The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 4/Lectures and Discourses/The Ramayana
THE RAMAYANA
(Delivered at the Shakespeare Club, Pasadena, California, January 31, 1900)
There are two great epics in the Sanskrit language, which are very ancient.
Of course, there are hundreds of other epic poems. The Sanskrit language and
literature have been continued down to the present day, although, for more
than two thousand years, it has ceased to be a spoken language. I am now
going to speak to you of the two most ancient epics, called the Râmâyana and
the Mahâbhârata. They embody the manners and customs, the state of society,
civilisation, etc., of the ancient Indians. The oldest of these epics is
called Ramayana, "The Life of Râma". There was some poetical literature
before this — most of the Vedas, the sacred books of the Hindus, are written
in a sort of metre — but this book is held by common consent in India as the
very beginning of poetry.
The name of the poet or sage was Vâlmiki. Later on, a great many poetical
stories were fastened upon that ancient poet; and subsequently, it became a
very general practice to attribute to his authorship very many verses that
were not his. Notwithstanding all these interpolations, it comes down to us
as a very beautiful arrangement, without equal in the literatures of the
world.
There was a young man that could not in any way support his family. He was
strong and vigorous and, finally, became a highway robber; he attacked
persons in the street and robbed them, and with that money he supported his
father, mother, wife, and children. This went on continually, until one day
a great saint called Nârada was passing by, and the robber attacked him. The
sage asked the robber, "Why are you going to rob me? It is a great sin to
rob human beings and kill them. What do you incur all this sin for?" The
robber said, "Why, I want to support my family with this money." "Now", said
the sage, "do you think that they take a share of your sin also?" "Certainly
they do," replied the robber. "Very good," said the sage, "make me safe by
tying me up here, while you go home and ask your people whether they will
share your sin in the same way as they share the money you make." The man
accordingly went to his father, and asked, "Father, do you know how I
support you?" He answered, "No, I do not." "I am a robber, and I kill
persons and rob them." "What! you do that, my son? Get away! You outcast!
"He then went to his mother and asked her, "Mother, do you know how I
support you?" "No," she replied. "Through robbery and murder." "How horrible
it is!" cried the mother. "But, do you partake in my sin?" said the son.
"Why should I? I never committed a robbery," answered the mother. Then, he
went to his wife and questioned her, "Do you know how I maintain you all?"
"No," she responded. "Why, I am a highwayman," he rejoined, "and for years
have been robbing people; that is how I support and maintain you all. And
what I now want to know is, whether you are ready to share in my sin." "By
no means. You are my husband, and it is your duty to support me."
The eyes of the robber were opened. "That is the way of the world — even my
nearest relatives, for whom I have been robbing, will not share in my
destiny." He came back to the place where he had bound the sage, unfastened
his bonds, fell at his feet, recounted everything and said, "Save me! What
can I do?" The sage said, "Give up your present course of life. You see that
none of your family really loves you, so give up all these delusions. They
will share your prosperity; but the moment you have nothing, they will
desert you. There is none who will share in your evil, but they will all
share in your good. Therefore worship Him who alone stands by us whether we
are doing good or evil. He never leaves us, for love never drags down, knows
no barter, no selfishness."
Then the sage taught him how to worship. And this man left everything and
went into a forest. There he went on praying and meditating until he forgot
himself so entirely that the ants came and built ant-hills around him and he
was quite unconscious of it. After many years had passed, a voice came
saying, "Arise, O sage! " Thus aroused he exclaimed, "Sage? I am a robber!"
"No more 'robber'," answered the voice, "a purified sage art thou. Thine old
name is gone. But now, since thy meditation was so deep and great that thou
didst not remark even the ant-hills which surrounded thee, henceforth, thy
name shall be Valmiki — 'he that was born in the ant-hill'." So, he became a
sage.
And this is how he became a poet. One day as this sage, Valmiki, was going
to bathe in the holy river Ganga, he saw a pair of doves wheeling round and
round, and kissing each other. The sage looked up and was pleased at the
sight, but in a second an arrow whisked past him and killed the male dove.
As the dove fell down on the ground, the female dove went on whirling round
and round the dead body of its companion in grief. In a moment the poet
became miserable, and looking round, he saw the hunter. "Thou art a wretch,"
he cried, "without the smallest mercy! Thy slaying hand would not even stop
for love!" "What is this? What am I saying?" the poet thought to himself, "I
have never spoken in this sort of way before." And then a voice came: "Be
not afraid. This is poetry that is coming out of your mouth. Write the life
of Rama in poetic language for the benefit of the world." And that is how
the poem first began. The first verse sprang out of pits from the mouth of
Valmiki, the first poet. And it was after that, that he wrote the beautiful
Ramayana, "The Life of Rama".
There was an ancient Indian town called Ayodhyâ — and it exists even in
modern times. The province in which it is still located is called Oudh, and
most of you may have noticed it in the map of India. That was the ancient
Ayodhya. There, in ancient times, reigned a king called Dasharatha. He had
three queens, but the king had not any children by them. And like good
Hindus, the king and the queens, all went on pilgrimages fasting and
praying, that they might have children and, in good time, four sons were
born. The eldest of them was Rama.
Now, as it should be, these four brothers were thoroughly educated in all
branches of learning. To avoid future quarrels there was in ancient India a
custom for the king in his own lifetime to nominate his eldest son as his
successor, the Yuvarâja, young king, as he is called.
Now, there was another king, called Janaka, and this king had a beautiful
daughter named Sitâ. Sita was found in a field; she was a daughter of the
Earth, and was born without parents. The word "Sita" in ancient Sanskrit
means the furrow made by a plough. In the ancient mythology of India you
will find persons born of one parent only, or persons born without parents,
born of sacrificial fire, born in the field, and so on — dropped from the
clouds as it were. All those sorts of miraculous birth were common in the
mythological lore of India.
Sita, being the daughter of the Earth, was pure and immaculate. She was
brought up by King Janaka. When she was of a marriageable age, the king
wanted to find a suitable husband for her.
There was an ancient Indian custom called Svayamvara, by which the
princesses used to choose husbands. A number of princes from different parts
of the country were invited, and the princess in splendid array, with a
garland in her hand, and accompanied by a crier who enumerated the
distinctive claims of each of the royal suitors, would pass in the midst of
those assembled before her, and select the prince she liked for her husband
by throwing the garland of flowers round his neck. They would then be
married with much pomp and grandeur.
There were numbers of princes who aspired for the hand of Sita; the test
demanded on this occasion was the breaking of a huge bow, called Haradhanu.
All the princes put forth all their strength to accomplish this feat, but
failed. Finally, Rama took the mighty bow in his hands and with easy grace
broke it in twain. Thus Sita selected Rama, the son of King Dasharatha for
her husband, and they were wedded with great rejoicings. Then, Rama took his
bride to his home, and his old father thought that the time was now come for
him to retire and appoint Rama as Yuvaraja. Everything was accordingly made
ready for the ceremony, and the whole country was jubilant over the affair,
when the younger queen Kaikeyi was reminded by one of her maidservants of
two promises made to her by the king long ago. At one time she had pleased
the king very much, and he offered to grant her two boons: "Ask any two
things in my power and I will grant them to you," said he, but she made no
request then. She had forgotten all about it; but the evil-minded
maidservant in her employ began to work upon her jealousy with regard to
Rama being installed on the throne, and insinuated to her how nice it would
be for her if her own son had succeeded the king, until the queen was almost
mad with jealousy. Then the servant suggested to her to ask from the king
the two promised boons: one would be that her own son Bharata should be
placed on the throne, and the other, that Rama should be sent to the forest
and be exiled for fourteen years.
Now, Rama was the life and soul of the old king and when this wicked request
was made to him, he as a king felt he could not go back on his word. So he
did not know what to do. But Rama came to the rescue and willingly offered
to give up the throne and go into exile, so that his father might not be
guilty of falsehood. So Rama went into exile for fourteen years, accompanied
by his loving wife Sita and his devoted brother Lakshmana, who would on no
account be parted from him.
The Aryans did not know who were the inhabitants of these wild forests. In
those days the forest tribes they called "monkeys", and some of the
so-called "monkeys", if unusually strong and powerful, were called "demons".
So, into the forest, inhabited by demons and monkeys, Rama, Lakshmana, and
Sita went. When Sita had offered to accompany Rama, he exclaimed, "How can
you, a princess, face hardships and accompany me into a forest full of
unknown dangers!" But Sita replied, "Wherever Rama goes, there goes Sita.
How can you talk of 'princess' and 'royal birth' to me? I go before you!"
So, Sita went. And the younger brother, he also went with them. They
penetrated far into the forest, until they reached the river Godâvari. On
the banks of the river they built little cottages, and Rama and Lakshmana
used to hunt deer and collect fruits. After they had lived thus for some
time, one day there came a demon giantess. She was the sister of the giant
king of Lanka (Ceylon). Roaming through the forest at will, she came across
Rama, and seeing that he was a very handsome man, she fell in love with him
at once. But Rama was the purest of men, and also he was a married man; so
of course he could not return her love. In revenge, she went to her brother,
the giant king, and told him all about the beautiful Sita, the wife of Rama.
Rama was the most powerful of mortals; there were no giants or demons or
anybody else strong enough to conquer him. So, the giant king had to resort
to subterfuge. He got hold of another giant who was a magician and changed
him into a beautiful golden deer; and the deer went prancing round about the
place where Rama lived, until Sita was fascinated by its beauty and asked
Rama to go and capture the deer for her. Rama went into the forest to catch
the deer, leaving his brother in charge of Sita. Then Lakshmana laid a
circle of fire round the cottage, and he said to Sita, "Today I see
something may befall you; and, therefore, I tell you not to go outside of
this magic circle. Some danger may befall you if you do." In the meanwhile,
Rama had pierced the magic deer with his arrow, and immediately the deer,
changed into the form of a man, died.
Immediately, at the cottage was heard the voice of Rama, crying, "Oh,
Lakshmana, come to my help!" and Sita said, "Lakshmana, go at once into the
forest to help Rama!" "That is not Rama's voice," protested Lakshmana. But
at the entreaties of Sita, Lakshmana had to go in search of Rama. As soon as
he went away, the giant king, who had taken the form of a mendicant monk,
stood at the gate and asked for alms. "Wait awhile," said Sita, "until my
husband comes back and I will give you plentiful alms." "I cannot wait, good
lady," said he, "I am very hungry, give me anything you have." At this,
Sita, who had a few fruits in the cottage, brought them out. But the
mendicant monk after many persuasions prevailed upon her to bring the alms
to him, assuring her that she need have no fear as he was a holy person. So
Sita came out of the magic circle, and immediately the seeming monk assumed
his giant body, and grasping Sita in his arms he called his magic chariot,
and putting her therein, he fled with the weeping Sita. Poor Sita! She was
utterly helpless, nobody, was there to come to her aid. As the giant was
carrying her away, she took off a few of the ornaments from her arms and at
intervals dropped them to the grounds
She was taken by Râvana to his kingdom, Lanka, the island of Ceylon. He made
peals to her to become his queen, and tempted her in many ways to accede to
his request. But Sita who was chastity itself, would not even speak to the
giant; and he to punish her, made her live under a tree, day and night,
until she should consent to be his wife.
When Rama and Lakshmana returned to the cottage and found that Sita was not
there, their grief knew no bounds. They could not imagine what had become of
her. The two brothers went on, seeking, seeking everywhere for Sita, but
could find no trace of her. After long searching, they came across a group
of "monkeys", and in the midst of them was Hanumân, the "divine monkey".
Hanuman, the best of the monkeys, became the most faithful servant of Rama
and helped him in rescuing Sita, as we shall see later on. His devotion to
Rama was so great that he is still worshipped by the Hindus as the ideal of
a true servant of the Lord. You see, by the "monkeys" and "demons" are meant
the aborigines of South India.
So, Rama, at last, fell in with these monkeys. They told him that they had
seen flying through the sky a chariot, in which was seated a demon who was
carrying away a most beautiful lady, and that she was weeping bitterly, and
as the chariot passed over their heads she dropped one of her ornaments to
attract their attention. Then they showed Rama the ornament. Lakshmana took
up the ornament, and said, "I do not know whose ornament this is." Rama took
it from him and recognised it at once, saying, "Yes, it is Sita's."
Lakshmana could not recognise the ornament, because in India the wife of the
elder brother was held in so much reverence that he had never looked upon
the arms and the neck of Sita. So you see, as it was a necklace, he did not
know whose it was. There is in this episode a touch of the old Indian
custom. Then, the monkeys told Rama who this demon king was and where he
lived, and then they all went to seek for him.
Now, the monkey-king Vâli and his younger brother Sugriva were then fighting
amongst themselves for the kingdom. The younger brother was helped by Rama,
and he regained the kingdom from Vali, who had driven him away; and he, in
return, promised to help Rama. They searched the country all round, but
could not find Sita. At last Hanuman leaped by one bound from the coast of
India to the island of Ceylon, and there went looking all over Lanka for
Sita, but nowhere could he find her.
You see, this giant king had conquered the gods, the men, in fact the whole
world; and he had collected all the beautiful women and made them his
concubines. So, Hanuman thought to himself, "Sita cannot be with them in the
palace. She would rather die than be in such a place." So Hanuman went to
seek for her elsewhere. At last, he found Sita under a tree, pale and thin,
like the new moon that lies low in the horizon. Now Hanuman took the form of
a little monkey and settled on the tree, and there he witnessed how
giantesses sent by Ravana came and tried to frighten Sita into submission,
but she would not even listen to the name of the giant king.
Then, Hanuman came nearer to Sita and told her how he became the messenger
of Rama, who had sent him to find out where Sita was; and Hanuman showed to
Sita the signet ring which Rama had given as a token for establishing his
identity. He also informed her that as soon as Rama would know her
whereabouts, he would come with an army and conquer the giant and recover
her. However, he suggested to Sita that if she wished it, he would take her
on his shoulders and could with one leap clear the ocean and get back to
Rama. But Sita could not bear the idea, as she was chastity itself, and
could not touch the body of any man except her husband. So, Sita remained
where she was. But she gave him a jewel from her hair to carry to Rama; and
with that Hanuman returned.
Learning everything about Sita from Hanuman, Rama collected an army, and
with it marched towards the southernmost point of India. There Rama's
monkeys built a huge bridge, called Setu-Bandha, connecting India with
Ceylon. In very low water even now it is possible to cross from India to
Ceylon over the sand-banks there.
Now Rama was God incarnate, otherwise, how could he have done all these
things? He was an Incarnation of God, according to the Hindus. They in India
believe him to be the seventh Incarnation of God.
The monkeys removed whole hills, placed them in the sea and covered them
with stones and trees, thus making a huge embankment. A little squirrel, so
it is said, was there rolling himself in the sand and running backwards and
forwards on to the bridge and shaking himself. Thus in his small way he was
working for the bridge of Rama by putting in sand. The monkeys laughed, for
they were bringing whole mountains, whole forests, huge loads of sand for
the bridge — so they laughed at the little squirrel rolling in the sand and
then shaking himself. But Rama saw it and remarked: "Blessed be the little
squirrel; he is doing his work to the best of his ability, and he is
therefore quite as great as the greatest of you." Then he gently stroked the
squirrel on the back, and the marks of Rama's fingers, running lengthways,
are seen on the squirrel's back to this day.
Now, when the bridge was finished, the whole army of monkeys, led by Rama
and his brother entered Ceylon. For several months afterwards tremendous war
and bloodshed followed. At last, this demon king, Ravana, was conquered and
killed; and his capital, with all the palaces and everything, which were
entirely of solid gold, was taken. In far-away villages in the interior of
India, when I tell them that I have been in Ceylon, the simple folk say,
"There, as our books tell, the houses are built of gold." So, all these
golden cities fell into the hands of Rama, who gave them over to Vibhishana,
the younger brother of Ravana, and seated him on the throne in the place of
his brother, as a return for the valuable services rendered by him to Rama
during the war.
Then Rama with Sita and his followers left Lanka. But there ran a murmur
among the followers. "The test! The test!" they cried, "Sita has not given
the test that she was perfectly pure in Ravana's household." "Pure! she is
chastity itself" exclaimed Rama. "Never mind! We want the test," persisted
the people. Subsequently, a huge sacrificial fire was made ready, into which
Sita had to plunge herself. Rama was in agony, thinking that Sita was lost;
but in a moment, the God of fire himself appeared with a throne upon his
head, and upon the throne was Sita. Then, there was universal rejoicing, and
everybody was satisfied.
Early during the period of exile, Bharata, the younger brother had come and
informed Rama, of the death of the old king and vehemently insisted on his
occupying the throne. During Rama's exile Bharata would on no account ascend
the throne and out of respect placed a pair of Rama's wooden shoes on it as
a substitute for his brother. Then Rama returned to his capital, and by the
common consent of his people he became the king of Ayodhya.
After Rama regained his kingdom, he took the necessary vows which in olden
times the king had to take for the benefit of his people. The king was the
slave of his people, and had to bow to public opinion, as we shall see later
on. Rama passed a few years in happiness with Sita, when the people again
began to murmur that Sita had been stolen by a demon and carried across the
ocean. They were not satisfied with the former test and clamoured for
another test, otherwise she must be banished.
In order to satisfy the demands of the people, Sita was banished, and left
to live in the forest, where was the hermitage of the sage and poet Valmiki.
The sage found poor Sita weeping and forlorn, and hearing her sad story,
sheltered her in his Âshrama. Sita was expecting soon to become a mother,
and she gave birth to twin boys. The poet never told the children who they
were. He brought them up together in the Brahmachârin life. He then composed
the poem known as Ramayana, set it to music, and dramatised it.
The drama, in India, was a very holy thing. Drama and music are themselves
held to be religion. Any song — whether it be a love-song or otherwise — if
one's whole soul is in that song, one attains salvation, one has nothing
else to do. They say it leads to the same goal as meditation.
So, Valmiki dramatised "The Life of Rama", and taught Rama's two children
how to recite and sing it.
There came a time when Rama was going to perform a huge sacrifice, or Yajna,
such as the old kings used to celebrate. But no ceremony in India can be
performed by a married man without his wife: he must have the wife with him,
the Sahadharmini, the "co-religionist" — that is the expression for a wife.
The Hindu householder has to perform hundreds of ceremonies, but not one can
be duly performed according to the Shâstras, if he has not a wife to
complement it with her part in it.
Now Rama's wife was not with him then, as she had been banished. So, the
people asked him to marry again. But at this request Rama for the first time
in his life stood against the people. He said, "This cannot be. My life is
Sita's." So, as a substitute, a golden statue of Sita was made, in order
that the; ceremony could be accomplished. They arranged even a dramatic
entertainment, to enhance the religious feeling in this great festival.
Valmiki, the great sage-poet, came with his pupils, Lava and Kusha, the
unknown sons of Rama. A stage had been erected and everything was ready for
the performance. Rama and his brothers attended with all his nobles and his
people — a vast audience. Under the direction of Valmiki, the life of Rama
was sung by Lava and Kusha, who fascinated the whole assembly by their
charming voice and appearance. Poor Rama was nearly maddened, and when in
the drama, the scene of Sita's exile came about, he did not know what to do.
Then the sage said to him, "Do not be grieved, for I will show you Sita."
Then Sita was brought upon the stage and Rama delighted to see his wife. All
of a sudden, the old murmur arose: "The test! The test!" Poor Sita was so
terribly overcome by the repeated cruel slight on her reputation that it was
more than she could bear. She appealed to the gods to testify to her
innocence, when the Earth opened and Sita exclaimed, "Here is the test", and
vanished into the bosom of the Earth. The people were taken aback at this
tragic end. And Rama was overwhelmed with grief.
A few days after Sita's disappearance, a messenger came to Rama from the
gods, who intimated to him that his mission on earth was finished and he was
to return to heaven. These tidings brought to him the recognition of his own
real Self. He plunged into the waters of Sarayu, the mighty river that laved
his capital, and joined Sita in the other world.
This is the great, ancient epic of India. Rama and Sita are the ideals of
the Indian nation. All children, especially girls, worship Sita. The height
of a woman's ambition is to be like Sita, the pure, the devoted, the
all-suffering! When you study these characters, you can at once find out how
different is the ideal in India from that of the West. For the race, Sita
stands as the ideal of suffering. The West says, "Do! Show your power by
doing." India says, "Show your power by suffering." The West has solved the
problem of how much a man can have: India has solved the problem of how
little a man can have. The two extremes, you see. Sita is typical of India
— the idealised India. The question is not whether she ever lived, whether
the story is history or not, we know that the ideal is there. There is no
other Paurânika story that has so permeated the whole nation, so entered
into its very life, and has so tingled in every drop of blood of the race,
as this ideal of Sita. Sita is the name in India for everything that is
good, pure and holy — everything that in woman we call womanly. If a priest
has to bless a woman he says, "Be Sita!" If he blesses a child, he says "Be
Sita!" They are all children of Sita, and are struggling to be Sita, the
patient, the all-suffering, the ever-faithful, the ever-pure wife. Through
all this suffering she experiences, there is not one harsh word against
Rama. She takes it as her own duty, and performs her own part in it. Think
of the terrible injustice of her being exiled to the forest! But Sita knows
no bitterness. That is, again, the Indian ideal. Says the ancient Buddha,
"When a man hurts you, and you turn back to hurt him, that would not cure
the first injury; it would only create in the world one more wickedness."
Sita was a true Indian by nature; she never returned injury.
Who knows which is the truer ideal? The apparent power and strength, as held
in the West, or the fortitude in suffering, of the East?
The West says, "We minimise evil by conquering it." India says, "We destroy
evil by suffering, until evil is nothing to us, it becomes positive
enjoyment." Well, both are great ideals. Who knows which will survive in the
long run? Who knows which attitude will really most benefit humanity? Who
knows which will disarm and conquer animality? Will it be suffering, or
doing?
In the meantime, let us not try to destroy each other's ideals. We are both
intent upon the same work, which is the annihilation of evil. You take up
your method; let us take up our method. Let us not destroy the ideal. I do
not say to the West, "Take up our method." Certainly not. The goal is the
same, but the methods can never be the same. And so, after hearing about the
ideals of India, I hope that you will say in the same breath to India, "We
know, the goal, the ideal, is all right for us both. You follow your own
ideal. You follow your method in your own way, and Godspeed to you!" My
message in life is to ask the East and West not to quarrel over different
ideals, but to show them that the goal is the same in both cases, however
opposite it may appear. As we wend our way through this mazy vale of life,
let us bid each other Godspeed.