Story of Rama: How Sita was Won
The Poet of the _Ramayana_—Brahma's Command—Two Great Kingdoms—A
Childless Maharajah—Horse Sacrifice to Obtain Offspring—The Demon
King of Ceylon—Gods Appeal to Vishnu for Help—Birth of Rama and
his Brethren—Stories of Childhood—Vishwamitra takes away Rama
and Lakshmana—Forest Battles with Rakshasas—Breaking of Shiva's
Bow—Sita is Won—Choice of an Heir—Rama is Favoured—The Hunchback's
Plot—Fulfilment of an Old Vow—Prince Bharata Chosen and Rama
Banished—A Faithful Wife and Loyal Brother.
Now hear the tale of Rama and Sita, which was related unto the poet
Valmiki[326] by Narada, the renowned Rishi. Be it told that when
Valmiki came to know of the adventures and achievements of the great
prince, he went towards the river to bathe, musing the while. It
chanced that two fond herons disported on the bank, when suddenly a
passing huntsman shot the male bird, which at once fell dead in a pool
of blood. Great was the grief of the female heron, and Valmiki's heart
was so deeply moved by its cries of distress that he gave utterance to
his emotions in a stream of metrical speech. In this manner was the
_sloka_ metre invented. Then came towards the brooding poet the supreme
god Brahma, who smiled and commanded him to celebrate the story of Rama
in the poetic measure which, involuntarily, he had invented. Valmiki
prepared himself accordingly to fulfil the desire of Brahma. He sat
upon a carpet of Kusa grass, sipped holy water, and became absorbed
in thought, until visions of the story were revealed before his eyes.
Sloka by sloka and book by book, he composed the _Ramayana_; and as
long as mountains endure and rivers run towards the sea, so long will
it be repeated by the lips of mankind.
[326] _Pron._ val-mee´kee.
[Illustration: A VAISHNAVAITE NUN READING THE RAMAYANA
31]
Valmiki sang that in days of yore there were two mighty kingdoms
in sun-bright Hindustan, and these were Ko´sala, whose King was
Dasarat´ha, father of Rama, and Mit´hila,[327] which was ruled over by
Jan´aka, the father of beauteous Sita.
[327] The kingdoms of Oudh and North Behar.
Now the capital of Kosala was Ayodhya[328], which shone in splendour
like to Indra's celestial city; it had wide streets with large
dwellings, richly decorated temples, towering like mountains, and grand
and noble palaces. In the palace gardens there were numerous birds and
flowers, shady groves of fruit trees, and lakes gemmed with bee-loved
lotuses; the soft winds were wont to beat back the white water-blooms
from the honey bees as coy maidens are withheld by the impulses of
modesty from their eager lovers. Birds disported on the gleaming lakes,
kingfishers were angered to behold themselves mirrored in the depths,
thinking they gazed upon rivals, and ruffled the waters with their
flapping wings.... The city of Ayodhya was full of prosperous and happy
people.
[328] _Pron._ a-yõd´hya.
Maharajah Dasaratha, who was of the Solar Race, dwelt in a stately
palace; it was surrounded by strong walls, and guarded by a thousand
warriors fierce as flames of consuming fire, and ever watchful like to
mountain lions which protect their dens. Eight sage counsellors served
the monarch with devotion, and he had two family priests, Vasishtha and
Vamadeva.
But although Dasaratha was mighty and powerful, and prospered greatly,
his heart was full of sorrow because that no son had been born to him
by either of his three queens, Kausalya, Kaikeyi, and Sumitra....
At length he resolved to perform the Aswamedha (horse sacrifice) so
that the gods might be prevailed upon to grant him an heir who would
perpetuate his race. When his will was made known to the queens, their
faces brightened as the lotus brightens at the promise of spring.
So it came to pass that a black horse was let loose on the night of
the full moon of the month of Choitro[329]. A Brahman accompanied it,
and after wandering for a full year, the animal returned again to the
kingdom.[330]
[329] Easter full moon.
[330] As we have seen, Arjuna and an army accompanied the white horse
which was sacrificed in the _Mahábhárata_.
Many rajahs attended the ceremony which took place on the north bank
of the Sarayu river. Twenty-one sacrificial posts were set up for the
birds, and beasts, and reptiles, which were to be offered up besides
the horse, and there were eighteen Homa pits. When the fire was kindled
upon the altar, Kausalya, the chief queen, slew the horse with the
sacred scimitar, while the Brahmans chanted mantras.... All night long
Kausalya and Kaikeyi, wives of the Maharajah, sat beside the horse's
body, as was needful in performance of the rite.... Portions of the
flesh were duly given to the fire, and when the ceremony was completed,
Dasaratha awarded great gifts of kine and treasure to the Brahmans.
An oblation was afterwards offered to the gods, who came to the place
of sacrifice with the music-loving Gandharvas, the Celestial saints,
the Siddhas[331], and seven Deva-rishis. Brahma came with Vishnu
and Shiva, and Indra came also with the hastening Maruts. Ere they
departed, the gods promised that four sons would be born to Dasaratha.
[331] The spirits of ancestors.
After this, Indra and the other gods[332] journeyed to the heaven of
Brahma, and spake regarding Ravana[333], the monarch of demons, who had
his dwelling in Lanká.[334]
[332] The Vedic deities.
[333] _Pron._ rah´va-na.
[334] He is called a Rakshasa king in the _Ramayana_. Ravana appears to
be the Brahmanical conception of Vritra, the ruler of the Danavas or
Asuras. Lanká is Ceylon.
Now Ravana had performed such great penances that Brahma rendered
him invulnerable to gods and demons, with the result that the demon
made Yama, god of death, his slave, and put Agni and Vayu, and the
sun and moon, under subjection; indeed, he oppressed all the gods and
obstructed sacrifices and despoiled the Brahmans. So Indra and other
minor deities entreated Brahma to deliver them from the sway of Ravana.
Brahma heard the gods, and then conducted them to Vishnu's dwelling in
the Ocean of Milk. Indra and the others honoured the Preserver, and
cried: “O Lord of the Universe, remove the afflictions which press
heavily upon us. Brahma hath blessed Ravana, nor can recall his gift.
Save us, therefore, from the oppression of the demon king.”
Vishnu spake and said: “Be not afraid, for I shall deliver you all.
Ravana entreated Brahma for protection against all beings save the
apes and men. Go therefore towards the earth, ye gods, and assume the
guise of apes, and lo! I will divide myself into four parts and be born
as the four sons of Maharajah Dasaratha. When I shall battle against
Ravana, you will hasten to mine aid.”
It came to pass that the wives of Dasaratha, who had eaten of
sacrificial food, became the mothers of sons—Kausalya of Rama,
Kaikeyi of Bharata, and Sumitra of Laksh´mana, and Satrughna. The
people of the kingdom rejoiced greatly; they danced and sang and decked
Ayodhya with streamers and flower garlands.
Of the four children Rama was the most beautiful: lying in his white
cradle he was like to a blue lotus bloom amidst the gleaming waves of
the Ganges. Vasishtha, the wise Brahman, perceived that he had all the
marks of Vishnu, and revealed his knowledge to the Maharajah, by whom
the child was well beloved. One evening the full moon rose in all its
splendour, and Rama stretched out his hands because he desired to have
it for a toy. His mother bought him jewels, but he threw them from him
and wailed and wept until his eyes were red and swollen. Many of the
women assembled round the cradle in deep concern. One said that the
child was hungry, but he refused to drink; another that the Sasti was
unpropitious, and offerings were at once made to that goddess; still
Rama wept. A third woman declared that a ghost haunted and terrified
the child, and mantras were chanted.
When the women found that they were unable to soothe Kausalya's son,
the Maharajah was called, but Rama heeded him not. In his despair
Dasaratha sent for his chief counsellor, who placed in Rama's hands a
mirror which reflected the moon. Then the little prince was comforted,
believing that he had obtained the moon; he ceased to weep, and
everyone was put at ease once again.
When the children grew older they began to lisp words, and as they were
unable to pronounce “peeta” and “mata”[335] they said “pa” and “ma”. If
Rama were asked his name, he answered “Ama”. Sometimes the Maharajah
sat among his sage counsellors with the little boy upon his knee.
[335] Father and mother.
In their third year the princes had their ears pierced, and after that
they played with other children. They made clay images of gods and put
clay offerings in their mouths, and they broke the images because they
would not eat.
Their education began when they were five years old. Vasishtha was the
preceptor, and first he worshipped Saraswati, goddess of learning, and
instructed his pupils to make offerings of flowers and fruit. They
received instruction daily, beginning with the alphabet; then they
studied grammar, and at length they mastered eighteen languages; they
were also instructed in music and dancing and painting, and in all the
sciences. From time to time the princes were examined by their royal
sire in the presence of his counsellors. Afterwards they were trained
to exercise in arms and take part in military sports, and they became
skilled archers, and elephant riders, and horsemen and charioteers.
Of all the princes Rama was the most accomplished; he rose above the
others like to a flag which flutters proudly above a high dome.
Now when the princes were sixteen years old, their royal sire began to
consider what brides should be selected for them. It chanced that while
he was discussing this matter one day with his counsellors, Vishwamitra
paid a visit to the palace. Dasaratha welcomed him with due honours,
and spake saying: “Speak and tell what is thy request so that I may
grant it speedily.”
That mighty sage, who had been a Kshatriya in former times, but
became a Brahman after practising rigid and long austerities, made
answer and said: “O Maharajah, the Rakshasas are destroying our
sacrificial offerings, and I pray you to permit Rama to return with me
to my hermitage, for he is mighty and brave and young and is able to
overpower the demons.”
Reluctantly did Dasaratha consent, but not until Vasishtha had
reassured him, and he commanded that Lakshmana should accompany Rama to
the hermitage. Then the princes took leave of their parents and went
away with Vishwamitra.
On the first night they abode in a hermitage situated where the river
Sarayu pours into the Ganges, and the sage informed the princes that on
that very spot Shiva had been wounded by the arrows of Kamadeva, god of
love, whom he angrily consumed with the fire that issued from his third
eye.
Next day the sage led the two princes towards a dark and fearsome
jungle haunted by numerous beasts of prey, in which dwelt the terrible
Rakshasa woman named Taraka, mother of Maricha;[336] she was misshapen
and horrible, and continually ravaged all that country. Rama twanged
his bow to challenge her, and she came towards the princes roaring
angrily and throwing boulders. Because she was a female, the sons of
Dasaratha were reluctant to cause her death. Rama shot arrows and cut
off both her arms, and Lakshmana deprived her of nose and ears. She
immediately changed her shape and became invisible, but by the power
of sorcery continued to cause many stones to fall in showers about the
young heroes. Vishwamitra urged Rama to slay her, and, guided by sound
alone, he shot a great arrow which caused her death. Then the sage
rejoiced greatly, and embracing Rama kissed his head.
[336] The fighting Rakshasas of the _Mahábhárata_ are all males. Here
the female—the mother of demons—is prominent, as in _Beowulf_ and
typical Scottish stories.
In the morning Vishwamitra chanted powerful mantras, which caused
Celestial weapons to appear for Rama, and the spirits of the weapons
stood before the prince with clasped hands and said: “_We are thy
servants, O nobly generous one. Good betide thee! Whatever thou dost
desire, lo! we shall accomplish for thee._”[337]
[337] A Gaelic axiom says, “Every weapon has its demon”.
Said Rama: “When I have need of you, I will think of you, and then you
will wait upon me.”
Thereafter Vishwamitra led the princes to his hermitage, which was
situated in a pleasant grove where deer disported and birds sang
sweetly. All the sages welcomed them. It chanced that when six days had
gone past, the Brahmans prepared to offer up a sacrifice. Suddenly a
band of Rakshasas, led by Maricha, son of the hag Taraka and Savahu,
rushed towards the altar to defile the offering with bones and blood.
Rama thought of his Celestial weapons, and they immediately appeared
beside him. He cast one at Maricha which drove him hundreds of miles
out to sea, and he threw a fire weapon at Savahu which consumed him;
then he attacked and slew all the other demons.... The sages rejoiced
greatly, and honoured the prince.
Next morning Vishwamitra informed Rama and Lakshmana that he and the
other sages purposed to attend a great sacrifice which was to be
offered up by Janaka, Rajah of Mithila. “You will accompany us,” he
said, “and the rajah will show you Shiva's great bow, which neither god
nor man can break.”
Now, both while they abode at the hermitage and as they journeyed
towards Mithila, the princes heard the sacred legends of Vishnu in his
dwarf incarnation, of the Churning of the Ocean, of the descent of
Ganga through Shiva's hair, and of the cursing of Indra by a sage.
At length they reached the capital of Janaka,[338] King of Mithila, who
welcomed Vishwamitra, and said: “Who are these courageous young men
with the majesty of elephants and the fearlessness of tigers? Comely
are they as the twin Aswins.”
[338] “The remains of the capital founded by Janaka, and thence termed
Janakpur, are still to be seen, according to Buchanan, on the northern
frontier at the Janeckpoor of the maps.”—Note to Professor H. H.
Wilson's translation of the _Uttara Rama Charita_.
Said the sage: “These are sons of Dasaratha; they are slayers of
Rakshasas, and desire greatly to behold Shiva's mighty bow.”
Then the monarch spake to the nobles and warriors, and said: “Bring
forth the bow.”
His command was immediately obeyed. From an inner hall many stalwart
men hauled the stupendous bow on an eight-wheeled iron chariot into the
presence of the monarch of Mithila.
“Behold the bow of Shiva!” cried the warriors.
Said Janaka: “Behold the mighty bow which has been treasured by
generations of kings. Many rajahs and warriors have endeavoured in vain
to bend it; even Rakshasas and Asuras have failed; the gods themselves
quail before it.... To the rajah who can bend this mighty weapon I will
give in marriage my daughter, the beauteous Sita.”
Rama gazed with wonder, and then said: “Permit me to lift and bend thy
bow.”
Wondering greatly at these words, the monarch and many high nobles and
strong warriors gathered round about.... With smiling face, Rama lifted
the bow; then proudly he strung it, whereat those who looked on were
all amazed.... The prince put forth his strength and bent the bow with
resistless force until it snapped in the middle with a terrible noise
like to thunder; the earth shook and the mountains echoed aloud....
At the loud crash, which resembled the roar of Indra's thunderbolt,
all who were present fell down stunned and terrified save Janaka and
Vishwamitra and the two sons of Dasaratha.
Said the monarch: “Now have mine eyes beheld a great wonder. Peerless
is Rama, the noble one, and he shall be given for wife my daughter
Sita, who is dearer to me than life.... Let speedy messengers hasten
unto Dasaratha and bid him to come hither.”
When Dasaratha reached Janaka's capital, Rama and Sita were wedded
amidst great rejoicings.
Happy were the lovers together. When they arrived at Ayodhya the people
welcomed them, and Dasaratha's queens embraced and kissed the soft-eyed
bride of peerless fame.
It is told that on their honeymoon they loved to wander in the
moonlight. On a night of warmth and beauty they went to the banks of a
pond which sparkled with lotus blooms.
Said Rama: “My loved one, graceful art thou as the lotus, thy hair is
like silken moss, thine eyes like beautiful bees; fair is thy face as
the moon's soft image amidst the waters, thine arms are shapely lotus
stalks, and thy bosom is like to buds of sweet lotus, O my peerless
bride.”
They plunged together into the cool, moon-swept waters, and Rama cast
at his bride many fair water blooms. Sita retreated before him until
she went beyond her depth; then she clung lovingly to Rama, twining her
arms about his neck, nor did he hasten to draw her back, so dearly he
loved to be embraced by her.
Hide-and-seek they then played amidst the floating flowers. Rama sank
down until his face only was seen, and Sita, who searched for him,
knew not whether she saw the face of Rama or a blue lotus bloom on the
surface of the pond. Bending down to smell what seemed to be a flower,
she touched her lover's lips, and he kissed her sweetly. Then Sita hid
herself, and her face was like to a lotus bloom among lotus blooms.
Rama kissed her many times ere she moved or smiled.... At length they
darted merrily from the pond in bright moonlight, their garments
dripping sparkling water drops, and then they drank cups of honey;
the heart of Sita was intoxicated, and she babbled words of love and
sweetness....
Rama and Sita spent happy hours together, sharing supreme joy like to
Vishnu and peerless Lakshmi in the bright Celestial regions.
The Maharajah Dasaratha was growing old, and his counsellors and the
people began to consider who should be appointed Yuvarajah (Young
Rajah), to take over the duties of sovereignty and allow the monarch
to spend his closing years in preparation for death, so that he might
secure heaven in the next life.
All the sages and chieftains favoured the choice of Rama, and the
heart of Dasaratha was filled with joy. The people rejoiced also when
it was told to them that Rama was to become their ruler, and they
raised shouts of triumph and gladness. Then Rama was sent for, and
the Maharajah blessed him and bade him to spend the night in Vishnu's
temple with his wife Sita, to prepare for the ceremony of installation
on the morrow. That night the city of Ayodhya was illuminated, and the
people prepared to decorate the streets with garlands and streamers
when the dawn came.
Now there was one who did not rejoice, because that she hated Rama, son
of the queen Kausalya. This was the old nurse of Prince Bharata, son of
the queen Kaikeyi[339]. Her name was Manthara; she had been the slave
of Kaikeyi while that queen yet abode in the palace of her sire, the
rajah Aswapati. Ugly and misshapen was Manthara; she was short-necked,
flat-breasted, and had legs like a crane; she was big-bellied and
humpbacked. When Rama was a child she had offended him and he smote
her, and ever afterwards she regarded him with fierce enmity.
[339] _Pron._ ky-kay-yee´.
It chanced that Kaikeyi was gazing idly from the palace roof on the
illuminated and bustling streets, when the hunchbacked slave approached
her, and said: “Canst thou be merry, O foolish one, on this night?
Thou art threatened by dire misfortune. Dasaratha hath deceived thee.
Thy son Bharata hath been sent to thy father's city, so that the son
of Kausalya may be installed as Yuvarajah on the morrow. Henceforth
thou wilt be the bondswoman of Kausalya, Rama's mother, and thou wilt
have to wait obediently on the commands of proud Sita. Hasten now and
prevent this dread happening.”
Said Kaikeyi: “Why do you hate Rama? He is the eldest son of the chief
queen, and Bharata could not become Yuvarajah without the consent of
Kausalya's son, who honours me as he honours his own mother.”
Manthara fumed with wonder and indignation at these words; then she
said: “What madness hath blinded thee? What folly maketh thee heedless
of the gulf of sorrow which awaiteth thee and thy son? I am older than
thou art, and have seen dark deeds committed in royal houses. Can
Bharata become the slave of Rama? Well I know that jealous Rama will
drive thy lordly son into exile and mayhap slay him.... Arise, thou
heedless queen, and save Bharata, lest he be sent to wander alone in
the fearsome jungle. Speak thy mandate to the Maharajah, whose heart
hath been captivated by thy beauty.... Any other woman but thee would
rather die than suffer a rival wife to triumph over her.”
Said Kaikeyi, whose heart began to burn with jealous anger: “How can I
prevail upon Dasaratha to exalt my son and send Rama into exile?”
Then the hunchback reminded Bharata's mother that she had been promised
two boons by her husband. In time past Dasaratha had gone to help Indra
to wage war against the demons. He was grievously wounded and would
have died, but Kaikeyi cured him. So he vowed to grant her two boons,
and she said: “When I have need of two favours, I will remind thee of
thy promise.”
Manthara spake to the queen mother of Bharata, saying: “Now go to the
mourning chamber and feign sorrow and anger. The Maharajah will seek
thee out, and when he findeth thee demand of him the two boons which he
promised aforetime.”
So it came to pass that in the mourning chamber Kaikeyi spake to
Dasaratha, and said: “Now grant me the two boons as thou didst vow to
do, or I shall die this night.”
Said the Maharajah: “Speak thy wishes, and they will be granted. May I
never achieve bliss if thy desires are not fulfilled.”
Kaikeyi said: “Let royal deeds redeem royal words. The first boon I ask
is that my son Bharata be installed as Yuvarajah; the second is that
Rama be banished for fourteen years to live in the jungle as a devotee
clad in a robe of bark.”
When Dasaratha heard these awful words he swooned and fell prone like
to a tempest-smitten tree.... At length he recovered his senses, and
opening his eyes, said: “Have I dreamed a fearsome dream? Do demons
torture me? Is my mind clouded with madness?...”
Hushed and trembling, he gazed upon Kaikeyi as a startled deer gazes
at a tigress.... He was as helpless as a serpent which hath been
mantra-charmed, and for a time he sobbed aloud.... At length wrath
possessed him, and, red-eyed and loud-voiced, he reproached her,
saying: “Traitress, wouldst thou bring ruin to my family?... Rama hath
never wronged thee; why dost thou seek to injure him? O Kaikeyi, whom I
have loved and taken to my bosom, thou hast crept into my house like a
poisonous snake to accomplish my ruin. It is death to me to part with
my brave and noble Rama, now that I am old and feeble.... Have pity on
me and ask for other boons.”
Said Kaikeyi, coldly and bitterly: “If thou wilt break thy vow now to
one who saved thy life, all men will despise thee, and I will drink
poison this very night.”
Dasaratha was made silent a time. Then he spoke with tears, and said:
“Beautiful art thou, O Kaikeyi. Thou hast taken captive my heart. How
can this evil desire dwell in thy bosom and darken it with guile?
Thou hast entrapped me with the bait of thy beauty.... Can a father
dishonour his well-loved son? Rather would I enter hell than send
Rama into exile. How can I look upon his face again? How can I suffer
to behold him parting with gentle Sita?... Oh! I have drunk of sweet
wine mingled with poison.... Have pity on me, O Kaikeyi! I fall at thy
feet.... I would that Yama would snatch me off in this hour.”
Said Kaikeyi: “If thou dost honour truth thou wilt grant the boons I
crave, but if thou wouldst rather break thine oath, let me drink poison
now.”
Dasaratha cried in his grief: “O shadow-robed Night, decked with
stars! arrest the hours that pass by, or else give my heart release.
Cover with thy darksome mantle my sorrow and my shame, and hide this
deed of crime from the knowledge of mankind. Let me perish ere the
dawn; may the sun never rise to shine upon my sin-smeared life.”
So he lamented through the night, and unto Kaikeyi he said: “I grant
the boons, but I reject thee for ever and thy son Bharata also.”
Morning dawned.... The city was decorated with streamers and flowers.
A golden throne was set up for Rama; the tiger's skin was spread for
his feet; the white umbrella waited for him. Elephants and chariot
horses were harnessed.... The preparations for the sacrifice were
completed.... The crowds began to gather in the streets waiting for the
Maharajah and noble Rama, whom all the people loved.
Towards the palace went Sumantra, the chief counsellor. He entered
the chamber in which Dasaratha had spent the night to awaken him and
conduct him to the ceremony.
Kaikeyi met the counsellor and said: “Summon Rama hither, for the
Maharajah must speak with him.”
Wondering greatly, Sumantra hastened to the prince's dwelling and spake
the royal command. Said Rama: “I will go quickly. Tarry here, O Sita,
and await my return.”
Sita followed Rama to the doorway and invoked the gods so that they
might bless and protect him.
The multitudes of people hailed the prince as he was driven in his
chariot towards the palace, and women threw flowers upon him from the
housetops.... He entered the gate, driving through the first three
courts; he dismounted and walked across the two inner courts; he then
bade his followers to remain without, and soon he stood before the
Maharajah and made humble obeisance.
Rama beheld his father sitting beside Kaikeyi; his body was bent, his
face was worn with grief. Tears fell from Dasaratha's eyes as his
son kissed his feet and the feet of Kaikeyi also; he strove to speak
while tears streamed from his eyes, but all he could utter was, “Oh!
Rama....” The sorrow of Dasaratha rose and fell in his heart like to
the waves of a stormy sea.
Said Rama: “Oh! have I offended my sire? Speak, mother, and tell.
Wherefore do tears fall from his eyes? Why is his face clouded with
grief?... I would rather die than wound his heart by word or deed.”
Kaikeyi said: “The Maharajah is not angered, nor is he grief-stricken,
but he fears to speak his purpose until thou dost promise to serve his
will.”
Said Rama: “O speak and I will obey even if I am asked to quaff poison
and die ere my time. My promise is given and my lips have never lied.”
Kaikeyi said coldly: “The Maharajah vowed to grant two boons when I
cured his wounds and saved his life, although he repents his promise
now like to a man of low caste. I have asked him to fulfil his vow, and
the boons I crave are that Bharata, whose star is bright, be installed
as Yuvarajah, and thou shouldst be banished for twice seven years....
If thou art ready to obey thy father's will and preserve his honour,
thou wilt depart this day from the city and permit Bharata to govern
the kingdom.”
Dasaratha's heart was pierced with agony at these words, but Rama heard
them unmoved; they fell upon his ears like to sparks falling into the
sea. Calmly he spake and said: “I will depart this day in fulfilment
of my father's vow. Cheerfully will I obey his command. Let Bharata be
summoned quickly from Girivrajah, and I will hasten to the jungle of
Dandaka.”
Said Kaikeyi: “So be it.... But tarry not, for thy sire will neither
wash nor eat until thou hast departed hence.”
Rama bowed before his sire who was prostrated with sorrow; he bowed
before Kaikeyi also.... All the royal attendants wept, but Rama was
unmoved as is the ocean when a pot of water is drawn from it or poured
in.
He went towards Kausalya, his mother, who was engaged making offerings
to Vishnu on his behalf, and informed her what had taken place.
Kausalya wept and cried: “O dearly beloved, if thou hadst never been
born I would not have to suffer this calamity.... My son, I am the
chief queen, but Kaikeyi hath supplanted me, and I am disliked and
neglected by my husband.... I am old and unable to endure the loss of
thee, my son.... Hath my heart grown hard as rock that it will not
break now? Is Yama's mansions so full that I am not called away? I
have no desire to live any longer.... Can a son obey a sire in his
dotage?... Rama, Rama, the people will rise in revolt; seize thou the
throne, and if thy father remaineth hostile slay him, because he hath
become contemptible before all men, being but a woman's slave.”
Lakshmana said: “Mother, thy words are just. Who will dare oppose Rama
so long as I serve him?”
Said Kausalya: “Hear the words of thy brother, Rama. If thy sire's
command must be obeyed so must mine, and I command thee now not to
depart to the jungle. If thou wilt not obey me, I will eat no more food
and thou wilt be guilty of my death.”
Rama said: “I must obey my sire's command. Permit me, therefore, O
mother, to depart now.... O Lakshmana, I have promised my sire to obey.
Do not ask me to break my plighted word.”
Still Kausalya pleaded with Rama to remain, and he sought to comfort
her, but her grief was too heavy to be removed, for she loved her son
dearly and hated her rival Kaikeyi.
With darkened brow and saddened eyes, Rama then went unto Sita and told
her all, and said: “My mother is heartbroken, O Sita; she hath need of
thee to soothe her grief. O dearly beloved, I must now depart and leave
thee. Be ever obedient unto Bharata, nor laud me ever, for a rajah
cares not to hear another praised in his presence.”
Said Sita: “A wife must ever accompany her husband and share his
sufferings. If thou must depart to the forest, it is my duty to go
before thee and smooth the thorns in thy path. So long as I am with
thee I will be happy even in the jungle. Dearer to me than the palace
is the place where I can hold sweet converse with my husband. I will
lighten thy burden of sorrow, O Rama, but if thou wilt leave me here
alone I will surely die.”
Rama spoke of the perils of the jungle, which was full of wild beasts
and venomous reptiles, where food was scarce, and, when found, bitter
to taste, where they would find no home and would have to lie on the
bare ground, and where they would suffer greatly from heat and cold,
from tempest and rains. “O Sita,” he cried, “thou art dearer to me than
life itself. How can I permit thee to suffer for me? My love will grow
greater when I know what it is to be separated from thee.... Wait here,
O loved one, until I return again.”
Said Sita: “I know nor fear the perils and sorrows of the jungle.
Rather would I sleep with thee on the bare ground than lie here alone
on a bed of down. Without thee I have no desire to live.... Take me
with thee, O Rama, and let me share thy sorrow and thy joys. Sweeter
will be the jungle with thee beside me than the palace when thou hast
departed.”
In vain Rama remonstrated with her, but she refused to be separated
from him. She fell at his feet, weeping bitterly, and at length he
consented that she should share his sufferings in the jungle.
Then Lakshmana pleaded to accompany Rama also, nor could he be
persuaded to remain behind.
Thereafter Rama and Sita and Lakshmana went together, walking
barefooted, towards the palace to bid farewell to the Maharajah and his
queens.
Rumours of what had happened were passing through the city, and the
people gazed with sorrow on Rama, his bride and his brother, and some
said: “The Maharajah is possessed by demons.” Others said: “Let us
desert the city and follow Rama. Then Bharata will have none left to
rule over.”
Rama entered the palace with his wife and brother, and stood before the
Maharajah with folded hands.
Dasaratha lamented and said: “A woman hath deceived me. She concealed
her wicked designs in her heart as a fire is concealed by ashes....
The evening is late; tarry therefore with thy mother and me until day
breaks.”
Said Rama: “Kaikeyi commanded me to depart this day to the jungle, and
I promised to obey.... When fourteen years have gone past we shall
return again and honour thee.”
The Maharajah and his counsellors desired to send the royal army and
the huntsmen and much grain and treasure to the jungle with Rama,
although Kaikeyi protested loudly, but Rama refused to have soldiers
and followers, and asked for the raiment of bark which he must wear,
and for the spade with which to dig roots and the basket to carry them.
The shameless Kaikeyi then went away and returned with three dresses
of bark. Rama and Lakshmana immediately cast off their royal garments
and all their ornaments, and assumed the rough attire of devotees. But
Sita, who from childhood had been clad in silk, wept and said: “How can
I wear raiment of bark? I cannot use such attire.”
All the women shed tears at these words, and Dasaratha said: “Kaikeyi's
command is binding on Rama only, and his wife and brother may assume
any garments they desire.”
So the robe of bark was taken away from Sita; it was not permitted that
she should be put to shame.
Then Rama and Sita and Lakshmana took leave of all those who were in
the palace, and, amidst lamentation and wailing, took their departure
from the palace. They were conveyed to the frontier of the kingdom in
a chariot, and many people followed them from the city, resolved to
share exile with Rama. The night was spent on the banks of the Tamasa,
and all slept save Rama alone. As soon as dawn came, he awakened Sita
and Lakshmana and the charioteer, and together they departed ere the
slumbering multitude were aware. The exiles thereafter parted with the
charioteer, and crossing the river Tamasa, journeyed on till they saw
the sacred Ganges, in which the gods are wont to bathe, and on whose
banks many sages had chosen hermitages.
When the people awoke and found that those whom they loved and honoured
had hastened away, they returned with hearts full of sorrow to the
mourning city of Ayodhya.