the chamaras for his coronation. He walked silently around the urns, then leaped up onto the platform that had been raised for the investiture. The nobility of Ayodhya had packed the sabha, and through the great main doors Bharata saw the streets were full.

  When the people saw Bharata on the dais, they shouted his name warmly and cried out for him to be their king. Bharata was silent for a moment; then he raised his hands for quiet and spoke to them.

  “My brothers and sisters in sorrow, it is not dharma that you ask me to take the throne that belongs to Rama.”

  The people cried out his name and Rama’s together. When they were quiet again, Bharata said, “I will go to the forest and bring my brother back. And I will serve his exile for him.”

  The commotion at this was deafening. Bharata smiled for the first time since he had come home from Rajagriha. He cried to them, “Gather my army; collect everything we need for a coronation. I swear to you I will crown Rama in the vana.”

  He jumped down from the dais to loud cheers and more shouting of his name and Rama’s. By refusing the crown his mother had won for him by treachery, Bharata set alight the people’s hearts with hope.

  The next day, the vandhis and
magadhis came to his door singing his praises as if he was already king. Bharata flew out at them, threatening to kill them if they came singing like that while Rama lived. Shatrughna had to restrain his brother, or he would have done those singers injury.

  Back in his apartment, Bharata wept again. “Look how cruel they are, Shatrughna, that they rub salt in my wounds. How I wish I could still my anger with Kaikeyi’s blood. She hasn’t left me a shred of honor.”

  The ministers came again to summon Bharata to the sabha. They said Vasishta wanted to speak to him today. Brahma’s son, Ayodhya’s kulaguru, had been significantly absent from the court the previous day. Today, for the first time after Dasaratha’s death, Vasishta sat in his customary place: as if to declare that all was well again in the kingdom. After the last day’s events, he was convinced of Bharata’s innocence.

  Bharata saw this on the rishi’s face and, bowing to his master, sat down beside him. Vasishta said gravely, “Before he died, your father left the Ikshvaku throne to you. Dharma demands you become king in Ayodhya.”

  Bharata said, “That isn’t the dharma you taught me, unless I should change my dharma to suit circumstances. Rama is our king and I bow to him from here.”

  The crowded sabha was hushed. Bharata went on, “I am going to the Dandaka vana today. If I can, I will bring Rama back to Ayodhya. If I cannot, I will stay with him as Lakshmana does, until his exile is over. The roads are already being cleared; we leave with our army to crown Rama in the jungle.”

  Sumantra entered the sabha. He bowed to Bharata and said, “Everything is ready for the journey.”

  Bharata touched his guru’s feet, and how proud of his pupil Vasishta was. His faith had been vindicated, and his boast to Kaikeyi: “Foolish woman, Bharata will never accept the throne that belongs to Rama.” His eyes moist, he embraced the prince and said, “Noble Bharata, no one has learned my lessons in dharma better than you.”

  And so Bharata set off with a splendid train, with Kausalya, Sumitra, and Kaikeyi as well in her palanquin, aloof and bitter. The army followed him as he rode in his chariot at the head of that majestic force, with Shatrughna beside him. All Ayodhya was out again in the streets and the people wore smiles on their faces for the first time since Rama left. They cheered Bharata lustily. A good many of them journeyed to the forest with the army, to see Rama again.

  29. A night in an asrama

  Like a slow and great river itself, flowing across the earth for the first time, Bharata’s army crossed the Tamasa. It was a magnificent force, with elephant, horse, and chariot, and numberless foot soldiers; the common people of Ayodhya walked with these. Sumantra drove Bharata’s chariot. He knew the way he had taken Rama, and followed that trail as if it led to the soul of them all.

  Their progress beyond the Tamasa was slower. After a week they came to the Ganga and Guha’s city, Shringiberapura. Bharata called the same halt beside the golden river, full of the rumor still that Rama had gone this way. From his ramparts Guha saw the legions that flew the Kovidara flag, and said to his hunters, “Alert our warriors; I think Bharata comes to kill Rama. Blockade the river fords. He shall cross the Ganga over our dead bodies, if he comes with evil in his heart.”

  Guha rode out from his gates with a small company, carrying the gifts that a vassal king brings his emperor. Sumantra saw him coming, and said, “Here comes Guha, king of these lands, who loves Rama. He can show us the way to him. His hunters know the forest like the palms of their hands.”

  Guha bowed ceremoniously to Bharata, but his jungle eyes watched the prince guardedly. He saw the faithful Sumantra and was relieved. He scrutinized Bharata’s face again, and saw no evil there. At last, he said, “My land is the garden of your kingdom. Be my guest for the night. But tell me, Kshatriya, why do you come to the forest with an army?”

  Bharata flinched. He lowered his gaze and said sadly, “I see that my name is sullied even as far from home as this. Rama is dearer to me than my life, Guha; how can I think of harming him? I have come to take my brother home. After my father’s death, Rama is the king of Kosala. Kings do not travel abroad without their armies.”

  Guha saw the sincerity in Bharata’s eyes; he heard the love in his voice. A smile breaking out on his black face, the hunter embraced him. “You are of the same noble seed as Rama! As long as men speak of selflessness in the world, they will cite the name of Bharata of Ayodhya. How many men would refuse a throne, and all the power and wealth that come with it, for love of their brother?”

  Guha saw tears spring to Bharata’s eyes at the very mention of Rama’s name. The prince did not sleep most of that night, for eagerness to be up early and across the river. The king of the hunting people stayed awake with him, as he had with Lakshmana. They spent the night speaking together of many things, while the army slept.

  In the vast silence that bore the sea of breathing around them and the silken rustling of the river, Guha said, “Ten days ago, Lakshmana stood watch over Rama and would not sleep, though I begged him to. I said to him, ‘I love Rama like my own brother. Sleep in peace; I will guard him even as you will.’

  “Lakshmana replied, ‘It isn’t that I do not have faith in you, Guha. But how can I sleep when I see my Rama and his wife lying on the ground?’”

  Late into the night, Guha told Bharata about the night Rama had spent beside the Ganga. And how the next day, when the brothers had rubbed their hair with the sap of the nyagrodha, they crossed the river; and how, finally, they walked into the forest, looking like two rishis, with Sita between them.

  Shatrughna sat beside Bharata. The fire they had lit shone in their eyes. They listened to Guha tell how Rama had refused the food he had brought him, and the mattresses of down. Lakshmana had made a bed of grass and leaves for his brother. The hunter showed them the tree under which Rama and Sita had slept. Bharata picked up a handful of darbha grass and held it fervently to his eyes.

  Guha said, “If someone had told me that four brothers were as devoted to one another as you princes of Ayodhya, I would not have believed him. I would have wondered what love could be so great that it exceeded the love for kingdom and wealth; especially when you are born from different mothers. But I know Rama, and I know how much I love him myself though he is no kin of mine. Bharata, now that I know your heart let me tell you this: earlier this evening, I was prepared to kill you if you had come to harm Rama.”

  Bharata sighed, “Guha, I have no rest until I see my brother before me.”

  A few hours before dawn the prince lay on the ground, and some semblance of sleep stole over him. But his dreams were dark, and he tossed and turned beside Shatrughna, who also slept poorly at his side.

  They were up before the sun the next day, and Guha came to them and said, “My oarsmen will ferry you across the river with your people.”

  The princes, the queens—Kaikeyi had come because her safety could not be guaranteed in Ayodhya—Vasishta, and his rishis were taken across in a great riverboat called Swastika. Now they had Guha’s hunters for guides, and went surely through the forest along the same trail Rama had taken. They spent one night very near where he had slept, and pressed on the next day, until, from a promontory, they saw Bharadvaja’s asrama near the confluence of the Ganga and the Yamuna.

  Bharata left his army a krosa from the hermitage. With Shatrughna and some ministers beside him, and Vasishta going before him, he climbed down the slope. When he neared the asrama he left the knot of ministers behind and walked in, taking only Vasishta with him.

  Bharadvaja welcomed them with every show of affection; he made them sit by his side. When the ritual greetings were over between himself and Vasishta, he turned to Bharata. “You are king of Ayodhya now. What brings you to the forest? I would have thought you would be happy on the throne your mother won for you.”

  Bharata said ruefully to Vasishta, “Look, Master. All the world, even the wisest in it, is convinced of my guilt.” To Bharadvaja he said, “You should not judge me like this, holy one; I am innoc
ent. Rama is my brother. If you are so sad at his exile that you can hurt me without knowing the truth, how much greater my sorrow must be that my brother lives in the jungle. If you will direct me to him, I have come to crown Rama our king.”

  Bharadvaja gazed at Bharata for a long moment, and then at Vasishta, who inclined his head to affirm what the prince said. Bharadvaja took Bharata’s hands. “You have earned an exalted place for yourself in heaven. As for Rama, he has gone to Chitrakuta with Sita and Lakshmana. I will show you the way there tomorrow. But tonight, you, your great guru, and the rest of your party must stay with me.”

  Bharata began to protest. But, his eyes twinkling, the rishi said, “My son, there was no need for you to have left your army so far away. Send someone to fetch your soldiers and your people. I want to entertain you all tonight.”

  When the army and the people of Ayodhya arrived, Bharadvaja touched some sacred water with his fingers and invoked Viswakarman. At once a light appeared between earth and sky, illumining that hermitage. Within it stood the divine artisan. Bharadvaja said, “My lord, I want to entertain the people of Ayodhya tonight.”

  As the sun set slowly, it seemed the asrama and everyone in it slipped through a twilight crack and came by Viswakarman’s power into an unearthly realm. Many-colored lamps lit the darkening sky; these floated everywhere, and transformed the hermitage into a precinct of dreams.

  The air was fragrant, and uncanny bliss swept the people of Ayodhya when they heard celestial music around them. They saw tall gandharvas playing on instruments more softly resonant and complex than any they had heard. The great elves sang in voices that brought visions to their enraptured listeners’ eyes. Then there were unworldly apsaras, their beauty ineffable, who served Bharadvaja’s guests and danced for them. And the wine and the food? One cannot begin to describe the divine fare that passed the mortal lips of the people of Ayodhya that night. Into the early hours, the feast continued, the singing, the dancing, and the joy.