The Ramayana
Page 41
“I would like to visit the sages on the banks of the River Gangā once again, as we did years ago,” she said.
“So be it, my lovely lady,” answered Rāma. “You shall go as soon as you wish, tomorrow, if that is your desire.” Then he retired to his private chambers.
Inside, Rāma, full of delight, met with his ministers. Rāma questioned them, saying, “Tell me, what do the good citizens of Ayodhyā say about me?”
One of the ministers, Bhadra, answered carefully, “They speak of your brave conquest of Rāvana and of your fair hand in ruling the kingdom.”
Rāma inquired further. “Tell me everything, Bhadra. Leave nothing out. Tell me the ill as well as the good, so that I may improve what needs to be improved. Tell me without fear.”
And so Bhadra told Rāma what had been weighing on his heart for some time. “The people do speak well of your conquest over Rāvana, but they are speaking ill words about Sītā. They say, ‘Sītā sat in the lap of Rāvana and lived with him for many months. Why doesn’t Rāma censure her? If he accepts her behavior, then our wives will act as she has, for as is the ruler, so are the ruled.’”
Rāma’s mind whirled and he felt faint. “Could my people have such short memories to have forgotten that Sītā entered the fire yet remained unharmed, because of her purity?”
Rāma turned to the other ministers. “Can this be true?” he asked. Bowing their heads to hide their distress, his trusted ministers confirmed that the people harbored doubts about Sītā and about Rāma’s inability to censure her.
Rāma could scarcely believe what he was hearing. This was far worse than exile or his battle with Rāvana. In those circumstances his Dharma had been clear. Now his Dharma as a husband conflicted with his Dharma as a king. How could he convince his people that he had always followed the ways of righteousness, and so, too, had Sītā? What was he to do, with suspicion and harsh words dividing the kingdom?
Sunk in despair, his face as pale as an eclipsed moon, Rāma weighed the matter in his mind and heart. Above all, he understood one of the great principles of Dharma: if he earned ill fame, he and his subjects would fall into a lower state, for dishonor was considered the worst of sins.
Having tumbled into an ocean of sorrow, Rāma determined what he had to do and called for his brothers. His face streaked with tears and his voice choking with emotion, he told them what people were saying. “I would give up my very life to save the kingdom from harm,” he said. “I must take action, and I don’t want you to stop me.”
Then he spoke directly to Lakshmana. “Tomorrow morning I want you to take Sītā across the River Gangā to the āshram of the sage Vālmīki. Once you have delivered her there, leave her and return to Ayodhyā without her. This is my command as your king.” Having fulfilled his duty, Rāma retired to his chambers, overcome with sadness.
The next morning, Lakshmana, agitated in mind, summoned Sumantra, who had been his father’s most trusted charioteer, and asked him to prepare the chariot for Sītā. He told Sītā that Rāma had asked him to bring her to visit the sages by the River Gangā, as she had requested. Sītā was delighted, thinking that Rāma was fulfilling her wishes.
As the morning sun filled the city, Lakshmana and Sītā rode out of the city and into the countryside. When they rode away, Sītā’s right eye twitched, her limbs grew weak, and her mind became dizzy. She said to Lakshmana, “I am greatly distressed, O Lakshmana! My limbs shiver and my heart is filled with anxiety. Tell me, is all well with Rāma?”
“All is well,” whispered Lakshmana quietly, without looking at Sītā.
The next day they reached the banks of the River Gangā and crossing it, they rested on a grassy bank in the vicinity of Vālmīki’s āshram. At this point Lakshmana could contain himself no longer and fell to the ground at Sītā’s feet, sobbing like a child.
“Tell me truthfully, O Lakshmana, what is wrong?” asked Sītā. “Is Rāma well? I cannot be parted from him for even two days. Come, let us distribute gifts to the āshrams and return to my beloved Rāma.”
Lakshmana could not look at Sītā. His face pressed to the ground, he cried out, “Noble lady, Rāma has asked me to abandon you here! Rumors are afloat in the kingdom concerning your abduction by Rāvana. Rāma feels that his honor has been tarnished, and that now it is his duty to uphold Dharma. His heart is breaking. Anything more I cannot tell you.”
Sītā could not believe what she was hearing. “What have I done to deserve such treatment?” she sobbed. “What other wife would follow her husband to the forest for fourteen years? How could Rāma behave in this way after I entered the fire to prove my purity?”
With his whole being, Lakshmana wished he could take her back to Ayodhyā, but he knew that he must follow Rāma’s orders and abandon Sītā by the River Gangā. Before he turned away, he cried out to Sītā, “May Mother Earth protect you! May the canopy of stars protect you! May the gods protect you!”
Sītā gathered enough strength to console him. “Farewell, dear Lakshmana. I hold nothing against you. Tell Rāma that I wish him well, that I have always been devoted to him, and will always be devoted to him for all of my days.”
Lakshmana ferried back across the river, and before returning to Ayodhyā, took one last look back at Sītā. She was lying on the ground, sobbing. His own heart breaking, Lakshmana mounted the chariot and drove away.
After some time, the sons of sages living in Vālmīki’s āshram heard Sītā crying and ran to tell Vālmīki. “She is like a goddess from heaven,” they said to the sage, “and she is overcome with sorrow.”
Vālmīki walked in the direction they pointed until he heard Sītā weeping in the distance. It reminded him of the cry of the krauncha bird that had lost its mate so long ago. When he reached her side, he gently said, “I know you are the daughter of King Janaka of Mithilā, the daughter-in-law of King Dasharatha of Ayodhyā, and the husband of Shrī Rāma. I also know through my ascetic practice that you are pure and have always been faithful to your husband. Come, dearest one, to my āshram, where the wives of the sages will care for you as tenderly as they would their own daughter.”
Back in Ayodhyā, Lakshmana told Rāma all that had happened. Paralyzed by grief, Rāma could find no words to respond to him.
The people of Ayodhyā, on the other hand, rejoiced, feeling that Dharma had been restored to their kingdom, and that Rāma had acted rightly when he placed his Dharma as a king above his Dharma as a husband. But even though separated, Rāma remained true to Sītā in his heart, and Sītā remained true to Rāma.
Many months later Sītā gave birth to twin boys. Vālmīki named them Lava and Kusha, and performed all the rites for the birth of the children.
When Sītā’s handsome twins were old enough, Vālmīki taught them to recite the poem he had composed about the illustrious Rāma—his birth, his marriage to Sītā, his time in the forest, his conquest of Rāvana, and his banishment of Sītā. Over the course of twelve years, the twins practiced reciting in meter until they had memorized Vālmīki’s long and beautiful poem, which the revered sage called the “Journey of Rāma,” the Rāmāyana.
About that time, Rāma decided to hold an Ashvamedha Yagya in the Naimisha Forest. He invited all the kings from surrounding kingdoms, as well as the sages of the forest. Sugrīva arrived with his monkeys, as did people from all the near and faraway lands. Even the rākshasas of Lankā came with their virtuous king, Vibhīshana.
The wise sages of the kingdom explained to Rāma that to perform such a yagya, he would need a consort, and for that he would need to marry once again. Rāma refused to even glance at another woman, and after some debate, the sages decided to build a life-size statue of Sītā, made of gold, which would be placed next to Rāma.
Vālmīki also attended the yagya, and brought with him Lava and Kusha. He instructed the boys to sing twenty verses from the story of Rāma to the sages, who sat in fro
nt of their grass huts. Everyone marveled at their extraordinary recitation. Eventually, the boys were invited to sing for Rāma himself. Rāma asked to hear the whole story, and for days the boys sang by heart the story of Rāma that they had learned from Vālmīki.
Not only did they sing with uncommon ease and charm, but they looked like Rāma himself. Without anyone noticing, Rāma moved closer to the boys, one inch at a time. Halfway through their recitation, Rāma realized that these radiant boys were his own sons. Bursting with joy at the sight of his sons, Rāma could no longer contain his love for Sītā, and asked Vālmīki to bring her to the hall the next day. Then she could prove her purity to all present.
Before dawn the next morning all were assembled, eagerly anticipating the arrival of Sītā. As the full moon set in the western sky and the sun rose in the east, Sītā walked in, her hands folded in reverence and her eyes filled with tears. After years of tapas in the forest, she looked more radiant than ever, like a celestial being. Rāma‘s heart swelled with affection for Sītā, and the people welcomed her with shouts of joy.
Gazing at Rāma with love and devotion, Sītā quietly asked, “May I have your permission to once again prove my devotion to you?”
Rāma nodded.
Then Sītā said loudly, for all to hear, “O Mother Earth, if you know that I have never loved any other man but Rāma, even for a moment, then open your arms and accept me now.”
At that moment a chasm opened in front of Sītā and before all assembled, Mother Earth emerged and welcomed Sītā into her arms and seated her on a throne of flowers. Then the throne slowly descended and the earth closed over her head. Sītā was gone forever.
Rāma wept uncontrollably. He threatened to destroy the earth if she would not return Sītā, but Brahmā appeared to him and said, “Remember who you are, Rāma. You are Vishnu and your consort is Lakshmī, who has appeared to you in this life as Sītā. You will be united with her in Brahma Loka, where you will live together once again for all eternity. Your separation is but a blink of the eyes in the long stretch of time.”
For the rest of his life, Rāma ruled the kingdom with the golden statue of Sītā beside him. Because their king had always been faithful to Dharma, the people of his kingdom flourished. There were no diseases or premature death, the rains came in time, and everyone was happy, prosperous, and virtuous. The weather never turned violent, nor were there any fires. There was an abundance of food in the granaries and gold in the treasuries. Everyone was devoted to Rāma.
One day, many years later, while Rāma was sitting on his throne in the royal court, Kāla, the spirit of time, came to visit. He said, “O Rāma, I must speak to you alone. Please guard the doors and let no one enter, on pain of death.”
Rāma asked the ever-faithful Lakshmana to stand outside and guard the doors, as Kāla had requested.
Then Kāla spoke to Rāma, but Rāma already knew what he had to say. “Esteemed Rāma, now that you have lived a long and just life, true to Dharma, I have been sent by Lord Brahmā to bring you back to your heavenly abode.” Rāma nodded his consent.
Just then, outside the royal court, the sage Durvāsa arrived. He was known far and wide for his ill temper. “I have come to see Lord Rāma,” he demanded of Lakshmana.
Lakshmana answered, “I am sorry, but no one can enter the court under pain of death.”
Durvāsa became angry and bellowed, “Go in and announce my presence, or I shall curse you, your brothers, and the entire kingdom of Kosala, so that no one shall live.”
Lakshmana thought for a minute and realized that it would be better for him to die for breaking the vow to Kāla than the entire kingdom to be cursed by Durvāsa. And so, bowing to the inevitable, he entered the hall and announced to Rāma that the sage Durvāsa wished to see him.
Rāma immediately took leave of Kāla and went to see what Durvāsa wanted. Durvāsa said that he had been fasting for a thousand years, and now he wanted to end his fast with some food. Rāma fed him with the choicest food in the land, and Durvāsa went away happily.
But then Rāma remembered Kāla and the vow that he had made. “Is this my final test?” Rāma wondered as he sank into sorrow. “Must I now kill my own brother in order to uphold my promise to Kāla?”
After a long, distressing discussion between Rāma and his ministers, Vasishtha finally rose to his feet. “Banishment is as good as death,” he said.
With grief, Rāma reluctantly agreed that Lakshmana should be banished from the kingdom to fulfill his vow to Kāla. After embracing Rāma, Lakshmana circled his brother for the last time and bade him farewell.
Lakshmana strode to the River Sarayu and, sitting on its banks, closed his eyes and sank into the unbounded Self. Soon Indra’s chariot appeared before him and carried him to Brahma Loka.
Rāma could not bear to be separated from his brother after the painful years of separation from his beloved wife. He prepared to leave his mortal body, now that Lord Brahmā had beckoned him. “My time on earth has come to an end,” he said to his ministers.
When Bharata and Shatrughna refused to rule the kingdom in his stead, and expressed their desire to depart with him, Rāma gave the southern half of Kosala to his son Kusha and the northern half to his son Lava and instructed them both to rule from the capital city of Ayodhyā.
Next he summoned his friend and servant Hanumān. “Wherever the name of Rāma is mentioned and wherever the story of Rāma is told, you shall be there. This story will be repeated as long as the sun and moon shine.” Rāma embraced Hanumān affectionately for the last time.
As Rāma prepared to depart, the good people of Ayodhyā implored him to take them with him. Seeing their sadness, the compassionate Rāma announced to the citizens of that fabled city, “Whosoever among you wishes to join me may do so, along with your families and cows.”
Walking to the banks of the River Sarayu, Rāma entered the waters along with his brothers Bharata and Shatrughna and all the people of Ayodhyā.
As the waters closed above Rāma, in his place rose the resplendent form of Lord Vishnu, with discus, conch, mace, and lotus in his hands. To his immortal mind, only moments earlier he had closed his eyes and taken the incarnation of Shrī Rāma. Devas, Gandharvas, apsarās, and a multitude of celestials showered flower petals from above.
Arriving at Brahma Loka with all the people of Ayodhyā, he was reunited with his radiant consort, Lakshmī, who had taken the incarnation of Sītā, as well as Lakshmana and the rest of his family.
Lava and Kusha remained in Ayodhyā to rule their kingdoms. Now that the story of Rāma was complete, they sang the final verses of the glorious Rāmāyana, the story of Rāma.
Those who hear the Rāmāyana
are freed from sin.
Those who read the Rāmāyana
enjoy children, wealth,
fame, and longevity.
Women who hear the Rāmāyana
are blessed with precious children
and grandchildren
who fulfill all their desires.
Those who hear these verses of Vālmīki
overcome all obstacles.
The exiled live to be reunited with their loved ones,
and the king obtains victory.
And so ends the Rāmāyana.
May all good come to you.
May the strength of Vishnu grow forever,
for Rāma is none other than he
who maintains the universe.
Those who read or hear the Rāmāyana
gain blessings from nature.
Those who listen to these verses with devotion
live in heaven forever.
Whosoever recites or listens
to the story of Rāma daily
with reverence and devotion
banishes all sins
and attains a long life.
&nb
sp; Whosoever recites or listens to the story of Rāma daily
with reverence and devotion eliminates all sins and attains a long life.
—Uttara Kānda 111.19
End of the Uttara Kānda
End of the Rāmāyana
Glossary of Sanskrit Words
āchārya teacher
adharma wickedness, unrighteousness
ādikavya first poem, the Rāmāyana
Āditya sun
Agastya illustrious Rishi who lived in the forest and gave Rāma celestial weapons
Agni god of fire
Agnihotra a particular yagya
Ahalyā wife of Gautama, who made her invisible
Airāvata white elephant of Indra with four tusks
Akampana warrior in Rāvana’s army
Aksha youngest son of Rāvana
Alakā capital city of Kubera, the god of wealth, located on Mount Kailāsa
āmalaka small round fruit with a sour taste and many rejuvenating properties
Amarāvatī city of the gods, abode of Indra
amritam nectar of immortality that emerged when the asuras and Devas used Mount Mandara to churn the ocean at the beginning of time
ānanda bliss
Anasūyā wife of Atri, known for her yogic powers
Angada son of Bāli and Tārā
Anjanā beautiful apsarā; mother of Hanumān
apsarā celestial nymph
āranya forest
artha wealth, purpose
Arundhatī wife of Vasishtha
Ashoka Grove grove of ashoka trees where Sītā was held captive in Lankā
āshram Vedic school (āshrama in Sanskrit); the hermitage of ascetics and sages
Ashvamedha the largest of the Vedic yagyas, performed by kings to gain dominion over other kings