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The first night after the coronation, the night that swelled the joy of every soul in Ayodhya, passed. At dawn the palace filled with bards, singers whose voices were sweet as the Kinnaras’, and they gathered to sing Rama’s virtues. Your valor is Vishnu’s, they sang, your radiance the Ashvins’, your judgment Brihaspati’s, and in the guarding of your people you are the equal of Brahma; your patience the earth’s, unmoved, your splendor the sun’s, your speed the wind’s, and your depth the sea’s. Wake, gentle hero, Rama, who swells the gladness of Kausalya. While you sleep, the whole world sleeps. Woken by such tender words, Rama rose from his couch, which was draped in white, the way Narayana rises from the coils of Shesha.
Rama’s court: the king of dharma among his friends
Purified by his bath and by the agnihotra, the daily worship of the sacred fire, Rama entered the holy shrine of the Ikshvakus and there worshipped, in due form, the gods, the ancestors, and the brahmanas. Then he made his way to the outer hall of assembly. With the priest Vasishtha placed at the front, the whole council of ministers came in, each of them shining like a kindled fire. Kings of many lands, high-souled kshatriyas, took their seats near Rama the way the gods take their seats near Indra.
Bharata, Lakshmana, and the greatly renowned Shatrughna sat in Rama’s service, glad as the three Vedas made flesh. Many devoted attendants, glad of face, came and sat near him with folded hands. Twenty great vanaras who could take any shape at will, Sugriva foremost among them, presented themselves for Rama’s service. Vibhishana, ringed by his four rakshasa ministers, sat near Rama the way a Yaksha sits in the service of Kubera. Men of good birth learned in the Vedas, and illustrious rishis, sat around him too. In that human form Rama shone brighter than thousand-eyed Indra, and among the people gathered there the sages versed in the ancient lore began to tell stories full of dharma, and exceedingly sweet.
The key (the twenty vanaras): Valmiki here names the foremost vanaras and bears seated near Rama: Sugriva, Angada, Hanuman, Jambavan, Sushena, Tara, Nila, Nala, Mainda, Dvivida, Kumuda, Sharabha, Shatabali, Gandhamadana, Gaja, Gavaksha, Gavaya, Dhumra, Rambha, and Jyotirmukha. These are the same companions who staked their lives in the war for Lanka, and now they are the honored guests of the king in Ayodhya.
The gist: This part of the Uttarakanda opens after the coronation. Rama’s court is the meeting place where the ministers of Ayodhya, the allied kings, and the vanara, bear, and rakshasa companions of the Lanka war all sit together, as though the reign of dharma had gathered every one of its helpers under a single roof.
The kings depart: Janaka, Yudhajit, Pratardana, and three hundred rulers
So the mighty-armed Rama governed, day after day, all the affairs of the city and the countryside. After some days he folded his hands and said, humbly, to Janaka, the king of the Videhas, the lord of Mithila: You are our refuge; it is by you that we are sustained. It was by the fierce heat of your austerities that I killed Ravana. Between the Ikshvakus and the Maithilas there has always been a matchless affection, rooted in kinship. Now take these jewels and return to your city; Bharata will follow behind you to see you safely there. Janaka answered, So be it, and said: King, your sight and your conduct have made me glad. Whatever jewels were stored up for me, I give them all to my daughter, the queen Sita. So saying, the noble Janaka took his leave of Rama and set out, glad at heart, for Mithila.
Then Rama folded his hands before his maternal uncle, Yudhajit, the prince of the Kekayas, and said: This kingdom, and I myself, and Bharata, Shatrughna, and Lakshmana, all of us are yours; you are our refuge. The aged king, your father Ashvapati, will be grieving for you, and so your departure today is fitting; Lakshmana will follow behind you with great wealth and jewels. Yudhajit too said, So be it, and answered: Raghava, let these jewels and this wealth stay undiminished with you. He walked around Rama in reverence and set out with Lakshmana beside him, the way Indra, after the killing of Vritra, returned to Amaravati with Vishnu as his younger brother.
Then Rama took leave of his fearless friend Pratardana, the lord of Kashi, and said: In joining with Bharata to work for my coronation, you showed your love and your deep goodwill. Return now to your lovely Varanasi, with its strong ramparts and beautiful arched gates, the city you guard. So saying, Rama rose from his high seat and drew Pratardana, who was already pressed to his chest, into a tight embrace.
Having sent the lord of Kashi on his way, Rama turned to the three hundred rulers gathered there and spoke to them, smiling, in sweet words: Your steadfast devotion to me is proven by your valor. Your dharma is settled, and truth is forever present. It was by the splendor of you great souls that the wicked-minded Ravana, the lowest of the rakshasas, was killed; there I was only the instrument. When the news of Sita’s abduction reached him, the noble Bharata summoned all of you; much time has now passed, and so I think you should return. Filled with great gladness, the kings answered: Rama, by our good fortune you are victorious and settled firmly in your kingdom; by our good fortune Sita has returned and the enemy is defeated. This was our highest wish and our deepest love, to see you victorious with your enemy destroyed. You praise us, yet we do not even know how to praise you. So they spoke, and when Rama said, Very well, they folded their hands, said, We are going, and, honored, returned each to his own land.
A sub-tale (a note on interpolated cantos): The Gita Press edition records that in some recensions of the Valmiki Ramayana five cantos have been inserted between cantos 37 and 38, describing Agastya’s account of the origin of Vali and Sugriva and Ravana’s journey to Shvetadvipa. But since the departure of Agastya has already been mentioned in the preceding canto, these cantos are treated as out of place here and left out.
The gist: The closing scene of the coronation festival. One by one, Rama sends his allied kings on their way, Janaka, Yudhajit, Pratardana, and the three hundred rulers, with honor and jewels. In every farewell the same note sounds: the credit for victory to others, and for himself only the place of the instrument.
Jewels for the vanaras, bears, and rakshasas
Those great kings set out gladly, shaking the earth with their thousandfold armies of horses and elephants. On the road, swollen with pride in their strength, they said to one another: We never even saw Rama and Ravana face to face in battle. Bharata called us for nothing, after the fighting was already over; had we been called in time, the rakshasas would have been killed swiftly by the kings. Even so, guarded by the strength of the arms of Rama and Lakshmana, we could have crossed to the far side of the sea and fought without a care. Saying a thousand such things, they returned to their prosperous kingdoms, and for Rama’s pleasure they sent back many gifts: horses, chariots, jewels, elephants in rut, fine sandalwood, divine ornaments, gems and pearls and coral, beautiful serving women, goats and sheep, and many chariots more. Bharata, Lakshmana, and the mighty Shatrughna took the jewels and returned to Ayodhya.
Accepting all those marvelous things with affection, Rama gave the jewels to the accomplished king Sugriva, to Vibhishana, and to the other vanaras and rakshasas, ringed by whom he had won his victory over Ravana. Those mighty vanaras and rakshasas set the jewels Rama gave them on their heads and their arms. Then Rama seated Hanuman and Angada in his lap and said to Sugriva: Lord of the vanaras, your worthy son Angada and your minister the son of the wind-god have both been steady in counsel for you and in service to my good, and so they deserve every honor. So saying, he took the priceless ornaments from his own body and set them on Angada and Hanuman.
Nila, Nala, Kesari, Kumuda, Gandhamadana, Sushena, Panasa, Mainda, Dvivida, Jambavan, Gavaksha, Vinata, Dhumra, Balimukha, Prajangha, the mighty Sannada, Darimukha, Dadhimukha, and Indrajanu: these leaders of the troops Rama addressed in a voice so tender it was as though he wished to drink them in with his eyes. You are my friends, he said, my second life, my brothers; you forest-dwellers lifted me out of calamity. King Sugriva is blessed to have friends as fine as you. So saying, he gave each of them, according to his worth, priceless ornaments and diamonds, and pressed them to his chest.
Those honey-golden vanaras stayed on, drinking fragrant honey, eating the meat fit for a king and the roots and fruits, and more than a month passed; yet in their devotion to Rama it felt to them like a single moment. The second month of the cold season, Phalguna, also passed in ease. In the lovely city of the Ikshvakus, under Rama’s hospitality, the time of all of them slipped by in the deepest affection.
The gist: Rama’s reign stands on gratitude. After his victory he strips the ornaments from his own body to give to his companions in war, and calls them friends, brothers, a second life. This is the reign of dharma that never forgets a kindness done to it.
The vanaras take their leave, and Hanuman’s boon
While they were staying on in this way, the greatly splendid Rama said to Sugriva: Gentle one, return to Kishkindha, which even gods and demons find hard to conquer, and rule your kingdom free of thorns, with your ministers beside you. Angada, Hanuman, the mighty Nala, Gandhamadana, Rishabha, Supatala, Kesari, Sharabha, Shumbha, Shankhachuda, Sushena your father-in-law, Tara, Kumuda, Nila, Shatabali, Mainda, Dvivida, Gaja, Gavaksha, Gavaya, and Jambavan the king of the bears: all these noble vanaras and bears, who did not hesitate to lay down their lives for me, look upon them with love, and never do them any unkindness.
Then, embracing Sugriva again and again, Rama spoke sweetly to Vibhishana: Rule Lanka according to dharma. You are held to be a knower of dharma, by me, by the city of Lanka, by all the rakshasas, and by your eldest brother Kubera the son of Vishrava. King, never turn your mind to unrighteousness; it is the wise king who rules the earth with a firm hand. Remember me always, and Sugriva with me, with the deepest love, and go now without a care. Hearing these words, the bears, the vanaras, and the rakshasas praised him again and again, crying, Well said, well said. Mighty-armed Rama, they said, your wisdom is a wonder, your valor is a wonder, and your surpassing gentleness is Brahma’s own.
Then Hanuman bowed his head and said: King, let my deep love for you remain forever; let my devotion to you be fixed, and let my heart never turn elsewhere. Hero, as long as the story of Rama is told upon this earth, let my life-breath remain in this body; of that I have no doubt. Raghunandana, let the apsaras sing me the divine tale of your deeds, your story; drinking that nectar of your acts through my ears, I will drive away my longing as the wind scatters a line of clouds.
Rama rose from his high seat, drew Hanuman into a loving embrace, and said: Best of vanaras, so let it be, and doubt it not. As long as this story of mine is told in the world, both your fame and your life will stand firm; as long as the worlds endure, my stories will endure. For each single kindness of yours I could give my life and still be in your debt for the rest. Let this debt of mine stay always in my heart, and may the occasion never come when I must repay it, for a kindness is repaid only when a man is in distress. So saying, Rama took from his own throat a necklace bright as the moon, set at its center with a cat’s-eye gem, and tied it around Hanuman’s neck. With that great necklace Hanuman shone like a peak of the golden mountain crowned by the moon.
Hearing Rama’s words, the mighty vanaras rose one by one, bowed their heads to his feet, and went. Rama pressed Sugriva and the righteous Vibhishana to his chest; and all the vanaras, their eyes brimming with tears, dazed by the pain of parting, left Rama the way the embodied self leaves the body.
The gist: Hanuman’s boon is the tenderest moment in this book: as long as the story of Rama endures, Hanuman will live. Here is the seed of the tradition of the deathless Hanuman. The grief of parting runs so deep that Valmiki likens it to the soul leaving the body.
Pushpaka departs, and the reign of Rama described
Having sent the bears, the vanaras, and the rakshasas on their way, Rama lived on happily with his brothers. Some time later, in the afternoon, he heard a sweet voice out of the sky: Dear Rama, look on me with a gentle face; know me, Lord, to be the Pushpaka, come from the mansion of Kubera. On your command I went to Kubera, and he said to me: The noble Raghava has killed the unconquerable Ravana in battle and won you for his own; the killing of that evil-souled Ravana with all his family has given me great joy. Gentle one, carry Rama himself, for that is my command; carry that Raghava, the refuge of the worlds, and go without a doubt. Obeying the command of the noble Kubera, I have come to you; accept me without hesitation. I am unconquerable to all beings, and by Kubera’s command and my own power, doing your bidding, I will range wherever I please.
Hearing this, the mighty Rama looked at the excellent car that had returned and said: If it is so, then welcome, best of aerial cars, Pushpaka; by this favor of Kubera no charge of unfair dealing will attach to us. Then Rama worshipped the Pushpaka with parched grain, flowers, incense, and fragrant sandal-paste, and said: Go now; come to me when I remember you. Gentle one, vanishing along the path of the Siddhas, do not grieve at parting from me; may nothing hinder you as you go in whatever direction you wish. Pushpaka answered, So let it be, and, honored by Rama, set off in the direction of its choice.
When that Pushpaka, a treasury of virtues, had vanished, Bharata folded his hands and said to Rama: Divine-souled hero, under your reign even beings that are not human speak again and again like men. Only a month has passed since you took the sceptre in your hand, and already men are free of disease; even the old do not meet death, women feel no pain in childbirth, and men are well made. King, every citizen has been given an abundance of joy. The clouds rain down their nectar-like water at the proper time, and the wind that blows is a delight to the touch, kind and auspicious. People of the city and the countryside come to the capital and say, May such a king as this be ours for all time. Hearing these sweet words of Bharata, Rama, the best of kings, was filled with joy.
The key (Pushpaka’s return): The Pushpaka is the same car Ravana seized from Kubera, the one Rama flew back on from Lanka to Ayodhya. Now, after his victory, Rama thinks it right to return it to Kubera, and for that very reason Kubera hands it back into Rama’s service. It is a glimpse of Rama’s dharma-bound character: he does not keep for himself a thing that was taken by force.
The gist: Here is the ideal portrait of Rama-rajya that became the model for all later Indian imagining: no disease, no untimely death, no pain in childbirth, rain in its season, a kindly wind. The people have a single prayer: let a ruler like this last forever.
Play in the Ashoka grove, and Sita’s wish
Having sent Pushpaka away, the mighty-armed Rama went into the Ashoka grove, which was rich with sandal and aloe, mango and coconut, deodar, champak, ashoka, punnaga, madhuka, jackfruit, asana, and parijata trees bright as smokeless fire; thick with lodhra, nipa, arjuna, naga, saptaparna, atimuktaka, mandara, plantain, and clusters of creepers. With its ever-lovely flowers and fruits, its tender shoots of divine scent and taste, its intoxicated bees, its cuckoos and many-colored birds, that grove was like Indra’s Nandana and like Kubera’s Chaitraratha garden made by Brahma. Some of the trees there gleamed as if of gold, some like tongues of flame, and some dark and bright as collyrium.
In that wide Ashoka grove, set with many seat-pavilions and bowers of creeper, Rama took his seat on a beautiful flower-strewn couch. With his own hand he gave Sita a sweet wine like maireyaka to drink, as Indra gives to Shachi. Attendants quickly brought Rama tasty dishes fit for a king and many kinds of fruit. Ringed by apsaras, naga-maidens, and kinnara-women, lovely women skilled in dance and song danced before Rama under the spell of the wine. The righteous Rama gladdened them all, and seated with Sita he shone as Vasishtha with Arundhati. Sporting like a god, day after day, the two of them spent a long while, and the enjoyment-giving cold season passed. In the forenoon Rama did his duties according to dharma, and spent the rest of the day in the inner apartments; and Sita, having worshipped the gods, served all her mothers-in-law without distinction, and, dressed in bright ornaments and garments, came to Rama as Shachi comes to Indra.
One day Rama saw in his wife the blessed signs of the child she carried, and took a matchless joy, and said, Beautiful, beautiful. Then he said to Sita, lovely as a daughter of the gods: Vaidehi, the time of childbearing is now upon you; tell me, what do you wish, which of your desires shall I fulfill? Sita smiled and answered: Raghava, I wish to see the holy penance-groves of the sages who dwell on the bank of the Ganga, fierce in their splendor, living on roots and fruit, and to stay at their feet; my dearest wish is to pass even a single night in the penance-grove of those root-and-fruit-eating sages. Rama said, So be it, and gave his word: Vaidehi, be at ease; you will go tomorrow, without a doubt. So saying, Rama withdrew, ringed by his friends, to the middle hall.
The gist: This scene of ease in the grove is the very ground of the sorrowful turn now coming. Sita is with child; she herself has voiced the wish to visit a penance-grove; and this blameless wish will become, further on, the cover under which the hard decision of separation is carried out.
Bhadra’s report: the people’s slander
There, seated among his court, Rama was entertained by jesters and storytellers with all sorts of amusing tales. Vijaya, Madhumatta, Kashyapa, Mangala, Kula, Suraji, Kaliya, Bhadra, Dantavaktra, and Sumagadha, these lovers of wit, gladly told Rama their stories. In the middle of one of them Rama asked: Bhadra, what is being talked about in the city and the countryside? What do people say about me, about Sita, about Bharata, Lakshmana, Shatrughna, and mother Kaikeyi? In the forest and in the kingdom, kings are always the subject of talk.
Bhadra folded his hands and said: King, the talk of the citizens is all favorable; chiefly they speak of the victory won in the killing of Ravana. Rama said: Tell it as it truly is, leaving nothing out; what good and ill words do the citizens speak? Once I have heard, I will do what is good and turn from what is ill; without fear, without any hesitation, tell me what the wicked say in the city and the countryside. Bhadra steadied his mind and said: King, hear what the citizens say at the crossroads, in the markets, in the lanes, in the woods and the groves.
They say: Rama did a hard thing, the bridging of the sea, which no ancestor, no god, no demon was ever heard to do; he killed the unassailable Ravana with his army and his mounts, and brought the vanaras, the bears, and the rakshasas under his sway. But having killed Ravana, having brought Sita back, Rama set aside his indignation and settled her once more in his own house. What pleasure can he take in his enjoyment of Sita, the Sita whom Ravana first seized by force and carried off in his lap, who was taken to Lanka, who stayed in the Ashoka grove, who was in the power of the rakshasas? Why does Rama not condemn her? Now we too must put up with such conduct in our own wives, because the people follow whatever the king does. So, King, the people of all the towns and the countryside say these things in one form or another.
Hearing this, Rama was stricken to the heart, and said to all his friends: Tell me, is this truly so? Then all of them touched their heads to the ground, bowed, and said, wretchedly: There is no doubt of it, it is so. Having heard what they all said, Rama the destroyer of foes dismissed those friends.
The key (the people’s slander): The word rendered here means the calumny or false blame spread among common folk. After the ordeal by fire, and after the gods themselves had borne witness, one part of the people still spreads a slur over Sita’s time in Lanka. Rama’s crisis is that he knows Sita is innocent, and yet as a king he must face what his people believe.
The gist: At the summit of his happiness, this is the crack that will change everything. The people’s slander cuts Rama to the quick, and from here begins the sorrowful tale of the Uttarakanda that is the hardest crisis of dharma in Rama’s life.
Summoning the brothers
Having dismissed his friends and made up his mind, Rama said to the doorkeeper standing near: Quickly bring Lakshmana of the auspicious marks, the fortunate Bharata, and the unconquered Shatrughna. The doorkeeper set his joined hands to his forehead, went to Lakshmana’s house and entered, and bowing said: The king wishes to see you; come there, do not delay. Very well, said Lakshmana, and mounting his chariot went swiftly to Rama’s palace. In the same way the doorkeeper called Bharata, and then Shatrughna; the three of them came to Rama. The doorkeeper returned and reported that all the brothers were present.
Hearing that the princes had come, Rama, his senses troubled with anxiety, wretched in mind, his face downcast, said to the doorkeeper: Send the princes in to me at once; my life rests on them; they are my dear life-breath. At the king’s command the princes, clad in white, came in with folded hands, heads bowed, steady of mind. They saw Rama’s face like the moon caught in eclipse, like the sun of evening drained of light; the eyes of their wise brother were full of tears, and his face was a withered lotus. At once they bowed their heads at Rama’s feet and stood still, while Rama went on shedding tears.
The mighty Rama lifted them in his arms, embraced them, seated them, and said: Lords of men, you are my everything, you are my life; the kingdom you built I am only guarding. You are versed in the meaning of the scriptures and settled in judgment; consider this matter of mine, all of you together. Hearing this, they grew alert, and anxious in mind wondered what the king would say.
The gist: A face like the moon in eclipse, like the sun drained of light. With these images Valmiki tells us how great a struggle is going on inside. The king his people held to be spotless now sheds tears before his brothers, because he is about to speak the decision that is tearing his heart.
Rama’s command: the banishment of Sita
His face gone dry, Rama spoke to his brothers, who sat wretched before him: Hear me, all of you, and may it be well with you; do not set your minds against it. I will tell you what the citizens are saying about Sita. This great and hateful slander of the townsfolk and the country has spread over me, and it cuts me to the quick. I am born in the line of the great Ikshvakus, and Sita too was born in the noble line of the great Janakas. You know well, gentle one, how Ravana carried off Sita from the lonely forest of Dandaka, and how I destroyed him. Then this thought rose in my mind about the daughter of Janaka: how am I to bring into the city this Sita who stayed in Lanka with Ravana?
Lakshmana, to prove her purity Sita entered the fire in your presence. The fire, the bearer of oblations, declared Maithili free of sin; the wind that ranges the sky declared it too, and the moon and the sun, in the presence of the gods, and before all the rishis, proclaimed the daughter of Janaka free of sin. In the presence of gods and gandharvas, in Lanka, she of pure conduct was placed by Mahendra into my hand; and my own inmost self knows that Sita is pure and glorious. Then I took Vaidehi and came to Ayodhya. But now in my heart there is this great rumor and this grief, this great slander of the townsfolk and the country. Whatever being’s disgrace is sung in the world, so long as the word of that disgrace is spoken, so long does that being fall into the lowest regions. The gods scorn disgrace, and it is fame that is honored in the worlds.
Best of men, all great souls strive for fame alone; out of dread of slander I could give up my own life, or even all of you, and how much more the daughter of Janaka. See me sunk in this ocean of sorrow; I see no grief greater than this. Lakshmana, tomorrow at dawn, seat Sita in the chariot driven by Sumantra and leave her beyond the border of the kingdom. On the far side of the Ganga is the divine-seeming hermitage of the great Valmiki, on the bank of the Tamasa; there, Raghunandana, in that lonely place near the hermitage, leave her and come back quickly. Do what I say, and give me no answer about Sita.
So go, and do not deliberate over it; any attempt by you to turn me from it will be most unwelcome to me. I lay upon you all an oath by my feet and by my life that whoever tries to talk me round with a word in the middle will be my ill-wisher, for he will thwart what I intend. If you stand by my command and would honor me, then take Sita from here this very day. She herself said to me before, I wish to see the hermitages on the bank of the Ganga; let this wish of hers now be fulfilled. So saying, the righteous Rama, his eyes veiled with tears, ringed by his brothers, his heart wrung with grief, sighing long like an elephant, withdrew into his inner apartments.
The key (a king’s dharma against a husband’s dharma): This is the hardest crisis of dharma in Rama’s life. He knows Sita is innocent; his own inmost self, and the witness of the gods, are proof of it. And yet a king’s dharma is to keep whole the faith and the ideal of his people, for the people follow whatever the king does. Here the struggle between Rama the husband and Rama the king reaches its height, and the king’s dharma wins, at the price of an ocean of grief in Rama’s heart.
The gist: This is the most disputed and the most deeply sorrowful decision in the Valmiki Ramayana. Rama binds his brothers with an oath that none may stop him, as though he knows that if he pauses even a moment his heart will put the decision off. Having given the order for the banishment, he withdraws, sighing like a broken elephant.
Lakshmana takes Sita toward the forest
When the night had passed, Lakshmana, wretched of spirit, his face gone dry, said to Sumantra: Charioteer, yoke swift horses to the finest chariot and set a beautiful seat in it for Sita; by the king’s command Sita is to be taken to the hermitages of the holy sages, so bring the chariot quickly. Sumantra said, So be it, and brought a chariot yoked with fine horses and fitted with a comfortable seat, and said to Lakshmana: Lord, the chariot has come; do what is to be done.
Then Lakshmana went into the palace, came to Sita, and said: Devi, you asked the king for the boon of seeing the hermitages; the king has granted it and ordered me to take you to them. Vaidehi, by our king’s command, come swiftly to the auspicious hermitages of the sages on the bank of the Ganga, to the forest where the sages dwell. Hearing the words of the noble Lakshmana, Vaidehi felt a matchless joy and wished to go. She took costly garments and many jewels and said, These ornaments and precious jewels I will give to the sages’ wives. Lakshmana approved her wish, seated Maithili in the chariot, and, remembering Rama’s command, set off with the swift horses.
On the way Sita said to Lakshmana, who increases fortune: Raghunandana, I see many ill omens; my right eye throbs, my limbs tremble, my heart feels unwell, and a great restlessness and unease grip me. Wide-eyed one, the earth seems empty. Brother-loving hero, may it be well with your brother; may all my mothers-in-law, and all the beings of the city and the countryside, be well too. So, with folded hands, Sita prayed to the gods. Lakshmana bowed his head to Maithili and, with a dry heart, said, May it be well, as though trying to seem glad.
They passed the night at a hermitage on the bank of the Gomati, and rising at dawn Lakshmana said to the charioteer: Yoke the chariot quickly; I will bear the water of the Bhagirathi on my head, as Tryambaka Shiva bears it. The charioteer yoked the wind-swift horses and asked Sita to mount; the large-eyed Sita mounted, and with Lakshmana and the wise Sumantra she reached the sin-cleansing Ganga. Traveling half a day, at the sight of the waters of the Bhagirathi the wretched Lakshmana broke into loud weeping.
Sita, who knew dharma, saw Lakshmana in his distress and said: Why do you weep? At this glad hour, on the very bank of the Ganga I have longed so long to reach, why do you make me sorrowful? Bull among men, you are always at Rama’s side; are you so stricken by two nights’ parting from him? Rama is dearer to me than my own life, and yet I do not grieve like this; do not you be so childish. I too long to see Rama, the lotus-eyed, the lion-chested, the slender-waisted. Then Lakshmana wiped his eyes and called the boatmen; they folded their hands and said, The boat is ready. Wishing to cross the Ganga, Lakshmana boarded the fair boat and carefully carried Sita across.
The gist: This passage of the journey is heavy with pathos, because Sita has no inkling of the truth. She is glad that her wish to see the hermitages is being granted, and she comforts the weeping Lakshmana, while Lakshmana is crushed under a weight he cannot speak. The ill omens and Sita’s innocent gladness move side by side.
Across the Ganga: Lakshmana speaks the truth
Rama’s younger brother Lakshmana first seated Maithili on the wide, well-fitted boat the Nishada had brought, and then boarded himself. He told Sumantra to wait on that bank with the chariot and ordered the boatman to row. Reaching the far bank of the Bhagirathi, Lakshmana, his eyes veiled with tears, folded his hands and said to Maithili: Daughter of Janaka, by this deed my heart is pierced with a great dart, and for its sake I am made blameworthy in the world. For such a deed, condemned by the world, death today, or a death still harder, would have been better for me; I should never have been set to this deed the world will blame. Fair one, do not count it my fault. So saying, Lakshmana fell to the ground with folded hands.
Seeing Lakshmana weeping, hands folded, wishing for his own death, Maithili was deeply troubled and said: What is this? I do not understand it; Lakshmana, tell me the truth. Neither do you seem well, nor does the king seem well. The king has laid some oath on you that torments you; speak the truth before me, I command you. Urged by Vaidehi, the wretched Lakshmana bowed his face and, his throat choked with tears, said: Daughter of Janaka, hearing a most cruel slander about you in the midst of the assembly, Rama, his heart burning for the sake of the city and the country, gave you into my charge and went into the palace. The words that pierced the king’s heart with indignation are not fit to be spoken before you, and so I do not speak them. Blameless Devi, out of dread of the slander the king has forsaken you, though the gods themselves proclaimed you innocent in my very presence; do not take it otherwise.
By the king’s command, and honoring the longing of a woman with child, I am to leave you near the hermitage. This bank of the Jahnavi is the holy, lovely penance-grove of the brahmarshis. Auspicious one, do not despair; here dwells the greatly renowned brahmarshi Valmiki, the dearest friend of my father king Dasharatha and the best of sages. Take refuge at his feet, and, keeping to fasts and to a settled mind, remembering Rama, holding to the vow of a faithful wife, keeping Rama forever in your heart, dwell here; and by doing so your highest good will come to you.
A sub-tale (Valmiki and Dasharatha’s friendship): Valmiki fashions here a moving coincidence: the hermitage where Sita is left in exile belongs to the sage Valmiki, the dearest friend of Rama’s father Dasharatha. And it is this same Valmiki who is the author of the whole Ramayana. The exiled Sita goes to the refuge of the very poet who will make her story, and her sons’ story, immortal.
The gist: This moment of truth is among the most heart-rending exchanges in the Ramayana. Lakshmana calls this deed the greatest dart of his life, and says death would have been better. And Sita, glad until now, learns the truth of her banishment in a single sentence.
Sita’s lament, and her message for Rama
Hearing Lakshmana’s cruel words, the daughter of Janaka fell into utter despair and dropped to the ground as if in a faint. After a moment she spoke, her eyes full of tears, in a wretched voice: Lakshmana, surely the maker fashioned this body of mine for sorrow alone, for today it seems the very image of sorrow. What sin did I commit before, whom did I part from his wife, that I, a chaste woman of pure conduct, should be forsaken by the king? Before, I followed at Rama’s feet and wished to dwell in the hermitages; in that hardship too I was with him. Now how am I to live in that hermitage alone, in the wilderness? When the sages ask, to whom shall I tell my sorrow, what misdeed shall I name, for what cause the noble Raghava has forsaken me?
Saumitra, I do not this day give up my life in the water of the Ganga, because by that the royal line of my husband would be broken, the child to come would be lost. Saumitra, carry out the king’s command, and leave me who am marked for sorrow; but hear this word of mine. Greet all my mothers-in-law without distinction, with folded hands and a bowed head, and wish them well. And give this message of mine to the king who stands firm in dharma: Raghunandana, just as you must remove the slander of the citizens, a wife too has her dharma; the husband is a woman’s god, her kinsman, and her guru, and so she must do what is dear to him even at the cost of her life.
Tell the king: As you deal with your brothers, so deal always with your people; this is the highest dharma, and from it will come matchless fame. Whatever fruit you gain from dealing rightly with your people, that will be the best for you. Bull among men, I do not grieve for my own body; the very slander out of dread of which you forsake me, King, I myself will remove, for you are my highest refuge. Tell all of this briefly to Rama. You have seen with your own eyes that I am with child.
Hearing this, the wretched Lakshmana bowed his head to the earth and could not speak; after thinking a moment, weeping again and again, he walked around Sita in reverence and said: Auspicious one, blameless one, I have never looked upon your face; your feet alone have been the object of my sight. How now am I to see you, left in this forest without Rama? So saying, and saluting her, Lakshmana boarded the boat, told the boatman to row, and reaching the northern bank, weighed down by his load of grief and dazed as if his wits had left him, mounted the chariot quickly; and turning back again and again to look at Sita, left forlorn, he drove away.
Watching the chariot and Lakshmana go, turning again and again, Sita was seized by grief. Bowed under her burden of sorrow, the glorious, faithful Sita, no longer seeing her lord, wept aloud in that forest ringing with the cries of peacocks.
The gist: The greatness of Sita’s lament lies in her message. Even forsaken, she casts no blame on Rama; instead she reminds the king of a king’s dharma, deal with your people as with your brothers. She does not take her own life, so that the line in her womb may not be destroyed. And Lakshmana’s words, that he has never looked on Sita’s face, only her feet, are the fullest proof of a brother-in-law’s spotless heart.
Valmiki’s shelter
The young ascetics of the hermitage saw Sita weeping and ran to Valmiki, whose austerities had given him a divine sight. Touching the sage’s feet, the sons of the hermits said: Lord, on the bank of the river a woman we have never seen before, most excellent, the wife of some great man, lovely as Lakshmi, is weeping alone, her face disfigured with grief. She is not worthy of such sorrow and ought not to be left forlorn; she does not seem to us a mortal woman. She is not far from the hermitage; she has come to your refuge and wants a protector; protect her. Hearing this, Valmiki, the knower of dharma, who by his austerities already knew all, took the water of welcome and, with his disciples, went barefoot and swift to the bank of the Ganga, and saw Sita, the seemingly unsheltered wife of Raghava, lamenting.
Valmiki, foremost of sages, his heart made cool by the power of his austerities, spoke sweetly to the grieving Sita: You are the daughter-in-law of Dasharatha, the beloved queen of Rama, and the daughter of king Janaka; faithful wife, welcome. By my settled contemplation I knew of your coming beforehand, and the cause of it too has been marked in my heart. Blessed lady, your purity is truly known to me; whatever is in the three worlds is known to me. With the sight my austerities have given me, I know you to be without sin. Vaidehi, put away all fear; you are now under my protection. Near the hermitage are ascetic women given to austerity; child, they will cherish you always like a daughter. Accept this water of welcome, be at ease, be free of fear; as if you had come to your own home, do not despair. Hearing these wondrous words, Sita bowed her head, folded her hands, and said, So be it.
Sita followed the sage with folded hands as he went toward the hermitage. Seeing him come, the sages’ wives came gladly to welcome him and said: Best of sages, welcome; you have come after a long while; we all bow to you; tell us, what shall we do? Valmiki said: This is Sita, Rama’s wife, Dasharatha’s daughter-in-law, Janaka’s chaste daughter. She is without sin, forsaken by her husband, and she will always be under my protection. Look upon her with the deepest love; give her the honor you give me, for she is especially worthy of the honor of all of you. Entrusting Sita to the ascetic women again and again in this way, the greatly renowned, greatly austere sage Valmiki returned with his disciples to his hermitage.
The gist: Valmiki’s shelter is like a mother’s home for Sita. By his austerities the sage already knows everything, her purity and the reason for her coming, and so, without asking a single question, he gives her a daughter’s place. Here Sita’s two sons, Lava and Kusha, will be born, and here the Ramayana will be composed.
Lakshmana and Sumantra: a glimpse of fate
Seeing Sita enter the hermitage, the wretched Lakshmana fell into deep distress and said to the skilled charioteer Sumantra: Charioteer, see the grief that Sita’s parting has brought upon Rama. What sorrow could be greater for Raghava than to forsake his own wife, the daughter of Janaka, of pure conduct? I see clearly that this parting of Raghava from Vaidehi is from destiny alone; destiny is never to be overcome. The Raghava who in anger could destroy the gods with the gandharvas and the asuras with the rakshasas is himself subject to destiny. Before, by his father’s word, Rama lived fourteen years in the lonely forest of Dandaka; now, hearing the cruel words of the citizens, this second banishment of Sita seems harder still. Charioteer, in this fame-destroying deed of banishing Sita for the base talk of the citizens, what refuge is there in dharma?
Hearing these many words of Lakshmana, the wise Sumantra said with reverence: Saumitra, you must not grieve over Sita; this was foreseen long ago, before your father, by the brahmanas who read the stars. Rama will surely be given to sorrow, poor in happiness, and will soon be parted from his loved ones; the noble, great Rama will, after a long time, forsake you, and Maithili, and Shatrughna and Bharata too; such was the prophecy. Saumitra, the word Durvasa spoke before the king was not fit to be told to you or to Bharata; the sage’s word was spoken in the presence of a great gathering, and of me and of Vasishtha. Hearing the sage’s word, king Dasharatha said to me: Charioteer, never speak this among any of my people. I will never make the word of that king, a guardian of the world, false; that is my resolve. Gentle one, before you too I ought by no means to speak it; but if you have a mind to hear, then hear. Though the king told me the secret before, I will tell it, for destiny is never to be overcome. This grievous sorrow has come from that destiny; do not speak of it before Bharata and Shatrughna. Hearing that grave and weighty word, Saumitra said to the charioteer, Speak the truth.
The gist: Sumantra answers Lakshmana’s anguish with the secret of destiny. This parting is no accident; the sage Durvasa foretold it in the time of king Dasharatha. Valmiki here binds the sorrowful events into a larger wheel of fate, so that even Rama’s hard decision may appear a part of a foreordained order.
The curse of Bhrigu: Vishnu’s human birth
Urged by Lakshmana, the charioteer began to recite the word the sage Durvasa had spoken: In an earlier age the great sage Durvasa, son of Atri, spent the four months of the rains in the holy hermitage of Vasishtha. Your greatly renowned father Dasharatha went there himself to see the priest Vasishtha. He saw, seated at Vasishtha’s left, the great sage Durvasa, splendid as the sun, and bowed humbly to both of those best of ascetics. Both welcomed the king and honored him with a seat, with water for his feet, and with roots and fruit. At midday, when sweet talk passed among those great sages, the king folded his hands and asked Durvasa, the son of Atri: Lord, how long will my line endure? How long will Rama live, and how long my other sons, and how long the sons that will be born to Rama? I wish you to tell me the course of this line of mine.
Hearing king Dasharatha’s word, the greatly splendid Durvasa said: King, listen to what happened long ago in the war of the gods and the demons. Reviled by the gods, the Daityas took refuge with the wife of Bhrigu, and, given her promise of safety, lived there without fear. Seeing them protected by his wife, the enraged lord of the gods, Vishnu, cut off the head of Bhrigu’s wife with his sharp-edged discus. Seeing his wife slain, the enraged Bhrigu at once cursed Vishnu, the destroyer of the enemies’ line: as you in the madness of anger have killed my wife, who ought not to have been killed, so, Janardana, you will be born in the world of men, and there for many years you will suffer separation from your wife.
Then Vishnu, endowed with self-mastery, was troubled in mind by the curse. Bhrigu, pained by the curse, worshipped that god; and the god, loving to his devotees, worshipped by austerity, took the curse upon himself for the good of the worlds. King, that greatly splendid Vishnu, cursed in a former birth by Bhrigu, has come here to the state of being your son, and is renowned in the three worlds by the name of Rama. He will bear the great fruit of that curse, the parting from Sita. Rama will long be lord of Ayodhya, and after ruling for ten thousand years and ten hundred years, and performing many rich horse-sacrifices, and founding many royal lines, he will at the last go to the world of Brahma. Raghava will have two sons by Sita; and Raghava will consecrate both his sons, but not in Ayodhya, elsewhere; so the sage said. Having told all this, the greatly splendid Durvasa fell silent, and king Dasharatha bowed to the two noble sages and returned to Ayodhya.
Sumantra said: This word the sage spoke I heard and held in my heart; it will not be otherwise. In this state of things, Raghava, you must not grieve; for Sita’s sake, or for Raghava’s, best of men, be firm. Hearing the charioteer’s wondrous word, Lakshmana felt a matchless joy and cried, Well said, well said. So, speaking together on the road, the charioteer and Lakshmana came to the setting of the sun, and both took their night’s rest on the bank of the Keshini river.
The key (Bhrigu’s curse): This sub-tale binds Sita’s separation to a deep mythic cause. For the killing of Bhrigu’s wife, Bhrigu cursed Vishnu to be born in human form and to bear separation from his wife. Rama is the avatar of Vishnu, and so Sita’s parting is the fruit of that ancient curse. In modern terms, ten thousand and ten hundred years means a reign of eleven thousand years, a sign of a long and ideal rule.
A sub-tale: This story of Bhrigu’s curse is told in the Vaishnava tradition as the cause of Vishnu’s many descents. Notice that Valmiki sets it in the mouth of Durvasa, as a prophecy spoken in the court of king Dasharatha, a story within the story. This is a mark of Valmiki’s way of shaping history: threading a sorrowful event into the order of fate.
Lakshmana’s return, and Rama’s consoling
Having spent the night on the bank of the Keshini, Lakshmana rose at dawn and set out for Ayodhya. At midday the great warrior Lakshmana entered Ayodhya, rich in jewels and thronged with well-fed folk. Going toward Rama’s feet, thinking, What shall I say, he sank into the deepest wretchedness. Rama’s palace, gentle as the moon, most generous, came before him. Head bowed, wretched in mind, Lakshmana went in unhindered and saw his elder brother seated on the high seat, wretched, his eyes full of tears. Clasping Rama’s feet, mastering himself somehow, he folded his hands and said in a wretched voice: Hero, keeping your command before me, I have left Sita, the daughter of Janaka, of pure conduct, renowned among faithful wives, at the auspicious hermitage of Valmiki on the bank of the Ganga, as you directed, and have come back to the service of your feet.
Then Lakshmana comforted Rama: Tiger among men, do not grieve; such is the way of time. Men as wise and strong-minded as you do not grieve. All that is gathered ends in loss, all that rises ends in a fall, every union ends in parting, and life ends in death; and so it is not right to be too attached to sons, wife, friends, or wealth, for parting from them is certain. You are able by your mind alone to master your mind, and all the worlds; why then this grief for yourself? Raghava, the very slander out of dread of which you forsook Maithili will come back again into the city, of that there is no doubt. Men as excellent as you are not deluded in such matters. So, tiger among men, with patience be alert, cast off this feeble thought, and grieve no more.
At these words of the noble Lakshmana, Rama, the delight of his line, who loved his friends, said with the deepest affection: Best of men, Lakshmana, it is just as you say; my contentment lies in the keeping of my duty. Gentle one, by your fine words my grief has lifted and my sorrow is gone; I have come to myself again.
The gist: Here the roles turn. The Lakshmana who broke down on the bank of the Ganga now steadies Rama with a teaching on impermanence. All that is gathered ends in loss, rising in a fall, union in parting, life in death; this thread of detachment, even in the midst of grief, settles Rama back into his duty.
The story of king Nriga: the price of neglecting the people’s business
Hearing Lakshmana’s wondrous words, the well-pleased Rama said: Gentle one, at this hour a wise, mind-following kinsman like you is rare. I will tell you what is in my heart; hear it and do my word. Gentle one, four days have passed and I have not attended to the people’s business; that neglect cuts me to the quick. Let my people, my priests, my ministers, and the men and women who have business with me be summoned. The king who does not attend day by day to his people’s business falls, without a doubt, into a terrible airless hell.
Rama told a story: In an earlier age there was a greatly renowned king named Nriga, devoted to brahmanas, truthful, and pure. Once, at the sacred pool of Pushkara, he gave to the brahmanas millions of cows adorned with gold, together with their calves. Among that herd, the cow of a poor brahmana, a keeper of the sacred fire who lived by gleaning fallen grain, was touched by mistake and given away in the gift, together with her calf. Tormented by hunger, that brahmana searched for his lost cow for many years through all the kingdoms and did not find her. At last, going to Kanakhala, he saw his own healthy cow with her full-grown calf in the house of another brahmana. He called his cow by her name, Shabala; the cow knew the voice and walked behind the hungry brahmana who shone like fire. The brahmana who had reared her came quickly behind and said to the sage, This is my cow. The other said, This cow was given to me, touched by the royal lion Nriga. A great dispute arose between the two learned brahmanas.
Disputing, the two came to Nriga, the giver, and stood at the gate of the palace, but by Nriga’s own order they were not admitted. After waiting many days and nights, they grew angry, and in deep torment laid a terrible curse: Because you do not grant sight to those who come with business for their business to be settled, you will become a lizard and dwell in a pit for many thousands of years, unseen by all beings. In this world Vasudeva, Vishnu in the form of a man, will be born, the increaser of the fame of the Yadu line; King, he will free you from the curse, and then you will be delivered; to take the burden from the earth, both Nara and Narayana will be born with great might in the Kali age. Having laid this curse, the two brahmanas gave that weak old cow to yet another brahmana.
So Nriga bore that dreadful curse. The neglect of the disputes of those who come with business is a fault in kings; and so, Saumitra, let those who have business come quickly for my audience. The king who does a good deed but does not grasp its fruit is destroyed; so go, and attend to the people who come with business.
The key (a lesson in a king’s dharma): The story of Nriga comes at once after the crisis in which Rama was turned from the people’s business for four days. The message is plain: a king’s highest duty is to hear the appeals of his people; even a great giver of gifts who neglects it becomes the object of a curse. The prophecy that Vasudeva Krishna will free Nriga binds this story to the descents that are to come.
The gist: Rising from the grief of Sita’s parting, Rama turns at once to a king’s dharma; that is his character. The story of Nriga is a mirror for him and for Lakshmana: however deep the private grief, the people’s business cannot be halted for even a day.
Nriga enters the pit
Hearing Rama’s word, Lakshmana, who knew the highest good, folded his hands and said: Kakutstha, for so slight an offense the two brahmanas laid on Nriga a curse cruel as the rod of Yama. Hearing himself charged with sin, what did king Nriga say to those angry brahmanas? Rama went on: Gentle one, hear what that curse-stricken king said. Learning that the two brahmanas had gone on their way, Nriga summoned his priest, his ministers, the merchants, and all his people, and said in sorrow: Hear me all of you, be attentive. Narada and Parvata, those two blessed, blameless divine sages, have laid great fear upon me and gone off, swift as the wind, to the third heaven, the world of Brahma. Let this prince Vasu be consecrated now. Let my craftsmen make a comfortable pit where I may pass the time of the curse the brahmanas have laid, one pit to guard from the rain, another from the cold, and a comfortable pit to guard from the heat. Let trees laden with fruit and flowering creepers and shady thickets be planted around the pits; let the pits be made lovely on every side. For a yojana and a half around me let there be fragrant flowers always.
Having made this arrangement, Nriga seated Vasu on the throne and said: Son, standing always in dharma, protect the people by the dharma of a kshatriya. Before your very eyes the two brahmanas laid a curse on me, best of men, for so slight an offense; so, bull among men, do not grieve for me. Son, the ordainer of fate, who has cast me into calamity, is skilled; a man gets only what is to be gotten, goes only where he is to go, gains only what is to be gained; all the sorrows and joys that come from a former birth come of themselves; so, child, do not despair. So saying, the greatly renowned king Nriga went to dwell in that well-made pit, and entering that vast pit set with great jewels, he began to bear the fruit of the curse the brahmanas’ wrath had given.
The gist: Nriga accepts the curse without anger and, giving his son a teaching on fate, hands over the kingdom: a man gets only what is to be gotten. This spirit of detachment is a reflection of Rama’s own crisis: to accept destiny with an even mind is itself dharma.
King Nimi and Vasishtha curse each other
Hearing this dreadful story of Nriga’s curse, Rama said: Lakshmana, if you have a mind to hear more, hear another story. Lakshmana said: King, I am not satisfied by such wondrous stories. Then Rama, the delight of the Ikshvakus, began a most righteous tale: Nimi, the twelfth son of the great Ikshvakus, was a king settled in valor and in dharma. That valorous king founded, near the hermitage of Gautama, a city fair as the city of the gods, whose auspicious name was Vaijayanta, after the palace of Indra. Having founded the great city, Nimi conceived the wish to perform a long sacrificial session to please his father.
Then, with the leave of Ikshvaku the son of Manu, Nimi first chose the best of brahmarshis, Vasishtha, as his priest, and then invited the treasuries of austerity, Atri, Angiras, and Bhrigu. But Vasishtha said: Indra has already chosen me; so wait some while, until Indra’s sacrifice is done. In the meanwhile the great brahmana Gautama filled the place of priest at Nimi’s sacrifice, and the greatly splendid Vasishtha performed Indra’s sacrifice. When Indra’s sacrifice was over, the blameless sage Vasishtha came to officiate at Nimi’s sacrifice, and saw that the time he had left had been taken by Gautama. At this the son of Brahma, Vasishtha, was greatly enraged.
Wishing to see the king, Vasishtha sat a while; but that day sleep pressed hard upon the royal sage Nimi. Unable to meet the king, the noble Vasishtha grew angry and said: King, because you slighted me and chose another, your body will be left without consciousness. Waking and hearing the curse, the king, fainting with anger, said to Vasishtha the son of Brahma: You have burned me, who slept and knew nothing of your coming, with the fire of a curse cruel as the rod of Yama, darkened as you were by anger; so, brahmarshi, this fair body of yours too will be left without consciousness, of that there is no doubt. So, cursing each other in wrath, that great king and that great brahmana both at once became bodiless, and their power remained as it was.
The gist: This story shows the inescapability of a curse and the ruinous power of anger. A small slip, a lapse in timing and a spell of sleep, carries two great men to the point of cursing each other, and both give up their bodies. From this will come, further on, the tale of the line of Janaka and the rebirth of Vasishtha.
Vasishtha’s rebirth, and the tale of Urvashi
Hearing this word of Rama, Lakshmana, the slayer of hostile heroes, folded his hands and asked: Kakutstha, having given up their bodies, how were those brahmana and king, held in honor by the gods, joined again with bodies? Rama told him: Having given up their bodies by the mutual curse, the righteous royal sage and the austere brahmarshi became wind. The bodiless great sage Vasishtha went to his father Brahma to gain another body, and bowing at the feet of the god of gods, said in his wind-form: God of gods, born of the cosmic egg, by Nimi’s curse I have become bodiless and turned to wind. Great sorrow comes to all beings that are without a body; all the acts of the bodiless are lost; so be gracious, that I may find a new body. Then the boundlessly splendid Brahma, the self-born, said: Greatly renowned one, enter the semen of Mitra and Varuna; there too you will be born without a womb, and, endowed with great dharma, you will come again into my keeping. So saying, Vasishtha walked around Brahma in reverence and went swiftly to the world of Varuna.
At that time Mitra too shared the seat of Varuna, the lord of the ocean of milk, and was worshipped by the kings of the gods. Just then the great apsara Urvashi came there by chance with her friends. Seeing the beautiful Urvashi at play in the ocean of milk, Varuna was filled with the deepest joy. That best of apsaras, with eyes like lotus-petals and a face like the full moon, Varuna chose for union. Urvashi folded her hands and answered: Lord of the gods, I have already been chosen by Mitra himself. Pierced by the arrows of love, Varuna said: Fair-hipped, fair-complexioned one, I will release this seed of mine into this god-made pitcher; so my desire will be accomplished, if you do not wish for union. Hearing this, Urvashi was well pleased and said: So let it be; my heart is set on you and I feel more for you, but, Lord, my body is Mitra’s. Hearing this, Varuna released into that pitcher his great and wondrous seed, bright as blazing fire.
Urvashi went to where the god Mitra was. Mitra, greatly enraged, said: I chose you first; so, wanton one, why did you leave me and choose another for a husband? For this misdeed, darkened by my anger, you will dwell some while in the world of men. Go to the royal sage Pururava, lord of Kashi, the true-born son of Budha; he will be your husband. Then, by the fault of the curse, Urvashi went to Pururava the son of Budha, who ruled in the city of Pratishthana. By him she bore a mighty son named Ayu, whose son was Nahusha, splendid as Indra. When Indra, wearied after hurling his thunderbolt at Vritra, left his post, Nahusha ruled the office of Indra for a hundred thousand years. The fair-toothed, fair-eyed Urvashi lived by that curse many years on the earth, and when the curse was spent returned to the world of Indra.
The key (birth without a womb): The word rendered here means not born from a mother’s womb. Vasishtha’s rebirth comes from the seed of Mitra and Varuna, in a god-made pitcher, without a womb; and from this joins, further on, the tale of the birth from a pitcher of Agastya and Vasishtha. This story is bound to the account of Sita’s parting because here the origin of Vasishtha, the family-guru of the Ikshvaku line, is being told.
The birth of Vasishtha and Agastya, and the beginning of the line of Janaka
Hearing that wondrous, divine tale, the well-pleased Lakshmana asked again: Kakutstha, having given up their bodies, how were the brahmana Vasishtha and the king Nimi, held in honor by the gods, joined again with bodies? Rama, true in his valor, told the tale of the noble Vasishtha: Best of the Raghus, there was that pitcher filled with the seed of the two noble ones, Mitra and Varuna; and in it two splendid, excellent sages were born. From the pitcher first the lord Agastya was born, and saying, I am not your son, he left Mitra and went away. That was the seed of Mitra, released first in the presence of Urvashi, and to it in the pitcher the seed of Varuna had been added. After some time was born the splendid Vasishtha, sprung from Mitra and Varuna, who became the family-guru of the Ikshvakus. That blameless Vasishtha, as soon as he was born, the greatly splendid Ikshvaku chose as his priest for the good of his line.
Rama said: Gentle one, so I have told you the coming forth of Vasishtha with his wondrous body; now hear what became of Nimi. Seeing the king bodiless, all the sage-thinkers took the sacrificial vow and completed the sacrifice. The best of brahmanas, with the citizens and the servants, kept the king’s body preserved with scents, garlands, and cloths. At the end of the sacrifice, Bhrigu said: King, I am pleased; I will restore your consciousness. And all the gods, well pleased, said to the consciousness of Nimi: Royal sage, ask a boon; where shall your consciousness dwell? The consciousness of Nimi said: Best of gods, let me dwell in the eyes, the eyelids, of all beings. The gods said: So let it be; in wind-form you will move in the eyes of all beings; and to give you rest, lord of the earth, beings will blink their eyelids again and again over you who move ever in wind-form. And so the word for the blinking of an eye is joined to the name of Nimi.
So saying, all the gods returned as they had come. The noble sages took the body of the childless Nimi and, with power, churned it in the arani, the fire-sticks, with the offering of mantras. From the arani, as it was churned, a greatly austere son came forth; and because he was born of Videha, the bodiless one, he was called Vaideha; because he was born of the churning, Mithi; and because he was born in a wondrous way, Janaka. So the first king of the Videhas was Janaka, renowned by the name of Mithi, the greatly splendid, and from him ran the line of the Maithilas. Rama said: Gentle one, so I have told you in full the wondrous cause, the birth of Vasishtha from the curse of Nimi, and of king Nimi from the curse of Vasishtha.
The key (three names, one birth): The son of Nimi was known by three names: Vaideha, born of the bodiless Videha; Mithi, born of the churning; and Janaka, born in a wondrous, uncommon way. From these came the beginning of Mithila and of the line of Janaka, the very line in which Sita was born. Note that Rama is telling this whole chain of stories to Lakshmana after the grief of Sita’s parting, and so the origin of the line of Janaka joins in here of itself.
The gist: The height of this chain of curse and rebirth is that from it come the births of both Vasishtha, the guru of the Ikshvakus, and Janaka, the ancestor of Sita. In the midst of grief, Valmiki threads these stories to show that every great line and bond in creation is bound by some curse, some austerity, or some ordinance of fate.
The curse of Shukra: king Yayati
When Rama had spoken thus, Lakshmana, the slayer of hostile heroes, splendid with his own light, said to the noble Rama: Tiger among kings, what befell the bodiless Vasishtha and Videha in ancient days is truly wonderful and a great marvel. Nimi was a kshatriya, a hero, and specially consecrated; and yet the king did not do rightly in failing to forgive the noble Vasishtha. Hearing this, Rama, bull among kshatriyas, said to Lakshmana, skilled in all the scriptures: Hero, forbearance is not seen in all men. Saumitra, be attentive and hear how Yayati, taking refuge in a course full of the quality of goodness, quieted an unbearable wrath.
King Yayati, son of Nahusha, was the increaser of the Pauravas. He had two wives, matchless on earth in beauty. One was Sharmishtha, daughter of Vrishaparva, granddaughter of Diti, to whom the royal sage Yayati gave much honor; the other was Devayani, daughter of Ushanas, that is Shukracharya, who, though beautiful, was not dear to the king. Both bore fair, well-mannered sons: Sharmishtha bore Puru, and Devayani bore Yadu. Puru, by his virtues and by his mother’s side, was dear to the king. Grieved at this, Yadu said to his mother: Devi, born though you are in the line of the Bhargava, the son of Bhrigu, you bear this mental sorrow and this unbearable insult. Let us both enter the fire together; let the king take his pleasure with Sharmishtha, the daughter of a Daitya. If you can bear it, give me leave to go; you can bear it, I cannot; I will surely die.
Hearing the words of her deeply grieved, weeping son, Devayani in her anger remembered her father. Knowing his daughter’s state of mind, the Bhargava Shukra came swiftly to where Devayani was. Seeing her unlike herself, unhappy, and as if senseless, her father asked: What is this? Asked again and again, the angry Devayani said to her father: Best of sages, I will enter fire, or sharp poison, or water; I cannot live. You do not know how sorrowful and how insulted I am, brahmana. As by the neglect of a tree the things that live upon it, its leaves and flowers, perish, so the royal sage Yayati by his contempt dishonors me, holds me in contempt, and does not think me worthy of honor.
Hearing this word of Devayani, the Bhargava, ringed with wrath, began to curse Yayati the son of Nahusha: Son of Nahusha, because you hold me in contempt, evil-souled one, you will be worn out with age and old age and reduced to feebleness. Having laid this curse, and having comforted his daughter, the greatly renowned brahmarshi Bhargava returned to his own house. Those best of the twice-born, radiant as the sun, having comforted Devayani and cursed Yayati the son of Nahusha, went away again.
The key (Yadu and Puru): Yadu, born of Devayani, became the root of the Yadu line, in which Krishna would come; and Puru, born of Sharmishtha, became the root of the Paurava line, in which the Kauravas and Pandavas would come. Yayati receives from Shukracharya the curse of old age; this story is expanded in the Mahabharata, where Yayati asks his sons to take his old age in exchange for their youth. This canto holds only the starting-point of that tale; Rama begins to tell it to Lakshmana as an example of how to conquer wrath by the quality of goodness.
The gist: Discoursing on anger and forbearance, Rama begins to tell Lakshmana the example of Yayati. The chain of curses runs on here too, as Shukracharya’s angry word lays the curse of old age on Yayati. After the great crisis of dharma in Sita’s banishment, born of the people’s slander, Valmiki uses these exchanges of Rama and Lakshmana to raise again and again the deep questions of anger, forbearance, fate, and a king’s dharma, as though the echo of that one hard decision were sounding through all the stories.
Source: Srimad Valmiki Ramayana, Uttarakanda, Cantos 37-59 (Gita Press, Gorakhpur).
Basis: Valmiki Ramayana (Gita Press, Gorakhpur)