At this point Kamban begins to describe the preparations for the wedding of Rama and Sita. It is one of the most fascinating sections of the epic. The details of the wedding pavilion; the decorations; the arrival of guests from other countries; the flowers and gaiety; the citizens’ joy and participation; the activities in the bride’s house and then at the bridegroom’s, and the preparation of the bride and bridegroom themselves: their clothes and jewellery, the moods they were in—all are described by Kamban in minute detail, running to several thousand lines of poetry.
At an auspicious conjunction of the planets suitable to the horoscopes of Rama and Sita, in ceremonials conducted by the high priests of Mithila and Ayodhya in Janaka’s court, Rama and Sita became man and wife.
“Those who were together only a little while ago came together again, and there was no need for any elaborate ritual of speech between them,” says Kamban, describing the couple’s first meeting at the conclusion of the wedding ceremonies.
Through Janaka’s efforts, Rama’s three brothers were also found brides and were married at the same time, in Mithila. When the celebrations ended, King Dasaratha started back for Ayodhya, with his sons bringing home their wives. On the day they left, Viswamithra told Dasaratha, “Now I return to you Rama and Lakshmana. Their achievements are immeasurable, but there is much more ahead. They are blessed men.” Then he took leave of them and abruptly left northward. He was retiring into the Himalayas, away from all activities, to spend the rest of his days in contemplation.
3
TWO PROMISES REVIVED
In his busy life Dasaratha perhaps had never studied his mirror properly. He had had no occasion to scrutinize himself too long in the mirror or engage himself in any introspection. Suddenly one day he noticed the whitening hair and the wrinkles under his eyes—noticed the slight tremor of his hands, the fatigue of his legs while engaged in a game, and realized that age had come on. It was by no means inconsiderable. The original poet Valmiki mentions that Dasaratha was sixty thousand years old! In our modern reckoning we may not agree with that figure, but put it at sixty, seventy, or eighty years; whatever it was, ripeness is indicated.
In the loneliness of his chamber, Dasaratha told himself, “One must know when to cease, and not wait for death or dotage. While my faculties are intact, let me seek retirement and rest. There is no sense in continuing and repeating the same set of activities performed all these several thousand years, as it seems to me now. Enough, I have done enough. I must now find the time to stand back and watch and lay aside the burdens of office.”
He arrived at a drastic decision. He summoned his aide to the door, and told him to summon Sumanthra, his chief minister, immediately. “Send round an announcement for all our officers and public men, sages and wisemen, and all our allies and kings and relations to gather at our hall of assembly. Let as many as possible arrive.”
He added, while Sumanthra waited, “No need to inform, among our relatives, Aswapathi.” He was the father of his third wife, Kaikeyi. Bharatha, her son, had gone there to spend a few days with his grandfather. “No need to trouble Janaka either. Mithila is too far away, and he will not be able to come in time.”
“Is there anyone else to be omitted?”
“No. Invite as many as you can conveniently, and all our citizens.” Messengers were dispatched in all directions. The assembly hall filled up. Dasaratha ascended the steps to his seat and, after the routine ceremonials, gestured to all to resume their seats, and spoke:
“I have performed my duties as King of this country long enough. Now I have an irresistible feeling that the burden must be shifted over to younger shoulders. What do you gentlemen think about it? Under the white umbrella of the royal state, apparently there has been no change—but actually the body under it is withering. I have lived and functioned long enough. If I still thought that I should continue thus endlessly, it would amount to avarice. The other day I realized that my signature on a document was hazy. My hand must have trembled without my knowing it. The time has come for me to sit back and rest—and anticipate the coming of grandchildren. If you will agree, I want to hand over the kingdom to Rama. He should be my successor, an embodiment of all perfection. He is perfect and will be a perfect ruler. He has compassion, a sense of justice, and courage, and he makes no distinctions between human beings—old or young, prince or peasant; he has the same consideration for everyone. In courage, valour, and all the qualities—none to equal him. He will be your best protector from any hostile force, be it human or subhuman or superhuman. His asthras, acquired from his master Viswamithra, have never been known to miss their mark. . . . I hope I shall have your support in anointing him immediately as the Emperor of Kosala.”
A joyous shout rang through the assembly. Dasaratha waited for it to subside and asked, “I note the zest with which you welcome my successor. Should I take it that you do so because you have been bearing with me silently for any reason all these years, although I had thought I had dedicated my life fully to the welfare of my subjects?”
A spokesman rose and explained. “Do not mistake us, Your Majesty. It is our love for Rama that makes us so happy now. We have long looked forward to this moment. To see him ride the Royal Elephant in full paraphernalia through the streets of our capital is a vision of the future that we cherish, young and old alike, for we are lost in the splendour of Rama’s personality. It is that anticipation that makes us applaud your proposal so unreservedly. It is not that we do not wish for the continuance of Your Majesty.”
Dasaratha said, “I agree with you. I just wanted to know without a trace of doubt that you approve of my desire to make Rama your King. I desire that tomorrow when the
Pushya
star is in combination with the moon, and the time is auspicious, Rama be crowned.”
He summoned his minister and the priest. “Let everything, every little detail be ready for the ceremony of coronation tomorrow. Let there be widespread decorations and have all items ready at the coronation hall. Let the streets be washed, cleaned, and decorated. Let people feast and play and enjoy themselves unlimitedly. Let there be arrangements to serve a feast continuously in every corner of this capital. . . .”
He sent for Rama. He watched his arrival from his balcony, received him warmly, took him aside, and said, “Tomorrow, you will be crowned as my successor. I need rest from work.”
Rama accepted the proposal with a natural ease. Dasaratha continued. “You know everything, but still I feel it a duty to say a few words. You will have to pursue a policy of absolute justice under all circumstances. Humility and soft speech—there could be really no limit to these virtues. There can be no place in a king’s heart for lust, anger, or meanness.” He went on thus for some time and terminated the meeting. When Rama was back in his palace, explaining the situation to Sita, Sumanthra was once again knocking on his door.
“Your father summons you.”
“Again? I have just come from him.”
“He knows it, but wants you again.”
When Rama presented himself, Dasaratha seated him and said, “You may be surprised at being called again. I am seized with anxiety that you should be crowned without any delay. I have premonitions which are frightening. I dream of comets, hear foul screeches from nowhere. I am told that my stars are not in a happy conjunction now. I dreamt that my star of nativity had crashed and was on fire. For one’s proper birth, one owes a debt to the benediction of immortal sages, to one’s ancestors, and to the gods; these three debts have to be discharged fully within the allotted span of one’s life. I have no doubt that I have paid my debts fully by now. I have enjoyed my life, I have ruled as King with unquestioned authority and earned the love and confidence of my subjects. There is nothing left for me to do. I have grown old, my physical body is ready for dissolution. . . .”
He had said these things before and was now repeating himself. Rama understood that there must be some deep agitation within him. But out of respect and graciousness, he listened to it all again as if for the first time. “My stars, Mars and Jupiter, are aspecting the same house, so say my astrologers, which means death or near death or some catastrophe. And so I want to impress on you the urgency of the matter. Tomorrow’s star will be Pushya, and the ceremony must be gone through, without doubts or impediments. Do not think for a moment that anything is postponable. Nothing should be put off, for we cannot say how fickle the human mind is, and what changes will occur therein. . . . And so what is important is that we should go through the ceremonies without hesitation. I want you to be very careful tonight, until the ceremony is over. Do not come out without your bodyguard, and observe all the austerities and vows to the last letter. Sita and yourself should have ritual baths and avoid your bed and sleep lightly on a mat of dharbha grass. . . . The ceremonies will begin at dawn. Be ready, and see that your robes are ready. You must fast tonight. Caution Sita not to delay. In a ceremonial, the wife’s presence and timely participation are of the utmost importance. . . .”
Rama listened, promising to carry out every word of his instructions faithfully. Finally Dasaratha explained, “It is best to complete all this while Bharatha is away at his grandfather’s place. It is good that he is away. I know his devotion to you, but the human mind, you know, can be fickle. . . . He may question why he should not have been the king . . . after all. But if he learns of it as an accomplished fact, I do not doubt that he will be extremely happy.”
His father’s deviousness was rather startling, but if he noticed it, Rama did not show it.
This worry at the back of Dasaratha’s mind about Bharatha’s claim turned out to be a valid one. Though Bharatha was away, his cause and claim were espoused by his mother Kaikeyi so energetically that it brought on disaster and changed the whole course of events in Rama’s life. It came about thus. Kooni, a freak and hunchback (and nicknamed thus on account of her deformity), was the favourite of the King’s favourite wife, Kaikeyi. On this particular day she climbed to the top terrace of Kaikeyi’s mansion to view the city, and noticed the festoons and lights, and asked herself, “What are they celebrating today?”
When she went down, inquired, and found out the cause of the celebrations, she became excited, bit her lips, and muttered, “I will stop it.” She hurried to Kaikeyi’s chamber and shouted at her mistress, who was resting, “Is this the time to sleep? Wake up before you are ruined.” Kaikeyi opened her eyes and cried, “You! Where have you been? What is troubling you?”
“Your impending fate,” replied Kooni.
Kaikeyi was curious, but still without rising she said, “Kooni, something seems to be the matter with your health. Won’t you call the physician and see that he sets you right?” She laughed and said, “Now calm down, sit near me, and sing me a song.”
Kooni said sharply, “Do you know that beauty and youth are your only source of strength? And you owe your position as the queen of a world conqueror to your beauty?”
“Do I?” asked Kaikeyi, still in a playful mood.
“But both beauty and youth are like a wild stream, which, while rushing down the mountainside, crushing flowers and leaves, holds you in a spell. But how long does it last? Very soon it passes, and in its place you have only the sandy bed. . . . It’s only a question of time. When you are old and the cheeks sag, you will be a nobody, pushed aside with the back of your lover’s hand. You will be at other people’s mercy.”
“Bring that mirror, let me see why you speak thus. Have I grown old today?” And she laughed.
“Not old, but smug, and running into danger. Doom hangs over your head.”
Now Kaikeyi felt disturbed. “If you cannot talk plainly, go away; and come later. You are somehow bent upon irritating me today.”
“Don’t waste your youth and beauty, which hold your husband in a spell. Before that’s lost, get your husband to help you and save yourself. Get up and act before it’s too late.” Kaikeyi now sat up anxiously. Satisfied with the effect of her remarks, Kooni declared, “The King has cheated you. Tomorrow he is crowning Rama as the King of Ayodhya and retiring.”
Kaikeyi got up, exclaiming, “Wonderful! Wonderful! Here is your reward for the good news you bear.” She took off her necklace and threw it on Kooni’s lap. Kooni received it and laid it aside. Now Kaikeyi said, “For the excellence of your news you deserve more. Tell me what you wish and you shall have it.” This really provoked Kooni to cry out, “I said Rama is becoming the king of Ayodhya, and you behave as if I had said your son Bharatha . . .”
“I make no distinction between the two. It’s all the same to me. Rama is the one who was born to it, and as a mother it makes me proud and happy. . . .”
“You, Rama’s mother!”
“Yes, don’t you know that one in Rama’s position should count five mothers: the one who has borne him, a stepmother, a father’s sister, an elder brother’s wife, and the wife of the guru—all these have equal rank as mother. You understand why I feel happy about Rama? I adore him. I’m his mother as well as Kausalya is. And so make no mistake that I’m a fool and do not understand things!” At which Kooni beat her brow with her palms with such force that Kaikeyi said, “You have hurt yourself—a contusion big as my thumb!”
“I’d be happy if I killed myself or had not been born at all, rather than see all the treachery that goes on in this world,” wailed Kooni. “My sorrow, now, is for you, the doom that overhangs you. It rends my heart to see the carefree innocence of your heart—it reminds me of the little dove flitting at the jaws of a wildcat.”
All this amount of talk prepared Kaikeyi’s mind to be receptive to what Kooni said next: “Your husband, the Emperor, is very cunning; he is capable of great trickery, unsuspected by you; great depths of trickery indeed, unbeknown to you, such depths as you cannot suspect even in your wildest dream. You and he are unequals. He was old enough to be your father when he asked for your hand; and your father refused the proposal, of course. But the old bridegroom was intoxicated with the spectacle of your beauty and youth, and was prepared to promise anything. He vowed to your father that he’d make the son borne by you the heir to the throne. I was the only one who overheard it. No one else knows about it. Now when the time came, the old man advised Bharatha sweetly: ‘Why don’t you go and spend a few days with your grandfather? He has been asking you so long.’ And forthwith got him and his inseparable brother Sathrugna out of the way. He would have sent you away too—but for the fact that he can’t survive even a single day without your caresses! Your charms are still potent. You will have to save yourself with their aid before it’s too late. . . . Rama should not be enthroned tomorrow.”