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Ayodhya woke that morning into the wait for a dawn that would change its future forever. Bharata and Shatrughna had gone away to their mother’s people. The aged emperor Dasharatha, looking at Rama, the eldest of his four sons, had come to a deep decision. With the shadow of age on his body and the first whispers of dark omens moving across the sky, he called an assembly of kings and ministers and announced that tomorrow, in the hour of the Pushya star, Rama would be consecrated as prince regent. From this moment the festival begins, the festival in which a whole city sinks into rejoicing at the mere thought of the coronation of the prince it loves.
Four sons, and the resolve in Dasharatha’s heart
In those days, when Bharata set out for his uncle’s house, he took with him the sinless Shatrughna, the destroyer of enemies, who loved him and would not be parted from him. There, welcomed with every hospitality by their maternal uncle Yudhajit, a lord of horses, and fondled with a father’s tenderness, Bharata settled in with his younger brother. Filled though they were with every pleasure they could wish for, the two gallant brothers kept remembering their aged father, King Dasharatha. And far away in Ayodhya the emperor of great splendor remembered those two absent sons, Bharata and Shatrughna, who in prowess were the equals of Mahendra, the king of the gods, and of Varuna, the lord of the waters.
All four princes were equally dear to Dasharatha, as though they were four arms grown from his own body. Yet among them it was Rama of the great splendor who gave his father the deepest joy, and who stood above the rest in every virtue, as Brahma the self-born stands first among all created beings. For it was the eternal Lord Vishnu himself who, entreated by the gods to destroy the arrogant Ravana, had come down into the world of men in the form of Rama. In this son of measureless radiance Kausalya shone as Aditi had shone when she gave birth to Indra, the wielder of the thunderbolt.
Rama was rich in beauty and in courage, and he never went looking for faults in anyone. As a son he had no equal on earth, and in character he was the living image of Dasharatha himself. His mind rested always in a deep calm. He would speak first, and gently, without being addressed, and if someone spoke to him harshly, he returned no harsh word. A single small kindness, done once, was enough to content him, while his mastery of himself let a hundred injuries slip from his memory. Even in the hours of rest that his training in arms allowed him, he chose to spend his talk only with elders who surpassed him in conduct, in learning, and in years.
He was clever and sweet of speech, the first to open a conversation and a pleasure to hear, and for all his enormous strength he never once boasted of it. He never told an untruth. He was learned, he honored his elders, and the people were bound to him in love as he was bound to them. He was gentle in heart, a conqueror of his own anger, a worshiper of the brahmanas, merciful to the helpless, a knower of dharma (the moral law), forever holding himself in check, and pure within and without.
His mind, worthy of the house he was born into, held the kshatra-dharma, the sacred duty of a warrior, in the highest regard, and he prized above all else the great reward of heaven that flows from it. Any act that brought no good he had no taste for, and his heart would not settle on anything that ran against dharma. In laying out argument and counter-argument he was the equal of Vachaspati, the lord of speech. Free of illness, young, eloquent, well built in body, a knower of place and season, he was the one truly good man in the world who could read the worth of every person who came before him.
The gist: Bharata and Shatrughna are away at their mother’s family home. All four sons are as dear to Dasharatha as his own four arms, yet the eldest, Rama, complete in every virtue, stands first among them. Valmiki pauses here to count out Rama’s qualities at length, and lets slip at the same time that this is Vishnu himself, come down to destroy Ravana.
The home of all virtues, and the earth’s longing
Rama had studied all the Vedas, each with its auxiliary branches, exactly as they should be studied, and had completed his vows in every science and discipline. In the archer’s craft, and in the missiles that are loosed by the power of mantra, he had surpassed even his father Dasharatha, who was himself an archer without a rival. He knew the true nature of dharma, artha, and kama, the three aims of a full life. His memory was sharp, his sight subtle, and he was as skilled in the ways of the world as he was practiced in the acts laid down by the Vedas. He was modest. He kept his feelings and his counsels hidden, and he gathered many able helpers around him. His anger and his favor never fell in vain, and he understood the right moment to loosen the purse and the right moment to hold it closed.
His devotion was firm and his judgment steady. He would not gather the unworthy about him, nor let a coarse word leave his mouth. Free of sloth and of carelessness, he could see the flaws in himself as clearly as in others. He knew the scriptures, he never forgot a good turn, and he could read the inner mind of men. In punishment and in mercy alike he weighed each case by justice. Born into a house that worked for the welfare of all, saintly, never brought low, truthful and plain-dealing, Rama had been carefully schooled by the finest brahmanas, men who kept their eyes on both dharma and worldly gain. He understood where wealth comes from, and he had mastered the art of spending it as the scriptures direct.
A sub-tale: on the matter of a king’s treasury, the Mahabharata has Narada put a question to Yudhishthira. Does your spending, he asks, stay within a half, a quarter, or three quarters of what you take in, and never more? The Bhagavata too lays down a rule for the householder: divide your income into five parts, and lay them out on dharma, on lasting fame, on further wealth, on your own enjoyment, and on the care of those who depend on you. This whole science of royal finance came to Rama as easily as breathing.
He was at home in the many shastras and in the works composed in mixed speech, the plays and the like. He tasted the pleasures of life while keeping dharma and artha whole, and he never sank into idleness. He knew the arts that give delight, the proper sharing out of wealth, and the mounting and mastering of elephants and horses. Foremost among those who knew the science of the bow, he was counted in the world among the atirathas, the warriors who could stand alone against a host of great chariot-fighters. He knew how to break into an enemy’s fortress, how to press an attack in battle, and how to draw up an army in its formations. Gods and demons themselves, roused to fury, could not have beaten him in the field. He was without an eye for others’ faults, a master of his anger, never proud and never envious.
No living creature could look on him with contempt, and even Time held no dominion over him. Endowed with these highest of virtues, this son of Dasharatha was honored not in Ayodhya alone but through all three worlds. In patience and its kindred graces he matched the earth, in wisdom he matched Brihaspati, and in valor he matched Indra, the consort of Shachi. As the sun blazes with its rays, so Rama shone with all these qualities, giving joy to his father, beloved of every citizen of Ayodhya. Such a protector, mighty as the guardians of the worlds and rich in the finest character, the earth-goddess herself longed to have as her own defender.
Looking on his eldest son, so richly clothed in these matchless virtues, King Dasharatha, tamer of foes, began to turn a question over in his mind. “How, while I still live, might Rama become king? How can that be brought about? This is the one longing that circles in my heart, that I should see my beloved son consecrated before my eyes. He is merciful to every creature and wishes the good of all, and to me he is dearer than the world itself, dear as the rain-heavy cloud is dear to the parched earth. In prowess he is the equal of Yama and Indra, in wisdom the equal of Brihaspati, in steadiness the equal of a mountain, and in virtue he has grown greater even than I am. If I could see this son of mine ruling the whole earth while I yet stand here, I would go to heaven a contented man.”
Having weighed all this, and looking on a Rama endowed with these many qualities and with countless other gifts beyond the reach of ordinary kings, the emperor took counsel with his ministers and made his resolve: he would consecrate his son as prince regent. The wise old king spoke to those ministers of his fear of the fierce portents that were breaking out in the sky, in the middle air, and on the earth, and of the age that was creeping over his body. From those same ministers he learned how deeply the people loved the great-souled Rama, whose face was full as the moon, and that knowledge quieted the grief in the emperor’s heart.
A note on the Pushya star and the sacred hour: in old India the choice of the lunar mansion mattered greatly for an auspicious act such as a coronation. The Pushya star is held to be the most favorable of all for any undertaking. It is this Pushya hour that Dasharatha now fixes for the consecration, and the very next day the astrologers announce that the conjunction is certain.
As soon as the right moment came, the righteous king, who sought the good of his people and of all, urged his ministers to move quickly. The lord of the earth sent word to the citizens of many towns and to the leading men of the various provinces to come to his capital. He received them as they deserved, with robes and ornaments, and, decked in his own finery, he looked on them as Brahma the lord of creatures looks on his children. Yet in his haste he sent no summons to the king of the Kekayas, nor to Janaka the lord of Mithila. He soothed his own mind with the thought that these two would hear the happy news soon enough afterward.
A sub-tale: behind that decision not to summon the Kekaya king and Janaka lay a hidden reason. Had the two of them come, Bharata and Shatrughna would surely have traveled with their grandfather, and with all of them present Rama’s consecration would have gone through without a hitch. Then Rama would never have gone to the forest, and the whole purpose of the descent of Vishnu would have come to nothing. The tradition holds that, to steer past exactly this danger, the gods turned Dasharatha’s mind, so that he sent no invitation to these, his nearest kin.
The moment the emperor, conqueror of hostile cities, took his seat, the other kings, honored throughout the world, entered the hall as well and settled onto the many seats he had set out for them, facing him in disciplined silence. Ringed by those courteous, well-received kings and by the leading men who had come from Ayodhya and the other provinces, all seated close so as to catch his every word, the emperor Dasharatha shone like thousand-eyed Indra amid the gods.
The gist: seeing the countless virtues in Rama, Dasharatha resolves to make him prince regent and calls an assembly of kings and provincial chiefs, yet after due thought he sends no invitation to the Kekaya king or to Janaka. In the hall the emperor shines like Indra.
Dasharatha’s announcement in the assembly, and the consent of all
Turning to that whole assembly, the lord of the earth, his voice deep and echoing like the boom of a war-drum, rolling out like a thundercloud, marked with every sign of kingship, lovely and matchless and steeped in feeling, spoke to the kings these words, clear and meant for their good. “You all know how this fine kingdom of mine was cherished in every way, as one cherishes a son, by the great kings who came before me. I too, following the path my forefathers walked, have watched over my people to the limit of my strength, never sleeping when their safety asked me to wake.
“In the shade of the white umbrella, laboring for the good of the whole world, this body of mine has worn thin. It has lived thousands of years and run through many full spans of a human life, a hundred years to each, and now I wish to give it rest. This heavy yoke of dharma, this burden of rule that only kingly power can carry and that crushes any man who has not conquered his senses, I have borne until I am weary. I would set my eldest son Rama over the welfare of the people, and with the leave of all these noble brahmanas seated beside me, I would now take my rest.
“My eldest son Rama has grown to be my equal in every virtue, a match for Indra in valor and a conqueror of enemy cities. Radiant as the moon when it stands in the Pushya star, first among all who uphold dharma, this best of men I mean to consecrate as prince regent tomorrow at dawn. Rama, the elder brother of Lakshmana, blessed with every fortune, is a lord worthy of you all. Under such a lord the three worlds themselves would rest more safely than they do today. If I set this blessing swiftly upon the earth and lay the weight of rule on this son of mine, my mind will be at peace.
“If this plan of mine seems sound to you and well considered, then give me your consent. Or tell me how else I ought to proceed. This is my own wish, and yet, should it fail to please you, let some other course for the common good be thought out; for the clear judgment of a neutral mind, born from the churning of two opposing views, carries a worth that runs far deeper.”
As the emperor spoke, the kings seated there hailed him with the same delight that peacocks show when they see a great rain-swollen cloud and spread their wings to welcome it. A soft answering murmur rose, quickened by joy, and the roar of the assembled crowd seemed to shake the very earth. When the brahmanas and the army commanders had fully grasped the mind of that emperor who knew both dharma and worldly wisdom, they took counsel with the people of Ayodhya and the other provinces, came to one mind among themselves, and said to the aged King Dasharatha:
“Lord of the earth, you have reigned for many thousands of years and grown old. Now consecrate as prince regent your Rama, who is fit to rule the earth. We long to see the mighty-armed, mighty-strong Rama, hero of the Raghus, mounted on a great elephant, his face canopied by the royal umbrella.” Even though these words fell exactly as he had hoped, the king answered as if he had not understood them, wishing to draw their true feeling out into the open. “O kings, when you hear my proposal you want Raghava for your lord, and this raises a doubt in me. Answer it for me plainly. While I am still ruling the earth by dharma, why is it that you wish to see Rama made prince regent?”
A note on the word yuvaraja: a yuvaraja is the heir to the throne who takes up the active burden of rule while the king still lives. Dasharatha would remain king; Rama, as yuvaraja, would carry the day-to-day governing of the realm. That is why in the hall Dasharatha raises this doubt and asks why, while he still reigns by dharma, the people wish to see Rama in that office, so that everyone’s true feeling comes into the open.
Then those great-souled members of the assembly, together with the people of Ayodhya and the provinces, gave their answer. “Guardian of your people, many are the blessed virtues in your son Rama, and we will count out here and now the dear and gladdening qualities of that godlike, wise Rama, the very home of excellence; only listen. In the joy he gives to all creatures he is like the moon, in forbearance like the earth, in wisdom like Brihaspati, and in valor like Indra himself. In all the world Rama is the one true man, steadfast in truth and devoted to it, and dharma and fortune seem to have come forth from Rama in living form.
“He knows dharma, he is true to his word, he is upright, he looks for no fault in others, he forgives, he comforts, he speaks softly, he never forgets a kindness, and he has conquered his senses. He is gentle, steady of heart, forever gracious, without a carping eye, sweet in speech to every living thing, and truthful. He serves the well-read elders and the brahmanas, and from that service his matchless fame, honor, and splendor keep on rising. He is skilled in every weapon of gods, demons, and men, a graduate in learning and in his vows, a knower of the Vedas with their six branches, and the foremost on earth in the gandharva art of music. He was born into a fair house, he is saintly, large of heart, and vast in wisdom.
A sub-tale: the six limbs of the Veda, called the Vedangas, are these: shiksha, the science of correct pronunciation; vyakarana, grammar; chandas, the science of meter; nirukta, the derivation of words; jyotisha, astronomy; and kalpa, the science of ritual and sacrifice. Only by studying all of these in due form was a man reckoned a full master of the Veda, and Rama was accomplished in every one.
“When he rides out to war beside Lakshmana for the sake of a village or a city, he never comes home without the victory. Returning from the field on an elephant or in a chariot, he asks after the townsfolk one by one, in their order of seniority, after their sons, their sacred fires, their wives, their servants, and their pupils, tender as a father asking after the sons of his own body. He asks us brahmanas whether our pupils attend on us, and he asks the kshatriyas whether their armored bodyguards keep to their duty. When men are in distress he is stricken with grief, and in every festival he rejoices like a father. He speaks the truth, he wields a mighty bow, he serves his elders, and he holds his senses in check.
“He opens his talk with a smile, he leans on dharma with his whole heart, he carries every good work through to its end, and he takes no pleasure in words spoken merely to quarrel; yet in the give-and-take of friendly reasoning that seeks the truth, he is an orator to rival Vachaspati himself. The finest brahmanas, versed in dharma and in worldly gain, have schooled him in every branch of learning. With his shapely brows and his large, faintly reddened eyes, Rama seems Vishnu himself walking in the form of a man.
“By his gallantry, his manhood, and his prowess Rama gives joy to the whole world, and for all his ceaseless labor in guarding the people, his senses are never blinded by desire. He is fit to rule the three worlds, let alone this earth, and his anger and his grace never fall to no purpose. He puts to death only the one the scriptures mark for death, and never turns his wrath on the one who ought not to be killed; and the man he is pleased with, he loads with wealth in the fullness of his delight. Held firm by his self-command, Rama shines with those virtues as the sun shines with its rays.
“Blessed with these virtues, true in his valor, the equal of the world-guardians, Rama is the lord the earth desires for herself. Guardian of the people, by our great good fortune this son of yours has grown strong enough to do good to the whole world, and he holds every filial virtue as Kashyapa, the son of Marichi, held his. Among gods, demons, men, gandharvas, and nagas, in the kingdom and in this fairest of cities, within the inner rooms and without, in town and in countryside, everyone prays for Rama’s strength, his health, and his long life. At dawn, at dusk, and at noon, women old and young bow with one mind to the gods for Rama’s sake; may their prayer, by your grace, come true.
“Best of kings, we long to see this eldest son of yours, Rama, dark as a blue lotus and the destroyer of every enemy, established in the office of prince regent. Giver of boons, this son of yours labors for the good of the whole world, he is like Vishnu, the god of gods, and the noblest men attend upon him. For our sake, quickly and gladly, consecrate him as prince regent.”
The gist: pleading his age and his weariness under the weight of rule, Dasharatha sets before the assembly his plan to make Rama prince regent. To sound out the true mind of his people, he deliberately raises a doubt, and the members of the assembly, counting out Rama’s virtues at length, beg with one voice for the consecration.
Vasishtha’s instructions, and the father’s meeting with Rama
Answering the folded-palm salutations of them all, the king spoke to them words that were fond and full of care. “Ah, I am filled with joy, and my fortune is beyond compare, that all of you should want my eldest and beloved son Rama in the office of prince regent.” Having so honored them, the king said, within the hearing of them all and of the people of Ayodhya and the countryside, to Vasishtha, Vamadeva, and the other brahmanas: “This is the lovely and sacred month of Chaitra, when the woodlands stand dressed in blossom. Let everything be made ready for Rama’s consecration as prince regent.”
A note on the month of Chaitra and its modern place: Chaitra is the first month of the Hindu calendar, and it falls roughly in the March and April of the modern Gregorian year, when the woods of spring fill with flowers. This sacred and auspicious month was the one chosen for the consecration.
The king’s words had barely ended when a great shout went up from the crowd, and as it slowly died away he asked Vasishtha, foremost of sages, to order the arrangement of every rite and every material the consecration would require. Hearing the lord of the earth’s request, Vasishtha commanded the appointed ministers who stood before the king with folded palms to make ready gold and other jewels, the offerings for the gods, all the healing herbs, white flowers and parched grain, honey and clarified butter each kept apart, new-woven cloth, a chariot and weapons of every kind, an army complete in its four arms, an elephant marked with auspicious signs, pairs of yak-tail whisks and fans, a banner and a white umbrella, a hundred golden pitchers bright as fire, a bull with its horns sheathed in gold, and one whole tiger skin, along with whatever else might be wanted, all set out by morning near the king’s fire-sanctuary.
“Let the gates of the inner palace and of the whole city be dressed with sandal garlands and with incense that ravishes the nose. Let fine food cooked with curds and milk, enough for a hundred thousand brahmanas, be served to the best of the brahmanas tomorrow morning with all respect and with generous gifts, and let butter, curds, and parched grain be laid out in plenty as well. At the first light of tomorrow’s sun let the benedictory chant be sung, let the brahmanas be invited and their seats made ready. Let pennants be tied up and the royal road sprinkled with water. Let all the dancers and the well-adorned courtesans stand at the second gateway of the palace. Let the images in the temples and at the crossroads be worshiped with flowers and given food-offerings and gifts. Let brave men in armor, long swords at their sides and gauntlets of iguana hide on their hands, enter the king’s courtyard in clean garments.” Having given these commands and reported to the king, Vasishtha and Vamadeva saw to the rest of the work themselves, and returned to tell the king that all had been done as he had ordered.
Then the radiant king told Sumantra to bring the self-possessed Rama at once. “As you command,” said Sumantra, and by the king’s order he seated Rama, best of chariot-warriors, in a chariot and brought him to the hall. The kings of the east, north, west, and south, the Mlecchas and the Aryans, and the other kings who lived near the forests and the mountains, all seated there, waited upon the emperor as the gods wait upon Indra. Into their midst came Rama, lovely as the king of the gandharvas, his valor famed through the world, long of arm, vast of spirit, walking with the roll of a rutting elephant, his face more winning than the moon, a delight to look upon, a prince whose beauty and open-handedness stole away the eyes and the hearts of men and who cooled the sun-scorched people as a rain-cloud cools them. Watching his eldest son approach, Dasharatha could not look his fill.
Sumantra helped Raghava down from the fine chariot and, with folded palms, walked behind him all the way to his father. Climbing that palace white as the peak of Kailasa, Rama drew near his father with folded palms, and bowing, announcing his own name, he sank down at his feet. Seeing his beloved son standing close, bent in salutation with folded palms, the king drew him up by those joined hands, pressed him to his heart, and seated him on a fine seat set with gems and gold. Taking that noble seat, Raghava blazed as the clear morning sun blazes when it lights up Mount Meru with its radiance, and the whole assembly, lit by him, shone as the autumn sky, clear of cloud and full of bright planets and stars, shines when the moon rises over it. As a man is gladdened to see his own adorned reflection in a mirror, so the king was content to look on his beloved son.
Turning to his son, who now sat at ease, Dasharatha, the finest of all men blessed with sons, spoke as Kashyapa might have spoken to Indra, the king of the gods. “You were born of Kausalya, my seniormost wife and worthy of me in every way, a son the equal of myself. Rama, eldest also in virtue, you are my beloved son. By your qualities you have won the hearts of all these people, and so tomorrow, in the hour of Pushya, take up the office of prince regent. By your very nature you have been found rich in every excellence.
“Rich in virtue though you are, out of love I will still say a word for your good, my son. Wear an even deeper humility, and keep your senses always in check. Cast off the vices that spring from desire and from anger. Ruling both by the unseen hand of your spies and by your own open dealing, keep your ministers, your generals, your city-guards, and all your people content, and lay by great stores in your treasuries and your armories against the days to come. The king who tends his people as his own children, and whose people are bound to him in love, gives such joy to his friends that they rejoice like the gods who have won the nectar of immortality. So, my son, hold yourself in check and walk in this way.”
A sub-tale: the Manusmriti counts ten vices born of desire: hunting, gambling, sleeping by day, slandering others, clinging to women, vanity, and an excessive love of singing, of instruments, and of dancing, along with idle wandering. And it counts eight vices born of anger: talebearing, violence, malice, jealousy, faultfinding (seeing flaws in the virtues of others), squandering wealth, harsh speech, and cruelty in punishment. It is against these that Dasharatha is warning Rama.
The moment they heard this, Rama’s devoted friends hurried off and carried the news to Kausalya, and that finest of women gave gold, cows, and jewels of many kinds to the ones who brought her the happy word. Then, bowing to the king and mounting his chariot, Rama rode back to his own shining house, honored by the crowds along the way. Hearing the king’s announcement, the townsfolk too were filled with joy, as though some longed-for prize had fallen into their hands, and taking their leave of the king they went home and worshiped the gods, so that Rama’s consecration might pass off without a hindrance.
The gist: the king orders Vasishtha to arrange the rites and materials of the consecration, and Sumantra brings Rama to the hall. Dasharatha gives him a seat, holds him to his heart, and offers him fond counsel on the dharma of rule. Joy spreads through the city.
The ominous dreams, and Rama summoned a second time
When the townsfolk had gone, the king took counsel with his ministers once more, and knowing well the reading of the omens, he settled it that, since Pushya would stand in the sky the very next day, the consecration of lotus-eyed Rama must take place tomorrow. Then, going into the inner palace, King Dasharatha told the charioteer Sumantra to bring Rama to him one more time. Sumantra accepted the order and set off quickly toward Rama’s house to call him again.
The doorkeepers told Rama that Sumantra had come again, and at the news a shadow of unease fell over him. Calling him in at once, Rama asked what errand had brought him a second time, and bade him tell it without hiding anything. Sumantra said only that the king wished to see him, and that now, having heard the message, it was for Rama to decide whether to come or not. At that Rama too set off in haste toward the palace to see his father again.
Hearing that Rama had arrived, King Dasharatha, who had something most dear and weighty to say, had him brought in. Stepping into his father’s chamber, the noble Raghava saw him from across the room and bowed with folded palms. Even as Rama bowed, the king lifted him up, held him to his heart, gave him a seat, and spoke again. “Rama, I have grown old, I have lived a long life. I have tasted every pleasure I desired, and I have worshiped the gods with hundreds of sacrifices complete in all their rites and their fees. A son beyond compare, such as you, has come to me. I have given the gifts I wished to give and studied the Vedas and all the rest. I have known, my brave one, the joys I set my heart on. Through my sacrifices I have paid my debt to the gods, through my study my debt to the seers, through my children my debt to the ancestors, through my gifts my debt to the brahmanas, and through my pleasures my debt to myself.
“Nothing now remains for me to do except to consecrate you as prince regent, and so you must do what I ask of you. Today all the people want you and only you for their king, and so, my son, I will set you in the office of prince regent. Yet these days, Raghava, I am visited by evil dreams. Out of a cloudless sky, in broad daylight, meteors come down with a great roar. The astrologers tell me that the star under which I was born is beset by cruel planets, by the Sun, by Mars, and by Rahu. When such signs arise, a king most often meets some terrible calamity and comes to his death.
A note on the portents and the planets: in old India a fall of meteors by day, thunder in a cloudless sky, and the gaze of malignant planets (the Sun, Mars, and Rahu) upon a man’s birth-star were read as signs of dire misfortune for a king. It is these very portents that make Dasharatha press for haste, as though he would hand Rama the throne before some approaching disaster can arrive.
“So, before my mind can be turned aside by anyone’s contrary pleading, let you be consecrated, for the judgment of men is a fickle thing. Today the moon has reached Punarvasu, the star that runs before Pushya, and tomorrow, the astrologers say, its conjunction with Pushya is certain. In that Pushya hour let you be consecrated. My own heart seems to be urging me toward haste. Tomorrow, scorcher of foes, I will surely set you in the office of prince regent.
“For this reason, Raghava, from this very day take a vow of restraint, and with your wife Sita keep a fast through the night, and sleep on a bed of darbha grass with a slab of stone for your pillow. Let your devoted friends stand watch and guard you on every side tonight, for undertakings such as this draw many obstacles to themselves. To my mind your consecration is well timed only while Bharata is far from this city. Your brother Bharata holds fast to the ways of good men, he follows his elder, he is righteous, kind, and master of his senses. Even so, the hearts of men are fickle, such is my belief; and the mind of the good, forever given to dharma, comes to rest only when it is set to work.”
A sub-tale: the doubt Dasharatha carries about Bharata has its root in an old promise. When he married Kaikeyi, Dasharatha gave her father, the king of the Kekayas, his word that the kingdom of Ayodhya would pass to the son born of her. Rama himself says as much to Bharata later on. Dasharatha fears that, were Bharata present at the consecration, he might press a claim to the throne on the strength of that promise, and so he wants the ceremony done while Bharata is away.
So counseled, and given leave for the next day’s consecration with the words “Go now,” Rama bowed to his father and turned toward his own house. With the king’s order for the consecration in his heart, he went home to carry the happy news to Sita, and not finding her in her rooms, he came straight out again and made for his mother’s quarters. There, in the shrine, he saw his mother in her silken robes, lost with her whole heart in the worship of her chosen deity, praying for the royal fortune to come to Rama.
The gist: troubled by evil dreams and by the planets, Dasharatha calls Rama a second time and tells him the consecration is fixed for the very next day, orders him to fast with Sita and to keep careful watch, and reveals his wish to hold the ceremony while Bharata is away. Rama sets off for his mother’s quarters.
Kausalya’s blessing, and Rama’s love for Lakshmana
Kausalya sat at that hour with her eyes half closed, attended by Sumitra, Sita, and Lakshmana. Having heard that her son was to be consecrated as prince regent, she was holding her breath in the discipline of pranayama and meditating on the Supreme Person, Narayana. Sumitra and her son Lakshmana had already come there at the news of Rama’s welcome consecration, and Sita too had been sent for. Drawing near his mother where she sat in meditation, and bowing to her, Rama spoke these fine words to gladden her:
“Mother, my father has set me to the work of guarding the people, and so, by his order, tomorrow I am to be consecrated. Tonight Sita too must fast at my side, for this is the rule my teachers lay down, and my father has commanded it as well. Whatever auspicious rites are fitting for tomorrow’s consecration, have them done today for Sita and for me.” Hearing this news that she had longed for through so many years, Kausalya answered Rama in a voice choked with tears of joy:
“Child Rama, may you live long, and may your enemies be destroyed. Clothed in royal fortune, bring joy to my kin and to Sumitra’s. My son, I am blessed that I bore you under some kindly star, so that by your virtues you have won your father Dasharatha’s heart. Truly the austerities and fasts I bore to please the lotus-eyed Vishnu, the Supreme Person, have not gone for nothing; by their fruit the royal fortune of the house of Ikshvaku comes today to take shelter in you, my son.”
When his mother had spoken so, Rama turned to his brother Lakshmana, who sat bent low in humility with folded palms, and said to him with something like a smile: “Lakshmana, rule this earth together with me. You are my second life, and this royal fortune has come to you no less than to me. Enjoy, son of Sumitra, the pleasures you desire and all the rewards of sovereignty; it is for your sake that I want this life and this kingdom at all.” Having spoken so to Lakshmana, and bowing to both his mothers, Kausalya and Sumitra, and taking his leave of Sita as well, Rama returned to his own house.
The gist: Kausalya blesses her son with long life and the ruin of his foes, and rejoices that her austerities have borne fruit. Rama calls Lakshmana his second life and, in a tender invitation, asks him to share the rule, then takes his leave of them all and returns home.
Vasishtha comes to Rama’s house, and the assembly is adjourned
Having given Rama his orders for the next day’s consecration, the king called for his family priest Vasishtha and said: “Rich in penance and firm in your vows as you are, go today and lead Rama of the house of Kakutstha, with his wife Sita, through the fast of this night, for the warding off of obstacles and the winning of the kingdom.” Saying “As you command” to the king, the venerable Vasishtha, foremost of those who know the Vedas and a master of the sacred spells, mounted an excellent chariot fit for a brahmana and drove himself to Rama’s house, to lead that hero, himself a knower of the mantras, through the vow of the fast.
Reaching Rama’s house, bright as a bank of white cloud, the sage Vasishtha drove in his chariot through its three gateways. To honor the revered seer who had come to his door, Rama hurried out of the house in respectful haste, went up to the sage’s chariot, and with his own hand helped him down. Seeing Rama bowed low in humility, the priest asked after his welfare, praised him, and gladdened that worthy son with loving words: “Rama, your father is pleased with you, and so tomorrow you will receive the kingdom; therefore keep your fast today with Sita. As Nahusha once consecrated his son Yayati, so tomorrow at dawn your father Dasharatha, out of love, will consecrate you as prince regent.”
A sub-tale: Nahusha and Yayati were ancient kings of the lunar line. Nahusha consecrated his son Yayati as prince regent, and Yayati appears later, in the lineage tales of the Mahabharata, as the founder of the Puru line. It is with this old example that Vasishtha likens Dasharatha’s consecration of Rama, as though it were one more link in that same blessed chain of fathers and sons.
So saying, the holy and firm-vowed Vasishtha led Rama, with Sita beside him, through the vow of the fast to the accompaniment of the mantras the scriptures prescribe. Honored by Rama in due form, and taking his leave of that scion of Kakutstha, the royal preceptor left the house. Rama for his part sat a while with the sweet-spoken friends of his boyhood, received their homage, and then, taking his leave of them all, went into his inner apartments. Filled with joyful men and women, Rama’s house at that hour shone like a lake alive with intoxicated birds and adorned with open lotuses.
Coming out of that house of Rama, famed almost as the royal palace itself, Vasishtha found the road choked with people. The great avenues of Ayodhya were so packed on every side with crowds moving in curious throngs that walking had become a labor. The din of the royal road, filled with the glad roar that rose as wave after wave of the crowd broke against one another, sounded like the roaring of the sea. That day every lane of Ayodhya had been swept and sprinkled with scented water, hung with garlands of woodland flowers, and topped by tall flags that flew from the rooftops.
All the people of Ayodhya, women and children among them, waited for Rama’s consecration and longed for sunrise as though watching for some priceless dawn. Every one of them was eager to see that great festival of Ayodhya, the ornament of the people and the swelling of their joy. Parting, as it were, the press of that crowded avenue, the priest Vasishtha moved slowly toward the royal house, and climbing the palace that rose like the Himalaya with its white-cloud peaks, he came to the king as Brihaspati comes to Indra.
Seeing Vasishtha come, the king rose from his royal seat and asked how the matter he had at heart, the reaching of Rama and the leading of him through the vow, had gone, and the seer reported that the task laid upon him was done. At once all the councillors seated by the king rose together from their places to honor the priest. With his preceptor’s leave, the king dismissed that great assembly and withdrew to the inner palace as a lion withdraws into a mountain cave. That lovely inner palace, crowded with young women in the finest robes and rivaling the mansion of Mahendra, the king lit up with his own splendor as the moon lights up a sky thick with stars.
The gist: at the king’s order Vasishtha goes to Rama’s house and leads him, with Sita, through the vow of the fast. On his way back he finds Ayodhya decked out, loud with noise, and eager for the sunrise. His task done, the king dismisses the assembly and retires to the inner palace.
From the night of vows to the coronation dawn, and the rejoicing city
When the priest Vasishtha had gone, Rama bathed and, with a disciplined mind, sat down beside his large-eyed wife Sita to the worship of Lord Narayana. Then, his head bowed in reverence, he took up the ladle of clarified butter and poured the offering into the kindled fire for the sake of the great god Vishnu. Taking what remained of the offering as consecrated food, and praying for the good he sought, silent and self-controlled, Rama lay down with Sita in the courtyard of the splendid temple of Vishnu, on a bed of kusha grass he had spread himself, and gave his mind to the meditation of the god Narayana.
A sub-tale: in the later tradition the deity of this temple is held to be Sri Ranganatha, whom the royal house of Ayodhya worshiped as their chosen god in a separate shrine built within the palace walls. The Padma Purana tells that Rama in time gave this image over to Vibhishana, and that through him it made its way to Srirangam in the south of India, where it is worshiped to this day with the deepest reverence.
With one watch of the night still left, Rama woke and had the courtyard of his house carefully adorned. There, listening to the pleasant words of the sutas, the magadhas who sing the genealogies, and the vandis who chant the praises, he sat down to the morning worship of the twilight and, with a mind held steady, repeated the Gayatri mantra. Dressed in spotless silk, his head bowed, he praised and saluted Vishnu the slayer of Madhu, and had the brahmanas recite the mantras of blessing and of the sacred day. Blended with the echo of the instruments, that deep and sweet chant of the brahmanas’ punyaha-vachana filled the whole of Ayodhya.
A note on svasti-vachana and punyaha-vachana: two Vedic rites that come before any great and auspicious undertaking. In the svasti-vachana the brahmanas pronounce blessings of welfare and good fortune upon the one for whom a rite is to be performed. In the punyaha-vachana they declare the day a holy day and pray for its auspiciousness. It is these two that Rama has recited on the morning before his consecration.
Hearing that Rama had fasted that day with Sita, all the people of Ayodhya were overjoyed. At the news of his consecration, and seeing that the night had passed, the townsfolk set about decking the city. On the temples with their peaks like white cloud, at the crossroads and along the lanes, on the shrines and the watchtowers, on the merchants’ shops stocked with wares of every kind, on the rich and splendid houses of the citizens, on all the assembly halls, and on the tops of every great tree, flags and pennants were run up high and beautifully.
The people of Ayodhya then turned to the dialogues and the miming of the troupes of actors and dancers, and to the music of the singers that pleased the mind and the ear. At the crossroads and in the houses, wherever they gathered, they spoke of nothing except Rama’s consecration. Even the children, playing in bands at the doorways of their houses, talked among themselves of Rama’s consecration and nothing else. For the day of the consecration the townsfolk strewed the royal road with flowers and made it lovely with the scent of incense. And thinking that Rama might ride out through the city by nightfall, they set up in every lane, to give light, lamp-posts shaped like trees, with a lamp on every bough.
Having decked the city so, and gathering in bands at the crossroads and in the assembly halls, all the townsfolk fell to talking among themselves and praising King Dasharatha. “Ah, what a great soul is this King Dasharatha, the joy of the house of Ikshvaku, who, knowing himself grown old, is setting Rama upon the throne. Blessed are we all, that Rama, who has seen for himself the good and the ill of the world, will be our protector for years to come. Free of pride, learned, righteous, tender to his brothers, Raghava loves us with the very love he bears his own brothers. Long live the righteous and blameless King Dasharatha, by whose grace we shall see Rama consecrated.”
These words of the townsfolk were heard by the country people as well, who had come pouring into Ayodhya from every direction at the news of the consecration. Arriving from all sides to witness Rama’s consecration, they filled the city of Rama to overflowing. The clamor that rose from those crowds spreading this way and that sounded like the roar of the sea swelling in full flood at the full moon. And thronged on every side with country folk eager for the sight, loud with their clamor, that city of Ayodhya, the rival of Indra’s Amaravati, came to look like the great ocean teeming with the creatures of its waters.
The gist: Rama, with Sita, worships Narayana, makes his offering to the fire, and lies down on the bed of kusha grass; waking at dawn, he says the twilight prayers and has the blessings chanted. Ayodhya, meanwhile, is dressed in flags and pennants, flowers, lamp-posts, and music, and the people of the city and the countryside, praising King Dasharatha, come surging in like the sea to wait for the consecration.
Source: Srimad Valmiki Ramayana, Ayodhyakanda, Cantos 1-6 (Gita Press, Gorakhpur).
Basis: Valmiki Ramayana (Gita Press, Gorakhpur)