‘That monkey has written the Ramayana too!’ Valmiki did not like this at all, and he wondered whose Ramayana was better. So he set out to find Hanuman.
Narada directed him to the kadali-vana, the grove of plantains, not far from Ayodhya, that Hanuman frequented. There, on seven broad leaves of the banana tree, Valmiki found inscribed Hanuman’s Ramayana. He read it and found it to be perfect. The most exquisite choice of grammar and vocabulary, metre and melody. Valmiki could not help himself. He started to cry.
‘Is it so bad?’ asked Hanuman.
‘No, it is so good,’ said Valmiki.
‘Why then are you crying?’ asked Hanuman.
‘Because,’ replied Valmiki, ‘after reading Hanuman’s Ramayana no one will read Valmiki’s Ramayana.’ Hearing this, Hanuman simply tore up the seven banana leaves on which he had inscribed his telling of Ram’s tale. ‘What have you done?’ screamed Valmiki, watching Hanuman cast the pieces into the wind. ‘Now no one will ever read Hanuman’s Ramayana.’
Hanuman said, ‘You need your Ramayana more than I need mine. You wrote your Ramayana so that the world remembers Valmiki; I wrote my Ramayana so that I remember Ram.’
At that moment, Valmiki realized how he had been consumed by the desire for validation through his work. He had not used the work to liberate himself from the fear of invalidation. He had not appreciated the essence of Ram’s tale to unknot his mind. His Ramayana was a product of ambition; Hanuman’s Ramayana was a product of affection. That is why Hanuman’s Ramayana sounded so much better.
Valmiki fell at Hanuman’s feet and said, ‘Just as the flesh distracts us from the mind, so do words distract us from the idea. Now I realize that greater than Ram is the idea of Ram.’
Many retellings give Hanuman as the source of the Ramayana. Valmiki is said to have written only a part of what Hanuman had to say.
The idea that all narratives are incomplete and so no one must be arrogant about their creation is a common theme in Indian stories.
In some versions, Hanuman carves the Ramayana on rocks. In others he writes it on palm leaves that the wind carries to different parts of India.
Shatrughna Hears the Ramayana
Valmiki taught the idea that is Ram through the song that is the Ramayana to Luv and Kush. He also hoped that they would grow up admiring the man who was their father, understand why he did what he did. As they learned the song of Ram, Luv and Kush experienced wonder, and understood the difference between being learned and being wise.
Then one day, when Luv and Kush were approaching the fourteenth year of their life, a warrior with his soldiers bearing banners of the Suryavamsa and the Raghu-kula came to Sita’s hermitage. Sita recognized the warrior as her brother-in-law Shatrughna. He looked just like Lakshman. Memories welled up inside her. She chose to withdraw into her hut.
‘May I rest here for the night?’ asked Shatrughna. He explained he was returning after defeating Lavana, the terrible king of Mathura, who had challenged the authority of Ram. Valmiki welcomed him and offered him fruit and water, and some fish that the twins had caught earlier that day. When Shatrughna had eaten, Valmiki asked the two boys to sing the song he had taught them.
The two boys picked up a stringed instrument and sang their song through the night. Shatrughna was spellbound by the verse and the voices. ‘What is this musical instrument that you hold? It looks like a fiddle but is very different,’ he said.
‘It is like a lute, just like a veena, but instead of plucking its strings with our fingers we run the string of our bow on it to create sound,’ said the boys. ‘We call it Ravana-hatta, the hand of Ravana. The hand that stole Sita from Ram now makes music for our song that praises Ram.’
‘Bows that we use to shoot arrows, you use to make music. You two are truly gifted.’ Turning to Valmiki, Shatrughna said, ‘You must bring these boys to Ayodhya and sing this song before the king. It describes his life so beautifully. This is the perfect time. He is conducting the Ashwamedha yagna and, as you know, between the rituals, bards and minstrels and dancers are invited to entertain the city.’
In the Valmiki Ramayana, Ram encourages his brothers to establish independent kingdoms of their own. Lakshman and Bharata refuse to leave his side. Shatrughna ventures out and establishes a kingdom after defeating Lavana-asura. On the way back, he stops at Valmiki’s ashrama and hears two young boys learning to sing the sage’s composition, the Ramayana. He invites them to sing in Ayodhya. Does he recognize his nephews? Does he orchestrate the reunion? Is that the only role given to Shatrughna in the Ramayana?
Shatrughna does not have much to do in the Ramayana except shadow Bharata and defeat Lavana-asura in the Uttara-Ramayana.
Folk retellings speak of how Lakshman often visited Sita secretly. Once he brought Ram along to see the children, and Sita, noticing Ram, threw garbage at him, a folk expression of rage.
Ravana-hatta is a folk musical instrument, a fiddle made using a coconut shell at one end, used by the musicians of Rajasthan. Rudra-veena is a classical lute, with two pumpkin gourds at either end. Stringed instruments are associated with Ravana; he is often described as their creator.
Entertainers in Ayodhya
When Shatrughna left, Valmiki sniggered, ‘The great prince does not realize that he has just invited his own nephews to dance and sing on the streets of the city like common entertainers.’
‘Is that bad?’ asked Sita, realizing that Valmiki had known her identity all along, but had respected her silence on the matter. ‘Do you think to be an entertainer is inferior to being a prince? As long as you think so, Brahma will never be a true brahmin, for hierarchy stems from the animal need to dominate, not the human ability to expand the mind in the quest for brahman.’
Duly chastised, Valmiki decided to take the sons of Sita to Ayodhya and make them perform the Ramayana before the king. ‘Should I introduce them to their father?’ wondered Valmiki.
‘Do not impose the burden of fatherhood on Ram. It will create more turbulence in Ayodhya, for then these boys will become contenders to his throne,’ said Sita.
‘But is it not their right by birth?’ asked Valmiki.
‘The kingdom is not a king’s property. Besides, property is a human delusion granted by man to man. The children belong to no one and nothing really belongs to Ram.’
The sons of Sita were excited at the prospect of visiting Ayodhya for the first time. They knew all the stories about this famed city: how it came into being following the wedding of the king of North Kosala and the princess of South Kosala, how its people followed Ram to the edge of the forest, for they loved him so much, and how the old king Dashratha died alone at the threshold of the palace without his sons or his subjects around him. As they prepared to leave, Sita gave her hairpin to Valmiki. ‘Give this to Ram’s new queen.’
‘New queen? Ram does not have a new queen.’
‘He is conducting a yagna. He cannot conduct the ritual without a wife by his side. Give this to that lady with my love. She will be a lonely woman, for I know while Ram will respect her he will never love her as he loved me,’ she said. Valmiki wondered how Sita could stay so calm. Sensing his thoughts, Sita said, ‘This was an eventuality. I accept it with grace. Sorrow only comes when we resist reality, for a dream.’
The children touched their mother’s feet before following Valmiki through the forest to Ayodhya. The city had four gates: one for kings and warriors, one for priests and poets, one for farmers, herders, artisans and traders, and one for servants and entertainers. The sons of Sita entered by the fourth gate.
Right from the gate, Luv and Kush started singing and dancing. The bells on their feet tinkled. Everybody stopped to see the boys who had the Ravana-hatta in one hand and a bow in the other. They had the arms of archers but the mannerisms of entertainers. Their voice was beautiful and the words they sang were even more wonderful. The people clapped and cheered and followed the boys to the square in front of the palace where the king was performing his great
yagna.
Valmiki saw Ram seated on a tiger skin, a firm moustache curled around his cheek, his eyes serene as he made offerings to the fire.
In the interval between the ceremonies, when the rishis declared that the gods were asleep and they needed to rest, Luv and Kush were called to present Valmiki’s song to the king. He now sat on a golden throne. Bharata held the parasol behind him. Lakshman and Shatrughna fanned him with yak-tail fly whisks. The women of the household sat behind them, bedecked with gold and diamonds and the three old queen mothers sat at a distance in the attire of widows. At the feet of Ram was a monkey. ‘That is Hanuman,’ said Valmiki to the boys. ‘Look how comfortable he is, seated at Ram’s feet, this great creature who leapt across the ocean and set Lanka aflame.’
The boys sang the six chapters of Valmiki’s Ramayana over six nights. At the end of each chapter, the king gave each of the boys a string of gold coins. When the sixth chapter was over, everyone praised the composition and the performance. And Ram said something that surprised everyone: ‘Whose story was this? Who is this noble man whose life you describe so beautifully?’
The boys were surprised to hear this. ‘It is your story, king of Ayodhya, as narrated by our mother to our teacher, Valmiki, composer of this song.’
‘Is it? The Ram you describe is too noble to be me. And the Sita you describe is just not as wonderful as I remember her.’ Everyone watched as the king shut his eyes, took a deep breath and smiled. They knew he was thinking of his wife. ‘The gifts I have given you are not enough. You deserve more. What do you want?’
Luv said, ‘May we see the queen? She has not stepped out of the palace even once in the six days and nights we have been here.’
‘But she has always been beside me. Have you not seen her?’ Ram turned left and the boys saw an image that until then they had assumed was a beautiful doll made of gold. ‘That is my Sita, pure as gold. She never leaves my side.’
‘That is a doll. We want to see the real Sita,’ said Kush.
‘This is the Sita that is my wife. The Sita who was the queen of Ayodhya has been cast out long ago.’
The boys could not believe what they heard. ‘You abandoned Sita!’ they cried out in horror. ‘Why? Did she not survive the fire and prove her chastity?’
‘Infidelity is never a reason to abandon anyone.’
‘Then why?’
‘Unwittingly, she had become a stain on the royal reputation, a reason for people to mock the king. She had to be washed away.’
The cruelty of Ram’s statement made Luv and Kush so angry that they threw away the chain of gold coins they had received. They also threw away their fiddles. ‘We shall never sing your song again,’ they said, and stormed out with just the bows in hand. The king’s brothers reached for their swords at this display of insolence.
Valmiki apologized to the king before things got out of hand: ‘They are children and we are entertainers. We do not understand the ways of kings. Please forgive us.’
Gesturing to his brothers to calm down, Ram said, ‘There is nothing to apologize for. I do not expect to be understood.’
The people had asked him to remarry, take more wives as his father had for the sake of an heir – or at least one for the ritual – but Ram had refused saying, ‘Brahma may have two wives – Savitri and Gayatri. Vishnu may have two wives – Shridevi and Bhudevi. Shiva may have two wives – Gauri and Ganga. Kartikeya may take two wives – Valli and Sena. Ganesha may take two wives – Riddhi and Siddhi. Krishna will have Radha, Rukmini and Satyabhama. But for me, there will only be Sita.’
Gold is the purest metal. That Ram makes the image of Sita using this metal is significant.
The word ‘kushilava’ means travelling bards. The bards who narrated the Ramayana were the original ‘sons of Ram’ questioning his decision to abandon his wife. Was it because he doubted her? Was it to simply satisfy his people? Or was it to make society question its underlying assumptions?
In traditional visual renderings of the Ramayana, Valmiki and the sons of Sita are visualized as hermits singing the song of Ram. They look like priests almost. But they are bards, members of the lowest strata of society, with no roots. In many parts of India, an entertainer (or nat) is a term of derision. By making Ram’s sons members of this community, Valmiki dramatically demonstrates the personal tragedy of the royal couple and the cost of social propriety.
In the Jain Ramayana written in Sanskrit by Hemachandra known as Yogashastra, Ram follows Sita to the forest to bring her back but finds no trace of her. He assumes she is dead, killed by wild animals and performs her funeral rites.
In Telugu folk songs, the golden image of Sita has to be bathed by the women of the household. The women, led by Ram’s elder sister, refuse to do so.
Ram’s Horse
As part of the Ashwamedha yagna, the royal horse was let loose and the king’s warriors followed it. All the lands the horse crossed unchallenged came under the king’s control. Thus the empire and influence of the Raghu clan could expand without bloodshed.
When the horse entered the forest and came by the hermitage of Valmiki, Luv and Kush captured the horse and refused to part with it. ‘We shall never be subjects of Ram,’ they said. They raised their bows, determined to defend themselves against Ram’s warriors.
‘Give the horse back. Or let it pass. This is no game, children. If you do not do as we say, we will attack and drag you like chained calves to the king’s prison,’ said the warriors to Luv and Kush, but the boys refused to budge.
To the astonishment of the warriors, the boys were well versed in the martial arts and they knew the chants to turn arrows into missiles. Ayodhya’s warriors were suddenly showered with arrows that contained within them the power of serpents, eagles, bears, rats, vultures and lions. The arrows caused the royal chariots to burst into flames, or caused the wind to sweep up the soldiers into the sky. Not used to being challenged, let alone being defeated, the warriors were at their wits’ end.
Word was sent to Ayodhya. The king sent his brothers to capture the boys. But Shatrughna was defeated, and Lakshman and Bharata. Even Hanuman was caught by the boys and tied to a tree like a pet.
Surprised to learn this, Ram entered the forest. He came wearing his armour of gold, on a golden chariot bearing his royal flag, carrying his magnificent bow and a quiverful of splendid arrows. He raised his bow determined to teach the boys a lesson. The boys also raised their bows determined to kill the man who was no longer their hero.
‘Stop!’ said Sita coming between the boys and the king. ‘You cannot defeat these boys. No one can. They are the children of Sita and Ram.’
The episode of the horse is not found in the Valmiki Ramayana. This comes from later narratives such as in Bhavabhuti’s eighth-century Sanskrit play Uttara Ramcharitra and the fourteenth-century Patal-khand of the Padma Purana.
That Ram and his entire army are unable to defeat Sita’s sons is an indicator of defiance, a rejection of unfair society.
In a Kathakali dance performance, Hanuman is so depressed in the absence of Sita that he wanders in the forest looking for her. Sita’s sons catch him, tie him up and keep him as a pet. Since they can so easily subdue him, Hanuman concludes they can only be Sita’s children.
In some Assamese and Bengali retellings, the children not just defeat Ram, but they kill him and carry his crown to their mother who is horrified at what they have done. She then invokes the gods to undo the damage. This episode seeks to right the wrong done to Sita. It is her revenge, in a way. But she forgives and restores everyone to life.
The ritual of Ashwamedha enabled a king to claim overlordship over other kingdoms using minimum force. That Ram seeks to expand his dominion and is resisted by his own sons expresses the limitations of any human rule. No rule is entirely fair; someone is always suffering on account of it. And those who suffer will resist. Gauri will never be sovereign; only Kali will.
The tenth-century Sanskrit play Chalita Ram (deceived Ram) is base
d on the later part of the Ramayana. The entire play is no longer available and the author remains untraced. Here, the demon Lavana sends his spies disguised as Kaikeyi and Manthara to cast aspersions on Sita’s character. Luv and Kush capture Ram’s horse in the forest but in the fight that follows Luv is captured and taken to Ayodhya where he sees the golden statue of Sita and identifies her as his mother.
In the eleventh-century Kathasaritsagar, Lakshman seeks out a man with sacred marks on his body for Ram’s sacrifice. He encounters Luv in the forest who has these marks and takes him captive. Kush immediately sets out to rescue his brother and in the fight that follows successfully defeats Ram’s soldiers, Ram’s brothers and even Ram. When asked who he is, he identifies himself as the son of Sita and Ram. Ram is so overjoyed on hearing this that the family unites and returns to Ayodhya to live happily ever after.
Sita Returns to Her Mother
Suddenly the might of the boys made sense. The invincible Ram finally had to accept defeat. Ram said, ‘The boys have captured the royal horse of the Raghu clan. They can either kill it or ride back on it to Ayodhya to take their rightful place beside their father on their ancestral throne.’
The boys did not know whether to stay disappointed with Ram, or rejoice in the knowledge that he was their father. Should they hug him or stay by their mother’s side? ‘Go to your father and do as he says,’ said Sita.
‘Let the boys’ mother also be accepted by Ram,’ pleaded Valmiki.
Ram said, ‘Tell the mother of these boys that Ram rejected the queen of Ayodhya, never his wife. Tell her that the past fourteen years in the palace have been worse than the fourteen years in the forest. She made the wilderness a wonderful place. In her company I enjoyed the heat of the summer, the cold of the winter, the wetness of the rains. In her company I did not mind the days without food and the nights without sleep. In her company I did not feel the sharp stones that split my heel, the thorns that tore my skin, the ants that gnawed at my flesh, the wind that chilled my bones. Without her, the palace with its silks and its perfumes was an unbearable prison, food had no taste and music had no rhythm. But I had to bear it, for I was the king and I would never let my people down. I performed the rites and rituals as the eldest of the clan, and I oversaw the welfare of my people. I ensured everyone followed their profession and retired to make way for the next generation. I tried to make life as orderly and as predictable as possible. Let her know that I strove to make the kingdom happy, but I myself was never happy. Tell her that I will be happy only if she returns to Ayodhya. But to return as queen she has to prove her chastity publicly before the people of Ayodhya so that they will never ever mock their king again.’