Now, on the eve of Rāma’s coronation, Mantharā burst into Queen Kaikeyī’s private apartments and woke her with a violent shake, shouting, “O my innocent lady, how can you sleep when your destruction is at hand?” At first, the lovely queen feared that a misfortune had fallen on her most trusted servant.
“What is troubling you, dear Mantharā?” asked the queen in concerned tones. “Please, tell me what has caused you to feel so distressed.”
Mantharā’s mind churned with dark thoughts and malicious schemes. “O heart of my heart, I am frightened for your welfare,” she said. “Here your husband calls you his favorite, but he schemes to undermine you. Like a snake, he sent Bharata away to visit your father so he can craftily install Rāma as king. The coronation takes place tomorrow, while Bharata is away. Act quickly, innocent one, to stop this devious act, and save yourself and your son from destruction!”
“Rāma is being crowned tomorrow?” Queen Kaikeyī asked. Her voice lifted in happiness. Living a protected life in her inner chambers, she relied on others to tell her the news of the court. She rose quickly from her bed and gave the angry old woman a large, precious blue sapphire.
“For your good news, take this, O faithful one,” exclaimed the queen, her face shining. “Rāma will be a just and noble king. He will bring happiness to all. These tidings fill me with ecstasy. Have I not loved Rāma as my own son? Rāma will make a splendid king.” She sank on her couch, smoothing the luxurious velvet with her hands and repeating over and over in a happy dream, “My Rāma will be king.”
Mantharā began to moan and threw herself on the floor. She flung the blue sapphire across the room.
“O beautiful lady, I am in the pit of despair. The fire of grief consumes me, for with Bharata’s destruction comes your destruction, and also my own. Once Rāma is installed, his mother, Kausalyā, will rid herself of her rivals. You will become a slave, and your son Bharata will be nothing but a mere servant to Rāma. The women of Rāma’s household are rejoicing today. The women of your household should be weeping, for they will be ruined.”
The innocent Kaikeyī laughed. “How can you say such things about Rāma? He is the eldest son, and it is his birthright to become king. Besides, everyone knows that he is compassionate, just, honest, kind, loyal, and faithful to Dharma. He will protect his brothers like a father. After ruling for a hundred years, he will surely turn the throne over to Bharata. As for his mother, the pious Kausalyā, she has always been kind to me. Why are you so distressed, dear Mantharā, when this joyous event will bring immeasurable delight to all?”
These soothing and sensible words only increased Mantharā’s fury. She sighed deeply and moaned. “These words of yours afflict me, because you are unaware of the ocean of sorrow that awaits you. Rāma will become king and his son will succeed him, not your Bharata. Thus it has been since time immemorial. Rāma will start his own dynasty. He will never harm Lakshmana, as the love and trust between Rāma and Lakshmana are known the world over. But once in power, without doubt he will banish the younger sons, Bharata and Shatrughna, or put them to death.”
At the thought of Bharata being killed, a searing pain struck Queen Kaikeyī’s heart. As if a veil had fallen over her eyes, she started to see truth in Mantharā’s false and destructive words.
Seeing her queen weakening, Mantharā drove her wedge in deeper, again and again spewing ugly lies. “It is Bharata who will suffer. He is Rāma’s rival. All this wealth, all this luxury, all the favors of King Dasharatha cannot save you from being abandoned once Rāma is king. You will be penniless and die a beggar. Be wise and save yourself from perishing!”
Gradually, over the next hour, the words of the malevolent Mantharā wormed their way into Kaikeyī’s emotions, finally finding their target. Kaikeyī’s face flushed with terror at the thought of being humiliated and abandoned. After all, she had always been the favorite, ever since she came to the court. Her heart pounded and she clawed the royal couch with her nails.
“But what can I do to save Bharata?” she cried out. She rose from the couch and staggered to the window. Her inner chambers faced a courtyard, so she could not hear the people of Ayodhyā joyfully preparing for Rāma’s coronation. The sound of her own pulse pounded in her ears like storm waves crashing on the rocks. Overcome with fear, she sank back onto the royal cushions. “The coronation will surely happen tomorrow,” she moaned.
“O lovely one, listen to my plan,” said the vengeful Mantharā. “Many years ago, didn’t you save King Dasharatha’s life in the conflict between the Devas and the asuras? When your lord fainted from battle wounds, was it not you who seized the reins of the chariot and bore him to safety? In gratitude, did he not grant you two boons?”
Kaikeyī started to smile. “But I never used them!”
“Exactly. Now is the time to ask for your boons. Ask first for Rāma’s coronation to be stopped and for Bharata to be installed as king. Then ask King Dasharatha to exile Rāma to the forest for fourteen years. During those long years, the people will forget Rāma and will come to love Bharata. Thus your son will enjoy a lasting and prosperous reign.”
Kaikeyī was now completely in the grip of Mantharā’s twisted mind. “Yes,” she said, her fingers distractedly wringing her sārī. “I see that only your plan will save me now.”
“Once the water has run out of the pond, it does no good to build a dam,” intoned Mantharā. “Go now to the chamber of anger, O lotus-eyed beauty. Cast off your jewels and silks. Wait for your lord there. When he sees you filled with grief, he will do anything in his power to please you.”
Like a colt being led down the wrong path, Kaikeyī, filled with anger and fear, did what the old woman told her. For the first time in her life, she entered the chamber of anger. Shedding her silk and gold sārī, she replaced it with a soiled, plain garment. She removed her jewels and flung them on the floor. She lay on the ground moaning, her hair loose and ragged. There was only one thought in her mind: to save herself and her son from destruction.
Mantharā followed her into the chamber to give her a last bit of poisonous advice. “The king will offer you jewels, a kingdom, wealth of all kinds, anything to save his precious Rāma. But you must remember that if Rāma is crowned tomorrow, that will be the end for you and Bharata!”
Then the wicked woman, satisfied that she had infected Kaikeyī with her evil plans, crept away to await the queen in her private apartments.
Like a viper ready to strike, Queen Kaikeyī lay in wait for the king.
—
“I HAVE NOT yet told Kaikeyī of the festivities,” King Dasharatha thought as he made his way to his favorite wife’s palace that evening. He had spent the day making the final arrangements for Rāma’s coronation, and now he wanted to rest and rejoice.
Inside Kaikeyī’s palace, he was greeted by the calls of peacocks, cranes, and swans, intertwined with the melodies of vīnā, flute, and drum. Flowering vines shaded the verandah, and the fragrant blossoms of magnolia and mango trees scented the air. Fruit hung heavy on trees, reflected in clear pools lined with flowers. Scattered throughout the garden, benches of ivory, gold, and silver awaited visitors, who were served sweet drinks and other refreshments.
As he entered Kaikeyī’s inner apartments, the king knew immediately that something was wrong. For the first time in their long marriage, Kaikeyī was not waiting for him on her luxurious couch. Shaken, he called out for her in distress.
With head bowed low, trembling with the weight of her words, a humble servant whispered, “Your Majesty, the queen has entered the chamber of anger.”
The king could barely believe his ears. What could be wrong with his tenderhearted queen, whom he loved more than life itself? He ran quickly to the chamber of wrath. There on the hard floor lay his precious Kaikeyī, her ornaments and clothing scattered about her like a creeper torn from a tree. The sight of his cherished wife suffering was too much
for the aged king, who fell to the floor beside her like a leaf crumpling in the wind.
“O darling one, who has caused you to lie like a fawn separated from its mother? Whosoever has done you an injustice, speak the name and they shall be punished. Indeed, in my love for you I am unable to refuse you anything. I and the entire kingdom are here to fulfill your every desire, even if it costs me my life. Rise and tell me what troubles you, and I will end your troubles, just as the sun dispels the morning mist.”
Kaikeyī, completely entangled in Mantharā’s deadly web, answered these loving words with cunning ones. “My Lord, no one has insulted me. But I have a wish that I want you to grant me. If you first promise to fulfill it, then I will tell you what it is.”
The king smiled tenderly and stroked her hair. “You who are dearer to me than all save Rāma, you must know that I will do anything to please you. In the name of Rāma himself, that tiger among men, I promise to fulfill your wish.”
Now the devious queen had heard the words she wanted to hear, for she knew her husband would never go back on his word. In his blind and passionate love, he fell into her trap like a fly caught in a spider’s web.
“You have promised in the name of Rāma to fulfill my wish. I call on the gods, the sun, the moon, the planets and all that is sacred on this earth to witness your promise.”
“Of course, my lovely one,” said King Dasharatha, perplexed by her tone.
“You will recall that many years ago I saved your life on the battlefield. At that time you offered me two boons. Now I wish to claim those boons.”
“Anything you wish is yours,” said King Dasharatha, who was now seated at her feet.
Untouched by her husband’s gentle words, under the influence of the vengeful Mantharā, Kaikeyī stood over the king, and in a harsh voice uttered the words that would shatter her husband’s life.
“First, I wish you to stop the coronation of Rāma and crown Bharata instead. For the second boon, I wish you to banish Rāma to the dreaded Dandaka Forest. There he will remain for fourteen years. These are my wishes, and let all that is sacred in this world hold you true to your word, for it is said that nothing is more important than keeping a vow.”
These words were so cruel and unexpected that at first the king felt paralyzed, his heart so filled with pain he could barely move. “Am I awake or am I caught in a nightmare?” he wondered. Then his mind collapsed under the weight of Kaikeyī’s heartless words, and he fainted on the floor at her feet.
When he came to his senses, he remembered the queen’s request and trembled. The one he loved had become his enemy, and he felt like a doe beside a lion.
“Shame to you!” he cried out. “How can you harm Rāmachandra, who is blameless? He has treated you with love and tenderness; indeed he has shown you more affection than your own son! You have always said that Rāma is as dear to you as Bharata. Why do you wish to kill me and destroy my dynasty?”
Again and again the king pleaded with her. But he was unable to undo what Mantharā had done.
Hardening her heart, the obstinate queen lifted her chin and said with flashing eyes, “If you refuse to keep your promise to me, what kind of king will you be? Your ancestors gave up their lives to keep their promises. What will the future generations think of you? I swear that I will not rest until Bharata is king and Rāma banished to the forest.”
Seeing that Kaikeyī could not be moved, the king again fell to the floor, like a tree uprooted. His mind thrashed about wildly. Weeping, he begged her to change her mind.
“How can I live without my son? Do not inflict this curse upon me and my beloved Rāma, who has never uttered a harsh word to any person and who will never say a word of protest to me. If I say, ‘Go to the forest,’ he will only say, ‘So be it.’”
Now beseeching Kaikeyī on his knees, Dasharatha tried to touch her feet.
The scornful queen recoiled from him. The king lay on the floor, groaning like a madman.
Rāma will never say a word of protest to me.
If I say, “Go to the forest,” he will only say, “So be it.”
—Ayodhyā Kānda 12.85
CHAPTER 8
On the Coronation Day
On the coronation day
flags and flowers adorn Rāma’s palace.
Garlands of sapphire drape the gracefully arched windows.
Sandalwood and aloe perfume its walls.
Cries of peacocks pierce the air.
Cranes stretch their legs in quiet, shaded pools.
Birds flit through gardens
in melodies of light.
Spotted deer gaze in sweet surprise
at golden statues and tall alabaster columns.
Like the sea swelling in waves,
the palace surges with happy, festive friends
gathered to honor their beloved Rāma.
Gifts of gold and silk they bring
on rainbow-covered elephants, horses, and chariots.
Rising like a billowing cloud to the heavens,
the palace of Rāma sings.
Sumantra was happy. He had spent his entire life serving his friend and king, yet he could not remember a day as fortunate as this. For today Rāma would be crowned king. Sumantra smiled as his chariot stopped again and again to make way for the stream of visitors crowding the streets, even as the dawn rose over the city. Colorful banners and garlands of flowers welcomed the guests on the royal highway. At every street corner, tables laden with lavish sweets and refreshing drinks provided refreshment. Merchants sold silks, gold ornaments, and fine goods of all kinds. Bonfires of sandalwood and aloe lit the morning sky.
Sumantra made his way to Rāma’s palace to deliver a message from King Dasharatha: Rāma was to come to the palace immediately. Actually, Sumantra remembered, it was Queen Kaikeyī who had ordered that Rāma be summoned.
Earlier that morning, Sumantra had entered the king’s palace singing songs of praise and happiness. “Wake up, O glorious emperor,” he sang. “Today the sun shines brighter, today the birds sing louder, today the people rejoice, for today your eldest son will be crowned king. All the people have gathered, and the revered Vasishtha and the wise pandits are ready. They have spread the sacred kusha grass over the coronation site, have collected in golden vessels the waters from the sacred Gangā and the seven seas. Honey, curds, butter, roasted grain, flowers, and fresh milk have been set out. The guests are waiting, the canopy has been raised, orchestras and singers are assembled to entertain the crowds. Rise and perform your happy duty, O most excellent among kings!”
It was strange, remembered Sumantra, how the king looked as if he hadn’t slept all night, and his eyes were red, as if he’d been weeping. And when King Dasharatha cried out, “O Sumantra, your happy words tear at my heart,” Sumantra did not know what to think.
But Queen Kaikeyī had quickly stepped forward to explain the king’s disheveled state. “O Sumantra, His Majesty has not slept well because he is so excited about Rāma’s coronation. He wishes for you to bring Rāma here without delay.”
“How can I do this unless the king himself commands me?” asked the ever-faithful Sumantra.
“Yes, Sumantra, bring my dearest son Rāma to me as quickly as possible,” Dasharatha whispered.
Sumantra bowed deeply and left the palace, reassured that all was well. Apparently the king wished to see Rāma once more before the coronation began.
Now at last, Sumantra reached Rāma’s palace and made his way through the multitude of friends and well-wishers arriving on richly decorated horses, elephants, and chariots. Everyone recognized Sumantra as the king’s most trusted minister, and Rāma’s guards showed him the greatest respect, escorting him quickly to Rāma’s private quarters.
There Sumantra beheld Rāma, dressed in heavy silk robes, seated on a golden couch like a god, smeared with rare sandal
wood paste. At his side sat the beautiful Sītā, like the moon in close orbit to the planet Jupiter. He knew the royal couple had spent the night fasting and the early morning performing sacred rites in preparation for this day.
“O Rāma,” said Sumantra, “your father, the king, and your mother, Queen Kaikeyī, desire to see you.”
Rāma rose lightly and bade Sītā goodbye. “No doubt there is some happy addition to the coronation ceremony that my mother and father wish to discuss with me. Would you like to rest here with your devoted attendants until I return?”
Sītā smiled. She said, “Today your father will crown you king, and I will bow down before you. May the four directions—north, south, east, and west—bless you. May you rule long and happily as emperor of this world.”
As he stepped out of his private chambers with Sumantra, Rāma was greeted by his brother Lakshmana, who was in the habit of waiting there to serve him. Rāma’s heart swelled with joy as they slowly made their way to the royal chariot through the throng. Like the sun moving across the sky, the two resplendent princes journeyed to the palace of their father in Rāma’s golden chariot.
As they drove to his father’s palace, crowds on all sides called out, “Jai Rāma! Jai Shrī Rāma!” and mounted their horses and elephants to follow their beloved Rāma in a parade. Trumpets blared in jubilation, the bards sang Rāma’s praises, and graceful ladies showered handfuls of flower petals from their balconies onto the princes below.
“Surely we are the most fortunate people on earth, to deserve such a king as Rāma,” said one.
“Ayodhyā has only fortune and happiness to look forward to,” said another.
“With Rāma as king, we will live a heavenly life,” was the joyful expression of a third.
The Ramayana Page 7