Sense of security

'I know I have to go through this hell again, till the arrival of my lord. My mind is still not at rest about the question of how it would be possible for you all…

She sounds very much like Dasaratha when she makes that plea. Dasaratha knew that he cannot influence his son in any manner and make him relent from his firm resolve. He knew that he would part. That was as certain as the sunrise and sunset. Nonetheless, he desired the presence of his son by his side for a few more hours. ‘Stay with your mother and me this night, just a few more hours,’ he pleads. “Looking at your mother and myself stay on the coming night today. Having been gratified (by me) with all desired objects you may leave the (very) next morning.” (Valmiki Ramayana, Ayodhya Kanda, Canto XXXIV, Sloka 34)

When Dharmaputra left this world, he was first taken to the heaven where he saw Duryodhana and the other brothers of his seated there in all glory and that all his four brothers and Karna were missing. He wanted to see them and therefore he was taken to the hell, where they were serving their term. As soon as he stepped in, the atmosphere in the hell changed a little. The wind turned cool; the darkness that enveloped the place was somewhat lessened and there was some relief from the tortures to which the souls were subjected to.

‘Do not go back, Yudhisthira!’ he heard voices pleading with him. ‘Please do not go away. Your coming has relieved us of our sufferings. You are righteous. Your presence is soothing to our agony. Please do not go away.’ Dharmaputra was shocked to realise that it was the voice Karna, which was enjoined by all his brothers. Our purpose is not to go into the ‘why’ of the situation. Just look at the yearning for making it ‘last a little longer.’

That is the attitude of any soul in trouble. Dasaratha was preparing himself for a long number of years of suffering. Of course, he could not bear the suffering and he died. However, as far as this moment was concerned, he was at the beginning of a long, long time of agony. He wanted the good time to last a little longer. The Pandava brothers – and that includes Karna – were going through untold sufferings from which there was a moment’s respite because of the presence of Dharmaputra and they naturally wanted it to last for some more time to come.

Considered against this background, it is not difficult for us to understand the troubled heart of Janaki who pleaded with Hanuman to stay there until dawn. Hanuman is the manifestation of her thoughts of her husband, her brother-in-law and all that is endeared to her soul. His presence gave her the assurance and the comfort that she needed much. She knew that he has to return to the presence of Rama, if at all the mission is to be quickened and that delay was not at all desirable. Yet she comes out with that plea. She tells him why. “Due to your presence, O monkey, I shall be rid for a while, unfortunate as I am, of this violent grief.” (Valmiki Ramayana, Sundara Kanda, Canto XXXIX, Sloka 21)

‘I know I have to go through this hell again, till the arrival of my lord. My mind is still not at rest about the question of how it would be possible for you all to cross the ocean and reach here. Let it be that I have to go through this hell again. I am prepared to accept it for one more month to come. But let this feeling of comfort, the promise of Sri Rama that has come in your form, this feeling of security last a little longer, for it is your presence that brings all the respite that I need now.’

“Again, have we the heart to blame her when we come to this other passage where Hanuman has just left her after scenes of tender parting,” observes Rt. Hon’ble Srinivasa Sastriyar, “in the course of which she begged Hanuman to stay the night, reminding us of the passage in the Ayodhya Kanda, where Dasaratha asks Rama to stay one night. Hanuman no more complies with Sita’s request than Rama did with Dasaratha’s.”

Blame her? Who would do that? Who would be that heartless person to speak ill of this troubled soul?

Picking up the broken thread

I consider it my good fortune to have been vested with this opportunity of writing a column on the Ramayana. Despite odds, my hectic schedule and unexpected turn of events, I could continue this endeavour for more than two-and-a-half years. We have spent considerable time on every important character in the epic – including the minor ones – and have studied the way in which each character is constructed along with the events associated with them. I could not continue my efforts in this direction since my mother’s sudden illness demanded all my time. Strangely, that was the day on which I had completed the 177th instalment on the study of Sita, entitled, ‘Let it last a little longer’. She lasts forever now, safe in the hands of the Lord. Somehow or the other, I could not pay my time and attention to this column for a long time after that. My sincere apologies to all readers. And, after about a year and a half now, this column resumes. By Divine Will, I pray that this ‘Lasts a Little Longer.’ Thank you readers for all your personal mails and your mails to the Editor, which has made this resumption possible. My special thanks to ChennaiOnline.

For the benefit of old readers and for those who have joined recently, let me recapitulate in brief about what we have been doing in this column. Keeping one character at a time in focus, we have been examining the various aspects of Ramayana closely, critically, earnestly and very honestly. The last epithet has been very important to us; in fact, it has been the very core of our pursuit.

To put it in other words, the general practice is to mix what is there in the Text with what is believed to be there. I do not say that it is wrong to do so. But in doing so, lot of folklore and even non-existent, unsupported conjectures have gained ground and are believed to be a part of what the Poets depicted. Some of them, meant to sound as a convincing interpretation by way of an extended interpolation, have led to strong and sometime undesirable arguments, misjudgements and misinterpretations. The case of the necklace of Vali that is supposed to bestow him with half the strength of the opponent is one among them.

As we discussed in this column, this theory is not at all supported by Valmiki’s Text. This was handled in detail when we discussed the Vali Episode. (See: The famed gold chain of Indra and instalments that follow.) Vali handed this chain over to Sugriva at the time of his death. If it was true that the chain endowed Vali with such powers as to rob the opponent of half his strength and bestowing it on Vali, then it logically follows that Sugriva – upon wearing the chain – should have inherited the power that Vali enjoyed. But it is not so! And there is not a single Sloka in Valmiki that supports this theory. We have gone into all that in detail.

That is one aspect of what we have been doing. Demystifying Ramayana of its ‘believed-to-be’ truths and half-truths. Looking only at the Text – mainly Kamban and Valmiki – as it is and pointing to the development of events and characters, based on what the Poets have portrayed. And when we come to conclusions, we make it a point to explain why we come to this conclusion, and the basis for our doing so in the language of the Poet, quoting the lines and verses concerned, with a word-for-word meaning.

That enabled a comparative study of the Valmiki and Kamban versions of the Ramayana, besides a character study. A scene-by-scene analysis of the story with a particular character in focus and at the same time partaking in the enjoyment of rich poetry. To an extent, I believe, that it has been possible for us not to miss the tree for the wood and vice versa. We have so far covered fourteen characters from the Ramayana, including minor ones. We were pursuing the study of Sita and completed 178 instalments when the thread broke, last.

A few more things by way of introduction to the new reader and restating what we have done so far for the older and newer ones alike. And then we will walk our way to Mother Sita.

Versions vary; values do not.

As it may be said, ‘Ramayana is as old as hills’. It has various versions, the core events remaining almost the same, while the individual Poet’s vision and consequently the narration widely differing. There are three different, very old and celebrated versions in Sanskrit alone, which Kamban mentions in the ‘pAyiram’ of his Ramayanam, as ‘dhEva pAdayin ik kadhai seydhavar mUvar aanavar’. ‘There were three,’ he says, meaning Valmiki, Vasistha and Bodhayana, ‘who wrote this Epic in Sanskrit.’ Therefore, even at the time of Kamban, about a thousand years ago – and obviously a few thousand years earlier to him – three different versions of the Ramayana were prevalent. The version of Valmiki is more widely known now and is accepted as ‘the most authentic’. ‘Closest,’ may be a more appropriate word. Kamban, for most part, followed Valmiki.

Though there is considerable polemics and several scholars have expressed their opinion otherwise, I am convinced that it is the path of Valmiki that Kamban has trod. And branched off into side roads and came back to the Highway again in his own majestic way, justifying every turn that he took, the many by-passes and detours that he made with sound reason, pure logic and a keen and convincing sense of dramatics.

Let us quickly look at one such differing portrayal of Kamban. According to Valmiki, Rama and Sita did not even look at each other before marriage. In fact, when Janaka offered her hand to Rama, he said ‘He owed His body to His parents and that He would abide by their wishes. He declared that till His parents arrived in Mithila, He would not even set His eyes on Sita.’

Though any normal reader would be hard put to find an evidence to this statement either in the scene in which Sri Ram broke the bow or in the scenes that follow, he would find that this is mentioned in passing by Sita to Anasuya, wife of sage Atri, when they enter Chitrakuta, while narrating the story of their marriage.

“The bow was broken in two at the middle by Sri Rama while he was pulling it with force. A terrific sound like that of a thunderbolt falling on earth rose from it. I was then kept by my father – who is true to his promise and had (by his side) an excellent vessel of water (in order to wash the feet and hands of the bridegroom as a token of respect before giving me away in marriage) – in readiness for being given away on that (very) spot to Sri Rama. Not knowing full well the mind of his father, the paramount ruler of Ayodhya and his master, Sri Rama (a scion of Raghu) did not accept me (as a bride) while I was being offered (in marriage). Thereupon, inviting (to his capital) my father-in-law, the aged King Dasaratha, I for my part was then given away (in marriage) to Sri Rama, who has realised the Self.” (Valmiki Ramayana, Ayodhya Kanda, Canto 118, Sloka 50 – 52)

If the search for the words of Sri Rama by which he refused to hold the hand of Janaki until the arrival of Dasaratha and unless his approval is obtained, the search for the answer to the question when he declared that he owed his body to his parents, would have to be found in some other unexpected context.

In sharp contrast, we saw that Kamban’s Rama and Sita falling in love-at-first-sight. What could have been the reason for this change? And what could have triggered this change in Kamban?

Versions vary; values do not – Part II

As we saw, Kamban’s Sita stood there on the balcony of the gynaecium of Mithila and Rama was passing the streets of the city along with his brother and Viswamitra. Rama looked up and Sita looked down accidentally and their eyes met. The two gazed and gazed at each other and fell in love, even before Sri Rama entered the Court of Janaka, leave alone lifting the bow up and stringing it.

Though very minor, this one is an important detour that Kamban made, which has many sociological aspects to consider. We examined some of them. (See: ‘pEsavum vENdumO?’ and If it is not he)

We are not speaking about the Thai version and other varied versions of the Ramayana prevailing in several other countries. Most of them would make an ardent devotee of Ramayana to throw his hands up in sheer desperation, at the unbelievable twists and turns that the story takes, moving completely away from the main line as it is known in India.

If there were three versions of the Ramayana in Sanskrit, there was a version of the Ramayana in Tamil before Kamban attempted his monumental work. This version is not available now. Even the name of the author is unknown. But, that it existed is evidenced by the pieces of quotations from that earlier version, cited as explanatory notes by stalwarts like Nachinaarikiniyar, in his commentary on Tholkaapiyam and other ancient classics in Tamil. And it is by sheer accident that pieces of this rich treasure are preserved by Commentators, who quoted a small portion to explain some other context in another story or a sutra in a book like Tolkappiyam.

One such piece says, ‘aaL vinai mudiththa arundhava munivan,’ The sage after completing his Yaga (meaning Viswamitra), ‘vELvi pOtriya iraaman avanodu,’ along with Rama, who stood guard at the time of Yaga, ‘mithilai mUdhUr eydhiya gnaandrai,’ entered the ancient town of Mithila. And when he did so, ‘madhi udam patta madak kaN seethai…’ Sita fell in love with him.

This piece of an ancient version of Ramayana in Tamil, that must have existed at least a thousand five hundred or two thousand years before Kamban, found by sheer accident in the most unexpected place – in the midst of a long commentary on a sutra – gives a very vital clue as to why Kamban depicted the Divine Couple as falling in love even before Rama was taken to the bow, (See: aNNalum nOkkinaan avaLum nOkkinaaL)

But the fact remains that Valmiki portrayed the wedding of the Divine Couple in a particular way and the portrayal of Kamban adds a shade more to the original. If the two Poets painted their pictures differently, one strong reason behind such change is the tradition of the particular area in which the heart of the Poet sprouted.

Well, that is one of the aspects that we have been pursuing thus far, looking at the finer details of construction of events in the story and how it affects the characterisation and the architectonics as a whole.

Most important of all. We have been looking at the story, as Right Hon’ble Srinivasa Sastriyar put it, “as a human story, lived among human beings by a human being,’ and as he pointed out, we do realise the “rich treasures there are of wisdom in it.” Versions may vary. Values do not.

With this background, my dear friends, let us get back to mother Sita from where we left her in the Sundara Kanda, speaking to Hanuman, giving out her message to her Lord and to Lakshmana and asking him to stay over in the Asoka Vana until it is dawn, for his presence was nothing but manna for her lacerated heart.

Transformation

We notice a transformation in Sita from the state of delirium to which even she, the very embodiment of dhairyalakshmi, was driven to and that she went to the extent of giving her life up, was restored to her own self by Hanuman and how she politely but firmly refused his offer to take her back to Sri Rama, seated on his back citing various reasons. We also saw how Kamban’s brush adds a touch of Panchali-like fury to this wonderful woman of immeasurable patience and tolerance.

‘What is the purpose of my survival in this secluded place for such a long time,’ she would ask Maruti, ‘if I do not remain here, until he comes and kills Ravana?’ We heard her telling him, ‘en aakkayaik kaNda vaaL arakkan vizhi, kaagangaL unda pOdhu andri,’ Unless crows peck at those twenty eyes of this fellow that cast a lustful glance on my body, and unless I see that happen, what is the purpose of spending my days this long in excruciating circumstances?’ (See: sollinaal suduvEn…)

That night saw two different personalities, two extremes, two unknown facets of Sita. She could not find an answer to the numberless questions that hovered about in her mind and she almost foresaw the question that would be posed to her, even if Sri Rama was to come to her rescue and release her from the clutches of the demon. ‘il pugath thakkalai ennin,’ if he says that I am not worthy of acceptance any more, ‘yaanudaik karpinai ep parisu izhaiththuk kaatuvEn?’ what do I tell him? What can I do at that moment? What can I do at all, that would establish my purity? What would be the way in which I can assure him that I remain unviolated? (See: The ‘not to be’ – Part I, II, III and IV)

And we saw Maruti deftly bringing about the change in her and she became her own self again; and not only that Kamban painted her in a shade of fury. So wild that her pent up rage finds itself a vent through her words, ‘if I do not see the shameless wives of these evil minded Rakshasas – naaN il arakkiyar – suffer the shame that Surpanakha went through when her nose was severed; and just not Hanuman, - mUkkodum atra naaNinar aayina pOdhu andri – unless they lose their mangala sutra too, would my sense of shame be of any significance at all? My heart would be at ease; my sense of shame would find its appeasement only when I see this place heaped with hillocks of the bones of demons and these shameless women taste a dose of what I undergo now, and unless they are deprived of their mangala sutra.

A parallel to this is found in Valmiki in an earlier scene, when she wails in utter helplessness as she is tormented by the ogresses by the order of Ravana. “I shall assuredly hear before long the cry (of distress) of ogre maids stricken with sorrow and weeping in every dwelling here. Consumed by Sri Rama’s shafts, Lanka with its principal ogres slain and its splendour dissipated will look gloomy, if only that heroic Sri Rama, the corners of whose eyes are red, comes to know of my being present in the abode of Ravana (an ogre).” (Valmiki Ramayana, Sundara Kanda, Canto 26, Sloka 29 – 31)

That is a facet of Sita that we have not witnessed at all thus far in the epic and are not going to witness again till perhaps the end, excepting a few more remaining scenes in which Ravana would appear again to torment her. But that takes place when the battle is already on.

Well, we also heard her – in Valmiki – requesting Hanuman to ‘stay over somewhere close by, until it is dawn’, for his presence meant so much to her troubled soul. That puts at rest the arguments of pundits against what she requested. Tender feelings are to be understood in their proper context, as Right Hon’ble Srinivasa Sastriyar points out. (See: Sense of security) This portion, in which Janaki makes her request to Hanuman to remain there that night, does not find a place in Kamban’s narration.

Now, let’s turn our attention to the ‘lie’ of Mythili, as that is a matter of debate too.

As he left

It was time for Hanuman to take leave. What he accomplished this night was something stupendous. He was a messeanger of a strange kind. Nobody else would have been entrusted with such a job, of course with the exception of the messengers of Dhamayanthi, who practically scoured every city, every marketplace, every village and town in search of Nala. That however is another story for another day.

Hanuman had an envelope in his hand with the name of the addressee written in bold over it. But, only, the address was missing. It just contained the name of the addressee and he crossed ‘mountains and oceans’, in the real sense of the phrase and saw to it he delivered what he was supposed to deliver. He had to contend with strange and difficult situations before he could do so. We know the state of mind in which the addressee was and we know that he had to approach her with such an amount of caution and circumspection because that moment called for very quick but precise decisions. (See: Monkey in a dream)

Well, the happenings of that night must have taken not more than a few hours commencing from about 2 am and lasting till pre-dawn. When Ravana entered Asoka Vana and started his taunts, torments and tantrums as he used to do regularly, it was past midnight. Hanuman had entered his bedchamber just hours before, when he found him asleep. And when Hanuman took leave of her and destroyed a great portion of the Asoka Vana, the sun rose.

A careful reader would not miss the references to the hours of the day that the Poet so casually drops in every now and then. ‘seRi kuzhal seethaikku andru Or sikaamaNi therindhu vAngi eRi kadal Ivadhu enna ezhundhanan iravi,’ he would say, when Hanuman uprooted every tree and pulled every structure down in the Vana. ‘The sun rose out of the ocean,’ remarks the Poet and says, ‘did he take a dip in the ocean just to fetch the best of gems to her, who had just parted with her ‘chUdaa mani,’ the diamond studded jewel that is worn on the head. He showed the sunset when Hanuman leaped up from Mount Mahendra and he speaks of sunrise now.

Looking through the eyes of a Transactional Analyst, one would see a father figure in Hanuman, in the garb of a soft spoken counsellor, presenting himself and behaving like the ‘most obedient servant.’ ‘I am the servant of Rama,’ is how he introduced himself. ‘adaindhanen adiyEn iraaman aaNayaal.’ Here arrives your servant at the behest of Rama. And he so skilfully nursed her out of her depressed state of mind. We saw the transformation that had come over her.

This is an important development in the drama, the two characters on stage moving inwardly towards each other and developing a multidimensional, a complex relationship in which one holds the other. Two differing levels of relationship develop at this magical moment, internal and external. One that is seen thorough the pattern of conversation, the language employed, the postures adopted, the vivid description of body language that the Poets depict. That is on the one side. How the characters interact, as seen through the portrayal of the scene and the tone and content of the dialogue. The other side is psychological, which has to be distilled through what is seen on the surface and reaching deeper down into the hearts of the personae on stage, and the bonds that develop between them within this short space of time. And of course, this inference should find an evidence to support from the Text, if not here from some other later scene.

It is important to understand this before we hold the balance on the ‘lie’ of Janaki.

Tall he stands…

It would be interesting to observe the vastly varying emotions that ran in the mind of Sita, the ebbs and tides that rocked her wild before she could reach the point of near-security and close-to-tranquility. It would be equally interesting to look at the way in which she perceived Hanuman, held him at the beginning of the scene and the way in which her heart softened and even melted as the scene developed. And finally the way in which he appeared to her heart, the image that she developed of him, and the way in which her troubled psyche ran to him as would a child, with outstretched hands, to her father seeking the warmth and security of his hands.

Just think for a moment and bring this picture to mind. She is walking to the Simsupa tree, having decided to put an end to her life, as Valmiki would put it, “Tying my neck with the fillet that ties my braid, I shall proceed to the presence of Yama.” (Sundara Kanda, Canto 28, Sloka 17) And a voice wafts across to her through the inky night, so gently, so softly and so unexpectedly. Was she shocked! If not shocked, she was shunned. She could not proceed with her decision. And what is this strange creature, appearing in the form of a monkey and speaking in a human voice! Disbelief, and to an extent fear, came over her. That was her first reaction towards Hanuman.

This form, which most certainly looks like a monkey, is speaking to her! It was the voice that she heard at first. Well, she stopped for a moment, because it was Rama’s name that she heard and looked in the direction from which she was addressed. “Then beholding Hanuman, clad in white and tawny like a series of flashes of lightning, concealed under cover of boughs, Sita felt disturbed in mind,” says Valmiki. (Ibid, Canto 32, Sloka 1) That was her first reaction.

‘ayyural!’ assures Kamban’s Hanuman. Do not be in doubt. ‘uLadhu adayaaLam.’ I have solid evidence (as to my identity). ‘aariyan mey uRa uNarththiya urayum vEru uLa.’ Apart from the material evidence, I have the message of Rama for you. Her mind alternated between mercy and anger, says the Poet. ‘endru avan irainja, nOkki, irakkamum munivum eydhi…’ Her mind was full of compassion this moment and anger the very next, as he appealed to her. She took him to be a demon in disguise. She was not prepared to lend credence to the claim of this little monkey. After all, she has seen with her own eyes that anything could happen in this land of Ravana.

‘But he sounds sincere,’ she would think. ‘And appears to be true and good. ‘arakkanE aaga.’ Let it be so if he is a demon. ‘vEru Or amaranE aga.’ Or may it be that he is one from the celestials. ‘andrik kurakku inaththu oruvanEdhaan aaguga.’ Or, let me accept it, let him be the monkey that he appears to be. He chants the name of my Lord. His voice melts my soul. Let me listen to him.’

That was how she was drawn to him, that was how she looked at him, that was how she held him. ‘I can’t believe it. I am not going to believe it. Yet, let me listen to his words, for at least they carry the very nectar into my soul.’ And at the end of Hanuman’s narration, and at the moment in which he took out the aazhi, the royal signet of Rama and handed it to her, he had already gained her confidence, her love, her affection and zoomed to the highest pedestal in her heart, to the much much elevated position of her own father. She tells him that he is her father, her mother, and God incarnate.

Was she impulsive when she said so? Did she really mean it? Or was it that she said so because the overwhelming emotions washed her over? No. The Poet remembers this moment and affirms her words at the end of the battle.

In fact, Hanuman has the rare privilege of being addressed endearingly as ‘father’ not by Sita alone. Sri Rama says that; and Lakshmana says so too. We will see what the Poet says.

Thou art my father

We had occasion to mention this in an earlier instalment too, when we were speaking about how Sita felt when she received Rama’s signet from Hanuman. We saw how the Mother of the Universe was moved beyond measure. The Poet captures that moment and says, ‘muththa nagayaaL aali mulai mundril thaththi uga,’ She – whose teeth resembled the best of pearls – was full of tears. Tears rolled down not just on her cheeks. They were so much that they rolled past her breasts before they fell on the ground. She looked up at him gratefully and told him, ‘You have restored my life.’ You have instilled confidence back in me. Now that you have seen me here, now that you are there to stand witness for what you have seen, my mind has a reason to be at rest.

‘Speak on my behalf; tell him of my condition here,’ she pleads with him. Valmiki’s Sita says, “My case should be put by you in such a way, O Hanuman, that the illustrious Sri Rama may find me alive. Reap the virtue of rendering help to me by your words. The effort of Sri Rama (son of Dasaratha), who is ever full of determination to recover me, will be intensified on hearing the words uttered by me.” (Valmiki Ramayana, Sundara Kanda, Canto 39, Sloka 10, 11) ‘hanuman yatnamaasthaaya dhukka-kshaya karO bava’ she would plead. Remain active and put an end to my suffering. (Ibid, Sloka 4)

If at all I lived here in this isolated prison, it was not because of a desire to preserve my life, to continue to live in such an impossible situation. I lived only for the sake of my Rama. Just because he could not bear it if I decided otherwise. “(Only) for your sake have I endured (so long) unbearable woes, words which pierced my heart and living in the company of ogres,” she wants Maruti to tell Rama.

That is to say, ‘I endured such suffering and lived this long only because my Lord would not be able bear my bereavement if I decided to shed my life. Then, I was driven to the tether’s end this night. I did not find a purpose in my living any more, when I saw that possible question that may arise, for I do not have the means to prove my purity. I therefore decided to end my life. You came at the right time and I found a reason to live a little longer.’

‘You stopped me and changed the course of my life. It is almost like a punar-janma – rebirth – to me.’ She did not say that in these words. But what she said amounts to this. Rama says so in similar circumstances when the entire Vanara army, including Lakshmana is felled by Indrajit with his Brahma-astra and is restored to life with Hanuman fetching the Sanjeevi parvata – mountain of herbs.

‘mannin thOndrinOm munnam;’ a grateful Rama would tell Hanuman with eyes full of tears. ‘We were born to king Dasaratha. But that Rama and Lakshmana do not exist any more. ‘maaNudLOm,’ Those two are dead. ‘ninnin thOndrinOm neriyin thOndrinaai.’ And we are born once again because of you. Thou who followeth the path of rectitude O Hanuman, art our father.

What Rama would say on a later day is almost the same as what Sita says now. ‘ammai aai,’ You are my mother, Maruti ‘appan aaya aththanE,’ and you are my father. ‘aruLin vaazhvE,’ You are the refuge of, you are the shelter for grace, for mercy! (For a detailed discussion on the verse, see: In praise of Maruti)

Remember. It was only less than an hour before he entered the scene when he was held with unbelieving eyes. When the turmoil through which she passed made it difficult for her to give credence to this ‘puny little’ monkey. And now he has so beautifully and effortlessly climbed the highest pedestal in her heart. ‘appan aaya aththan.’ One who is my father.

The destruction of Asoka Vana

We have been discussing the very many differences between the versions of Valmiki and Kamban in this column. We have studied the differences of narration and development of events that materially alter the course of events and the construction of characters. But that should not give an impression that Kamban moved completely away from Valmiki.

Kamban worked with the same material that his predecessor worked with. He adopted the same blueprint, but created a work of his own. The pattern and style of construction differed. The main and core elements of the development of events and the flavour and fragrance of the characters remained the same. The scene at hand is one among hundreds of others where Kamban adopted Valmiki per se. Of course one would be able to sense the difference in the flavour. That would be there. In fact that has to be there, because we are looking at the works to two giants.

Well, Hanuman decided to meet Ravana, as he was leaving Asoka Vana. But that was not going to be an easy task. The ruler of all the three worlds granting an appointment to a monkey! And that too to discuss the sending back of Sita! ‘seethayai viduvadhu uNdO irubadhu thiN thOL uNdaal…’ he would tell Indrajit even at the very last stage of the war. ‘Do you think I would leave her so easily, when I have twenty valiant hands? No. Not at any cost. If at all I would give up anything, I would give up my very life; not Sita,’ was what he hold Indrajit when he quickly rushed to his father to apprise him of the destruction of Nikumbhila and to plead with him for the restoration of Sita.

If that was so, what would he tell Hanuman at this stage! He has just seen Sita, identified her and fortified her. Ravana has scant respect – in fact no respect – for the ‘mere, meek, two-handed human beings’. How would one expect that he would stoop so low as to hold a discussion with a monkey!

Hanuman therefore decided that he should start with the destruction of the grove. That would lead to a scuffle with the grove-keepers. He knew that scuffle would take the form of a skirmish which would ultimately turn into a battle. The destruction of the well-guarded Asoka Vana, which was the personal garden of Ravana, the terror of the Universe, where Sita is imprisoned, would send waves of shock all around and have deeper repercussions. Hanuman knew this for sure.

As we have had occasion to mention earlier too, Hanuman is the only one who is endowed with supernatural powers on the side of Rama. Other than Hanuman, we do not see anyone else – including Rama and Lakshmana – displaying their siddhi. Among other things the Poets speak of two siddhis that Hanuman was endowed with. aNimaa and mahimaa. mahimaa is the siddhi by which he could enlarge his frame as tall as he desired, while by aNimaa he could shrink his body tinier than the tiniest of specks. ‘mEru girikkum meedhura nirkkum peru meyyIr,’ Jambavan would sing his praise when reminding him of his strength, valour and qualities before he leapt across the ocean. ‘If you so desire, you can stand taller than the Mount Meru. ‘maari thuLikkum thaarai idukkum vara vallIr.’ And you can shrink yourself so small that you can fly between any two raindrops during the heaviest of downpours. Of course, without getting wet.

Hanuman’s intention was to send waves of terror all around the Rakshasa land. By his mahimaa he stood tall and towering, taller than the tallest of the trees of Asoka Vana. Sita had seen a taller-than-that form less than an hour back. Hanuman however is now away from the eyes of Sita and she is not aware of what is going around. He is uprooting the trees in the well-guarded grove and throwing them skywards. He is treading over the artificial, man-made (or are they demon-made?) hillocks, and turning them into powder and dust by his sheer weight.

The ogresses guarding Sita woke up. It was not they were in deep sleep all this while. They were bound by the spell cast by Hanuman. Some of them have seen Hanuman speaking to Sita. They could not do anything about it however. Pandemonium was raging large over Asoka Vana. The ogresses guarding Vaidehi were terror-stricken and confused. They are just out of the spell and have a vague recollection of what they saw just now. A monkey was speaking in human voice with Janaki. She must be aware of what is happening now. Is this monkey of unbelievable size was the same one who was speaking to Janaki moments back?

They decided to get first hand information. They rushed to question her.

In fear they wake

What Hanuman foresaw did come true. Silvery threads of panic, burnished in gold by the rising sun, emanated from the great hero like the initial threads secreted by a spider making its web, and floated all around the placid grove where pandemonium was planted. It was panic that woke the ogresses up.

They were on duty and they would not go to sleep in the normal course of events. ‘kAval thUNdarkku oththa sindhayinaarum thuyilgillaar,’ Hanuman told himself at the beginning of the scene when the ogresses tormenting her under the orders of Ravana were silenced by Trijata. ‘This is the right time to speak to her. But, these ogress guards have not slept. They will not sleep, for they are always on the alert, for they are on duty.’ ‘vENdath thunjaar.’ They won’t sleep even if they so desire. For, it is Ravana that they work for. They know the consequences of any lapse. ‘endru, oru vinjai vinai seyhdaan,’ says Kamban. ‘So thinking, Hanuman recited a mantra and cast a spell.’ ‘maaNdarkku utraaraam ena ellaam mayarvu utraar.’ All of them were stilled into inaction as though they were dead.

That is, the ogresses were not sleeping. They could see that Hanuman is speaking with Sita; they could see that Sita whose soul was almost withered was getting ready for its springtime. But they could do nothing about anything. They could see the two; they could hear some conversation in softer tones. Their brains dulled by the semi-stupor that they were lulled into, could not register anything.

And when the spell was broken, the sun was rising up and Hanuman had already laid the grove waste, almost completely. “Thereupon all the denizens of Lanka got terror-stricken at the screaming of birds and the crash of falling trees. Put to flight, being panic-stricken, beasts and birds began to scream. Nay, fierce portents made their appearance before the ogres. Their sleep having consequently vanished, the ugly-faced ogresses found that grove devastated and saw that huge and gallant monkey (before them).” (Valmiki Ramayana, Sundara Kanda, Canto 42, Sloka 1 – 3)

Imagine. This was a lot of misshapen ogresses who were soaked in Rakshasa maya. Changing shapes and assuming different forms was not something new for them. They have seen it happen around them almost everyday. Even a middle-order Rakshasa could do that at will. Though these ogress guards could not do so – some of them could – assuming of any form at will was nothing new for them. Therefore, the sight of a monkey of the size of a mountain should not have caused fear in them. Why then were they rocked by panic?

“Beholding them, the mighty-armed Hanuman, who was endowed with extraordinary courage and might, assumed a gigantic form striking terror into the ogresses.” (Ibid, Sloka 4) It was his colossal form that struck terror in their hearts. A strong-arm salutes a stronger-arm and that stronger-arm shakes before the strongest. This monkey is unusual. This is colossal and strong. Not only that. It has uprooted the entire grove and laid it waste. The dull recollection of events of the last night and pre-dawn moved swiftly like a black serpent through the dark chambers of their hearts. This monkey, yes, this monkey was not so big last night. They had seen it conversing with Sita. And if it was conversing with Sita, and she who was blighted last night, is as fresh as a rose in bloom this morning, there is something. This monkey was the reason behind the change in her. They understood that they were facing the worst of their enemies ever. They rushed to Sita. ‘annai! iidhu ennai mEni! yaar kol endru accham utraar.’ ‘What form is this O mother mine,’ would each of them ask Sita.

Sita, who was the object of cruel enchantment, sadistic pleasure, became their ‘annai’ mother. The refugee became their refuge.

The Errand Boy

Both Valmiki and Kamban are agreed on the fact that the ogresses that guarded Sita were terror stricken. Both the Poets say that they had ‘detected’ that this was the monkey who was in conversation with Sita just hours back. Of course, what they saw hours back was a ‘little monkey’. What they now see is a monkey of colossal proportions, the like of which they have not seen at all even in their world of Rakshasa maya. And then, how is that these guards have come to the conclusion that the ‘puny little monkey’, of whom Sita herself expressed amazement about his ability to leap over the ocean, and this monkey, the size of the Mount Meru, are one and the same?

I quoted a verse from Kamban that mentions that ‘Hanuman cast a spell on the guards’ before he came to the presence of Sita. Valmiki does not say so. There is no direct reference in his version about Hanuman ‘casting a spell’ on the guards. It is, however, possible that these guards had most certainly seen the colossal form that Maruti assumed a few hours back while conversing with Janaki, in order to assure her that he sure is capable of crossing the ocean and in order to put her mind at ease about the extraordinary capabilities the Vanaras that surround Sri Rama are endowed with. ‘Do not think that I am the only one in the 70 Vahini-strong Vanara army,’ he would tell her. I am the most ordinary specimen among them. I am just an errand boy.’ Listen to what Valmiki’s Hanuman says:

“There exist in that army monkeys who are my equals and even superior to me. None is inferior to me in the company of Sugriva. When I have arrived here, how easily can they arrive who are endowed with extraordinary might! Surely these superior ones are not sent on errands, only the inferior ones are so sent.” (Valmiki Ramayana, Sundara Kanda, Canto 39, Sloka 38-39)

It is pertinent to recall here that we mentioned recently that though we have been speaking about the differences in the versions of Valmiki and Kamban, one should not come to the conclusion that Kamban moved away from his forerunner completely. There are a few instances where some of Kamban’s most celebrated verses have their origins in Valmiki and some of them sound like near-translation. ‘vaNNak kadalinidai kidanddha maNaliR palaraal vAnaratthin eNNarkku ariya padaith thalaivar,’ he would tell Janaki. Valiant Vanara warriors (who excel me in their might) outnumber the sands of seashore. ‘iraamarkku adiyaar.’ All of them serve Rama. ‘yaan avar tham paNNaikku oruvan enap pOndhEn.’ I, who stand before you, am just a representative of the countless monkeys that are in the service of Sri Rama. ‘eeval kUval paNi seyvEn.’ I am not more than an errand boy, madam. You know that seniors are not sent for such jobs as conveying a message.

Read the Sloka of Valmiki above and read what Kamban says. This above piece of Kamban is one of the most popular and oft-quoted verses. See the striking similarity. See how the ideas expressed and the phrases employed are so almost exactly the same.

Coming back to the scene in hand. Though Valmiki does not mention anything about the ‘spell’ that Hanuman cast, it is only apparent that they were not sleeping completely, but were only in a state of semi-consciousness. That they have seen Hanuman standing tall and towering before Janaki is apparent from the way they are able to conclude that this colossal monkey was the same one who was speaking to her last night, in the form of an ordinary monkey. If they are able to connect the two and if they are able to infer correctly that this was the same monkey, despite the unbelievable difference in appearance between what they ‘saw’ last night and what they are seeing now, it is more than apparent that they should have seen Hanuman in his mahimaa. Enlarging his frame at will, as tall as he wanted. Unless they had seen this happen – though in a state of semi-consciousness – it would not have been possible for them to quickly connect the two monkeys, differing widely in size and proportion, and conclude that both are one and the same.

If at all there was any difference between the colossal form that stood before Sita – which the guards must have witnessed – and the one that is destroying the grove just now, there could just have been only one. And if we are to infer that difference, we have to listen to what Hanuman tells Bhima in the Mahabharata.

When among foes…

In the Mahabharata, there occurs a scene where both the sons of Wind God, Hanuman and Bhima meet. We have dealt with this scene in our ‘Epic Stories’ series. Bhima was going in search of the most exotic of flowers called Saugandhika and on his way he happened to meet Hanuman. It is a very interesting meeting indeed. (See: Appearance may hide greatness) At that time, Bhima expresses his desire to see the great form in which Hanuman leapt over the ocean. Hanuman smiles and says, ‘It is not for you – nor for anyone else – to see now.” However, finally Hanuman agrees to fulfil the desire of Bhima and increased his size so enormously that he stood like ‘Mount Vindhya’ says Vaisampayana who narrates the story that Vyasa authored.

Bhima’s hair stood on end upon perceiving the great form of his brother. He stood there with joined palms, thrilled and excited at the sight. Tears rolled down his cheeks. Unable to look at him any more, Bhima begs with him to assume his normal form. Hanuman does so and tells him with a smile. Blessing his younger brother he says, “O sinless one, thou art capable of beholding my size up to this extent. I can, however, go on swelling my size as long as I wish. And, O Bhima, amidst foes, my size increaseth exceedingly by its own energy.” (Mahabharata, Vana Parva, Section CXLIX)

Bhima was unable to perceive even a relatively ‘very small version’ of the form in which Hanuman stood before Sita. If he assumed the size of ‘Mount Vindhya’ as Mahabharata says, he stood like ‘Mount Meru’ before Janaki that night. And observe what he tells Bhima. ‘My size grows exceedingly by its own energy, when I stand in the midst of enemies.’

If that was so, imagine how he would have stood before the ogress guards and the garden keepers guarding Asoka Vana when the first rays of the sun appeared that day. No wonder they trembled. When they had perceived him earlier, they were semi-conscious. Apart from that, this earlier form was assumed for the sake of Sita, which should have been far, far mellower than the present one. Hanuman is in the presence of enemies now. One can see what he meant by, ‘amidst foes, my size increaseth exceedingly by its own energy’ when he uttered those words to Bhima by the vivid picture that the Poets so enthusiastically paint.

They rushed to Vaidehi for they have a dull recollection of what they have ‘seen’. ‘annai! iidhu ennai mEni! yaar kol endru accham utraar.’ ‘What form is this O mother mine,’ they asked her tremblingly. But not so in Valmiki. They try to ‘coax’ the information out of her. Though they are afraid of Hanuman, their temperament does not differ greatly. Listen to what they tell her in Valmiki:

“(Please) tell us, O large-eyed lady, who this creature is, whose messenger he is, whence and what for he has come and also wherefore talk was held by him with you. No fear need be entertained by you, O graceful lady with dark-cornered eyes?” (Valmiki Ramayana, Sundara Kanda, Canto 42, Sloka 6-7)

Do not be afraid. Tell us the truth. Who is this creature? Who has sent him here? For what purpose? Do tell us. You need not worry. We will not harm you.

An attempt to protect him?

If the tone and tenor of the manner in which that question was put to her differs in the versions of Valmiki and Kamban, take a look at the answer. She keeps her cool, takes a firm stand in ‘protecting’ her ‘father’ stoically from these ‘evil-doers’. For once after a long, long time, we witness the Janaki who revelled in the wilderness as they entered the forest, the Vaidehi who prayed to the rivers and trees for the welfare of her husband and for their ‘safe return’ to Ayodhya and the Mythili who was a delight to watch in every other scene before Ravana appeared on the stage. Just read her response. I am quoting from the direct translation.

“The virtuous Sita, who was charming of every limb, then replied forthwith as follows: What means can I have for acquiring correct knowledge about the ogres, who are capable of changing their form at will. You alone ought to know who he is and what he is about. Indeed a serpent alone has true knowledge about the movements of a serpent; there is no doubt about it. I too am exceedingly frightened and do not know at all who he really is. Of course, I believe him to be an ogre able to change his form at will, arrived here.” (Valmiki Ramayana, Sundara Kanda, Canto 42 Sloka 8-10)

Even through this translation – that can never match the feelings that the verses of the original are laden with – are we not able to visualise her, as she utters these words? Does the picture not come to the mind so vividly that we are able to see her turning to a side, in order to suppress her mischievous smile when she tries to sound so very ‘natural’ as she denies any knowledge about Hanuman? Just try to capture the images that breeze through the words and enact the drama in our hearts, shall we?

Close the eyes for a while and bring the picture to the mind. When we do so, are we not able to see the mischievous smile that flits across her lips for a while when she asks them back, ‘Why are you asking me! How am I supposed to know who that monkey is! You should know better! How am I to know?’ Are we not able to hear her chuckle as she quips ‘Does a snake move on its feet or not’ is a question that can well be answered by another snake!’ And are we not able to see her enacting a ‘shiver’ as she tells them, ‘You say you are afraid of him. Me too. I am afraid of him too.’ And are we not able to see her eyes widen in what is supposed to be an expression of fear, when she announces, ‘I believe him to be a demon. Only demons have the ability to change their forms. If he is able to change his form, he must for sure be a demon!’

The mind is filled with images of her innocence, as she very sweetly and deftly play-acts, denying every knowledge about Hanuman. Take a look at what she says in the drama of Kamban. ‘thIyavar thIya seydhaal’ If (one) evil-doer perpetrates evil ‘thIyavar theriyin allaal,’ it is only for other evil-doers like you to understand their ways. ‘thUyavar thuNidhal uNdO?’ A scoundrel understands another better; a rowdy knows the ways of another rowdy much better, and only the wicked know where a wicked is from, what he is up to and why he acts in a particular way. You are thIyavar. The evil ones. And that monkey seems to be another of your kind. And we are thUyavar. The innocent and pure of heart. How am I to know what he is and where he is from? You evil lot is better equipped to know!

Does her suppressed smile not show through this excellent portrayal? Does this verbal portrait – like the ‘unheard melodies that are sweeter’ – not carry an ‘unseen picture’ and paint a picture that is more vivid and more colourful than a real picture could?

The power of words! So powerful that the unsaid part is most vividly stated, depicted and portrayed, which flows beautifully even through translation, however weak it is. When I read and re-read this portion of the drama again and again, my heart leaps up in pure joy, ecstasy at the mischievous smile that would have run across the lips of the mother when she uttered these words.

And as usual, the pundits have their own queries. Let’s see a few of them. In fact, this very idea of ‘trying to protect Hanuman’ is from those who are arguing for and against what she told the ogress guards. Was it Hanuman that she tried to protect that day? Is it correct to say that she denied any knowledge about him ‘to protect him’ when she uttered these words?

The ‘defences’

The problem with most ‘scholars’ or ‘critics’ or whatever other name by which they may be known is, they fancy their own standards of rectitude. They feel that some moral code or ethics or values have been violated when we come across such situations in the great epics. Immediately – I should say instantaneously – they jump into the field and wield the shield in ‘defence’ of the great characters who are supposed to have violated the ‘great rules’ and ‘golden standards’.

Earlier too, we have seen how various commentators so very ably interpret simple and plain statements and ‘unearth’ hidden meanings that sound plausible; but shrink like cotton candy, when held in one’s palm. Well, cotton candies and concocted interpretations need a lot of boiling to make; and the process needs quite a lot of ‘spinning’ too. Just hold them tight for a while in the palm and you will know what the real substance is.

We have seen how critics and commentators have split the last strand of their hair to ‘explain’ that Ravana did not touch Janaki when Valmiki’s description reads otherwise. (See: Helpless I am) Kamban’s drama obviates the need for such arguments, of course. And we have seen the way in which another commentator has rolled over and over again to explain the phrase ‘muuDhe paNDita maanini’ that Ravana employs, calling her an ‘illiterate woman, assuming herself to be widely read’. We had occasion to see how this phrase was tailored to mean, ‘Though I (Ravana) am a fool, please grace me because I have been your servant for long.’ (See: Was he a devotee?)

Commentators, Right Hon’ble Srinivasa Sastriyar says, find hidden meanings in what Janaki told the ogress guards. He says, “Obviously, on the face of it, it is a concealment of the truth. It has given rise to a great deal of controversy. But I will merely tell you that in their anxiety to defend Sita, people say all sorts of things. One set of people say that in this Sloka there is a hidden meaning which is truthful, and that is what Sita intended. And they construe the passage most ingeniously, twisting words, suppressing passages and in the end producing a meaning which is neither relevant nor sensible, nor any credit to Sita.”

Sastriyar does not cite the ‘twisted meaning’ that he is speaking about. But we are quite convinced that when people can interpret a phrase that simply means, ‘You are a fool’ and unearth a meaning that so very devotedly accepts, ‘I am an idiot,’ they can as easily come up with interpretations and explanations that would ‘save’ Sita from the ‘sin of lying.’ Saving her! Blasphemy! How at all can people – mere weaklings that we are in the pursuit of very ordinary codes of life, conduct and character – imagine of ‘saving’ the very epitome of virtues! Does she at all require props from any of us, however weak or strong we are!

And there are others too, as Sastriyar mentions, who ‘say that she was protected by a great smriti which says that in any of five difficult situations a person may utter a lie and escape sin.’ “Now, if we read those five contexts,” he jokes, “we shall find that they are so elastic that they would afford protection to all the lies that ever were spoken in the world.”

I cannot but call all this, swashbuckling. Rushing into the arena with extra sharp intellectual razors in defence of one who does not need it at all.

A few parallels

The quality of a statement is normally judged by its content. But the situations in life are not always so very simple that it is passed for ‘truth’ or otherwise by a nod of the head. At such times, the content alone is not sufficient to come to a conclusion. One has to go into the situation, the purpose, the intention and the motive behind a statement in order that it may be weighed with reason; in order that we understand the realities of life and in order to understand the intention and purpose of the Poets, the great minds of wisdom that they are, have recorded such instances for posterity.

What can we compare Janaki’s denial of any knowledge about Hanuman with? Where else ca we find parallels? There are some three or four instances of great characters in the epics speaking that which is not true and we had discussed them in our Epic Stories series. (See: Falsehood with a hood, Karna’s Lie and Weigh with reason)

In short, we considered the misstatement of Sugriva, who denied any knowledge about Ravana. ‘na jaane nilayam tasya sarvathaa paapa rakSasaH | saamarthyam vikramam vaa api dauSkuleyasya vaa kulam,’ he says. I do not know at all the abode or strength or prowess or even the pedigree of that sinful ogre of vile birth. (Valmiki Ramayana, Kishkindha Kanda, Canto 7, Sloka 2)

Just think for a while. This was the same Sugriva who told Rama, moments back in Canto 6 thus:

anumaanaat tu jaanaami maithilii saa na samshayaH |
hriyamaaNaa mayaa dRiSTaa rakshasaa raudra karmaNaa ||
kroshantii raama raameti lakshmaNeti ca visvaram |
sphurantii raavaNasya anke pannagendra vadhuuH yathaa ||

“By surmise for my part, I conclude that the aforesaid princess of Mithila was seen by me while being carried off by Ravana (the ogre) of terrible deeds, crying in a husky voice, “Rama, Rama!” and “Lakshmana!” and wriggling like a female serpent in the arms of Ravana. There is no doubt about it.” (Ibid, Canto 6, Sloka 9 and 10)

Observe that he uses the name Ravana. His statement in Canto 7 does not contain the name. It merely mentions ‘the ogre’ and we understand that he refers to Ravana alone.

That is to say, Sugriva was able to recognise Ravana, even though he was flying above them in his pushpaka vimana. He was able to recognise him even at a distance. It was not unusual for Ravana to move about in those regions in his vimana. It was just not Sita that he had carried in that manner. That he roamed about the area and was given to carrying women regularly is vouched by Sampati, the elder brother of Jatayu in a later scene. So these monkeys were able to see that Ravana is carrying some woman away and by surmise he is coming to the conclusion that it must have been Mythili who was carried away on that day.

Sugriva was not sure about the identity of Mythili. He was very sure that it was Ravana who took her away. If he had no knowledge of Ravana, how did he say that ‘it was Ravana who took her away,’ in one canto and that he did not have any knowledge about the ‘ogre of vile birth’ in the very next canto?

Even if it is assumed that he could recognise Ravana; but had no knowledge of his whereabouts, where he lived, which country he ruled et al, the facts are otherwise. We know from the Uttara Kanda that Ravana concluded a ‘treaty of friendship’ with Vali after his misadventure with the latter, and stayed in Kishkindha for a month. ‘…vaali ezhundha pEr uvagayaal irugath than thiraL thOLaal thazhuvi, aangu avanaith than nedu nagaridaik koNdu, sendru inidhu ootti, sirandhana seppi, thingaL ondru inidhu koNdu irundhu…’ says Ottak Koothar, who authored the Uttara Kanda in Tamil. Vali joyously embraced Ravana, took him to his city where both of them feasted. Ravana stayed with them for a month.

“With their hands clasped together, the two warriors, the monkey chief and the king of ogres, thereupon joyously entered Kishkindha like two lions entering a rock cavern,” says Valmiki. (Uttara Kanda, Canto 34, Sloka 43) He does not stop there. “Ravana stayed there for a month,” he says, “like Sugriva.” (Ibid, Sloka 44)

Ravana stayed in Kishkindha like Vali’s younger brother himself. Vali’s younger brother says he has no knowledge of the ‘ogre of vile birth!’ And to whom and at what time! To Sri Rama, at their very first meeting!

Hari Krishnan