Lakshmana, who had set himself as Rama’s bodyguard, noticed the crowd at a distance and cried out, “There he comes, with an army—to make sure that you don’t return to claim his ill-gotten kingdom. I’ll destroy the whole lot. I have enough power in my quiver.”
While they stood watching, Bharatha left his followers behind and came forward alone in his tree-bark garb, his arms held aloft in supplication, with tears in his eyes, praying, “Rama, Rama, forgive me.” Rama whispered to Lakshmana, “Do you note his martial air, and the battle-dress he has put on?”
Lakshmana hung his head and confessed, “I had misjudged him.”
Bharatha flung himself down at Rama’s feet. Rama lifted him up with many kind words.
When Rama learned of his father’s death, he broke down. After a while, when he recovered, he set about performing on the river bank the rites required of the son of the departed King. When they settled down after the ceremonies, Bharatha opened the subject. “I have come with all these people to beg you to return home and be our King.”
Rama shook his head and said, “Yes, fourteen years hence. That was our father’s wish. You are the King by his authority.”
“If you think I should be the King, so be it, but I abdicate this instant, and crown you.”
The argument went on at a highly academic and philosophical level, the entire assembly watching with respect.
In a world where we are accustomed to rivalries over possession, authority, and borders, and people clashing over the issue, “Ours,” or “Mine, not yours,” it is rather strange to find two people debating whose the kingdom is
“So be it; if I have the authority—then I confer it on you as the ruler,” said Bharatha at one stage. “On my command as the ruler, if you desire to think so, you shall be the King.” It went on thus. Rama went on repeating that there could be no word higher than that of a father; no conduct other than obedience to it. Throughout he referred to Kaikeyi in the gentlest terms and always as “mother.” Vasishtha, watching the debate, burst out: “I have been your guru; there can be no higher authority than a guru—you must return to Ayodhya as King.” Rama said, “It’s not right to give me that command. My parents, who have given me my body and mind, are higher than a guru.”
Bharatha declared, “This is my vow. I don’t care what happens. I shall renounce everything and live in the forest with Rama for fourteen years.”
The gods watched this argument, afraid that if Rama returned to the kingdom, overwhelmed by the needs of the country, the purpose of his incarnation would be defeated, and proclaimed: “Bharatha, go back and rule on Rama’s behalf for fourteen years.”
There was nothing more to it. Bharatha said, “I have nothing more to say. I shall rule for fourteen years. But not a day longer. If you, Rama, do not appear at the end of fourteen years, I shall immolate myself. Give me your sandals, please. They will be your symbol, and I shall rule on behalf of that symbol. I will not re-enter Ayodhya until you come back, but stay outside the city.”
Bearing Rama’s sandals in his hands, with all reverence, Bharatha turned back. He established himself in a little village called Nandigram, on the outskirts of Ayodhya, installed Rama’s sandals on the throne, and ruled the country as a regent.
4
ENCOUNTERS IN EXILE
After Bharatha’s departure, Rama left Chitrakuta. Dwelling in the proximity of Ayodyha, he feared, might encourage people to come across the river and persuade him to return home. He felt that such encounters would dilute the value and purpose of his renunciation. He decided to move farther into the forests. Though Lakshmana had built at Chitrakuta a hut with mud, bamboo, palm leaves, wood, and other materials available in the forest, and decorated and brightened the floor and walls with coloured earth (so well designed and constructed that Rama was constrained to ask in admiration, “When did you learn to be such a fine house-builder?”) Rama left this beautiful cottage and moved on. In the course of their journey, they came upon several sages residing in their ashrams, all of whom received Rama’s party as honoured guests. Among these were Athri and his wife Anusuya, who gave all her jewellery and clothes to Sita, and compelled her to wear them then and there. Rama went on to Dandaka forest, and then on to Panchvati (on the advice of Sage Agasthya). On the way he noticed, perched on a rock, Jatayu, the Great Eagle. Jatayu explained to Rama that although he was now in the form of a bird his origin was divine. He proved to be possessed of extraordinary ripeness of spirit and wisdom. He had been a great friend of Dasaratha at one time, associated with him on battlefields; they had been so close that at one time Dasaratha had remarked, “You are the soul, I am the body. We are one.”
Rama was happy to meet a contemporary of his father’s in this remoteness. Jatayu also welcomed him as his foster parent. When he learnt of the death of Dasaratha, he broke down and swore to end his life. But Rama and Lakshmana pleaded, “Having lost our father, just when we found solace in meeting you, we cannot bear to hear of your ending your life. Please desist.” In deference to their wish Jatayu promised to live at least until Rama could return to Ayodhya after his term of exile, meanwhile taking upon himself the task of protecting them, especially Sita, during their sojourn at Panchvati. He led the way to Panchvati on the banks of the Godavari, suggesting, “While I fly, follow me in the shadow of my wings.”
When Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita reached the Godavari River’s bank, they were enchanted with their surroundings. Rama felt a great tenderness for his wife, who looked particularly lovely adorned with the ornaments given by Anusuya. Rama glanced at her whenever a beautiful object caught his eye. Every tint of the sky, every shape of a flower or bud, every elegant form of a creeper reminded him of some aspect or other of Sita’s person.
They reached Panchvati, set in sylvan surroundings in the proximity of the river. Lakshmana, adept as he had proved to be, had already gone ahead and created a home for them with clay, thatch, leaves, and wood, enclosed with a fence, and affording protection from sun and rain, and privacy for Rama and Sita. Again Rama was delighted with his brother’s engineering and architectural genius, and entered his new home filled with a sense of wonder. For all its idyllic charm, and in the joy of companionship of Sita, Rama never lost sight of his main purpose in settling down in this region—he had come here to encounter and destroy the asuras, the fiends who infested this area, causing suffering and hardship to all the good souls who only wanted to be left alone to pursue their spiritual aims in peace. Rama’s whole purpose of incarnation was ultimately to destroy Ravana, the chief of the asuras, abolish fear from the hearts of men and gods, and establish peace, gentleness, and justice in the world.
And so one evening, when he noticed in the woods, amidst the creepers and plants in his front yard, a damsel of the utmost beauty, he became wary. The damsel’s anklets jingled at her feet when she walked, her eyes flashed, her teeth sparkled, her figure, waist, and bosom were that of a chiselled figure. Rama, even the austere
