The Book of the Epic: The World's Great Epics Told in Story

And sweetly sings with accents clear and strong
Rama, aye Rama, in his deathless lay."[41 - The quotations in this chapter are taken from Griffeth's translation and from Romesh Dutt's.]

The poem opens with a description of the ancient city of Ayodhya (Oude), beautifully situated on the banks of a river and ruled by a childless rajah.

In by-gone ages built and planned
By sainted Manu's princely hand,
Imperial seat! her walls extend
Twelve measured leagues from end to end;
Three in width, from side to side
With square and palace beautified.
Her gates at even distance stand,
Her ample roads are wisely planned.
Right glorious is her royal street,
Where streams allay her dust and heat.
On level ground in even row
Her houses rise in goodly show.
Terrace and palace, arch and gate
The queenly city decorate.
High are her ramparts, strong and vast,
By ways at even distance passed,
With circling moat both deep and wide,
And store of weapons fortified.

This monarch (Dasaratha), a descendant of the moon, was sixty thousand years old when the story begins. Although his reign had already extended over a period of nine thousand years,—during which his people had enjoyed such prosperity that it is known as the Age of Gold,—the king, still childless in spite of having seven hundred and fifty concubines, decided to offer a great horse sacrifice (asvatmedha) in hopes of obtaining a son, to celebrate his funeral rites and thereby enable him to enter heaven.

In order to perform the ceremony properly, a horse had to be turned out to wander at will for a year, constantly watched by a band of priests, who prevented any one laying a hand upon him, for, once touched, the animal was unfit to be offered up to the gods. This horse sacrifice having been duly performed, the happy rajah was informed by the gods that four sons would uphold his line, provided he and three of his wives quaffed the magic drink they gave him.

Having thus granted the rajah's prayer, the lesser gods implored their chief Indra to rid them of the demons sent by Ravana, the Satan of the Hindus. This evil spirit, by standing on his head in the midst of five fires ten thousand years in succession, had secured from Brahma a promise that no god, demon, or genius should slay him. By this extraordinary feat he had also obtained nine extra heads with a full complement of eyes, ears, and noses, hands and arms. Mindful of his promise, Brahma was at a loss to grant this request until he remembered he had never guaranteed Ravana should not be attacked by man or monkey. He, therefore, decided to beg Vishnu to enter the body of a man and conquer this terrible foe, while the lesser gods helped him in the guise of monkeys.

"One only way I find
To slay this fiend of evil mind.
He prayed me once his life to guard
From demon, god, and heavenly bard,
And spirits of the earth and air,
And I, consenting, heard his prayer.
But the proud giant in his scorn
Recked not of man of woman born;
None else may take his life away
And only man the fiend can slay."

At Brahma's request, Vishnu not only consented to become man, but elected to enter the body of the rajah's oldest son—one of the four children obtained in answer to prayer. Meantime he charged his fellow gods diligently to beget helpers for him, so they proceeded to produce innumerable monkeys. The poem next informs us that Rama, son of the Rajah's favorite wife, being a god,—an incarnation of Vishnu,—came into the world with jewelled crown and brandishing four arms, but that, at his parents' request, he concealed these divine attributes, assumed a purely human form, and cried lustily like a babe. Two other wives of the rajah, having received lesser portions of the divine beverage, gave birth to three sons (Bharata, Lakshmana, and Satrughna), and the news that four heirs had arrived in the palace caused great rejoicings in the realm.

These four princes grew up in the most promising fashion, Rama in particular developing every virtue, and showing even in childhood marked ability as an archer. Such was his proficiency in athletic sports that a hermit besought him, at sixteen, to rid his forest of the demons which were making life miserable for him and his kin. To enable Rama to triumph over these foes, the hermit bestowed upon him divine weapons, assuring him they would never fail him.

"And armed with these, beyond a doubt,
Shall Rama put those fiends to rout."

The hermit also beguiled the weariness of their long journey to the forest by relating to Rama the story of the Ganges, the sacred stream of India. We are told that a virtuous king, being childless, betook himself to the Himalayas, where, after spending a hundred years in austerities, Brahma announced he should have one son by one of his wives and sixty thousand by the other, adding that his consorts might choose whether to bear one offspring or many. Given the first choice, the favorite wife elected to be the mother of the son destined to continue the royal race, while the other brought into the world a gourd, wherein a hermit discovered the germs of sixty thousand brave sons, all of whom, thanks to his care, grew up to perform wonders in behalf of their father and brother.

On one occasion, a horse chosen for sacrifice having been stolen, the father despatched these sixty thousand braves in quest of it, and, as they were not able to discover any traces of it on earth, bade them dig down to hell. Not only did they obey, but continued their search until they struck in turn the four elephants on whose backs the Hindus claim our earth peacefully reposes. Here the diggers disturbed the meditations of some god, who, in his anger, burned them up. The poor father, anxious to purify the ashes of his dead sons, learned he would never be able to do so until the Ganges—a river of heaven—was brought down to earth. By dint of penance and prayer, the bereaved parent induced Vishnu to permit this stream—which until then had only flowed in heaven—to descend to earth, warning the king that the river, in coming down, would destroy the world unless some means were found to stem the force of its current. Our clever rajah obviated this difficulty by persuading the god Siva to receive the cataract on the top of his head, where the sacred waters, after threading their way through his thick locks, were divided into the seven streams which feed the sacred springs of India. Thus safely brought to earth, the Ganges penetrated to hell, where it purified the ashes of the sixty thousand martyrs, and ever since then its waters have been supposed to possess miraculous powers.

For sin and stain were banished thence,
By the sweet river's influence.

The hermit also told how the gods procured the Water of Life (Amrita) by churning the ocean, saying they used Mount Meru as a dasher, and a huge serpent as the rope whereby to twirl it around.

Led by this hermit, Rama not only slew the ravaging monsters, but went on to take part in a tournament, where King Janak offered his daughter, Sita, in marriage to any archer who would span a bow he had obtained from Siva. On arriving at the place where this test was to be made, Rama saw the huge bow brought forth on a chariot drawn by five thousand men, and, although no one else had even been able to raise it, took it up and bent it until it broke with a crack which terrified all present. By this feat young Rama won the hand of Sita, a beautiful princess, whom her father turned up from the soil while ploughing one day, and who is hence the Hindu personification of Spring.

The wedding of Rama and Sita was honored by the presence of both kings, and Rama's three brothers were made as happy as he by receiving the hands of three of Sita's sisters, the father telling each bridegroom:

"A faithful wife, most blest is she,
And as thy shade will follow thee."

When the four bridal couples returned to Oude, Rama's father decided to name his eldest son assistant king, and therefore gave orders to prepare for the ceremony. The mere rumor that Rama was about to be crowned aroused the jealousy of the king's youngest wife (Kaikeyi), who, instigated by an evil-minded, hunch-backed maid, sent for her aged spouse and reminded him how once, when he was ill, he had promised in return for her care to grant any two boons she asked. The infatuated monarch, seeing her grief, rashly renewed this promise, swearing to keep it by Rama's head.

As some wild elephant who tries
To soothe his consort as she lies
Struck by the hunter's venomed dart,
So the great king, disturbed in heart,
Strove with soft hand and fond caress
To soothe his darling queen's distress,
And in his love addressed with sighs
The lady of the lotus eyes.

Hearing him confirm his former oath, the favorite wife bade him banish his heir to the forest for fourteen years and appoint her son as viceroy in his brother's stead. In vain the old king pleaded; the favorite wife insisted so vehemently that when morning dawned the bewildered old rajah sent for Rama to ask his advice. Although this prince fully expected to be crowned that day, he was far too virtuous not to perceive that a promise must be kept at any cost, so without a murmur he prepared to go to the forest of Dandaka and dwell there in hermit garb fourteen years.

"The orders of my sire," he cried,
"My will shall ne'er oppose:
I follow still, whate'er betide,
The path which duty shows."

His first duty, however, was to return to his palace to inform his wife that they must part; but, on hearing what had occurred, Sita piteously begged to share his fate, although he eloquently described the hardships to which she would be exposed should she venture to accompany him. Her wifely devotion was, however, proof against all he could urge, for she declared with tears there was no happiness for her save at his side.

"With thee is heaven, where'er the spot;
Each place is hell where thou are not."

Hearing this declaration, Rama finally consented to take her with him, and, bidding farewell to father and mother, left the city, accompanied by his wife and favorite brother (Lakshman) and escorted by his mourning subjects.

His father, broken-hearted at parting with his favorite son, took to his bed, which he was never to leave again confiding to Rama's mother that he was being sorely punished for a sin of his youth. It seems that, while out hunting one night, hearing a gurgle by a stream, and fancying some wild beast was there drinking, he let fly a shaft, which only too surely reached its goal. Startled by a human cry, the rajah rushed down to the river, only to discover that he had mortally wounded a youth who had come down to draw water for his blind parents.

"Then in the dusk I heard the sound of gurgling water;
Quickly I took my bow, and, aiming toward the sound, shot off the dart.
A cry of mortal agony came from the spot,—a human voice
Was heard, and a poor hermit's son fell pierced and bleeding in
the stream."

Before dying this lad implored his slayer to hasten back to the hermitage with water, as the old people were longing for a drink. On hearing footsteps, the blind parents peevishly reproached their son for tarrying, and, when the unfortunate murderer tried to explain what had occurred, cursed him vehemently, declaring he would some day experience the loss of a son. It was, therefore, in fulfilment of this curse that the old rajah died thirteen days after Rama's departure.

Meantime the banished prince, riding in one of his father's chariots, had reached the junction of the Jumna and Ganges, where he spent the first night of his exile beneath a banyan on the banks of the sacred stream. There he built a raft, by means of which he crossed to the other side, and from there sadly watched his faithful subjects wending homeward. Then he plunged into the forest, arranging that Sita should always tread its narrow paths between him and his brother, to make sure no harm befall her.