The Rámáyan of Válmíki - 74

companions. Śiva has more than a thousand names which are detailed at
length in the sixty-ninth chapter of the Śiva Puráṇa.”—WILLIAMS’S
DICTIONARY, _Śiva_.


Apsarases.

“Originally these deities seem to have been personifications of the
vapours which are attracted by the sun, and form into mist or clouds:
their character may be thus interpreted in the few hymns of the Rigveda
where mention is made of them. At a subsequent period when the Gandharva
of the Rigveda who personifies there especially the Fire of the Sun,
expanded into the Fire of Lightning, the rays of the moon and other
attributes of the elementary life of heaven as well as into pious acts
referring to it, the Apsarasas become divinities which represent phenomena
or objects both of a physical and ethical kind closely associated with
that life; thus in the _Yajurveda_ Sunbeams are called the Apsarasas
associated with the Gandharva who is the Sun; Plants are termed the
Apsarasas connected with the Gandharva Fire: Constellations are the
Apsarasas of the Gandharva Moon: Waters the Apsarasas of the Gandharva
Wind, etc. etc.… In the last Mythological epoch when the Gandharvas have
saved from their elementary nature merely so much as to be musicians in
the paradise of Indra, the Apsarasas appear among other subordinate
deities which share in the merry life of Indra’s heaven, as the wives of
the Gandharvas, but more especially as wives of a licentious sort, and
they are promised therefore, too, as a reward to heroes fallen in battle
when they are received in the paradise of Indra; and while, in the
Rigveda, they assist Soma to pour down his floods, they descend in the
epic literature on earth merely to shake the virtue of penitent Sages and
to deprive them of the power they would otherwise have acquired through
unbroken austerities.”—GOLDSTÜCKER’S _Sanskrit Dictionary_.


Vishnu’s Incarnation As Ráma.

“Here is described one of the _avatárs_, descents or manifestations of
Vishṇu in a visible form. The word _avatár_ signifies literally _descent_.
The _avatár_ which is here spoken of, that in which, according to Indian
traditions, Vishṇu descended and appeared upon earth in the corporeal form
of Ráma, the hero of the Rámáyana, is the seventh in the series of Indian
_avatárs_. Much has been said before now of these avatárs, and through
deficient knowledge of the ideas and doctrines of India, they have been
compared to the sublime dogma of the Christian Incarnation. This is one of
the grossest errors that ignorance of the ideas and beliefs of a people
has produced. Between the _avatárs_ of India and the Christian Incarnation
there is such an immensity of difference that it is impossible to find any
reasonable analogy that can approximate them. The idea of the _avatárs_ is
intimately united with that of the Trimúrti; the bond of connection
between these two ideas is an essential notion common to both, the notion
of Vishṇu. What is the Trimúrti? I have already said that it is composed
of three Gods, Brahmá (masculine), Vishṇu the God of _avatárs_, and Śiva.
These three Gods, who when reduced to their primitive and most simple
expression are but three cosmogonical personifications, three powers or
forces of nature, these Gods, I say, are here found, according to Indian
doctrines, entirely external to the true God of India, or Brahma in the
neuter gender. Brahma is alone, unchangeable in the midst of creation: all
emanates from him, he comprehends all, but he remains extraneous to all:
he is Being and the negation of beings. Brahma is never worshipped; the
indeterminate Being is never invoked; he is inaccessible to the prayers as
the actions of man; humanity, as well as nature, is extraneous to him.
External to Brahma rises the Trimúrti, that is to say, Brahmá (masculine)
the power which creates, Vishṇu the power which preserves, and Śiva the
power which destroys: theogony here commences at the same time with
cosmogony. The three divinities of the Trimúrti govern the phenomena of
the universe and influence all nature. The real God of India is by himself
without power; real efficacious power is attributed only to three
divinities who exist externally to him. Brahmá, Vishṇu, and Śiva,
possessed of qualities in part contradictory and attributes that are
mutually exclusive, have no other accord or harmony than that which
results from the power of things itself, and which is found external to
their own thoughts. Such is the Indian Trimúrti. What an immense
difference between this Triad and the wonderful Trinity of Christianity!
Here there is only one God, who created all, provides for all, governs
all. He exists in three Persons equal to one another, and intimately
united in one only infinite and eternal substance. The Father represents
the eternal thought and the power which created, the Son infinite love,
the Holy Spirit universal sanctification. This one and triune God
completes by omnipotent power the great work of creation which, when it
has come forth from His hands, proceeds in obedience to the laws which He
has given it, governed with certain order by His infinite providence.
“The immense difference between the Trimúrti of India and the Christian
Trinity is found again between the _avatárs_ of Vishṇu and the Incarnation
of Christ. The _avatár_ was effected altogether externally to the Being
who is in India regarded as the true God. The manifestation of one
essentially cosmogonical divinity wrought for the most part only material
and cosmogonical prodigies. At one time it takes the form of the gigantic
tortoise which sustains Mount Mandar from sinking in the ocean; at another
of the fish which raises the lost Veda from the bottom of the sea, and
saves mankind from the waters. When these _avatárs_ are not cosmogonical
they consist in some protection accorded to men or Gods, a protection
which is neither universal nor permanent. The very manner in which the
_avatár_ is effected corresponds to its material nature, for instance the
mysterious vase and the magic liquor by means of which the _avatár_ here
spoken of takes place. What are the forms which Vishṇu takes in his
descents? They are the simple forms of life; he becomes a tortoise, a
boar, a fish, but he is not obliged to take the form of intelligence and
liberty, that is to say, the form of man. In the _avatár_ of Vishṇu is
discovered the inpress of pantheistic ideas which have always more or less
prevailed in India. Does the _avatár_ produce a permanent and definitive
result in the world? By no means. It is renewed at every catastrophe
either of nature or man, and its effects are only transitory.… To sum up
then, the Indian _avatár_ is effected externally to the true God of India,
to Brahma; it has only a cosmogonical or historical mission which is
neither lasting nor decisive; it is accomplished by means of strange
prodigies and magic transformations; it may assume promiscuously all the
forms of life; it may be repeated indefinitely. Now let the whole of this
Indian idea taken from primitive tradition be compared with the
Incarnation of Christ and it will be seen that there is between the two an
irreconcilable difference. According to the doctrines of Christianity the
Everlasting Word, Infinite Love, the Son of God, and equal to Him, assumed
a human body, and being born as a man accomplished by his divine act the
great miracle of the spiritual redemption of man. His coming had for its
sole object to bring erring and lost humanity back to Him; this work being
accomplished, and the divine union of men with God being re-established,
redemption is complete and remains eternal.
“The superficial study of India produced in the last century many
erroneous ideas, many imaginary and false parallels between Christianity
and the Brahmanical religion. A profounder knowledge of Indian
civilization and religion, and philological studies enlarged and guided by
more certain principles have dissipated one by one all those errors. The
attributes of the Christian God, which by one of those intellectual
errors, which Vico attributes to the vanity of the learned, had been
transferred to Vishṇu, have by a better inspired philosophy been reclaimed
for Christianity, and the result of the two religions, one immovable and
powerless, the other diffusing itself with all its inherent force and
energy, has shown further that there is a difference, a real opposition,
between the two principles.”—GORRESIO.


Kusa and Lava.

As the story of the banishment of Sítá and the subsequent birth in
Válmíki’s hermitage of Kuśa and Lava the rhapsodists of the Rámáyan, is
intimately connected with the account in the introductory cantos of
Válmíki’s composition of the poem, I shall, I trust, be pardoned for
extracting it from my rough translation of Kálidása’s Raghuvaṇśa, parts
only of which have been offered to the public.
“Then, day by day, the husband’s hope grew high,
Gazing with love on Sítá’s melting eye:
With anxious care he saw her pallid cheek,
And fondly bade her all her wishes speak.
“Once more I fain would see,” the lady cried,
“The sacred groves that rise on Gangá’s side,
Where holy grass is ever fresh and green,
And cattle feeding on the rice are seen:
There would I rest awhile, where once I strayed
Linked in sweet friendship to each hermit maid.”
And Ráma smiled upon his wife, and sware,
With many a tender oath, to grant her prayer.
It chanced, one evening, from a lofty seat
He viewed Ayodhyá stretched before his feet:
He looked with pride upon the royal road
Lined with gay shops their glittering stores that showed,
He looked on Sarjú’s silver waves, that bore
The light barks flying with the sail and oar;
He saw the gardens near the town that lay,
Filled with glad citizens and boys at play.
Then swelled the monarch’s bosom with delight,
And his heart triumphed at the happy sight.
He turned to Bhadra, standing by his side,—
Upon whose secret news the king relied.—
And bade him say what people said and thought
Of all the exploits that his arm had wrought.
The spy was silent, but, when questioned still,
Thus spake, obedient to his master’s will:
“For all thy deeds in peace and battle done
The people praise thee, King, except for one:
This only act of all thy life they blame,—
Thy welcome home of her, thy ravished dame.”
Like iron yielding to the iron’s blow,
Sank Ráma, smitten by those words of woe.
His breast, where love and fear for empire vied,
Swayed, like a rapid swing, from side to side.
Shall he this rumour scorn, which blots his life,
Or banish her, his dear and spotless wife?
But rigid Duty left no choice between
His perilled honour and his darling queen.
Called to his side, his brothers wept to trace
The marks of anguish in his altered face.
No longer bright and glorious as of old,
He thus addressed them when the tale was told:
“Alas! my brothers, that my life should blot
The fame of those the Sun himself begot:
As from the labouring cloud the driven rain
Leaves on the mirror’s polished face a stain.
E’en as an elephant who loathes the stake
And the strong chain he has no power to break,
I cannot brook this cry on every side,
That spreads like oil upon the moving tide.
I leave the daughter of Videha’s King,
And the fair blossom soon from her to spring,
As erst, obedient to my sire’s command,
I left the empire of the sea-girt land.
Good is my queen, and spotless; but the blame
Is hard to bear, the mockery and the shame.
Men blame the pure Moon for the darkened ray,
When the black shadow takes the light away.
And, O my brothers, if ye wish to see
Ráma live long from this reproach set free,
Let not your pity labour to control
The firm sad purpose of his changeless soul.”
Thus Ráma spake. The sorrowing brothers heard
His stern resolve, without an answering word;
For none among them dared his voice to raise,
That will to question:—and they could not praise.
“Beloved brother,” thus the monarch cried
To his dear Lakshmaṇ, whom he called aside.—
Lakshmaṇ, who knew no will save his alone
Whose hero deeds through all the world were known:—
“My queen has told me that she longs to rove
Beneath the shade of Saint Válmíki’s grove:
Now mount thy car, away my lady bear;
Tell all, and leave her in the forest there.”
The car was brought, the gentle lady smiled,
As the glad news her trusting heart beguiled.
She mounted up: Sumantra held the reins;
And forth the coursers bounded o’er the plains.
She saw green fields in all their beauty dressed,
And thanked her husband in her loving breast.
Alas! deluded queen! she little knew
How changed was he whom she believed so true;
How one she worshipped like the Heavenly Tree
Could, in a moment’s time, so deadly be.
Her right eye throbbed,—ill-omened sign, to tell
The endless loss of him she loved so well,
And to the lady’s saddening heart revealed
The woe that Lakshmaṇ, in his love, concealed.
Pale grew the bloom of her sweet face,—as fade
The lotus blossoms,—by that sign dismayed.
“Oh, may this omen,”—was her silent prayer,—
“No grief to Ráma or his brothers bear!”
When Lakshmaṇ, faithful to his brother, stood
Prepared to leave her in the distant wood,
The holy Gangá, flowing by the way,
Raised all her hands of waves to bid him stay.
At length with sobs and burning tears that rolled
Down his sad face, the king’s command he told;
As when a monstrous cloud, in evil hour,
Rains from its labouring womb a stony shower.
She heard, she swooned, she fell upon the earth,
Fell on that bosom whence she sprang to birth.
As, when the tempest in its fury flies,
Low in the dust the prostrate creeper lies,
So, struck with terror sank she on the ground,
And all her gems, like flowers, lay scattered round.
But Earth, her mother, closed her stony breast,
And, filled with doubt, denied her daughter rest.
She would not think the Chief of Raghu’s race
Would thus his own dear guiltless wife disgrace.
Stunned and unconscious, long the lady lay,
And felt no grief, her senses all astray.
But gentle Lakshmaṇ, with a brother’s care,
Brought back her sense, and with her sense, despair.
But not her wrongs, her shame, her grief, could wring
One angry word against her lord the King:
Upon herself alone the blame she laid,
For tears and sighs that would not yet be stayed.
To soothe her anguish Lakshmaṇ gently strove;
He showed the path to Saint Válmíki’s grove;
And craved her pardon for the share of ill
He wrought, obedient to his brother’s will.
“O, long and happy, dearest brother, live!
I have to praise,” she cried, “and not forgive:
To do his will should be thy noblest praise;
As Vishṇu ever Indra’s will obeys.
Return, dear brother: on each royal dame
Bestow a blessing in poor Sítá’s name,
And bid them, in their love, kind pity take
Upon her offspring, for the father’s sake.
And speak my message in the monarch’s ear,
The last last words of mine that he shall hear:
“Say, was it worthy of thy noble race
Thy guiltless queen thus lightly to disgrace?
For idle tales to spurn thy faithful bride,
Whose constant truth the searching fire had tried?
Or may I hope thy soul refused consent,
And but thy voice decreed my banishment?
Hope that no care could turn, no love could stay
The lightning stroke that falls on me to-day?
That sins committed in the life that’s fled
Have brought this evil on my guilty head?
Think not I value now my widowed life,
Worthless to her who once was Ráma’s wife.
I only live because I hope to see
The dear dear babe that will resemble thee.
And then my task of penance shall be done,
With eyes uplifted to the scorching sun;
So shall the life that is to come restore
Mine own dear husband, to be lost no more.”
And Lakshmaṇ swore her every word to tell,
Then turned to go, and bade the queen farewell.
Alone with all her woes, her piteous cries
Rose like a butchered lamb’s that struggling dies.
The reverend sage who from his dwelling came
For sacred grass and wood to feed the flame,
Heard her loud shrieks that rent the echoing wood,
And, quickly following, by the mourner stood.
Before the sage the lady bent her low,
Dried her poor eyes, and strove to calm her woe.
With blessings on her hopes the blameless man
In silver tones his soothing speech began:
“First of all faithful wives, O Queen, art thou;
And can I fail to mourn thy sorrows now?
Rest in this holy grove, nor harbour fear
Where dwell in safety e’en the timid deer.
Here shall thine offspring safely see the light,
And be partaker of each holy rite.
Here, near the hermits’ dwellings, shall thou lave
Thy limbs in Tonse’s sin-destroying wave,
And on her isles, by prayer and worship, gain
Sweet peace of mind, and rest from care and pain.
Each hermit maiden with her sweet soft voice,
Shall soothe thy woe, and bid thy heart rejoice:
With fruit and early flowers thy lap shall fill,
And offer grain that springs for us at will.
And here, with labour light, thy task shall be
To water carefully each tender tree,
And learn how sweet a nursing mother’s joy
Ere on thy bosom rest thy darling boy.…”
That very night the banished Sítá bare
Two royal children, most divinely fair.…
The saint Válmíki, with a friend’s delight,
Graced Sítá’s offspring with each holy rite.
Kuśa and Lava—such the names they bore—
Learnt, e’en in childhood, all the Vedas’ lore;
And then the bard, their minstrel souls to train,
Taught them to sing his own immortal strain.
And Ráma’s deeds her boys so sweetly sang,
That Sítá’s breast forgot her bitterest pang.…
Then Sítá’s children, by the saint’s command,
Sang the Rámáyan, wandering through the land.
How could the glorious poem fail to gain
Each heart, each ear that listened to the strain!
So sweet each minstrel’s voice who sang the praise
Of Ráma deathless in Válmíki’s lays.
Ráma himself amid the wondering throng
Marked their fair forms, and loved the noble song,
While, still and weeping, round the nobles stood,
As, on a windless morn, a dewy wood.
On the two minstrels all the people gazed,
Praised their fair looks and marvelled as they praised;
For every eye amid the throng could trace
Ráma’s own image in each youthful face.
Then spoke the king himself and bade them say
Who was their teacher, whose the wondrous lay.
Soon as Válmíki, mighty saint, he saw,
He bowed his head in reverential awe.
“These are thy children” cried the saint, “recall
Thine own dear Sítá, pure and true through all.”
“O holy father,” thus the king replied,
“The faithful lady by the fire was tried;
But the foul demon’s too successful arts
Raised light suspicions in my people’s hearts.
Grant that their breasts may doubt her faith no more,
And thus my Sítá and her sons restore.”
_Raghuvaṇśa Cantos XIV, XV._


Parasuráma, Page 87.

“He cleared the earth thrice seven times of the Kshatriya caste, and
filled with their blood the five large lakes of Samanta, from which he
offered libations to the race of Bhrigu. Offering a solemn sacrifice to
the King of the Gods Paraśuráma presented the earth to the ministering
priests. Having given the earth to Kaśyapa, the hero of immeasurable
prowess retired to the Mahendra mountain, where he still resides; and in
this manner was there enmity between him and the race of the Kshatriyas,
and thus was the whole earth conquered by Paraśuráma.” The destruction of
the Kshatriyas by Paraśuráma had been provoked by the cruelty of the
Kshatriyas. _Chips from a German Workshop_, _Vol._ II. p. 334.
The scene in which he appears is probably interpolated for the sake of
making him declare Ráma to be Vishṇu. “Herr von Schlegel has often
remarked to me,” says Lassen, “that without injuring the connexion of the
story all the chapters [of the Rámáyan] might be omitted in which Ráma is
regarded as an incarnation of Vishṇu. In fact, where the incarnation of
Vishṇu as the four sons of Daśaratha is described, the great sacrifice is
already ended, and all the priests remunerated at the termination, when
the new sacrifice begins at which the Gods appear, then withdraw, and then
first propose the incarnation to Vishṇu. If it had been an original
circumstance of the story, the Gods would certainly have deliberated on
the matter earlier, and the celebration of the sacrifice would have
continued without interruption.” LASSEN, _Indische Alterthumskunde, Vol.
I._ p. 489.


Yáma, Page 68.

Son of Vivasvat=Jima son of Vivanghvat, the Jamshíd of the later Persians.


Fate, Page 68.

“The idea of fate was different in India from that which prevailed in
Greece. In Greece fate was a mysterious, inexorable power which governed
men and human events, and from which it was impossible to escape. In India
Fate was rather an inevitable consequence of actions done in births
antecedent to one’s present state of existence, and was therefore
connected with the doctrine of metempsychosis. A misfortune was for the
most part a punishment, an expiation of ancient faults not yet entirely
cancelled.” GORRESIO.


Visvámitra, Page 76.

“Though of royal extraction, Viśvámitra conquered for himself and his
family the privileges of a Brahman. He became a Brahman, and thus broke
through all the rules of caste. The Brahmans cannot deny the fact, because
it forms one of the principal subjects of their legendary poems. But they
have spared no pains to represent the exertions of Viśvámitra, in his
struggle for Brahmanhood, as so superhuman that no one would easily be
tempted to follow his example. No mention is made of these monstrous
penances in the Veda, where the struggle between Viśvámitra, the leader of
the Kuśikas or Bharatas, and the Brahman Vaśishtha, the leader of the
white-robed Tritsus, is represented as the struggle of two rivals for the
place of Purohita or chief priest and minister at the court of King Sudás,
the son of Pijavana.” _Chips from a German Workshop_, _Vol. II._ p. 336.


Household Gods, Page 102.

“No house is supposed to be without its tutelary divinity, but the notion
attached to this character is now very far from precise. The deity who is
the object of hereditary and family worship, the _Kuladevatá_, is always
one of the leading personages of the Hindu mythology, as Śiva, Vishṇu or
Durgá, but the _Grihadevatá_ rarely bears any distinct appellation. In
Bengal, the domestic god is sometimes the _Sálagrám_ stone, sometimes the
_tulasi_ plant, sometimes a basket with a little rice in it, and sometimes
a water-jar—to either of which a brief adoration is daily addressed, most
usually by the females of the family. Occasionally small images of Lakshmi
or Chaṇdi fulfil the office, or should a snake appear, he is venerated as
the guardian of the dwelling. In general, however, in former times, the
household deities were regarded as the unseen spirits of ill, the ghosts
and goblins who hovered about every spot, and claimed some particular
sites as their own. Offerings were made to them in the open air, by
scattering a little rice with a short formula at the close of all
ceremonies to keep them in good humour.
“The household gods correspond better with the genii locorum than with the
lares or penates of autiquity.”
H. H. WILSON.


Page 107.

_Śaivya, a king whom earth obeyed,_
_Once to a hawk a promise made._
The following is a free version of this very ancient story which occurs
more than once in the _Mahábhárat_:
THE SUPPLIANT DOVE.
Chased by a hawk there came a dove
With worn and weary wing,
And took her stand upon the hand
Of Káśí’s mighty king.
The monarch smoothed her ruffled plumes
And laid her on his breast,
And cried, “No fear shall vex thee here,
Rest, pretty egg-born, rest!
Fair Káśí’s realm is rich and wide,
With golden harvests gay,
But all that’s mine will I resign
Ere I my guest betray.”
But panting for his half won spoil
The hawk was close behind.
And with wild cry and eager eye
Came swooping down the wind:
“This bird,” he cried, “my destined prize,
’Tis not for thee to shield:
’Tis mine by right and toilsome flight
O’er hill and dale and field.
Hunger and thirst oppress me sore,
And I am faint with toil:
Thou shouldst not stay a bird of prey
Who claims his rightful spoil.
They say thou art a glorious king,
And justice is thy care:
Then justly reign in thy domain,
Nor rob the birds of air.”
Then cried the king: “A cow or deer
For thee shall straightway bleed,
Or let a ram or tender lamb
Be slain, for thee to feed.
Mine oath forbids me to betray
My little twice-born guest:
See how she clings with trembling wings
To her protector’s breast.”
“No flesh of lambs,” the hawk replied,
“No blood of deer for me;
The falcon loves to feed on doves
And such is Heaven’s decree.
But if affection for the dove
Thy pitying heart has stirred,
Let thine own flesh my maw refresh,
Weighed down against the bird.”
He carved the flesh from off his side,
And threw it in the scale,
While women’s cries smote on the skies
With loud lament and wail.
He hacked the flesh from side and arm,
From chest and back and thigh,
But still above the little dove
The monarch’s scale stood high.
He heaped the scale with piles of flesh,
With sinews, blood and skin,
And when alone was left him bone
He threw himself therein.
Then thundered voices through the air;
The sky grew black as night;
And fever took the earth that shook
To see that wondrous sight.
The blessed Gods, from every sphere,
By Indra led, came nigh:
While drum and flute and shell and lute
Made music in the sky.
They rained immortal chaplets down,
Which hands celestial twine,
And softly shed upon his head
Pure Amrit, drink divine.
Then God and Seraph, Bard and Nymph
Their heavenly voices raised,
And a glad throng with dance and song
The glorious monarch praised.
They set him on a golden car
That blazed with many a gem;
Then swiftly through the air they flew,
And bore him home with them.
Thus Káśí’s lord, by noble deed,
Won heaven and deathless fame:
And when the weak protection seek
From thee, do thou the same.
_Scenes from the Rámáyan, &c._


Page 108.

The ceremonies that attended the consecration of a king (_Abhikshepa lit.
Sprinkling over_) are fully described in Goldstücker’s Dictionary, from
which the following extract is made: “The type of the inauguration
ceremony as practised at the Epic period may probably be recognized in the
history of the inauguration of _Ráma_, as told in the _Rámáyana_, and in
that of the inauguration of _Yudhishṭhira_, as told in the _Mahábháratha_.
Neither ceremony is described in these poems with the full detail which is
given of the vaidik rite in the _Aitareya-Bráhmaṇam_; but the allusion
that Ráma was inaugurated by _Vaśishṭha_ and the other Bráhmanas in the
same manner as Indra by the Vasus … and the observation which is made in
some passages that a certain rite of the inauguration was performed
‘according to the sacred rule’ … admit of the conclusion that the ceremony
was supposed to have taken place in conformity with the vaidik
injunction.… As the inauguration of _Ráma_ was intended and the necessary
preparations for it were made when his father Daśaratha was still alive,
but as the ceremony itself, through the intrigues of his step-mother
_Kaikeyí_, did not take place then, but fourteen years later, after the
death of _Daśaratha_, an account of the preparatory ceremonies is given in
the _Ayodhyákáṇḍa_ (Book II) as well as in the _Yuddha-Káṇḍa_ (Book VI.)
of the Rámáyaṇa, but an account of the complete ceremony in the latter
book alone. According to the _Ayodhyákáṇḍa_, on the day preceding the
intended inauguration _Ráma_ and his wife _Sítá_ held a fast, and in the
night they performed this preliminary rite: _Ráma_ having made his