“O Sītā! There in the distance is our beloved Sarayu River, and next to it, Ayodhyā. Let us bow down to that fair city.”
The monkey chiefs could hardly keep from leaping out of the Pushpaka chariot when they saw the fabled city of Ayodhyā on the horizon, with its many-storied mansions reaching to the heavens and its crowds of elephants and horses.
But they were to wait one more day, for Rāma said, “There is Bharadvāja’s āshram, where we stayed the night. Let us stop there first.”
Rāma landed Pushpaka beside the hermitage. Later, after he and Sītā bowed to the great sage, Rāma asked, “What is the news of Ayodhyā? Is Bharata well and does he rule wisely? Are our mothers well?”
Rishi Bharadvāja smiled and addressed Rāma with love and respect. “O Rāma, your brother rules with justice and equanimity in your name, with your sandals on the throne before him. He wears the matted locks, just as you do. It makes me rejoice to see you now, returning after so many long years. By the power of my intuition, I know all that happened to you. I know that you killed the demon Rāvana. Now I wish for you to spend the night here and return to Ayodhyā tomorrow, which is the last day of your fourteen years of exile. But first, I wish to grant you a boon.”
Delighted, Rāma made his wish. “May all the trees growing between this holy place and Ayodhyā bear fruit year-round, and may the fruits be plentiful and sweet as honey.”
“So be it,” said the great sage. And at that instant, the trees from the āshram to Ayodhyā became filled with luscious fruit on every branch, and even the dead and barren ones bowed low with ripened mangoes, papayas, oranges, jackfruit, and bananas. The monkey chiefs feasted on the fruit and rejoiced as if they had landed in heaven.
As he rested at Bharadvāja’s āshram, Rāma sat deep in thought. Then he said to Hanumān, “I think it would be best if you went ahead to see if everything is well at the palace. Stop first beside the River Gangā to give my greetings to Guha, a friend so dear to me that he is like my other self. He will be delighted to hear we are back.
“Then give Bharata my greetings. Tell him of all that has happened, of Sītā being stolen and the destruction of Rāvana. Tell him how we met our father once again, thanks to the blessings of Lord Shiva. Tell him that I now return with powerful friends, that I have defeated my enemies, winning unparalleled glory. Watch his face carefully to see how he feels about my return. If his face blanches, or if he frowns, you will know what he is thinking. If he is enjoying his rule and wants to remain in power, then he should continue to rule as he is now.”
Hanumān, ever eager to serve Rāma even when the task was difficult, took the form of a man and flew toward Ayodhyā. Swift as the king of the birds, he passed over the woods and the river and landed on his feet at Guha’s kingdom.
“Your dear friend Rāma has returned,” said Hanumān to the surprised forest king. “He sends his greeting. Soon you will see him and Sītā and Lakshmana.”
Then Hanumān rose into the air again, his hair standing on end. He passed over all the flowering trees and landed in Nandigrāma, the peaceful village outside Ayodhyā where Bharata had spent the last fourteen years. There under a banyan tree sat Bharata, his hair piled high on his head in the matted locks of an ascetic, his body thin and dusty from living outdoors and subsisting only on roots and fruits. Devoted to Dharma, he had spent the years of Rāma’s exile living an austere life in Nandigrāma, just as his brother had in the forest.
Hanumān approached quietly and stood humbly before Bharata, who nodded for him to proceed.
“You will be happy to know that Shrī Rāma will soon return,” said Hanumān in his simple, eloquent speech.
Bharata, whose mind had been totally absorbed in Rāma for fourteen years, collapsed in relief. When he recovered, Bharata clasped Hanumān to his breast again and again. His tears soaked Hanumān’s clothing. “For these happy words, I will give you a hundred thousand cows.”
After inviting Hanumān to be seated, he said, “This is the first news I have heard of Rāma since last meeting him at Chitrakūta. It is true, then, that happiness will come to every man even if he has to wait a hundred years! Now tell me all that has happened since Rāma left there.”
And so Hanumān, who loved Rāma as much as Bharata did, told that faithful brother, the knower of Dharma, the remarkable tale of Rāma’s feats. He told the story of the war, and how the valiant monkeys and bears had helped Rāma to win over Rāvana.
“He is waiting by the River Gangā, at the hermitage of Bharadvāja,” concluded Hanumān. “Once he receives word from me, he will come at once.” Bharata immediately dispatched a messenger to bring his brother home.
“My heart’s deepest desires are being fulfilled at last,” said Bharata to Shatrughna, who was never far from his side. The two brothers embraced, overjoyed that they would soon be reunited with Rāma and Lakshmana.
Thinking of the people of Ayodhyā, Bharata next asked Shatrughna to ensure that the road between Nandigrāma and Ayodhyā was smoothed and paved. Shatrughna immediately placed a thousand men on the task.
“Let the people sprinkle cool water and scatter flower petals and puffed rice,” Bharata announced joyfully. “Let them decorate their homes with banners and garlands.”
The next morning the three queen mothers joyously traveled from Ayodhyā to Nandigrāma to await Rāma, along with thousands of townsfolk riding in chariots or mounted on elephants and horses. The earth shook and the air roared with the boom of kettle drums and blast of conch shells. The people wore their most festive clothing and precious jewels.
Bharata walked slowly to the gates of Nandigrāma, holding his brother’s sandals on his head with both hands, as the chanting of the Vedas filled the air.
“Is Rāma really coming?” Bharata suddenly asked Hanumān, so anxious was he to see his brother.
“I have heard the clamor of monkeys feasting on the fruits supplied by Bharadvāja’s boon,” said Hanumān. “And now here is Rāma, riding in the flowery chariot Pushpaka.”
As the people of Ayodhyā watched in awe, Pushpaka, drawn by swans, appeared like the moon floating in the summer sky.
“Jai Shrī Rāma!” cried the crowd again and again, their hands folded in reverence like a thousand lotus petals. “Jai Shrī Rāma!”
The magnificent chariot gracefully came to rest, and Rāma’s feet touched the earth. When Bharata prostrated himself on the ground in front of him, Rāma raised him up and embraced him. Tears of affection flowed from both brothers’ eyes. Bharata bowed to Sītā and embraced Lakshmana.
Then as Hanumān announced the name of each of Rāma’s friends, Bharata embraced each one as his own brother and recited their praises. For he had come to know Sugrīva, Jāmbavān, Angada, Nīla, Nala, and Sushena from Hanumān’s stories of Rāma’s journey.
“You are like a fifth brother to us now,” he said to Sugrīva.
And to Vibhīshana he said, “Thanks to your timely help the impossible was accomplished.”
In turn, Rāma bowed to his mother, Kausalyā, and touched her feet. Grown thin through years of loneliness and longing, she raised him up and held him close as she shed tears of joy. Rāma bowed to Sumitrā, Kaikeyī, and Shatrughna, and was embraced by all.
“Welcome, the delight of Kausalyā!” cried the people of Ayodhyā.
Bharata raised high Rāma’s sandals and then placed them at Rāma’s feet with reverence. “My heart is fulfilled, for today I return the kingdom to you. I offer you the treasury, the grain stores, and the army, for by your grace all have increased tenfold.”
Hearing Bharata’s loving speech, all present wept with joy. His kingdom secured, Rāma turned to Pushpaka and said, “Return to Kubera, and may you serve him well.” With those words, the marvelous car rose into the sky and flew away on white swans’ wings.
Rāma walked with his family and well-wishers to the modest hut that ha
d served as Bharata’s home and the seat of his kingdom for fourteen years. There at last Rāma saw Vasishtha waiting outside. He warmly clasped the feet of his revered family guru, who was as dear to him as his own self.
“I can no more rule this kingdom than can a newborn calf,” proclaimed Bharata. “Let Rāma be crowned king today. As long as the earth spins and the planets orbit the sun, he will rule over us all.”
When Rāma agreed, the cheering lasted so long that his eyes filled with tears of gratitude. Immediately, the preparations for his long-awaited coronation began. Taking an auspicious seat inside the hut, Rāma granted the royal barbers permission to cut off his matted locks. The attendants gave him a royal bath, and did the same for Lakshmana, Vibhīshana, and Rāma’s friends. In another hut the royal women took delight in attending to Sītā, and Mother Kausalyā lovingly attended to Tārā and all the wives of the army chiefs.
Later, adorned with fresh silken robes, garlands of flowers, and ornaments of gold and jewels, Rāma and Sītā took their seats in the royal chariot at the head of the royal procession. As they started on the road to Ayodhyā, Bharata held the reins, Shatrughna raised the white umbrella of the king, and Lakshmana waved the white yak-tail fan. All along the way pandits chanted the Vedas while Devas, Gandharvas, and Rishis showered rose petals from above. The people of Ayodhyā poured out of the city to line the highway blowing conches, beating drums, ringing bells, and calling out auspicious salutations to their beloved king. Rāma repeatedly bestowed his thanks and blessings on all.
Following the royal chariot came Rāma’s army chiefs, riding on elephants. Troupes of dancers and musicians performed festive songs, while Brahmins in orange robes scattered saffron rice and chanted hymns. Bards sang his praises as Rāma triumphantly entered the fabled city of his birth.
As they made their way through streets adorned with colorful flowers and banners on every balcony, Rāma said to Bharata, “Give Sugrīva my palace to live in, with its aloe and sandalwood walls and its inner garden of flowering ashoka trees.”
And so Bharata brought the chariot to the gate of Rāma’s palace, took Sugrīva by the hand and led him inside. Attendants greeted the other guests with traditional greetings of light, the chiming of bells, and Vedic chanting and led them to spacious rooms.
Bharata held out four golden urns inlaid with pearls and jewels. “Would the army chiefs honor us by collecting water from the four seas?” he asked Sugrīva. At Sugrīva’s command, Jāmbavān brought water from the eastern sea, Gavaya delivered water from the western sea, Rishabha from the southern sea, and Hanumān from the north. Others carried water from the five hundred rivers.
When the water had been collected, they entered a special coronation hall with gold on all sides, and at the auspicious time Vasishtha instructed Rāma and Sītā to be seated on a throne covered with brilliant gems. With the chanting of the four Vedas reverberating throughout the hall, Vasishtha, Vāmadeva, Kashyapa, Gautama, and the other holy sages joyfully anointed the head of Rāma with fragrant oils.
Then they sprinkled the sacred waters from the four seas and the five hundred rivers on his head. Next maidens and ministers, warriors and merchants also gladly sprinkled water on Rāma’s head, as was the custom from ancient times. The Devas and the guardians of the four quarters blessed Rāma with the juices of every celestial herb.
Then Vasishtha placed on Rāma’s head the golden crown of his ancestors, fashioned by Brahmā for Manu, the first king of the solar dynasty. The other sages adorned Rāma with jewels. Throughout the festivities Shatrughna held the white umbrella over Rāma’s head while Lakshmana and Hanumān never tired of fanning Rāma with the white yak-tail fans.
Vāyu, the god of the wind, presented Rāma with a hundred golden lotuses and a necklace of pearls and precious gems. The Gandharvas sang heavenly songs, and celestial nymphs danced in delight.
To each of the Brahmins in the kingdom, Rāma distributed ten thousand horses and an equal number of cows, a hundred bulls, thirty crores of gold, costly clothing, and golden ornaments. He bestowed on Sugrīva a garland of gold and jewels that shone like a thousand suns.
To Angada he presented a pair of gold arm-bracelets set with blue sapphire, diamonds, and emeralds. To Vibhīshana, Hanumān, Jāmbavān, Nīla, Nala, and all the vānara chiefs he gave costly jewelry as well as silken clothing.
Affectionately, he adorned Sītā with a necklace of rare pearls and gems. Then Sītā, glancing at Rāma for his approval, unclasped the pearls from her own neck.
“Yes,” said Rāma, seeing what she meant to do. “Give the necklace to the one who served you with strength and courage, skill and cleverness, power and intelligence.”
Thus, as a token of her infinite gratitude, the dark-eyed Sītā gave Hanumān her own necklace. On his powerful chest, it looked like a halo of light circling the shining moon. Hanumān humbly bowed his head, forever the faithful servant of Rāma and Sītā.
—
AFTER THE JUBILANT day of Rāma’s coronation, Rāma’s friends reluctantly said their goodbyes, hearts saddened to leave Rāma, and returned to their homes in Kishkindhā and Lankā.
After their departure Rāma turned his mind to the affairs of ruling his kingdom. Grateful to Lakshmana for his unfailing service over the fourteen years of exile, Rāma said, “Lakshmana, you are my equal and you know Dharma. Share the kingdom with me and become the crown prince.”
But Lakshmana, ever modest, declined again and again. So Rāma made Bharata the prince regent of the kingdom.
Renowned for his generosity, victorious over his enemies, and famed throughout the world, Rāma ruled the kingdom with happiness and justice for ten thousand years. Like his father, Rāma performed hundreds of yagyas to gain support of nature, including one hundred ceremonies of the rare Ashvamedha Yagya. Performing so many of these auspicious yet difficult royal yagyas made him a king of kings, a ruler of the whole earth. Ever generous and magnanimous, Rāma used his power and wealth to bring peace and prosperity to all.
In the whole of Rāma’s realm there was no one who suffered from bodily pains, ill fortune, or evil circumstances. Every man loved his neighbor and, contented with the state of life to which he had been born, was guided by sound morality and the teaching of scripture.
The four pillars of life—Dharma, Artha, Kāma, and Moksha—were established throughout the world. Men and women alike were devoted to worship and enjoyed the blessings of the highest heaven.
In the reign of Rāma, there was no sickness and no premature death. Everyone was fit and sound of body. No one suffered from poverty, sorrow, or distress. No one was ignorant or unlucky.
All men and women were naturally good and generous, clever and intelligent. Everyone appreciated the merits of his neighbor and was himself learned and wise. Everyone expressed gratitude for kindnesses offered to them by others. With their hearts ever one with Rāma’s, they never quarreled with each other. Husbands and wives were devoted to each other and their children.
Rāma bestowed untold riches on the sages, who guided the people with wisdom, and wealth was enjoyed by all. The people of Ayodhyā found their spiritual leaders and king to be the embodiment of Dharma.
The forest was ever laden with flowers and fruit. Beasts of prey forgot their animosities and lived in harmony with one another. Honey bees softly hummed, and the cooing of birds thrilled the ear. The earth was abundant with crops and yielded jewels of every description.
Rivers flowed with an abundance of refreshing water. Lotus flowers thronged the ponds and flavored the water with sweetness. There was no fear of violent storms, and the seas remained within their bounds, casting forth pearls on their shores for all to gather. Every quarter of the world lived in happiness.
The air was mild and pleasantly cool, fragrant with flowers, and the wind felt pleasant to the touch. The sun radiated only as much heat as was comfortable, and the clouds poured forth only w
hen desired in the days when Rāma was king.
In the reign of Rāma, the trees in the forest were ever
laden with flowers and fruit. Clouds sent down rain
only when desired, and the wind felt pleasant to the touch.
—Yuddha Kānda 128.103
End of the Yuddha Kānda
SEVEN
Uttara Kānda
Epilogue
Epilogue
The milky moon sets in the western sky
as the radiant sun fills the eastern quarter with warmth,
each a glorious act of creation.
Gaze on one,
and you turn from the other.
Gaze on the other,
and you turn from the one.
Such is a conflict in Dharma.
Rāma, the master of Dharma,
must choose between the Dharma of a husband
and the Dharma of a king—
a sacrifice for Sītā,
a sacrifice for Rāma,
but pleasing to Dharma.
Several years passed after Rāma and Sītā returned to Ayodhyā, and they lived happily with the support of Rāma’s brothers and the able ministers of the king. Rāma built Sītā a garden next to the palace, filled with beautiful sandalwood, mango, coconut, and ashoka trees. Vines and bushes offered up fragrant flowers and fruits. Bees flocked there, as did colorful birds. Steps inlaid with sparkling gems led to ponds covered with lotus blossoms and graced by parrots, swans, cranes, and peacocks. Enclosed by flat rocks, the ponds glimmered in the sun by day and reflected the moon by night. It was as beautiful as the divine gardens of Indra and Kubera.
Each day after Rāma settled the affairs of the state, he walked with Sītā in the garden and gave her fruit drinks and other delights for her enjoyment. One day, while they were sitting in the garden, Sītā, glowing like a celestial, told Rāma that she was with child. Rāma was overjoyed and gladly offered Sītā anything her heart desired.
The Ramayana Page 40