Boons and curses are narrative tools to explain karma: all actions have consequences.
According to the Valmiki Ramayana, twelve years pass between Ram’s marriage and the decision to coronate Ram. In later retellings, the decision is almost immediate.
Dashratha struggles to change his fate. First he wants to father a child, even if it means marrying three times and getting a priest to intervene. Then he wants a quick coronation before anything happens to his sons. But in doing so, he sparks off events that hasten the inevitable.
The image of a son carrying his old parents to a pilgrimage is at once a reflection of nobility as well as burden. Children who care for their old parents are often called Shravana.
The kavadi or the bamboo staff slung over the shoulder, weighted on either side by feathers and auspicious symbols like pots, is a symbol of household responsibilities that young men carry as part of many temple rituals associated with Shiva. In the south, devotees of Shiva’s son Murugan carry this. In the north, devotees of Shiva carry water from the Ganga on kavadis to their local temples, making sure the kavadi never touches the ground along the way.
In the Unnao district of Uttar Pradesh there is a place called Sarvan associated with the death of Shravana. There is a stone image there whose navel can never be filled with water, indicating the eternally unquenched thirst of the dutiful son killed by Dashratha.
The Venom of Manthara
Word spread rapidly from the king’s courtyard to the city and then across the land. At dawn the following day, a new king would be crowned while the old king would retire; thus continuity and stability would be assured for the city of Ayodhya and the land of Kosala.
This led to utsav, a spontaneous celebration. The farmers returned home early from the fields, herdsmen from the pastures and fisherfolk from the waters to join in the celebrations. The houses were cleaned and decorated with flowers. The streets were swept clean and watered to prevent the dust from rising. Lamps were lit. Flags were prepared, to be raised at dawn the next day. Special food was cooked – nothing sour, only sweet, all rich in butter and ghee. The men and women took out their finery to greet the king when he would ride out on the royal chariot under the ivory parasol after the coronation ceremony. A feast was organized in the city square. Wrestlers, entertainers and musicians rushed to the city to take part in the festivites.
The news thrilled everyone in the queen’s courtyard. Kaushalya said, ‘But surely this can wait till Bharata and Shatrughna return?’
‘Indeed,’ said Manthara, ‘I wonder why this impatience. Or was this all planned?’ Her mind wandered. As it wandered further and further, her thoughts transformed from a gentle breeze to a storm. Suddenly she saw patterns that no one else saw. And these patterns frightened her. She ran to Kaikeyi and found her busy selecting her favourite jewels.
Manthara shut the doors and windows, sat in front of Kaikeyi and began to beat her chest, staring at the floor. Again and again, repeatedly, with increasing frequency, till Kaikeyi took notice. ‘What is it, Mother?’
‘You are beautiful, brave and intelligent and destined to be the mother of a king. You should have been the first wife of a great king. But no, your father gave you to this wretch who already had a wife. He promised your father that your son would be his heir. Then he blamed you for not giving him a son. Calls himself king but does not take responsibility for his own sterility. Even that servant’s daughter’s womb could not germinate his weak seed. So he calls a priest and conducts a yagna and invokes the gods and gets a potion to become a father. And what a horrible father, preferring his first wife’s son to the others! Holding him back in the palace and letting your son go to the forest with that wretched Vishwamitra. And then giving your son an inferior wife, sister of the eldest bride, not a queen in her own right. And now, when your son is away, prepares to crown his dear Ram king.
That will make Kaushalya the queen mother and where will that leave you? Your son will be servant of the king and you, my beautiful, brave, intelligent, fertile Kaikeyi, will be Kaushalya’s maid. And I will be maid to a maid. With a heavy heart I accepted being maid to the second queen in the hope that one day you would be queen mother. But now, that hope is dashed. All because your charms did not work with the king. Kaushalya’s did.’
Kaikeyi, who had been happy until that moment, and had never seen things the way Manthara did, suddenly felt fear creeping into her heart. Did she matter to the king? Did her son matter? No more would she be the favoured queen; she would be servant to the queen mother. And Bharata? Would he be Ram’s servant? Then she thought: but Ram is the eldest son and a good son, a brave, strong and wise man. Surely Ayodhya deserves him. What is wrong in serving a worthy king and his noble mother?
‘Sacrifice is good,’ continued Manthara tauntingly. ‘The poor always sacrifice for the rich, the weak for the strong, the servant for the master. Let us accept our place, at the feet of Kaushalya. Since I raised you, not your royal mother, I guess you are bound to display servant qualities just like me.’
Like a snake whose tail had been struck, Kaikeyi raised her hood. ‘Never. I am no one’s servant. I will always be queen. I will go to my husband and tell him to stop. He will listen to me. He always does.’
‘Yes, he does. But not now, not when Vasishtha and Kaushalya sit beside him. Get him here, alone. And don’t ask him. Demand that he keep his word.’
‘Word?’
Manthara reminded Kaikeyi of the two boons Dashratha had granted her long ago, in the battlefield when she saved his life, boons that she had yet to claim. ‘Oh yes,’ said Kaikeyi, with a wily smile.
From desire come all problems. And all desires come from fear. Manthara fears for her own well-being, and so does Kaikeyi. Neither trusts Dashratha. Each one imagines the consequences of Ram’s coronation and is not happy with the picture that emerges.
In ancient times, there were special chambers known as kop-bhavan or anger rooms where queens went to declare their rage. Kings were expected to then appease them and draw them out of their kop-bhavan. This is where Kaikeyi goes; she removes her finery and hurls herself on the floor to dramatically display her sorrow.
Manthara is a common literary device whereby an aspect of the protagonist’s personality is turned into a character in a story. Manthara embodies and voices Kaikeyi’s deepest fears.
In many retellings, both Manthara and Kaikeyi are compelled to do what they did in order to ensure that Ram goes into the forest and kills the demons there. In the Adhyatma Ramayana, for example, the goddess of knowledge Saraswati influences the two women. Such narratives attempt to humanize the villains, make them critical pawns in a larger narrative.
The narrative reveals the anxieties of the palace. In every organization there are hierarchies which determine power. To rise, some use talent, others use loyalty and still others use connections. That the eldest should inherit the throne is a human construction. In nature, the strongest leads the pack. Stories that show Ram as not just elder but also wiser and stronger establish his claim to the throne.
Bhavabhuti’s Mahavira-charita describes how Ravana’s uncle and minister Malyavan plots against Ram. First he provokes Parashurama to fight Ram. Then he gets Surpanakha to possess Manthara’s body and influence Kaikeyi, thus forcing Ram to enter the forest where he would be overpowered by Ravana’s ally, the monkey-king Vali, and be forced to marry Surpanakha while Ravana would claim Sita. Murari’s Sanskrit play Anargha-Raghava has a similar take.
Two Boons for Kaikeyi
When a king has several wives, he is supposed to divide his time equally between them. Dashratha, however, preferred spending most nights with Kaikeyi, something that always created tension in the inner courtyards. But Kaushalya was too gracious to protest and Sumitra too mild.
That night, like most nights, the king came to Kaikeyi’s courtyard. He expected to be greeted with the fragrance of perfumes and the aroma of Manthara’s cooking, especially tonight, when the whole city was fragrant and every
one was busy preparing for the next day’s event. But what greeted him was darkness and silence.
Manthara was crouched in a corner, beating her chest with her hands and striking her head on the wall. And Kaikeyi lay on the floor, her hair unbound, her clothes unravelled, her jewels cast on the floor, whimpering and sobbing. What was going on?
‘I mourn the shame you will bring to the Raghu clan when you fail to keep your word,’ said Kaikeyi.
‘That will never happen! That can never happen. How can you say that?’
‘I want something, something that you promised me long ago, that you may not want to give me any more,’ said Kaikeyi, slowly ensnaring the king into her trap.
‘As scion of the Raghu clan, I will always keep my word lest people doubt my family’s integrity, you know that,’ said Dashratha indulgently, looking forward to the prospect of spending all his time with Kaikeyi after handing over the royal responsibilities to Ram.
‘Then give me the two boons that you promised me when I saved your life in the battle between the devas and the asuras. Let Ram be sent to the forest where he has to live as a hermit for fourteen years. Let Bharata be made king of Ayodhya.’
Dashratha flinched as if stung by a scorpion. He looked at Kaikeyi. No, she was not joking. This was real. As scion of the Raghu clan, he had to keep his word. The curse of Shravana’s father was coming true. His legs felt weak. He sat down. ‘I will have to ask Ram,’ he mumbled.
‘Manthara can go and fetch Ram. Let us see if he is truly a scion of the Raghu clan,’ said Kaikeyi, enjoying the king’s discomfort. ‘Should she?’ The king nodded reluctantly.
Manthara ran to Kaushalya’s courtyard and found Ram, looking radiant, being fed by his mother. Bowing low, Manthara said, ‘The king wants to see you. It’s a bit urgent.’
‘Let him finish his food,’ said Sumitra, who was feeding Sita, the queen-to-be. But Ram had already stood up. Kaushalya did not mind; she knew her son and the rules of the royal family.
Why did Kaikeyi send Ram into exile for fourteen years and not forever? This is a mystery that is not easy to solve. It suggests that Kaikeyi wanted Ram to return. Different retellings offer different explanations. In one version, a fortnight of the devas is fourteen years for humans, and that is what Kaikeyi sought because that is the time Ram would need to kill Ravana. In another version found in Assam, it had been foretold that whosoever sat on Ayodhya’s throne for those fourteen years would die, and so Kaikeyi wanted to protect Ram even if it meant the death of her own son, Bharata. Somehow, there is an eagerness in storytellers to understand and forgive Kaikeyi rather than condemn her, a trait typical of Indian storytelling.
In Bhasa’s Pratima-nataka, Kaikeyi tells Bharata that she wanted Ram to go into exile for fourteen days but said fourteen years by mistake. The play tries to clear Kaikeyi’s name.
In the Buddhist Ramayana, Ram is sent into exile by his father to protect him from his ambitious stepmother. Dashratha tells him to return after his death and claim the throne by force.
In the Jain Paumachariya, fearing that Bharata will become a monk in his footsteps, Dashratha asks Ram to go into exile.
When Ram is summoned, the Valmiki Ramayana describes him as seated amongst the elders of the city looking like the bright moon and Sita appearing as a constellation of stars.
Upholding the Reputation of the Raghu Clan
Ram found his father in a state of distress, mouthing incoherent words, when he entered Kaikeyi’s courtyard. Kaikeyi spoke in his stead: ‘Your father, king of Ayodhya, scion of the Raghu clan, had promised me that he would grant me not one but two wishes. Tonight, I told him what I desire. I want you to live as a hermit in the forest for fourteen years while Bharata is crowned king instead. What do you have to say to that? Your father clearly struggles with the idea.’
Ram said, his face as calm as before, ‘A word given must be kept. I shall set out for the forest immediately and gladly make way for my brother to sit on the throne. Let it not be said that any member of the Raghu clan does not keep his word. Let people never doubt the integrity of the kings of Ayodhya.’
Dashratha broke down. It would have been so much easier if the boy had resisted, if he had asked for an explanation, shown a hint of rage.
Kaikeyi chuckled, ‘No wonder he is your favourite. He obeys you unquestioningly.’
‘You are blind, wicked woman. This is not a son obeying his father. This is a prince of the Raghu clan upholding royal reputation.’
Kaikeyi did not care to hear this. And Manthara cackled in glee as she ran to Kaushalya’s courtyard to tell everyone the news.
In society, a man is valued on the basis of what he has. But Ram does not value himself so. He does not see Ayodhya as his property or entitlement. So he can let it go easily. It indicates wisdom. Tapasya enables a human being to determine how he values himself; this dictates the way he conducts yagna in society. But what seems noble at the start of the epic when Ram detaches himself from Ayodhya seems horrifying at the end of the epic, when Ram detaches himself from his wife. The epic draws attention to the dark side of detachment. It is not always as noble as it is made out to be.
Ram is celebrated as maryada purushottam, one who follows the rules. So his decision is not based on emotions, but on the model social behaviour expected of a prince. This distinction is critical. That Ram gives more value to rules than to his feelings is revealed starkly in the way he treats his wife later in the epic. The rule-follower keeps the royal word and upholds royal reputation. It does not matter that one decision breaks his father’s heart and the other breaks his wife’s. The rule-follower is neither an obedient son nor a loving husband; he is just a rule-follower. In a way, this seems like an ancient indictment of the institution model of society, where rules and systems are given more value than people.
The Valmiki Ramayana clearly states that Dashratha secured Kaikeyi as his wife on the condition that her son would be his heir. Ram is aware of this and so never blames Kaikeyi.
Until the fifth century CE, Ram was hailed as a great human hero, even though the Valmiki Ramayana alludes to Ram sensing his divinity, though never revealing it. From the fifth century onwards, Ram was increasingly seen as a form of Vishnu on earth, a model king, who valued his word over all things. By the tenth century, there was no doubt of Ram’s divinity. In Kamban’s Tamil retelling, Iramavataram (‘This avatar called Ram’), Ram struggles with his divinity and gradually slips into silence, as his actions often seem contrary to what is conventionally expected of the divine. By the twelfth century, following the work of the Vedanta scholar Ramanuja, Ram became equated with God himself and this marked the beginning of Ram-bhakti, where Ram is assumed to be God and does not have to prove he is God. Everyone in the epic knows he is God and approaches him accordingly.
Ram’s Companions
Kaushalya and Sumitra rushed into Kaikeyi’s courtyard, followed by Lakshman, Sita and Urmila. Lamps had been lit in the courtyard that was still dark. In the flickering light, they saw the king on Kaikeyi’s bed and Ram at her feet. The king looked shattered, Kaikeyi looked triumphant, while Ram looked calm, unclasping his jewels, letting them drop to the floor.
Kaushalya felt faint, but was held upright by Sumitra. It was all true.
Lakshman declared, ‘I will come with you. I have been your shadow in the palace. I will be your shadow in the forest.’ Ram did not say a word.
‘So will I,’ said Sita.
‘No,’ shouted Ram, taken by surprise. Then, toning down the sharpness of his voice, he explained, ‘The forest is no place for a princess. Wait for me here in the palace.’
‘I do not need your permission. I am your wife and I am supposed to accompany you, to the throne, into war and to the forest. What you eat, I shall taste. Where you sleep, I shall rest. You are the shaft of the bow that is our marriage; you need the string to complete it. My place is beside you, nowhere else. Fear not, I will be no burden; I can take care of myself. As long as I am beside you and beh
ind you, you will want for nothing.’
The words of the young girl stunned everyone in the palace. She was indeed Janaka’s daughter, born of the earth, raised amongst sages, the one who could hold aloft the bow of Shiva that crushed everyone else.
‘And I will follow my husband,’ said Urmila.
Lakshman took his wife aside and said, ‘Support me by staying back. I am going to the forest to serve my brother and his wife. If you come along, I will be distracted.’
‘Who will serve you?’ asked Urmila.
‘Serve me by staying here. Let me carry you in my heart.’
Sumitra said what everyone wanted to say, ‘Fourteen years in the forest! Do you know what that means? Fourteen years of summer without a fly whisk, fourteen years of winter without a quilt and fourteen years of rains without parasols.’
Sita said, ‘Mother, do not worry for your sons. In summer, I shall find shady trees under which they can rest. In winter, I shall light fires to keep them warm. During the rains, I shall find caves where we can stay dry. They are safe with me.’
Kaushalya’s heart melted in affection: the child does not know what is in store for her, she thought. She felt as if someone jealous of her happiness was ripping her heart out gleefully. Tears streaming down her face, she took off talismans from her arm and tied them on Sita’s.
Urmila hugged Sita and wept uncontrollably. Suddenly, she felt alone.
The exile of Ram is described very elaborately and theatrically in the Valmiki Ramayana. First Dashratha asks Ram to come to Kaikeyi’s palace. Then Ram goes to Kaushalya’s palace and then to Sita’s palace to convey the news. Finally Ram returns to Dashratha’s palace, ready to leave.