Category: The Ramayana

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The Rāmāyana

“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.

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The Devotion of Bharata

This continues on from my previous post entitled ‘The Rāmāyana’.

King Dasaratha died of grief soon after Rāma was sent into exile, leaving the Kingdom of Ayodhya without a king, and a ‘state without a ruler is really no better than rivers without water’. Understanding that without a king, Ayodhya may quickly fall to ruin, Bharata, who was staying with his grandfather during these events, was sent for, so he could be crowned king.

Bharata, who thought of Rāma as ‘my brother, my father and my mother,’ arrived in Ayodhya, surprised by the lack of life in the city he loved so much. He saw Ayodhya bereft of joy, with even the ‘trees shedding tears in the form of leaves’. Unaware of what had unfolded, and seeking an explanation for the state of Ayodhya he went in search of his father.

Unable to find him, he instead found his mother Kaikeyi, who ‘infatuated by greed of sovereignty’ related to Bharata those terrible events as if they were agreeable to hear.

Upon hearing the news, the Rāmāyana reads that ‘Nature, which is ever kind, allowed him a respite of a few moments by letting him faint’. He was heartbroken. He was furious. His father and his brothers were his world and in a moment Bharata had been told that his world had disappeared. Refusing to recognise Kaikeyi as his mother, he told her the only reason he did not want to kill her was that Rāma would not forgive him. He refused the throne which he knew was meant only for his brother, and he promised that he would set out to find Rama, and make him return to Ayodhya.

Bharata had decided that he would go to Rāma and tell him that he would spend fourteen years in the forest in his place, allowing Rāma to go back and rule Ayodhya, whilst also upholding his father’s vow. Failing this, Bharata told himself he would stay with Rāma and spend his time in exile with him.

First he went to consult Sage Bharadwāja, who knew the whereabouts of his brother. Bharata took with him Vashista, his mothers, his brother and his entire army, all with the hope of convincing Rāma to come back and rule Ayodhya. Bharata found Bharadwāja, and was told where he could find his two brothers and Sita. But, before setting off, Bharadwāja sensed the anger that Bharata felt to his own mother, for causing these events to happen. The Sage, who knew all, spoke to Bharata:

‘Kaikeyi. O Bharata, should not be regarded by you as guilty; for this banishment of Śrī Rāma will result in happiness to all.’

Bharata thanked the Sage for his wisdom and his hospitality, and went to Chitrakoot, to find his brother Rāma.

Upon seeing Rāma, Bharata collapsed at his feet. Rāma, however, felt no anger towards his brother, and immediately inquired about the welfare of his father, Bharata, and his other family in Ayodhya. Hearing that of his father’s death, Rāma fell to the ground in despair. The retinue performed the funeral rights for the deceased king, before continuing their discussion.

Bharata implored Rāma to return to rule Ayodhya. He even said that if Rāma refused to come back, that he would join him in his exile, not wishing to rule in his brother’s place. Next, Vasishta, Rāma’s teacher, told him it was his duty to rule Ayodhya. Still, Rāma refused to act contrary to the wishes of his father.

Rāma knew that he had to stay, his only wish being to obey his father. Bharata continued trying to convince him to return, but explaining to Bharata the power of fate, which cannot be altered, Rāma’s determination to remain in the forest was unfaltering.

Bharata was moved by his brother’s words. However, he knew that he himself could not rule the kingdom. So he told Rāma that he would stay in the forest in his place, and Rāma could return to the kingdom. Moved, but unwilling to compromise, Rāma knew he could not leave.

Finally, resigned to fate, Bharata placed two sandals inlaid with gold to his brother’s feet. He asked Rāma to place his feet on them, so they could be taken to the kingdom, and rule in Rāma’s name. Bharata would oversee the ruling of the kingdom, but with Ayodhya filled with too much pain fo him to remain there, he spent fourteen years in Nandigrama, just outside of Ayodhya, where he endured all of his suffering, living like Rāma until he returned. In this way Bharata ruled the Kingdom for his brother, and dharma was upheld due to the actions of the noble Bharata, who was devoted to Rāma.

Nandigram was the place I was going to visit next.

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Nasik in the Rāmāyana

After some time travelling, the exiled trio found Agastya’s Ashram. They were welcomed in and asked the Sage where they should next spend their time. Meditating on this thought, Agastya, whose tapas was so strong that he knew the past, present and future, told Rama to go to Panchavatī, knowing where fate would take them from there.

They settled down in Panchavatī, today known as Nasik, and met their met the vulture Jatāyu, one of Dasharatha’s friends, who would spend his time watching over the three, protecting them in any way he could. But, the trio would not encounter only their friends whilst in Panchvatī.

The demon Shūrpanakhā, also roamed around the forest where our protagonists were was staying, and one day found them by chance. Shūrpanakhā, the sister of the mighty Rāvana, beheld Rāma ‘who looked like a god’. Instantly infatuated by the sight of the majestic Rāma, the demon approached him, asking to be his wife, by virtue of her strength and power.

Shūrpanaka, whose eyes were ‘bound by the cords of love’, dashed towards Sita, so Rāma would be left only to her. Rāma worried about his beloved Sita, without hesitation, instructed Lakshmana to cut off her nose and ears. In Sanskrit the word for nose is nasika, and it is this event that gives Nasik its name.

Shūrpanakha, however, was the sister of Ravana, the demon Lord Vishnu had come down to kill. Finally, fate had ensured the crossing of the paths of Rāma and Ravana.

She went back to her abode in Janasthāna and told another one of her brothers, Khara, what had occurred. Distraught at the sight of his injured sister, and full of the most hateful anger, Khara commanded fourteen demons whose prowess resembled death, to kill those brothers and Sita.

Rāma, after realising that conflict was unavoidable, took out fourteen arrows from his quiver ‘that shone as brightly as the sun’, and sent them flying towards his enemies. Shūrpanakha, horrified at what had transpired, fled back to her brother, to relate to him the news. She berated her brother for thinking himself strong, yet being unable to defeat a lone human, in the form of Rāma. Khara, insulted and humiliated, violently exclaimed that he himself along with his army of fourteen thousand demons, would ensure that the brothers Rāma and Lakshmana would not cause no more trouble to the demons in the forest.

Eager to know the outcome of the impeding battle, Rishis, Gods and Gandharvas all assembled, to watch over the earthly events, and to witness the virtue of Rāma.

Like dark clouds enveloping a mountain, the fourteen thousands demons threw themselves at Rāma. ‘possessed by anger as though burning with glory’, Rāma fought the army before him. A terrible battle ensued, but the Rāmāyana reads that at its conclusion, ‘fourteen thousand ogres of terrible deeds were killed by Rāma, a human being, fighting on foot., single-handed’.

Stunned, Shurpanakha went to Lanka to tell Rāvana what had happened. The furious Rāvana said he would go to kill Rāma himself. However, advised against it by his council who knew that Rama could not be defeated in battle. He was instead convinced of a plan. Steal Sita from Rama. Without Sita who was Rama’s very life, he would soon die of a broken heart.

Ravana turned to Maricha, a demon and master of expression whom Viswamitra had asked Rama to protect him from in the forest all those years ago. Maricha, once a demon,  started to live the life of an ascetic, after twice having had his life spared at the hands of Srī Rāma. Fearful of Rāma’s power, Maricha tried to warn Ravana against this. ‘If you forcibly take Sita away in spite of being repeatedly dissuaded by me, you will reach the abode of death together with your kith and kin, your army being destroyed and your life brought to an end by the arrows of Rama’.

But Ravana did not accept the wise council of Maricha, ‘any more than a man courting death would accept a remedy’. He ordered Maricha to turn into a gold dear and present himself before Sita. Sita being so enamoured by the beauty of the life in front of her would ask Rama to catch it for her. Allowing Rama to follow him far away from Sita, Maricha was to call out to Lakshmana asking for help in Rāma’s voice. Thus Rāma and Lakshmana would be lured away from their ashram, leaving Sita alone.

Ravana told Maricha that he may face death at the hands of Rama if he did this, but would certainly be killed by Ravana now if he did not. Maricha was left feeling helpless. His king and his friend who was meant to protect those under him, had chosen to pursue a path that would lead only to death, Maricha, wanting to be killed by his enemy rather than his king, chose to help Ravana who was driven by anger.

Through tricking Rāma and Lakshmana and luring them out of their ashram, Sita was left alone. Ravana, in disguise, came and took Sita away. The Ramāyana reads that:

‘Seeing Sita bring borne away, the glorious sun itself felt wretched with its splendour totally eclipsed and its orb rendered pale.’

In the process Ravana killed Rāma’s dearest friend the bird Jatayu, who died protecting Sita. Sita was taken to Lanka, and Rāma was left without his heart, in the city of Nasik.

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Rāma in Kishkinda

Rāma was so full of sorrow and so full of anger when he realised Sita had been taken. He told Lakshmana that with his anger he would destroy all that existed in the universe, as if he were himself the God of death. Rāma lamented that he had lived his life according to the dictates of dharma, and that he had been only noble. Yet he had lost his Kingdom, his family, his father, and now his Sita. He told Lakshmana that his gentleness had been mistaken for weakness, and that this had brought him only pain. Rāma without Sita, with all of his anger was ready to destroy the universe itself.

Lakshmana spoke gently to Rāma,

‘You should not abandon your nature, now that you have fallen prey to anger’. He said.

‘As loveliness dwells in the moon, brilliance in the sun, movement in the wind and forbearance in the earth, all these ever invariably dwell in you.’

He then sat beside his older brother and lovingly pressed his feet.

‘If you are not able to endure this suffering, what other man can bear it?’

‘What living beings do calamities not visit?

Reminding him that fate cannot be overcome, and that if anyone could bear these hardships it was Rāma. He calmed his brother, telling him that even the Gods go through pain and loss, and if they cannot avoid fate, then how can we as humans hope to.

Rāma, consoled by Lakshmana, regained his composure,

‘What shall we do, O Lakshmana?’

Overcoming his dejection, Rāma with his loving brother Lakshmana began their search for Sita. They found the dying Jatāyu, and Rāma filled with grief at the sight of his fallen friend ‘sank down on the earth’. In his last moments Jatāyu told them what had happened, and so Rāma and Lakshmana began marching south, to find Ravana and Sita.

On their way they encountered the demon Kabandha who wondered the forest. Killing him, and thus freeing him from his curse, he was able to regain his old form. He told Rāma and Lakshmana that to succeed in their task they would need an ally. If they headed towards the Kingdom of Kishkinda, they would find a monkey by the name of Sugriva, and he would help them to find Sita.

Kishkinda is thought to be modern day Hampi, and was my next destination.

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Rama and Vali

The mighty Sugrīva was living on Rishyamukh Hill, banished from the Kingdom of Kishkinda by his older brother, the King Vali, who had threatened Sugriva with death if he ever returned.

Upon seeing Rāma and Lakshmana, Sugrīva was worried that they had been sent by Vali to kill him. He decided to send the ever faithful Hanumān, to ascertain the intention of those two brothers that had come to Kishkinda.

Hanumān, disguising himself as a mendicant approached Rāma and Lakshmana, asking what had brought them too Kishkinda. Lakshmana relayed their story, telling Hanumān how they were told to find Sugrīva who could help them in their quest to find Sita.

Delighted to hear that they came as friends, and knowing that these two brothers could help Sugrīva too, Hanumān, ‘the noble minded son of the wind god’, was overjoyed. He took Rāma and Lakshmana on his shoulders, and departed for Rishyamukh hill.

Upon meeting Rāma and Lakshmana and becoming friends, Sugrīva told the two brothers of his woe brought to him at the hands of his brother Vāli, how he had taken his wife and banished him from his kingdom. Rāma reassured Sugrīva that he would defeat Vāli, giving him back his kingdom. Sugrīva in turn told Rāma that once he had his kingdom, he would ensure Sita was found.

These two whose joys and woes were so similar had found a new friendship and hope in each other.

Rāma asked his newly found friend to tell him the story of why Vāli had banished him, and Sugrīva obliged.

A long time before, Vāli was fighting with a demon in a cave. Vāli told his younger brother to wait outside. Many months passed and still Vāli had not emerged. A year after entering, Sugrīva saw blood emerge from the mouth of cave, accompanied by the roar of the demon, with no sound of his brother. Fearing his brother dead, Sugrīva closed off the cave and headed back to Kishkinda. In the absence of his brother, the despondent Sugrīva was crowned king.

Vāli, however, had in fact killed the demon, and when he freed himself from the cave, he returned horrified at the actions of his brother. He banished Sugrīva, who had thought he had done what was right, and having taken Sugrīva’s wife for himself, told his younger brother never to return.

Sugrīva still filled with love for his brother, knew he would receive only anger in return. Sugrīva resolved that the only way he could solve his problem was to kill Vāli.

However, Vāli was powerful. He had performed intense tapas to Shiva, giving him strength greater than most could fathom. Killing him would therefore be no easy task. Rāma and Sugrīva devised a plan. Sugrīva would go to fight Vāli, and Rāma hiding in the trees, would release an arrow to kill him.

The fight ensues and Sugrīva and Vāli resembled ‘the moon and the sun in the sky’. Rāma, seizing his moment and released his arrow ‘as the god of death would lift his weapon for the destruction of the world’. Vāli, with tears rolling down his cheeks, struck by the arrow of Rāma, fell to the ground.

The dying Vāli saw Rāma emerge from the trees, and asked the noble prince why he acted so unjustly. How could one so well versed in knowing and doing what is right, commit such an act.

“You are cruel,’ Vāli wails, ‘resembling the sun, shorn of its brilliance’.

Rāma, listening to the words of Vāli, replied in turn. He reminded Vāli how he had strayed from the path of virtue in the treatment of his younger brother. His duty was to look after Sugrīva, and instead he banished him from his kingdom, and took his wife too.

Vāli, in his last moments thinking only of his son Angada, understood the words spoken by Rāma. He looked to his brother Sugrīva.

‘O dear brother, happiness was not ordained for us at one and the same time,’ spoke Vāli.

Asking for his brother’s forgiveness, Vāli also asked Sugrīva to look after his son Angada, as if he were his own. Finally saying goodbye to his son, Vāli died.

Tāra his wife, looked to her husband, fallen on the ground.

‘Surely O lord, the earth is dearer to you in comparison with me as you lie embracing her, without responding to me.’ she cried.

Sugrīva too, was overwhelmed with grief. Seeing what he had done, and the pain he had caused to Vāli’s wife and son, Sugrīva knew he would regret his actions as long as his life would last. Unable to bear this burden, Sugrīva said he would take his own life.

Rāma, sadenned at the grief of his friend, told him that it was now his duty to look after the kingdom, and to watch over Vāli’s son. We cannot ignore our duties on this earth, he reminded Sugrīva.

And so it was, that with Vāli’s death, Sugrīva assumed the throne of Kishkinda, and pledged to help Srī Rāma find his Sita.

The Rāmāyana is amongst other things, a tale of what it means to perform our duty. In this light, I have never fully understood the story of Rāma and Vāli. I couldn’t understand why  Rāma could deceive and kill Vāli who was in many ways a king and a ruler of virtue, as he did. When Sugrīva came to fight Vāli, Vāli exclaimed that it was not his desire to kill his younger brother, yet Rāma and Sugrīva transpired to kill Vali all the same.

It made me question ideas of duty and righteousness that the Rāmayana, and Rāma himself espouses, and I am still left wondering why this part of the story transpired as it did.

Nevertheless, with Sugrīva on the throne, the Vanara Army is assembled, and the search begins for Sita. Monkeys and bears are sent to the four corners of the earth to find the wife of Rāma. Sugrīva willed by fate, decided to send his most trusted friends to the south. He sent Angada, endowed with speed and prowess. He sent Nīla, the son of the god of fire and he sent Jāmbavān the son of Brahma. He also sent of course his most faithful friend, Hanuman. And so these monkey’s along with their army’s were sent to find Sitā, the heart of Rāma.

 

 

 

 

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Sāmpati

After journeying to south, the group led by Hanumān had spent spent weeks trying to find Sita without success.

Dejected that they had been unable to fulfil the wishes of their King Sugrīva, and their friend Rāma, the monkey’s contemplated staying in the south, fearful of the consequences their return without success would yield.

Angada, the son of Vāli, was instead intent on fasting until time brought his death, and made his point clear to Hanumān. After doing so, Angada sank down, weeping on the ground.

Observing this whole event, was Sāmpati, the King of the vultures, and the brother of Jatāyu, Rāma’s friend who had died trying to save Sita from Rāvana. Sāmapti had no wings, and so he initially watched in delight, seeing all the food that had walked his in way in the form of the monkey’s from Kishkinda.

The monkey’s, in their state of dejection, began recounting the pain that had surrounded Rāma. They recounted the exile of Rāma, death of Daśaratha, the abduction of Sītā, the fall of Jatāyu, and the killing of Vāli. All of this they remarked, the result of one boon, granted by Daśaratha, to his wife.

Sāmpati, sat overhearing the conversations below. It has been many years since he heard news of his brother, and so hearing the name Jātayu, filled the vulture with a renewed sense of excitement and life. However, the longer he listened to the monkeys below, did he realise that his brother, dearer to him than life itself, had been killed at the hands of Rāvana.

Calling on the monkey’s ‘ who had given up all hope of life, Sāmpati revealed himself, and asked to hear the story of his brother’s death. Sāmpati weeped at hearing the story, and full of grief recounted his own, and how he had lost his wings, and been separated from his brother.

Sāmpati and Jatāyu set out one day to conquer Indra. They succeeded, and on their return they flew near to the sun ‘encircled by its aureole of rays and illuming heaven’. However, Jatāyu began to fly to close to the sun, growing faint. This reminded me of the story I used to hear as a child of Daedalus and Icarus. Icarus of course, flew to close to the sun, his wings melted, and he died. Sāmpati, continuing his own story noted how upon seeing his brother ‘tormented’ by the sun’s rays, he covered him with this wings out of affection. Jatāyu fell to the ground, but survived with his wings intact, whilst Sāpati’s wings were burnt. He fell to the mountains, separated from his brother where he continued to live unable to leave, without his wings.

Something that interested me here was how Daedalus believed himself unable to save his sun, fearful his own wings would burn. Yet, in the Rāmayana, a story that really teaches one about virtue and duty, Sāmpati saves his younger brother, sacrificing himself in the process. Whilst Icarus and Daedalus has became a tale that warns one of being too ambitious, the story of Jatāyu and Sāmpati is one that tells of an older brother’s duty to his younger sibling. The Rāmayana is of course full of the duties an older brother has to his younger, and the foremost is that he should look after him. Sāmpati, losing his wings, lost his kingdom too. He lost his strength, his prowess and his brother, and fell to the mountains, ‘seeking death alone’. This was the sacrifice he made for his brother. It also reminded me that the Rāmayana is much more than just a myth.

Sāpati also revealed how his son told him he had seen Rāvana abucting Sītā, had seen him take her to Lankā, and told the monkeys how they could get there.

These words as they touched the ears of the monkey’s tasted as sweet as nectar. In a moment, the monkeys, who were willing to starve themselves to death, found hope in the words of Sāmpati. However, the Rāmayana also teaches that virtue and adherence to duty is rewarded. When he fell to the ground, Sāmapti found the ashram of the Sage Niśākara. The sage, knowing what Sāmpati had done, offered him a choice.

He offered to give Sāmpati back his wings there and then. He also added, that if he waited, his wings would return, and he could also help all of mankind by telling Angada where Sītā was, helping the cause of Rāma who needed to defeat Rāvana, helping all of humanity in turn. Sāmpati told the monkeys before him that he had waited 8000 years for their arrival, so he could perform his duty. He told them how his determination to perform his duty inspired him, and dispelled any agony he felt at his own position.

As Sāmapti told his story, a pair of beautiful wings shot forth from his sides. As they did, he felt his strength return to his old body. He was filled with an unequalled ecstasy of delight.

Upon seeing the seemingly impossible happen before their eyes, the monkeys knew that their own purpose could too be achieved. And so, as Sāmpati flew to the skies, the monkey’s continued on their task, with a new sense of hope.

Sāmpati is often brushed over in any telling of the Rāmayana, and his story is rarely fully told. I always thought  the Rāmayana was about Rāma. But what has struck me is the extent to which it is not. The story of Sāmapti espouses the message at the core of this ancient text. It places an adherence to duty above all else, and it illustrates the true joy that can be taken from this journey too.

I certainly know I am grateful, to have read the story of Sāmpati, a true hero of the Rāmayana.

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Crossing the Sea

Rama is delighted when Hanuman returns, and tells him that Sita has been found. The army begins its march before reaching the shores of Rameswaram. The army halts at the shores of sea, and Rama is left pondering how to cross the immense obstacle before him. His initial thoughts soon turn to worry and anxiety. However, those around Rama reassure him, telling him that he should not focus on these worrying thoughts, as they only hinder the undertaking of an endeavour.

Calmed, Rama undertakes penance to the Lord of Seas, Samudra, but after three days and three nights, still nothing has happened. Fuelled with anger, Rama lifts his bow and threatens to destroy the entire ocean and all the life within it, unless Samudra answers his call. Eventually, the Lord of Sea appears before Rama, and tells him that if he lays rocks down, the sea will support them, and in this fashion the army builds a bridge to Lanka.

The seemingly impossible task is undertaken by the army, and five days later the bridge is complete.