Bharatha flung himself down at Rama’s feet. Rama lifted him up with many kind words.
When Rama learned of his father’s death, he broke down. After a while, when he recovered, he set about performing on the river bank the rites required of the son of the departed King. When they settled down after the ceremonies, Bharatha opened the subject. “I have come with all these people to beg you to return home and be our King.”
Rama shook his head and said, “Yes, fourteen years hence. That was our father’s wish. You are the King by his authority.”
“If you think I should be the King, so be it, but I abdicate this instant, and crown you.”
The argument went on at a highly academic and philosophical level, the entire assembly watching with respect.
In a world where we are accustomed to rivalries over possession, authority, and borders, and people clashing over the issue, “Ours,” or “Mine, not yours,” it is rather strange to find two people debating whose the kingdom is
not,
and asserting: “Yours, not mine.”
“So be it; if I have the authority—then I confer it on you as the ruler,” said Bharatha at one stage. “On my command as the ruler, if you desire to think so, you shall be the King.” It went on thus. Rama went on repeating that there could be no word higher than that of a father; no conduct other than obedience to it. Throughout he referred to Kaikeyi in the gentlest terms and always as “mother.” Vasishtha, watching the debate, burst out: “I have been your guru; there can be no higher authority than a guru—you must return to Ayodhya as King.” Rama said, “It’s not right to give me that command. My parents, who have given me my body and mind, are higher than a guru.”
Bharatha declared, “This is my vow. I don’t care what happens. I shall renounce everything and live in the forest with Rama for fourteen years.”
The gods watched this argument, afraid that if Rama returned to the kingdom, overwhelmed by the needs of the country, the purpose of his incarnation would be defeated, and proclaimed: “Bharatha, go back and rule on Rama’s behalf for fourteen years.”
There was nothing more to it. Bharatha said, “I have nothing more to say. I shall rule for fourteen years. But not a day longer. If you, Rama, do not appear at the end of fourteen years, I shall immolate myself. Give me your sandals, please. They will be your symbol, and I shall rule on behalf of that symbol. I will not re-enter Ayodhya until you come back, but stay outside the city.”
Bearing Rama’s sandals in his hands, with all reverence, Bharatha turned back. He established himself in a little village called Nandigram, on the outskirts of Ayodhya, installed Rama’s sandals on the throne, and ruled the country as a regent.
4
ENCOUNTERS IN EXILE
After Bharatha’s departure, Rama left Chitrakuta. Dwelling in the proximity of Ayodyha, he feared, might encourage people to come across the river and persuade him to return home. He felt that such encounters would dilute the value and purpose of his renunciation. He decided to move farther into the forests. Though Lakshmana had built at Chitrakuta a hut with mud, bamboo, palm leaves, wood, and other materials available in the forest, and decorated and brightened the floor and walls with coloured earth (so well designed and constructed that Rama was constrained to ask in admiration, “When did you learn to be such a fine house-builder?”) Rama left this beautiful cottage and moved on. In the course of their journey, they came upon several sages residing in their ashrams, all of whom received Rama’s party as honoured guests. Among these were Athri and his wife Anusuya, who gave all her jewellery and clothes to Sita, and compelled her to wear them then and there. Rama went on to Dandaka forest, and then on to Panchvati (on the advice of Sage Agasthya). On the way he noticed, perched on a rock, Jatayu, the Great Eagle. Jatayu explained to Rama that although he was now in the form of a bird his origin was divine. He proved to be possessed of extraordinary ripeness of spirit and wisdom. He had been a great friend of Dasaratha at one time, associated with him on battlefields; they had been so close that at one time Dasaratha had remarked, “You are the soul, I am the body. We are one.”
Rama was happy to meet a contemporary of his father’s in this remoteness. Jatayu also welcomed him as his foster parent. When he learnt of the death of Dasaratha, he broke down and swore to end his life. But Rama and Lakshmana pleaded, “Having lost our father, just when we found solace in meeting you, we cannot bear to hear of your ending your life. Please desist.” In deference to their wish Jatayu promised to live at least until Rama could return to Ayodhya after his term of exile, meanwhile taking upon himself the task of protecting them, especially Sita, during their sojourn at Panchvati. He led the way to Panchvati on the banks of the Godavari, suggesting, “While I fly, follow me in the shadow of my wings.”
When Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita reached the Godavari River’s bank, they were enchanted with their surroundings. Rama felt a great tenderness for his wife, who looked particularly lovely adorned with the ornaments given by Anusuya. Rama glanced at her whenever a beautiful object caught his eye. Every tint of the sky, every shape of a flower or bud, every elegant form of a creeper reminded him of some aspect or other of Sita’s person.
They reached Panchvati, set in sylvan surroundings in the proximity of the river. Lakshmana, adept as he had proved to be, had already gone ahead and created a home for them with clay, thatch, leaves, and wood, enclosed with a fence, and affording protection from sun and rain, and privacy for Rama and Sita. Again Rama was delighted with his brother’s engineering and architectural genius, and entered his new home filled with a sense of wonder. For all its idyllic charm, and in the joy of companionship of Sita, Rama never lost sight of his main purpose in settling down in this region—he had come here to encounter and destroy the asuras, the fiends who infested this area, causing suffering and hardship to all the good souls who only wanted to be left alone to pursue their spiritual aims in peace. Rama’s whole purpose of incarnation was ultimately to destroy Ravana, the chief of the asuras, abolish fear from the hearts of men and gods, and establish peace, gentleness, and justice in the world.
And so one evening, when he noticed in the woods, amidst the creepers and plants in his front yard, a damsel of the utmost beauty, he became wary. The damsel’s anklets jingled at her feet when she walked, her eyes flashed, her teeth sparkled, her figure, waist, and bosom were that of a chiselled figure. Rama, even the austere Rama, was struck by her beauty. As she dallied at his gate, he stood staring at her in wonderment, and when she flashed her smile at him and approached him half-shyly, Rama said, “Oh, perfect one, you are welcome. May you be blessed. Tell me who you are, where you have come from, who are your kinsmen, and what you are doing, so accomplished and beautiful, in this solitude? What is the purpose of your visit here?”
“Here I answer your question with humility. I am the daughter of Sage Visravas, son of Pulastya, who was Brahma’s own son; half-sister of that friend of Lord Shiva, Kubera, the wealthiest man and the most generous in all the worlds, who lives in the north; and direct younger sister of one at whose name gods in heaven and emperors of this world tremble, and who once tried to lift Mount Kailas itself with Lord Shiva and Parvathi on it. My name is Kamavalli.”
Rama asked in surprise, “Do you mean that you are Ravana’s sister?”
“Yes, I am,” she replied proudly.
He concealed the many misgivings that stirred in him and asked, “If you are Ravana’s sister, how have you come to possess this form?”
“I abhorred the ways of my brother and other relations and their demoniac qualities; I abhor sin and cruelty and prize all virtues and goodness; I want to be different from my kinsmen and I have earned this personality through constant prayers.”
“Oh, beauty, will you explain why, when you happen to be the sister of that overlord of three worlds, Ravana, you have not come surrounded with attendants and bearers, but all alone, unescorted?”
She answered, “I have chosen to reject evil-doers such as my brother and the rest and thrown my lot with those who are saintly and good; and I shun the association of my own people, that’s the reason why I’m alone. I have come alone now—mainly to see you. . . . I want help from you. Will you grant it?”
“Tell me your purpose. If it’s right and proper, I’ll consider it.”
“It’s not proper for a woman of breeding to state her innermost feelings, but I dare to do it, driven to desperation by the attacks of the god of love. Forgive me . . .”
Rama understood her purpose. He realized that she had only an appearance of quality, and was really cheap and shameless. He remained silent. Whereupon, unable to decide whether he was encouraging or discouraging, she confirmed, “Not knowing that you were here, I was wasting my youth and beauty in serving ascetics and sages. Now that I have found you, my womanhood can have its own fulfillment.”
Rama felt a pity for her, and, not wanting to seem hostile, tried to argue her out of her purpose. Overcoming his revulsion, he said, “I am of the warrior class, you are a brahmin, and I cannot marry you.” She had an immediate answer for this.
“Oh, if that is your only objection to me, then my ebbing hopes are buoyed. Please know that my mother was of the asura class; and for a woman of that class, union with all castes is permissible.”
Rama was still calm when he mentioned his second objection: “I am a human, and you are of the rakshasa class; and I cannot marry you.”
Undaunted, she replied, “I humbly remind you, as I have already mentioned, that I have no mind to remain in our class, but am seeking the company of saints and sages; oh, you, who look like Vishnu himself, I should no longer be considered to belong to Ravana’s family or to be his sister; I have already told you that. If that’s all your objection, then I have hope.”
Rama still felt kindly toward her, and said without irritation or acerbity, with a touch of lightheartedness, “After all, a bride of your class should be presented properly, when she happens to be a sister of men of eminence such as Kubera and Ravana. You should not be offering yourself like this in matrimony.”
“When two persons meet and inwardly have attained union, there is no need for elders to take any formal part in such a marriage. It’s sanctioned under Gandharva rites. Also, my brothers are hostile to ascetics, and stop at nothing when they want to fight them; they observe no rules or disciplines under those circumstances; you are alone and you wear the robes of ascetics, and if they see you, nothing can stop them from attacking you. But if they realize that we are married like Gandharvas, they will relent, be kind to you, and even adopt you and confer on you honours and wealth and overlordship of several worlds . . . think of it.”
At this Rama was amused and remarked, “Ah, is this one way in which the fruits of my penance and sacrifices are to be realized—achieve the grace of rakshasas, gain domestic bliss through your company, and all the conquests thereof?” She noted his smile, but missed the irony and was about to say something else when she noted that there was another woman in the picture. Sita had just emerged from the cottage. At the sight of her, Kamavalli looked stunned. She scrutinized the vision inch by inch and was filled with the profoundest admiration as well as despair. If that beautiful creature was the occupant of the cottage, there was no hope for her. She demanded bluntly, “Who is this?” Sita’s radiance seemed to precede her actual arrival. Kamavalli had first noticed the light and only then had she seen Sita engulfed in that effulgence. Her jaw fell at this spectacle; for a moment she lost herself in gazing on this pair whose beauty complemented each other; if there was anywhere in creation a male with the perfection of attributes, to be matched by a perfect female, here it was. Kamavalli momentarily forgot her own infatuation in the spell cast by the presence of this pair. But it was only a fleeting distraction. Her passion soon revived. She assumed that Sita too was one who had sneaked up to Rama on some forest path and attached herself to him. She could not be this man’s wife, as no wife would care to face the hardship of a forest existence. He must surely have left his wife, if he had one, back at home, and now lived with this woman in the forest.
Kamavalli said to Rama very seriously, “Great one! Don’t let this creature come near you. Don’t be misled by her appearance, it’s not her own, she has assumed it through black art. Actually she is a rakshasa woman; drive her off before she does you any harm. This forest is full of such deceivers.”
She might well have been confessing this of herself—her own normal appearance being that of a demon with wild, matted hair, flame-coloured fang-like teeth, enormous stature, and a belly swollen with the meat and blood of animals she had gorged on in her never-ending gluttony. Her name was Soorpanaka. Her brother Ravana had assigned this Dandaka forest as her own domain, leaving her free to live here as she pleased, assisted by a number of ruthless demons led by Kara—the fiercest devil ever conceived. Here she held her court and ravaged the forests. In the course of her wanderings, she saw Rama and fell in love and decided to seduce him by every art in her power. As a first step, through certain incantations, she transformed herself into a comely maiden. Now, when she warned Rama of Sita’s true nature as she imagined it, he began to laugh and remarked, “Ah, how true! No one can deceive you, being yourself so transparent! Your piercing perception is truly admirable; nothing can escape your eyes. Look well now at this sorceress at my side, so that she may realize who she is.”
Taking him at his word, Soorpanaka glared at Sita fiercely and shouted, “Get out! Who are you? You have no business to disturb us, when I’m engaged in a private talk with my lover. Be gone!” In her anger, her real tone and personality came through unconcealed. At the sight of it, Sita shook with fright and ran to Rama’s arms and clung to him. This further enraged Soorpanaka, who moved towards her with a menacing gesture.