The Ramcharitmanas 1

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by Tulsidas


  Everyone says it is so—the world, the Vedas, the learned and wise.

  Dust, in company with the wind, rises into the sky,

  But turns into mud in the company of low-lying water.

  In the home of the virtuous, the parrot and the mynah repeat the name of Ram;

  In the home of the wicked, they repeat foul and abusive words endlessly.

  Smoke, in bad company, becomes soot;

  In good company, it also makes fine ink that may be used in copying a Purana.

  Salt seawater, in the company of fire and wind,

  Turns into life-renewing rainclouds.

  The planets, medicine, water, the wind, clothes—

  Everything becomes bad or good, harmful or useful,

  Depending on the use to which it is put.

  Wise and virtuous people discern this.

  (7A)

  The two lunar fortnights in a month are the same in light and darkness,

  But Brahma has made a distinction in their names;7

  As the moon wanes in one fortnight and waxes in the other,

  The world, observing this, holds one in low, the other in high esteem.

  (7B)

  The inanimate and animate beings of this world,

  Knowing them all to be pervaded by Ram—

  I venerate their lotus feet

  With folded hands, forever.

  (7C)

  Gods, Danavas, men, Nagas, birds, evil spirits and the spirits of the departed,

  Gandharvas, Kinnaras and demons that wander in the night—

  I salute you all and entreat you,

  Upon me now bestow your grace.

  (7D)

  There are eighty-four lakh forms of living beings generated by four modes,

  That inhabit water, land and sky—

  Knowing the whole world to be permeated with the spirit of Sita and Ram,

  I salute them with hands folded in respectful obeisance.

  You, who are storehouses of compassion, look upon me as your humble servant,

  And together, dissembling no more, bestow upon me your affection;

  I have no confidence in the strength of my own wisdom

  And that is why I beseech you all for your blessings.

  I want to relate the story of Raghupati’s accomplishments,

  But my understanding is limited and his exploits fathomless.

  I cannot think of a solution or even a part of one to overcome this—

  My mind and intellect are beggarly, my desire and ambition kingly,

  My ability low, my aspirations high,

  I yearn for amrit, when in this world even buttermilk is not available for me.

  Good men will forgive my impudence,

  And listen with affectionate indulgence to my childish, inadequate words,

  As when a child speaks in his lisping manner,

  And the father and mother listen to him with joyous hearts.

  The cruel, harsh and malicious will laugh,

  They, who wear the faults of others as ornaments.

  Who does not like his own verses,

  Whether they be flavourful or insipid?

  Those who take delight in hearing another’s composition—

  There are not too many such men in this world.

  There are many in this world akin to lakes and rivers

  That rise and swell in a flood of their own upon receiving water;

  But only a few good men are like the generous ocean,

  That swells upon beholding the full moon.

  My lot is humble, my ambitions grand,

  Yet I have faith in one thing—

  That good men will be happy to hear me,

  And only the vile and vicious will ridicule and mock.

  (8)

  The derision of the malevolent will only serve to benefit me—

  The crow calls the sweet-voiced kokil harsh,

  The storks laugh at the swans, the frogs at the chatak,

  And the mean-minded and malicious mock pure discourse.

  Those who take no pleasure in poetry and who have no love for Ram,

  To them, this work of mine will provide much pleasant amusement.

  My composition is in the spoken tongue, and my wit unsophisticated,

  So it is worthy of being laughed at, and laughing at it is no crime.

  For those who have no devotion for the Lord and no understanding of it,

  This story will be dull to hear.

  To those who cherish the feet of Hari and Har and whose minds do not pick at faults,

  I relate this sweet and pleasing story of Raghubar.

  Knowing in their hearts that it is adorned with devotion to Ram,

  Good men, upon hearing it, will praise it with fair words.

  I am not a poet, nor am I an adept at composition—

  I am destitute in every art and skill.

  The many and diverse uses of letters and syllables and nuances of meaning, embellished with figures of speech,

  The countless variations of metre and the innumerable styles of literary composition,

  The infinite distinctions of sentiment and emotion,

  The diverse shortcomings and merits of poesy—

  Of all of these, I am ignorant.

  Poetic sense I have none—

  I speak the truth and give it in writing.

  My composition is devoid of all literary merit;

  It has only one virtue, known throughout the world—

  Taking this one quality into consideration,

  Wise and discerning men will listen to my verses.

  (9)

  In this is contained the noble and illustrious name of Raghupati,

  The exceedingly pure and purifying essence of the Puranas and the Vedas,

  Which brings about felicity, and destroys misfortune,

  And which Purari,xvi together with Uma, chants repeatedly in prayer.

  The most extraordinary composition by the most outstanding of poets

  Does not please or appeal if it does not have the name of Ram within it—

  The most beautiful woman, with a face as radiant as the moon and endowed with every grace,

  Is neither charming nor attractive without clothes.

  A work devoid of all merit and composed by the most indifferent of poets,

  When stamped with the glory of Ram’s name,

  Is recited and heard with reverence by the wise,

  Who extract from it that which is good, like bees that gather honey.

  Even though my verses do not have a single virtue,

  Ram’s splendour is manifest in them.

  This is the hope that arises in my heart—

  For who has not achieved greatness by associating with the good?

  Smoke gives up its natural acridity and spreads instead a sweet fragrance

  When derived from the aromatic agarwood.

  My composition is awkward, but its subject noble,

  For it tells the story of Ram which spreads joy and good fortune in the world.

  Bringing forth felicity, destroying the filth of Kaliyug,

  Is the story of Raghunath, says Tulsi.

  The course of this stream of poetry is winding and meandering,

  As is the course of the purifying and sacred stream of the Ganga.

  My composition, in company with the Lord’s glory, will be ennobled

  And held dear in the hearts of good men,

  As the ashes of the cremation ground, when upon Bhav’sxvii body,

  Become pleasing to the eye, and, remembered, purify.

  My composition will be loved by everyone

  Because of its association with the glory of Ram,

  Just as all wood from the Malaya mountains is valued as sandalwood,

  And no one questions its worth.

  (10A)

  Even though a cow be black, its milk is pure and white;

  It is full of virtue, and everyone drinks it,

  Ju
st as the glory of Sita and Ram, even when related in rustic speech,

  Is recited and heard by the good and the wise.

  (10B)

  A diamond in a serpent’s hood, a ruby on a mountaintop and a pearl in an elephant’s forehead,

  Do not shine with their full brilliance;

  Set in a king’s crown, or adorning a young woman’s delicate form,

  All three attain their true lustre and their splendour increases.

  In the same manner, the wise men say, the verses of a gifted poet

  Are born in one place but take on beauty in another.

  Drawn by his devotion, the goddess Sharada,xviii when invoked,

  Abandons the abode of Vidhi himself and comes rushing to the poet;

  Yet, without bathing in the lake of Ram’s exploits,

  The fatigue of her journey is not alleviated, not even by a crore of contrivances—

  Poets and wise men, realizing this in their hearts,

  Sing only of Hari’s glory, which removes the filth of Kaliyug,

  For composing verses in praise of ordinary people

  Makes Giraxix beat her head in despair and rue her hasty coming.

  The wise declare that the heart is the ocean, the intellect a shell within it,

  And the goddess Sharada, the Svati nakshatra,

  For if, under her influence, should it rain good and excellent thoughts,

  The poet’s verses become precious pearls of lustrous beauty.8

  With skill and dexterity they are pierced and strung,

  One by one, upon the thread of the story of Ram’s exploits;

  Good men wear them upon their noble breasts

  Where they shine with the radiance of deep devotion.

  (11)

  Those who have been born in this dark and dreadful Kaliyug,

  Whose actions are those of the crow but whose appearance that of the swan,

  Who, having abandoned the path of true knowledge, walk in evil ways,

  Who are embodiments of deceit, receptacles of the vices of Kaliyug,

  Who profess to be devotees of Ram

  But are slaves to greed, anger and lust,

  Who make the greatest noise whilst hypocritically upholding the flag of faith and trading in deceit—

  Amongst them place me first in this world.

  Were I to relate all my faults and failings,

  The recital would become so long that I would not reach the end of it;

  That is why I have described only a very few,

  For even by knowing a little the wise and astute understand it all.

  Taking into account my many prayers and entreaties,

  Let no one, upon listening to this tale, find fault.

  Those who will even after this express doubt—

  They are more stupid and slow of wit than I am myself.

  I am not a poet, nor am I regarded as clever;

  I sing the glory of Ram according to my understanding and ability.

  How boundless are Raghupati’s deeds,

  How limited my intellect, entangled as it is in this world!

  The wind that can uproot Mount Meru—

  Tell me, before such a wind, of what account is the wisp of cotton that is my writing?

  Understanding the immeasurable majesty of Ram,

  My mind shrinks away from telling his story.

  Sharada, Sheshnag, Mahesh,xx Vidhi,

  The Vedas, the Puranas and all scripture

  Cry, ‘He is not thus! He defies all description!’

  Even as they sing unceasingly of his glory.

  (12)

  All know that the Lord’s majesty is thus indescribable,

  Even so, no one has refrained from recounting it.

  The Vedas have explained this phenomenon thus:

  There are many ways, in many tongues, to adore the Lord,

  He who is one, without attachment, without form, without name,

  Unbegotten, uncreated, who is truth, consciousness, bliss supreme and the ultimate refuge,

  The all-pervading, universal, omnipresent God, who exists in all forms,

  And who, assuming mortal form, has performed diverse deeds.

  These he has enacted only for the well-being of his devotees,

  For he is the most merciful, and compassionate towards those who seek refuge.

  He showers great affection upon his own,

  And refrains from anger against those whom he has favoured with his compassion.

  Restorer of what is lost, friend of the poor and the miserable,

  Simple-hearted, ingenuous, yet all-powerful is the Lord, Raghuraj.

  Knowing this, the wise sing Hari’s glory,

  As a result of which their song becomes pure and brings salvation.

  It is on this strength that I sing of the glory of Raghunath,

  And relate it as I bow my head at his feet.

  Ancient sages first sang Hari’s fame—

  On that same path, my friend, it is easy for me to walk.

  If, over a river whose breadth is unbounded,

  A king has a bridge constructed,

  Then, clambering upon it, even the tiniest of ants

  Can cross to the other shore without effort.

  (13)

  Reassuring my heart in this manner,

  I shall relate the pleasing story of Raghupati.

  Vyas and the many other great and eminent poets

  Who have, with deep reverence, recounted Hari’s fame and glory—

  Their lotus feet I adore.

  May they fulfil all my wishes and desires.

  I salute, too, those poets of this Kaliyug

  Who have related the virtues of Raghupati,

  Those vernacular poets, most sagacious and discerning,

  Who have told of the deeds of Hari in the spoken tongue.

  Those who have been, those who now are and those who will be—

  I salute them all with sincerity, discarding all deceit.

  Show me your favour, poets, and grant me this boon,

  That in the assemblies of good men my song may be honoured.

  Compositions that are not esteemed by the wise and intelligent

  Are but the worthless labour of foolish poets.

  The only kind of fame, poetry and affluence that is good,

  Is that which, like the divine River Ganga, is of benefit to all.

  Ram’s glory is sublime, my poetry clumsy—

  This disparity fills me with misgivings.

  But by your grace this will become possible for me,

  For fine silk embroidery makes even coarse cloth beautiful.

  Poetry that is clear and simple, and that tells of fame that is pure and untarnished—

  That is what the wise revere;

  Critics forget their natural hostility

  Upon hearing it, and praise and commend it.

  (14A)

  Such verse cannot be composed without clear and immaculate understanding,

  But my intellect and ability are limited.

  So bestow your grace upon me that I may sing of the glory of Hari—

  Thus I beseech you again and again.

  (14B)

  Poets and learned men, graceful swans

  On the sacred Manas lake of Raghubar’s exploits,

  Hearing my childlike prayer and recognizing my deep interest and intense desire,

  Be compassionate to me.

  (14C)

  I pay homage to the lotus feet of the Muni Valmiki

  Who composed the Ramayana,

  Which, though it tells of the Rakshasa Khar,9 is not harsh and coarse like him, but sweet and pleasing,

  And though containing within it the tale of the vile demon Dushan,10 is without fault or blemish.

  (14D)

  I praise all the four Vedas

  Which are like boats on the ocean of this existence,

  And never tire, even in dream,

  Of relating the manifest glory of Rag
hubar.

  (14E)

  I do obeisance to the dust of the feet of Vidhi the Creator,

  He, who has made this ocean that is the world, from which

  Have sprung the saints, nectar, the moon and the wish-granting cow, Kamdhenu,

  As well as men who are wicked and vile, and poison and strong liquor.

  (14F)

  I do obeisance to the feet of gods, Brahmans, sages, and planets,

  And say to them with folded hands,

  Grant me your favour and fulfil

  All the sweet longings of my heart.

  (14G)

  Once more I pay homage to the goddess Sharada and the divine stream of the River Ganga,

  A pair pure and sacred, and of pleasing disposition—

  Immersion in one or drinking of its waters, removes evil,

  The other, her name uttered or heard, dispels darkness and ignorance.

  To Mahesh and Bhavani, who are guru, father and mother,

  I pay homage—friends of the poor, giving every day of their bounty,

  Followers, protectors and friends of Sita’s beloved,

  True benefactors of Tulsi in every way.

  Looking upon the age of Kali, for the good of the world, Har and Girijaxxi

  Made up mantras and incantations in the common tongue,11

  Ill-assorted syllables without meaning that no one can recite,

  But whose force is manifest because of the glory and splendour of Mahesh.

  Uma’s Lord, being well disposed towards me,

  Will make this story the root of bliss and joy;

  Meditating upon Shivaaxxii and Shiv and receiving their favour,

  I relate the exploits of Ram with an eager heart.

  My composition, by Shiv’s grace, will shine

  Like a night made luminous by the light of the moon and his congregation of stars.

  Whoever recites or listens to this story

  With love and devotion and intelligent attention

  Shall become a devotee of Ram’s feet

  And partake of bliss uncontaminated by the filth of Kaliyug.

  If I receive, in dream or in truth,

  The grace of Har and Gauri,xxiii

  Then all that I say will come true

  Of the influence and importance of this poem of mine in the spoken tongue.

  (15)

  I salute the most sacred city of Avadh,xxiv

  And the River Sarju that flows beside it and washes away the sins of Kaliyug.

 

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