THE PATH OF TRUTH

(A novella based on the Ramayana and

Bharatakaandam in Malayalam
by S R D Prasad)

C K KERALA VARMA

“Few authors in world literature can lay claim to having

inspired as many poets and dramatists and to having
transmitted moral and ethical values to as vast and
receptive an audience in nations living thousands of
miles apart and with radically different languages and
cultures as the obscure almost legendary composer of the
Sanskrit Ramayana, a poet known to us as Valmiki.”
- B A van Nooten

Ramayana, the older of the Indian epic duo Ramayana

and Mahabharata might have been composed in 500-100
BC.

Ramayana is a celebration of man and nature. Prakrti and

purusha. Prakrti, the female and purusha, the male.
Purusha becomes divine when he mimics prakrti.
Ramayana describes Rama thus: He is strong as the
mightiest mountain (Himalaya), immeasurable as the
deep sea, bright as the day, beautiful as the night,
enduring as the earth and fierce as fire. He is as bright as
the sun’s might and the moon’s benign light.

“The limitless nature and omnipresent God are

indistinguishable from each other” - Atharva Veda
 The path of truth

Kosala (Capital:Ayodhya)
Brahmá Family tree of Rama
Maríchi
Kashyapa and Sita
Vivasvata
Manu
Ikshváku (First King of Ayodhyá)
Kukshi
Vikukshi
Vána
Anaranya
Prithu,
Trishanku
Dhundhumára
Yuvanáshva
Mándhátá
Susandhi
Dhruvasandhi
Bharata
Asita
Sagara
Anshuman
Dilipa
Bhagíratha
Kakutstha
Raghu
Purushádaka (Kalmáshapáda)
Shankana
Sudarshana
Agnivarna
Shíghragna
Maru
Prashushruka
Ambarísha
Nahusha
Yayáti
Nábhága
Aja
Videha (Capital: Mithila)

Nimi
Mithi
Janaka
Udávasu
Nandivardhana
Suketu
Devaráta
Vrihadratha
Mahábira
Sudhriti
Dhristaketu
Haryas'va
Maru
Pratíndhaka
Kírtiratha
Devamidha
Vibudha
Mahándhraka
Kírtiráta
Maháromá
Swarnaromá
Hras'varomá
Dasaratha Janaka Kushadwaja

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Rama Sita
Lakshmana Urmila Shrutikirti
Shatrugna Mandvi
Bharata

INDEX
Sarayu 02
Father 03
Mandvi 05
Mother 06
In search of Rama 10
The Ascetic 11
Hermit at home 14
Hanuman 16
Lanka 18
Ravana 19
Rama 20
Sita 23
The final journey 25

SARAYU

All alone on the banks of Sarayu in the evening of my life I gaze

intently at the gentle soothing flow of water, crystal clear despite the
sins of man she has been washing on her way. I was born on the
banks of this river, I have lived all my life by her and now am I looking
to her to take me in like mother-earth did to Sita? This river taught
me that we must change, evolve constantly without losing our basic
character. You can’t step into the same river twice. Have I evolved for
the better as effortlessly as the smooth flow of Sarayu? Her serene
waters seem to reflect my content at having fulfilled all my promises. I
have no burden left on my shoulders. But violent waves of self-doubt
do disturb the serenity of the flow in monsoons of discontent.

Rama is on his way to the river. He has just finished his farewell
prayer for his country and his forefathers. Or is it a penance for the
sins committed in all the great battles won? For the pain and sorrow
caused for the sake of righteousness?

Sita, pure and selfless, had taken all her woes in her stride. She
had never sent out the slightest signal of complaint or displeasure.
She had but once offended Lakshmana during their stay in exile at
Panchavati. Rama had told him to guard her when he went hunting
for a beautiful deer she was pining for. She started getting worried
about Rama’s safety. She even thought she had heard his wail in pain.
When Lakshmana refused to leave her guard, she lost her temper. She
abused him and said he would not go because he had lustful designs
on her! He was taken aback by her insinuation. She had said those

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harsh words for the sake of Rama, to arouse anger in Lakshmana so

he will go to Rama’s rescue.

During the aswamedhayaga, an elaborate month-long prayer

that Rama had ordained years ago, I had found it strange, and
probably an ill omen, that he had used a gold statuette of Sita to
represent his wife. She was not dead. It was just that Rama had
banished her from his life. He had sent her away to the wilderness of
justice. True to my clairvoyant fear, by the time the yaga was over,
Sita was actually no more with us on this earth.

Sage Durvasav, I remember now, had once warned our father

that my brother would give up everything. His wife, his brothers, his
kingdom…. He had made this prophecy in the presence of the wise
Vasishtha, my father’s teacher and adviser. The worried king had
decreed that the prophecy be kept a closely guarded secret.

Lakshmana is already gone. He gave himself up to River Sarayu

the moment Rama wanted him to go. He walked into the welcoming
arms of the river, holding his breath and keeping at bay every stream
of life.

Now Rama wanted me to be the king. The dilemma revisited. I

just cannot go through the same test again. Let not the past haunt me
anymore.

There is no dearth of people pleading with Rama to stay back at

Ayodhya and continue to rule over his kingdom of Kosala. Donning
minimal clothing, wearing rings made of grass and chanting God’s
praises, he is now on his way to offer himself to the river in
sacrifice. Brahmin priests holding palm leaf umbrellas to keep the
flame of oil lamps from getting blown out are leading the way for him.
He cannot walk brusquely away. Obstructing his path are people
flocking to dissuade him from going away. Rama had always been
obstinately unwavering in all his decisions. And now it is unlikely that
anyone would succeed in dissuading him from walking away from his
world. Yes, none can change the course that Rama chooses for
himself.

I have decided to follow Rama to wherever Sarayu takes us

beyond this life. Downstream Sarayu will take us to Ganga, the
mighty river of forgiveness and then to the deep sea of infinite
mystery. I glance upstream at the beginning. The gentle breeze
blowing over the water flowing down from the Himalaya would always
carry the fragrance of truth.

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FATHER

My father Dasaratha had been an heir-less king for long. His

three wives Kausalya, Sumitra and my mother Kaikeyi bore him no
child. Was it due to the curse of the blind Brahmin couple whose only
child my father had killed by accident? No, it can’t be. The curse was
that Dasaratha would die due to intense grief caused by his son. He
must have hoped that he would certainly beget a son, if only to cause
his death by grief later as cursed by the blind Brahmin sage.

After years of fruitless wait he offered prayers and sacrifices

seeking divine intervention to make his wives conceive. The sacrificial
fire brought forth god’s gift to the queens in the form of a sweet. Why
did Dasaratha give half of it to Kausalya, two parts of the rest to
Sumitra and the smallest potion to my mother? Maybe, after Sumitra
gave birth to twins, people would have assumed that the king had
given her the nectar of fertility twice! He must have wanted his heir
from the eldest queen to be as great as his famed ancestors like
Dileepa, Bhageeratha, Raghu and Aja. He would have foreseen a
possible rift among equal brothers that might weaken the state. The
heir-apparent should be a stronger and a more complete person than
his siblings. Was it not his duty as the king to look ahead at the
future of the kingdom?

Rama grew up to be a peerless archer and a fearless warrior

amidst the myth of divinity surrounding his birth. I remember the
visit of Sage Viswamitra to the palace when we were just about
sixteen. Our father went out of his way to welcome the great sage,
taking care not to offend him even in the slightest way. He was prone
to destructive anger.

My father had heard about his fight with the saintly Vasishtha
over the latter’s favourite cow Kamadhenu, which he had tried to take
away by force from its owner. Viswamitra had once tried to build a
paradise outside heaven for his protégé Trishanku, one of our
ancestors. He had even demanded that Brahma should make him a
brahmarshi, though he was not a Brahmin. The irony of Viswamitra
finally seeking the help of Vasishtha to get brahminhood and the title
of brahmarshi amuses me now. The story was a lesson in humility. I
wonder if Vismamitra had learnt his lesson. Wise, learned and
powerful he certainly was; so was he imperious and arrogant.

Viswamitra wanted Rama to go with him to drive away the

demons that had been attacking his place of meditation. My father

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was not sure if the young Rama was fully trained in warfare. The king
offered to lead an army himself for the protection of the sage and his
hermitage. Maybe it was just a father’s boundless love and anxiety for
a young son. Viswamitra, perhaps sensing the potential of Rama as an
invincible warrior, took only Rama and Lakshmana with him.

Rama was young and fresh. Yet he was equal to the task. On
the way the sage taught Rama advanced archery and techniques to
overcome hunger and thirst during war. He killed or drove away all
the mischievous demons. Rama’s first victim was Tadaka, a female
demon. He killed her reluctantly. No man would want to kill a woman
in battle. Rama was probably ashamed of the fact that he began his
illustrious record of successful battles by killing a woman. I have
heard that he had even wanted to do a penance for this unmanly and
inauspicious act.

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MANDVI

Shatrugna and I stayed back in Ayodhya. We missed Rama and

Lakshmana badly. Our daily lessons in statecraft and warfare also
seemed to miss the star student. Little did I realise that this short
period of lull was just a prelude to interesting happenings in our lives.

A great wave of excitement washed ashore with the arrival of

galloping ministers sent by King Janaka of Videha. After my brothers
had succeeded in their mission, Sage Viswamitra had taken them to
Janaka’s palace at Mithila. The king was instantly struck by the
radiance that exuded from the young princes. He wished to marry his
daughter Sita to Rama and his niece Urmila, daughter of his younger
brother Kushadwaja, to Lakshmana. He requested the sage to allow
Rama to try his hand on the huge and heavy bow that no archer could
draw till date as a test of strength and archery to win the hand of the
virtuous and beautiful Sita.

Rama lifted the enormous bow with effortless ease and drew the
string in a swift mighty move that broke the bow in two. The joy of the
king found a match in the ecstasy of the coy princess.

The royal envoys carried an invitation to Dasaratha to go over to

the palace of Janaka to accept the young brides. Viswamitra must
have taken the detour to Mithila on purpose. A welcome and useful
purpose, I should say!

Shatrugna and I accompanied our father to Mithila. My

heartbeats of joy became distinctly palpable when Sage Viswamitra
proposed that Shatrugna and I marry Urmila’s sisters Shrutikirti and
Mandvi. The reunion with my brothers and the wedding of all of us
together were probably the happiest time in our lives.

Looking back now, I am sure the shy and pretty brides getting
married to the brightest princes of the time would not have bargained
for the testing times ahead. Sita’s brush with a series of misfortunes
is legion. We can blame Ravana for the first instance of her separation
from Rama. Who’s to blame for the second and the final instances? My
wife Mandvi did not have it as bad as Sita or even Urmila. But, have I
given her the life that she deserved? A life that a wife expects from a
scion of Ayodhya, a son of Dasaratha? The monkeys of Kishkindha
and the demons of Lanka must have given their wives a better quality
of family life.

We went back to Ayodhya after the wedding for a season of bliss

and sensuous mirth. My mother’s brother Yudhajit came to visit us
and to take Mandvi and me to his father’s palace at Rajagriha in

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Kekaya. His father Aswapati, the king of Kekaya wanted us to spend

some time with him. Shatrugna and Shrutikirti came with us for a
quiet holiday away from the bustle of Ayodhya. We, the two young
couples, could not have asked for a better get-away to nights of delight
and days of daze.

MOTHER

The honeymoon did not last long. The first indication of bad
tidings came to me in a terrible dream that I had one night in my
grandfather’s palace. The dream was too gory for comfort. The moon
fell off from the sky shattering the earth into pieces separated by deep
craters and split mountains. There were no trees, no greenery, no
flowers and no animals. The land and the sea got mixed up. I could
see only mud, blood, slush and rocks in darkness and smoke.
Suddenly my father fell down from a high cliff into a sea of dirt and
blood. Then a monstrous woman in red cackling like a hyena and
jeering at him and the world took him away in a donkey-drawn cart
amidst fire and leaping flames. I woke up bathed in sweat from this
intriguing nightmare. It seemed to tell me of an imminent death and
disgrace in the family.

I had barely finished describing the bad dream to Mandvi,

sweating profusely in the process and making delirious statements
that something terrible was going to happen and me or Lakshmana or
Rama or my father would surely die, when along the road that led to
the palace came messengers of doom riding horses of speed and
ferocity, with deep shades of gloom painted on their faces or so it
seemed to me shaken out of my composure by recurring images from
the inexplicable dream.

The messengers carried summons from Ayodhya for our urgent

return. We rushed back not knowing what was in store. The seven
days of journey was a long torture of suspense to my anxious mind. I
became restless when I found the streets of Ayodhya devoid of the
usual gaiety and joy. The eerie silence and the absence of joyful life on
the wide roads of the city I knew so well made my heart gallop faster
than my horses. Where had all the familiar sounds of Ayodhya gone?
There was no neigh of horses, no ringing of the archer’s bow and no
seductive song of the enchantress, her ample chest heaving by the
beats of a gentle drum and her hands weaving music on her lute and
her sensuous lips leaving her flute breathless in desire. The trees that
lined the streets grieved and shed leaves of sorrow. Birds sang no
more. Beasts stood still and dull. Men and women made no merry. A
mist of melancholy had enveloped the palace. I did not find my father
in his court or quarter. All I met was the silent stare from the

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courtiers and guards. Perplexed and fearing the worst, I rushed to my

mother. What she told me hit me like a lightning that turned
the clouds of sorrow into a thunderstorm of shock, anger and then
remorse.

“Your father is no more, my son,” she said softly. “We have been
waiting for you to do the last rites. His body is waiting in a boat of oil.”

“Why, Rama and Lakshmana could have done that in good

time,” I managed to mutter, the words choking in my throat.

“The king had sent them and Sita on exile,” said she haltingly in
a matter-of-fact tone. I was both shocked and confused. An exile
would normally be a punishment for theft, adultery or abortion. How
could they ever deserve a penalty of exile?

“Did Rama grab the house or wealth of another? Did he kill or

harm an innocent? Did he eye another’s wife?” I asked feebly of my
mother in trembling words that seemed to pause hesitatingly on my
tongue, “Did Sita kill an unborn child?” The memory of the dreaded
dream that I had in Rajagriha haunted me and made me weak in my
knees.

“No, my dear,” she hastened to say, “Rama has done no crime.

He who is full of virtue and compassion would never steal or kill or
look at another’s wife. When your father wanted to make Rama the
heir, I claimed the throne for you. I made him promise that he would
banish Rama for fourteen years. Sita and Lakshmana, his ever doting
wife and brother also went on exile with Rama.”

I could scarcely believe what she told me. “Your father kept his
word given to me and asked Rama to go on exile. Rama said yes, for
he was a noble prince and a dutiful son. He lost no time in leaving for
the forest along with his wife and brother. But the king kept pining for
his favourite son. He became weak and sick and died of grief and
remorse.”

She sounded ecstatic when she reasoned that I would straight

away be crowned the king, now that Dasaratha was gone and Rama
was on exile, “Go ahead and do the funeral rites of your late father,
my son, and then you’ll be the new king.”

She also confided in me with no little pride that she had

stopped Dasaratha from sending the entire granary, gold and wealth
with Rama to the forest. She had thought that I would not be
interested in taking over an impoverished kingdom!

She saw that I was not looking very pleased. She tried to put me
at ease. She said Rama had readily agreed to carry out her wish. “My

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kingdom, my wealth, my life, my wife.... all will be Bharata’s, if that’s

my father’s wish,” Rama had said.

I exploded into a thunder of anger that took my mother by

anguished surprise. My rage at her despicable scheming was
overshadowed by my anguish at my mother’s lack of understanding of
my character. How could she have assumed that I would ever agree to
upstage Rama or any other brother of mine to capture the crown? I
did not have to think twice before declaring that my first task, after
my father’s funeral, would be to bring Rama back to his rightful place.

My anguish grew more when I later fell at the feet of Kausalya.

She was like a mother to me. She pushed me away saying with
unconcealed scorn that I had won the kingdom without a battle. Lying
distraught on the cold floor of sorrow and distress, with no care for
hair or dress, she wept her heart out to me, “Please banish me also to
the forest so I’ll spend my last days with my luckless child.”

“Your wail of blame pains me, mother. You’ve loved me like a

son. I’ve loved you and Rama equally well. I’ve but no love lost for
those who sent Rama away. My mother has become my enemy by
killing my father and getting my brothers exiled. Please don’t despise
me. Give me strength instead so I’ll go get Rama back and undo the
injustice done unto him,” I cried out to Kausalya.

It broke my heart to see that my three mothers had been seeing

me in this light, a light darker than darkness. The world around me
went black; darkness surrounded me. I do not know how long I
remained unconscious.

Kausalya’s tears falling on my face woke me up. She had rested

my head on her lap. Her tears washed my fears away. She bode me no
ill. I felt my honour had been restored. If Rama’s mother could forgive
me, I need fear nothing. I could feel the ground giving way under my
feet when I heard her telling me, “Before leaving Rama told me, ‘I’m
leaving behind my father and mothers with no anxiety and sorrow
because the virtuous and courageous Bharata will look after them.’” I
assured her that I would win Rama back at any cost.

I remained firm in my resolve to not usurp the throne that was

legitimately Rama’s. My mother had by now become quite meek and
remorseful. My outburst on hearing what she foolishly thought would
please me must have been the final verdict on her scheming
misadventure. Earlier, Siddhartha, one of my father’s venerable
advisors, had reminded her about our ancestor Sagara who had
banished his wicked son Asamanj from the kingdom as a punishment
for killing children for pleasure. Who would now deserve a sentence of
banishment? The selfless Rama without a fault or the wicked Kaikeyi
of enormous sin?

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Kausalya, while weeping over the dead body of Dasaratha, had

abused my mother as her husband’s killer.

Even Vasishtha, the embodiment of quiet dignity and humility,

had come down heavily on my mother’s wickedness when he set his
eyes on Sita ready for her life in the forest in a simple cloth made of
bark. He was the only person who seemed to have read me correctly,
for he had warned my mother that I would rather follow Rama to the
forest than agree to be a part of her scheme. I wonder how my mother
had taken his words of reproach. His was generally the last word in
history, morality and conduct. For he was so ancient that he used to
be the teacher of my father's ancestors of at least three generations.
He continued to be the mentor and teacher of the highest reverence
for my father and us as well.

My mother no longer tried to change my mind by pointing out

the great fortune that had come my way on a platter. She did not try
to convince me with the same arguments she had used with my
father. She seemed happy to see my resolve to make amends for her
sinful act.

I felt remorse at having treated her in a way a son should never

do his mother. She probably had done it in a weak moment, carried
away by a mother’s selfish love for her child. What made her do it?
Was it her desire for power? Was it to strengthen her position as the
favourite queen of the king? She was the youngest and the prettiest of
Dasaratha’s wives. She was also the most accomplished. She had
been trained in horse riding and basic warfare. That was how she had
once accompanied him in his battle against the demon-king
Shambara. My father believed that it was only due to her being with
him during the equal and fierce battle that he could defeat the enemy.
He had at that time agreed to fulfill her fondest wishes.

I did not know that my father had promised her father that her
son would be made the heir. Manthara, the personal maid of my
mother, had used exactly these stories to convince her that she
should stop Dasaratha in his plan to crown Rama as the heir. She, at
her devious best, had won my mother over by insinuating that
Dasaratha had deliberately chosen a time when I was away to
announce Rama as the heir. He had also decided against telling
Kaikeyi or her father about it.

Shatrugna was as upset as I. He just could not stand the sight

of the bejewelled Manthara wearing the very ornaments gifted by my
mother as a reward for her role in the misadventure. He dragged her
down by her hair and drew out his sword in a fit of anger. It took me
quite an effort to calm him down and prevent him from the
unbecoming act of slaying a woman.

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IN SEARCH OF RAMA

The ministers and the elders, including the wise Vasishtha and
the venerable Siddhartha, were all for carrying out the last wish of the
late king, though they had been critical of the way it had come about.
I knew it was not the wish of the king but the wish of his sensuous
wife. I lost no time and none of my earlier firmness to declare that
Rama would be the king. The tears in the eyes of all those assembled
were both a sign of their love for Rama and appreciation for my
conduct.

We made elaborate arrangements for our journey into the forest

in search of Rama. I was keen to carry everything necessary for an
emergent coronation in the forest itself. My mother, now fully
repentant, accompanied Kausalya and Sumitra in our procession to
the woods. Shatrugna and Vasishtha joined me in this mission that
was dear to every heart. It was a long procession of hope by the people
of Ayodhya. Horses, chariots, soldiers, workers and guides formed the
vanguard, followed by carts full of grain and grocery, meat and milk
animals and other supplies. The very thought of bringing Rama back
as the king seems to have enthused the people.

I was aware that Rama had not wanted anyone to go in search

of him. After he had got off the chariot that took them to the woods,
he had told the charioteer to keep driving to the north for sometime
before returning to Ayodhya, just to trick people onto the wrong track
if they tried to follow him.

We camped for the night on the bank of Ganga. Guha, the

valiant and efficient chief of the Nishada tribe responsible for keeping
at bay intruders into the kingdom of Kosala from across the river,
welcomed the royal guests. He offered, without much of an
enthusiasm though, to host them for the night and feed the troops. I
thanked him and asked him the way to the ashram of Sage
Bharadwaja. I was hoping that Rama would be camping there. I was
in a hurry to meet him before he moves on. The harsh and unexpected
response from Guha filled me with remorse and anguish. He asked me
if I were on my way to drive Rama further away and out of my way
forever. When I explained to him the purpose of my journey, he
brightened up. He seemed to have a thousand tongues when he
lavished praise on my sense of fairness and righteousness.

Rama, Sita and Lakshmana had stopped over for a night at the
same place. Guha showed me the open ground where Rama and Sita
slept over a sheet of grass. Lakshmana had stood guard for the whole
night. They had not asked for anything other than feed and water for
their horses, Guha said amidst sobs.

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Early next morning, Guha was ready with boats to ferry us

across the river. Sage Bharadwaja had set up his house of meditation
at the meeting place of the rivers Ganga and Yamuna. Vasishtha took
me to Bharadwaja. The sage was sarcastic about my father who had
abandoned righteousness for the sake of a woman. “Rama had already
given up everything for your sake”, he said. “Why go hunting after
him? He won’t be an impediment for you.”

Be it the illiterate forest-dweller or the wise sage, everyone

would jump without a pause to the foregone conclusion of my
complicity! I had taken the innuendo of Guha in my stride, but I
choked visibly when explaining my predicament to the learned sage.
Vasishtha also chipped in with his words of assurance that seemed to
calm down the sceptic sage.

He now left his diffidence behind and went about organising,

out of nothing as if by magic, a grand feast for us the two princes, our
royal entourage and the troops. His ascetic students led me to a
sparkling throne surrounded by dancing girls in a palace rivalling the
one at Ayodhya in grandeur. I saw in hallucination my father and
Rama seated on the throne. I took it easy assuming that this must be
Bharadwaja’s way of testing whether I would succumb to worldly
pleasures and give up my pursuit of Rama! I must have won his
confidence, for he said later that my fame would last till the last drop
of water in this world.

When I was taking leave of the sage, he blessed me profusely

and said I should not see evil in what my mother had done. He
showed us the way to Chitrakoot on the banks of Mandakini. Rama
was likely to be camping there.

THE ASCETIC

As we neared the wild camp at Chitrakoot, we could see the tell

tale signs of human habitation. Firewood, plucked flowers, large
square pieces of tree bark cleaned and hung up to dry, dung cakes
dried and ready to burn, gentle smoke amongst tree leaves.... When
we saw swords and arrows resting outside the hut, we knew it was no
abode of sages, but the camp of warriors.

After asking the troops to wait at a distance, I quietly entered

the simple dwelling followed by Shatrugna. Vasishtha and my three
mothers came in much later. I saw through my eyes blurred by tears
Rama austere in his coat of bark but radiant like sun. My blood
rushed to my head, tears to my eyes and I passed out.

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When I opened my eyes, I found both Shatrugna and me on

Rama’s lap, his palms massaging us softly back to our senses. He
gently scolded me for running away from my responsibilities at
Ayodhya. Who would run the affairs of the state in my absence?

He showered his love equally on all the three mothers, showing

not an iota of displeasure at what my mother had done. All three of
them had tears rolling down their cheeks when their eyes rested on
Rama, Sita and Lakshmana attired in extreme austerity. During his
incessant inquiries on every little detail about Ayodhya, I was looking
for a gap to break the news of our father’s death. Rama’s flow of words
came to an abrupt end when he heard the terrible news, mumbling to
himself in sobs and trembling words that he was responsible for his
father’s untimely end.

He then led Sita and his three brothers to the river to offer the
final prayers for our late father. Did he, the eldest son of the great
king of Ayodhya, feel sorry for the impoverished way in which the last
rites were carried out? He was weeping throughout, maybe out of
helplessness, maybe out of sorrow. Was not the death of Dasaratha
caused by his utter helplessness at the unexpected turn of events? A
king should create destiny, not ride destiny. His last rites, his equally
great sons shuddered to think, were an extension of the same
helplessness.

My hopes of persuading Rama to come back to Ayodhya became

thinner when I observed how easily he had given up all worldly
comforts. He had transformed himself into a selfless acetic, sporting
matted lock, wearing dried bark-peels for a cloak. I wanted him to
allow me to do amends for the unjust acts of our father and my
mother. I said my mother and I could get over our feelings of guilt only
if he forgave us and came back to his rightful place in the palace of
Ayodhya. Our late father would rest in peace only if Rama would agree
to be the king.

Rama would hear nothing of it. He saw no wrong in my mother

claiming the throne for me. He knew that when our childless father
had sought Kaikeyi as his youngest wife so that she would beget him
a worthy heir, he had promised her father, the king of Kekaya that his
son born of her would be the future king. Rama also quoted Sage
Narada who had once told her that her son would be a great ruler.

I was at a loss for words when I got unexpected support from

the scholarly Jaabaali, an agnostic saint rooted in rationalism and one
of Dasaratha’s intellectual advisors. He was pretty direct in
denouncing Rama’s foolish reaction to whatever happened in
Ayodhya. He appealed to Rama’s superior sense of right and wrong,
“You’re a prince with a noble upbringing and high learning. You
shouldn’t think like the mass swayed by irrational faith and emotions.

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 The path of truth

One comes to this world alone and dies alone. Please don’t give undue
reverence to the word of honour of your father and stepmother. They
did not act in an honourable way. Selfish and clever men of power
framed most of our rites and rituals, which lack any sense or purpose.
A man of learning and wisdom must tread the path of duty and
action, not the road of rites and rituals.”

Jaabaali asked Rama to go beyond his irrational reverence for

his father and mother to take up his responsibility as the king. “Why
do you waste useful food by offering it to the dead? The dead cannot
eat! Dasaratha was just a seed that created you. Please accept what is
apparent and real rather than delude yourself with the unseen or
vague superstitious thoughts. There is no need for a king to give up
worldly pleasures and lead a life of austerity. What you’re doing now is
not a sacrifice but an abdication of your responsibility. Please don’t
shy away from enjoying the bliss that’s your due. To protect the earth,
to nurture the country is the dharma of a king.”

Rama went red on his face, more due to the reluctant

awakening of inner realization than anger. He said, “My father is the
absolute truth for me. I will honour his every word. If I don’t honour
his word or break the promise I made to him and Kaikeyi, I won’t
deserve a place in heaven. Your advice is full of evil. If at all I’ve to
fault my father, it would be for honouring an atheist like you. A
faithless infidel has no place in a wise king’s court. A sage of no belief
is worse than a thief.” I was taken aback by the severity of the words
of the normally gentle and unflappable Rama. It was a question of
right or wrong and the duty of a king rather than a matter of faith and
belief.

Now Vasishtha spoke mildly to soothe the temper of the young

Rama, “The learned Jaabaali knows well the ways of the world. He
said his honest words to wake you up from the slumber of inactivity
you had adopted in the name of truth.” Vasishtha reminded him
about each of his thirty seven ancestors from Mareechi to Dasaratha,
none of who had wasted their time wandering in the wilderness.
“Please accept your due role as the new king, for the throne always
went to the eldest son in this dynasty,” he pleaded with Rama.

“Follow your father, your mother, your teacher. I’ve been the
teacher of your father and yourself. Today if you obey the words of
your mother and your teacher, you’ll serve well the cause of faith and
duty. Your mother too has come here with your brother Bharata to
take you back to your throne. Take the path of truth and ruth to
Ayodhya.”

Rama’s answer was again a simple no, “I’ll never break my

father’s word of honour.”

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 The path of truth

It became clear to me that the combined efforts of all of us were

coming to naught. Finding no other way out I declared to Rama, “I’ll
sit here beside you without water and food and keep looking at you till
you agree to our request. I’ll lie down weak, tired, starving and dying
till you come back to Ayodhya.”

Rama continued to be unyielding, “My dear brother, what crime

did I do to deserve this punishment? An act of forced persuasion like
this is unbecoming for a noble prince like you. Please get up and rush
to your palace where your call of duty awaits you.”

I carried my campaign forward by asking everyone else why they

were not forcing Rama to go back. It now seemed that they had read
Rama better. They said, “Rama is firm on what his father had asked
him to do. He will never agree to go back.” This was exactly what he
wanted to hear. His tone, so far soft and compassionate, assumed the
harshness of a command. He ordered me to rule over the kingdom for
fourteen years. “Both Kaikeyi and Dasaratha had walked the right
path. I will be back as the king after the period of exile is over.”

HERMIT AT HOME

The finality of Rama’s tone settled it. There was no time to be

wasted. I now had my role made clear. My commitment to the people,
to the country must take precedence over every other thing. I was
amazed at the speed with which my thoughts and resolve attained
clarity and purpose. Rama was the king of Kosala, though he would
have to spend his time of exile away from his kingdom. I would look
after his duties as the king in his absence. I would place his pair of
sandals on the throne as a clear signal of his power and my humility. I
would not live in the palace. I would forgo all the comforts of a prince.
I would live the austere life of an ascetic in a simple dwelling, wearing
what Rama, Lakshmana and Sita would wear during their exile, eating
raw vegetables and fruits and roots like they would in the woods. I
would rule with complete detachment and without any personal
ambition. Truth, justice, fairness and the welfare of people would be
my guiding principles.

The mind was clear. But the heart ached when we took leave of
Rama, Lakshmana and Sita. Lakshmana clasped me close and wept.
He had mistaken my intentions when he, atop a tree by their
hermitage, saw me leading a large troop to Chitrakoot. He had
assumed that I had decided to finish them off to safeguard my
position as the king of Kosala! My own brother? Guha and Sage
Bharadwaj could now be excused! How long would I have to carry this
burden of blame?

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 The path of truth

Lakshmana was ashamed of himself. It was Rama who had

corrected him when he had told him about his fear that I would attack
them with my army and seize the kingdom forever. Rama, ever so
noble in deed and right in creed, had rebuked him for thinking up
such evil thoughts about their dear brother. “Bharata must have felt
deep grief and intense remorse when he found out on his return to
Ayodhya that we had retired to a life of denial and renouncement in
the wilderness. He must be coming to meet us and persuade us to go
back.” How right Rama was! I would not blame Lakshmana for
assuming the worst. Ever since that fateful day of evil scheming by
Manthara and my mother, he must have been restraining his anger.
Anger restrained thus is prone to leap forth unchained at the slightest
provocation.

It was hard to console Kausalya and Sumitra who would not see
their sons for fourteen long years. Was the sorrow of my mother any
less? I glanced at her through the corner of my eyes while I was trying
to take my other two mothers away from Rama and Lakshmana. She
was a picture of composure with a tinge of melancholy. It was clear
that she had got used to the harshness of the situation. Her remorse
at having caused it was giving way to a sense of resignation and
helplessness. She was now ready to accept any kind of situation, any
kind of punishment.

The journey back to Ayodhya from Chitrakoot lacked the

enthusiasm that had marked our trek in search of Rama. I kept his
sandals carefully bound on the head of the royal elephant. At Ayodhya
I placed them on the throne. I told the elders, ministers and courtiers
that I would stay in a hut in Nandigrama, a village on the outskirts. I
would not have a life more luxurious than what King Rama would
have during his years of exile.

Every thing was in place. I had no regrets about the decisions I

had taken. The venerable Vasishtha and all other elders also agreed
with my decisions. Can I have the same confidence about the way
Mandvi felt about it? I had taken leave of her when we had left in
search of Rama. Like me she had been hoping that Rama would come
back. After we came back to Ayodhya without Rama, I told her the
reasons for my renouncing worldly comforts. She said she would also
follow in my footsteps and stay with me outside the palace. She did
not do it grudgingly. She had found my stand right and willingly
followed me. This gave me a great sense of comfort. Her support made
my task of management with detachment easier. Otherwise I would
have been bogged down with a sense of guilt and nagging self-doubt.

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 The path of truth

HANUMAN

Shatrugna and I had no way of finding out about the life of

Rama during his exile, except the bits we heard from the disciples of
sages that happened to pass by Ayodhya. We heard that Rama had
left Chitrakoot soon after we had returned to Ayodhya. He probably
did not want to risk another attempt at persuasion by us! Ten years
later, when we heard that the demon king Ravana of Lanka had taken
Sita away by force, I kept in readiness our army. The kings of Mithila
and Kashi had offered to help. Hanuman would tell me, after the
victorious return of Rama to Ayodhya, that when he had met Sita in
Lanka she had asked whether I had not been ready with the army for
her.

I had been waiting for the day Rama would come back after his
fourteen years of exile. It was Hanuman who came first with the news
of Rama’s imminent arrival. The sudden rush of joy into my head
made me faint and fall onto the ground. I quickly gathered myself and
hugged warmly the messenger of the great news, “Years of anxiety and
uncertainty are finally over. Thank you, friend for your joyful tidings.
A moment of ecstasy like this comes but in a hundred years,”

My initial amusement at the sight of this strange monkeylike

person turned to adoration when I listened to his report of the exploits
of Rama and the final victory over Ravana.

While talking to me, Hanuman slowly shed his initial diffidence.

Rama had sent him as a pilot to find out if I were ready to welcome
Rama back. Or did I want to cling to my kingdom? “Rush to Bharata
with the news of our victory,” Rama had asked Hanuman. “Study
keenly his expressions of happiness or disappointment. Has he
become so used to the grandeur and splendour of his position that he
does not want to give it up? For, if he wants to continue as the king,
let him. I would gladly step aside.” I had become used to getting
misunderstood. Rama was the last in a series of improbable skeptics.
My mother Kaikeyi, Kausalya, Guha, Bharadwaj, Lakshmana, and
now Rama himself had mistaken my intentions one time or the other.

Hanuman was the greatest find during Rama’s exile. He became

my brother’s closest confidant. He could be trusted to help Rama out
of any situation. In brute strength he had no equal. He was also wise
and fearless. They say he had learnt his early lessons from the Sun
God. Holding the book of ancient scriptures in his hands, he would
walk backward reading it! He was the one who found out where
Ravana had hidden Sita. He took Rama’s message to her. He assured
her that they would soon attack Lanka and rescue her. That was
when she suggested that I must have kept my army ready for the
attack. Later on, it came as no surprise to me when, during the

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 The path of truth

coronation of Rama, Sita did not hesitate to gift Hanuman the

necklace Rama had tied around her neck!

His soft and modest voice could not hide his childlike
excitement when he described his first meeting with his mentor Rama.
Rama and Lakshmana had reached the monkey-county Kishkindha in
search of Sita. Sugriva, the rebel brother of King Bali of Kishkindha,
came to know about two strange persons camping near his hideout.
He was afraid they were the spies of Bali out to plot his capture. He
sent Hanuman disguised as a beggar to find out the truth. Hanuman
realized the greatness of Rama the moment he set his eyes on him.
Hanuman confessed to Rama that he was no beggar. He told him all
about the predicament of Sugriva. Bali had banished him from his
kingdom. Bali had also taken his wife.

Hanuman took Rama and Lakshmana to the hideout of Sugriva.

Sugriva was plotting to overthrow Bali. The new alliance between him
and Rama would help each other. Rama promised to kill Bali. Sugriva,
Hanuman and the other monkeys would help Rama in his rescue
mission for Sita.

Bali was no mean adversary. He had once defeated Ravana. He

was the only person Ravana feared and respected. Rama managed to
kill him by sending a fatal arrow from behind while Sugriva engaged
him in a combat. Rama could not defend himself when Bali, on his
deathbed, said it was a cowardly trick. When Bali realised who his
killer was, he spoke his last words like a true warrior, "I would have
rescued Sita in a day. I would've tied Ravana in knots and offered him
at your feet." Rama stood still bowing his head. Hanuman
remembered that Rama had gone pale with shame when Bali's wife
Tara had accused him of killing Bali by deceit.

Sugriva became the king of Kishkindha. He deployed his full

resources in the search for Sita. Prominent in the team, apart from
Sugriva and Hanuman, were Jambava, Nila, Nala, Sudheeshna,
Rumanwa and Bali's son Angada.

Soon after they had realised that Sita was missing, Rama and
Lakshmana had come across the powerful bird Jatayu, wings clipped,
lying motionless and half dead. He told them, just before breathing his
last, that Ravana had taken Sita away. He had tried in vain to release
her from Ravana’s clutches.

Sugriva provided the second lead. He had seen a woman in the

air struggling in the arms of a ferocious looking man. She had thrown
down a little cloth bundle. Sugriva had kept it safely. He now showed
it to Rama. Lakshmana immediately recognised Sita's anklet in the
bundle. He had always been worshipping at the feet of Sita. He could
easily recognise the ornament that had been adorning her feet! They

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 The path of truth

still had no clue about the place where Ravana would be holding her
captive.

While wandering clueless they chanced upon an old infirm bird.

He had overhead them talking about Jatayu. He said he was Sampati,
the older brother of Jatayu. He knew everything about the islands in
the southern ocean. He told them whatever he knew about Lanka, the
island kingdom of the demon king Ravana. They hastened southward
to land's end. They stood facing the vast expanse of water. Rama was
at a loss to figure out how they could ever cross the ocean to rescue
his wife. Everyone looked up to Hanuman. He was the only monkey
powerful enough to jump across an ocean! Hanuman made one giant
leap over water to land in Lanka.

LANKA

Lankalakshmi was the awesome female demon guarding the

outer gate of Ravana’s capital. Hanuman knocked her down with a
sleight of his left hand. He then walked stealthily into the ladies’
quarter of the palace, hoping to find Sita there. He initially mistook a
lady of infinite charm lying in luxury in one of the rooms as Sita. He
then realized Sita would never have accepted such hospitality. He felt
ashamed at his hasty and foolish conclusion. He later came to know
that she was Mandodari, the wife of Ravana. Hanuman had a peek
into a room where he found the strong and able bodied Ravana in
deep slumber and great splendour amidst a bevy of exceptionally
beautiful maidens.

Hanuman spent the night hiding in the palace garden. He did

not notice Sita who had chosen to spend her days in captivity
underneath a tree in the garden. He had never seen Sita before. It was
also a dark night. Early morning he saw Ravana looking dazzling in
his royal robes walking in, followed by pretty damsels holding jars of
wine.

Ravana tried his best to charm Sita into agreeing to be his wife.
He used in vain both enticements and threats. He finally stormed out
of the garden.

Hanuman approached Sita with soft and reassuring steps,

singing a hymn in praise of Rama. The sorrowful Sita brightened up
when she realized who Hanuman was. He told her that Rama would
soon rescue her.

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 The path of truth

He then went on a rampage of the entire city. The guards had a

tough time overwhelming Hanuman and taking him to the court of
Ravana. Hanuman matched Ravana in anger and arrogance. He
threatened Ravana with immediate war if he did not send Sita back.
“Set his tail on fire,” thundered Ravana, “that’ll teach this haughty
monkey a good lesson.”

Hanuman used his tail on fire as a toy for arson. He went

around setting most of the city on fire before jumping into the ocean
on his return journey.

Of all the demons of Lanka only two had won the respect of
Hanuman. Ravana’s wife Mandodari by her noble bearing and charm
and his brother Vibheeshana who seemed critical of Ravana’s
misdeeds. True to the early impressions that Hanuman carried,
Vibheeshana defected to Rama’s camp just before Rama launched his
assault on Lanka. His conduct turned out to be in sharp contrast with
the way in which his brother Kumbhakarna, equally critical of
Ravana’s methods, chose to fight for the king and the kingdom and
would finally give up his life fighting Rama in a ferocious battle that
initially would fill the monkey brigade with the fear of defeat.

RAVANA

Hanuman told Rama about Sita’s resolve to give up her life if

Rama would not rescue her within a month. Rama lost no time in
organizing the assault. They built a stone bridge across the sea to
Lanka. They broke into teams led by stalwarts like Rama himself,
Lakshmana, Hanuman, Sugriva, Angada and Nila. They effectively
surrounded the capital of Ravana, blocking all the exits. Rama sent
Angada, the son of late Bali, to Ravana as a messenger of peace in his
final attempt at reconciliation. Ravana would hear nothing about it.
He threatened to kill the messenger.

Angada, slighted and angry, led the first assault. The equally
strong Indrajit, one of the sons of Ravana, stopped him in his
advance.

The tide soon turned in favour of the attacking army. Hanuman

killed Dhumraksha, the bravest of Ravana’s warriors. He also killed
Akampana, a demon highly skilled in archery. Nila killed Prahasta.
Hanuman stopped Ravana in his ferocious march and engaged him in
a one-to-one combat. They were surprised at each other’s invincible
strength.

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 The path of truth

Later, when Ravana aloft on his chariot challenged Rama,

Hanuman offered his strong shoulders as a carriage for Rama. Ravana
became so tired he could no longer hold on. Rama sensed victory. But
his sense of fairness had the upper hand. He let Ravana go, telling
him to return to his palace for rest. The arrogant and fearless demon
king of Lanka must have been humiliated by Rama’s noble gesture.
Rama had already won the psychological war!

Ravana was losing all his key men. His brother Kumbhakarna
was no match for Rama’s archery. So was Makaraksha. Lakshmana
killed Atikaya and Indrajit. Hanuman accounted for Nikumbha.
Sugriva chipped in with the brutal killing of Viroopaksha.

The final battle with Ravana turned out to be extremely

strenuous for both Rama and Lakshmana. Ravana inflicted a near
fatal wound on Lakshmana. The presence of mind of the wise and
resourceful Hanuman, who lost no time in getting the right herbs for
healing the wound, saved Lakshmana from certain death. It seemed
for a while that the flag of victory was fluttering atop the magnificent
chariot of Ravana. Rama had no chariot. He fought valiantly with his
feet firmly on the ground. He deserved the final victory, for he was
riding the chariot of strategy powered by horses of restraint. He held
the reins of compassion in his hands. His flag of truth and
righteousness fluttered high in the air.

RAMA

A person as loyal and devout as Hanuman was surprised when

Rama showed no apparent eagerness to rush to Sita. Rama waited till
Vibhishana was made the king after the funeral of Ravana. He then
asked Hanuman to meet Sita after getting the nod from the new king.
Sita was overjoyed to hear the news of Rama’s victory. She wanted to
meet her husband immediately. Hanuman hastened back to Rama
with her request. Rama asked Vibhishana to lead her to him after she
had her bath and wore fine clothes and jewellery.

What Rama told Sita when he finally met her shocked Hanuman
and Lakshmana alike. He said that the attack on Lanka was not for
her, but for the sake of justice and honour. Due to her long stay at
Ravana’s place, her purity was now suspect. “You have become a blot
of sin and shame on my fame,” he said. “Go away to wherever you
may. I’ll not have anything to do with you now. You may live with my
brothers or Vibhishana or Sugriva.” It was as if his eyes were too sick
to look at the bright lamp that was Sita. Sin, like beauty, is in the eyes
of the beholder or in the mind of the perceiver.

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 The path of truth

Sita could not believe her ears. She asserted that Ravana had
not touched her even once in Lanka. She would have killed herself
during her ignoble imprisonment had not Hanuman come with the
assurance of her imminent rescue.

She suddenly turned to Lakshmana. She asked him to make a

pyre of fire. He reluctantly did it hoping that Rama would stop this
cruel and unnecessary test. Sita announced her intention of walking
into the leaping flames of fire to prove her innocence.

Hanuman’s soft voice choked when he told me that he had

moved closer to the fire to rescue her in case she harmed herself. He
had always believed that it was only her prayers that had saved him
from fire in Lanka during his first visit to locate her. To everyone’s
relief and disbelief she came out unscathed. Did Rama’s sense of
fairness and justice come unscathed out of this test by fire?

It was celebration time for the entire city when finally Rama,
Sita and Lakshmana arrived in Ayodhya. Rama made me sit on his lap
and held me there for long. I lost no time in bringing his sandals from
his throne and offering them at his feet. With happiness and relief
filling my heart and pride swelling in my body, I returned the kingdom
to him. I had ruled the country the way he wanted. The fame, wealth
and granary of the kingdom had increased tenfold in these fourteen
years.

Lakshmana could not hide his smile when he described how a

lighthearted jest by Rama had led to the abduction of Sita. Ravana’s
sister Shoorpanakha happened to set her lustful eyes on the
handsome Rama during their stay at Panchavati in the eleventh year
of their exile. She approached Rama with eyes that dripped with
desire. Rama drove her away, “Look, my wife is here with me. You can
try Lakshmana over there. He’s without female company.”

Lakshmana too played his part well. He told her, “I’m just a
servant here. Instead of being content with serving the servant, you
could as well serve the master.”

She went back to Rama. When he continued to be evasive, she

went red with anger in her demonic way and tried to maul Sita in her
frustration. At this point Lakshmana drew his sword out and chopped
off her nose and ears.

“She ran away screaming. Ravana avenged her humiliation by

abducting Sita, hoping to make her his wife. He must have reasoned
that a lesser punishment would not meet the ends of justice for our
irreverent and arrogant act,” chuckled Lakshmana.

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 The path of truth

His smile deserted him when he described how he had been

tricked into leaving Sita unguarded in their forest hut. Ravana had
organized his treachery so well that he simply had to come to Sita
disguised as a hermit to grab her and lift her up with his powerful left
hand and make off at lightning speed.

Ravana had first sent his magician-uncle Mareecha to lure

Rama away. Mareecha created the illusion of a strange and beautiful
deer by hallucination. Sita, fascinated by the deer, pleaded with Rama
to fetch it for her. Rama then asked Lakshmana to not leave her alone
till he came back.

After some time, worried that Rama was taking too long a time
and disturbed by strange sounds, Sita asked Lakshmana to go in
search of Rama. When he was reluctant to leave his position as her
protector, she became so annoyed she suggested he had amorous
designs on her. Stung by her insinuation he had to leave her
unguarded for some time. Ravana, who must have been hiding
nearby, made full use of this lapse. Lakshmana could not help his
sobs when he described his agitation on not finding her in the hut
when they came back after slaying the sly Mareecha.

The entire chain of events leading finally to the rescue of Sita

seemed to be flashing in his mind when Lakshmana narrated the
incidents of those fateful days.

Peace, happiness and prosperity returned to our lives. The

people of Ayodhya had not seen better times. All four of us
experienced uninterrupted domestic bliss for the first time. It was too
good to last.

One day Rama summoned me in a state of distress. I rushed to

his chambers in the palace. Lakshmana and Shatrugna were also
there. Rama’s face had turned pale. His voice lacked the usual
firmness. He said in a diffident tone, “People have been uttering
slander against Sita. She had the test of fire in Lanka. Yet, they have
been suspecting her character. They do not want their king to live in
marriage with a queen who had stayed with Ravana for some time.”

Before any of us could counter his line of thinking, he ordered

Lakshmana to take Sita away the very next morning and abandon her
in the forest near the ashram of the great sage Valmiki across the
river Tamasa.

The next day Lakshmana was heart-broken when he narrated

his ride with Sita to the woods. She had thought he was taking her for
a visit to the sages. After crossing the river in a boat he fell at her feet
and started sobbing. She was taken aback by this unexpected gesture.
With his head down with shame he told her the fact. She accepted her

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 The path of truth

fate with composure and characteristic resignation, “Please go back

with peace, don’t have any remorse. I was born to grieve. The abiding
emotion of my life is sorrow.” He left her wandering in the wilderness.

He seemed lost in a wilderness of puzzle and confusion. He

remembered an incident that had happened when Rama and he had
gone with Sage Viswamitra to rid his hermitage of marauding bands of
demons. They saw an ancient grove near the city of Mithila. The sage
told them that the grove used to be the abode of a great sage called
Gautama. His fair and beautiful wife Ahalya had been disloyal to him.
She, smitten by the fire of desire, had yielded to the lust of Indra.
Gautama found this out and condemned her to a long period of
solitary and invisible stillness in the grove. The young Rama purified
her of sin and shame. He freed her from her invisible state of stillness.
He brought her back to normal life and reunion with her husband.
Now Lakshmana was at a loss to reconcile the generosity and large
heartedness that Rama had shown to a sinner with what he did to his
innocent wife. He had forgiven and blessed a sinner to unite her with
her husband. But he would separate his unblemished wife from
himself, sending her to an uncertain life of rigour and solitude in the
deep forest.

Rama continued to reign over Ayodhya as a model ruler. He

hardly ever showed any external signs of his inner conflicts or pangs
of sorrow tinged with guilt. His brothers were more fortunate. Our
wives gifted us with two sons each. Mandvi gave me Taksha and
Pushkala. Urmila gave Chandraketu and Angada to Lakshmana.
Srutikirti bore Shatrugna two fine sons in Subahu and Shatrukhadi.

SITA

As years rolled on, I could sense growing uneasiness in Rama.

He was getting restless about isolated incidents of robbery and killings
in the kingdom. He and Lakshmana combed the country. They came
across Shambuka on an extremely rigorous meditation with his body
hung head down. Rama assumed that this arrogant act by the low-
caste Shambuka must have been causing those incidents. He chopped
off the poor ascetic’s head. There were a few sages like Dwijarshabha
who had ordained that the low-caste had no right to meditate! I would
not venture a guess about what Jaabaali would say on this.

To declare his pre-eminence in the country and the

neighbourhood Rama decided to hold aswamedhayaga by sacrificing
an all-conquering horse. Organising the yaga turned out to be a
matter of relief from the routine for me. Sages and ascetics, kings and
princes, actors and drummers…. The yaga would run for days. Rama
was present in person every day. A gold statuette of Sita took the

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place of the absent queen. Could we not have brought Sita back for
the yaga, reversing a definite blot on Rama’s record of fairness? The
yaga was also to seek forgiveness for mistakes made.

The visit of the poet-sage Valmiki during the yaga had in it,
unknown though to us, the tidings of a great upheaval about to
happen. Shortly after that, two young boys, clad in hermit clothing
but luxuriously radiant like the sun, came singing. Their rhapsody
about Rama’s sun-dynasty overwhelmed all those assembled with its
sheer melody and poetry. Rama was so moved with their song that he
asked me to give them gold in plenty.

Our admiration for these extraordinary boys grew more when

they refused to accept any material reward.

Rama wanted to know more about them. They said Sage

Valmiki had sent them here. He was the author of the ballad they
were singing. Their mother lived in the ashram. They grew up in the
hermitage tutored and mentored by the sage. They did not have to say
anything more. Rama, in his sagacity, capped the volcano that had
erupted within him. He just requested Lava and Kusha to come back
every day and continue with their song.

I was amazed at the way Rama checked the well of emotions

that were swelling within him. Each song that the boys sang would
drown the father in him in intense remorse. After a few days, when
the boys were nearing the end of their song of Rama, he told Valmiki
that he was ready to take back Sita and his children. He was but
plagued by the fear of popular opinion.

“Let her go through a final test here in front of all those

assembled for the yaga,” said Rama. Valmiki reluctantly agreed. He
also had his say, “Sita is extremely virtuous and chaste. She had
given birth to these twins in my ashram. May God take away my hard
earned status as a sage, if she is guilty! You had sent her away
knowing well that she’s pure and innocent.”

Rama listened to the learned hermit with bowed head and

folded hands. He agreed with whatever Valmiki said, but signalled
helplessness.

Sita was ushered in. Clad in a simple sheet of saffron hue, she
stood motionless with her head bowed down. She did not betray any
emotion. She seemed to seek forgiveness of everyone. She did not wait
this time for her pyre of fire to be ready. Before we could fathom what
was happening, she disappeared, as if drawn by the gravity of the
earth, as if she was sucked back into the womb of mother earth.

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Lava and Kusha grew up in the palace along with my sons and
the sons of Lakshmana and Shatrugna. We brought them up as fine
princes ready to succeed us whenever their time would come.

THE FINAL JOURNEY

Some of our provinces on the banks of the river Sindhu were

under the threat of attack. Rama asked me to drive away the invaders.
I took along my two sons. It would be a good lesson in warfare for
them. It was a well-fought battle that we won on the seventh day.
Come to think of it, this was the only battle that I had led. After the
war, I stayed on for five years training my two sons in statecraft. My
elder son Taksha took over Takshasila. My second son Pushkala was
given Pushkalavata. I returned to Ayodhya confident that the two boys
were well settled in their new roles.

When I reached Ayodhya, Rama said it was time for the sons to
take over. He agreed to my suggestion to make Lava and Kusha the
rulers of the North and the South of Kosala. Mathura went to Subahu
and Vaidisha to Shatrukhadi. Lakshmana’s sons Chandraketu and
Angada took over other provinces.

We had reached the end of our life’s journey. Lakshmana was

the first to go. My wait on the banks of Sarayu will soon be over with
the coming of Rama and Shatrugna. Am I happy that I have had a
complete life? I have churned this ocean of life seeking the immortality
of gyan and karma, overcoming the temptations of mohini-lust, iravat-
power and lakshmi-lucre. I have been a prince; I have been a hermit.
Have I led equally well my extremely austere life as an ascetic and the
worldly life as a prince, a husband and a father? Did I have the inner
peace of an ascetic and the bliss of a family man? Did I ever do
anything that was not fair, that was not just? My mother and my
brothers Rama and Lakshmana had misunderstood me. What did I do
to deserve that? Let me now hope that I’ve laid at rest all such notions
of my ambition. I can hear the sounds from my brothers’ procession.
Louder is the call of the river, inviting me on her divine flow to the sea
of truth.

Teacher minister doctor

Always say things dear
To the king out of fear,
Then the end is near
For the king for sure
For his kingdom dear,
His name and honour.
-Tulasidas (Ramacharitamanas)

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Bharatakaandam (Malayalam) author Prasad with his paintings

The Path of Truth author C K Kerala Varma

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