The Ramayana Page 3

  Rishyashringa replied, “Send your horse across the plains of Bharatavarsha. Let the yagna begin.”

  After a year, the kshatriyas of all the kingdoms through which Dasaratha’s white horse had flown like a storm came to Kosala. They came to the yagnashala on the northern bank of the Sarayu, under the sun and the stars. The horse came home unchecked and it was spring again, with the flowering trees all in bud.

  5. The need for an Avatara

  Toward the end of the aswamedha, Dasaratha fell at Rishyashringa’s feet and cried, “Rishi, make my yagna fruitful.”

  Rishyashringa began to perform the intricate putrakama ritual at the holy fire, exactly as it is prescribed in the secret passages of the Atharva Veda. The Devas gathered above that fire for their share of the havis: these offerings are ambrosial to them, like sipping the sweetest currents of the human heart.

  What the sacrificers of Kosala and their priest did not know was that the Devas came straight from a transcendent mandala, where they had taken a petition to Brahma.

  Indra, the king of the Devas, knelt before Brahma and cried, “Father, we cannot bear Ravana’s tyranny any more. His evil pervades the earth and men’s hearts are corrupted from afar. They deny their Gods, and lie more easily than speak the truth. They are full of violence and seduce their brothers’ wives. Ravana’s demons swarm in the jungles of the earth; they desecrate the rishis’ sacrifices and devour the holy ones.

  “The Sun and the Moon go in fear of Ravana. The planets spin into sinister orbits at his will, and all the world has become a dangerous place. The yakshas and gandharvas live in terror. No sage dares pronounce a curse on the Lord of Lanka, because he is such an awesome sorcerer himself. Vayu the Wind blows softly, lest he ruffle Ravana’s hair. Surya the Sun doesn’t change his place over Lanka, be it summer or winter, lest he annoy Ravana and the Demon pluck him from the sky and extinguish him. And now Ravana threatens to invade Amravati if I am not servile to him. I cannot stand it, Pitama! My throne in heaven is worthless, as long as Ravana lives. And because of your boon to him, none of us can kill the Rakshasa.”

  Brahma said, “Ravana does have a boon from me that no immortal can kill him. But in his arrogance, he did not ask for a boon to protect him against the mortal race of men. He shall die by a man’s hand. Be comforted: it is not long to the birth of that man into the world.”

  As Brahma spoke, a blinding splendor shone on them from the sky. They saw Mahavishnu, the Savior, mounted on his golden eagle. He wore robes glowing like the sun against his sea-blue skin. He carried the Sudarshana chakra, the Panchajanya, and the Kaumodaki. Brahma and the Devas worshipped him with folded hands.

  Across winds of light that Garuda’s wings stirred, Brahma cried to Vishnu, “Lord, be born as a man to rid the earth of Ravana of Lanka. Or the Rakshasa will plunge the world into hell, long before the kali yuga begins. Only you can kill him; for evil though he is, he is greater than any creature in heaven or earth.”

  Vishnu spoke to Brahma and the Devas in his voice as deep as time: “I will be born as Dasaratha of Ayodhya’s son, and I will kill Ravana. I will rule the earth for eleven thousand years, before I return to Vaikunta.”

  He vanished from above them. How they yearned for him to appear again, but the Blue One was gone.

  * * *

  On earth, on the northern bank of the Sarayu, Dasaratha’s putrakama yagna was almost complete. Rishyashringa chanted the final mantras from the Atharva Veda. The fire leaped up, tall as trees, and the flames licked themselves into a dark figure: a divine messenger, his hair a lion’s mane around his livid face. He wore burning ornaments studded with great jewels and a chandrahara, a moon-sliver, on his chest.

  He stepped out of the fire, and flames were his body as he stood solemnly before Dasaratha and Rishyashringa. He carried a crystal chalice in his hands, with a silvery payasa brimming in it. He looked as Dhanvantari must have, when he emerged from the Kshirasagara with the amrita.

  Said that being, in an ancient tongue of fire and earth: “I come from Brahma, Grandsire of worlds. He sends this payasa to your queens so they will bear you the sons you long for.”

  He held the chalice out to Dasaratha. The king stepped forward and took it. At once the messenger vanished. Like a man bearing the greatest treasure he could ever have, Dasaratha brought the chalice to his queens.

  He came to Kausalya, his first wife, and said to her, “Look, the Gods have answered our prayers. You shall bear me a son to be my heir.”

  With his own hands, he made her drink half the payasa. Then he went to his second wife, Sumitra, and fed her half of what was left. He went to his youngest queen, Kaikeyi, and gave her half of what remained. Finally he went back to give Sumitra the rest.

  And they heard the people of Ayodhya crying, “Jaya! Jaya!” as they broke into song.

  Hope against Ravana of Lanka kindled in their hearts, the Devas came down from the sky to receive their share of the havis. Taking the burnt offerings in shining hands, they vanished back into their subtle realms. Dasaratha and his people returned to Ayodhya, with joy come among them like another god.

  After being rewarded lavishly by the euphoric king, Rishyashringa and the other brahmanas went back to their homes.

  6. King Dasaratha’s sons

  Dasaratha was as happy as a boy, as if only now the Gods had blessed him with manhood. He felt as strong as a Deva. The first few nights after the aswamedha yagna he went to his queens by turns; he made love as he had when he had just married them.

  In some months, they announced in joy, Kausalya first, then Sumitra and Kaikeyi, that they were all pregnant. Celebrations broke out in Ayodhya: the Gods had not betrayed Dasaratha and his people. That year flew by for the king in cosseting his wives. He fed them with delicacies that stroked their palates or their fancy. He clothed them in finery that not even queens had worn before. Ayodhya was festive all year long, in breathless anticipation.

  The ice on the Himalaya began to melt as the sun drifted north again and spring returned to Bharatavarsha. This was no common spring, but wore rainbow-hued lotuses in its hair, flowers that bloomed once in a thousand years. A hush of expectation lay over Kosala’s capital. The clear pools were covered with lilies. The flowering trees that lined the streets of Ayodhya drooped to the ground; they were heavy with new leaves in every shade of green and untimely, extravagant flowers. A malaya breeze blew across the kingdom, carrying the scents of the spring through the city and up into the apartments of Dasaratha’s queens; most of all, into Kausalya’s.

  All the earth seemed to strain, with senses of breeze and night, moonbeam and sunray, into the gracious Kausalya’s chambers: Vishnu was to be born from her bright womb as a man! Then it was the month of Chaitra. Great rishis had arrived in Ayodhya, and, with occult sight, they saw Devas in the sky above the city.

  The moon was waxing. It was the ninth day after amavasya. Rare and auspicious syzygies were strewn across the firmament. Five planets were in their signs of exaltation that night. The nakshatra was Punarvasu and the moon rose in his own house, with lofty Jupiter in the lagna Karkataka, cardinal sign of the Crab. Kausalya was as radiant as Aditi had been in Devaloka when she bore Indra. That night, Dasaratha’s first queen gave birth to one greater than the king of the Devas. She brought Vishnu into the world, for its deliverance from Ravana of Lanka.

  Kausalya felt no pain at all, just bliss, as Rama was born from her. He was as serene as the Manasa lake upon the mountain. He did not cry at being born into this sad and fleeting world. He only smiled, his eyes wide open and so knowing on his dark, dark face. A shower of barely tangible flowers fell out of the air around Kausalya’s bed. Apsaras danced on clouds when little Rama sighed in his throat, blue as the lotus that blooms on satin pools hidden in the hearts of jungles.

  When in a day, the moon had moved into the nakshatra Pushyami, the youngest queen Kaikeyi went into labor, and Bharata was born.

  After another twenty hours, when the moon was in Aslesha, twins w
ere born to Sumitra, who had drunk twice from the cup of payasa: Lakshmana, who would follow his brother Rama to the ends of the earth, and Shatrughna, bane of his enemies.

  Ayodhya was more festive than Devaloka on high. The Devas were jubilant at the thought that Ravana would die as soon as Dasaratha’s eldest son was a man: in just some human years, which for the Gods are but a few days. But the people of Kosala celebrated because now they would have another great kshatriya to rule them as wisely as Dasaratha had done.

  In Ayodhya the singing and dancing went on through the night. The streets were choked with thousands of revelers, at midday and twilight, midnight and dawn. The lines outside the palace gates were interminable, when the queens brought their sons out onto their terraces. The people stood patiently for hours to catch a glimpse of the infants’ faces.

  Dasaratha gave them gold by the sack, and cows by the herd to the brahmanas. If through deep time there was ever a mortal king whose cup of joy was full, he was Dasaratha of Ayodhya. The feasting continued for eleven days, and then Vasishta was called to name the four boys and perform their jatakarma.

  * * *

  The next sixteen years were like a waking dream for Dasaratha. He watched his sons grow around him and outstrip every hope he may have had for them. They studied the Vedas and the other sacred lore with Vasishta, and were quick to learn whatever he had to teach. No matter how profound or complex the subject, how strange or new, they absorbed it at the first instruction.

  Like the moon waxing day by day, the four princes grew: a young pride of lions. They learned the arts of war, as all kshatriyas must; and their skills were astonishing when they were barely ten. In their earliest teens they rode elephant, horse, and chariot like masters, soon competing just with one another. For there was no one else in the land, including their gurus, who could match them. Led by Rama, their archery was no less extraordinary. Their masters said that not even the Gods could equal the princes at the longbow, the mace, or the double-edged sword.

  Now, usually, twins are exceptionally close. But in the palace of Ayodhya, nature was subverted by a higher order of attachment. From the beginning, the fair, shy Lakshmana was like his dark brother Rama’s shadow; and Shatrughna was as attached to Kaikeyi’s son Bharata. Rama and Lakshmana were inseparable. Since they were babies, Rama would not eat a morsel, or sleep a wink, unless Lakshmana was at his side, being fed from the same platter or lying in the same bed. Later, Rama would not hunt without Lakshmana carrying his quiver, or the older, the younger brother’s. Dasaratha basked in the prodigious talents and the love of his sons. Arrogance laid no hand upon them; they grew up as humble and respectful as they were gifted.

  And what can be said about Rama, his father’s favorite? Dasaratha lived Rama, he breathed Rama, his every waking moment was Rama; and if one looked closely enough, his dreams as well. He loved his son perhaps more than any man should. It was devotion, obsessive and a little dangerous.

  Rama seemed to live for his father’s sake as well, indulging his every wish, anticipating his least whim as if he read the old king’s thoughts; at times, even before they appeared in Dasaratha’s mind! Those were perfect years, and Dasaratha’s pride in his sons grew apace. Then so quickly, the princes were almost sixteen and of an age when they should take wives. Their father began to make delicate inquiries. But of course he was very particular about the girls his boys would marry.

  7. Viswamitra

  One day Dasaratha sat in his palace with his ministers and the rishis who lived in Ayodhya. He spoke to them about finding a bride for Rama. When he thought of his sons, he thought first, and at times only, of Rama. Then they heard a commotion outside. A tall rishi, with a great and stern face, arrived at Dasaratha’s gates. He could have as easily been a kshatriya warrior as a hermit. Though he seemed a man of fifty or so, in fact he was older than you could imagine.

  He came like a storm. In a voice more a king’s than a hermit’s, he commanded the guards at the gates to announce him to the court. “Tell Dasaratha of Ayodhya,” said the stranger with eyes like live coals, “that Viswamitra wants to see him.”

  And he stood tapping a foot, impatiently; for he was in a hurry. The guards knew who he was. After paying quick homage to him, they ran into the sabha to tell Dasaratha about the visitor, who was a legend not only on earth but in Devaloka. Viswamitra had once been a kshatriya king, who, after an unequaled tapasya, had become a brahmarishi.

  Dasaratha came out of his palace to welcome the great one. The stranger with the tangled jata and the burning eyes seemed pleased. After laying a long palm on Dasaratha’s head in blessing, he went into the palace with the king, into the court agog at his arrival. The visitor did not speak, only looked around him with the regard of one who had seen many palaces in his time. Even when he was seated, Viswamitra, friend of the universe, was silent, as if to remind Dasa-ratha of his duty as a host: to praise his guest.

  Dasaratha said in a clear voice, “Viswamitra, your coming here is a Godsend to me: like nectar to a mortal, rain to the famined, the birth of a son to the childless, like a treasure to a poor man!” Not imagining he might be held to his word sooner than he thought, he continued, “My lord, is there anything a humble kshatriya can offer a great brahmarishi? I have a kingdom I can lay at your feet.”

  With the faintest smile now, Viswamitra said briskly, “Spoken like a true son of the House of Ikshvaku. I know your offer is not a hollow one, Dasaratha. Indeed, today I have come to ask you for a favor. I have taken a vow for a yagna. But I find I cannot complete it, because two rakshasas of the jungle desecrate my sacrifice. They are mayavis and come invisibly. They rain rotten flesh, blood, and feces on my sacred fire at times when I have just begun, and at others when I have almost finished. I am forbidden anger and I may not stop them with a curse. I have come to seek the protection of a kshatriya king.”

  Dasaratha was eager to rush to Viswamitra’s help. “Tell me how I can help you, Muni, and consider my help given.”

  Viswamitra said softly, “Send your son Rama with me to kill the rakshasas.”

  It was as if he had struck Dasaratha with a mace. The king crumpled in his throne. When he was revived with water sprinkled on his face, his mind was a storm of demons. “Rama is not yet sixteen,” he cried. “His eyes are as tender as lotuses. If I don’t see my son for an hour, I feel I am dying. Rama is my life. If you must take him, let me also come with my soldiers.”

  In his heart, he knew his word was given in honor and he could not break it. Viswamitra said kindly, “Only Rama can kill these rakshasas. Have no fear, I will protect him. Besides, if he comes with me your son will tread a lofty path of fame, and his deeds will become a legend. Your prince is born for fame, don’t cling to him. His way lies with me, because the boy you know as your son…”

  But Dasaratha cried in anguish, “Who are these rakshasas? How are they so powerful?”

  Viswamitra said calmly, “In the line of the Rishi Pulastya, there is a rakshasa of matchless strength and intelligence called Ravana. He worshipped Brahma with a great tapasya and Brahma blessed him with a boon. But then he turned into an evil sovereign upon the earth.

  “Ravana has gathered all the forces of darkness under his power. The two rakshasas Maricha and Subahu, who ruin my sacrifice, serve him. Ravana tolerates no yagnas anywhere; he knows they are a threat to him. He believes himself immortal and seeks to extend his sway over all the earth, with himself as supreme monarch in Lanka.

  “But Dasaratha, why are you afraid? Don’t you know who your son is? Ask Vasishta; ask any of your rishis here; they will tell you who Rama is.”

  But Dasaratha said, “I will lose my tender boy to feral rakshasas. I have heard not even the Devas and gandharvas can resist Ravana of Lanka. And you want to take my sweet prince to fight that monster’s forces? I have heard the valor of those whom Ravana’s servants kill is absorbed by the Rakshasa, while their spirits languish darkly. Have mercy on me, Muni, my child is not yet sixteen. He is the scion of my
race, the heir to the Ikshvaku throne.”

  Then Dasaratha cried desperately, “No, Viswamitra! I will not send Rama with you. Maricha and Subahu are not adversaries for a sixteen-year-old. I will come to fight them myself, but I won’t send my child.”

  Viswamitra’s tremendous brows bristled and the sabha fell hushed. That rishi, whose curse could extinguish a galaxy, cried in a voice like doom, “You received me with such flattery; you made such promises to me. But now you go back on your word and bring shame on the noble line of Raghu. I will return from where I came, and you can live in your fool’s paradise; until Ravana arrives at your gates one day. But I say to you, Dasaratha, if you want to tread the path of destiny written in the stars, send Rama with me!”

  The rishi’s voice echoed through the court. Suddenly Viswamitra seemed to have grown before their eyes, and his presence dominated the sabha like an omen. Still, Dasaratha was silent; blind with a father’s love, he hardly knew what he did.

  But now Vasishta, his guru, said to him, “A king of the House of Ikshvaku is meant to be an embodiment of dharma. Don’t darken your ancestors’ honor with this weakness. To break his word is unforgivable for the meanest kshatriya, let alone a king like you. You must send Rama with Viswamitra. The rishi will protect him as the wheel of fire does the chalice of nectar.

  “You don’t know who your son is, or you would not dream that two common rakshasas of the forest could harm him. And do you really think a brahmarishi cannot stop these demons himself? They would be like straws in a gale before his power. Viswamitra is a trikalagyani; he sees through the three times. He has some other purpose in asking Rama to go with him.

  “Dasaratha, your son belongs not just to you, but to the very earth. The time has come for him to embark on his destiny. Give up this insane putrasneha; send him with the muni.”

  Light of reason dawned on Dasaratha. He knelt before Viswamitra. “Forgive me! I was blinded by my love for my child. I am happy to send Rama with you. But my son has never been alone yet, because his brother Lakshmana is like his shadow. I beg you, take them both to the jungle.”