The Ramayana (79 page)

“Everything is futile: your victory, Ravana's death. At least he was not a hypocrite with me. I followed you to the forest when you were banished. I lived there with you for thirteen years, and still you doubt me. Or is it yourself that you do not trust, Rama?”

Her breath came in gasps; tears streamed down her face. And now, anger was in her voice. Her eyes flashing, she said, “You are meant to be a man of perfect dharma. Some say you are Vishnu's own Avatara. But you are just common, Rama, as base as any other man. You say again and again that you are born into a noble house; you boast of your great honor. But what about my honor, that you have humiliated me like this, after everything I have endured?

“I am Janaka's daughter, don't forget, and the Earth is my mother. Once, you took my hand and called me your wife. Have you forgotten that now? Or have I been a bad wife to you?”

Rama did not so much as look at her and his face remained a mask. With a wail, Sita turned to Lakshmana.

“Lakshmana, you have always done whatever I asked. I cannot bear the accusation that I am tainted. Your brother has abandoned me in the midst of this crowd. I have nothing to live for any more, when Rama tells me to go where I please, with whomever I choose. I choose to go to my death. Make a fire for me, Lakshmana; my place will be at its heart.”

For the first time in his life, Lakshmana turned darkly to his brother. But Rama was made of stone; no flicker of feeling showed on his face. He stood staring at the ground. Lakshmana looked at him with the mute question: should he obey Sita? With awful silence, Rama said he should. Helpless, his eyes also streaming, Lakshmana began to build a pyre.

The vanaras stood mute, staggered by this Rama they now saw. The fire caught and blazed. Sita made a pradakshina around her cold husband. She folded her hands to him and approached the flames.

She folded her hands to the agni, and said in a ringing voice, “If it is true that I have never for a moment been untrue to Rama in thought or deed, protect me, ancient Agni, witness of the world. Rama says I am tainted. If the sun, the moon, the wind, and my mother, the Earth, know I am pure, let these flames not burn me. Let the world know Sita is sinless.”

Completely beautiful, she walked grimly around the fire, another flame herself. Then without a trace of fear or a backward glance, she walked into it. A gasp rose from the vanaras, and Lakshmana cried out. The flames were twice as tall as the slight, exquisite Sita; in the shocked silence, she stood at their white heart. She was the color of her golden ornaments, and the screams of the rakshasi women of Lanka filled the air.

In the sky, the Devas and gandharvas saw her, molten, in Agni's burning clasp. She was like a Goddess cast into hell by a curse. The ones of light, the witnesses of the ages, had never seen anything like this before. Though his eyes were now full of tears and his mind full of anguish, Rama did not stir. He stood staring at the ground.

 

46. The miraculous sky

Out of the sky Brahma's sons, the Saptarishi, cried to Rama, “How can you stand there and watch Sita burn? You are the Avatara. You are the Ancient One, the embodiment of all the virtues, the Compassionate One.”

There was a flash of light from heaven, then another and another. A miracle unfolded above: golden vimanas appeared, a flotilla of gleaming ships of the firmament. In them rode Kubera, Yama, Indra, Varuna, and Siva. Brahma was there, mounted on his white swan. Ineffable splendor filled the sky.

But Rama said humbly, “As far as I know, I am just Dasaratha's son. I have heard about the prophecies, and it is true Ravana is dead. But I have never thought of myself as being anyone more than Rama, or of my life as being exceptional. If there are any deep and fateful reasons for my birth, let the Lord Brahma enlighten me about them.”

The four-faced Creator, iridescent in the sky, said in his voice of ages, “Rama, you are Narayana. You are the Parabrahman, without beginning or end, who came as Matsya and Kurma, Varaha and Vamana, Narasimha and Parasurama.

“Rama, you create, nurture, and consume the universe. You are the sanctuary of the Devas; you are He who pervades the galaxies.

“You are oblation and fire, sacrifice and sacrificer. You are the blessed AUM, the inscrutable, fathomless one. I, Brahma, am your heart, and Saraswati is your tongue. When you blink, the stars are put out and lit again. The Vedas are your sacred breath; the mandalas are you body.

“The sun is your anger and the moon your tenderness; you were Vamana who asked Bali for three paces of land.

“Your Sita is Lakshmi. You were born as a kshatriya to kill Ravana. You have delivered the earth from evil; your mission is accomplished.”

But Rama stared astonished at the refulgent Creator in the sky, ringed by the Devas in their marvelous disks. When Brahma had spoken, there was a great rustling from the fire in which lovely Sita stood. His body blue-green flames, his hair crimson tongues of flame, Agni himself stepped out from it. He was great and bore Sita, unsinged, like a child in his hands, and came before Rama.

“Here is Sita, blemishless as she was born. Like a serpent Ravana tempted her; but the thought of you was always in her heart. Not for a moment, not with a fleeting thought, has she sinned. Rama, she is purer than I am.”

Now tears flowed down Rama's dark face, and, crying out in joy, he clasped Sita in his arms! Vanara and rakshasa watched this, more astonished than ever. Fire and moon cast their light over the auspicious field, and the vimanas were scintillant in the sky.

Rama said, “Forgive me, my love, that I was so cruel to you. Not for a moment did I doubt your chastity. I know what you are. I know you are pure enough to wash the three worlds of all their sins. No one else could have resisted Ravana as you did. He was evil incarnate, subtle, and the great tempter. And that is why you were chosen to be his captive. Oh, Sita, more than my arrows it was your chastity that was Ravana's undoing. You were invincible to his every blandishment and threat; and that broke his spirit.”

Her eyes wide, she cried, “Then why…”

Rama was her familiar, gentle prince again. The rage he had assumed was gone from his face. With untold tenderness, he said, “My love, if you had not passed through the agni pariksha, the world would never have believed you were chaste. For the world always judges by its own norms and the world is far from perfect. The people would have said, and so would posterity, that Sita lived in Ravana's antapura and, surely, the Rakshasa enjoyed her. They would have said Dasaratha's son was blinded by love, and he took back a sullied woman. But now, my Lords of the air, the world knows my Sita is purer than the fire. That she is purity incarnate. And she is just Rama's, and will always be.”

Siva appeared in the sky like a midnight sun. “As long as Ravana ruled from Lanka, the world was plunged in darkness, a night of the spirit. Dread was in every heart and even the guardians of the earth were helpless against Visravas's son. The long night has ended. Rama, you are the light of the world, its rising sun.

“The time has come when Ayodhya will rule the earth, with you as king. Bharata waits for you at home. He pines for you, Rama; it is time you went back.

“But first, look, here is someone who has come to bless you.”

Beside Siva's immense vimana was another sky chariot, a crystal disk that had been dark until now. At Siva's sign, it grew brilliant and flew down to the ground among the wonderstruck vanaras. Rama and Sita now stood hand in hand. Like a dream, a panel on that craft slid open and out stepped a familiar figure. Rama gave a cry; Sita and he prostrated themselves at the feet of that great kshatriya, Dasaratha, come from beyond death to bless his son.

Lakshmana appeared at his brother's side and also fell at his father's feet. With hands of light, Dasaratha lifted Rama up, and the tears that welled in his eyes were drops of light, too.

Again and again he embraced his son, and Dasaratha cried, “Rama, Devaloka is glorious all right; but I am not content even in heaven because I am apart from you. I have never been able to forget what Kaikeyi said to me: ‘Banish Rama for fourteen years.' But now, because of what you have done, I am free of my sorrow and the echoes of pain have left my mind. Now I see the greater purpose of your birth and your exile. My guilt has left me, because I know it was all fate's ploy: so Ravana could be killed. Ah, my son, your destiny was greater than I ever dreamed.”

Tears still ran down his face, which was made of the light of the sun and the moon. Dasaratha went on, “How happy Kausalya will be when she sees you back in Ayodhya. How fortunate the people of our city are that you return to them as king. Today the fourteen years of your exile have ended. Go back home, my son. Rule long and joyfully; be the greatest king the world has ever known.”

Rama was thoughtful for a moment. He said softly to his father, “I have something I want from you. Our greater purpose has been achieved, and Ravana is dead. You must forgive mother Kaikeyi and the innocent Bharata. Father, your own spirit will find peace if you do.”

A shadow flitted across Dasaratha's face. Then with a smile, he nodded. “So be it.”

Dasaratha embraced Lakshmana. He stroked the fair prince's face. “As long as Rama's name is remembered on earth, so shall yours be. Never has this world seen devotion like yours. Let heaven's choicest blessings be upon you, loyal child.”

He embraced Sita and blessed her. “Your heart will forget the harsh words Rama said to you. He never meant them, but only wanted your name to be as taintless as you are, forever. Precious child, I have watched you: Rama could not have found another wife like you.”

They knelt again at their father's feet. After laying his hand on their heads, he climbed back into the vimana and Dasaratha left the world, never to return. Siva and Brahma also melted out of the sky. Now Indra, king of Devaloka, flew down to Rama.

Indra said, “I remember how curious you were when you saw my chariot outside Sharabhagna's asrama. But it would have been wrong for us to meet then. Now what you came for has been accomplished, and here I am before you. Ask me for any boon, Rama. And it shall be yours, if it is in my power to give it.”

Rama stood with folded hands before the Deva king. Not for a moment did he hesitate before he said, “My lord, a hundred thousand vanaras have died for me during this war. Their women wait for them in Kishkinda and in far corners of the earth. Give the people of the jungle back their lives. And wherever the race of monkeys lives, let there always be plenty of sweet water and an abundance of fruit.”

Indra made a sign of life-giving across that battlefield, and by the streaming moon every slain vanara rose again to life. The dismembered were whole and no trace of the wounds that had killed them remained on their bodies. Seeming to wake out of a deep slumber, they came to Rama and stood around him in adoration.

Indra climbed back into his chariot. He said, “It is time you went back to Ayodhya and ruled the world. Bharata and Shatrughna are waiting impatiently for you, and so are your people. Rama, go home now.”

Indra gained the silver sky, and for a moment the monkeys and the demons witnessed an awesome spectacle: all the Devas together in their chariots of the mandalas. Then, in a whisper, they vanished. For a long time, vanara and rakshasa stood staring at the heavens. But the Gods had gone.

 

47. The pushpaka vimana

They spent what remained of the night under the stars, gazing out over the solemn sea, hearing the wash of the waves for the first time since they had landed on Lanka's shores.

At dawn, Vibheeshana came to Rama. He brought silks, sandalwood paste, and scented water. “Rama, these are for your coronation. Take them from me and make all of Lanka happy, especially her king.”

But Rama said, “Give them to Sugriva for my sake, he deserves them richly. As for me, my heart is full of Bharata's face. I have no place in it for coronations; not until I see my brother. I must leave at once, Vibheeshana: the road home is long and hard.”

Vibheeshana said, “Let me shorten your journey for you, Rama, so you can be back in Ayodhya in a day.”

Rama smiled, “How is that?”

Vibheeshana said, “Ravana once vanquished Kubera in battle and took the pushpaka vimana from him. It is still here in Lanka. You can return to Ayodhya in the crystal ship. But Rama, stay here with me for some days.”

Rama took Vibheeshana's hand. “My friend, without you I would never have won the war. But my heart is with Bharata, whom I have not seen for fourteen years. I can still see him in Chitrakuta. He stood before me, wearing valkala, his eyes full of tears, and begged me to take the kingdom while he took my place in the wilderness. That memory haunts me. I see my mothers, my guru Vasishta, and my people, who think of me as their own. They are all waiting for me. Besides, Vibheeshana, when you have taken me to your heart, I will always be with you. But for now, forgive me if I do not stay on in Lanka.”

Vibheeshana gave orders for the pushpaka vimana to be fetched. It came gleaming and silent through the crisp morning air, its smooth sides mirroring the green and the blue of sea and sky. When the wondrous craft had landed, softly as falling petals, Vibheeshana asked, “Rama, what shall I do now?”

Rama was thoughtful for a moment. Then he said, “I owe Sugriva and his people a deep debt of gratitude. For my sake, give them fine silks, jewels, and colorful chariots they will love. Let your generosity be a legend among the jungle folk, and let the brief enmity between your peoples end forever.”

Vibheeshana gave lavish gifts to Sugriva, his chieftains, and his people. Every monkey of that army was rewarded for his valor. Chattering happily at the treasures they received, the jungle folk cried out Rama's name, Sugriva's, and Vibheeshana's, all together. The sun was high now, directly above the vimana.

Rama came to Sugriva. He put his hands on the vanara king's shoulders. “What shall I say to you, my friend? How can I thank you, or ever repay my debt to you?”