“What kind and compassionate words, fitting of one so chaste and pure,” Hanumān cried. “Give me your message and I will deliver it to Rāma.”
“I long to see my husband, the refuge of all,” she said simply.
When the intelligent Hanumān returned to Rāma with this message, Rāma’s eyes filled with tears of happiness. Yet he seemed terribly distressed. Sighing deeply, Rāma said to Vibhīshana, “Dear friend, bring Sītā here after she bathes and adorns herself in gold and jewels and precious scents.”
When Vibhīshana flew to Sītā’s side in the Ashoka Grove and relayed this message to her, she fingered her dust-covered hair and said, “I wish to see my husband as I am now.”
Taken aback, Vibhīshana said, “It behooves you to follow your husband’s wishes. My wife’s attendants will bring you fresh garments and attend to your needs.”
“So be it,” said Sītā, who above all was devoted to Rāma. In the royal bath, she shed her soiled garments. She bathed, washed her hair, and braided it carefully. Then she smeared her limbs with auspicious oils and scents, and dressed in the glorious silken sārī that Vibhīshana’s wife provided. Sītā adorned herself with precious gems and gold, and once again shone like the Devi Shrī herself. Her heart tranquil and at peace, she stepped into the royal palanquin, eager to see Rāma.
—
WHILE SĪTĀ WAS feeling only happiness, Rāma was consumed by joy mixed with heartbreak. There was something he had to do, even though he wished with all his heart that he could avoid it.
When Sītā’s palanquin came into sight, Rāma did not rush to greet her. “Bring Sītā to me,” Rāma ordered Vibhīshana in a strangely harsh voice.
Vibhīshana, out of respect for Sītā, dispersed the crowd of monkeys and rākshasas who were gathered, driving them away so Sītā could meet Rāma in private.
“Stop!” Rāma cried. “Why do you treat my friends like this? It is a woman’s conduct that protects her, not seclusion from crowds. In times of disaster and war it is permissible for a princess to be seen by her people. Let Sītā come to me on foot.”
Hearing Rāma’s harsh words, Lakshmana, Sugrīva, and Hanumān stared sadly at their feet. When Sītā walked toward Rāma through the army of monkeys, her face radiated love and anticipation. Though her body was thin, her purity and devotion made her appear as beautiful as the full moon in the dark sky.
She reached Rāma and waited humbly before him, her hands folded in respect.
Instead of embracing his devoted wife, Rāma spoke to Sītā loudly, so all could hear: “Today I have freed you from the demon and have obliterated the insult done to me. Today I have erased the stain of your abduction.
“I have won you back, but now there is suspicion regarding your conduct. How could I, who was born into an illustrious house, take back a wife who has sat in the lap of Rāvana? Surely he could not resist your celestial and earthly beauty. With Rāvana’s death, I have freed myself from dishonor. Now I release you from any attachment to me. Choose another husband and go.”
Sītā’s eyes, large as two lotuses, flooded with tears. Rāma felt his heart breaking in two, but he stood steadfast, his face without expression. He did not rescind his shocking words.
Her voice trembling with emotion, Sītā answered his harsh words with gentle ones. Wiping away her tears, she said, “Brave hero, how can you address me as if I were a common woman? I swear to you, my conduct has been pure. If my body came in contact with Rāvana when he carried me through the skies, it was against my will. I could not control that fate. But my heart, which is under my control, has never swayed from union with you. If you do not know this by now, my loss is too heavy to bear.
“Have you forgotten that in our youth we clasped hands before the sacred fire? If you meant to abandon me, why didn’t you ask Hanumān to tell me earlier? I would have ended my life then and saved you all this trouble.” At this, Sītā could contain her pain no longer and broke down in sobs.
Lakshmana, Hanumān, Sugrīva, and all the monkeys present could not restrain their tears. When Sītā realized that Rāma would not even look at her, she lifted her chin and said in a strong voice, “Lakshmana, build me a pyre. For there is no reason for me to live, now that my beloved husband has banished me from his heart.”
Lakshmana, clearly in agony over Sītā’s words, looked to Rāma for guidance. When Rāma, stone-faced, nodded in assent, with great reluctance Lakshmana built the pyre, tears streaming down his face. No one dared speak or even look up, so piercing was the pain in their hearts.
When the flames leapt high, Sītā folded her hands together and cried out to the fire, “O Agni, the witness of all, if I have always been true to Rāma, shield me from your flames! If I have always been pure in conduct, protect me from harm!”
With those words Sītā flung herself on the fire.
“Sītā, O Sītā!” lamented the women. Rākshasas and monkeys alike groaned and cried out in terror. Rāma could not stop his eyes from flooding with tears. His heart convulsed with grief.
Suddenly, a divine light filled the field. With Brahmā leading them, the Devas drove their sun-bright chariots from the heavens and landed in front of Rāma. They folded their hands together in reverence to him.
Then Indra, the king of the Devas, said, “How can you be so indifferent, when Sītā is in flames? You are the maintainer of the worlds, the self-created, the beginning, middle, and end of creation. You are acting as if you are a common man and Sītā is a common woman.”
Astounded by these words, Rāma said, “But I am just a man, the son of Dasharatha. If not he, who am I really?”
Brahmā, the grandsire of the world, answered him. “You are Lord Vishnu, the thrower of the discus, the protector of Rishis and men, the essence of the Veda. I am your heart and Sarasvatī your tongue. Sītā is none other than Shrī Lakshmī, your divine consort. At the request of the Devas and Rishis, you took this human body to kill Rāvana. Your strength is infinite, your glorious feats are endless. After your time on earth, you will return to heaven in glory.”
Then Brahmā himself put out the flames, and Agni delivered Sītā from the fire. She stood before Rāma untouched by the fire, her face radiant and her hair dark and curled, her lovely form adorned in a brilliant red sārī, her neck circled with fresh flower garlands. If anything, the fire had only increased her radiance, like gold burnished on an anvil.
“Behold your cherished wife, Sītā,” said Agni. “She is pure and without a taint of sin. She has proven that she has never been unfaithful to you, in thought or in deed. Even though tormented by her demon guards, she never strayed in her loyalty to you. Take her now, without any reproach.”
At last Rāma’s heart overflowed with joy. Beaming like the full moon, that valiant warrior revealed his innermost feelings to all. “I only asked Sītā to submit to this ordeal by fire for the sake of the people. It never entered my mind that Sītā was impure, not even for a second. Rāvana could not make her sway from her devotion to me any more than the ocean could dry up its infinite waters. She is to me what the light is to the sun. But I had to test her, or my subjects would have said my mind was blinded by desire. In reality I could not reject her, any more than a hero could reject his honor.”
With these words Rāma, who was loved by all for his noble qualities and deeds, full of glory and deserving of happiness, took Sītā by the hand and drew her to his side with great joy, for at last he was reunited with his beloved.
Lord Shiva spoke from above. “Now you must return to Ayodhyā. There you will comfort your mothers and Bharata, and bring glory to your race and wealth to your realm.”
Then Lord Shiva said something that amazed everyone even more, especially Rāma: “Welcome your father, whom I have brought from the heavenly realms to see you.”
As the entire assembly watched in awe and wonder, the illustrious King Dasharatha landed his celestia
l chariot in their midst and alighted from it. Rāma, Sītā, and Lakshmana bowed to him, their faces bathed in happy tears. Dasharatha embraced his two sons and said to Rāma, “Seeing you and Lakshmana brings me more fulfillment than my stay in heaven with the Devas. I am truly blessed, for you have redeemed my honor and my soul by keeping my promise to Kaikeyī. At last I am freed from the grief that Kaikeyī’s words caused me.
“Now I see that you came to earth as my son for the purpose of slaying Rāvana. You may return to Ayodhyā and reign over the kingdom with justice, so your mother Kausalyā can shed tears of joy.”
Rāma, ever thinking of others, pressed his palms together and said, “Dear Father, will you give your blessings to Kaikeyī and Bharata? Remember the curse you pronounced on them when you renounced your favorite queen?”
“I forgive Kaikeyī and send my blessings to her and Bharata!” Dasharatha proclaimed.
Then he again enfolded Lakshmana in his arms. To that noble warrior he said, “You have attained the highest glory by serving Rāma, the inner ruler of the universe, the essence of the Veda, the adored Purusha. Your fame on earth will never fade.”
To Sītā he gently said, “Do not blame Rāma for momentarily shunning you. It was for your own happiness that he proved your innocence. Having survived this ordeal, you will forever be revered above other women. I know you need no instruction, but he is the supreme lord of all.”
With these words, King Dasharatha mounted his golden chariot and drove away, fading into the heavens like the crescent moon.
All was quiet for a moment as the assembled crowd took in these wondrous events. Then Indra said, “O Rāma, we are pleased with your divine deeds. Name your desire and we will fulfill it.”
“I wish for all the brave monkeys and bears who have died for my sake to come back to life,” Rāma said. “I wish for those who were wounded to be restored to wholeness, their energy and strength increased. I wish for all members of my army to be happily reunited with their wives and families and to live long lives in contentment and prosperity. Let waters flow pure, fruits grow in abundance, and flowers bloom wherever these monkeys and bears live.”
“You have asked for a difficult boon, Rāma, but I have made a promise and I will fulfill it,” Indra said.
As the monkeys and bears watched, the wounds on their limbs miraculously healed. Those who lay dead on the battlefield suddenly sat up and rose to their feet, as if awakening from a deep sleep. There was a din and a tumult as comrades embraced and all were restored to their full health and vigor. Exuberant monkeys capered over each other and joyously leapt to the sky.
The Devas, Gandharvas, and Rishis smiled and showered flower petals on Rāma, who cared only for the welfare of all creatures. “Now return to Ayodhyā,” the Devas said in unison. “Fulfill your Dharma as the king of Ayodhyā and let the good people rejoice at last.”
Then the Devas faded from sight, leaving all to rejoice at their good fortune, radiantly happy under the protection of Rāma.
Rāma, who was loved by all for his noble deeds,
full of glory and deserving of happiness,
took Sītā by the hand and drew her to his side in great joy,
for at last he was reunited with his beloved.
—Yuddha Kānda 118.22
CHAPTER 52
Rāma Returns to Ayodhyā
In the reign of Rāma,
no woman was ever a widow,
no one suffered from sickness or disease
or old age.
In the reign of Rāma,
there were no thieves,
no calamities,
no pain in childbirth,
and no parents buried a child.
In the reign of Rāma,
people lived a thousand years.
No sorrow was known,
nor poverty, nor fear of
invasion or war.
Justice and peace
ruled the land.
In the reign of Rāma,
the seasons came on time,
the trees never ceased to flower
and bowed low with ripe fruit.
The wind was soft and playful
and clouds gave plentiful rains.
In the reign of Rāma,
birdsong filled the air,
beehives were laden with honey,
and the deer and the tiger
lived in harmony.
In the reign of Rāma,
crops clothed the land,
rivers flowed with cool water,
lotuses crowded the ponds,
and the fragrance of blossoming trees
perfumed the air.
In the reign of Rāma,
no one felt greed,
no one felt poor,
no one felt hungry,
and all were contented to do their duty,
whether their status was high or low.
In the reign of Rāma,
the people dwelled in happiness,
for they held Rāma in their hearts.
All spoke the truth,
all were beautiful to look upon,
and all were devoted to Dharma.
The next morning Vibhīshana invited Rāma to the palace for a royal bath. “Attendants await you with essential oils, silken clothes, and fragrant herbs,” he said.
“I think only of Bharata, who so faithfully serves me at home,” Rāma said. “I cannot rest until I see him. I must set out on the journey soon, for it is a long footpath home.”
“There is no need for you to wander so arduously,” said Vibhīshana. “I will lend you Pushpaka, the magical flying chariot that Rāvana stole from our half-brother Kubera, the god of wealth. I delayed in returning it so that I could offer it to you.”
Rāma was delighted and thanked his host.
“But I do hope, since now you can return home in one day, that you will spend some time first celebrating with me here,” Vibhīshana said. “It would do me great honor to be able to entertain you and lavish luxuries on you and Sītā. It is the least I can do after all you have done for me.”
“You have already proven your friendship by your skill in fighting and your loyalty and service to me,” Rāma replied. “Now I feel I owe it to Bharata to return home as quickly as possible. My heart longs to see him and Shatrughna, my mothers Kausalyā, Sumitrā, and Kaikeyī, and all the people of Ayodhyā. My work is completed here. Please do not take offense; but you have already honored me in every possible way.”
Hearing Rāma’s wishes, Vibhīshana summoned the majestic chariot to him. It glided through the air directed merely by thought.
As Rāma prepared to board the celestial chariot Pushpaka, Vibhīshana placed his hands together in respect and said humbly, “Trusted friend, before you leave, please advise me on what I should do next.”
“Reward all the monkeys and bears with gifts of precious gems, gold, and other valuables,” Rāma advised. “These warriors deserve the highest honor, for they have valiantly thrown themselves into battle again and again, without fear or thought of their own lives. This will bring you glory, for all will see how magnanimous and generous you are.”
After sharing other wise words of advice, Rāma bade his dear friends and noble allies farewell, praising Sugrīva, Hanumān, Jāmbavān, and Vibhīshana.
Before Rāma took his leave, Vibhīshana again stepped forward and humbly requested, his eyes overflowing with tears, “O compassionate one, our hearts are breaking to be parted from you so soon. It is the innermost desire of our hearts to go with you to Ayodhyā. We wish to see you crowned king and anointed with the sacred waters.”
Rāma smiled. “Nothing could make me happier than to welcome all my dear friends and supporters to Ayodhyā. In this way I can honor you in some small way for the magnificent servi
ce you have given me.”
Then Rāma stepped inside the chariot with Sītā and Lakshmana. Taking Sītā by the hand, Rāma sat her on his lap, and she shyly accepted this exhibition of love. Vibhīshana and his ministers took their seats at Rāma’s feet. Sugrīva, Hanumān, Nīla, Nala, and all the monkey chiefs, as well as Jāmbavān, his brother Dhumra, and the bear chiefs, also boarded the astonishing celestial chariot, which magically expanded so that there was ample room for everyone to sit comfortably.
Filled with Rāma and his retinue, with all the happy monkeys and bears, the chariot rose like a majestic cloud at Rāma’s silent command. As they flew over the ocean to the land where he had once walked with Lakshmana, Rāma pointed out the sights to Sītā. “See the bridge we built to rescue you from Rāvana. And from here, the invincible Hanumān leapt across the boundless sea to deliver my message to you. There, my lotus-eyed one, is Kishkindhā, the monkey kingdom where Sugrīva fought Bāli.”
When she saw Kishkindhā, Sītā said softly, “It would make me happy to invite Tārā, and all the wives of Sugrīva and the monkey chiefs, to accompany me to Ayodhyā.”
And so Rāma, eager to please his tenderhearted wife, ordered the car to land in Kishkindhā. There he requested Sugrīva and the other monkey chiefs to invite their wives.
The wives, of course, were beside themselves with joy to see their husbands again. Delighted by Sītā’s invitation, they adorned themselves with silks and precious ornaments. Led by Tārā of lovely limbs, they circled the celestial car and entered it.
High in the air they flew over Mount Rishyamūka, where Rāma and Lakshmana first met Hanumān. “Here is the beautiful Lake Pampā, where I wandered desolate without you,” said Rāma. “And over there is the tree where Jatāyu fought the wicked Rāvana, attempting to save you. And there is Janasthāna, where I killed the fourteen thousand rākshasas, and there our charming hermitage in Panchavatī, where Rāvana so hatefully carried you off.
“And look, there are the āshrams of Agastya, and Sutīkshna, and Sharabhanga, where we glimpsed Indra. See there the āshram of Atri, where Anasūyā gave you the celestial ornaments. And there is Chitrakūta, my dearest one, where we lived so happily. And far ahead is the spot where we met Guha so long ago.
The Ramayana Page 39