by Ramesh Menon
The four-faced Creator, iridescent in the sky, said in his voice of ages, “Rama, you are Narayana. You are the Parabrahman, without beginning or end, who came as Matsya and Kurma, Varaha and Vamana, Narasimha and Parasurama.
“Rama, you create, nurture, and consume the universe. You are the sanctuary of the Devas; you are He who pervades the galaxies.
“You are oblation and fire, sacrifice and sacrificer. You are the blessed AUM, the inscrutable, fathomless one. I, Brahma, am your heart, and Saraswati is your tongue. When you blink, the stars are put out and lit again. The Vedas are your sacred breath; the mandalas are you body.
“The sun is your anger and the moon your tenderness; you were Vamana who asked Bali for three paces of land.
“Your Sita is Lakshmi. You were born as a kshatriya to kill Ravana. You have delivered the earth from evil; your mission is accomplished.”
But Rama stared astonished at the refulgent Creator in the sky, ringed by the Devas in their marvelous disks. When Brahma had spoken, there was a great rustling from the fire in which lovely Sita stood. His body blue-green flames, his hair crimson tongues of flame, Agni himself stepped out from it. He was great and bore Sita, unsinged, like a child in his hands, and came before Rama.
“Here is Sita, blemishless as she was born. Like a serpent Ravana tempted her; but the thought of you was always in her heart. Not for a moment, not with a fleeting thought, has she sinned. Rama, she is purer than I am.”
Now tears flowed down Rama’s dark face, and, crying out in joy, he clasped Sita in his arms! Vanara and rakshasa watched this, more astonished than ever. Fire and moon cast their light over the auspicious field, and the vimanas were scintillant in the sky.
Rama said, “Forgive me, my love, that I was so cruel to you. Not for a moment did I doubt your chastity. I know what you are. I know you are pure enough to wash the three worlds of all their sins. No one else could have resisted Ravana as you did. He was evil incarnate, subtle, and the great tempter. And that is why you were chosen to be his captive. Oh, Sita, more than my arrows it was your chastity that was Ravana’s undoing. You were invincible to his every blandishment and threat; and that broke his spirit.”
Her eyes wide, she cried, “Then why…”
Rama was her familiar, gentle prince again. The rage he had assumed was gone from his face. With untold tenderness, he said, “My love, if you had not passed through the agni pariksha, the world would never have believed you were chaste. For the world always judges by its own norms and the world is far from perfect. The people would have said, and so would posterity, that Sita lived in Ravana’s antapura and, surely, the Rakshasa enjoyed her. They would have said Dasaratha’s son was blinded by love, and he took back a sullied woman. But now, my Lords of the air, the world knows my Sita is purer than the fire. That she is purity incarnate. And she is just Rama’s, and will always be.”
Siva appeared in the sky like a midnight sun. “As long as Ravana ruled from Lanka, the world was plunged in darkness, a night of the spirit. Dread was in every heart and even the guardians of the earth were helpless against Visravas’s son. The long night has ended. Rama, you are the light of the world, its rising sun.
“The time has come when Ayodhya will rule the earth, with you as king. Bharata waits for you at home. He pines for you, Rama; it is time you went back.
“But first, look, here is someone who has come to bless you.”
Beside Siva’s immense vimana was another sky chariot, a crystal disk that had been dark until now. At Siva’s sign, it grew brilliant and flew down to the ground among the wonderstruck vanaras. Rama and Sita now stood hand in hand. Like a dream, a panel on that craft slid open and out stepped a familiar figure. Rama gave a cry; Sita and he prostrated themselves at the feet of that great kshatriya, Dasaratha, come from beyond death to bless his son.
Lakshmana appeared at his brother’s side and also fell at his father’s feet. With hands of light, Dasaratha lifted Rama up, and the tears that welled in his eyes were drops of light, too.
Again and again he embraced his son, and Dasaratha cried, “Rama, Devaloka is glorious all right; but I am not content even in heaven because I am apart from you. I have never been able to forget what Kaikeyi said to me: ‘Banish Rama for fourteen years.’ But now, because of what you have done, I am free of my sorrow and the echoes of pain have left my mind. Now I see the greater purpose of your birth and your exile. My guilt has left me, because I know it was all fate’s ploy: so Ravana could be killed. Ah, my son, your destiny was greater than I ever dreamed.”
Tears still ran down his face, which was made of the light of the sun and the moon. Dasaratha went on, “How happy Kausalya will be when she sees you back in Ayodhya. How fortunate the people of our city are that you return to them as king. Today the fourteen years of your exile have ended. Go back home, my son. Rule long and joyfully; be the greatest king the world has ever known.”
Rama was thoughtful for a moment. He said softly to his father, “I have something I want from you. Our greater purpose has been achieved, and Ravana is dead. You must forgive mother Kaikeyi and the innocent Bharata. Father, your own spirit will find peace if you do.”
A shadow flitted across Dasaratha’s face. Then with a smile, he nodded. “So be it.”
Dasaratha embraced Lakshmana. He stroked the fair prince’s face. “As long as Rama’s name is remembered on earth, so shall yours be. Never has this world seen devotion like yours. Let heaven’s choicest blessings be upon you, loyal child.”
He embraced Sita and blessed her. “Your heart will forget the harsh words Rama said to you. He never meant them, but only wanted your name to be as taintless as you are, forever. Precious child, I have watched you: Rama could not have found another wife like you.”
They knelt again at their father’s feet. After laying his hand on their heads, he climbed back into the vimana and Dasaratha left the world, never to return. Siva and Brahma also melted out of the sky. Now Indra, king of Devaloka, flew down to Rama.
Indra said, “I remember how curious you were when you saw my chariot outside Sharabhagna’s asrama. But it would have been wrong for us to meet then. Now what you came for has been accomplished, and here I am before you. Ask me for any boon, Rama. And it shall be yours, if it is in my power to give it.”
Rama stood with folded hands before the Deva king. Not for a moment did he hesitate before he said, “My lord, a hundred thousand vanaras have died for me during this war. Their women wait for them in Kishkinda and in far corners of the earth. Give the people of the jungle back their lives. And wherever the race of monkeys lives, let there always be plenty of sweet water and an abundance of fruit.”
Indra made a sign of life-giving across that battlefield, and by the streaming moon every slain vanara rose again to life. The dismembered were whole and no trace of the wounds that had killed them remained on their bodies. Seeming to wake out of a deep slumber, they came to Rama and stood around him in adoration.
Indra climbed back into his chariot. He said, “It is time you went back to Ayodhya and ruled the world. Bharata and Shatrughna are waiting impatiently for you, and so are your people. Rama, go home now.”
Indra gained the silver sky, and for a moment the monkeys and the demons witnessed an awesome spectacle: all the Devas together in their chariots of the mandalas. Then, in a whisper, they vanished. For a long time, vanara and rakshasa stood staring at the heavens. But the Gods had gone.
47. The pushpaka vimana
They spent what remained of the night under the stars, gazing out over the solemn sea, hearing the wash of the waves for the first time since they had landed on Lanka’s shores.
At dawn, Vibheeshana came to Rama. He brought silks, sandalwood paste, and scented water. “Rama, these are for your coronation. Take them from me and make all of Lanka happy, especially her king.”
But Rama said, “Give them to Sugriva for my sake, he deserves them richly. As for me, my heart is full of Bharata’s face. I have no pla
ce in it for coronations; not until I see my brother. I must leave at once, Vibheeshana: the road home is long and hard.”
Vibheeshana said, “Let me shorten your journey for you, Rama, so you can be back in Ayodhya in a day.”
Rama smiled, “How is that?”
Vibheeshana said, “Ravana once vanquished Kubera in battle and took the pushpaka vimana from him. It is still here in Lanka. You can return to Ayodhya in the crystal ship. But Rama, stay here with me for some days.”
Rama took Vibheeshana’s hand. “My friend, without you I would never have won the war. But my heart is with Bharata, whom I have not seen for fourteen years. I can still see him in Chitrakuta. He stood before me, wearing valkala, his eyes full of tears, and begged me to take the kingdom while he took my place in the wilderness. That memory haunts me. I see my mothers, my guru Vasishta, and my people, who think of me as their own. They are all waiting for me. Besides, Vibheeshana, when you have taken me to your heart, I will always be with you. But for now, forgive me if I do not stay on in Lanka.”
Vibheeshana gave orders for the pushpaka vimana to be fetched. It came gleaming and silent through the crisp morning air, its smooth sides mirroring the green and the blue of sea and sky. When the wondrous craft had landed, softly as falling petals, Vibheeshana asked, “Rama, what shall I do now?”
Rama was thoughtful for a moment. Then he said, “I owe Sugriva and his people a deep debt of gratitude. For my sake, give them fine silks, jewels, and colorful chariots they will love. Let your generosity be a legend among the jungle folk, and let the brief enmity between your peoples end forever.”
Vibheeshana gave lavish gifts to Sugriva, his chieftains, and his people. Every monkey of that army was rewarded for his valor. Chattering happily at the treasures they received, the jungle folk cried out Rama’s name, Sugriva’s, and Vibheeshana’s, all together. The sun was high now, directly above the vimana.
Rama came to Sugriva. He put his hands on the vanara king’s shoulders. “What shall I say to you, my friend? How can I thank you, or ever repay my debt to you?”
Angada had come up beside his uncle. Rama put his arm around the prince. “What can be said of your valor, Angada? You were magnificent. And you, Vibheeshana, how will I ever repay you for everything you have done for me? My thoughts will always be with you, my dearest friends.”
They stood before him, their hands folded. Choking, Rama said, “Go back to Kishkinda now, Sugriva. Your women and children are waiting for you. Farewell, my friends, I will never forget you!”
He began to climb into the vimana, but Sugriva called, “Wait, Rama!”
Rama turned back; he saw the vanara crying. Sugriva blurted, “We want to be in Ayodhya with you for your coronation! We swear we will behave ourselves, and be careful in your streets and your forests. We will not harm a tree, nor pluck a single flower. Please, Rama, let us meet your mothers, see you being crowned, and then return to Kishkinda.”
Vibheeshana said, “I and my four friends who came out to you, we would also see you being crowned.”
Such a smile broke out on Rama’s face. He gave a delighted laugh at Sugriva’s quaint promise that the vanaras would behave. He clasped the monkey king and cried, “How I wished you would say this! And you, noble Vibheeshana. Of course you must come to Ayodhya with me; but for you I would not be going back myself.”
Glowing, Vibheeshana said, “Rama, the pushpaka vimana can carry all the vanaras, and me and my friends, too. Shall we leave?”
Rama said, “Shouldn’t you arrange for Lanka to be ruled while you are away?”
Vibheeshana replied, “I have already entrusted the task to Suparshva and some other ministers. You see, Rama, Sugriva and I decided some time ago that we would go with you.”
The vimana was a miraculous ship, and soon it was full of vanaras, who streamed into it. Amazingly, every monkey had a place inside, though it would not have seemed possible to look at the gleaming thing from the outside. Those who know the pushpaka vimana say that seen from without it was a great flying disk, but from within it was a dazzling city. Sugriva and his people, Vibheeshana and his four ministers, and finally, Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita climbed into the vimana. When they were all seated, the door slid shut by itself, soundlessly.
The ship flew at Rama’s thought. When he willed it to, it rose into the sky. Though you could not look into it, the vimana was perfectly transparent from the inside. The vanaras laughed like children as they flashed up toward the clouds.
Rama turned to Sita. “There lies Lanka: the city Viswakarman built, the city of our destiny. Look at the battlefield outside its gates.”
Dead rakshasas still lay heaped on that field, their blood drying around them in dark stains upon the earth. Rama took Sita’s hand and whispered, “For you I killed Ravana, and fate willed it so.”
They hovered above the momentous field. Rama pointed. “That is where Kumbhakarna fell. And there Hanuman killed Dhrumraksha.”
As they rose higher, someone else cried, “Look at that nyagrodha tree. That is Nikumbhila, where Lakshmana killed Indrajit.”
Rama said quietly, “That was the turning point.”
As if they were sailing on the wind, they flew over the sea, gathering speed. Rama pointed down at a faint line upon the waves, stretching away to the horizon. “Nalasetu: the bridge Nala built for us. The bridge across which we came by moonlight to rescue you.”
Now he smiled to think of the anxiety of those days. Sita said in a low voice, “This is the sea that Hanuman leaped across to bring me your message.”
Golden Mainaka rose from the ocean to watch them pass. Waving to him, they arrived swiftly at the other shore, of sacred Bharatavarsha. The vanaras set up a cheer.
Rama said, “Sita, that beach is where Vibheeshana first flew out to me.”
They flashed along now. Their speed was incalculable; the earth below was a blur of brown and green. Not long after, they were flying over a deep jungle. As they slowed, at Rama’s will, they saw a familiar ring of hills and the secret entrance that led into Kishkinda. The monkeys roared in joy to see their home.
Rama pointed again. “That is where Vali died. And there is Kishkinda, where Sugriva rules.”
Sita said, “Rama, let us take Tara and all the vanara wives with us to Ayodhya. They have given us so much; it is the least we can do in return.”
Quiet as light, the vimana landed outside Kishkinda. The reunion of the vanaras with their families was rapturous. With his arms around Ruma and Tara, Sugriva ordered his people to hurry into the ship with their women. Soon they set off again, north to Ayodhya.
As they were still climbing, and before they went too quickly, Rama pointed out a mountain below, which shone as if a rainbow had broken on its slopes. He said to Sita, “Rishyamooka is iridescent for its colored rocks. That is where Hanuman first met us, when he came disguised as an artful brahmana, smooth of tongue and sharp of wit. On Rishyamooka’s summit, Sugriva and I first swore friendship before a fire we lit.”
Later, as they flitted along, Sita cried, “Look, Rama, Panchavati, where you killed Khara and his rakshasas.”
Her voice caught in her throat; she saw a familiar glade in the jungle. Her eyes filling quickly, she whispered, “That is where Jatayu gave his life for me.”
A shadow crossed Rama’s face when he saw the asrama from where Ravana had taken Sita: a terrible memory of how life had been without her; how despair had coiled itself around his heart like a serpent. He remembered what a strength Lakshmana had been during those days. Rama said softly, “When we saw you were gone, my love, Lakshmana and I went south from Panchavati.”
She saw how much he must have suffered. Tenderly, she took his hand. On they flew, over dense jungle, and Sita murmured, “From up here one would scarcely guess at all the wonders that lie hidden below: streams and flowers, ancient trees and charmed pools, and birds and beasts out of dreams.”
Rama squeezed her hand, and such joy flowed between them at being together
again. In a wide clearing they saw Agastya’s asrama, and then Sutheekshna’s. They saw where Viradha had died, at the very edge of the Dandaka vana. Their minds were full of memories of the forest, all their adventures. From the uncanny vimana, which flew this route after Rama’s own heart, they saw Atri’s asrama. They folded their hands in obeisance to the rishi and his gracious Anasuya.
Like a comet, the pushpaka vimana plunged across the sky with its tail of light. Now they flew low above Chitrakuta of the sparkling waterfalls. Rama said, “Do you remember how Bharata came to see me here, with his hair tangled in jata?”
On they flew and the Yamuna appeared below them, a silver thread laid across the earth. They went lower still, and Lakshmana said, “Look, Bharadvaja’s asrama.”
Sita cried, “The Ganga!”
Rama said, “Shringiberapura, where my friend Guha rules.”
And then the three of them cried excitedly and at once, “The Sarayu!”
Lakshmana said dreamily, “The Sarayu, which cradles Kosala in her arms.”
Now they saw the golden turrets of a city that lay like a vision below them. Rama heaved a sigh and whispered, “Ayodhya, city of my fathers.”
Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita folded their hands and bowed to the royal city of the Sun.
Rama flew them back to Bharadvaja’s asrama. It was quite incredible: they had come all the way here in a few hours. The vimana landed outside the rishi’s asrama. Without a whisper, the crystal panels slid open, and Rama and the others climbed down into the sunlight.
Rama went before the muni and lay at his feet. Today was the first day after his exile ended. Bharadvaja blessed him and raised him up. He had already seen Rama’s triumph on Lanka, clairvoyantly.
Rama asked, “My lord, how is my brother Bharata? And my mothers? And not least, O Muni, how are my people?”
Overjoyed, Bharadvaja put his arm around Rama. He said, “Ayodhya waits for you. Bharata is well; he wears jata and the same valkala you last saw him in. He sleeps on the ground, and all day long speaks to the padukas you gave him, just as if you sat before him. He counts not only the days, but the very moments before he sees you again.