The help within – 1

It has been our experience in our lives that a crisis building up before our very eyes like forest fire, demanding all our attention and gathering momentum despite all our efforts to extinguish it, gets puffed off in a moment inexplicably, for no apparent reason. The flame would leap up sky high and then would vanish without a trace, leaving us with a ‘whew’ wiping the sweat from the brows. I do not say that every situation that is tough gets solved by itself. Most of them do.

The crisis that was building up before Sita took an unexpected turn and the sky became clear without anyone having to do anything about it. Ravana thought that he was creating a crisis for her. His plan worked very well, but took an unexpected turn in that, instead of feeling helpless and getting mentally prepared to accept him, bending down to the demands of the emotional void that has been created, she was pleading with him to kill her.

Capturing the wives of other men and making them yield to his demands was nothing new for Ravana. Most of us tend to believe that the abduction of Janaki was the only violation that this ‘Vedic scholar’ caused. We have listed out the numbers and the ways of his violations in our series on Ravana. The Uttara Kanda contains many references to his weird ways. When Ravana threatens Sita in an earlier scene, telling her that his cooks would make a morning meal of her in two months, Valmiki slips this information so very deftly. Listen to him. “Gazing on that daughter of Janaka being threatened by Ravana (the lord of the ogres) those daughters of gods and Gandharvas (who had been forcibly borne away like Sita) grew melancholy with troubled eyes. Some (of them) reassured by the expression of their lips and others by their eyes and faces Sita who was menaced (as above) by the ogre. (Valmiki Ramayana, Sundara Kanda, Canto 22, Sloka 10 and 11)

It is abundantly clear that he was used to fetching women at will, isolating them, create an emotional void for them – as he did now for Janaki – so that they become mentally dependent on the only available source, accepting the abductor as their protector.

That speaks for itself as to why Ravana rushed to Asoka Vana first when the situation actually demanded all his attention in another direction, namely, that of thinking of the steps that he as the king of Lanka should take consequent to Rama’s arrival there in their land with a large simian army. He knew the ways to bend the human psyche as he pleased and must have believed that he could retrieve the situation if only he was able to build pressure on Janaki. He must have expected that she would be as susceptible as the others in his gynaecium. But contrary to all his calculations and past experience, she preferred to die instead of submitting to him.

This situation was dealt with earlier in our studies on Ravana. (See: It goes like a cloud)
“Kill me at once by all means, laying me on the body of Sri Rama, O Ravana! Unite a husband with his wife and (thus) practise a supreme virtue. Join my head with his head and my body with his body. I shall follow the way of my high-souled husband, O Ravana,” she pleaded with him. (Valmiki Ramayana, Sundara Kanda, Canto 32, Sloka 31 and 32)

It was at this moment that unexpected turn took place. He was building pressure on her. He was hoping against hopes to win her over. He thought that – like the other women he had abducted earlier – she would bend. She preferred to be burnt instead. There was no way for Sarama, the wife of Vibishana, – and Trijata, the daughter of Vibishana who were present there, to convey to her that the head of Sri Rama was fake. However, as it happens in our lives, the crisis vanished of its own.

As we mentioned earlier in 'It goes like a cloud', when Ravana was busy building pressure on her, his crisis was deepening and getting out of hand. Prahasta, who was the Commander-in-Chief and the maternal uncle of Ravana, could not take it any more. Urgent decisions had to be made and he sent a messenger, seeking his presence. Ravana had to leave the place quickly. Valmiki says, “Immediately after the departure of Ravana, the aforesaid (illusory) head as well as that excellent bow vanished.” (Ibid, Sloka 40)

That enabled Sarama to move in and strengthen the depleting mental resources of Janaki. Was it strange or was it part of divine will that Ravana had put Sarama and Trijata in charge of the ogress guards of Sita!

The help within – 2

Most tough situations in life come with an inbuilt helpline. Almost every one of them contains the seeds of solution in it. If it doesn’t, there would at least be a helping hand present somewhere around, close by. We do not know how and would not know why, there would be a gentle tap on the shoulder from behind, when the heart gets lonely and the hour gets darker. Was it a mere accident or was it divine will that brought this shoulder upon which I can rest my head on, when I could take it no longer – we would never know. Most of us have seen this happen in our lives. We have experienced it.

The presence of Trijata and Sarama in the Asoka Vana is something similar. Trijata is the source of peace, source of strength and source of all information on Ravana, for Sita. She plays almost a similar role as does Vibishana to Rama. However, we have no clue as to when and how Trijata was brought into the picture. The imprisonment of Janaki starts on the very first day of her abduction, in Lanka. “Let the princess of Mithila be taken to the heart of the Asoka grove. Let her remain surrounded by you and guarded in a clandestine way. Win over all of you this princess of Mithila there, by recourse to fearful threats and again with conciliatory words as one would tame a wild she elephant,” was the order that he issued to the ogress guards when he found that she could not be tamed by whipping up a desire for wealth, a luring for the most enviable power – of the Lord of all the three worlds standing in attendance to obediently carry out all that she orders – or the attempt to instil fear, or induce the instincts of safety, self-preservation, or by any other means. We do not find either the name of Sarama or Trijata at this time. What we see now is that she is surrounded by ogress guards and that she is taken to the ‘heart of Asoka Vana.’ Nothing more than that.

The scene of abduction in the drama of Kamban ends with Jatayu falling on the ground, in his attempt to stop Ravana from carrying her off. Ravana used the sword of Shiva – known as Chandrahasa – on Jatayu to sever his wings. The scene ends with Ravana carrying Janaki in her parnasala skywards, and Jatayu looking on helplessly with tearful eyes, bleeding profusely and lying on the ground mortally wounded. Kamban does not narrate the scene of her being taken to Lanka, shown around the palace and being subjected to temptation of every kind, on her first day there.

From this point onwards, be it Valmiki or be it Kamban, we see her again only in the Sundara Kanda when Hanuman spots her. Ten months have elapsed in the meanwhile. It is here we see Trijata for the first time. Valmiki introduces her as ‘trijata, vruddhä, prabuddhä,’ An aged, senior (ogress), Trijata by name. Both Valmiki as well as Kamban do not mention that she is the daughter of Vibishana, at this point of time. Trijata silences the ogress guards and narrates the dream from which she woke up. She tells them how Ravana fell from the back of the donkey on which he was mounted, that was moving southwards, and a dark young woman clad in red, dragging him over a dry lake. She also mentions how Kumbakarna was seen by her in her dream, disappearing in a pool of cow dung. And she does mention the prosperity that awaits Vibishana.

“In that dream Vibishana (Ravana’s youngest brother) alone was seen by me shaded with a white canopy, dressed in white and wearing a white garland (nay) smeared with white sandal-paste. Hailed with blasts of conch-shells and the beating of kettledrums as well as with dances and songs, Vibishana stood thee in the air mounted on a four-tusked celestial elephant closely resembling a hill and trumpeting like thunder, with four ministers.” (Valmiki Ramayana, Sundara Kanda, Canto 27, Sloka 34 and 35)

It is to be noted that Vibishana is with Ravana now and his expulsion from the house of Ravana is yet to come. When he is expelled and when he seeks refuge in Rama, he would be surrounded by the ‘four ministers’ that Trijata mentions in the above Sloka.

Despite this. Even though there is occasion to mention the name of Vibishana in the first scene in which Trijata is introduced, the poet is silent about the fact that she is his daughter. Even Kamban does not mention this fact here.

Let’s take a look at his version.

Who was she?

‘What is the need for you to shed idle tears, O Sita, when I have told you already about my dream?’ asks Trijata. That is the first occasion on which we see her in the epic. ‘munnE sonnEn kaNda kanaavin mudivammaa,’ Did I not tell you of my dream earlier? Did I not tell you that this Ravana and his lot would be razed to the ground and that Rama and Lakshmana – the twin lions that I saw in my dream – would emerge victorious? ‘pinnE vaaLaa pEdhuruvIrEl pizhai,’ If you continue to shed tears for no reason, no. It’s wrong. You are not to worry. Not to weep.

Throughout this first scene of her appearance, we are just told that Trijata is a kind hearted ogress who has been standing by the side of Vaidehi ever since she was brought into Asoka Vana. It is not just here. Trijata appears in several scenes starting from the Sundara Kanda. Wherever she appears the poet refers to her with epithets like ‘thaayinum iniyaaL,’ one whose love is deeper than the love of one’s mother, ‘karuththal il sindhayaaL,’ one whose mind is not given to dark-thoughts, etc. Unlike in the narration of Valmiki, Kamban remembers to include her name when Lanka bids adieu to Sri Rama and Sita, in the last scene after agni pravesa. Not a single line in every single one of the scenes tells us that she is the daughter of Vibishana.

The narration of the dream of Trijata to Janaki in Kamban closely resembles that of Valmiki’s. We see a reference to Vibishana in her dream in Kamban’s version as well. ‘I saw Mahalakshmi holding a lamp in her hand, walking from Ravana’s palace to the palace of Vibishana,’ she says. ‘And it was at that time that you woke me up.’ ‘annayE adhan kurai kaaN endru aayizhai, innamum thuyilga endru iru karam kUppinaaL.’ ‘Please go back to sleep,’ pleaded Sita. ‘Please resume your sleep and let the rest of the dream appear again, o mother mine!’ she told her with folded hands.

We are not able to find a direct reference to the relationship between Vibishana and Trijata even at such an instance. She is simply referred to as a ‘kind hearted elderly ogress,’ and nothing more. In a later scene when the war was on, Indrajit kills an illusory Sita in the presence of Hanuman. (See: When the very purpose of the war is nullified…)
Rama was in the grips of sorrow, crest-fallen at the news. At that time Vibishana saw through the grand design of Indrajit. Assuring Sri Rama that nothing untoward could have happened to her, he assumed the form of a bee and reached Asoka Vana to come back with the good news. (See: Information – the staff of life)

The account of Vibishana to Sri Rama on the safety of Sita contains a reference to Trijata. ‘I saw her alive in the Asoka Vana,’ he tells Rama and continues, ‘thIrppadhu thunbam yaan en uyirodu endru uNarndha sindhai,’ (I heard her saying) All my sorrow would come to an end only when I die. ‘pErppadhu sem solaaL ath thirisadai pEsap pErndhaaL.’ But she was relieved of her sorrow as Trijata spoke gentle words, restoring her to her own self.

The point I want to make here is that this is a very rare instance in the Ramayana when Vibishana saw his daughter, accompanying Sita, pacifying her. And reported that to Rama. Even at such a very significant moment, he refers to her as ‘sem solaaL’ one whose words are kindly, sweet. I wonder what made this father not to refer to her as ‘my daughter.’

But the moving account above – Sita pleading with her to resume her sleep so that the rest of her dream continues – very clearly establishes the kind of relationship that existed between the two of them. Sita stands before her with joined palms and addresses her as ‘annayE’. Mother mine.

For some inexplicable reason Trijata was deeply moved by the plight of Sita and the way she faced the brute so very bravely and stood her ground stoically. Considering the importance that Ravana attached to the guarding of Janaki, it is plain and simple to conclude that Trijata must have earned his confidence. Her kindly nature must have been well-known and it is possible that Ravana placed her as the head of the ogress guards, to complement what was missing in the other guards. Kindliness.

Kamban does not mention the name Sarama, the wife of Vibishana. This character does not figure in at all in his version of Ramayana. Trijata plays the role throughout, standing by the side of Janaki whenever the sky darkens.

What we know of the relationship between Trijata and Vibishana is mostly through commentators. However, sieving through the verses of the great epic for a direct reference that points to the relationship between Trijata and Vibishana, I was heartened to find one – just only one – verse in Kamba Ramayana that states who they were, explicitly.

The curse that was her shield

The scene in hand is the council convened by Sri Rama, to seek the opinion of his companion, Sugriva and his followers on the question accepting Vibishana who has come seeking refuge in him. Apart from everything else, Rama plays the role of an effective manager, the chairperson. We have gone into this, though not in detail, in part, in our study on Hanuman. (See: Of councils and counsels IV and V) That was a meeting in which Sri Rama had already taken a decision; but still wanted to assess the opinion of his associates and finally got his point across, though every single one in the meeting, with the exception of Hanuman, had – without knowing what Sri Rama had in mind, which he did not divulge initially – expressed the view that Vibishana is not to be accepted.

We have seen that Hanuman spoke when the meeting was winding up, all others having expressed their points. Hanuman comes out with a long list points that favour the acceptance of Vibishana. He details out the situation, its nature and gravity of circumstances in which Vibishana has quit from the court of Ravana, and on the discussion goes before Rama winds up with his summing up and justifies the stand that he takes.

There occurs a verse in the considerably long speech of Hanuman, which adds a vital piece of information as to why Vibishana deserves to be accepted. ‘I have seen myself,’ Hanuman says, ‘as to how Trijata stands by the side of Devi, vitalising her mental resources, serving her as the source of her information, due to which, to a large extent, we are able to see her alive.’ It is here that Hanuman mentions that Trijata is the daughter of Vibishana.

‘annavan thani magaL,’ The unmatched daughter of Vibishana ‘alarin mEl ayan sonnadhu Or saabam uNdu. unnai, thunmadhi, nannudhal! thINdumEl naNugum kUtru,’ There is a curse of Brahma, the Creator, of the abode of lotus, on Ravana. He cannot touch you. Brahma’s curse stops him from touching any woman without her consent. If he does, Ravana’s head would burst into pieces. ‘ena ennudai iRaivikkum inidhu kUrinAL,’ so has she informed my worshipful Lady thus.

‘annavan’ means ‘such person’. The person who is now spoken about is Vibishana. ‘thani magaL’ may mean ‘only daughter’ or ‘daughter of unmatched qualities’. Therefore, it can be inferred by context that Vibishana is spoken about here. The only person who has informed Sita of the curse of Brahma is Trijata. Janaki herself informs Hanuman of the curse. ‘mEvu sindhai il maadharai mei thodil,’ If ever (from now) you but touch a woman against her wishes, ‘dhEvu van thalai,’ the heads of yours that are endowed with divine nature, ‘sindhuga nI,’ would roll down the ground, permanently. They would not appear again and again, as it would happen if an enemy severs them. This was a curse spelt on Ravana by Brahma – who is his grandfather – when Ravana violated the celestial nymph Puñjikasthalä in his earlier days.

Ravana himself tells the story of the curse on him to Mahaparswa who advises him to revel in Sita without waiting for her consent. On hearing from Puñjikasthalä what Ravana did to her, Brahma was enraged, says Ravana. “Highly enraged, the creator forthwith addressed the following words to me: ‘If you (happen to) violate any other woman henceforward, your head will be forthwith split into a hundred pieces; there is no doubt about it.’ Hence, afraid (as I am) of his curse, I do not violently put Sita, a princess of the Videha territory, on my charming bed by force. (Valmiki Ramayana, Yuddha Kanda, Canto XIII, Sloka 13 – 15)

The Uttara Kanda mentions another curse on him. This was the curse of Nalakubara, the son of Kubera. Since Kubera is the half-brother of Ravana, Nalakubara is – in our tradition – to be considered as his own son. Ravana violated the wife of Nalakubara, Rambha the celestial nymph, that is to say, his own daughter-in-law and received a similar curse from Nalakubara as well.

The point is, this was the most vital of all information that preserved the life of Janaki in the isolated prison of Asoka Vana, giving her the confidence that Ravana cannot come near her as far as she is firm in her resolve. As Hanuman observes, that Vibishana’s daughter passed the information to Janaki was the main reason that strengthened her and continue to wage her lonely war against Ravana. Now, there might arise a question as to what would she have done in the absence of such a curse. Well, it is a matter of hypothesis. In such circumstances, as she herself tells Hanuman and even Ravana himself, she might have burnt him to ashes. That is one possible answer. I would however prefer to keep away from dealing with hypothetical questions.

And see how a tough situation is ingrained with seeds of solution, source of sustenance and hopes of survival and triumph of Truth. Why would Ravana keep the daughter of Vibishana close to Janaki otherwise! That too, even after Vibishana quit his court! You may call it a chance happening or you may call it Divine Will. The fact remains a fact.

The Father Factor

The ‘mAya sanakap padalam’ or the Canto of Illusory Janaka is a brilliant substitute that Kamban did, in place of what we saw in Valmiki. His drama does not include this scene in which Ravana brings an illusory head of Rama together with his weapons. It is not difficult to infer what would have stopped Kamban from including this scene in his version. Valmiki had no difficulty in painting the gory details of the ‘severed’ illusory head of Sri Rama which was placed before Janaki to create an emotional vacuum. If Valmiki could do that, it was due to the fact that he was a chronicler who was supposed to be a contemporary of Sri Rama, who was known more as an upright king rather than an Avatar at that time. Valmiki himself plays a vital role in the Uttara Kanda. Janaki lives in his hermitage for most part of Book Seven.

As compared to the times of Valmiki, the thousand year old Kamban must be considered to be relatively recent. By the time he worked on his version, the story was told and retold again and again over the several thousand years that have passed in the meanwhile. Rama, who was more known as a king at the time of Valmiki was more known as an Avatar than as a king during the time of Kamban. It is not difficult to infer that it must have been an impossible task for him – a staunch devotee as he was – to envision such a scene and to crystallise it into words for portrayal of the head of Sri Rama – illusory or not – being severed. When even I who cannot make any tall claims to devotion find my fingers go numb just to retell this portion of Valmiki’s work, one can very well understand as to how Kamban would have felt in dealing with this particular scene.

It is therefore clear that Kamban introduced this Canto of Illusory Janaka to make up for the loss of pathos, drama and the building up of two of his main characters – Sita and Ravana. The choice of Janaka in the place of Rama in the first place goes to show the adept that Ravana was in reading the feminine mind. He did know the frailties and susceptibilities of the feminine psyche.

He knew that the most endeared person in the life of almost every woman is her father. That is one area in which the most unbending allow themselves to be bent. It was in fact this ‘father factor’ that Manthara the hunch-back employed to induce a sense of insecurity in the otherwise unyielding stance that Kaikeyi took. ‘Your father, the king of Kekaya and Janaka are sworn enemies. Janaka is silent just because your husband, Dasaratha is his son-in-law. What would you do when Rama comes to power? Whose side would he take if and when Janaka decides to march in on your father? Would Rama support his father-in-law, Janaka, or your father, Kekaya?’ We know that that was the question, which shook Kaikeyi and seeded the necessary change in her. This was discussed when we studied Kaikeyi earlier. (See: Insolent are really insecure II)

Well, Ravana calculated that this ‘father factor’ would help him as well. Move into the Asoka Vana with Janaka being dragged about in chains and crying piteously. Parade him before Janaki. The daughter would not be able to bear the kind of torture to which her father is subjected to. And then tell her that her father would be set free and all the three worlds would be hers and her fathers if she makes the right choice. Or, she has the option of seeing her father beheaded before her very eyes. A clever ploy, is that not so!

If that shows the cunning ways in which Ravana was an expert in toying with emotions and twisting them to his advantage, the very same scene is deftly utilised to show the metal that Vaidehi is made of.

It is not only that. It is all the more interesting to take a look at the timing of this drama. If Valmiki portrays the ‘illusory head of Rama’ scene before the commencement of war, Kamban places the ‘illusory Janaka’ scene after the commencement of war, after Ravana tasted his inglorious defeat at the hands of Rama in the first war.

A prelude to the plan

Valmiki’s Ravana needed a mask to hide his face from the disgrace that was awaiting him when he arrived in the presence of Sita, for Rama had arrived in Lanka against all his expectations. The ‘puny’ humans have crossed the ocean. If a normal person would have needed ‘a mask’, he would have needed ten of them. We saw the gruesome way in which he handled the situation.

In the story of Kamban, the ‘Canto of Illusory Janaka’ occurs after Ravana returns from the first battle with Rama, totally shocked, belittled and disillusioned. As we observed earlier, even at this moment of pain and shame, his mind was hovering only about Janaki and the ways in which she was going to humiliate him. (See: ‘Was’ is not ‘is’)

I said Ravana was disillusioned. He was, though it was short-lived. It is possible to think he was getting prepared to accept the immensity of the situation and the impending danger. “I know you stand antagonised through (continued) fighting. (Therefore) depart (for the present) O king of the rangers of the night! Re-entering Lanka and resting (awhile), sally forth (again), (duly) mounted on a chariot and armed with a bow, then, (remaining) seated in your car, you shall witness my strength,” was how Sri Rama of Valmiki sent him back from the field. ‘Ah, you are a man indeed!’ would chuckle Kamban’s Rama. ‘aaL ayaa nI.’ You are a man indeed. What manliness, what chivalry is yours! All your army has been torn to pieces, as would the petals of a dainty flower, when hit by a cyclone. ‘indru pOi pOrkku naaLai vaa,’ Go back now; rest and rejuvenate and come prepared for battle tomorrow’ was how Kamban’s Rama sent him back.

When he returned to his palace, Ravana was shaken. His pride took a backseat, at least for a while. We see traces of realisation dawning on him at the defeat that he was not at all subjected to, excepting on two earlier occasions, at the hands of Karthaviryarjuna and Vali. And he had always defended this disgrace, inventing all possible kinds of reasons. He is for the very first time in his very long life-time – save for the above two instances – suffering the humility of defeat, and that too at the hands of a mortal whose race was never even considered worth the name by him, for going in war against. That is why he did not even care to include mortals and monkeys in the long list of various species that he sought protection against, when he sought his boon.

‘All my asceticism and the protection that I had acquired against gods, demons, Gandharvas, Yaksas, ogres and serpents seem to be of no use, he laments in Valmiki Ramayana. He goes even to the extent of recognising the supremacy of Sri Rama. “I conclude this Rama, an offspring of Dasaratha, to be that mortal of whom mention was made by King Anaranya, born in the race of Ikswäku, by whom I was formerly cursed,” (Valmiki Ramayana, Yuddha Kanda, Canto 60, Sloka 8)

King Anaranya was an ancestor of Rama whom Ravana killed in a battle. The story of Anaranya is detailed in Uttara Kanda. (See: Curse of Rama's Ancestor) Many western critics of the Ramayana believe that the Uttara Kanda was not written by Valmiki and is a later addition. However, references to names and events in the Uttara Kanda in the main body of the story – such as this one – do challenge the validity of that theory.

That aside. Coming back to the state of mind in which Ravana was. ‘No wonder, no wonder,’ would Kamban’s Ravana tell his grandsire, Malyavan. ‘It is no wonder that Janaki’s mind is set always on Sri Rama,’ he seems to suggest when he says, ‘pOi inith therivadhu ennE?’ What more remains for us to learn (by going back to the battlefield again)? ‘porayinaal ulgam pOlum vEy enath thagaya thOLi,’ she whose patience, tolerance equals that of the earth, whose shoulders are as tender as the shoots of bamboo, ‘iraagavan mEni nOkki,’ after setting her eyes on the person of Rama, ‘thI enak kodiya vIra sEvagach cheygai kaNdaal,’ and (after) witnessing the flame that he is in the battlefront, ‘naai enath thagudhum andrE kaamanum naamum ellaam,’ it is no wonder that even the very Cupid himself and I would appear not more than pie dogs in her esteem.

She is married to the warrior of warriors. It is no wonder that to that pair of eyes that are set on this handsome person, and have witnessed the lion that he is in battle, I – why, even the very Cupid himself – would appear to be not more than mere dogs.

Ravana’s stance seems to lax a little. He might even have sent Sita back, but for the intervention of Mahodara.

Between Mälyavän and Mahodara

Mälyavän and Mahodara are two characters that keep rolling the heart of Ravana from end to end, from one direction to the other. Of course, the efforts of Malyavan to pull him and put him back on the rails of rectitude were not quite successful as that of the efforts of Mahodara who pushes him into his chosen wicked ways. Mälyavän was the elder brother of Sumali, who was the father of Kaikasi. Kaikasi was the mother of Ravana. Therefore, Mälyavän was Ravana’s maternal grandfather. (See: The origins of the race) Mahodara was the minister of Ravana. In fact there were three different Mahodara-s in the Ramayana. One was the son of Ravana; the other was the son of the maternal aunt of Ravana. The third one whom we are talking about here was his minister. Just for information of enthusiasts. The name of the 37th brother of Duryodhana was Mahodara too.

Right from the beginning Mälyavän was not in favour of the abduction of Sita. Of course, Ravana did not consult anyone before he set foot on his misadventure. Kumbakarna expresses his displeasure in the war council of Ravana and censures him openly for imprisoning the wife of another man. ‘nI ayan mudhal kulam idharkku oruvan nindraai.’ You come in the lineage of Brahma. You are the first in the line (you are the eldest among us). ‘aayiram maraip poruL uNarndhu aRivu amaindhaai.’ It is not that you are a fool. You have mastered the scriptures and the thousands of the branches of Sama Veda. ‘thIyinai nayappurudhal seydhanai, therindhaai.’ (Despite your attainments, achievements) you fell in love with Fire (and out of your blind lust) desired to own it. The beauty of the flame might be enchanting. But you do not seem to realise that it would burn you to ashes.

Though Ravana took the decision to abduct Sita unilaterally, brought her to Lanka of his own, his mother Kaikasi was against it, Kumbakarna was not for it, Vibishana quit from his council – though after the lapse of about ten months – and Mälyavän was time and again advising Ravana to send Janaki back safely. Ravana had another set of advisers who always believed in the dictum, ‘boss is always right’ and were meticulously and untiringly giving out what pleased him. It suited the convenience of Ravana to listen to the people who spoke what he liked. He was a law unto himself. And naturally he followed the advices of the small minds that surrounded him, whose views on rectitude were coloured and whose ideas of loyalty were contorted.

As we were discussing in our last post, the stance of Ravana showed signs of losing its rigidity. For the first time he was listening to Mälyavän, though by Ravana’s standards what he uttered must be considered to be harsh. He is silent even when Mälyavän hits him on his face, straightway. ‘mun uraithEnai vaaLaa munindhanai.’ This situation was not unexpected Ravana. I told that this would happen. But you were angry with me at that time. ‘muniyaa umbi in uraip poruLum kELaai.’ You did not listen to Vibishana, whose mind is not given to anger. ‘Edhu uNdu eninum Oraai.’ You knew that there must have been valid reasons behind our stand. You did not realise then. ‘nin uraikku vEru uNdO?’ Who can speak against you? We therefore had to remain silent.

‘This would not stop here Ravana,’ Mälyavän persisted. ‘kiLai tharum sutram vetri kENmai nam kalvi selvam kaLaivu arum thaanyOdu kazhivadhu kaaNdi.’ It is not just the numberless troops that would be wiped out. You are going to see our kith and kin, near and dear, the victories that we have earned so far, all our friends, our education, and wealth would also be obliterated soon.’

Take a look at the list. One can understand the destruction of relatives, friends, wealth et al. Kamban has included ‘education’ among other things that stood the danger of being wiped out. ‘orumaik kaN thaan katra kalvi ezhumaikkum Emaapu udaithu,’ says Valluvar. The learning that a man acquires in one birth has its lasting impact in seven more births to come. Read in this context, one is left to wonder what Mälyavän – to put it properly, Kamban – means when he says ‘all our learning of all these years stand to be destroyed.’

What Mälyavän says is simple and very straightforward. ‘Ravana even if you are engaged in a battle, this war is not a war in the proper sense of the word. You are dragging all your relatives and friends to the gates of hell, for the most unjust cause. The cause you are pushing your people to fight against is ignoble. It is not for the welfare of the nation, it is not for the cause of saving your sovereignty, it is not for the purpose of upholding the noble principles on which statehood is formed that you are waging this war. This is your private affair. This is your private cause. And even that emanates from the basest of reasons. When you are so blind about what you are fighting for and why you are fighting for, how do you expect the effects of your learning, to last in your other births? It is just going to end shortly.

Ravana might have listened. He remains silent. But Mahodara intervened.

Does the ‘help within’ exist in every situation? 1

We were recently discussing about the ‘help within’. (See: The help within 1 and 2) If every crisis has its ‘help within’ it is only natural that the crisis through which Ravana was passing should have had its own ‘help within.’ Properly speaking, the difficult situation in which Ravana was cannot be terms as a crisis. A crisis is a situation that takes its own course and deepens despite true and sincere efforts to check its course, if not stop it completely. Whereas, Ravana seeded this situation, he nurtured it through Märïca. Ravana was the sole reason behind the crisis that he was going through. But even in such a bad situation, we see that the ‘help within’ really comes forward to show the right cause and the right way.

In the first instance, the proposal to charm Janaki in the shape of a golden deer was despised by Märïca himself. He was not for this plan. He – the maternal uncle of Ravana – condemned Ravana for what he proposed. ‘chichee enath than meych chevi poththi’ observes Kamban when Ravana approaches Märïca to assume the form of a golden deer to lure Rama and Lakshmana away from the hermitage. ‘What a shameful thought, O Ravana!’ he said with a shudder, closing his ears with both his palms, unable to bear the repulsive nature of what Ravana intended to do. However, we know that Märïca was silenced. (See: The reformed Märïca and The sceptre without justice)

The ‘help within’ manifested itself in the form of Vibishana; in the person of Kumbakarna, though belatedly, time and again in the shape of Mälyavän, Ravana’s mother Kaikasi, why, even in the shape of Indrajit – who at first could not see things in perspective. Unfortunately – or was it fortunately – not a single word of theirs appealed to the stout ego of Ravana. ‘kadum sorkaL porukkaadha menmaik kaadhum, karum kallil visham thOyndha nenjum,’ says poet Subramania Bharati. The ears of such people are so tender as not to bear the criticism of the wise. And a heart made of rock dipped in poison.

It was referring to this situation that Bharati wrote, ‘pEy arasu seydhaal piNam thinnum saathirangaL.’ In the kingdom of the devil, the scriptures would stoop to the level of eating corpses. ‘Ravana abducted Sita,’ fumes his Draupadi, in the ‘Vow of Panchali,’ and summoned his ministers and the priests. When they heard from him that Janaki has been abducted, ‘thakkadhu nIr seydheer,’ so they cried with joy. ‘You did the right thing.’ ‘dharumatthukku ich cheygai okkum,’ This is in absolute consonance with the scriptures and the way of rectitude.

In such a situation it is no wonder that Ravana was surrounded by another kind of persons, who acted against the ‘help within’. It was only natural. Speaking of the ministers of Dasaratha, Kamban says, ‘tham uyirkku irudhi eNNaar; thalai magan veguNda pOdhum vemmayai thaangi nIdhi vidaadhu nindru uraikkum vIrar.’ They are so brave that they would stand their ground and advice the king only of what is right, even at the risk of their lives. Of course, Dasaratha did not drive them to that extent. He was so ready to listen to their words. That however is another story for another day.

When the king’s ‘ears are so tender as not to bear healthy criticism and heart is made of hemlock, hardened as rock,’ the easy going minister exercising a pernicious influence finds it comfortable to inflate the ego of the king and push him into that which is not possible and drive him to his doom, just because this short term solution pleased the ruler.

Ravana preferred to be in the company of such ministers. And the obvious rewards of such counsels enthused such ministers to endeavour more and more to paint the picture rosier and rosier and turn the wheel to ‘doom’ while the watchword went ‘boom’.

Well, Mahodara was one such minister.

Does the ‘help within’ exist in every situation? 2

We saw that the stance of Ravana was relenting a little and he was listening silently to the admonitions of his grandfather, Mälyavän. Mahodara was standing aside. ‘ap puraththu irundha, maayaigaL palavum valla mahodaran kadidhin vandhu,’ Mahodara, the wizard of the witchcraft, who was standing aside, rushed quickly in. ‘thI ezha nOkki,’ his eyes burning like coals (at Mälyavän) ‘en nI ich chirumai seppitru ennaa,’ ‘how dare you slight the king!’ he admonished the old man.

And then he churns out old aphorisms, platitudes and bravado and injects liberal doses of them into the sagging soul of Ravana. It happens everywhere. It happens around us. That which is meant for a particular situation is used in a totally different situation, leading to harmful results. If Valluvar asks, ‘oozhir peruvali yaavuLa?’ What is there that is mightier than Destiny? And concludes, ‘matrondru soozhinum thaan mundhurum,’ It forestalls every likely solution to counter it,’ it is not that he is upholding fatalism and encouraging inaction, to action. He is only trying to embalm the heart that is lacerated at the hands of defeat. ‘Just forget it,’ he says. ‘Destiny is greater. If you have failed, don’t worry. Rise up and persist.’ It is because of this he says, ‘oozhayum up pakkam kaaNbar,’ in another instance. ‘Even what is destined can be overcome, if one is steadfast in what he pursues.’

But remember. The panacea cannot be the same for all diseases. Anyway this is not the medicine that would suit the rotting ego of Ravana, at this time. The right solution, the right salvation for him was to be found in what Mälyavän and others so thoughtfully prescribed him, ‘Send Sita back to the rightful hands.’

‘nandri Idhu endru koNdaal, nayathinai nayandhu vEru vendriyE aaga, matruth thOtru uyiru vidudhal aaga,’ says Mahodara. Let it be victory or let it be defeat. Remain steadfast in your decision, when you have set your mind on a particular object. ‘vendravar thOrpar; thOtrOr velguvar.’ It is not unusual for the successful to fail and for those who failed to succeed. Plunge into action Ravana, for that is the right thing to do! ‘pun thavar iruvar pOraip pugazhdhiyO?’ Doest it behove of you to admire the achievements of those of lesser attainments! Ravana, your tapas, your achievements are far, far greater than those two human beings. How do you let your heart sag at their victory? What have they attained and what have you attained? Is your attainment not greater? Therefore go in for action my Sire!

The words of Mahodara do resemble those of Lord Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita. Action is preferable to meek submission. Action is the right choice. Swing into action for that is the duty laid down for the warrior clan. Noble words indeed. But however noble the words may be, they can do no good unless the cause is right as well. What cause did Ravana have to fight for? What was his purpose, what was his motive and what did he aim to achieve? Coveting the wife of another person and fiercely defending his action at the cost of the lives of his army, the safety of his countrymen and the security of his country!

‘Wake up Kumbakarna!’ advised Mahodara. ‘Why did you forget him?’ Did he not earn the greatest of victories for you in earlier battles? Did he not win the battle against Indra and the Trinity for you? Wake him up and send him to the battlefront,’ Mahodara advised. Ravana was overjoyed. ‘enpaal vaiththa anbinukku avadhi uNdO!’ he told Mahodara gratefully. ‘Great and immeasurable indeed is your love for me.’

Mahodara’s advice seems to be sound. But what he propounded was the wrong theory for the wrong moment. One should know when to persist and when to let go. ‘irudhiyE iyaivadhu aanaal,’ the poet laughs to himself, ‘If destruction is destined, ‘idai ondraal thadai uNdaamO?’ could it be stopped even by the good turn of events?

The ‘help within’ did exist even in the bad situation that Ravana created for himself. Only, he did not have the ears to hear the right voice for the right situation. That reminds me of a parable of Ramakrishna Parahamsa.

We will see that and then take up the grandest of advices of Mahodara that led to the Canto of Illusory Janaka, after Kumbakarna was sent in battle against Rama and his simian army.

When minds are clouded

‘gurun ahatva hi mahanubhavan sreyo bhoktum bhaikshyam api iha loke,’ declares Arjuna in the beginning of the second chapter – Sankhya Yoga – of Bhagavad Gita, continuing the pseudo arguments that he commenced in the first chapter. “Better indeed in this world to eat even the bread of beggary than to slay the most noble of teachers. But if I kill them, even in this world, all my enjoyments of wealth and desires will be stained with blood,” he argues. The words sound so noble and yet they are born of wrong sentiments and a confused vision.

Commenting on the Sloka, Swami Chinmayananda observes, “Arjuna points out how his noble Aryan-heart will not be able to enjoy either the kingdom or its wealth, for everything would be smeared by the bitter memories of the glorious blood that would have been spilt in the war,” and concludes, “Once we misread a situation, sentiments would cloud our understanding and that we too would learn to act as an Arjuna in our own life, is clearly indicated here in the detailed narration of the incident by Vyasa.” Let us not go too deep into that now. Let us look at it just inasmuch as it helps us to understand the stance of Ravana.

‘There was a guru,’ says Ramakrishna Parahamsa in one of his parables, ‘who taught his disciples that everything around us – animate and inanimate – is nothing but the manifestation of Brahmam. The ant and the elephant are as good as you inasmuch as it is Brahman that resides in every single life form, and of course, non-life forms.’ The disciples nodded in reverent acceptance. A particular disciple was deeply moved and decided there and then that he would treat every life and non-life form as equals.

The disciples went to the market place in the evening. The king’s elephant was as usual paraded through the market that evening. But it so happened that the elephant was in musth and started running through the crowd in frenzy. The mahout ran behind the elephant to get hold of it and to quell its madness. ‘Away, move away,’ he shouted, warning the crowd of the oncoming danger. Our ‘enlightened’ disciple was there in the crowd. While the other disciples ran to safety, he stood his ground in the middle of the road. ‘I am a manifestation of God, and the elephant is also a manifestation of His,’ he thought. ‘Therefore, I am absolutely safe. There is no way that God would go against God. Inasmuch as we are equals, the elephant won’t harm me.’

However, the elephant lifted the poor ‘enlightened’ disciple up in the air, threw him aside and ran away. The ‘so very enlightened disciple’ luckily did not lose his life; but was injured and bleeding very badly and was taken to the Guru. ‘Why did you not move away to safety,’ asked the Guru with an all-knowing merciful smile. ‘Because I thought that the elephant is a manifestation of God and I being one of His manifestations, I concluded that God would not harm God.’ The Guru in all his love for the disciple asked him tenderly, ‘Don’t you think that the mahout is also a manifestation of Brahman?’ ‘Yes. I do think so,’ answered the disciple. ‘Then my child,’ said the Guru, ‘you should have listened to the warning that issued forth from that Brahmam rather than trusting this Brahman that had gone wild!’

The logic may sound great. The reasoning may appear to be absolute. The sentiments may even ornate the whole issue. Of what avail is all learning and scholarship, if the situation is not read properly? If the ideas are right but the ideals are misplaced? If the arguments sound convincing when the basis is wrong?

The plan takes shape

What are the symptoms of a failure? Misreading a situation. Allowing passions to cloud our vision. Failure to assess the situation and to foresee what lies in store. To top it all, allowing oneself to fall a prey to the most potent of all weapons that could be used against us, Flattery. In Ravana’s case, well, yes, he misread his situation; he allowed his passions to overwhelm him – just not cloud his vision – despite warnings written on the wall, he failed to assess the situation and chose to listen to flattery from persons whose idea of loyalty was contorted.

If Arjuna – in the Sloka from Bhagavad Gita quoted in our last instalment – misread the situation and declared that it is better to eat the bread of beggary rather than killing one’s own Masters and kith and kin, Ravana misread the situation – even after that inglorious defeat and even after coming so very close to realisation of what is to be – was once again misled and carried away. He did not realise that this was another opportunity given to him to come to terms. Rama did his all to give peace a chance until the very last moment. He sent Angada as his emissary before the commencement of the war. The chivalry and grace with which he sent Ravana back from the field was the last opportunity given to Ravana, and it of course turned out to be a lost opportunity. He did not return the next day. The battle with Ravana would be the very last battle from now, after the killing of Kumbakarna, Atikaya, Indrajit and a host of other ogres, until all his army is wiped out, save for the last batch of it which marched along with him on the last day of the war.

Enthused and pushed by Mahodara, he woke Kumbakarna up on the advice of Mahodara and sent him to the battlefront, despite the fact that Kumbakarna advised him against it. (See: Demon or devotee? Part I and Part II). Like the disciple of Ramakrishna’s parable, he believed that the wild elephant could be shooed away. The warnings of the mahout did not appeal to him at all.

Ravana believed that Kumbakarna would come back to him with the message of victory. This is despite what Kumbakarna told him, ‘vendru ivaN varuvan endru uraikkilan.’ I would not say I would come back victorious. ‘vidhi nindru, pidar pidithhtu undhukindradhu.’ It is Fate that is pushing me by the nape of the neck. ‘pondruvan.’ I may die. ‘pondrinaal,’ If I die, ‘polan koL thOLiyai nandru ena vidudhi,’ please send Janaki back for good.

But the twenty ears were given to selective listening. Having ‘solved’ the threat that was imminent, with the departure of Kumbakarna to the field, Ravana’s mind once again toyed with the idea of a visit to the Asoka Vana. But how to do that! How was he to face her, when he has come back from the battlefront in disgrace! Would she not mock at him! He summoned Mahodara again.

‘mOdharan ennum nAmaththu oruvanai murayin nOkki,’ (Reaching his hall of counsel) Ravana looked up at Mahodara, his minister, and asked ‘sIdhayai eyhdi uLLam sirumayin thIrum seygai yaadhu, uNarththi!’ (Mahodara, Kumbakarna has been sent to the field by your suggestion and now) tell me what should be done to win Sita over, and to put a stop to this feeling of being slighted, that troubles my heart. ‘indru in uyir Idhi.’ And restore my life to me this day.

I am dying of insults. I am not able to bear this disgrace any longer. If at all she comes to know of the defeat that I suffered at the hands of her husband, she would put me to shame even more. I am unable to face her this moment, but I am unable too, to refrain from visiting the Asoka Vana. Show me the way, Mahodara, to win her love. To subdue her. To make her relent. To make her accept me instead.

Like Duryodhana who had his ‘wise counsellor’ in Sakuni who rolled out readymade solutions off the cuff, Ravana’s counsellor devised his instant solution to the problem. ‘uNarththuven indrE nandru Or upaayaththin urudhi,’ he assured. I will give you the most unfailing of designs, right now. ‘maayai puNarththuven sIdhai thaanE puNarvadhu Or vinayam,’ I will make her come to you of her own. She would seek you without your having to beg her any more. ‘kaNathu van sanakan thanniak kattinen koNarndhu kaatin, maNath thozhil puriyum andrE,’ Let us bring Janaka in chains and put him before her. (Unable bear the suffering that her father is undergoing) she would offer her hand, willingly and would marry you. ‘maruththanai uruvam maatri.’ Let us use Maruththan who would dress up as Janaka. Let us go there right now.

‘ena avan uraiththlOdum ezhundhu maarbu irugap pulli,’ says Kamban. On hearing him, Ravana rose up and embraced him tight. With the actor in place, they moved to the stage. Kumbakarna was waging his last war with Rama at that very moment, knowing fully well that he cannot hope to win by any means, nonetheless, putting his heart and soul to the call of duty.

Even if he resides in your heart

Though Kamban moves away from his predecessor and substitutes the ‘illusory Janaka’ for ‘severed illusory head of Rama’ the modus operandi that Ravana adopts does not differ. It may be remembered that Ravana entered the scene, alone, while the past master who prepared the ‘head, bow and arrows’ of Rama, Vidyujjihva was standing aside to enter at the right moment to shock her (See: A Wicked Deed). Adopting the very same style, Kamban’s Ravana enters the scene in all grandeur, followed by his retinue of celestial beauties holding aloft the lamps, alone, with Mahodara and Maruththa – masqueraded as Janaka – standing aside.

‘vIrak kOtti pEsuvaar oruvarkku aavi thOtrilen,’ brags Ravana among the so many of his other routine ways of beginning the arguments for the day. ‘I have never once been defeated by any of the most valiant of warriors, including Lord Shiva.’ ‘pEN paal vaittha aasai nOi kondradhu endraal aaNmaidhaan maasuNaadhO,’ When that being so, if it so happens that I succumb to this disease of desire for a woman, would it not be a shame on my chivalry?

The attack starts with a stance of self-pity projected out with the object of seeking her sympathy. The greatest of all, begging for the love of a woman, with the desire to rescue her out of her pitiable condition of having to live with a husband who has been ‘ostracized’ and driven to the jungle.

And then the attack turns intellectual. He appeals to her with his reasoning skills. Being a master of the scriptures, Ravana would then call them to his assistance, reel out liberally from portions of them and would cunningly give a twist to what they say and justify his stand, to coax her to walk out of the wedlock. True to his penchant for citing precedence, he cites the example of Ahalyä. ‘andharam uNarin,’ Looking at it dispassionately, ‘akalikai enbaaL kaadhal indiran uNarttha nalgi, eydhinaaL,’ he argues. ‘You know there was this Ahalyä, the most celebrated woman of chastity who gave her heart to Indra one day. She gave, and earned her joy in the company of Indra. ‘izukkutraaLO?’ Ravana questions. ‘Has she been demeaned? Is she not considered one among the brightest gems of womanhood?’

She remains unmoved. The third attack on her emotions began. ‘ezhundhu sendru,’ He rose up and walked to her. ‘kundru uraitthaalum nErak kuvavuth thOL nilatthaik kUda,’ the twenty of his mighty shoulders unmatched even by the mountains in size touched the ground. ‘min thiraitthu arukkan thannai viritthu mIn thokadhu ondru nindru imaikkiradhu anna mudi, padi nedidhin vaitthaan,’ His crowns as resplendent as the collection of the lightning, the sun and the stars, touched the ground, at her feet.

‘She was as shocked as the deer that faced a tiger in close quarters,’ says Kamban. Naturally. Imagine this happening in our everyday life. Somebody begs for your love – when you are married to a loving husband – and falls at your feet in the presence of so many others who are not more than helpless witnesses.

“The mighty desert is burning for the love of a blade of grass who shakes her head and laughs and flies away,” wrote Rabindranath Tagore in his ‘Stray Birds’. The mightiest of deserts was pining for the love of this blade of grass. She laughed. She plucked a blade of grass and addressed it mockingly. ‘You bragged of your valour. You said that you defeated Indra, Brahma, Shiva and so many others. ‘pOrk kaLam pukkapOdhu, en aasayin kaniyaik kaNdilai pOlum, anji!’ But it so appears that you did not see the ‘fruit of my love’. I am very sure that you would not have seen him. Or otherwise, you would not be speaking with me now. Why did you not see him? Were you afraid?

Ravana was prepared for this situation today. He had his allies standing aside. And he prepared the ground for the crudest form of emotional blackmail. ‘Kill him, I will,’ he laughed out loudly. ‘dhayaradhan siruvan thannai, punath thuzhaai maalayaan oruvan pukku un manatthu uLaan eninum kolvEn.’ I would kill that boy – siruvan – of Dasaratha, whom you seem to imagine to be the very incarnation of Narayana, even if he seeks refuge in you and hides in your heart. ‘I have sent my warriors to Ayodhya and Mithila. Just take a look at your father, who has been brought to Lanka as my prisoner,’ Ravana paused and Mahodara brought the Maya Janaka in chains before her.

‘A woman or Dharma incarnate?’

I am not going to speak much about the emotions that wracked Janaki that day, though from the point of pure literary merits, Kamban excels in creating pathos in the minds of his readers. Though about a thousand years have passed from the time that he created this master piece of all magnum opuses, one can still feel lumps forming in the throat when reading this and similar scenes in the epic. The word magic of Kamban has to be lived through, experienced directly, if one is not to brush aside this statement of mine, as ‘another exaggerated adulation of an ardent and impassioned fanatic’. Speaking on the niceties, power and nuances of his poetry is for another day. Let us keep the focus on what it takes to stay tough, of which we have been discussing recently, when dealing with the parallel scene in Valmiki – the severed illusory head of Rama – and spent some time on how much clarity, courage and steadfastness it takes to remain straight and upright and to remain focussed.

Well, the shock that slapped across the face of Devi that day was rather rude indeed. Ravana deliberately built up the drama, worked on her emotions and let them rise up to the regular level. By now he knew what action would cause which reaction. Being a natural master of playing the ‘conditioned responses’ game – if I do this, I know that the response or reaction would be this – Ravana allowed the time to pass deliberately, in the initial routines of begging for love et al, and neatly finished it with another of his routines of falling at her feet.

She, as is wont of her, plucked a blade of grass and mocked at ‘its’ claims of chivalry. She was so happy at that moment that Rama has landed in Lanka and the war was already on. She knew that it would end very soon. Has she not seen her Rama eliminating the 14000 strong troops of Kara and Dusana in the Janasthana, in a matter of hours, single-handedly? She was more than convinced that the head of this felon would roll on the ground and that she would be back in the happy company of her Rama, soon. She was happy at last that all her turmoil was drawing to a close and it would all be over in a short time.

Ravana waited and allowed her to spend her enthusiasm happily. It is almost similar to the techniques that wrestlers follow. The person who is pressed hard against the ring stays still and tempts the opponent to exert all his strength on him, to crush him against the ring. A moment would come soon when the opponent exerts so much, that he becomes dependent on the person whom he is crushing against the wall, for his own balance. A short kick from this person is sufficient at that time to set the opponent off-balance and he tumbles down. Ravana was waiting for this moment. He waited for the crescendo to be reached. And it was he who supplied the ‘bang’ that brings the crescendo to an end. The table was turned quickly, deftly, true to the demonic ways in which Ravana had mastered the art of playing with the emotions of people. My sympathies and admiration would have been with Ravana, but for the crookedness of the situation.

Janaka – the illusory Janaka – was standing before her in chains and was crying pitiably. Mahodara, with a bright and beaming face of loyalty and ‘bravery,’ was holding the chains. She broke down. She curses God, she curses Dharma, she questions the values, she doubts and she expresses her dismay, disappointment with all the values that she has been living for. Like any of us.

‘dheyvamE ennum,’ ‘O God,’ she would cry out. ‘uNmai sidhaindhadhO ennum.’ ‘Has truthfulness been vanquished at last!’ she would lament. ‘thIya vaivalO ulagai ennum,’ ‘Shall I destroy all the worlds with a curse of mine,’ her anger would pick up the next moment. ‘vanjamO valiyadhu ennum,’ ‘O, is it deceit that is strong, is it untruth that triumphs,’ she would weep helplessly. ‘uyvalO innam ennum,’ ‘Should I continue to live after all this?’ she would ponder, her courage receding. ‘ondrala thuyaram uttraaL,’ the poet comes in. Many were the depressions that formed about her. ‘thaiyalO, dharumamEyO,’ is she a woman or the very incarnation of Dharma, he wonders and joins his palms in absolute reverence, ‘yaar avaL thanmai thErvaar?’ Who at all can assay her nature, measure her mettle, and who is going to tell us if this is a woman or Dharma in human form?

Yes. She reacted like any of us. But where does she differ and what does it take to stay tough? Kamban’s drama underlines this aspect beautifully well.

Other things being equal…

What are the factors that come between us and our efforts to stay tough – remain focussed? There are quite few. The question of survival is the foremost among them. This question of survival leads to a sense of insecurity. The sense of insecurity makes us look for easier options and that is when temptations lure us. When I say this, I am speaking about those of us who are strong of will, who remain entrenched in the right principles and look and think right. This has nothing to do with those who succumb to threats right at the beginning.

Even brave hearts do waver, do think twice and ache for a moment to reach for what seems to be ‘freedom’. Freedom, while going through all this turmoil, seems to be that which puts an end to all this soon. That which guarantees an end to the burden that I carry, the troubles that I go through, the difficulties and endless eddies that suck me in again and again and push me under the water, rendering me breathless. I begin to ache for a moment’s respite. The respite may come through the right means, the right ways and the right efforts. And it may not. The choice then becomes harder. Do I throw my hands off from what I have been holding on to firmly and grab the rope that is dangling before me, with a promise of what seems to be ‘paradise’ or do I endure a little more and wait patiently till the ‘what is right’ can be obtained through the right means, and right means alone? The test of the strength of character lies in the answer to this question.

When we started our discussions on this scene – the Canto of the Illusory Janaka – we touched upon the ‘father factor’. (See: The Father Factor) We saw how Kaikeyi who stood her ground bravely, fell a prey to this father factor and how Manthara could skilfully manoeuvre her to go against what she stood for right up to that moment, turned her around and set her against Sri Rama. That was the major factor that played a strong role in Kaikeyi yielding to the counsels of Manthara. And Kaikeyi’s love for Sri Rama was not in any way questionable. We know how she reacted to Manthara at the beginning. ‘irAmanaip payandha erkku idar uNdO?’ was how she brushed aside the alarm with which Manthara woke her up. ‘What danger could beset me, who has Rama as my child?’ ‘It is I who bore him, gave birth to him’ is what Kaikeyi says at the beginning. We know what happened later and how this father factor hammered the rock that Kaikeyi was to pieces.

Now the Maya Janaka is pushed before Janaki in chains. He is weeping pitiably. This illusion represents the real Janaka to her now. She believes that this can happen. ‘kol enak kaNvaRkku aangOr kodum pagai kodutthEn,’ she laments. I brought a foe to my husband and pushed him into the trouble of killing him. I made him fight this demon, for my sake. ‘endhai kal enum thriaNda thOLaip pAsatthaal kattak kaNdEn.’ And I saw (to it) that my father’s rock hard shoulders are bound by ropes. ‘il enach chirandha iraNdukkum innal sUzhndhEn.’ I brought endless troubles to both the houses of mine – the house in which I was born and the house to which I was wedded to.

This was the kind of breaking up from within that Ravana was waiting for this long. We had occasion to mention about the observation of Robert Jay Lifton in ‘Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism’, which is a research work on the techniques of brainwashing adopted in China (See: The Assault on Identity). ‘Everything starts with an assault on identity,’ says Lifton. The person is made to feel worthless, goes down in his self-esteem, holds him or herself too low and gives room to guilt feelings. Ravana waited till such guilt feelings surrounded Vaidehi. And he now gave her an option.

‘indhiran kavittha mouli, imayavar irainji Ettha,’ This crown of mine which was conferred upon me by Indra, ‘mandhira marabin sUtti, vAnavar magaLir yaarum pandharin urimai seyya, yaan ivan paNiyin nirpEn,’ I will confer on Janaka and there in the hall of consecration, surrounded by the celestials and their women, I will stand in all obedience, in the service of your father, at his beck and call. ‘sundharap pavaLa vaayaal oru mozhi siridhu sonnaal.’ Let those ruddy lips of yours speak a word of acceptance. Accept me and accept welfare. Accept me and accept power. Accept me and make your father the greatest. The terror of the universe would take orders from him.

Ceteris paribus, is the saying. Other things remaining equal. A particular condition would be true in certain given circumstances. Other things remain equal here. What about the reaction of the person under study?

The Stormy Petrel

Whoever wants to look for an example for the phrase, ‘trust in its totality,’ must first leaf through the pages of Ramayana, especially the scene under study now. Ready, unswerving, unquestioning, unyielding, undoubting Trust. This is quite a demanding situation indeed. Someone so endeared, someone who stands tall and high in the innermost pedestal of the heart, is held in chains, adding to the excruciating pain that one is undergoing. And just a word, just only one word, is sufficient to buy all the peace in the world. Anybody else would have succumbed. We have to remind ourselves once again as to how Kaikeyi fell a prey to a similar bait, of which we spoke in our last instalment too.

‘ith thiru perukiRpaanum indhiran,’ she hits back. You say that you would confer the crown of Indra that you are wearing, on my father. No. It is Indra who is going to get it back from you. ‘nungaL poith thiru perukiRpaanum vIdaNan.’ It is Vibishana who is going to inherit the kingdom of Lanka. You, who dreams of my embraces, better realise it. ‘pulavar kOmaan kaith thiruch charangaL undhan maarbidai kalakkar pAla.’ The arrows that issue forth from the hands of my lord, who is the lord of the celestials, are the ones that would make the fittest ‘embrace’ on your chest. They would bury and they would plough deep into your torso, and not what you dream of. If at all there is anything in this world, O Ravana, which is fit for me, ‘maith thiru nirathAn thaaL en thalai misai vaikkar pAla.’ It is the feet of my lord, of the hue of the blackest of clouds, which would decorate my head.

Kamban’s portrayal elevates her to another plane. This was the Janaki who begged with Ravana to kill her in a parallel scene of Valmiki. (See: The help within – 1) If she was emotionally broken down in Valmiki, she rises up from the lava that surrounds her and challenges the volcano in Kamban. Take a look at her words again! ‘pulavar kOmaan kaith thiruch charangaL undhan maarbidai kalakkar pAla.’ It just states one part. ‘The arrows of my lord are the fittest clasp for your chest.’ It leaves the rest unsaid, nonetheless, underlining what Ravana desires and what he begs for. ‘Your torso would embrace his arrows, not me. The ‘not me’ part is left unstated but made obvious by the use of the word ‘kalakkaR pAla.’ Fit for union.

‘pun maga, kEtti kEttarkku iniyana,’ she continues. Listen you minion. You wanted to hear the sweetest of words from me. Here are a few for you. ‘un magan uyirai emmOi sumithirai uyya iindra nan magan vaLi nakka,’ The arrows of Lakshmana – the darling of Sumitra – are going to lick clean the life of your son Indrajit. ‘naai avan udalai nakka,’ and the dogs are going to lick his mortal remains. ‘en magan irandhAn enna edutthu nI aratral.’ And you are going to weep aloud, lamenting, ‘my child is dead.’

It may so happen that she might break down. She might weep. She might feel helpless. She might feel lost and perplexed and had even gone to the extent of putting an end to her life. But, in the face of challenges, she never gives up. ‘Giving up’ is just unknown to her. Her trust in her lord was so total, so complete and so unswerving. She rises up higher and higher when the sky darkens. Anyone who remembers the Stormy Petrel of Maxim Gorky would doubtless recall to mind the lines –

"Like black lightning the stormy Petrel
Ascends, pierces the clouds like an arrow,
Plucks the foam of the waves with his wing.
Now, he bears himself, like a demon -
Proud, a black demon of the tempest -
He laughs and sobs .... He laughs
Above the storm clouds and sobs from joy! 

Who else can fit the description better than Janaki! Like the stormy petrel she flies deep into the sea, undaunted, as the sky darkens, into the very eye of the storm.

Hari Krishnan