Sage Rishyashringa said, “Do not fear, O noble king. Four courageous sons will be born to continue your line.”
Thus the luminous Rishyashringa and his wide-eyed bride, Shantā, traveled to Ayodhyā with King Dasharatha. There, in due time, Rishyashringa began the powerful Ashvamedha Yagya, the ceremony of the horse, which lasted more than a year and was attended by all the kings of the land.
After the flawless completion of the Ashvamedha Yagya, which is difficult even for the greatest monarch to achieve, King Dasharatha radiated purity and light. Sage Rishyashringa, in the silence of his meditations, knew what to do next. He said to Dasharatha, “I will now perform a certain yagya from the Atharva Veda to enable you to attain an heir.”
—
WHILE THE YAGYA was taking place, while King Dasharatha and Queen Kausalyā, his first queen, were pouring ghee on the ceremonial fire, a secret meeting of the celestials was taking place in heaven.
It seemed that Rāvana, a demon who terrorized the earth, could not be defeated even by Indra, the king of the divine Devas. Rāvana and his rākshasa armies wreaked havoc on the people and even desecrated the yagyas of holy men, spreading fear in all three worlds.
All of the Devas and the celestial musicians called Gandharvas had gathered together to ask Brahmā, the Creator, to save them from this dangerous tormentor.
“O revered Brahmā,” said Indra, bowing low, “it is because of your boon that Rāvana is so powerful. He destroys all good, all truth in the world. He and his warriors make the heavens and the earth tremble.”
Everyone knew that at one time Rāvana had engaged in difficult austerities and had mastered the four Vedas. Pleased with his devotion, Brahmā had granted him any boon he desired. “May I never be destroyed by Devas, Gandharvas, yakshas, or rākshasas,” Rāvana begged. And Brahmā had granted him his wish.
That was why even Indra, the king of the Devas, could not defeat Rāvana in battle. Rāvana and his armies had even entered the gates of heaven and scattered the Devas to the four ends of the earth.
Now Brahmā, the Creator, seated on his lotus flower, clearly remembered the boon that he had bestowed on Rāvana. Rāvana was, in fact, his great-grandson. But Rāvana was also the son of a rākshasa woman and had followed in her ways of evil. Rāvana was terrifying to look at, with ten heads and twenty powerful arms. He had become the king of Lankā, the sumptuous city of the rākshasas far to the south. There he enjoyed boundless wealth, entertainments, and luxury. Yet it was not enough. He wanted to rule over heaven and earth.
Brahmā knew all of this, but he also knew a secret. “In his arrogance,” Brahmā told the assembly quietly, “Rāvana did not ask to be invulnerable to mankind. He thought that man was not significant enough to hurt him. This blind pride is Rāvana’s weak point, for he will surely be destroyed by a mere man.”
At this the celestial Devas and Gandharvas joyfully cried out praises to Brahmā. Then, placing their palms together in respect, they turned and bowed to the immortal Vishnu, the Maintainer of the Universe. He rested on a golden couch, his skin blue as a summer sky, his face radiant and peaceful.
“Revered Lord Vishnu, we entreat you to hear our prayers,” cried the Devas after bowing to him in reverence. “Today the noble King Dasharatha is conducting a ceremony to beget four sons. His three queens are chaste and virtuous, beyond reproach. O most compassionate one, we entreat you, let yourself be born as King Dasharatha’s son! This monster Rāvana has destroyed all good in the world. The way of Dharma, of truth, has never been in greater danger. Cruelty reigns on earth while he still lives. Be born as Dasharatha’s son and destroy him!”
The ever-compassionate Lord Vishnu, whose desire was to maintain the balance of good and evil in the world, reassured the Devas. “So be it,” he said, raising his right hand to bless them. “I will take birth in the world of men and destroy this enemy of truth.”
—
MEANWHILE, BACK ON earth, the blameless Rishyashringa, having conducted the yagya without flaw, poured a final offering of ghee on the ceremonial fire. A radiant being emerged from the flames. It was Agni, the lord of fire. Shining like the sun, he wore robes of red, the color of his flaming hair. His skin shimmered like burnished copper, and his eyes blazed like yellow sapphires.
Agni stepped out of the flames holding a golden container with a silver lid, filled with a mixture of milk, rice, and sugar called pāyasa. He handed the sacred vessel to King Dasharatha, who bowed with reverence. “Take this pāyasa, prepared by the Devas. Give this fruit of your yagya to your three queens, who will bear sons in due time.”
Having delivered the pāyasa, Agni melted into the flames. Dasharatha offered half of the pāyasa to the pious Queen Kausalyā, who was his first wife. He offered half of what remained to Queen Sumitrā, and half of what remained of that to his youngest queen, Kaikeyī. That still left a tiny portion, and that he gave to Queen Sumitrā, who then had two portions. The queens felt blessed to eat the auspicious pāyasa, the fruit of King Dasharatha’s yagya.
In a few months, the three queens basked in carefree happiness as they prepared for the birth of their children. The children that they carried were so pure that the wombs of the three queens were said to glow like the sun. The halls of the palace were filled with laughter and delight, and the entire kingdom lived in happiness, hearts swelling in joyful anticipation of the long-awaited births of King Dasharatha’s sons.
As King Dasharatha sat with his trusted friend Sumantra, remembering the blissful months since Sage Rishyashringa’s yagya, he fell into a sweet slumber. Sumantra slipped away, leaving his beloved monarch to his dreams.
There was a great country by the name of Kosala on the bank of the River Sarayu.
It was joyful and prosperous, filled with riches and an abundance of grains.
There stood the city of Ayodhyā, famed throughout the world.
—Bāla Kānda 5.5–6
CHAPTER 2
The Birth of Rāma
When stars are auspicious
rising in the eastern sky,
when planets are exalted,
radiating good fortune and peace to all,
when the moon is full,
shining in happy union with the benefic planet Guru,
then will I come to bless the earth.
Running footsteps roused King Dasharatha from his slumber. Queen Kausalyā’s personal servant burst into the room. “My lord, the First Queen has given birth to a son!”
King Dasharatha’s face flooded with light. He cried, “Praise to Lord Vishnu!” and loaded the girl with strings of jewels that lay heaped on his royal divan. “For your good tidings!”
Before long a hunched, white-haired woman hobbled into the room as fast as her age would allow. She was Mantharā, the personal attendant of his favorite wife, Kaikeyī.
The old woman cried, “Sire, Queen Kaikeyī has given birth to a son!” Mantharā’s eyes were overflowing with tears of joy, for her adored Kaikeyī, whose own birth she had attended, was now a mother herself.
Before Mantharā could hobble away, laden with the gold and jewels King Dasharatha had showered upon her, she met two of Queen Sumitrā’s attendants who were running into the king’s chambers. Breathlessly the young girls said in unison, “Queen Sumitrā has given birth to two sons!”
King Dasharatha could not contain his happiness. After rewarding Queen Sumitrā’s young attendants with necklaces of precious gems for their happy news, he bestowed lavish gifts upon Sage Rishyashringa and the other Brahmins, teachers, scholars, and holy men of the city. He prepared lavish feasts and declared a holiday for all. He gave away gold and cows.
As for the good people of Ayodhyā, they too were overwhelmed with happiness. After so many years of longing for an heir to the crown, now their kingdom was blessed with not one, but four princes. The people adorned their homes with bright banners and garland
s of sweet-smelling flowers. They prepared their best dishes. Dancers twirled and musicians sang outside the palace gates for the joy of the royal family and the common people alike. King Dasharatha generously rewarded his servants with gifts and threw strands of precious gems to the performers below his windows.
And in the heavens, the Devas themselves celebrated the birth of Lord Vishnu on earth with the divine melodies of Gandharvas and the dancing of divine nymphs called apsarās. To show their joy, they showered flower petals on King Dasharatha’s palace.
The three queens were overcome with happiness, having become the adoring mothers of precious sons at long last. On the tenth day following their births, the family preceptor, the irreproachable Vasishtha, flawlessly performed the nāmakarana, the naming ceremony, and bestowed the names of the boys at the auspicious moment, according to the precepts of the scriptures.
“O fortunate king, your cherished firstborn, son of Queen Kausalyā, born under all auspicious signs and stars, will be called ‘Rāma,’” said Vasishtha. “Throughout his life he will be the upholder of Dharma, of Natural Law.”
The shining Rāma was indeed born at the moment when all the stars and planets were in the most auspicious position in the long span of time extending thousands of years before and thousands of years after. In the ninth lunar day, the nakshatra (auspicious star cluster) Punarvasu was rising in the eastern sky, and five grahas (planets) were in exaltation—Sūrya (Sun), Mangala (Mars), Shani (Saturn), Guru (Jupiter), and Shukra (Venus). Three rāshis (signs of the zodiac)—Mesha (Aries), Mīna (Pisces), and Tulā (Libra)—were aspected by auspicious grahas. The moon formed a most happy union with the benefic graha Guru in the rising sign of Karka (Cancer).
Other signs pointed to a divine birth. Adorned with auspicious marks befitting one who was the embodiment of Lord Vishnu, the baby Rāma had long arms, rose-colored lips, lustrous skin, and a voice that resounded like a gong. Basking in the sinless Kausalyā’s lap, he enhanced her beauty as the moon enhances the glory of the ocean.
As the pandits chanted and incense sweetened the air, Vasishtha said to King Dasharatha, “Your second-born, son of Queen Kaikeyī, born under the auspicious nakshatra Pushya and the sign of Mīna, the fish, shall be called ‘Bharata.’ He will be the essence of heroism, duty, and grace.” Kaikeyī beamed and clasped the baby Bharata to her heart in joy.
“And the radiant twins born to Queen Sumitrā under the star of Āshleshā, the serpent, shall be called ‘Lakshmana’ and ‘Shatrughna,’” said Vasishtha. Sumitrā, her arms enfolding her baby sons, felt her eyes fill with tears of pride and wonder.
Vasishtha completed the ceremony, proclaiming, “These four sons, born with all good qualities, will be radiant and handsome, upholders of Dharma. They will surpass even their father in brilliance and will be cherished for generations to come as the glory of the illustrious Ikshvāku line!”
From that day, King Dasharatha lived as if in a happy dream. The palace was filled with the laughter of the three queens and the prattle of the royal babes. The king delighted in the sound of tiny feet pattering over marble floors, and he would rush from the court to the private chambers each day to join his family. Toys made of silk, gold, and precious gems now filled the king’s palace, and children’s games filled the king’s days. Nothing could cloud King Dasharatha’s happiness. His three queens were entranced by the four radiant children, caring for all the sons equally, and the four boys called all three “Mother.”
King Dasharatha loved each of his four sons dearly, although of the four, he was most attached to Rāma. As Rāma grew, King Dasharatha’s devotion also grew in intensity. He could not imagine how he had once lived without his beloved son by his side.
Rāma returned his father’s love with filial devotion. He was happiest when he was serving his father, the king. Nothing was more important to him.
At the same time, Rāma was so full of compassion that everyone he met felt that he loved them most. He was affectionately called “Rāmachandra” by the people of Ayodhyā because he was like Chandra, the full moon—his face ever glowing in a sweet smile, his words soft and loving, his actions without fail bringing delight to others. His own mother, Kausalyā, who was the essence of virtue, was filled with pride to have such a son. And the playful and affectionate Kaikeyī, who loved her own son, Bharata, beyond imagination, loved Rāma with the same intensity.
Rāma was like a second father to his younger brothers. They were so devoted to him that they never questioned his role as leader. All the brothers treated one another with respect and love.
Yet of the three younger ones, Lakshmana was most devoted to Rāma and was ever happy to serve him. In turn, Rāma was extremely fond of Lakshmana. The two boys slept side by side, and when Rāma was offered rice or milk or other food, he would not eat unless Lakshmana did too. Whenever Rāma left the palace to hunt, Lakshmana followed, his bow ready to defend Rāma. Lakshmana was a second Rāma, like his shadow.
In the same way, there was a special friendship between Bharata and Shatrughna. And so the four boys grew in harmony and happiness, serving their parents and each other.
When they reached the age of nine, the boys began their education in the four Vedas. Their family guru, Vasishtha, taught them to practice meditation and to follow the path of Dharma, of right action, toward their parents, teachers, holy men, king, and subjects. To prepare for their roles as future leaders of their people, they learned the Vedic sciences of economics, politics, and diplomacy. They became expert marksmen, skilled in archery, and were fully trained as warrior-princes. They learned how to ride elephants and horses and became skilled at driving a chariot.
The four brothers grew to be strong, handsome, virtuous, brave, intelligent, courteous, and humble. They learned to honor the sacred rituals and rites, to honor their parents and teachers, and to honor their ancestors. In every way, they brought joy to the king.
King Dasharatha lacked nothing in his life now that he had his four illustrious sons to light his days. He gave even more generously to the holy men of his kingdom and loved nothing more than to show his kindness to all.
—
AND SO THE years passed, and the boys grew into young men. One day, when his four sons had reached the age of sixteen, King Dasharatha called his ministers and sages together. His sons were grown and it was time to find brides for them. He had just started to speak when the royal gatekeeper unexpectedly entered the room.
“Your Royal Majesty,” announced the gatekeeper. “The renowned sage Vishvāmitra has graced us with his presence!”
King Dasharatha felt his face flush with excitement. How auspicious that the great Rishi had called at the very moment he was beginning arrangements for Rāma’s marriage.
“I shall greet him myself,” announced the good King Dasharatha. Followed by his ministers in a trail of golden silk, he made his way to the front gate of the palace.
King Dasharatha greeted the revered Rishi with hands folded and then touched his feet. He offered him water and a seat, and then he himself washed the holy man’s feet. He circled the Rishi’s head with a ghee lamp. After these traditional greetings, King Dasharatha led the sage to his court, presenting him with refreshments of fruit and cooling drinks. Then Vishvāmitra inquired after the welfare of the kingdom, the state of the royal treasury, and the prosperity of the king’s subjects, friends, relatives, and sages.
“O most holy one,” said King Dasharatha, his face glowing with reverence and happiness, “you have truly blessed us with your presence. The glory of the Ikshvākus is increased many times by the dust of your feet. Surely there must be some way I can serve you further. Whatever is your wish, I will surely be honored to fulfill it myself.” With these pleasing and humble words, King Dasharatha paid homage to the celebrated teacher.
Smiling in return, Vishvāmitra said, “There is indeed a way that you can help me, most virtuous king, and by helping me yo
u will ensure the way of truth for all good men on earth. For I am in need of someone to guard my āshram while I perform a difficult yagya. My hermitage in the forest is unprotected from evil rākshasas. The hideous demons wait until the ceremony is almost finished and then swoop down from the skies to scatter unspeakable filth, even bones and blood, over the sacred place—snuffing out the sacred fire. Because it is prohibited to express anger or even speak while performing the yagya, I cannot stop them with my yogic power.”
King Dasharatha leaned forward eagerly. Old man that he was, the thought of a battle still excited him. Born and bred as a warrior, he had never been defeated.
“My armies and I will leave this day for your āshram,” said the gracious king. “We will surely defend your hermitage from these outrageous acts.”
Vishvāmitra smiled. “It is not you, nor your armies, that I seek. Lend me your son Rāma for a few months. Rāma will kill these bloodthirsty monsters and will return to you unharmed.”
King Dasharatha could not believe his ears. How could this learned sage think that his treasured son could face such terrifying foes?
“O revered sage,” said King Dasharatha, his voice trembling, “I have promised to fulfill your every desire. But surely there is some mistake. Rāma is yet of a tender age and is as dear to me as my own heart. I could not live a day without him by my side. How could I go on living, knowing that I sent him to his death? Take me, I am old but experienced in battle. Take my kingdom’s many armies. I pray to you, release me from this ill-timed promise.”
Unmoved by King Dasharatha’s plea, Vishvāmitra’s face darkened with rage. Vasishtha and the other sages glanced at each other uneasily, for Vishvāmitra’s hot temper was well known.
“So, you are not the king I thought you were.” The powerful Vishvāmitra raised his voice so all could hear. “First you promise me anything, then you retract the promise. Keep your son Rāma and keep your promises. They mean nothing to me now.”
The Ramayana Page 3