Smiling with recognition, as if greeting a long-lost friend, Rāma took Sītā’s hand. They circled the fire as the pandits chanted, first with Rāma leading, then with Sītā leading. Rāma applied red powder to the part in Sītā’s hair, and together they took the seven steps, making a vow at each step. Watching them seated side by side, everyone said that Rāma and Sītā were like heaven and earth, like Vishnu and Lakshmī. Sītā kept her eyes downcast, gazing at her beloved’s reflection in the golden sapphire of her ring.
Then Bharata wedded the beautiful Māndavī, Lakshmana the lovely Ūrmilā, and Shatrughna the incomparable Shrutakīrti. Thus the four sons of King Dasharatha led their four brides around the auspicious fire, and the two celebrated dynasties of King Dasharatha and King Janaka were united.
—
QUITE SOME TIME after the wedding, the four brothers and their brides prepared to leave for their home in Ayodhyā. King Janaka accompanied them partway, and then after a tearful farewell to his adored daughters and nieces, he returned to Mithilā, consoled by the knowledge that they would be loved and cared for by their new family.
The royal procession lumbered along slowly, laden with a multitude of gifts from the brides’ fathers. King Janaka and his brother had given them a hundred thousand cows, plus hundreds of chests of gold, silver, pearls, and precious gems. Sītā, shy to be with her husband, rode in her covered palanquin amidst flower petals and sweets, listening to the tinkle of bells and the rumble of elephants. As the evening darkness came each day, and the air cooled, she dreamed of her life in Ayodhyā with her beloved prince.
When they finally arrived at the celebrated city of Ayodhyā, the four brides were welcomed as cherished daughters by King Dasharatha’s three queens. After a warm celebration by the people of Ayodhyā, all four couples settled happily into their new life together.
Rāma and Sītā delighted in each other’s presence. Sītā was a happy and devoted wife, smiling before she spoke, steadfast in her love for Rāma. She shone like a goddess in charm and beauty, and knew every detail hidden in the heart of Shrī Rāma. Rāma was equally devoted to her and made it his aim to fulfill her every desire. Giving to each other, they created a perfect and happy union. In this way ten years passed in happiness, as they lived an ideal life together in the legendary city of Ayodhyā.
Sītā, the princess of Mithilā and daughter of King Janaka,
who shone like a goddess in charm and beauty,
knew every detail hidden in the heart of Shrī Rāma.
—Bāla Kānda 77.28
End of Bāla Kānda
TWO
Ayodhyā Kānda
The City of Ayodhyā
CHAPTER 6
King Dasharatha Plans the Coronation of Rāma
King Dasharatha said,
“Rāma has never told a lie.
He speaks sweetly
and affectionately to all.
He never says a harsh word,
and no one speaks harshly to him.
“Rāma reveres his teachers
and has learned the four Vedas.
He is the most skilled archer on earth
and master of the arts of warfare.
Undefeated in battle,
he plays the vīnā and flute
like a Gandharva.
“Skilled in reading character,
Rāma is able to fathom
a heart at a single glance.
He is never surprised by an enemy.
Nor does he speak of his achievements,
but keeps them secret.
He is humble,
drawing attention
to others’ good deeds and qualities,
never his own.
“Rāma is highly intelligent,
free of disease, handsome, and strong.
He knows how to amass wealth
and distribute it fairly.
He is thrifty or liberal
as the occasion demands.
“Rāma never speaks or acts
against Dharma,
nor can he even bear
to hear another do so.
He is gifted at uttering
the right words at the right time,
always acting in accord
with his surroundings.
The ultimate aim of Rāma
is to defend good and destroy evil.”
“Ah, Sumantra,” said King Dasharatha. “Please sit down.” The king had called his dear friend and trusted minister for a private conference. The two friends sat together and talked for some time.
After sharing memories of their long friendship, the king raised a new subject. “As you know, I am well into my old age.”
The king paused a moment, thinking about his four sons. Having been blessed with their birth when he was already quite old, he held all his sons dear to his heart, even more than his own self. He thought first of Bharata, who was away visiting his maternal grandfather, King Ashvapati, the father of Queen Kaikeyī. King Dasharatha thought also of Shatrughna, who could never be parted from Bharata, and so had accompanied him to the kingdom of Kekaya. There the two brothers and their wives enjoyed the affections lavished on them by their grandfather and uncle. The king’s attention dwelled fondly on Lakshmana, ever devoted to Rāma, and his brother’s equal in strength and valor.
As King Dasharatha’s thoughts turned to Rāma, his heart expanded even more. For although he truly cherished all his sons, he loved Rāma most of all. Perhaps this was because Rāma’s many virtues inspired him, or because Rāma always served him and thought of the king’s desires before his own. But King Dasharatha’s deep love for his firstborn son was not limited to one cause or another.
Sumantra waited quietly.
“I was just thinking how Rāma has all of my virtues and many more,” said the king at last. “Rāma loves the people of Ayodhyā and is adored by them. He is compassionate, patient, and caring. It would be impossible to find a person in this kingdom who does not respect and honor him. Just one look at his sweet and affectionate face, full and charming as the moon, is enough to erase all cares.”
Once again King Dasharatha paused. “My friend,” he said. “Not only am I very old, but I have been told by the sages that the planetary configurations are not good. Some kind of calamity is waiting to befall me, probably my own death.”
“O Your Majesty,” cried Sumantra, “may it not be so!” His eyes filled with tears. He could not bear to think of being parted from his dear friend and sovereign.
But the king was resolute. “I wish you to call all the ministers of the court together, as well as my subjects. For in my heart I have only one desire—to see my virtuous son Rāma take the throne during my lifetime. Only then will the kingdom be secure.”
Sumantra’s face now beamed in relief. “That is an excellent idea, Your Majesty. Your son Rāma will rule the kingdom with glory. And with him on the throne, you can rest more and prolong your life. Today I will begin inviting your subjects for a royal assembly.”
“Yes, so be it,” said the king. “For I must see what the people think. Also invite the rulers from nearby kingdoms.”
As they planned the list of rulers to invite, the obedient Sumantra asked, “Shall we invite the king of Kekaya, where your son Bharata is staying? And shall we invite King Janaka of Mithilā, father of Sītā?”
“They live so far away,” said King Dasharatha. “We cannot wait for them to arrive. Let them hear about it in due time.”
Two days later, the royal guests had arrived and were seated in the great hall according to their rank. Also present were the king’s eight ministers, his spiritual advisors, headed by Vasishtha, and the people of Ayodhyā. The entire assembly buzzed excitedly, wondering why the magnanimous King Dasharatha had called them together.
At last
the aged king entered the grand hall and seated himself on his golden throne. In a voice strong and sure, he began to tell the people of his plan.
“As you may know, I am feeling the consequences of age. For many years I have watched over this kingdom with all my strength, not minding my own desires. Now I am weary. It is my desire that my eldest son, Rāma, most worthy among men, be installed as the king. Thus the glorious line of Ikshvākus will be preserved.”
When their revered king finished speaking, the hall erupted in shouts of approval, like the roar of an earthquake.
“Your Majesty,” said the head minister, “there is no one among us who would not feel gladness at the sight of Rāmachandra on the throne. You have served us long and well. It is now our desire to see your highly esteemed son riding on the royal elephant, shaded by the canopy of the rājā!”
Again a roar of approval swept the crowd. The king was happy beyond words, but still he wanted to be sure he was following the will of the people. “I have served you long and faithfully. Yet you wish to see my son replace me on the throne? Is it that I have erred in some way or neglected my duties?”
“Your Majesty,” said the minister. “That is hardly the case. Let the people themselves explain why they wish Rāma to serve as our leader.”
“Rāma is dear to us because he is noble and good,” said one man, who stood with hands folded in respect. “He is truthful; he makes truth his religion. He will never swerve from the path of Dharma.”
“He is as charming as the full moon,” said another. “Like the earth in patience, in wisdom he is like Brihaspati, the spiritual preceptor of the Devas. He is ever ready to forgive another’s faults. His intellect is as sharp as a sword. He is as brave as Indra, the king of the Devas.”
“He is ever ready to do even the most common man a favor,” yet another said, “and he is never angry. He is in control of his senses.”
Other voices chimed in, from different parts of the hall.
“He speaks lovingly to everyone at all times. He stops us on the street and asks after our welfare, as well as that of our wives, children, and servants.”
“He always smiles and his face is radiant and pleasing to look upon. His skin is tinted blue like that of Lord Nārāyana, and his strength, dignity, and radiance are unsurpassed.”
“Rāma sees only good in everyone,” a young man offered, “yet he is not afraid to fight evil. Always victorious, he is the greatest archer on earth, the most skilled in battle, the most knowledgeable in warfare. He rides an elephant, a horse, a chariot with ease.”
And so the people went on and on, never tiring of praising Rāma.
Finally, the voice of an older man carried clearly throughout the hall. “He is always respectful to elders,” he said. “He has learned the wisdom of the Veda, and he lives it. He will be an ideal ruler. Please, O revered king, crown him at the earliest possible date!”
King Dasharatha’s eyes filled with tears of gratitude, seeing how much the people loved his virtuous son Rāma.
“So be it,” said the king, at last satisfied that it was the people’s will for Rāma to be crowned king. “Let your desires be fulfilled. Let Rāma’s coronation be set for the earliest possible date.”
With this, the assembly surged with joy, cheering again and again, “Jai Shrī Rāma! Jai Shrī Rāma!”
As the hall finally grew quiet again, the king addressed Vasishtha, “O venerated one, will you take care of the arrangements, to be sure that we follow the ancient traditions of our glorious house of Ikshvāku?”
Vasishtha immediately called the king’s ministers to him and gave each a different task. He said, “Let us begin decorating the city today. Adorn the doorways of the palace with garlands, flags, and banners, and let the pleasant scents of incense fill every street and every home. Sprinkle the royal pathways with pure water and flower petals. Call the royal musicians and dancers to the palace hall. Set out blossoms, fruits, and delicacies in lavish trays. Prepare food to satisfy one hundred thousand Brahmins and holy ones. Spare no effort to honor our prince!”
Satisfied that the preparations were under way, the good King Dasharatha asked Sumantra to bring Rāma to the palace.
Very soon, King Dasharatha saw Rāma approaching. Rāma shone bright as the full moon on a cloudless night.
As was his custom, Rāma approached his father with humility. With palms folded together in reverence, he bowed low and touched his father’s feet. The kindly king, the happiest of fathers, raised Rāma from the floor and embraced him warmly. For King Dasharatha, looking at Rāma was like looking in a mirror, for the king rejoiced to see his beloved son, even as one would rejoice to see himself.
“O Rāma,” said the king, “you are the noble son of my most noble wife, the virtuous Kausalyā. With your many exalted qualities, you have endeared yourself to the people. It is their will that tomorrow, when the auspicious star cluster Pushya is on the horizon, you will become their king. Spend the night fasting with your faithful consort Sītā. Follow all of Vasishtha’s directions exactly. Be prepared to accept the rites of rulership tomorrow.”
Ever willing to please his father, Rāma again bowed humbly and said, “As you wish, dear Father.”
Then King Dasharatha invited Rāma to sit down with him. “In my affection I wish to give you advice for ruling the people, even though you already possess all the virtues necessary to become a great king.
“Do not be guided by lust or anger, in your public or private life. Ever humble, keep your senses under control and shun all vices. Store up your granaries and arsenals.
“Use the direct means of rule, by inviting petitions from your subjects, making tours of the kingdom to see the state of affairs firsthand, hearing the people’s complaints and judging their cases. Use also the indirect means of rule, relying on a network of emissaries to ascertain the condition and loyalty of your own people, and the strength and intentions of neighboring kingdoms.
“Make yourself loved by the people. Rule the kingdom in a way that wins the good wishes and devotion of your subjects. Conduct yourself with your mind fully subdued.
“Such a ruler, who protects his kingdom and the very earth with his nurturing care, is a joy to his friends and all the people, and the nectar of immortality to the Devas.”
After taking leave of his father, Rāma walked directly to see his mother, the virtuous Kausalyā. Her palace rose before him like the white peak of a cloud. There the pious Queen Kausalyā waited with Queen Sumitrā by her side. Sītā and Lakshmana joined the two queens there, having already heard the good tidings.
“Surely I gave birth to you under an auspicious star,” said Kausalyā with tears of joy in her eyes as she embraced her son. “Today the gods have answered my prayers. May you live long, O Rāma, and conquer all your enemies.”
Having received his mother’s blessings, Rāma turned next to Lakshmana. “O brother, rule the kingdom with me. You are my other half, and only with you by my side can I enjoy the pleasures and fruits of being a king.”
And so Rāma took leave of his two mothers and his brother, and returned home with his radiant wife, Sītā, to begin preparations for the coronation.
—
THAT VERY DAY, the people of Ayodhyā began to decorate the city. Soon festive banners fluttered from every temple, mansion, and terrace. Lotus petals covered the roads, and the perfume of incense wafted through the air. Lining the streets were torches as large as trees, lighting the way at nightfall.
Having adorned the city, citizens dressed in fine jewelry and rainbow colors of silk poured into the streets to rejoice. On every street corner, bards and minstrels entertained with songs of celebration. Dancers and actors performed for the delighted crowds. Like an underground stream nourishing all the festivities, the chanting of the Veda echoed throughout the city. Their hearts swelling with joy and excitement like the rising tide of the sea, t
he people of Ayodhyā played like waves on the ocean.
Among all the subjects of King Dasharatha, there was only one who was unhappy. If anyone had looked up to the lofty peaks of Queen Kaikeyī’s palace late that afternoon, they would have seen a dark figure huddled on one of the upper balconies. Like a shadow over the moon, she darkened the brilliant festivities of Rāma’s coronation.
Her name was Mantharā, the old and hunchbacked servant of Queen Kaikeyī. Seeing the exultation of the people, she slammed the terrace door and ran as quickly as she could to bring her mistress disturbing news.
The king rejoiced to see his beloved son,
even as one would rejoice to see himself.
—Ayodhyā Kānda 3.37
CHAPTER 7
The Betrayal
How dare Mantharā speak
such traitorous words?
May her teeth break
into a thousand pieces.
May she fall into the fire of her own fury
and be consumed in the jaws of the earth.
How dare Kaikeyī betray her favorite son?
Like the graceful flowering vine
that hides a viper’s sting,
like sweet-smelling nightshade,
she snares the virtuous king
with fatal beauty.
Let her be stung by her own venom
rather than hurt the benevolent Rāma.
Yet she, too, follows the designs of the gods.
Mantharā was Queen Kaikeyī’s trusted servant, having served the queen’s parents even before Kaikeyī was born. It was Mantharā who had accompanied the young queen to her new home in Ayodhyā many years before. It was Mantharā who rejoiced when her queen became the favorite of King Dasharatha.
And it was Mantharā who attended Queen Kaikeyī when, after long years of waiting, she gave birth to the faithful Bharata. With her hunched back and deeply wrinkled face, Mantharā was not beautiful to look upon. But she had proven her loyalty to the family over many decades, and was the queen’s tie to her ancestral home. If anything, Mantharā was loyal to a fault—although until now, she had not revealed her selfish ambitions.
The Ramayana Page 6