(From an illustrated Urdu version of the “Ramayana.”)
Rama, on discovering the loss he had suffered, was in despair. Sometimes he would indulge in excessive lamentations, wildly calling upon the trees and streams, the deer of the forest and the birds of the air, to tell him where his love had gone. At other times, assuming a different tone, he would petulantly threaten to destroy “the three worlds,” if the celestials did not restore Vaidehi to his arms. At such moments Lakshmana would address his brother in the most abject terms of flattery, and gently remind him of the necessity of doing his duty and preserving his dignity.
Roaming about in search of the lost Sita, the brothers came across Jatayus lying, in mortal agony, amidst the fragments of Ravana’s wonderful car and his shattered umbrella. All that Rama could learn from the dying king of the vultures was the name and rank of the Rakshasa who had carried off his wife, and in a frenzy of grief he rolled upon the ground, uttering vain lamentations. Presently the brotherspiously erected a funeral pile for the dead bird, and having cremated the body, proceeded in their search for Sita, when they encountered a horrid deformed monster, named Kabandha; thus described by the poet:
“There stood before their wondering eyesA fiend, broad-chested, huge of size;A vast misshapen trunk they sawIn height surpassing nature’s law.It stood before them dire and dread,Without a neck, without a head,Tall as some hill aloft in air,Its limbs were clothed with bristling hair,And deep below the monster’s waistHis vast misshapen mouth was placed.His form was huge, his voice was loudAs some dark-tinted thunder-cloud.A brilliance as of gushing flameBeneath long lashes dark and keenThe monster’s single eye was seen.”[32]
In the battle which ensued the terrible monster had his two arms cut off by Rama and Lakshmana respectively, and in this helpless condition he explained that, though naturally endowed with a surpassingly beautiful form, he used to assume this monstrous one in order to frighten the ascetics in the forests; but one of these saints, in a moment of anger, invoked this curse upon him, that he should retain the disgusting form he had adopted, at least till, in course of time, Rama should in person deliver him from its repulsive deformity. The brothers placed the giant’s bulky body on a funeral pyre, and from the ashes arose a beautiful being, clad in celestial raiment, at whose suggestion Rama sought the friendship and aid of Sugriva, King of the Vanaras, by whose assistancehe hoped to find out to what particular spot his beloved wife had been conveyed by Ravana. Rama, in due course, found Sugriva and made the acquaintance of his chief councillor the famous Hanuman, a son of the god of the winds. When Rama met Sugriva, the latter was, like himself, an exile from his native land, having been expelled from it by his elder brother, King Bali, who had also taken unto himself Ruma, Sugriva’s wife. The deposed monarch was wandering, with a few faithful monkey companions, in the forest, and it was amongst them, resting together on a mountain peak, that Sita had dropped her yellow robe and golden ornaments. A sort of offensive and defensive alliance was formed between the two banished princes, who were, moreover, drawn towards one another by the fact that each had been forcibly deprived of his consort. Rama was to help Sugriva to overthrow Bali, secure the Vanar sceptre and recover his wife Ruma; while Sugriva, on his part, was to assist Rama to discover Sita’s whereabouts and to destroy her abductor. So great was the dread Sugriva entertained of the prowess of his warlike brother Bali, that, before committing himself to this alliance with Rama, he desired that prince to give him some practical illustration of what he could do as a wielder of warlike weapons; whereupon Rama shot from his mighty bow a wondrous arrow, which, after passing through the stems of seven palm trees, traversed a hill which stood behind them, then flew through six subterranean realms and finally returned to the hands of the bowman. Before this feat all Sugriva’s doubts vanished and he was ready for action.
At Rama’s suggestion he proceeded to the great Vanar city Kishkindha, and, in a voice of thunder, dared Bali to single combat. The impetuous and passionate King of the Vanars accepted the challenge at once, and an exceedingly fierce encounter tookplace between the brothers outside the walls of the city. At length Sugriva seemed to be failing, when Rama, who was standing by in ambush, pierced Bali in the breast with one of those fatal arrows of his. As might have been expected, Bali, with the life-blood welling from his wounds, reproached Rama bitterly for his base, unfair, and cowardly interposition in the battle between himself and Sugriva; but Rama justified his action by saying that he was lord paramount of the whole country, that Kishkindha came within the realm of Dasahratha, and that Bali had justly forfeited his life by his misconduct in appropriating his brother’s wife. Rama further remarked, contemptuously, that the lives of mere Vanars or monkeys, as of other animals, were of little account in the eyes of men; a remark which seems strange, indeed, when we reflect that Bali was the king of a magnificent city decorated with gold, silver and ivory, and that Bali’s brother was Rama’s much desired ally.[33]
As Bali lay prostrate on the ground his disconsolate queen, Tara, hastened to the fatal spot, with her little son Angad, and, in a passion of grief, threw herself upon the body of her husband. She gave way to the most touching sorrow and lamentation over the dying warrior and seemed inconsolable, both then and later on when performing the last rites for the deceased king. Had we seen no more of Tara she would have lived as a tender and pleasant memory in our minds; but, unfortunately, she reappears a very short time after as Sugriva’s much loved and ardent consort, and actually appears grateful to Rama for the benefit his deed had conferred upon the new king and herself.
By the time Sugriva was formerly installed in thegovernment of Kishkindha, the rainy season came round,—a time of the year when, in a roadless country, all military or other movements were impossible. Rama, faithful to the conditions of his exile, would not enter the city, and easily contented himself with a life in the woodland, which, with its glittering fountains and laughing streams, its stately trees, sweet-throated birds and odorous flowers, he was never tired of admiring.
In return for the service rendered him by Rama, his ally Sugriva, now King of the Vanars, assembled countless numbers (hundreds of hundreds of millions!) of Vanars (monkeys and bears of different colours—white, yellow and green) and sent them forth to search for Sita. North, south, east and west, these Vanars traversed every land and searched every possible retreat. From north, east and west, were received reports of want of success; but from the south came welcome tidings of the discovery of Sita by Hanuman, one of the chief captains of the Vanar host, a son of the wind-god by a nymph of paradise. The discovery of Sita’s place of captivity was made in this way. In their active search for traces of her whereabouts, some captains of the Vanar army of the south came across Sampati, the huge brother of Jatayus, the king of the vultures, lying upon the top of a high mountain. Bulky and powerful, the bird was yet quite disabled and helpless, having had his wings scorched and destroyed in a too adventurous flight towards the sun, which he had once undertaken in a spirit of vanity and boastfulness. But even in this unhappy state, dependent for his daily food upon the filial devotion of his son, the old bird could, with his penetrating eye, see clearly to enormous distances. He had witnessed Ravana’s hurried flight through the air, with his beautiful prize, and had noted also that she had been conveyed by the Rakshasa to Lankabeyond the sea. This information he now communicated to the inquiring Vanars, and having thereby performed a signal service to the son of Dasahratha, his feathers sprouted again and he joyfully mounted once more into his native element on new and lusty pinions.
Sita’s place of captivity was thus known to the Vanar; but how to reach Lanka—separated as it was from the mainland by an arm of the sea—became the urgent problem of the hour to the Vanar commanders of the army of the south. If Sita was to be restored to the arms of Rama, it was absolutely necessary that some one should get to Lanka as a spy, in order to ascertain the facts in regard to Sita’s captivity there, and to discover the strength of Ravana’s army and his means of resisting an attack from without. Ships or even boats were, in those primitive times, not to be thought of; but the monkey couldleap, and so it was proposed that some leader of the race should essay the rather long jump across the strait which separated Lanka from the continent. Who was so fitted for this undertaking as the son of the wind-god, the redoubtable Hanuman? Accordingly, after a great deal of boasting, Hanuman, assuming a gigantic size, took the flying leap. The gods were well disposed towards his brave venture, but there were also enemies on the path, who endeavoured to stop him on his way. One of these was Surasa, the mother of the Nagas, who, rushing upon him with wide-extended jaws, mockingly told him that he must pass through her mouth before proceeding any further on his journey. Hanuman dilated his person till his stature attained many leagues, but the monster’s mouth grew larger still. The cunning monkey now suddenly contracted his dimensions to the size of a man’s thumb and jumped airily into and out of Surasa’s gaping mouth. He had fulfilled his enemy’s conditions and she good-naturedlyacknowledged her defeat. His next opponent, a terrific she-dragon, the fierce Sinhika, marvellously caught his shadow as it glided over the sea, and in some mysterious way retarded his progress thereby. With open mouth she made a furious onslaught upon the wind-god’s son. Hanuman, equal to the occasion, craftily contracted his dimensions, and jumping into Sinhika’s cavern-like mouth, inflicted so much injury upon her that she died. After this interruption he continued his aërial journey to Lanka, probably making Sinhika’s carcass the base of a fresh leap towards the island, though this is not expressly mentioned by the poet.
When he had reached the island-kingdom of Ravana, the Vanar spy, contracting his dimensions to those of an ordinary cat, found his way by moonlight within the golden walls of the city, and, lost in admiration, wandered about the wonderful streets of Ravana’s capital, where tonsured priests and mail-clad warriors mingled freely with bands of ascetics in deerskins, and fiends both foul and fair. Eluding the guards, Hanuman crept into the palace. Here everything was on a scale to astonish even the wind-god’s son, familiar with the glories of Kishkindha; but most of all did he find food for admiration in Ravana’s enchanted car, avowedly the most perfect work that had been produced by Visvakarma, the architect of the gods.
“There shone with gems that flashed afar,The marvel of the Flower-named car,’Mid wondrous dwellings still confessedSupreme and nobler than the rest.Thereon with wondrous art designedWereturkisbirds of varied kind,And many a sculptured serpent rolledHis twisted coil in burnished gold.And steeds were there of noblest form,With flying feet as fleet as storm;And elephants with deftest skillStood sculptured by a silver rill,Each bearing on his trunk a wreathOf lilies from the flood beneath.There Lakshmi, beauty’s heavenly queen,Wrought by the artist’s skill was seenBeside a flower-clad pool to stand,Holding a lotus in her hand.”[34]
—Griffith(bk. v., canto vii.).
The zenana or women’s apartment, guarded by she-demons,[35]which Hanuman next entered in the still hours of the night, when the feast was over, the music had ceased and all the inmates were hushed in slumber, affords the poet the opportunity of painting a charming picture, which the reader will, I am sure, thank me for reproducing here in Mr. Griffith’s agreeable version:
“He stood within a spacious hallWith fretted roof and painted wall,The giant Ravan’s boast and pride,Loved even as a lovely bride.’Twere long to tell each marvel there,The crystal floor, the jewelled stair,The gold, the silver, and the shineOf crysolite and almandine.There breathed the fairest blooms of spring;There flashed the proud swan’s silver wing,The splendour of whose feathers brokeThrough fragrant wreaths of aloe smoke.‘’Tis Indra’s heaven,’ the Vanar cried,Gazing in joy from side to side;‘The home of all the gods is this,The mansion of eternal bliss!’There were the softest carpets spread,Delightful to the sight and tread,Where many a lovely woman layO’ercome by sleep, fatigued with play.The wine no longer cheered the feast,The sound of revelry had ceased.The tinkling feet no longer stirred,No chiming of a zone was heard.So, when each bird has sought her nest,And swans are mute and wild bees rest,Sleep the fair lilies on the lakeTill the sun’s kiss shall bid them wake.Like the calm field of winter’s skyWhich stars unnumbered glorify,So shone and glowed the sumptuous roomWith living stars that chased the gloom.'These are the stars,’ the chieftain cried,'In autumn nights that earthward glide,In brighter forms to reappearAnd shine in matchless lustre here.’With wondering eyes awhile he viewedEach graceful form and attitude.One lady’s head was backward thrown,Bare was her arm and loose her zone.The garland that her brow had gracedHung closely round another’s waist.Here gleamed two little feet all bareOf anklets that had sparkled there.Here lay a queenly dame at restIn all her glorious garments dressed.There slept another whose small handHad loosened every tie and band.In careless grace another lay,With gems and jewels cast away,Like a young creeper when the treadOf the wild elephant had spreadConfusion and destruction round,And cast it flowerless to the ground.Here lay a slumberer still as death,Save only that her balmy breathRaised ever and anon the laceThat floated o’er her sleeping face.There, sunk in sleep, an amorous maidHer sweet head on a mirror laid,Like a fair lily bending tillHer petals rest upon the rill.Another black-eyed damsel pressedHer lute upon her heaving breast,As though her loving arms were twinedRound him for whom her bosom pined.Another pretty sleeper roundA silver vase her arms had wound,That seemed, so fresh and fair and young,A wreath of flowers that o’er it hung.In sweet disorder lay a throngWeary of dance and play and song,Where heedless girls had sunk to rest,One pillowed on another’s breast,Her tender cheek half seen beneathRed roses of the falling wreath,The while her long soft hair concealedThe beauties that her friend revealed.With limbs at random interlacedRound arm and leg and throat and waist,That wreath of women lay asleepLike blossoms in a careless heap.”[36]
—Griffith(bk. v., canto ix.).
Still in eager quest of Sita the Vanar roamed stealthily from place to place within the spacious bounds of the royal palace, and, as day was breaking, entered the enchanting ashoka grove, a sort of ideal retreat in fairyland. Here Rama’s messenger discovered the weeping, but still peerless, captive, guarded by fierce she-demons of monstrous shapes—a weird, frightful troupe—some earless, some with ears hanging down to their feet, some one-eyed, some long-necked and covered with hair, some huge, some dwarfish, some with faces of buffaloes, others with the heads of dogs and swine. Perched upon a bough, and concealed by its foliage, Hanuman watched his opportunity to open communication with the object of his search. Presently Ravana, in great state, heralded by music and attended by a crowd of ravishing beauties, with tinkling zones, entered the grove. Sita, in utter despair, fell upon the ground
“Like Hope when all her dreams are o’er.”
Approaching her kindly, the King of Lanka, who was passionately enamoured of her beauty, endeavoured to reassure her, and wooed her softly with all the arts of flattery, with offers of boundless wealth, and with protestations of deep affection.
“Methinks when thy sweet form was madeHis hand the wise Creator stayed;For never more could he designA beauty meet to rival thine.Come let us love while yet we may,For youth will fly and charms decay.”
—Griffith.
Sita, ever faithful to her lord, treated his suit with scorn; whereupon the demon king, waxing wrath,threatened to have her killed and served up at his table if she persisted in rejecting his advances. Turning to leave the palace in high dudgeon, he directed the demon guards to bend the fair captive to his will by threats and blandishments of every kind. Their persuasions being unsuccessful, these horrid monsters assailed the unfortunate princess with threatening weapons; but even in this critical moment the pure, chaste wife of Rama preferred death to dishonour.[37]
Amidst the persecutions of the luckless Sita an old Rakshasa matron, named Trajata, raised a warning voice; for she had dreamed a dream which foreboded the destruction of Lanka by Rama, and she counselled the demons to deal kindly by Sita, if they hoped for mercy from the conquerors.
It seems necessary to explain now that it was not a sense of honour or a feeling of chivalry that had restrained the unscrupulous King of Lanka from the gratification of his passion. It was fear only that kept him back; for, as he confidentially explained to his assembled lords, having once, under the influence of ungovernable desire, dishonoured one of the nymphs of Indra’s heaven, fair Punjikashthala, Brahma had decreed that if Ravana committed the same offence again his head should be rent in pieces. Of course this fact and the protection thus enjoyed by Sita, through dread of Brahma’s decree, were quite unknown to Rama, whose knowledge was merely human.
At length the Vanar found the long wished-foropportunity of communicating with Sita and of consoling her with the hope of an early rescue. He even offered to carry her off, there and then, on his shoulders, but her modesty shrank from the mere thought of voluntarily touching the body of any male person beside Rama. The monkey-god then set about committing as much destruction as he could in the city of Lanka, which, built by Visvakarma, the architect of the gods, is described as surpassingly beautiful and encircled by a golden wall. After a succession of fierce and successful battles with the giants—thousands at the time with their most famous captains—Hanuman, covered from head to foot with wounds, wasnoosedby means of a magic shaft from the bow of Ravana’s son, Indrajit, overpowered and taken prisoner. Exceedingly incensed, Ravana ordered the destructive and formidable Vanar to be put to death at once. One of his counsellors, however, suggesting that Hanuman might be regarded in the light of an envoy from Rama, it was decided to spare his life, but, at the same time, to treat him with the greatest indignity before releasing him. In pursuance of this determination his tail was wrapped round with cloth dipped in oil, which was then set on fire; but at the prayer of Sita, who came to know what was going on in the city, the flames abstained from harming her friend. By contracting his dimensions, Hanuman easily freed himself from his bonds, and now, by means of his blazing tail, carried fire and destruction through the beautiful city; after which he once more performed his perilous journey through the air, back to the mainland of India, bearing tidings of his doings to his master and Rama.
When the place of Sita’s captivity became known, the Vanar armies were rapidly advanced southward, and encamped on the border of the strait which separates Lanka from the mainland of India. Herethey were joined by Vibhishana, Ravana’s brother, who, with four attendants, had fled through the air from Lanka, in dread of the consequences of the offence he had given his king, by counselling conciliatory proceedings towards Rama, of whose formidable prowess he seems to have formed a just estimate.
Vibhishana, on account of his local knowledge and great wisdom, was of much service to the Vanar host.
The sea, although it could be crossed by the Rakshasas and by the wind-god’s son, Hanuman, was a serious impediment to Rama and his Vanar allies. Standing on the margin of the trackless ocean which barred his march, the chief vented his impatience in a shower of his wonderful arrows, which he angrily shot into the wide bosom of the deep. His attack stirred the waters to their very depths and terrified its strange denizens out of their wits. As the hero laid against his bow a more formidable arrow than the rest (a fiery dart of mystic power), by means of which he threatened to dry up the waters of the sea and pass his legions over on dry land, all Nature was horrified, darkness fell upon land and sea, bright meteors flashed across the murky sky, red lightning struck the trembling earth, and the firm mountains began to break and crumble away. At this critical moment of universal terror the grand form of the king of the ocean, attended by glittering sea-serpents, rose majestically above the seething billows of his watery realm.[38]Addressing Rama with great reverence, the ocean-king protested that it was impossible to make a dry pathway through the sea.
“Air, ether, fire, earth, water, trueTo Nature’s will, their course pursue;And I, as ancient laws ordain,Unfordable must still remain.”
—Griffith.
But he advised that Nala, a Vanar chief, who was the son of the architect of the gods (Visvakarma) should be requested to bridge the strait that intervened between Rama and the object of his expedition. Nala undertook the work, and, under his direction, the bridge was successfully completed. The construction of the bridge was not opposed, nor the passage disputed, so the countless hosts[39]of Vanars passed over to the island, with Rama mounted on Hanuman’s back, Lakshmana on Angad’s back, and camped[40]near Ravana’s capital. Even at this stage of events Ravana, still under the spell of his passion for the lovely Sita, resorted to a stratagem to obtain her consent to his wishes. He got a magician of his court to prepare a head exactly resembling Rama’s, and also a bow and arrows such as the hero usually carried, and had them brought into Sita’s presence, with the tale that her lord had been killed while asleep in his camp. Sita, completely deceived by the wizard’s art, was lamenting her bitter loss, when a messenger hurriedly summoned Ravana away to see to the defence of his capital, and a female attendant took advantage of the moment to relieve the fair captive’s mind, by explaining the deception that had been practised upon her.
The attack that shortly followed and the defence made by the giants are described by Valmiki in considerable detail, and with much monotonous repetition. The Vanars had, for arms, uprooted trees, rocks, and mountain peaks; while the Rakshasas fought with bows and arrows, swords and spears. Many single combats are described. Indrajit, the redoubtable son of Ravana, in a desperate encounter, concealed himself in a magic mist. Under this protection he fired some wondrous serpent-arrows at Rama and Lakshmana, which bound the royal brothers in a noose. He then, with a storm of missiles, laid them prostrate and apparently dying. But it was not thus that the contest was to end. From their helpless condition Rama and Lakshmana were freed by Garuda, who, as the king of birds, possessed a special power over the serpent-arrows.
On another occasion Rama with his brother Lakshmana, both sorely wounded, and ever so many of their Vanar allies, were restored to life and vigour, by the scent of some healing herbs brought by the swift-footed Hanuman from the distant Himalayas. In the combats around the walls of Lanka, as in other contests narrated in the “Ramayana,” the poet describes the power of the various archers to interruptwith their arrowsthe shafts of their adversaries, or even the most ponderous missiles hurled at them, such as trees and rocks.
With varying success the fierce contest raged round the walls of Lanka, when at length the giants, sorely pressed, called upon Kumbhakarna to assist them. This dreadful monster was Ravana’s brother and a terror to men and gods. At his birth, or shortly after it, he devoured a thousand men. Indra interposed to save the human race from his ravages, but only to be himself discomfited and driven to seek the protection of Brahma, who decreed that Kumbhakarna shouldsleep for six months at a time, and then only wake for a single day. The mere appearance of the monstrous giant caused a panic in the Vanar army. Multitudes perished under Kumbhakarna’s arm and were devoured by him; but such was his voracity that he captured and flung thousands of living Vanars into his mouth, out of which some fortunate ones managed to escape, through his nostrils and ears. But formidable as he was, Kumbhakarna at length fell by a crescent-headed arrow from Rama’s bow.
“Through skin and flesh and bone it smote,And rent asunder head and throat.Down, with the sound of thunder, rolledThe head adorned with rings of gold,And crushed to pieces in its fallA gate, a tower, a massive wall.Hurled to the sea the body fell,Terrific was the ocean’s swell,Nor could swift fin and nimble leapSave the crushed creatures of the deep.”
—Griffith(bk. vi., canto lxvii.).
One memorable episode in this siege of Lanka was a night attack, planned and successfully carried out by Sugriva. Overpowering the guards, the Vanars entered the city, and, amidst the most terrible carnage, gave beautiful and stately Lanka over to the flames:
“As earth with fervent head will glowWhen comes her final overthrow;From gate to gate, from court to spire,Proud Lanka was one blaze of fire,And every headland, rock and bayShone bright a hundred leagues away!”
—Griffith.
Succeeding this night attack came the final struggle. Ravana sallied forth from Lanka with a marvellous array of chariots,[41]elephants, horses, and men. He himself was the most formidable adversary yet encountered by Rama, having in his time subjugated the Nagas, defeated the gods of heaven, and even successfully invaded the land of departed spirits, ruled over by the dreaded Yama. During the battle that ensued, Indra, anxious, no doubt, to pay off old scores, sent his own chariot to Rama, who, mounted on it, encountered Ravana in single combat, and after a long contest killed his adversary with an arrow which had been made by Brahma himself. As the giant fell, celestial music filled the air, perfumed breezes wandered pleasantly over the field, and heavenly blossoms were rained down upon the conquering hero, the champion of the gods.
With the death of Ravana the war was at an end, and Vibhishana was installed king in his place. Sita, so long and so ardently sought, was now brought forth in state from Lanka, borne in a screened litter on the shoulders of sturdy Rakshasas, to meet her victorious lord. The inquisitive Vanars pressed round to see Vaidehi, on whose account they had so often risked their lives; but the attendants rudely drove them back. Rama, however, interposing, commanded that the lady should descend from the litter and proceed on foot, unveiled, so that his Vanar friends might have a good look at her; for, as he said:
“At holy rites, in war and woeHer face unveiled a dame may show;When at the maiden’s choice they meet,When marriage troops parade the street.And she, my queen, who long has lainIn prison, racked with care and pain,May cease awhile her face to hide,For is not Rama by her side?”
The meeting between Rama and his long-lost queen is a highly dramatic and unexpected scene. Instead of Rama folding his darling in his arms, as one might have expected he would have done, after all his piteous laments about her loss and his often expressed desire to possess his peerless wife once more, we find him coldly repulsing her, on the ground of her long captivity in Ravana’s power. More than that, he cruelly tells her that it was not love for her, but a desire to vindicate his outraged honour, that had brought him to Lanka. Quite unprepared for this undeserved and heartless reception, poor Vaidehi asks her husband most touchingly if the past is all forgotten, if her love and unfaltering devotion have quite faded from his memory? And, waxing sadly indignant, she requests Lakshmana, in a voice broken with sobs, to prepare a funeral pile for her, the only refuge she had left to her in her dark despair. With Rama’s tacit consent the pyre was erected and ignited. Boldly did the virtuous queen enter the flames, and as she fell overpowered by them a cry of grief rose from the bystanders. At this important moment a band of celestial beings, headed by Brahma himself, appeared before the assembled multitude and revealed to Rama his true nature, that he was Vishnu and no mortal man, while the god of fire raised Sita out of the flames, and, publicly attesting her purity, restored her to Rama, who now joyfully received her back to his heart andhome. Before the gods departed to their celestial abodes, Indra, at Rama’s considerate request, restored to life all the Vanars who had fallen in his cause. Thus was the great war brought to a conclusion.
Rama now proceeded to Ayodhya, carried aloft through the clouds, over sea and land, in the famous magic carPushpak, already referred to. With the returning hero went Sita and Lakshmana, the Vanar chiefs and Vibhishana too. After a meeting with his brother Bharata, who came forth with joy to welcome him back, Rama assumed the government of Dasahratha’s kingdom, and reigned over it for ten thousand years.[42]
But his life and Sita’s had still more trouble in them. The people of Ayodhya mocked at Rama for taking back his wife, after she had been so long in the giant’s power. They even attributed a famine which desolated the land to the anger of the gods on account of Rama’s conduct. About to become a mother, Sita expressed a great desire to visit the forest hermitages of the saints. Her husband accorded his consent to her wishes, and directed Lakshmana to conduct her thither. Unable to endure the jibes of his people, Rama resolved to abandon his innocent, unsuspecting wife, alone and unprotected, in the immense forests of Dandhaka, near the sources of the Godavari. The bitter duty was intrusted to Lakshmana, who, ever obedient, carried it out to the letter. Alas! poor Vaidehi, such was the reward of her pure, unselfish love and devotion through many trying years of hardship and sorrow!Cast adrift, alone in the pathless wilderness, Sita was found by the saint Valmiki himself, and tenderly entertained by the holy women of the hermitage. Shortly after this she gave birth to twin sons, who were named Kusa and Lava. In his forest-home, Valmiki, under divine inspiration, composed the “Ramayana,” and taught the sons of Sita to recite the immortal epic. On the occasion of a grand ceremony at Ayodhya, Kusa and Lava had the honour of reciting the great poem in the presence of their father, who, after inquiry, acknowledged them as his sons, and invited Sita to come forward and assert her innocence publicly.
HANUMAN AND THE VANARS REJOICING AT THE RESTORATION OF SITA.
(Reduced from Moor’s “Hindu Pantheon.”)
“But Sita’s heart was too full, this second ordeal was beyond even her power to submit to, and the poet rose above the ordinary Hindu level of women when he ventured to paint her conscious purity as rebelling. Beholding all the spectators, and clothed in red garments, Sita, clasping her hands, and bending low her face, spoke thus in a voice choked with tears: ‘As I, even in mind, have never thought of any other person than Rama, so may Madhavi, the goddess of earth, grant me a hiding-place.’ As Sita made the oath, lo! a marvel appeared. Suddenly cleaving the earth, a divine throne of marvellous beauty rose up, borne by resplendent dragons on their heads, and seated on it the goddess of earth, raising Sita with her arm, said to her, ‘Welcome to thee,’ and placed her by her side. And as the queen, seated on the throne, slowly descended to Hades, a continuous shower of flowers fell down from Heaven on her head.”[43]
“But Sita’s heart was too full, this second ordeal was beyond even her power to submit to, and the poet rose above the ordinary Hindu level of women when he ventured to paint her conscious purity as rebelling. Beholding all the spectators, and clothed in red garments, Sita, clasping her hands, and bending low her face, spoke thus in a voice choked with tears: ‘As I, even in mind, have never thought of any other person than Rama, so may Madhavi, the goddess of earth, grant me a hiding-place.’ As Sita made the oath, lo! a marvel appeared. Suddenly cleaving the earth, a divine throne of marvellous beauty rose up, borne by resplendent dragons on their heads, and seated on it the goddess of earth, raising Sita with her arm, said to her, ‘Welcome to thee,’ and placed her by her side. And as the queen, seated on the throne, slowly descended to Hades, a continuous shower of flowers fell down from Heaven on her head.”[43]
Thus in sadness, and with the sting of injustice rankling in her heart, does the gentle Sita disappear for ever.
In bidding farewell to Vaidehi we would notice that throughout this epic all the female characters are much more human than those of the opposite sex, and, in their genuine womanhood, they naturally interest us in a far greater degree than the heroes of the story, be they lofty demigods, cruel Rakshasas, volatile Vanars, or Rishis endowed with superhuman powers.
We have yet to trace the further fortunes of the sons of Dasahratha. When Rama had reigned for a long period at Ayodhya, Time, as an ascetic, sought an interview with him, at which no one might intrude on pain of certain death. As messenger from Brahma, Time explained to Rama his real nature and position, leaving it to him to continue longer on earth or to return to heaven. During the interview an impatient Rishi desired immediate audience of Rama. Lakshmana, who knew the penalty of intruding upon him at this moment, raised some difficulties; but the irate saint threatened to launch a curse against Rama and all his kinsfolk if he were not admitted to his presence forthwith. Lakshmana, dreading, for Rama’s sake, the Rishi’s curse, interrupted his interview with Time and thereby incurred the penalty of death. Lakshmana accordingly went to the river Surayu and was thence conveyed bodily to heaven. Rama, accompanied by his brothers Bharata and Satrughna, and attended by the goddess of earth, also byall his weapons in human shapes, the Vedas in the form of Brahmans, and his women and servants, proceeded to the Surayu and entered its waters. As he did so the voice of Brahma was heard from the sky, saying: “Approach, Vishnu, Raghav, thou hast happily arrived with thy godlike brothers. Enter thineown body as Vishnu or the eternal ether.” He and his followers were then all of them translated to heaven.[44]
Such is the famous story of Rama and Sita. Ordinary men and women are of little account and scarcely figure at all amongst the poet’s creations. Nearly everything in the “Ramayana” is superhuman. The dire conflicts which occupy so large a part of the epic are waged between demigods and fiends, or giants. The weapons employed are celestial, or perhaps only charmed. Mystic spells are of the greatest efficacy, and the results are proportionally great.
In the war that raged around the walls of Ilium the gods did, certainly, interfere in the combats, and sometimes unfairly too; they even attacked each other occasionally; but, notwithstanding the supernatural element, the Trojan war was still a war of men and heroes. Not so that which ensanguined the hills and plains of Lanka.
The India of the “Ramayana” was covered with forests, and it is noteworthy that Rama’s progress is traced rather from forest to forest than from city to city, which last were very few and far between.
The hero of the tale is a very different one from those who figure in the Homeric poems. As a son he is most dutiful, pushing the idea of filial respect and obedience to the extreme, bearing no enmity even towards his designing stepmother. As a layman he is religious and unfeignedly respectful to Brahmans and saints. As a prince he is patriotic and benign; as a warrior, skilful and fearless in the fight. As an elder brother, however, he is often somewhat exacting and inconsiderate, and as a husband his behaviour is, to say the least, disappointing. On the whole theprominent characteristic of this hero, limned by Brahman artists, is a spirit of mild self-sacrifice, as distinguished from bold self-assertion.
The reader who has glanced through even the brief epitome of Valmiki’s poem now presented will not have omitted to note the wealth of imagination displayed by the author or authors, nor will he have failed to be charmed by many a beautiful picture and many an interesting situation.