“The great and holy river in the form of the Rāmāyana, which has descended from the mountain in the form of Sage Valmiki and flows to the ocean embodied as Srī Rāma, purifies the world. I bow down to the ocean in the form of the Rāmāyana, which has verses for its water, cantos for its billows and books for its life.” (Valmaki-Rāmāyana)
The Rāmāyana is an epic in every sense of the word. Chronicled by its seer Sage Valmiki, it was composed as a poem many thousands of years ago. It contains nearly 24,000 verses compiled into seven books, and forms one of the foundational texts of the philosophy of India.
It is written in Sanskrit and if recited properly, the Rāmāyana is read as a poem in the Anushtup meter.
But, we can do much more than read the text. The Rāmāyana is alive. Each verse has its own emotion, each chapter its own spirit, and the book its own force. It is the duty and privilege of the reader to approach the text with the intention of experiencing these different emotions that the book expresses.
The Rāmāyana itself is clear on how we can do this, and supplies us with a comprehensive methodology of how the text should be read. Time is the first point of consideration. For example, the text is traditionally read over nine days in either October, November, January, February or March.
The space in which the book is read is the next point of instruction. The ground on which the book is read should be cleaned and decorated. Certain plants and trees should be placed around the book. The Rāmāyana even comments that the book should be higher than the reader, who in turn should be seated higher than the listeners.
The third point of emphasis addresses causation; or why the reader should choose to approach the book. For example, one may read any of seven books according to a specific intention. If one seeks a son they should read the first book, the Bālakanda just as one who seeks a friend should read the fourth book, the Kishkinda-Kanda. The Rāmāyana outlines how each book is suitable for a specific intention or desire. It even provides the rituals that the reader should undertake to help him in his quest to read the book.
However, it remains clear that no matter the time, space or cause for approaching the book, one should always do so with a reverence, love and devotion towards Srī Rāma, ‘the light of the whole world, the reliever of suffering, and the bestower of all riches.’
The Story
The Rāmāyana tells the story of Rāma.
The Devas (Gods) were troubled by the presence on earth of the evil Rāvana. He had practiced such severe austerities that he could not be killed by any Gods. But, out of his contempt for man, Rāvana made no mention of outmanouvering death at the hands of a human being.
The forces of good approached the resplendent Lord Vishnu, imploring him to help rid the world of suffering in the form of killing the demon Rāvana. Vishnu replied that he would be born on earth as Rāma with the purpose of achieving this end.
Rāma was consequently born to the noble King Dasaratha and Queen Kausalyā in the Kingdom of Ayodhya, and was the oldest of four half brothers: Lakshmana, Bharata, and Shatrughna.
After Rāma returned from a series of quests at around the age of 17, his father King Dasaratha decided to crown Rāma, ‘the most noble soul on earth’, king.
Dasaratha had three wives. All were fond of Rāma as was all the Kingdom. Yet, as fate would have it, Kaikeyi, the mother of Bharata, was convinced by her servant Mantharā that her son Bharata should be crowned instead.
Mantharā instructed Kaikeyi to use two boons that the King had previously granted to her to install Bharata on the throne, and to banish Rāma to the forest for fourteen years. Kaikeyi fuelled by jealously, greed and fate folowed the advice of her servant.
She allowed Dasaratha to find her in a state of despair. The King, who loved only Rāma more than his wife, promised her that he would do all he could to assuage her misery. After hearing the Queen’s demands Dasaratha fell to his knees and begged Kaikeyi to take back her requests.
“The world may continue to exist without the sun or a crop may live without water; life however, cannot in any case continue in my body without Rāma.”
Dasaratha loved Rāma more than he loved his own life. He pleaded with Kaikeyi to change her mind, but she would not. Bound by his own sense of duty in the form of his promises to her, he could chose only to grant the wishes of his Queen.
Rāma was told his fate by Kaikeyi. Dasaratha was too full of sorrow to deliver his decision to his son. Rāma smiled, taking the news of his exile as he had taken the news of his coronation, simply glad to be fulfilling the wishes of his father. To adhere to his father’s wishes and the principles of truth and duty were more to Rāma than was the ‘trivial rulership of the globe’. Explaining this to Lakshmana and Kausalyā, he calmed the anger of his brother and soothed the sadness of his mother. Recognising the power of fate, Rāma prepared to leave Ayodhya. Rāma, ‘the root of the tree of humanity’ was meant to be crowned king. Instead he renounced his kingdom.
Unwilling to be without him, his wife Sita and his devoted brother Lakshmana went with Rāma. Clothed in no more than tree bark and deerskin, armed with no more than bows and arrows, the three began their exile in the Dandaka forest.
During this fourteen year exile; the three travelled to the ashrams of many noble souls and rishis discussing philosophies of life. In this time, they defeated forces of evil, including the mighty Ravana after he had abducted Sita, and was accompanied by the devoted and magnificent Hanuman, who, with the dust of the feet of Rāma wipes the surface of his heart.
The Trail of Rāma is retracing the steps of Rāma and his companions during these fourteen years of exile.
I don’t know why I am drawn to this Trail, but I am. Is it the sense of adventure it entails or is it a desire to establish my own sense of independence. Is it wanting to separate myth from fact, or is it wanting to understand and live through the philosophy and spirituality of the Rayamana that India epitomises. Maybe it’s the child in me that used to run around with bows and arrows in his hand pretending to be Rāma. Maybe it’s me wanting to better know myself.
I hope by the end of my journey I will know.
