The Ramayana (16 page)

Rama lay one last time at her feet. Taking the padadhuli from them, he went out without looking back again.

 

11. Sita

The news had not yet filtered past the palace doors into the streets of Ayodhya. Rama gained his own palace quickly, by crying to the crowd that time was short. He did not say for what. But the smile that he managed to keep along the way vanished as soon as he passed his doors. His mind was a whirl and he had broken out in a sweat when he came to Sita.

She saw his face and ran to him with a cry. “What happened, Rama?”

For a moment, he stood staring mutely at her. Then he slumped into a chair and buried his head in his hands. He took her hands in his, kissed them feverishly, and said, “Sita, my father has banished me to the Dandaka vana for fourteen years. He once granted Kaikeyi two boons for saving his life. Last night, she asked that Bharata be crowned yuvaraja and that I be exiled to the jungle.”

She began to speak, but he raised a hand for her to be quiet. “Listen to me, Sita, my time is short. My father is bound in honor to keep his word. It is his dharma, and mine to uphold it. But I want you to be careful in Ayodhya. I want you to remember, always, that no man who sits upon a throne likes to hear another man being praised. Never praise me in Bharata's presence or show how much you miss me. Don't speak of me at all before him.”

He smiled wanly and stroked her face. “Which does not mean that you forget me! Pray for me, Sita, keep your vows. I don't know how my mother and my father will bear this; be loving to them. But remember, no matter what has happened today, Sumitra and Kaikeyi are also my mothers. Bharata and Shatrughna will look after you; love them as your own brothers. But remember, Bharata will be king, and a king will abandon even his own child if it does not obey him. So tread carefully with Bharata: from today you are not his older brother's wife but his subject.”

Sita's eyes did not fill with tears, as he expected; they flashed in anger. She cried accusingly, “Rama, what have I done to deserve such cruelty from you? The dharma I learned in my father's house was perhaps different from what you did here. But I have been taught that for better or for worse, a wife's dharma is to share her husband's fate.

“If you have been banished to the Dandaka vana, then so have I. I will go with you, Rama; my place is at your side. With you, I would walk down the paths of hell. The jungle will be like heaven for me. I must disobey you in this, my love; forget my disobedience, as you do the water you leave behind in a glass after drinking.

“I want to come to green riverbanks with you, and to hidden lakes. I want to see deer and tigers, great elephants, and all there is to see in the wild. Can't Rama who killed the rakshasas protect his wife? I swear I will never complain as long as you are with me. I will be content to gaze at lotuses on crystal pools and watch swans glide on silver water. Why fourteen, Rama? Let us spend a hundred years in the forest together.”

But he said, “Sita, this is not the time to try me with frivolous arguments. I know you will miss me, but we are young and time is on our side: fourteen years will pass quickly. You must not make this parting harder than it is for both of us. You must obey me; that is your dharma.

“You are naive to think that life in the vana is sniffing flowers or watching gentle birds and animals. You don't know the terror of the jungle. Every waking moment is a nightmare for fear of savage beasts. You dream of green riverbanks; but the rivers are full of crocodiles. There are no paths and deadly serpents slither through the grass. And how will a princess like you sleep on a rough bed of leaves every night? Clad not in silk but tree bark.

“At times, we may not find water to drink for days; at others, no food for weeks, even roots or fruit. And how, my love, will your tender body bear the ferocity of the seasons? Burning summer, icy winter, and rain that soaks you to the bone.

“Be reasonable, precious Sita, and my exile will be over sooner than you imagine.”

Now, for the first time since he knew her, he saw her eyes fill with tears, like lotuses with dew. They spilled over her lids, drop by drop. She made no move to wipe them and he could not bear the sight.

She said softly, her voice unchanged, “All that will only add excitement to our lives. And I just remembered something. When I was ten, some rishis who read the stars came to my father's palace. Even then, they told me I would spend many years with my husband in the forest. Rama, if you leave me behind I will take my life: either with poison, or fire, or I will drown myself.

“You are my world. I will be your wife not just in this life, but the next one, and the one after that, and forever. When even a moment without you is so painful for me, how will I survive a year, then another three and another ten after those?”

She spoke so calmly and reasonably that Rama was a little frightened by her. Not even his mother or his father, he realized, loved him as Sita did. He rose and clasped her to him, “You were born to come even into the jungle with me. I was only testing you. You are the rarest woman on earth, and I will take you with me wherever I go. That is our destiny: to be together. Let us feed the poor, give alms to our brahmanas, and all our possessions to our servants. Let us go lightly into the jungle.”

Her face lit up like the sun emerging from behind dark clouds.

 

12. Lakshmana

At the door, Lakshmana heard all this, and he could not stand it. He burst into the room, fell at Rama's feet, and cried, “I will walk before you both in the jungle! You spoke of Shatrughna and Bharata remaining in Ayodhya, but not of me. Which means I will go with you.”

He looked pleadingly at his brother, then at Sita. Rama raised him up and said, “Of you I need not speak, because you are part of me. But if you come to the forest, who will protect our mothers from Kaikeyi? Our father is a broken man and she rules his will. Who will look after Urmila, if you come with us?”

But Lakshmana said, “I don't doubt Bharata. He will look after our mothers better than his own, and his wife will look after Urmila. And if he does not, Rama, it won't take me long to come back and kill him.

“You must take me with you. I will carry your weapons and clear your path before you. I will gather fruit and hunt for you, while Sita and you walk together on mountain slopes. How else will you both eat? Think about it, Rama: you cannot leave her alone every time you go to hunt.”

Suddenly Rama laughed. He embraced his brother and cried, “You will come with us, Lakshmana. I always meant to take you with me, because I could not live without you either. Go to our Acharya Sudhanva and ask him for our weapons. I thank God, Kaikeyi has not said we must go unarmed into exile. We will take the two bows Varuna gave us, the sets of armor light as sun rays and the magic quivers. Tell our master we need Varuna's swords, as well. Hurry back, Lakshmana; our time is short.”

Like a delighted child Lakshmana hugged Rama, and ran to their acharya's armory. He was back in no time, his arms full of the glittering weapons the Lord of the sea had given them. Lakshmana was excited; gone were the tears and the rage, forgotten the animosity against Kaikeyi and their father.

His eyes shining, he laid the unearthly weapons at Rama's feet and cried, “What else, my brother? Our time is short you know.”

Rama said, “I want to give away all our possessions as alms; for possessions possess one even from afar. Then we can leave in peace. Go and fetch Vasishta's son Suyagna, and his disciples. Let us take their blessings before we leave.”

 

13. Rama and Dasaratha

They gave away everything they owned to their servants and to some deserving brahmanas. Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita came out into the sun. The princes carried Varuna's bows and the people were dazzled by those weapons. By now, they had heard of the tragedy that had struck Ayodhya like dark lightning. They cried out Rama's name in lament. They had filled the streets to watch him ride the elephant to his coronation, his face under the white parasol. Instead they saw him barefoot, going to bid farewell to his father.

“How can Dasaratha send Rama to the forest?” they cried.

“And the tender Sita with him?”

“Let us follow them to the vana.”

“Let Kaikeyi rule over an empty city.”

Rama walked silently through that eddying sea of sorrow, unmoved by what they shouted. He kept his eyes turned from their angry faces and passed on to the king's palace. His head bowed, Sumantra waited at Dasaratha's gates. But Rama smiled at the old sarathy and said gently, “Sumantra, announce us to the king.”

Sumantra came in to Dasaratha. “My lord, Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana are here.”

The king sighed and said in a clear voice now, “Fetch my wives and the others who are close to us by blood and by service. I want to see Rama with all of them one last time.”

Kausalya came, Sumitra, and Kaikeyi also. Dasaratha nodded to Sumantra, and he showed Rama in, with Sita and Lakshmana. Rama entered, his hands folded. Dasaratha jumped up with a cry and tried to run to his son. But he slumped senseless to the floor. Rama and Lakshmana carried him to his throne.

When the king's eyes fluttered open, Rama stood before him and said, “Lord of the earth, I have come to take leave of you. Sita and Lakshmana will go with me. Give us your blessing.”

In wonder, the father stared at his son, who was as calm as ever and no less radiant. He beckoned to Rama to come nearer, and whispered to him, “Kaikeyi has betrayed me. I am bound by my oath to her, but you are not. The people want you for their king. Disobey me today, Rama, and make an old man happy: take the throne that is yours by force!”

But Rama stopped his father's lips with his hand. “I cannot break your word. Besides, you must rule Ayodhya for many years still. Nine years and five will pass quickly, and I will come back to your feet and clasp them in my hands.”

Dasaratha sighed once more. With all the courage he could find he said slowly, “Then go, noble child, and may this deed of yours be a legend through the world forever. You are the jewel of our line, the fulfillment of all the Ikshvakus. Yet I have a small wish you must grant me. Don't go today; spend one last night with your mother and me, and leave tomorrow.”

Rama said, “If I stay tonight, tomorrow you will ask me to stay another day. But I have already gone, for my spirit is on its way. Abandon your grief, my lord. Don't let your great heart be burdened: I will be happy in the forest. Besides, Sita and Lakshmana are going with me; the years will pass swiftly, and swiftly I will come back to you. Now give me your blessing and your leave.”

Dasaratha embraced Rama and wept. There was no dry eye in his court, save Kaikeyi's. She stood apart, her face a mask. The king said to Sumantra, “Order my army to go to the forest with Rama. Let chariots be laden with silks, gold, and ornaments for my children. Let Rama's palace be emptied and all his household go with him into the wilderness. Let our best hunters go with him and the finest cooks.”

Kaikeyi stamped her foot and said shrilly, “You want to leave empty coffers and deserted streets for Bharata to rule! Remember your oath, Dasaratha. Nothing goes with Rama; he goes clad in bark.”

With a wild cry, Dasaratha turned on her. “Wretched enemy, is there no limit to the torment you will inflict on me? Woman, your boons were only that Bharata be crowned and Rama exiled. There was nothing about my wealth or my people, and what I do with them; and nothing about me, or my life. You are a serpent I have nurtured at my breast. I will also go into the forest with Rama, and you can rule Ayodhya with your son.”

But Rama said to his father, “All I need are some clothes made of valkala, as rishis wear.”

Before Rama had finished, Kaikeyi ran out of the sabha. She came back, panting, with three rough robes made of strands of bark woven together. She came defiantly to Rama and thrust one bundle of coarse cloth into his arms. Her glittering eyes met his calm gaze, and a mad smile curved her lips. Rama donned the robe of bark she gave him, and Lakshmana put on another.

Dasaratha watched helplessly, almost beyond grief now. One valkala robe remained in Kaikeyi's hands, and she held it out to Sita. Sita took the strange garment from Kaikeyi. But try as she would, she could not put it on properly: she did not know how. She stood in that court, with some of the robe around her head and some still in her hands, tangled. She turned shyly to Rama and he quickly wrapped the rest of it around her waist, over the pale silk she wore.

Their hearts breaking, the women of the royal harem cried, “Sita hasn't been banished. Leave her with us.”

“Take Lakshmana, but not the tender princess.”

“How will she live in the jungle?”

When he saw Sita wearing valkala, Vasishta flashed at Kaikeyi in rare anger, “You will stop at nothing, will you? You have banished Rama. Let Sita rule from his throne if you want to be forgiven at least part of your sin. Or we will all follow Rama to the forest and build another city there. He will rule us and the forest will be Ayodhya.

“Fallen queen, your ambition has blinded you to one thing: Bharata will never accept this kingdom you have won for him with treachery. Shatrughna and he will follow Rama to the jungle. Take my word for it; I know these princes better than you do.”

Dasaratha seemed to gain courage from Vasishta's anger. He said, “Stop this madness, Kaikeyi. Sita shall not wear valkala.”

Kaikeyi fumed, but Sita could put aside her crude cassock.

Rama said to the king, “My mother Kausalya isn't young any more. She will not be able to bear this sorrow unless you help her. If you don't share her burden, she will give up hope and her life with it.”

Dasaratha sobbed bitterly. He said, “In my past lives I must have separated many children from their parents, that I am cursed like this now. And I can't even die of grief, as I gladly would to be rid of this agony. Because one evil woman wants to own this kingdom, this barren patch of dirt, all our people must suffer.”