The Ramayana (7 page)

Shouldering his bow, Rama said, “Did you see, Lakshmana, the first astra was a compassionate one. The manavastra did not kill Maricha; it only punished him with fire and water. It has purified him.”

Lakshmana wondered that his brother saw to the very sea just briefly, for no miracle was beyond his Rama. The sacrifice at Siddhasrama was completed. In joy, Viswamitra called Rama.

Embracing him, the rishi cried, “Rama of Ayodhya, your name shall be immortal! Men will remember you as long as the world exists. From yuga to yuga, your fame will be sung. The yagna you have helped me complete, in the teeth of evil, will bless the earth long ages after you and I are no more in it. Prince of light, today you have won a greater battle than you yourself yet know.”

Viswamitra saw into the past and the future, as if they were plain before his eyes. The brahmarishi thought, “Not even Ravana of Lanka, who is evil incarnate, shall prevail against you, Rama. But I fear your way is long and fraught with sorrow, before you rid the earth of that rakshasa.”

Viswamitra said nothing of these thoughts to the happy prince. He only joined the other rishis in crying,
“Jaya vijayi bhava!”
May you always be victorious.

At the end of the day, Viswamitra said to Rama and Lakshmana, “In the city of Mithila, King Janaka is performing another kind of yagna. We are going to Janaka's sacrifice and I want you to come with us. There is something there that should interest young warriors like yourselves. The bow of Siva lies in Mithila, like an arc of the sun. It lies in Janaka's palace, worshipped with flowers, incense, and prayers.” He paused, then mused, “You know, no Deva or gandharva, no Asura or the mightiest kshatriya could ever lift Siva's bow. Many tried, from heaven and earth; none of them moved that weapon by a hair's width. Rama, you must see Siva's bow in Mithila, it is a wonder upon the earth. We will set out tomorrow; Janaka's yagna has already begun.”

 

12. By the golden Sona

The next day, there was an unusual leave-taking at Siddhasrama. Before they left the asrama, blessed forever by Viswamitra's sacrifice, some extraordinary beings gathered in it to see them off. Many of them appeared out of thin air: colorful woodland spirits, lovely dryads and forest gods, vana devatas who were the guardians of the tapovana. Their bodies seemed to be made of leaves, bark, and green shoots, the glimmer of forest streams at twilight and living flesh of brown earth.

They wore shining feathers or coats of butterfly wings and wildflowers, which grew from them as if from tree or ground; and some were clad just in the breeze. They had forms of light, shifting sky-dreams and shards of rainbows, and they came in a motley throng, singing old songs, dancing to rhythms as old as the forest. They came with their untamed hearts full of blessings for the princes who had released them from the tyranny of the rakshasas. That terror had taken root in their bright limbs, enslaving these delicate ones in torment, making all the forest an evil place. Now they were free once more, and they came singing and dancing, and some even crying for joy.

The animals of the jungle had also gathered to see the travelers off. Tigers came with herds of wide-eyed deer; in this charmed place they lived in peace, beyond the hunt. And other beasts came as well, small and great: elephants wise as mountains, vivid swarms of songbirds full of mellifluous delight, and swans and friendly geese from the jungle rivers and lakes. Some of the more frequent visitors to the asrama, who were like the rishis' friends, had to be cajoled with many a promise that the munis would return soon. For they would set out, those innocent, wild creatures, as if they also meant to go with the journeying party. Even when the hermits and princes were well on their way, high above them they saw flights of familiar thrushes and swallows who would not be left behind. The paths of the air are freer than those of the earth!

Viswamitra walked around the asrama thrice in pradakshina. Then he strode off into the brilliant day with long strides, while the others followed, smiling among themselves at the pace he set. Of course, nobody ever grew tired: the brahmarishi had long since taught them the bala and the atibala mantras. When the sun was low in the western sky, they came to the banks of the golden Sona, and Viswamitra called a halt for the night.

The rishis bathed in the river, shot with saffron shafts of the setting sun. Standing in velvet water, they said their sandhya prayers. Then they gathered ripe fruit, mainly mangoes sweet as amrita, and lay on the green riverbank, chatting. They were full of quiet satisfaction that the sacrifice had been completed. It was a more profound achievement than any but the initiate could know. The munis were grateful the Lord of evil on earth had sent no fiercer force to disrupt such a powerful yagna as Viswamitra had undertaken. What few of his rishis knew was that Viswamitra had brought Rama and Lakshmana to his yagna not only to quell Maricha and Subahu, but to bless those princes themselves: so one day they would rid the earth of the Master of darkness himself, Ravana on his sinister throne.

By now Rama and Lakshmana had grown so attached to Viswamitra they were never far from his side. Beside the river, Rama said quietly to the brahmarishi, “This is a rich country, Muni. Wherever they turn, my eyes see every shade of green. Tell me, whose kingdom is this?”

With a glint in his eye, Viswamitra turned to face the prince. “Brahma had a son called Kusa, who was a rishi born from the Creator's thought. He was a yogin, and he married a mortal king's daughter, the princess of Videha, to ennoble the races of the earth. Four sons were born to them: Kusamba, Kusanabha, Adhurtarajas, and Vasu. Kusa told his sons to be kshatriyas on earth, and to rule.

“Those half-human and half-divine sovereigns founded separate cities, and they had great lands around them they ruled over. This green country, Rama, is called Vasumati. Kusa's youngest son, Vasu, ruled over this land and Girivraja was his capital.”

The river whispered along beside them, as if it heard every word. The moon was rising in the east, and already his slanted rays set her currents alight. Viswamitra went on slowly while his rishis and the princes listened absorbed; he spoke with such quiet passion.

“Five mountains grace the kingdom of Vasumati, and the river that springs in Magadha flows between them like a garland of pearls flung across the earth. Kusa's eldest son, Kusanabha, had a hundred daughters by his seed, which was in part the seed of Brahma. He gave his daughters to the Rishi Brahmadatta to be his wives. Then he wanted a son, so he performed a yagna. During that ritual his father Kusa appeared before him and said, ‘You will have a son, and his fame will resound through the world!'

“Kusanabha's son, who became the mightiest of the olden kings of the earth, was Gadhi, the great.”

Now Viswamitra spoke as softly as the silver river flowed. When Rama and Lakshmana looked into his face in the moonlight, they saw his eyes had brimmed over. He wiped them briefly with the back of his hand. He said with a wistful smile, “Rama, Gadhi was my father.” He paused, then continued, “I had an older sister called Satyavati. I loved her more than anyone in the world. She was my first friend, and my first guru. From her earliest years, she was wiser than any other child. She gave me something of her soul, which was my first instruction of heaven.

“My father gave her to be the rishi Richaka's wife. But she was so pure, and always with the Lord's name on her lips and his love in her heart, that she was not meant to live in this world for long. She gained Swarga in her human body. And from her love, she flowed upon the earth as a river: the Kaushiki of the Himalaya. It is on the banks of the Kaushiki that I sit in tapasya. Rama, how can I describe the peace that comes to me when I am there? It is as if my sister held me in her arms, as she used to when I was a child.

“But then, I was called south from my home beside the river in the mountains. I was to perform a sacrifice to stem a tide of evil risen in the world. I came down to Siddhasrama, as my masters of the spirit told me to. And you came to help me; otherwise I could never have completed my yagna.

“You asked whose kingdom this is. It was mine once, Rama, when I was a king as you shall be one day. But all that is past now.

“Look how high the moon has risen; half the night is over. The river and the trees, the birds in the branches and the beasts of the woods are all asleep, wrapped in covers of darkness. Only bhutas, pretas, and pisachas, for whom night is day and moonlight their sunshine, are abroad under the sky of a thousand eyes. Sleep now, my friends, and you also, children of Ayodhya. Sleep securely, for we are protected, and we must be on our way at crack of dawn.”

He stretched his long limbs by the river, which scarcely gave a murmur now, and, turning on his side, fell quickly asleep. Yawning, Lakshmana and the other rishis lay down as well. They found they were exhausted after the day's long march and only the fascination of Viswamitra's story had kept them awake.

Rama sat alone for another hour, gazing at the moon reflected clear in the river, which was still as a lake now. He sat pondering the strange fates of men and his own long way ahead of him. It was opaque, yet mysteriously attractive; quite like a river, on which the days and years were slow ripples, gliding endlessly, with the moon splayed across them. But there are treacherous whirlpools along every river's course, and Rama wondered idly when they would spin into his life.

Soon, he also lay down beside his brother and slumber stole over him.

 

13. Ganga

The birds of day were full of song, a hundred wild symphonies in the branches, and the river was awake under the risen sun, when Viswamitra shook the sleeping princes awake. “Come, we have a long way to go.”

When they had washed, Rama pointed upstream and said, “There are islands of sand in the water. Where shall we cross the river?”

But Viswamitra was already striding off in another direction. “Since the beginning, rishis have walked this way. We will follow their path.”

So they marched north after the tall sage. The princes kept up with him easily, but some of the other hermits struggled. They lagged with rueful smiles and Viswamitra never turned to look back, as if he was content to have only those who could keep his pace arrive in Mithila. Rama and Lakshmana helped the others on the long way, carrying their spare-enough bundles for them, lending them an arm of support.

*   *   *

It was midday when they arrived on the banks of the Ganga. She lay before them like an inland sea; shading their eyes, they could barely discern her far shore. Swans and lotuses floated upon her in equal profusion, and so deep was her attraction they decided to spend the rest of the day beside her murmuring currents.

They bathed in her water and sat beside her, some dozing, others staring out across the enchanted flow; and they saw luminous daydreams, as they had not even during their dhyana in the mountains. Surely, she was awesome, she was magical, and her nearness made the body feel so light it seemed the soul could soar out and be free. In the late afternoon, the desire took the princes and the rishis alike and they waded once more into the calm, warm water. When they had bathed they felt cleansed: not just bodily but in spirit.

As the day was dying, they sat around Viswamitra. While a small fire they lit blazed up full of sparks, Rama said, “I want to hear the legend of Ganga from you. I can feel her enchantment upon me; tell us how she is tripathaga, the river of three paths.”

Viswamitra's eyes were full of times that were no longer in the world, except as shadows upon the earth and the wide water. He gazed across the great river, and began quietly, “There is a mountain called Himavan, the Emperor of all mountains. That ancient spirit, who is not younger than the earth herself, had two daughters by his wife Mena. They were called Ganga and Uma, and their beauty was legend.

“Ganga was the older one, and Indra's Devas approached Himavan: they wanted his daughter for themselves, to make Devaloka more perfect than it already was. Himavan gave Ganga to the Devas; she flowed in heaven as a river of light and purified anything she touched. She flowed through the galaxies as Akasa Ganga, Mandakini, river of the firmament, with suns in her hair.

“Himavan's second child was called Parvati, mountain daughter. She sat in tapasya and won Siva for her husband. Their son was Karttikeya and he killed Tarakasura, the invincible demon of old.

“Later, there was an ancestor of yours, Rama, in the line of Ikshvaku, named Sagara. For many years Sagara had no children from his two wives: Vidarbha's daughter Kesini, and Kashyapa's daughter, the ravishing Sumati. Sagara went to the Himalaya with his queens and sat in penance for a hundred years. Men in those times were greater in every way than the men of today, and longer-lived as well. And men in the ages to follow this one shall live short and wretched lives. That is the nature of the yugas.

“When Sagara and his wives had sat in dhyana for a hundred years, the Maharishi Bhrigu came to them like a fire on the mountain, and said, ‘Let your tapasya be fruitful, Sagara. One of your wives will bear you a son to continue the Ikshvaku line. The other will bear you sixty thousand princes of matchless strength and courage; but they shall not be kings'

“Sagara's queens were radiant.

“‘Who will have sixty thousand sons?' cried Sumati, the younger.

“‘Who will have the one son?' cried Kesini.

“Bhrigu smiled, ‘The choice is yours, and you seem to have made it already.'

“That rishi blessed them and Sagara and his wives returned to their kingdom. In those days, when the world was young, heaven and earth were hardly apart from each other as they are now. The earth was peopled, equally, with the children of the Gods and men. Sumati bore her husband Sagara sixty thousand sons. She did not bear them as children are born today, but by the miraculous motherhood of light and by the grace of the Devas, most of all, the grace of Brahma. Sumati's boys were handsome and brave, virile and arrogant.