The Ramayana Read online

She raised herself and brought her face close to his. Sick to his heart that she was so distraught, Dasaratha nodded. He was anxious for this ordeal to be over. He saw she suffered, and he suffered with her. She paused to stare at him. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. Still in her fell new voice, she said, “I said then there was nothing I wanted. But I would remember the boons and avail of them in a time of need. Dasaratha, tonight is the time of my need; tonight I want my two boons.”

  With no inkling of what she might ask, the king nodded again. He would honor his word, let her ask him quickly. But she wanted to be sure. “If you break your word to me tonight, I will take my life.”

  “I have said you can have whatever you want, Kaikeyi! Have I ever broken my word to you, or to anyone?”

  She took a deep breath and said softly, “Listen then, my lord, to what I want. You have prepared Ayodhya for a coronation tomorrow, to crown Rama yuvaraja. The two boons I ask for are that Bharata be crowned in Rama’s place, and that Rama be banished to the Dandaka vana for fourteen years.”

  He saw the reflection of the oil lamps dancing in her dilated pupils. At first, he did not seem to realize what she had asked. She said, “Dasaratha, your dharma is a legend. Don’t break your word to me and disgrace your ancestors and the House of Ikshvaku.”

  Then it dawned on him. Dasaratha keeled over where he knelt.

  * * *

  When he regained his senses, he passed his hands over his eyes to see if he was dreaming. Kaikeyi made no move to help him up. She crouched in the lamplight, a beast of darkness, her eyes alight with the mania of her purpose.

  The king whispered, “Am I dreaming or have I lost my mind? Is this a memory from another life, which has escaped into this one? What demon has entered my heart and makes me imagine I hear abominations from my Kaikeyi, things she cannot have said?”

  He got up and stood bemused, looking down at his wife in disbelief. When he saw how balefully she glared back at him, he knew she meant every word she had said. His legs were weak and could not carry him; he sat down. Then he lay on the floor and merciful unconsciousness took him again.

  She rose and stood coldly over him, waiting, her heart set on what she wanted, while the lamps burned down. Dasaratha awoke again, now in more anger than sorrow. He said to her, “You are the cruelest woman in the world. I did not know you at all during the years of love I lavished on you. You are evil, and you are determined to destroy me.

  “Serpent, tell me how Rama has wronged you. He treats you as much like his mother as he does Kausalya. Then why do you hate him? Just a month ago, you said to me, ‘Rama is not only your first son, he is mine as well.’ What happened to that love? Who poisoned your mind, Kaikeyi, so you now speak of sending your son into the forest for fourteen years?

  “Why do you want to snatch my life from me, when not many years are left of it anyway? Perhaps your mind is afflicted with some passing madness tonight. Look Kaikeyi, I fall at your feet: think again of what you ask.”

  He laid his head at her feet pale as lilies. She drew away in contempt and said, “For long years you have deceived me with honeyed talk. But tonight I hold you to your sacred word. You come from a line of which it was said of old that the ocean honored the bounds of his shores for the dharma of the Ikshvaku kings. Dasaratha, how will you tell your people that you granted me two boons for saving your life, only to break your word as soon as I asked you to keep it?”

  Dasaratha wept like a child. But she raged on, “I know that once Rama is crowned you will go back to Kausalya’s arms. But be warned: I will not live through this night if you refuse me what I ask. Here is the poison I will drink and end myself, in despair that my husband was a liar.”

  She showed him a darkling vial. Dasaratha mumbled Rama’s name over and over to himself, like some mantra.

  He cried desperately, “You are not my Kaikeyi. You are a fiend that has possessed my innocent queen. Why else would you want Rama banished? But I tell you, whoever you are, Bharata will not accept the kingdom. He will not stand by and see his brother exiled.”

  He moaned like a wounded animal and a sweat of shock shone on his face. “Just this morning, before all the people, I said I would crown Rama yuvaraja. What will I tell them he has done, that I now banish him to the forest instead? What will I tell Kausalya, whom I have neglected for so many years from my love for you? And Sita? What will I say to the flowerlike Sita?

  “Monster, you mean to be the ruin of us all; and when we are dead, you can rule Ayodhya with your son. Ah, these are the sins of past lives being visited on me; I have not sinned in this one to deserve such punishment. You speak to me of killing yourself? Listen to me, Demon. The sun may not shine any more; Indra may not moisten the earth with rain, and still the world may continue. But Dasaratha’s life will leave his body the moment Rama leaves for the forest.”

  Again he fell at her feet. “Relent, Kaikeyi. It isn’t you who wants this dreadful fate for us all. Know your own heart and relent, while there is still time.”

  But she would not.

  All night, Dasaratha hovered between a swoon of insupportable anguish and ravaged waking. He begged her, repeatedly, to relent. Again and again, she replied that she would see Bharata crowned and Rama exiled.

  Unhinged, at times Dasaratha called out to the Gods never to let this terrible night end; for only at dawn could Rama be banished. But at others, he begged the sun to rise at once, in mercy, because he could not bear the company of this she-devil. He was tempted to seek out Kausalya and Sumitra to share his burden with them. But he said to himself, “No, tonight I will bear this grief alone. Let those who love me and love Rama sleep in peace for the last time.”

  Finally, sobbing Rama’s name, the wretched king fell into a long faint. Kaikeyi sat watching him, as a beast watches her prey. The lamps in the room burned out, and the night wore on in darkness.

  7. At the palace

  At crack of dawn, the sutas began to sing outside the door to wake the king. But the sky was overcast and the people of Ayodhya wondered that the morning Rama was to be crowned should be so forbidding. It seemed an evil omen on this auspicious day. Soon a gray drizzle began.

  Kaikeyi prodded the king awake that morning of fate. He hoped to wake from his nightmare to find that was all it had been, and last night a dream. But ugly greed in her eye, his queen said to him, “Don’t bring shame on yourself, Dasaratha, by breaking your sacred word.”

  He groaned; he awoke trembling. His eyes darted around the room now filling with wan light. Dasaratha whispered, “Let Rama be prepared to perform tarpana for me with the water meant for the abhisheka.”

  He looked imploringly at Kaikeyi. She wore finery once more; ornaments glittered on her body. She shook him roughly, and cried, “Enough! Day has dawned. Send for Bharata and have him crowned; let Rama leave for the forest.”

  Meanwhile, Vasishta and his sishyas arrived in the palace for the coronation. Despite the drizzle, the streets of Ayodhya were filled to bursting. The people sang and chanted Rama’s name. Vasishta said to Sumantra, “Go and tell Dasaratha the fire is kindled and the muhurta is near.”

  Humming under his breath, Sumantra arrived in Kaikeyi’s chambers. He said to Dasaratha, “My lord, everything is ready for Rama’s investiture and the people await you.”

  Dasaratha turned to face his sarathy. Sumantra was startled to see Dasaratha’s eyes were red and swollen. In a voice that had aged years in a night, the king said, “You make my tears flow, Sumantra.”

  Kaikeyi turned imperiously to the charioteer. “The king wishes to speak privately to Rama before the coronation. There is nothing to worry about; just that my husband spent a sleepless night. Go and fetch Rama here.”

  Pleased to believe her rather than what his eyes saw on his master’s face, Sumantra went to fetch Rama. Karkataka, the great Crab, would soon rise on the horizon, and the moon was already in Pushyami. Sumantra hurried on his way. People in the streets, the crowd that eddied around the pala
ce like a muted sea, cried to him:

  “Where is the king, why hasn’t he come out yet?”

  “It is almost time for the coronation.”

  “Is he asleep on this great day?”

  As he parted their tide with his chariot, Sumantra cried back to them, “Dasaratha wants to see Rama alone before the crowning. But I will tell him of your impatience.”

  He was a popular figure, and waving to them, he came to Rama’s palace. The tusker Shatrunjaya, beautifully caparisoned, raised his trunk to greet Sumantra within the flower-decked gates. Sumantra smiled to himself at the thought of Rama on the elephant’s back, ambling through the ecstatic crowd to be crowned.

  Sumantra was shown into Rama’s presence. The prince sat in a finely carved chair, wearing white silk. Enchanting Sita sat beside him with a chamara whisk in her hand. Sumantra bowed deeply and said, “Rama, the king summons you to the Queen Kaikeyi’s chambers.”

  Rama said to Sita, “Mother Kaikeyi wants to bless me. You wait here, Sita, I will return shortly.”

  She said nothing, but went with him to the door and watched him leave. Her lips moving soundlessly, she prayed, “Indra, Yama, Varuna, Kubera: O Lokapalas, watch over my husband on this day of his fortune.”

  How the crowd roared his name when Rama came out into the streets. For the first time, the sun broke through from behind the clouds in broad golden shafts. The people allowed the chariot to pass, but slowly. They all wanted to see their prince clearly, and those that could reached out to touch him. The women of Ayodhya, wearing their best clothes and jewelry, sang out his name from their terraces. They threw armfuls of flowers down on the chariot as it made its way to Dasaratha’s palace.

  At last Sumantra cried to the people, “Time is short. We will miss the muhurta if you don’t let us through.” They parted like an ocean at a prophet’s command. The chariot passed through them and came to the king’s palace.

  8. The boons of Kaikeyi

  Lakshmana stood waiting at the lofty palace doors. Rama linked arms with his brother and they hurried along to Kaikeyi’s apartment. The princes were announced. Eager as he was to prostrate himself before his father and have his blessing, Rama checked himself when he sensed the tension in that silent chamber. He gasped when he saw Dasaratha’s face. Kaikeyi stood beside him like an evil spirit. Her lips were set in a thin line and her eyes shone insanely.

  Rama went forward, fell at his father’s feet, and clasped them; then at Kaikeyi’s, but she moved away. The king sat where he was, slumped in a chair. He spoke no word of blessing, nor did he stir. His eyes remained shut, as if he did not want to see the world any more. But he spoke his son’s name in a broken voice, and tears escaped his eyelids clamped together in some great pain.

  Rama was confused. He said to Kaikeyi, “Have I done something to annoy my father? Or is he unwell? Is there bad news of Bharata and Shatrughna? I should not ask this, but have you quarreled?”

  He heard her speak in a strange, distant voice, which was scarcely her own. “You haven’t annoyed him, nor is there bad news from your brothers. Your father has something to tell you, but the words don’t leave his lips. But I will tell you what he dare not say. Once this king granted me two boons for saving his life, whatever I chose. Last night I asked him to keep his word; but he would rather break it now.”

  Rama wondered at the harshness of her. There was such malice in her tone. “But you, Rama, can keep your father’s oath. If you say you will, I will tell you what I asked him for.”

  Dasaratha sat turned to stone; only the tears leaked on from his eyes. Rama cried, “You don’t have to ask me, mother. I would gladly kill myself to keep my father’s word. I think you know that.”

  Kaikeyi said without emotion, “I want Bharata to be crowned in your place; and for you to spend nine years and five more in the Dandaka vana, wearing tree bark and deerskin like a rishi.” Her lip curling, she asked, “Would you do this to keep your father’s honor? For he, I think, will never ask you himself.”

  Dasaratha groaned feebly, but Rama’s eyes did not so much as flicker. Without a moment’s hesitation, he said, “Of course I will go to the forest if you want me to. Why is there such conflict over this? Or that Bharata is to be crowned? It only pains me that my father thought he would hurt me with this happy news. Let us send messengers at once to Kekaya to fetch my brother home.”

  Kaikeyi said coldly, “You can leave the sending of messengers to me. You need not be in Ayodhya when Bharata returns. The king is so grief-stricken that one son of his shall be crowned and not the other, that as long as you are here he will not make Bharata yuvaraja. The sooner you leave for the forest the better.”

  Rama whispered, “Shantam paapam!”

  * * *

  Dasaratha swooned in his chair and Rama sprang to him. Now Rama’s eyes were full, as he turned to Kaikeyi and said quietly, “Mother, you have not understood me. I am not anxious to have the kingdom. I never was. Didn’t you believe that if you asked me yourself, I would gladly have gone away for your sake? It pains me that you doubted my love for you.

  “I will go at once; and have no fear, I will not come back for fourteen years. But I must see my mother Kausalya and convince her that this is no tragedy but God’s way for me, and a blessing for one as fond of the wild places of the earth as I am.”

  Dasaratha wept again. Rama fell at his father’s feet once more, and touched his lips and his head to them. Then he touched Kaikeyi’s feet and, rising quickly, walked out of the room. Behind him, he heard his father break down, calling his name, sobbing like a child.

  Lakshmana came out with his brother. But his face twitched in rage and hot tears had sprung in his eyes. Rama linked his arm in Lakshmana’s. When he thought of seeing Kausalya and breaking this news to her, even Rama felt weak. He steadied himself, and his face showed no sorrow but was as radiant as ever. They walked through the sabha of the coronation, past the giant urns filled with water from the sacred rivers of Bharatavarsha for the abhisheka.

  Rama’s pang for his mother passed. He did not so much as glance at the urns, nor at the white parasol beside the throne, nor the long whisks of silk thread at the doors, but came straight to Kausalya’s apartment. His mind was calm and had just one thought: how he would soften the blow for her. Rama was accosted by some that he knew along the way. He spoke amiably to them, and carried on. Beside his brother, Lakshmana controlled himself.

  But word had leaked from Kaikeyi’s apartment already, at Manthara’s shrewd instigation, and spread like fire through the palace. As they neared Kausalya’s chambers, the princes heard cries of shock from the women of the harem.

  “Rama banished? For what?”

  “It’s just an evil rumor.”

  “Has Dasaratha taken leave of his senses?”

  “Rama banished to the forest? Today is Rama’s coronation.”

  Through the walls, along the winding passages, they heard cries of dismay, as the news caught and burned along. But they arrived before the news at Kausalya’s apartment. Rama was as unmoved by what he heard around him as an aswattha tree is by the cries of the birds in its branches.

  The old guard at his mother’s door sprang up. He came toward the princes, crying, “Jaya vijayi bhava!”

  Rama smiled at him and moved on into his mother’s rooms. Kausalya had spent the night in prayer. She sat before Narayana’s image, pouring libations onto the fire for her son’s fortune. Rama stood watching her offering arghya. As always, she wore thin silk. Her face glowed from the flames before her, her gracious features chiseled by the sorrows of the years. Rama looked at his gentle mother and he knew that in her life he was the single light. He knew it was years since her husband had seen her at all; so lost had he been in Kaikeyi’s charms. But his mother had never said a word to Rama against Kaikeyi or his father.

  Kausalya became aware of Rama and her face lit up with the same joy he saw on it whenever he visited her. She rose and came to him. He stood before her with his hands fol
ded and his heart faltering. He knelt at her feet, as much to delay what he must tell her as for her blessing. She blessed him, laying both her soft palms on his head. Then she raised him up, and her eyes were moist.

  “My noble child, may all heaven’s blessings be upon you. Today your father will crown you yuvaraja, and I know you will prove a worthy heir to the Ikshvaku throne. May the Gods help you be as great a king as all your ancestors. Always be loyal and kind to your father, even after you are crowned. He loves you more than his life.”

  She clasped him to her; she felt him tremble. With a cry, she held him at arm’s length. “My son, you are shaking. Are you ill?”

  At once Rama grew calm. Yet when he spoke to her, his eyes avoided hers and sought the floor at his feet. But his voice was steady as he said softly, “Mother, I must leave you to go away to the Dandaka vana. For fourteen years I must live in the forest, to honor my father’s boon to Kaikeyi. But still rejoice, because your son Bharata is to be crowned yuvaraja.”

  At first, she did not seem to know what he had said. He saw the shock in her eyes only when he had finished, and he leaned forward and caught her as she fell. He picked her up in his arms, easily as he might a child, and set her down in a jeweled chair. He sprinkled some water that Lakshmana fetched on her face, and she stirred again. As he knelt beside her, Rama could hardly look into her eyes.

  “How will I bear this?” cried Kausalya. “Once my only sorrow was that I was a barren woman, whom her husband did not love. Oh, I would gladly exchange that sorrow for this one.

  “Your father never loved me. His younger queens had their way with him and I was neglected. But when you were born, I thought the Gods had finally blessed me. I could bear anything then, even the snickering of Kaikeyi and her women. You are the light of my days, Rama. I cannot live without seeing your face, my son.

  “I have always kept my vratas and worshipped the Gods unfailingly. But my prayers have been in vain, that this must happen to me now. I was born under an evil star and not all the prayers in the world can change my fate. I must have been a terrible sinner in my past lives; and my heart is made of stone in this one that it has not yet broken in a thousand pieces with everything I have endured.