Breathes here the man…
It was the story of a man that Valmiki asked for; a man who is almost perfect. I say ‘almost’ because the Lord had, may be, on purpose left his story, his traits, his acts somewhat questionable, unintelligible to everyone of us at least in two instances. One has to be an unquestioning devotee, staunch in every sense of the word, to remain silent and without arching a brow some times; without knotting the brows and the forehead, when we hear him and see him acting ‘as though’ he were another man.
What Valmiki wanted to know of was a person who is
ஆத்மவாந் கோ ஜிதக்ரோத: மதிமாந் க: அநஸூயக: |
கஸ்ய பிப்யதி தேவாஸ்ச ஜாதரோஷஸ்ய ஸம்யுகே ||
(Valmiki Ramayana, Bala Kanda, Canto 1, Sloka 4)
‘Tell me about that person, he asked Narada, “who has subdued his self; who has conquered anger; who is possessed of splendour and who is above fault-finding, and whom do the very gods dread when his wrath has been (apparently) provoked in battle.”
A person who has conquered anger. And a person who is dreaded by the very gods when he is provoked. I think that seeming contradiction itself has the seed of this character of whom the adi kavi wanted to learn of, his intention of writing his story not yet having taken shape.
If it is true that Rama had conquered his anger, it is also true that he gave quick and spontaneous vent to his rage many a time. Take for instance his seething rage on learning from Jatayu, whose blood, life and last breath were oozing out on his laps, what happened to Sita and how he – Jatayu – was wounded mortally by the hands of Ravana. ‘You are going to witness now,’ boils Rama uncontrollably, ‘the very end of the world. The stars would be knocked out of their firmament like pebbles; the sun would be turned to mere dust; the whole sky is going to be engulfed by fire; the entire universe, all the planets, ‘nIrin mokkuLin udayumaaRum kaaN’ would burst like mere bubbles on water. You are going to see this happen now. Now.
Jatayu pacifies Rama. He holds his breath hard for a few moments longer and speaks to him wisely. Of the many reasons and arguments that he puts forward, one line shakes us to the roots. ‘ஐயன்மீர் !’ My dear sir! ‘ஆயும் காலை,’ If you but think of it, reflect on it, go into it more fully, ‘ உன் பிழை என்பதல்லால்’ was it not your mistake? Were you two not at fault in leaving her all alone by herself in this jungle? ‘உலகம் செய் பிழையும் உண்டோ ?’ Is it reasonable at all to think that the world has gone against you, erred and has put you at a loss! What did the world do to deserve the punishment that you intend!
If Rama was quick to give free vent to his rage in rare instances like the one above, Rama wept bitter tears many a time. That is no wonder. It is not that the avatars are devoid of emotions! Devoid of every other trait of a human being! Speaking of avatara-purushas Sri Ramakrishna Paramahamsa says, ‘It is not possible for everyone to get to know, understand an avatara-purusha. It is natural to be afflicted by disease, grief, hunger, thirst, and all that other stuff, when one assumes the human frame. When we see such traits in the avatars, we tend to think that they just, after all, are like us. Sri Rama wept uncontrollably, unable to bear the separation of Sita! The Brahmam, encumbered by the elements, wept.” (Rough translation of Sri Ramakrishna’s conversation with ‘M’ dated 22.12.1883)
Born as a man, the Brahmam played its role as a man. Man! Do I dare call Him, an avatar, a man! I am sorry; it is not I who do so, but Valmiki, Kamban and every other poet who has narrated, retold, re-rewritten the epic has deliberately, consciously – or do I call it conscientiously – woven a liberal amount of human traits into this most wonderful, the most absorbing, the most inspiring and the most what-not of a character that the literature of the world has known. Else, how do we find his story absorbing, stimulating and abiding despite the passage of thousands of years! Else, how is that his story is spread throughout the length and breadth of Asia, taking various shapes!
With all devotion, with all salutations, with all reverence, without questioning or debating as to whether he was conceived as an avatar or not, here we go in our quest, looking at him as a man. A man of the highest order. A man who held righteousness above his own self. A man who stood for truth in trying circumstances and has left us a glorious story to read, cherish, debate, emulate and try to come somewhere – at the very least – near him in his quest for truth.
Three were the women
If one wants to pick out the names of the persons who were responsible for turning the wheels of the epic to its intended direction, one would have to name three women, namely, Mantharä the hunchback, Kaikeyi and SürpaNakhä. Neither Valmiki nor Kamban speak much about Mantharä, excepting for the fact that she has been the maid-servant of Kaikeyi for long and came to Ayodhya along with Kaikeyi. As we have mentioned elsewhere, (See: Kaikeyi and Mantharä) we get the bare minimum information on her from the Padma Purana that a celestial nymph by name Mantharä was asked to be born for the sake of accomplishing the purpose of the Devas, that is, setting in motion the process that would lead to the destruction of Ravana.
Apart from this, the Raamopaakhyana in the Mahabharata gives one more clue on her birth. When the decision of the avatar takes shape, the celestials speak among themselves as to who is to be born as whom, to assist the Lord in His mission. At that time, the Grandsire tells a Gandharvi to be born as Mantharä. “And in their presence the boon-giving god commanded a Gandharvi, by name Dundubhi saying, 'Go there for accomplishing this object!' And Dundubhi hearing these words of the Grandsire was born in the world of men as the hunchbacked Mantharä.” (Mahabharata, Vana Parva, Section 274, Translated by Kisari Mohan Ganguli)
We have seen that the epic moves every single character to the peak of its evolution from various stages of its attainment from the point when we meet them for the first time, to the last scene where that particular character appears. Every character undergoes its own development and – with the exception of Rama, Sita and Hanuman who – though they undergo all the travails, tumults and turmoil and establish their strength of character – cannot be thought of as ‘moving towards evolution’ – reaches its own pinnacle of perfection. Strangely, we do not see either Mantharä or SürpaNakhä after they play their intended roles. They thin out into nothingness abruptly. Mantharä is seen for the last time when Bharata sets out with his retinue to bring Rama back from the woods. An agonised and angered Satrughna, spotting her among the people getting ready to accompany Bharata to bring Rama back, seizes her by the locks and unsheathes his sword to kill her together with the other maidservants that surrounded her. But for the intervention of Bharata, Mantharä would have been killed that day. And what does Bharata say, when he pacifies Satrughna and what was the most important reason that stopped him from his action? Listen.
“Perceiving Satrughna enraged, Bharata spoke to him as follows – “Women are undeserving of death at the hands of all men. Let her be forgiven as such. I (myself) would have slain this sinful Kaikeyi of vicious conduct had it not been for the fact that the pious Sri Rama, whose mind is given to piety, is sure to get angry with me for having killed my (own) mother. (Nay) Sri Rama, whose mind is given to piety, will surely speak not only with you but also with me if he (ultimately) comes to know even of this humpback having been killed (by us).” (Valmiki Ramayana, Ayodhya Kanda, Canto 78, Sloka 21 – 23)
Kamban echoes these words of Valmiki’s Bharata. ‘munnavar muRai keda mudittha pAviyai, chinna pinnam seydhu en sinatthaith thIrvanel.’ I would have sliced down this sinner, my mother Kaikeyi, to pieces, and assuaged my unquenchable anger. ‘ennai en ayyan thurappaan endru alaal annai endru uNargilEn.’ If I had not done so, it was for the fear that my lord, Sri Rama, would censure me, repudiate me had I but ventured to do so. It was not for the fact that she is my mother that she was spared; but because my brother would not only disapprove it, but would renounce me for what I (wished to) have done. What applies to Kaikeyi, applies to this Kuni – hunchback – as well. And therefore, refrain from what you are doing.
That brings out one of the wonderful qualities of Rama. Remaining good even to those who caused harm to him. Though she did or did not realise what she led to, Mantharä was spared; pardoned. Not because Bharata or Satrughna were ready to do so; but because of the fear of being cast off by Sri Rama, had she been harmed. Mantharä disappears from the scene from this point and we do not see her again at all. We do not even see her in the list of persons who gathered to greet Rama on his return.
If that was the case with Mantharä, SürpaNakhä disappears from the scene after kindling the desires of Ravana for Sita and sets him out on his path of self-destruction, an irretraceable move that he made, retracing becoming impossible because his stout ego did not permit it, falling head(s) over heels in unrighteous love, lust and the inability to bear the perceived ‘insult’ of being turned down, hit back and slighted by Sita. We do not see SürpaNakhä at all after that, even when the last rites of Ravana are performed.
Of Kaikeyi, we see a lot of change in her attitude. We have spoken of this in passing when we took her up for study. (See: The mother of woes and the nurse of infamy and The Reformation) We will go deeper into this question in our study of Rama.
If these were the three women responsible for turning the rudder to steer the ship into a troubled sea, who and what was the seed that contained the everlasting and towering tree of the epic?
The immunity that plagued
Who else can be the reason behind the epic but for Ravana and what else can be the device by which he could be slain but for the deliberate flaw in the boons that he obtained not once, but twice! Every plan has its flaw, every design has its defect, every forte bears a foible and every fort has a niche. Like every other asura, Ravana stands in testimony to the fact that the performance of askesis, the practising of asceticism – particularly the one which is performed for the purpose of the attainment of material wealth, worldly power, longevity et al – does not mean that the person would stay put in that position of ‘controlling his senses’ ever after.
It is true that the basic quality of the performer of askesis is his ability to quell all that is sensual, rise his mind above the pleasures of his senses. It is also true that one who performs such dreadful penance as Ravana, who went to the extent of severing his heads one by one and offering them through fire, should have had tremendous control over his mind, disciplined his intellect and thwarted the pleasures of the body absolutely aside, until at least the purpose of the penance is achieved.
But that does not end there. As it has happened in the case of every other asura who performed such gory and frightening penances, the gates to the senses and sensual pleasures get wide opened once the purpose of getting the desired boons is achieved. How Ravana gave a free and uncontrollable vent to his lust until he was restrained by the curses of Vedavati and Nalakuara, the son of Kubera, has been studied earlier when we took up Ravana. (See: The Curse of Vedavati and The Curse of Kubera’s son)
As we mentioned earlier, at the end of his long and frightful penance of severing his heads one by one and offering them, Brahma appears before him (See: Getting Lanka back) and asks for what he desires. ‘Death is the only dreaded but most certain event in the lives of all created beings,’ answered Ravana. “O Lord, to living beings the only constant source of fear is death; there is no enemy like unto death. I choose immortality.” (Valmiki Ramayana, Uttara Kanda, Canto 10, Sloka 16) But the Creator said, “There can be no absolute immortality for you, ask for some other boon of me.” (Ibid, Sloka 17)
As against this, let’s see what Vibishana asked for and what he was granted. “If you grant a boon to me in your pleasure, O god of holy vows, please give me a hearing. Even when I get into the greatest of difficulties, my mind should remain steady in virtue.” (Ibid, Sloka 30) And then he goes on to seek the boon that his mind remains constantly fixed in Dharma, apart from the conferment of the knowledge of Brahmastra to dawn on him, untaught. Pleased with him, Brahma says, “My son, since you are exceedingly virtuous, it shall be so; O destroyer of your foes, since your mind is not inclined to unrighteousness, even though you are born in the family of Rakshasas, I make you immortal.” (Ibid, Sloka 34)
That underlines the fact that remaining in penance for however long a time it may be, does not guarantee the disciplining of the senses and the Self (atman) forever. The battle over the senses is eternal. As Valluvar said, ‘adal vENdum aiyndhan pulatthai’ ‘The sage who seeks to attain what he wants must wage a battle over his senses.’ If eternal vigilance is the price of liberty, eternal control over the senses is the price of liberation of the soul. That was not possible for Ravana, the Creator knew, after all!
Considering the fact that Vibishana was granted immortality even without being asked, on grounds of virtuousness, it becomes abundantly clear that Brahma was not ready to grant immortality to Ravana due to obvious reasons; that he foresaw what Ravana would be up to, once the boons – undeniable now on the strength of his penance – are granted. On hearing that, Ravana then made an elaborate list of races and beings from which he sought immunity from death. “O eternal lord of created beings, I want immunity from death at the hands of Suparnas (eagles), Nagas (serpents), Yakhsas, Daityas, Danavas, Rakshasas as also from gods.” (Ibid, Sloka 19) He did not stop there. He goes on to add
ந ஹி சிந்தா மமாந்யேஷு ப்ராணிஷு அமரபூஜித |
த்ருணபூதா ஹி மே ஸர்வே ப்ராணிநோ மாநுஷாதய: ||
“O god, worshipped by immortals, I have no cause of anxiety from other living beings, for I think of those other creatures such as human beings as mere straw.” (Ibid, Sloka 20)
Having been granted the boon, Ravana had one more opportunity to seek immunity from humans as well, when he was pressed down under Mount Kailaas and when Lord Sankara offered to grant him the boon that he sought. (See: Thus he became Ravana) Once again Ravana says, “I do not reckon the human beings, O Lord, because they are regarded by me as very insignificant. A boon of long life has been secured by me from Brahma, O destroyer of Tripura! Give me the remaining lease of life sought by me and give me also a weapon.” (Valmiki Ramayana, Uttara Kanda, Canto 16, Sloka 42)
Therefore, it is not that Ravana either ‘forgot’ or ‘slipped to include’ humans from the ‘immunity from death’ that he sought from Brahma as well as from Shiva. He specifically excluded them. ‘I need protection from this, this and this class of beings. However, I do not need such immunity from humans, for I consider them too puny to come in war with me, leave alone killing me.’
That was the niche which paved the way for his destruction. If the Lord could see a way through the well-knit, fail-proof design of the boon that Hiranyakashipu obtained, it was child’s play for Him to enter through the deliberate and nonchalant hole that a bloated ego left unplugged. The boon of Ravana contains the seed of the avatar and that of the epic.
Poetry is born
She dwells with Beauty - Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine
--John Keats, Ode on Melancholy
Poetry has its subtleties and nuances, which every poet, particularly the epic-poet, employs skilfully to give a foretaste of events that are to follow. The epic, Ramayana, which is set on its rails from the birth of first poetry, the Poet being the ‘adi kavi’ or the first of all poets, is born of an event so poignant and moving, probably indicating the ultimate turn that the story is going to take. This poetry was born from a kill; from the pain caused by the sight of separation; from melancholy and from tears of anguish. Yes Mr Keats, as you said so elegantly well, Melancholy does have her sovereign shrine, her altar, in the temple of Delight.
After the departure of Narada, from whom Valmiki sought to know the story of a man ‘of the present times’ a living example of one who treads the path of truth, stands for the protection of righteousness, who has controlled his senses and anger, and who is dreaded by even the gods in battle, Valmiki goes to the banks of the river Tamasä , to have his bath along with his pupil, Bharadwäja, asks him to stay at the bank, holding the tree bark, for him to wear after his bath.
At that time, a Nishaada, hunter, was looking for his prey and found a pair of Kraunca birds – cranes – moving about the place where Valmiki was about to take a dip. Now, the Kraunca birds are known to remain paired for life. Unlike most of the other birds they do not part after mating and remaining together until the fledglings grow. They remain in love, paired for life. The hunter aimed his arrow at the male bird and struck it.
“Seeing it mortally wounded and tossing about on the ground with its limbs smeared all over with blood, the female bird, that was endowed with a coppery crest, was inflamed with passion, (nay) sexually united with her and (as such) had distended its wings.” (Valmiki Ramayana, Bala Kanda, Canto 2, Sloka 11 and 12)
Valmiki had just heard the story of Rama from the lips of Narada. The story as narrated to him does not speak about what is to come in the life of the inseparable and most loving pair divine, Rama and Sita. It gives an account of Rama’s story until he ascended the throne and just predicts that ‘people would live happily for a long time under the rule of Rama,’ and no more. (See: A legend that lived then) Therefore, Valmiki could probably have not intended this at that moment. Or, he might have, endowed as he was with clairvoyance. We do not know.
But tell me here, at this point, do we not see a picture of Rama, standing there with a heart bleeding from the wound of the arrow of public opinion, ordering the separation of his endeared wife who bore a four-months old ‘promise of love’ of Rama in her, as the crane falls down, struck by the arrow of the hunter and lies on the ground, bleeding! Does this separation of the Kraunca birds not foretell us of what the fag end of the epic holds for us! The bird shot at, falling on the ground bleeding and in the throes of death, when they were mating, and the divine pair separated at the most joyful moment of their lives! Most moving indeed.
Valmiki was anguished at this sight. And he cursed the hunter. But strangely, that spontaneous outflow of his pain took the shape of poetry, so very naturally, without the poet realising what he is composing, and as it is said, like all good poetry, ‘gave birth to itself.’
மா நிஷாத ப்ரதிஷ்டாம் த்வம் அகம: சாச்வதீம் ஸமா: |
யத் க்ரௌஞ்சமிதுநாத் ஏகம் அவதீ: காமமோஹிதம் ||
“May you not have peace of mind for endless years, O fowler, since you killed one of the pair of cranes infatuated with passion.” (Ibid, Sloka 15)
He cursed. But repented immediately for having cursed the hunter. It was at that time that his mind worked on what he uttered, the order of the words, the rhythm and the way it offered itself to be sung with the accompaniment of a lute. He turned to his disciple, Bharadwäja, and told him,
பாதபத்த: அக்ஷரஸம: தந்த்ரீலய ஸமந்வித: |
சோகார்த்தஸ்ய ப்ரவ்ருத்தோ மே ச்லோக: பவது ந அந்யதா ||
“Let this utterance made by me while I was stricken with grief (nay) set in four metrical feet, each containing an equal number of letters (viz., eight) and possessing the rhythm of a song that can be sung to a lute, be accepted as (real) poetry and not otherwise.” (Ibid, Sloka 18)
That which was born of soka (melancholy) became sloka (verse).
And it was thus the first of poetry was born. Brahma appeared before Valmiki as he reached his hermitage back, still charmed and wondering at the birth of poetry. Valmiki expressed his sorrow for having cursed the hunter. Brahma laughed. “Brahma then laughingly said to Valmiki (the chief of hermits) ‘Let this metrical composition be conducive to your glory alone. You need not brood over this (any more). Through my will alone has this speech flowed from your lips, O Brahmana sage! Describe, O jewel among seers, the whole life on this earth of Lord Sri Rama, whose mind is (ever) given to piety and who is full of wisdom.' (Ibid, Sloka 32)
A moving scene, a spontaneous and rhythmic stream of words and a joyful story. In melancholy does the best of poetry gush forth in its effusion. And it did, in the case of the first of all poetry.
A look before the leap
Though we have covered almost all the major and minor characters of Ramayana in our study – which are archived character-wise in the index page of this column – there are a few more important characters which remain to be seen. For example, we have not seen much about Dasaratha, Kausalya or Sumitra, though we have spent some time on the study of Kaikeyi. We have not spoken much about the love that existed between the mother and the son – Kaikeyi and Sri Rama, though we have referred to it in passing. This aspect remains to be seen.
Kausalya – as the very name suggests – was the daughter of the king of Kosala. And if that was so, the question arises as to how Dasaratha is described as the king of Kosala. Many are the questions on which the Ramayana is silent. We are left to seek other sources for an answer to such questions. Opinions differ. Professor A S Gnanasambandan says in his ‘Rama from different angles’ (இராமன் – பன்முக நோக்கில்) that according to Yogavaasishtha Ramayana and the Buddha Jataka Tales, Dasaratha – and obviously his ancestors from Manu and his descendants Raghu, Kakutstha, Sagara, etc. – where all rulers of Kasi and that this Raja of Kasi, Dasaratha, married Kausalya, the only daughter of the king of Kosala and thus – the father-in-law having not been blessed with a male heir – he inherited the kingdom of Kosala based on custom.
Views differ. There are different opinions. Even Prof. Gnanasambandan says that he has ‘heard that this is so’ and does not sound very authentic about what he speaks. Another thing is, when we discuss Valmiki and Kamban, it is not that desirable to follow the Buddha Jataka Tales, a totally different tradition, where the very core of the Ramayana tradition differs, where Rama and Sita are portrayed as brother and sister! There are other versions and variants to this, which we would take up in our study, presently.
Speaking of Sumitra, Right Hon’ble Srinivasa Sastriyar observes that she is the wisest of the three queens. He puts her on a mark above Kausalya. “Sumitra is at the very peak of her wisdom. Of all people around Rama, she is almost the one, if we except Lakshmana, to really understand Rama’s nature, the purpose for which he went to the forest, and the propriety and righteousness of his action.” The deep love that existed between this mother of the twins – Lakshmana and Satrughna – and the son, Rama, remains to be seen.
Apart from these, we have not gone into so many other wonderful characters, Jatayu being one among them. These, we propose to take up together with the study of Rama. A word of caution. What I am endeavouring is a character study and not the narration of the story. There is a sea of a difference between these two. When studying different characters, what we are analysing is the way in which a particular character acts, reacts, responds and develops in certain given circumstances. Of necessity, I have to go through several scenes that have been narrated already. But it may kindly be observed and kept in mind that though the scene may be the same, presented in these pages, the focus is shifting from one character to the other. And therefore, if it is felt that ‘this scene has already been dealt with,’ let it be assured that it is only the scene that is re-narrated, with all caution and circumspection on not going over the path that has already been covered, and that the discussion on the character is not repeated, the focus having moved from one to another.
Even if I have to repeat some scenes or events, it may be observed that I do not repeat the discussion, which are cross-referenced and linked wherever necessary. If this is remembered, it would make my job all the more easy, setting at rest such feelings and complaints of ‘scenes being repeated.’
With this request, my respected readers, we venture into the birth of Rama. And together with him let us explore many of the unanswered questions in the epic and the lovely and wonderful relationship between the main hero of the story and the characters which deserve to be studied, but not yet taken up.
In the eyes of the poets
At this moment of attempting to look at a picture of Rama, let’s remind ourselves that we are doing so through the eyes of two different poets. Two different minds functioning at two different ages, two different approaches, two different ways of narration, cast and construction. Yet, one personality. When Valmiki composed his poetry, he had the advantage of being the first poet to record something which is a chronicle in part and an epic in essence. What people saw, perceived and understood of this personality was through his eyes. The deification of Rama, though ingrained in the epic, is limited to a few passages in Valmiki’s version. Nonetheless, in the portrayal of Valmiki, there are places where Rama shows common human feelings, his excellent qualities remaining unparalleled as they are.
As Sri V V S Aiyar observes,
“In three or four places Valmiki has deified Rama. Even these passages, however, modern critics regard as interpolations. But, howsoever this may be, everywhere else in Valmiki, Rama is only the valorous prince, perfect in virtue, but nothing more than a simple mortal man.” And therefore, Valmiki’s Rama could speak as naturally as anyone, act as normally as anyone else, feel elated when Dasaratha proposes his coronation; could announce this decision with a touch of joy to Kausalya, and could even tell Lakshmana, ‘share this kingdom with me.’ In fact, he goes to break the happy news to Sita, first. Valmiki says,
“Instructed thus in connection with his installation, which was going to take place the (very) next day, and permitted to leave in the words ‘Depart now’, and greeting his father, Sri Rama withdrew to his palace. Entering his own palace in order to break the news of installation announced by the emperor (to Sita), but coming out instantly (on not finding her in her apartments) he moved to his mother’s apartments (in the gynaecium). There he saw in the temple his aforesaid mother clad in silken robes, exclusively devoted to the worship of her chosen deity and silently praying for royal fortune (in favour of Sri Rama.”
(Valmiki Ramayana, Ayodhya Kanda, Canto 4, Sloka 28 – 30)
With joy in his heart, he went to the chamber of Sita, but not finding her there, he moved to the apartments of his mother to break the news. A perfectly normal picture of any person who is about to be crowned. There can be no two opinions on that. When he tells Kausalya about what has been decided in the court, Sumitra – unlike Kaikeyi – who is always found in the company of Kausalya, is also elated. Kausalya tells him, “Child Rama, may you live long! Let those inimically disposed to you be wiped off. Invested with royal glory may you bring joy to my relations as well as to those of Sumitra.” (Ibid, Sloka 39) A careful reader would not miss the point that the name of Kaikeyi is not mentioned either here or in the rest of the passage of Kausalya’s reply. That gives us an insight into the relations among the three queens. Kausalya and Sumitra remaining together, Kaikeyi remaining apart. Though she has earned the love and respect of Rama, though she loves Rama as her own child, at least until that moment.
Once again, we find a delighted Rama telling Lakshmana, “Rule you beneficently over this earth with me, O Lakshmana! This royal fortune has come to you, who are my second life. Enjoy you, O Lakshmana, (son of Sumitra) the pleasures coveted by you as well as the rewards of sovereignty (religious merit and fame etc.). I desire to live and even to rule but for you.” (Ibid, Sloka 43 and 44) Once again, the careful reader would observe the absence of the mention of the name of Bharata, here.
Equally naturally, he could express grief when the crown moves away from his hands, Rama (in Valmiki) exhibits the existence of disappointment when he speaks to Sita. A strong exterior gives way in the presence of a loved one. We have discussed this scene earlier. (See: The Power of love – Part I and Part II).
In another instance does such a feeling find its expression. Reaching the jungle, alone in the company of Sita and Lakshmana, about to start his exile, Rama speaks to them about Bharata. “Ah, Kaikeyi’s son, Bharata (alone) is happy and the spouse of a lucky woman in that he is going to rule over the prosperous kingdom of Kosala like an overlord, his claim being disputed by none! For, he will enjoy the undivided blessings of the entire kingdom, now that father is superannuated and I have retired to the forest.” (Ibid, Canto 53, Sloka 11 and 12)
Right Hon’ble Srinivasa Sastriyar points to Sloka 26 of Canto 53 and interprets,
“I could have anointed myself putting aside Dasaratha and everybody else. Why didn’t I? I have a fear of wrong-doing. I don’t want to do that which is ignoble or improper just for gain.”
May be shocking. But perfectly natural feelings. This however, is not to give out any conclusion or even the faintest of suggestions – implied or otherwise – on the qualities of Rama. We are just beginning. We are just witnessing a particular scene that the first poet depicted and what changes his ever-devoted successor brought about, and why. If Valmiki depicted his Rama in a particular way, what impelled the poet who retold the very same story, to bring about subtle and sometimes so imperceptible a change that sometimes what is portrayed by Kamban is taken to be the word of Valmiki, especially in the Tamil speaking world! That would be a part of our endeavours, apart from others.
Once again. Let me repeat this. I have my respect and admiration for both the poets alike. Both the poets, and their words, have their own logic, reason and relevance in their own places. What I have given above would give an idea of what Kamban had to work on, and how he drew the finer lines that moulded his Rama in yet another plane, <b>higher than the already exalted plane</b> that he had earned in the hearts of the people.
Does it then mean that Kamban’s Rama was void of all human feelings? Let’s move into that now.
The task and its magnitude
When Kamban sat down to re-create the work of Valmiki in Tamil, the waves of a couple of thousands of years have already washed over the banks of the world. We are unable to say how many thousands of years, but undeniably a minimum of 1500-2000 years should have rolled past from the time of Valmiki to the time of Kamban. Indian classical literature – and Tamil literature in particular – had already assimilated the Ramayana. We have seen how cilappadhikaram, a Tamil epic composed about 700-800 years before Kamban speaks of Rama as an avatar of Vishnu. (See: As old as hills)
Therefore, while Kamban had the advantage of the child sitting on the shoulders of its father and thus enabled to see more of the festivities than the father standing in the crowd, he had the burden of an onerous responsibility pressing on his shoulders. The Tamil Azwars, Kulasekara Azwar in particular, had left their powerful impress on the minds of the people, before Kamban, and Rama was by now none other than the Lord Supreme.
One can see this image throughout the work of Kamban, holding Rama above the Trinity – Brahma, Shiva AND Narayana. ‘mup-param-poruLukku mudhalvan,’ he would say in the Bala Kanda, The Lord of the Supreme Three, referring to Rama. A worried Kumbhakarna, mistaking the approaching Vibishana in the battlefield, misunderstanding his intention as his coming back from the side of Rama, advises him to go back. (See: Why did you come back?) Citing many an argument for Vibishana to remain by the side of Rama, Kumbhakarna says ‘mUvarkkum thalaivar aana mUrtthiyaar,’ The One Supreme Lord of the Trinity (not One of the Three; but over the Three) ‘ulagai mutrum kaavarkkup purinidhu nindraar,’ has come down (to the earth) for the sake of protecting the world, ‘kaakuttha vEdam kaatti,’ donning the ‘role’ of Rama. Prof A S Gnanasambandan has gone into this question of why Kamban brought in the idea of this ‘Supreme One, over ‘the Three,’ in his ‘Kamban – a fresh look’ (Kamban – pudhiya paarvayil). We will take up a discussion of this at an appropriate point, later.
We hear the same phrase again and again throughout the epic from many – not saintly – characters of the Kamba Ramayana. A liberated Viradha – or Kabandha for that matter – a slain Vali, or even the most unyielding Indrajit in his last advice to Ravana, repeat this idea over and over again. The last words of Viradha as in Valmiki and as in Kamban deserve to be compared. One has to see the awe with which Viradha worships Rama. The celebrated and oft-quoted line ‘paadhangaL ivai ennin padimangaL eppadiyO,’ ‘if this is what Your Feet can do, what am I to say of Your vast and varied forms!’ is uttered by none other than Viradha.
And therefore, when Kamban attempted his master-piece, he had the advantage of having a master craftsman as his forerunner; which at the same time was his disadvantage! He had to balance between the drama and the character. He had to hold the Supreme in Its position due. And, at the same time, see to it that the dramatic – the deeply emotional, realistically expressive, and undeniably moral and wonderfully elevating – values blend in, gel with the exalted stature of Rama that he had already gained about a thousand years before he started his magnum opus.
That’s what Sri V V S Aiyar observes, when he takes up the study of Rama. “In Kamban’s time, therefore, the ideal man had grown into very God, the mere repetition of whose name with devotion would lead unto heaven. What Kamban has done is to give the impress of the master-artist to the character that had grown into its fullness and grandeur by the devotion-filled meditation of generations of the sons of India.” And that was no easy a task! Hear what Sri Aiyar has to say:
“This, however, was no ordinary task. It is easy to pile epithets upon epithets and constantly repeat that Rama was a divine king. But to create the poetical impression of the divinity of Rama’s character and to maintain the epic in all places at the level that will alone harmonise with such an impression is a vastly difficult thing. And Kamban has eminently succeeded in this extremely difficult work.”
Here, you have a hero, who is already known to the masses, worshipped by them, who commands the respect and devotion of one and all – be they Hindus, Buddhists or Jains, as every religion has its own version of the Ramayana, and an exalted Rama – and here you have an epic that demands the depiction of intense human feelings, a high emotional-drama, and a character who is The Supreme, and yet human in every sense of the word. You cannot go against the dignity that the character demands; nor can you sacrifice the dramatic impact or value.
That explains why Kamban re-weaves the whole carpet, re-decorates the cornucopia, re-works, recasts and reconstructs on the very same blueprint, preserving the base and building up a magnificently towering structure, not moving much away from his forerunner.
Take for instance he handles the way in which Rama accepts his exile and the arguments in extenso that take place between the father and the son, Dasaratha and Rama.
Did he mean it?
We mentioned the words of Rama a couple of posts back, (See: In the eyes of the poets) that he would have wrenched the kingdom from the hands of Dasaratha; but did not do so because of moral considerations. Read in isolation, they sure would sound shocking and would make gall and wormwood of the words of the person who quotes it. And the expressions on Bharata that we had quoted are diametrically opposite of what he has been telling all along, and would tell an enraged Lakshmana when he mistakes Bharata who comes to the jungle to request Rama to come back. The perfect picture of Rama that Valmiki paints seems to go a bit here and there when we hear such words from his mouth. Sastriyar quotes this Sloka – which we have seen – on Rama’s remarks on Bharata.
ஸுகீ பத ஸபார்யஸ்ச பரத: கேகயீஸுத: |
முதிதாந் கோஸலாந் ஏகோ யோ போக்ஷ்யதி அதிராஜவத் ||
( Valmiki Ramayana, Ayodhya Kanda, Canto 53, Sloka 12)
The silver-tongued orator observes thus: “Now he thinks of Bharata. He contrasts himself with Bharata. ‘I have lost everything. I have come away to the forest with my wife and with my dear brother. He, Bharata, is enthroned, is going to rule over the Kosalas and he is going to do it with his wife. He is going to have his queen by his side.’ Notice this please. This is the one place in which the wife of any of the brothers is alluded to, not by name but merely as bharya. In no other place does the Poet allude to the other persons.”
When we look at this piece, and when we come across the words of Rama, which place Bharata on the highest pedestal, we are a little confused. We do not know which one of the two is THE real feeling, idea and expression of Rama on Bharata. Obviously, the above words of Rama are spoken in disappointment, in a state of mind that he is not ordinarily in. And that does mean that Rama’s mind was shifting from the extra-ordinary to the ordinary, and vice versa, while most of the time remaining extra extraordinary. There were times when this splendid personality did and said things just like any of us.
That’s what deserves our attention, our study. How Valmiki paints Rama as another man and how he brings out the best in him – nay, I should rather say, how Rama conducts himself in such a manner that Valmiki draws the most perfect picture of him, of the most ideal man. And compare our kavi-chakravarthi – emperor among poets – Kamban, and his treatment of the same personality with that of his forerunner.
There is a piece of a line found in the notes of Right Hon’ble Srinivasa Sastriyar that he used for his lectures. The eminent scholar has noted thus, in his notes for his 5th lecture: “Was Rama the ideal always and every moment, in big matters and in small, to the great ones and the little ones? If so, he was a bloodless robot, an impossible prig, mounted on stilts and hardly visible in perspective.” Precisely. When we call him ‘ideal’, in our attempts to try to get a glimpse of his picture in toto, it should not be forgotten that this person was made of flesh and blood to, like any of us. Else, we would miss the wholesome picture. Else, we would misread him; misunderstand his purpose and tend to be misguided on his purposes, unable to balance between the opposing ideas that find an expression through him.
Coming back to what Rama says when he is alone in the company of Lakshmana and Sita, about to begin his life in exile. We saw what he said
அதர்மபய பீத: ச பரலோகஸ்ய ச அநக |
தேந லக்ஷ்மண நாத்யாஹம் ஆத்மாநம் அபிஷேசயே ||
(Ibid, Sloka 26)
which the lecturer interprets as, “I could have anointed myself, putting aside Dasaratha and everybody else. Why didn’t I? I have fear of wrong-doing. I don’t want to do that which is ignoble or improper just for gain.”
But if he said that, it was not out of mere impulse. This is just an effect of a cause and not otherwise. Dasaratha himself had requested him to do so, when the three were called to his presence, before going on exile. “Fixing his gaze on Sri Rama (a scion of Raghu) who was coolly awaiting His Majesty’s permission to dwell in the forest, the king said: ‘I have been deprived of my senses by Kaikeyi through a boon (granted by me in her favour) O scion of Raghu! Taking me captive, (therefore) be you the king of Ayodhya today.” (Ibid, Canto 34, Sloka 26)
If we miss these words of Dasaratha (which unfortunately even the eminent Sastriyar does not refer to at this point), we will not be able to see the words of Rama in perspective. We will not be able to understand that Rama – though fuming – was just reflecting on the suggestion of Dasaratha. Just as anyone who has not read Psalm 22 of the Bible, which starts with the line, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” unable to understand the reason behind one of those last words from the cross, ‘Eli, Eli, lama sa-bach thani?’, and unable to perceive it in perspective.
Every word – be it of the epic or that of the scripture – has its design; its place; logic and reason. We, however, are not going into a detailed discussion right now. Just wait for a moment longer. The stage is getting set-up. The screen is yet to rise up. We are just peeping through.
What we were about to explain was how Kamban has handled this delicate scene. And its total absence.
This is the detour
Kamban’s verses run closest to that of Valmiki up to the scene in which Rama is summoned to the presence of Dasaratha, for informing him of the change of decision. Even the words of Kaikeyi that tell him that he has been ordained by the king to dwell in the forest ‘for years twice seven’ are a direct translation from Valmiki, who uses the expression ‘sapta sapta ca varsāni’ to denote a period of fourteen years. Take a look at the following Sloka from Valmiki.
ஸப்த ஸப்த ச வர்ஷாணி தண்டகாரண்யம் ஆச்ரித: |
அபிஷேகம் இதம் த்யக்த்வா ஜடாசீரதர: பவ ||
(Valmiki Ramayana, Ayodhya Kanda, Canto 18, Sloka 37)
“Forgoing the forthcoming installation and ensconced in the Dandaka forest, wear matted locks and the bark of trees for seven and seven years.”
And now hear what Kamban’s Kaikeyi tells Rama. ‘ஆழிசூழ் உலகமெல்லாம் பரதனே ஆள,’ Let Bharata rule over this world surrounded by the sea. ‘நீ போய்,’ You go ‘ தாழிரும் சடைகள் தாங்கி,’ and wear the matted locks ‘தாங்கரும் தவம் மேற்கொண்டு,’ undertake and perform askesis ‘ பூழி வெங்கானம் நண்ணி, புண்ணிய நதிகள் ஆடி,’ reside in the forest and have a dip in the holy rivers, ‘ஏழிரண்டு ஆண்டின் வா என்று இயம்பினன் அரசன் என்றாள்,’ and return after (the passage of) years twice seven.
The words ‘abhisekam imam tyaktvā’ (give up, forego, the ceremonies) become ‘Let Bharata rule,’ implying ‘do not ascend the throne, in his favour’. ‘jatācīradharo’ becomes, ‘thAzhirum sadaigaL thAngi,’ ‘wear the matted locks’, though the expression ‘cira’ goes unsaid and understood. ‘dandakāranyam āśritah’ become ‘reside in the forests.’ And most important. ‘ஸப்த ஸப்த ச வர்ஷாணி’ is expressed in an equivalent ‘ ஏழ் இரண்டு ஆண்டு,’ ’years twice seven.’ Look at the similarity in the expression of a period of fourteen years! An almost exact word-for-word translation of Valmiki’s version.
And take a look at the reply of Rama. “At your command, though not (directly) enjoined by my revered father, I shall live in a lonely forest on this globe for fourteen years.” (Ibid, Canto 19, Sloka 23) ‘mannavan paNi andraagil, num paNi maruppanO yaan?’ asks Kamban’s Rama, almost exactly echoing in the words of Valmiki. ‘Let it be so. It may or may not be the order of the king. Would I deny, would I refuse to obey, if it were yours!’ The particular verse in question, of course, offers itself to be interpreted in two different ways, both interpretations not moving away from the spirit of the matter; but giving out a keen insight of Rama and the that he has taken note of the fact that Dasaratha is unconscious at that time, as also the possible cause behind that state, suggesting subtly that Rama has understood what should have taken place between the King and Kaikeyi, bringing about an abrupt turn of events. A detailed discussion on this can be taken up later, when we arrive at this scene.
But. From this point onwards, Kamban takes his own path. Dasaratha remains unconscious throughout. He does not regain his consciousness and summon Rama to his presence, as it happens in Valmiki. Leaving the palace of Kaikeyi, Rama goes to Kausalya and Sumitra and the drama takes its shape, with Sita and Lakshmana joining him and the three leaving on exile. It is only much later that Dasaratha comes to his senses. By that time Rama had already left. He did not even come back to Dasaratha to say ‘adieu’ or take his leave. ‘pAvi, nIyE vemkaan padarvaai endru en uyirai EvinaayO?’ he would ask Kaikeyi in shock, later. ‘Sinner! Did you order him – my very own soul – to go to the forest! ‘avanum EginanO!’ And did he leave! On your words! (Implying, ‘did he go without even taking leave of me!’)
That only emphasises the fact that it is the intention of Kamban, left for us to understand, that his Rama was aware of what has actually taken place between the father and the mother. That underlines the fact that he did not come back to Dasaratha because that would necessitate the king to plead with him in ever so many words, trying to stop him from going on exile. Long, long discussions, and the arguments for and against the merits of ‘protecting the honour of the words of the father’ and accepting the exile, are skilfully avoided with a minor bypass. We will amplify on this at an appropriate time.
What we have seen is just one sample of the wonders that Valmiki and Kamban have worked with the magic of their words. The latter takes a detour at times, gives a different colour, paints a slightly different drama, nevertheless elevating the dramatis personae, and the reader alike.
A father’s child
Reflecting on the last post for a moment, we are reminded of the deep bonds of love that held the two – Dasaratha and Rama – together. Rama was his very own soul, his breath of life, the staff that supported his existence. Think of it! A king remaining issueless for long – the branching off of the story of his daughter that he gave in adoption to king Romapada (See: The son-in-law of Dasaratha) not denying, which need not be gone into anyway – and blessed with a child like Rama! The epic, right from the word ‘go’ speaks of the way Dasaratha was attached to Rama, of the four sons. Yes. Of the four sons, he loved Rama and Rama alone. Whenever Lakshmana is thought of, he is thought of as an ‘external extension’ of Rama and an inevitable and undeniable appendage, and nothing other than that.
Dasaratha, who could bear the separation of Bharata and Satrughna for twelve long years, would not even imagine for a moment of separation from Rama. Bharata and Satrughna are sent away to Kekaya, along with Yudhäjit, the brother of Kaikeyi, or the maternal uncle of Bharata. And they do not return, until they had to, until they were summoned on the death of Dasaratha! Think for a moment, would Dasaratha have survived at all, if Rama was in the place of Bharata! That would have been too much for him. And, did he survive a moment longer, when Rama did actually move away from him!
‘Oviya ezhiludai oruvanai alladhu,’ Kamban puts it at the very beginning, right after the birth of the four. ‘But for Rama and Rama alone,’ ‘aaviyum udalamum iladhu ena mEvinan’ there was neither a body, nor a soul for him, the king Dasaratha. Rama was his soul; and Rama was the frame that contained that soul.
When Viswamitra enters the scene, Dasaratha trembles uncontrollably at the mere mention of the sage to send Rama along with him, to protect his yaga. ‘kaN ilaan petru izandhaan ena uzhandhaan kadum thuyaram,’ Kamban beautifully captures the moment. ‘Like the born-blind who was blessed with sight for a few days, and losing his sight after learning the pleasures of what it is to be to live with eyes! And finally when Rama goes along with Viswamitra, ‘mannan in uyir vazhik koNdaal ena’ he leaves as though the very soul of Dasaratha moves away from him. The poet remembers to bring the life back to the king, to make him breathe, when they meet again in the palace of Janaka. ‘dhEvarum thozu kazal siruvan,’ the poet says when Rama comes to the side of Dasaratha, as to receive him and bow before him. ‘The boy whose feet-of-anklet are worshipped by the celestials, ‘mun pirivadhu Or aavi vandhadhu enna arasan maadu aNuginaan,’ came to the presence of Dasaratha, as though the soul that had left him earlier, coming back to him.
When Rama was away from him Dasaratha goes lifeless; and suspires only in his memories and gains his life back, only when he comes to his side. There was nothing else for him in this world, even his very own self, but for Rama. And one is reminded of his other ‘most loved of’ soul here, none other than Kaikeyi. Unless this love is
Rama was more a father’s child, in every sense of the word, than his mother’s. No doubt the celebrated sloka, the address of Viswamitra,
கௌஸல்யா ஸுப்ரஜா ராம பூர்வா ஸந்த்யா ப்ரவர்தத்தே |
உத்திஷ்ட நரசார்தூல கர்த்தவ்யம் தைவம் ஆஹ்நிகம் ||
(Valmiki Ramayana, Bala Kanda, Canto 23, Sloka 2)
speaks of ‘the child that Kausalya was blessed with.’ “Kausalya is blessed with a worth son (in you) O Rama! The morning twilight has set in. (Therefore) get up.” Nonetheless, Rama was more a father’s child, like this father who loved him and him alone, of his four children, more than anything else.
And that is perhaps one of the reasons why, while there is a bAla-krishna, there is no bAla-rAmA. The poets had their hearts filled with delight to sing the praise of the Lord in the hands of mother Yasodha. Our poets perhaps had not visualised such a mother in Kausalya. We are not blessed to read and partake in the bAla-leela of Rama, as we hear nothing of the child, Rama. When we meet him for the first time in the epic, he is already sixteen years old. A very matured, well-mannered, polite, extremely thorough-bread king. A king in the making at that time. For that is how we see him throughout the epic, either on the throne of Ayodhya or not. A king, a king and a king. A loving brother, a true friend, a devoted son, and a very well-deserved enemy; but always a king, crowned or not.
Doubtless, he inherited all the qualities of a splendid race, and a wonderful father, the terror of demons, whose help was sought by the very Indra, in the elimination of his enemies. The father looked to the son as his own apple-of-the-eye and the son looked
at his father with admiration, devotion and was proud about him too.
The boyhood – Rama and Krishna
This idea of Rama being a father’s child is deep-seated in the minds of almost every poet who has composed something or the other revolving round Ramayana. Whenever a child divine is thought of, the mind goes immediately to Krishna, and the poet either sings of the child and its mother – Yasodha – or associates himself directly with the mother, dons her robes. It is thus we see Periyazwar donning the sari of Yasodha without difficulty and singing almost all the scenes involving a loving mother and her endeared son, playing every role of the mother, including breast-feeding. This tradition continues down the line, till Bharati, who has perceived Krishna from many and differing angles, including that of a lover – male as well as female – mother, father, child – son as well as daughter – friend, guru etc.
Now, let’s turn to Kulasekara Azwar, whose pieces on Ramayana composed before Kamban are available to us. Take a look at the way in which he sings lullaby to the child, Rama. ‘mannu pugaz kOsalai than maNi vayiru vaaytthavanE,’ he begins. ‘The son of the celebrated Kausalya,’ is the way in which he addresses the baby. And ends every quartet with the refrain ‘irAgavanE thaAlElO’ lullaby to thee O Raghava! One is able to see easily that the mother – or whoever be the person – that sings lullaby here is NOT Kausalya, but someone else. It becomes obvious by the simple fact that if it was Kausalya that the poet intended to be the person singing the lullaby, he could not have addressed Rama with the epithet, ‘mannu pugaz kOsalai than maNi vayiru vaaytthavanE,’ or, ‘lullaby to thee O son of the celebrated Kausalya.’ Kausalya could not refer to herself as ‘celebrated Kausalya,’ that too by her own name.
And compare this with the next ten quartets that follow (known as ‘vanthaaLiNai’). It depicts the laments of Dasaratha, on sending Rama on exile. See the way in which the poet Kulasekara speaks it in the first person, donning the robe of Dasaratha on his own shoulders, with ease. In other words, Kulasekara Azwar is able to associate himself more with Dasaratha – than with Kausalya – as easily as Periyazwar could associate himself with Yasodha. On the same scale, one can also see that none of the poets could play the part of Nandagopa, as they could with ease, that of Yasodha. Crossing the barriers of genders. Even Bharati plays the mother, when he sings of his Kannan or Kannamma as the child. (By the way, the bhava in Bharati’s song ‘thIraadha viLayaattu piLLai,’ is more from the angle of a friend than that of a parent. The lines like, ‘viLyaada vAvendrazaippan,’ ‘he would call me to come for playing with’ and ‘ammaikku nallavan kaNdIr,’ ‘the fellow is a good boy to (or, ‘in the eyes of’) his mother,’ bring out the relationship between the singer and the sung.)
That captures how Rama and Krishna – as a child – are perceived, in our long, long tradition. Yasodha and Krishna. Dasaratha and Rama. I do not deny that some poets might have played the role of Kausalya too in their works. But such names are very rare, and are almost unknown.
That’s how we see Rama in the hands of Valmiki as well as Kamban too. They give us a picture of the birth of the four and the camera quickly moves to show the picture of a boy of sixteen. Not a single line exists in either of the versions that give us the joy of seeing Kausalya carrying her child in her hands and the bAla-rAmA babbling and playing around, as we could see the pictures of Krishna through the eyes of various poets.
Think of it. We get to know a glimpse of the childhood of even Indrajit through the eyes of Kamban. Mandodari, lamenting on the headless trunk of Indrajit recalls, ‘I was carrying you in my arms and feeding you, pointing to the moon. ‘ambuli, amma vaa endru azaitthalum,’ You stretched out your little hands and called the moon to come to your side. Like every other child. ‘namba, un thaadhai aaNaikku anjinan marungu naNNa,’ And the moon, afraid of your father, came down to earth and stood by your side. ‘Like every other child, you called the moon. But in your case, the moon came down and stood with folded hands by your side, because you are the child of the Terror of Universe.’
When that being so, avoidance of the joyful childhood pictures of Rama, tells us something of the way in which this personality is moulded; cast and constructed. Always a matured personality. His sense of humour and hunger for little jokes not denied. But even the practical jokes of Rama, which can be counted on the fingers of one hand, are that of a grown up; and not that of a child. We are unable to see a single ‘mischief’ of the child, Rama, except, perhaps, the one and only boyhood mischief that Kamban has brought in (absent in Valmiki), which goes to form one of the important links in the chain of events. Shooting the clay-tipped arrows on the hunchback of Mantharä. Rama recalls this mischief in his advice to Sugriva, when the latter is installed as the King of Kishkindha, only to emphasise that ‘none is to be disregarded, or is to be treated curtly, even as a matter of joke.’
If at all something, we get just two verses in the Bala Kanda of Kamban, which bring out the boyhood traits of Rama.
An unusual boyhood
‘Lakshmana was always to be found in the company of Rama,’ Kamban begins, giving us a brief on the boyhood of the four. ‘And the two,’ he adds, ‘mai thavaz pozilgaLum vAviyum maruvi,’ wandered around hills and dales, pools and ponds, together. In the next verse he points to Satrughna who always followed Bharata and the two did not part ‘iradhamum ivuLiyum ivarinum,’ be it during a ride on the chariot or on the horse, ‘marai nUl urai thani pOdhilum,’ or be it the time for studies, the learning of Vedas, ‘enai aaL varadhanum iLayanum ena,’ he draws a tangent to Rama. ‘Like Lakshmana never leaving the side of my Lord, Rama.’
The four would walk– I repeat walk – to the hermitage of their masters, and return to the palace, Rama and Lakshmana together and Bharata and Satrughna together. Kamban paints a quick and enthralling picture of Rama while returning from his studies. ‘On his way back,’ Kamban points, ‘Rama would stop every now and then and speak to every citizen that comes across.’
‘edhir varum avargaLai emai udai iRaivan,’ Our Lord, who rules us (our minds), would (approach) anyone who is to be seen coming on the way. ‘mudhir tharu karuNayil muga malar oLiraa,’ And with a face beaming because of the compassion, empathy that is brimming in, (he would pick up a conversation with them; enquire them of their welfare.) ‘edhu vinai?’ he would ask. ‘Of what profession are you? What are you doing?’ ‘idar ilai?’ Is there any difficulty? Are you void of all troubles? (Can I do something for you, if at all there is distress of any kind?) Is there something that troubles you? ‘inidhu num manayum?’ Is your family doing well? Are you prosperous? ‘madhi tharum kumararum valiyar kol?’ And are your children healthy?
Who would not, tell me, what soul would not be moved to tears when the very son of the emperor, walking down the streets of the outskirts of the city – for that is where the study can go on, in the hermitage of the masters – approaching them of his own, and enquiring them of their welfare! It is something like being greeted by the President of your country, on the streets! What would it feel like to meet the ruler-to-be on the streets, who approaches you voluntarily, speaks to you gently, kindly, and gives an opportunity to be heard!
The people of Kosala were. They were moved to tears by this boy, who was not even sixteen at that time, coming to them and speaking to them with a face bubbling with compassion and empathy. ‘ahdhu ayaa,’ they would reply, ‘ninai emadhu arasu ena udayEm.’ ‘We have you as our king, our endeared sire!’ Rama was not even the Prince Regent then. The proposal for the installation ceremony is yet to take shape. There is a long, long way remaining, a good twelve years after the wedding. Viswamitra is yet to arrive at this point of time. And yet, the people identified their King in Rama, and Rama alone.
There is a reason behind my emphasising this. This forms an important counter for that question of rājyasulkam of which Rama talks to Bharata, much later in the Ayodhya Kanda. A supposed promise of Dasaratha to the father of Kaikeyi, to enthrone the child born to her. And the reason behind Dasaratha’s desire to conduct the coronation ceremony of Rama when Bharata was away in Kekaya. A question which has to be discussed in its due context.
Rama was installed in the minds of the people as their king, long, long before even the proposal for naming him as the successor is proffered by Dasaratha in his Court. That’s what the line ‘ninai emadhu arasu ena udayEm,’ emphasises. ‘We have you as our king.’ ‘ihdhu oru poruL ala.’ How can we be troubled by anyone or anything! And even if that is so, that cannot be such a problem (that merits your attention). ‘emadhu uyirudan mahi thalm muzudhayum uruguvai, malarOn ugu pagal aLavu.’ We dedicate all our lives unto you. Take all the time that is left for every single one of us to live, put together, and live and rule over us until the last day of Brahma.
The question of rājyasulkam is totally absent in Kamban. And even in Valmiki, where the story branches off to this – not so much important – point, there are several reasons which justify the installation of Rama on the throne, despite the existence of the supposed promise of Dasaratha. A point on which neither Kaikeyi, nor Mantharä insisted. Nor was it reminded by the king of Kekaya; or Yudhäjit, the brother of Kaikeyi, though Bharata lived in their palace for twelve years, until the death of Dasaratha.
If Rama walked down the streets of Ayodhya – as otherwise he could not have spoken to the people, were he on the chariot – that not only brings out his nobility, but also the simplicity of the emperor, Dasaratha, who did not send his ‘most endeared son’ on a chariot. An emperor, whose picture has to be pieced together from various bits scattered all over the epic.
An emperor in tears
Our first meeting with Dasaratha shows him wearing a worried countenance, at the very opening scene of the epic. The emperor is aged and is worried because he remains issueless. And then when the children are born and the poet moves on to the first important milestone in the poetry – the arrival of Viswamitra – we find him worried, troubled at heart, pleading with the sage, in tears. And for the third time, when the happy couple return from Mithila, we see the terror of Kshatriyas, Parasurama entering the stage. Once again, we see Dasaratha in tears, begging to spare his young and inexperienced son, and falls down in a swoon. He is not even conscious enough to witness the boy handlings the exterminator of twenty-one generations of kings, with ease.
And the final scene in which Dasaratha appears. This is a pretty long scene, throughout which we see the poor old king shedding bitter tears, begging with Kaikeyi, begging with almost everyone – which includes Rama (in Valmiki) – to prevent Rama from going on exile. And the emperor dies on hearing that Rama did not return, when the Chief of Ministers, and the charioteer in this instance – Sumantra comes back, leaving Rama by the banks of the river Ganges. The emperor was hoping against hopes that Rama would return with Sumantra.
He would frantically try to get up; flounder; and would look at the door, as the sound of the chariot is heard. ‘varadhan vandhanan!’ he would heave. ‘Here comes my Rama,’ his trembling lips would utter weakly, collecting all the energy left in him. Vasishtha moves away from the scene saying, ‘allal kaaNgilEn,’ I am unable to stand witness to this excruciating moment any more. And the emperor drops dead when Sumantra informs him that the trio has left for the jungles and would not be back for fourteen years. This is according to Kamban. This picture slightly differs from that of Valmiki. Nonetheless, it is not any the better for Dasaratha even in the narration of Valmiki.
With the exception of the occasion of the birth of Rama, and his wedding, we are not able to see this emperor with a smile anywhere else. Whenever we see him, we see him begging, pleading, wailing, bemoaning, cursing himself, cursing Kaikeyi. And he dies when we cross about half-the length of Ayodhya Kanda. Of course, we are going to see his appearance again in his ethereal form in the Yuddha Kanda, at the end of Agni Pravesa. We are going to hear his saner counsel and the conversation between the father and the son. That’s a totally different issue. However, this is the picture of Dasaratha that we get from the epic. An old king, tired, tattered, tormented and tossed about like a ship in the stormy sea.
It is not confined to the Ramayana. Even when we look at him through the eyes of the Azwars, we do not see him in a happy mood. ‘thada varaith thOL dhayaradhan thaan pulambiya ap pulambal,’ is how the eleventh quartet of Kulasekara (vanthALiNai) sums up the essence of the other ten. ‘The laments of Emperor Dasaratha, the man whose shoulders could be likened to the very hills.’ And therefore, he is not visualised once, in a happy mood! Whenever you think of him, the first picture that comes to the mind is the way he is given unto worries, tears and wails. Nothing else.
‘Has he been always like this?’ one is left to wonder. A great emperor born in the lineage of Ikswäku; and the descendant of Puranjaya – who is known as Indravaha and Kakutstha as well – one who was born in the line of Nimi, Sagara – by whose name the oceans are known by the name ‘sägara’ – Mandhätä, Raghu and countless other emperors who have left their powerful and indelible impress on the shores of the endless ocean of Time, cannot be this weak!
We do get a real bright picture of the emperor, here and there, in the epic. But not much. We have to go to Shrimad Bhagavata Maha Purana for a genealogy of the celebrated Ikswäku clan. Interestingly, Nimi, the first of Janakas was the son of the very same Ikswäku.
A race destined to fight demons – I
Like the beginning of every other genealogy, the one that is associated with the race of Ikswäku is also surrounded by mystery and mysticism, if not myth. ‘Ikswäku was born even as Vaivaswata Manu sneezed,’ says the Bhagavata. “From the nostrils of Vaivaswata Manu, even while he was sneezing, sprang up a son (called) Ikswäku.” (Srimad Bhagavata, Book Nine, Discourse 6, Sloka 4) This is a common factor governing all the faiths. Every other race commences with what may be termed as something mythical or mystical. Recall how Adam was created ‘in His likeness’ and how Eve was created from his bones. If creation started, it has to start from somewhere; and definitely not in the way in which living beings started multiplying from the second generation. You do not know how the first life form – or human beings in this case – came into existence and if so, you should have some strange, inexplicable, indecipherable cause that triggered the first life form in the world. And we have one here, like every other belief or faith. Ikswäku was born even as Vaivaswata Manu sneezed.
Ikswäku had a hundred sons, Vikukshi, Nimi and Dandaka being the eldest of the lot. Twenty-five of these hundred sons became the rulers of the land lying between the Vindhya and Himalaya region. Nimi, under the curse of sage Vasishtha, lost his life, at the commencement of a sacrifice that he performed without the Guru, when Vasishtha was perforce to leave for another sacrifice conducted by Indra. Nimi declined it when the gods offered to bring his body back to life. He was therefore blessed to reside in the body of any created being. “Bereft of a body, may you reside at will in the eyes of embodied souls,” they said and “(in this way) Nimi took up his abode in the body of all the Jivas) being indicated by the opening and closing of eyes.” (Ibid, Discourse 13, Sloka 11) It is therefore that the kingdom established by a king who lived outside his body, is known by the name vi-deha (or ‘no body’). He was one among those who stood by the celestials when the ocean of milk was churned for the sake of nectar. Nimi’s son was the first of Janakas. Our Janaka, the father of Sita, whose full name is Siradhwaja Janaka comes about twenty generations later.
Of the sons of Ikswäku, Vikukshi (who later came to be known as Sasada – or the consumer of the meat of a hare) had a son by name Puranjaya. He was such a powerful king that the celestials enlisted his support in the destruction of demons. Puranjaya desired to have a proper ‘mount’ for himself, in the battle against the demons. It was then that Indra assumed the form of a gigantic bull. Puranjaya wiped off all the demons, seated on the hump of the ‘bull’. And that’s how he came to be known by the title Kakutstha and Indravaha. Indravaha means ‘a person who had Indra for his mount’. The name kakutstha stands for the hump of a bull, where Puranjaya took his seat in his battle against the demons. And that’s how Rama is also called by the name, Kakutstha, inheriting the title of one of his ancestors.
This is followed by a very long and impressive list of names in the family of Ikshwäkus. Mandhätä, Sagara (meaning, ‘one born with poison’) by whose sons were dug the oceans and hence are to this day known by the name ‘sägarä’) Bhagirata, one whose super-human efforts brought the Ganges to the earth. The list is long. I have not included many known and impressive names.
All these emperors ruled their country with Ayodhya as their capital. And therefore, this sets aside the view that Dasaratha and his ancestors were kings of Kasi. (See: A look before the leap) That might perhaps be the idea enshrined in the Buddha Jataka Tales, which the respected Professor, A S Gnanasambandan, quotes and expresses with a kind of reservation, not so authoritatively. Going according to our tradition, the emperors of Surya Vamsa ruled a vast tract of land with Ayodhya their capital. The very name a-yodhya, or ‘the country that cannot be warred against,’ suggests the prowess of the chain of its rulers.
Now, let’s turn our attention to Kausalya, whose name suggests that she was the daughter of the king of Kosala. If Dasaratha – and his ancestors – were the rulers of Kosala, with Ayodhya as their capital, how was it that Kausalya was the daughter of the king of Kosala, and how come these two got married! Neither Valmiki nor Kamban has an answer. Or even the remotest of suggestions, at least as far as I have come across. Once again, we are left to seek the answer from other ‘closer’ sources.
A race destined to fight demons – II
The origin of the race of Ikshwäkus is not complete and Vaivaswata Manu was not the first of the race. For the sake of record let me add here that the race is traditionally believed to have started from Vishnu, Brahma, Märïca, Kasyapa and Surya. Vaivaswata Manu was the son of Surya. And that explains why the race is known as Surya Vamsa, or Solar Dynasty. Included in this race are many immaculate kings like Ambarisha, Harischandra etc. Let me emphasise once again that the list is not complete.
Now, the country of Kosala is divided into two – Uttara Kosala and Dakshina Kosala. What the Ikswäku race ruled over was the Uttara Kosala. And then, Kausalya obviously was the daughter of the king of Dakshina Kosala. A strange story of the wedding of Dasaratha and Kausalya found in the <a href=http://laluni.helloyou.ws/askbaba/ramakatharasavahini/r1005.html>Rama Katha Rasavahini </a> a Telugu version of the Ramayana, attests to this view. And that’s how the country was consolidated into one whole, with the wedding of Dasaratha and Kosala. Moreover, when Rama ascends his divinely abode, the kingdom is given to Kusa and Lava, Kusa becoming the king of Kusävati in the Dakshina Kosala and Lava becoming the king of Srävasti, in the Uttara Kosala. The Uttara Kanda of Valmiki Ramayana, as well as the Tamil version of Otta kuthar (ஒட்டக்கூத்தர்) gives us this information of the division of the kingdom once again as Uttara and Dakshina Kosala.
If that is so, when and how Dasaratha married Sumitra, the second wife, who was so endeared to the king that he gave her a second share of the payasa that came out of the putra kameshti yaga, remains a mystery. Nowhere is it to be found how the two came together. Nor do we know anything about the origins of Sumitra, to which country she belonged and the name of her father etc. It is a mystery. Neither the epic nor the other related stories are of much help. It needs a sustained effort to trace her origin. May be it is lying somewhere around and would emerge at an unexpected moment.
The King did not beget an heir through Kausalya and therefore he married Sumitra. Sumitra remained childless and therefore he chose to marry Kaikeyi, the daughter of the king of Kekaya. Since at that time both Kausalya and Sumitra did not bear a child, he consented to install the child born to her on the throne. This is the traditional version. The epic does not give a direct picture of Dasaratha consenting to the king of Kekaya. It is only through conjecture and juxtaposition of the bits and pieces scattered here and there in the epic that this version has been arrived at.
Though Kausalya was the first among the queens, Sumitra was the endeared queen, it was in the company of Kaikeyi that the emperor was to be found more often than otherwise. Kaikeyi, the most beautiful of all, had earned all his love and affection. That is one of the reasons why, Rama, the father’s child, sought the palace of Kaikeyi always, for it was there where his father was to be found. And that’s how the most endeared child and the most endeared wife came together.
If at all she exercised her charms over Dasaratha and enjoyed the power of his special love, one is not able to subscribe that easily to the popular view among scholars that the three queens lived in perfect amity. Kaikeyi was not at peace with the other two queens. As the stalwart, Rt. Hon’ble Srinivasa Sastriyar observes, “How she treated her sisters-in-law is the first idea to which I am going to refer. It was well-known, it was notorious, the way she abused her power with her husband and reduced these people to a very low status indeed.” And then Sastriyar cites to what Mantharä tells her.
“It is improbable that your co-wife, Kausalya (mother of Rama) who has been slighted by you in the past out of pride born of your being loved by your husband, will not repay her grudge to you.” (Valmiki Ramayana, Ayodhya Kanda, Canto 8, Sloka 37)
That line speaks volumes of the reason why while Kausalya and Sumitra were to be found always in the company of each other, Kaikeyi was left alone, only to remain alone either in the company of Dasaratha whenever his kingly duties afforded him the time; and that of the father’s child, Rama. ‘Rama loves me more than he loves Kausalya,’ she asserts Mantharä. “Precisely as Bharata is worthy of esteem (to me) Rama (a scion of Raghu) is even more so. Nay, the latter does greater service to me than to Kausalya.” (Ibid, Sloka 18)
We have gone into the character of Kaikeyi and have studied Rama’s supreme love for Kaikeyi, which is intensified in the version of Kamban. It was the father’s special love for this mother that stemmed the love of this father’s child; and vice versa. What could have been the reason behind this ‘father’s special love’ for the third queen, Kaikeyi? Only her charms?
A race destined to fight demons – III
‘She was well-versed in statecraft,’ says Valmiki, referring to Kaikeyi. We are unable to find a description that comes closer to this, when he speaks of either Kausalya or Sumitra. ‘ ததா ஸுமந்த்ரம் மந்த்ரஜ்ஞா கைகேயீ ப்ரத்யுவாச ஹ’ he says, when a perplexed Sumantra waits for the orders of Dasaratha, who was unconscious at that time. (See: The game plan) The phrase ‘ மந்த்ரஜ்ஞா கைகேயீ ’ is generally translated to mean, ‘well-versed in statecraft.’ I must also add that Griffith’s translation of this phrase reads as “Kaikeyi, skilled in plot and plan.’
Either way. She was talented in statecraft; and in plotting as well. “She had abilities, talents of a kind, but she abused them for self-aggrandisement,” observes Srinivasa Sastriyar and adds, “She was by temperament disposed to domineer over people; she loved power and whoever came under her shadow regretted it.”
The fact remains that the emperor was deep in love with her, until of course, the day on which she demanded her boons and persisted ruthlessly, at the cost of the life of her husband, what she was doctored to ask for. She was the most loved of the queens, to which fact Mantharä draws her attention –
தயிதா த்வம் ஸதா பர்து: அத்ர மே நாஸ்தி ஸம்சய: |
த்வத்க்ருதே ச மஹாராஜ: விசேத் அபி ஹுதாசநம் ||
ந த்வாம் க்ரோதயிதும் சக்த: ந க்ருத்தாம் ப்ரத்யுதீக்ஷிதும் |
தவ ப்ரியார்த்தம் ராஜா ஹி ப்ராணாந் அபி பரித்யஜேத் ||
“You are ever beloved of your spouse. I have no doubt about it. Nay, for your sake, the emperor can even enter fire. The king dare not provoke you nor can he bear to see you angry. For your pleasure, the king can literally lay down his very life.”
(Valmiki Ramayana, Ayodhya Kanda, Canto 9, Sloka 24 and 25)
‘He would walk into fire at your behest. He would lay his life down, to make you pleased.’ That was the kind of power that Kaikeyi enjoyed over the king; but did not do much more than to fritter it on those other than the emperor and Rama, for she loved them dearly, and sincerely. Until her mind was turned otherwise. And she paid for it dearly too. Disowned by the emperor forever. He did not forgive her, until the nobility of Rama had the strength to seek his pardon for ‘his mother’ when Dasaratha appears in his ethereal form in the last scene. She was disowned not only by Dasaratha; but by Bharata too. We have seen how she stood slighted by Bharata in the presence of the hunter-boatman Guha. (See: The mother of woes and nurse of infamy)
But, until that day, she was the most endeared person in the world to the emperor. With the exception of Rama. We hear the emperor himself saying this, in his desperation to know the mind of Kaikeyi, moments before the plot thickened. “O proud lady, don’t you know that no man other than Rama, a (veritable) tiger among men, is dearer to me than yourself? I swear to you by the said Rama (a scion of Raghu), who is invincible and high-souled, the foremost among men and more valuable than my own life; speak out what is sought by your mind.” (Ibid, Canto 11, Sloka 5 and 6) ‘vaLLal iraaman un maindhan aaNai,’ echoes Kamban’s Dasaratha. ‘I swear in the name of your son, Rama.’ ‘iraamaavO, unaip payandha kaikEsi than sol kEttu,’ goes the lament of Dasaratha, in the words of Kulasekara Azwar. ‘Rama, I sent you away, listening to the words of Kaikeyi, who bore you (your mother)’.
There were only two in the world who had earned all the love of the emperor. Rama and Kaikeyi. Rama did not show a difference in his love for Kausalya and for Kaikeyi. In fact, he was more attached to her than his own mother, Kausalya.
This love perhaps stemmed from the bravery that Kaikeyi displayed when Dasaratha was enlisted by Indra in his fight against the demon Timidhwaja – who is more known by his other name Sambara – and whom Dasaratha fought, with Kaikeyi as the charioteer. That’s an instance in the life of Dasaratha which underlines his prowess and the manner in which he was respected by the celestials, and the way in which he responded to the call, true to the line of Ikshwäkus that he came from. As it happens most of the times, the popular notion and the text do not agree.
Hari Krishnan