The Ramayana (25 page)

Bharata said, “Step on these for a moment.”

Smiling, Rama put on the padukas. When he stepped off, Bharata prostrated himself before the heavy sandals!

Bharata said, “Touched by Rama's feet, these padukas shall rule Ayodhya. And I, like my brother, will live for fourteen years wearing valkala, and my hair in jata. I will live on wild roots and fruit, and Rama's spirit will rule Kosala through Bharata. And the day fourteen years are over, be sure I see you before me; or I swear I will kill myself. Keep that in mind, Rama.”

Rama said quietly, “I will.” He embraced Bharata and Shatrughna, again and again. “Don't be harsh to Kaikeyi; remember she was only fate's instrument. She must already suffer terribly. I want you to swear, in my name and in Sita's, to be kind to her.”

Bharata hesitated a moment before he nodded. He put the padukas on his head and walked around his brother thrice in pradakshina. Then he stood before him with folded hands. Rama went among the people. They cried for him; they reached out and touched him. They blessed him and he cried with them. At last, he came to Kausalya, Sumitra, and the old and fond sarathy Sumantra. They did not speak, but only clasped one another. Bharata embraced Rama and Lakshmana, and touched Sita's feet. With a last, lingering look at Rama's face, with great destiny written so plainly upon it, Bharata led the people of Ayodhya back down the mountain, homeward.

Rama stood gazing after them until the last one had disappeared into the jungle below. He went back into the cottage and sat on the floor. He buried his head in his hands and sobbed long and disconsolately.

 

33. Nandigrama

With his brother's padukas beside him in his chariot, Bharata turned home. He was at some peace, that now he would rule not for himself but in Rama's name. He met Bharadvaja on his way back. After describing all that had happened on Chitrakuta, he sought the rishi's blessing. Beyond the Ganga, Guha embraced Bharata and went back to Shringiberapura, his heart full.

At last, Bharata rode into Ayodhya and passed under the arched gateway. He entered the forsaken palace with Rama's padukas in his hands. Tears rolled down his face when he saw the great sabha, empty and miserable as a durdina—a sunless day the Gods have cursed.

Bharata saw his mothers back to their apartments. Kausalya and Sumitra were tired but reassured at having seen their sons on Chitrakuta, and that the issue had been resolved of who would rule Ayodhya. Kaikeyi came home plunged in silence, her eyes faraway and blank: as if she did not know the world at all any more, or herself.

Bharata called a council in the king's court, of the old and the powerful of the kingdom. He addressed that council: “I will not live in luxury while my brother lives in the forest. Until Rama returns, I mean to move this sabha to the village of Nandigrama. Rama's padukas shall adorn the throne of Kosala and they will rule till he comes home.”

Vasishta murmured, “And may your fame live long in this holy land, for you are the noblest of men.”

Bharata bid farewell to his mothers. If Rama was deprived of their company and their love, so would he be. He climbed into his chariot with Rama's padukas. The court of Ayodhya went with him and the prince followed Vasishta, who had gone before him to Nandigrama. The people of Ayodhya went with Bharata: they would not miss the crowning of the sandals!

At Bharata's instruction, the white parasol was unfurled above the padukas, which were placed on a footstool below the king's throne, as if Rama sat there wearing them. And the crown was set above them. Bharata invoked the Devas: “Ones of light, bless me that the sight of these padukas, which are my brother's feet, guide me whenever I discharge the king's dharma. Bless me that I never swerve from the way of truth, while I rule in Rama's name.”

Thus he who ruled Ayodhya lived in Nandigrama like an ascetic; and every day, he would spend at least an hour talking to his brother's padukas. But those who might have wondered if Bharata's extreme devotion had not a touch of madness about it, were soon convinced the young kshatriya was as sound as he needed to be. His reign was a just one, strong and mature. The people felt as if Dasaratha was still alive and sat upon Ayodhya's throne.

*   *   *

Far away, on an emerald island, an awesome and sinister sovereign grew unaccountably disturbed, and he could not fathom why. The evil that possessed Kaikeyi, in some mysterious way, had its source in his terrible soul. Ravana of Lanka slept poorly when that evil was frustrated by the love the princes of Ayodhya felt for one another. But the battle between darkness and truth had hardly been joined. Ravana knew nothing yet of Rama, or that his own empire of fear on earth would soon be threatened by the blue prince, who was an incarnation of grace.

BOOK THREE

ARANYA KANDA

{In the forest}

 

1. Leaving Chitrakuta

After Bharata returned to Ayodhya, the first few days in Chitrakuta were somber. Rama saw his brother's tearful face in his mind, and it would not go away.

Around them, the mountain was dotted with rishis' asramas. The princes often saw some of these hermits on the mountain paths or at the river, where they came to draw water and bathe; and they exchanged greetings and spoke to them. One day, the munis waved cursorily to Lakshmana from across the Mandakini; but they did not come to talk to him, as they usually did, where the river was narrow.

That evening he mentioned this to Rama. The next day, Rama saw that rishis from all the different asramas on Chitrakuta had congregated on the riverbank. They sat in urgent and secretive conclave, glancing over their shoulders time and again, as if they were fearful of being overheard. They saw him, but did not so much as wave, only whispered on among themselves. Rama crossed the river and went up to them.

He asked, “Munis, why do you turn away from me today? Have Lakshmana or I shown you any disrespect? Or perhaps Sita, unwittingly, when you came to our asrama? You are ill at ease when you see us. What have we done?”

The old kulapati of the largest band of rishis took the prince's hand. “Oh no, Rama, there is no grievance against you or yours. A graver matter concerns us: a fiend called Khara has come to Janasthana in these forests. He is the cousin of a great rakshasa of the south, a king whose very name we speak only in whispers. For he is an incarnation of evil.” The old sage looked around nervously, and then breathed, “Ravana of Lanka.

“Khara performs bloody rituals in the jungle and offers human flesh to the powers of darkness. Recently, he has been sacrificing our brother rishis of Janasthana. He is a desecrator of yagnas, a cannibal, and we fear him. He has never been vanquished in battle and he is proof even against our magical siddhis. It seems he has heard of your valor, and means to try himself against you.”

The old hermit sighed, “That is not all. Khara and his rakshasas are masters of sorcery. They put out our sacred fires with sudden gusts of wind. The vessels with our offerings vanish before our eyes, or we find them full of excrement. We don't know when the rakshasas will attack us. It is a matter of a day or two. We have decided to leave this place and go to the banks of the Malini, where the Rishi Kanva has his asrama.

“Come with us, Rama. Chitrakuta has become dangerous for Sita and yourselves.”

Later, at noon, Rama walked a way through the jungle with the rishis, to see them on their way.

*   *   *

The princes and Sita stayed in Chitrakuta for a week after the sages left; but sorrow was with them constantly. One day Rama said, “This is where we received Bharata and our mothers, and heard their tragic news. I cannot wipe their faces from my mind, and my heart wants me to leave this mountain.”

Before he had finished, Lakshmana cried, “Mine as well. This place is full of ghosts. Everywhere I turn, I see Bharata's face, gazing sadly at me that I ever doubted him. Rama, let us leave today.”

Sita said quietly, “The asrama does not feel auspicious any more, as it did when we first came.”

The same day, they collected their belongings. Rama and Lakshmana strapped on their quivers and swords and picked up their bows, and they climbed down the mountain with Sita between them. They left with little regret. The days since Bharata had come and gone had been anxious ones, when the peace they had found on Chitrakuta abandoned them, and their minds turned back to dark thoughts of Ayodhya.

 

2. Anasuya

Down through the fragrant pine forests of the mountain into flat country and denser jungles journeyed Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana. They returned to the vicinity of the true Dandaka, and, still skirting the vana, walked away from Chitrakuta for half a day. They saw the huts and fires of an asrama before them, where deer grazed tame as cattle.

The travelers came humbly before the radiant Atri, whose hermitage that was. The towering old man with the wonderful smile welcomed them with a profusion of blessings. He knew who they were and, though he was weak with age, rose to embrace Rama and Lakshmana with such love that they were reminded of their father. He set sweet fruit before them in wooden bowls, and urged, “Eat, my children, before we speak. You have come a long way from Chitrakuta.”

Later, the princes, Sita, and Atri sat talking together. The great muni said, “Sita, child, why don't you go into the asrama and find my Anasuya? She will be so happy to see you.”

Sita went gladly. Who had not heard of Anasuya, whose legendary tapasya had brought the first fruit into a world that a terrible drought had plunged in hunger? Anasuya's penance swelled the Ganga over her banks and ended the famine.

Inside the asrama, Sita found not an awesome, powerful woman but a wizened yogini with a shining face, huge eyes, and a smile to warm the heart. The skin hung loose and wrinkled on her shrunken frame, and she shook with age. But as Sita touched Anasuya's feet, she felt a current of love flow from that frail body and enfold her.

In a surprisingly strong voice, the yogini said, “It is fortunate you are a child of dharma. Or you would find it impossible to live in the wilds after being raised in a palace. Such an unusual girl you are, that you followed Rama into the jungle. Oh, I am so happy to see you.”

Then, as if speaking exhausted her, she fell silent. But she reached out and stroked Sita's head. Sita felt entirely comfortable with the extraordinary old woman. The princess said, “Mother, with a husband like mine, it was impossible for me not to come with him. He means everything to me: he is my life, my God.”

They sat together in a loving silence for a while, the old woman stroking Sita's head with her ancient hands that were still so fine. Suddenly Anasuya said, “I have a fair store of tapasya and I can give you any boon you want. Tell me, what would you have from me?”

But Sita replied shyly, “I have Rama; what else could I want?”

“Noble child! But wait, I have something from long ago such as you will not find in the world today.” Taking Sita's arm for support, Anasuya rose and went into her tiny dwelling. She returned with a square bundle, neatly wrapped in cloth, and gave it to Sita. “This was once mine, but now it is for you. Go inside and put on what you find in it.”

Sita found precious silks inside the bundle and ornaments no craftsman of this world had made, but surely smiths of Devaloka. And there was a small bottle of perfume, so exquisite that a mere whiff of it calmed the mind. Carefully Sita donned Anasuya's silks, and emerged lovely as Lakshmi herself: a light of fortune in that wild place.

Anasuya was delighted. She walked around the princess, admiring her from every side, laughing like a girl. She made Sita sit beside her, and said, “Now I want to hear everything about you, from the day your father found you to the day Rama came and broke Siva's bow. I want to hear it all from your own lips.”

Sita smiled in affection and she began at the beginning. Janaka of Mithila was plowing the earth to turn it for a yagna he planned, when at the base of his plow, in a cleft in the ground, he found a brilliant baby girl. Sita spoke about her early life, about her sisters and her friends in Mithila; but with no trace of nostalgia. Then she came to Rama's arrival in her city. Even before she saw him or her father told her about him, she knew her destiny had come for her.

Sita described how Rama broke Siva's bow while she watched him from her window. She spoke of Dasaratha's arrival and her wedding. She described the advent of terrible Parasurama, and the joy of returning to Ayodhya. But she said nothing about Kaikeyi, nor their exile, as if these were not worth speaking about. Anasuya smiled and smiled as she listened to the younger woman's melodious voice.

When Sita had finished, the yogini hugged her. “How soft and lovely your voice is. I wanted to hear about your wedding, and now I have heard about it from you.”

Night was falling over the forest and Atri's rishis were returning from the river with their kamandalus in their hands. The fires which lit that hermitage were like the flames on a dove's breast; but all around them, the brooding jungle was absolutely dark. The tame deer had fallen asleep beside the munis' huts, and some even within them. The stars in the sky shone like God's ornaments.

Anasuya said to Sita, “Go to your husband now. He will be pleased to see you as you are.”

Like Lakshmi, Sita went to Rama, bashfully; and how his eyes shone when he saw her wearing Anasuya's silks and fragrant with her unworldly perfume. Rama knew Anasuya had blessed Sita.

*   *   *

They spent that night in Atri's asrama, and early the next morning they came before the great sage. Touching his feet, they took their leave of him. Some of the other rishis brought them to the edge of the jungle, to a trail that wandered into it.

They warned, “Always be on your guard, Kshatriyas. The jungle is full of rakshasas who love nothing better than human flesh. Keep your bows in your hands and don't stray from the path of the munis.”