38. RAMA DISCONSOLATE :

WHEN Maricha was struck by Rama's
arrow and was about to die, he resumed
his own Rakshasa shape and cried aloud
in a voice which was an exact imitation of
Rama's: "Ah Lakshmana. Ah Sita!"


Rama now realised how the Rakshasa
had beguiled them and how be had been
drawn away a long distance by the crafty
Maricha and he was full of anxiety as to
what it all could mean.


"Alas, we have been badly deceived. It
would be terrible if Lakshmana is also
deceived by this cry and leaves Sita alone
to come to my succour. It looks as though
the Rakshasas have planned this ruse to
carry off Sita and eat her. When Sita hears
what she will take as my cry of distress
she is sure to insist on Lakshmana leaving
her and rushing to my help. The howling
of jackals and the behavior of birds do
portend disaster. There is trepidation in
my heart and it is a portent in itself of
some danger close at hand."


Saying thus to himself, Rama hurried
back to the ashrama. On the way, he saw
Lakshmana running towards him. "Alas,
the worst I fear has happened," exclaimed
Rama.


He held Lakshmana's hands and cried
in sorrow: "Why did you leave Sita alone
in the forest, Lakshmana? You may be
sure the Rakshasas have killed and eaten
her. It was not right for you to leave her
and come away. It is now all over with
Sita!"


Fatigued and thirsty with the futile
chase, and now overwhelmed with anger
and unbearable anxiety, Rama cried again:


"If I do not see Sita in the ashrama when
we return, I shall surely die, Lakshmana.
You will return to Ayodhya, the survivor
of us three, and tell them what has
happened. O, how will Kausalya bear her
grief? Lakshmana, you have more than
fulfilled Kaikeyi's wishes. The Rakshasas
will by now have visited on Sita, poor
unprotected Sita, all their pent-up hatred
against us. They must have killed and
eaten her up by now. How could you
leave her alone and come away? How
could you be deceived by Maricha's false
cry? What shall I do now? I shall see Sita
no more. The Rakshasas' plan has
succeeded. My trust in you was misplaced
and I shall never see Sita. How could you
leave her and come away, how could you,
Lakshmana?"


Lakshmana answered with tears in his
eyes: "What else, brother, could I do?
When Sita heard the cry, 'Alas Sita! Alas
Lakshmana!' she was frightened.


Quivering with fear she urged me to go to
you at once and would tolerate no delay.
She persisted, whatever I said to the
contrary. I told her again and again not to
be afraid and assured her that no foe was
strong enough to do you harm, and that
the cry of distress was not yours, but she
would not listen. She charged me with
having turned traitor to you and with
having come to the forest with treasonable
intentions. And, O brother, she found it
possible in her anguish to say I would be
glad of your death out of sinful intentions
towards herself! I was half-dead with
horror on hearing those words of hers and
then she announced that she would kill
herself if I did not go on the instant. Mad
herself, she maddened me with her words
of reproach and I ran towards you not
knowing what else to do."


But Rama was not satisfied. "Whatever
a foolish woman might have said in her
fright, you should have stayed and not left
her unprotected. How could you do such a
foolish thing? You have brought calamity
on me. I shall never see Sita again."


The two hurried to the ashrama. Many
bad omens appeared on their way. And
Rama repeated, as he saw them one by
one: "I fear, I fear we shall never see Sita
again!"


Reaching the ashrama, they found it, as
they had feared, empty. Sita was not there.
The deerskin, the kusa grass, the mat
spread as a seat, all lay scattered on the
ground.


Rama wept and ran hither and thither
in the grove round the cottage. The leaves
and flowers on the trees had faded. Sita
was nowhere to be seen.


He wandered about like one mad. His
eyes were bloodshot. He cried, "Alas,
have they eaten her up? Have they carried
her away? O, bow she must have trembled
in terror! I cannot bear the thought of it.
Could it be that she has gone to the river
to fetch water? Could it be that she has
gone out to cull flowers? Let us see."


And he went searching among the
trees, hoping that perhaps she was hiding
and playing a practical joke on him. His
sorrow swelled like the sea and seemed to
have drowned his reason. He called the
trees one by one by their names and
beseeched them for help.


"Oh Asoka tree! Be true to your name,
remove my sorrow you must know the
truth. Tell me where Sita is now. Oh tall
palm tree! You must be able to see where
Sita is. Tell me where she is."


He talked to the animals too. "Oh
tiger!" he said, "the elephant and the deer
are afraid to tell me the truth. But you
know no fear. You can tell me what has
happened. You know everything. Tell me
then the truth."


He cried: "Oh Sita, you are biding
somewhere. There! There! I see you there!
Stop this fooling. I can stand it no longer."
After wandering and weeping in vain
for a long time he fell on the ground,
moaning, "Ha Lakshmana! Ha Sita!" He
cried like an elephant trapped in a pit.


"Lakshmana, Sita is nowhere. The
Rakshasas have captured her and torn her
to pieces and eaten her up. How can I live
any more? My end is near. But when my
father sees me in the other world, he will
say, 'Why have you come here, my son,
before fulfilling my command?' I have
failed. In everything, I have failed."


Lakshmana could bear this sight no
longer. "Brother, it is not right that you
should cry like this," he said. "Let us
search through the forest. You know how
fond Sita is of entering caves and thickets.


She may be bathing in the river or playing
somewhere or culling flowers. Let us
search again. She is only testing us. Come
let us search again. Do not cry."


The two searched again all over the
place on hills, by pools and on the river
bank. But they did not find her. "Sita is
not to be seen, Lakshmana," said Rama.
"What shall I do now?"


Lakshmana tried to encourage him
with words of hope, but Rama was
inconsolable. "No, no, my brother. There
is no hope," he said, "Sita is nowhere. I
have lost her forever. I shall live no
more."


He lay unconscious for a time. Then he
came to himself and lifted his voice and
wept. Nothing that Lakshmana said could
comfort him.


"Lakshmana, how can I go back to
Ayodhya?" he cried. "Won't they laugh at
me for returning alone after allowing Sita
to be killed and eaten by Rakshasas?


Having brought her to the forest and
having failed to protect her, what shall I
tell Janaka? No, you should go alone to
Ayodhya. Go and look after our mothers.
Greet Bharata from me and tell him it was
my dying wish that he should continue to
rule as king."


All Lakshmana's efforts to console him
were in vain. He was convinced that the
Rakshasas had carried away Sita and torn
her to pieces and eaten her up. He pictured
to himself in detail the horror of her
suffering and cried in his grief: "I must
have committed terrible sins. How else
could such suffering come to me? Sita
who accompanied me, thinking I could
protect her, has been eaten by the
Rakshasas and I can do nothing about it.
Is there another sinner like me in the
world?"


Lakshmana said: "Do not lose heart.
You must be bold and energetic. A
resolute mind can conquer fate. But you
must first conquer your weakness. Let us
make a more thorough search of the
forest. Instead of yielding to unavailing
sorrow, let us be manly and active." But
Rama would not listen.


Rama behaved as a human being, not
an avatar of Vishnu. Though elsewhere
his words and actions give room for a
different view, here Valmiki describes
Rama as a mere man enveloped in the
gloom of a supreme misfortune.


His feeling and behavior are exactly
those of any noble and virtuous man who
has lost his beloved wife, dearer to him
than life itself, and that in a forest infested
with Rakshasas. We see that all the efforts
of Lakshmana to console him had no
effect.


Our common human dharma is
illustrated by the sorrow of Rama. We see
here the picture of true and equal love
between a virtuous man and woman and
the anguish of loss.


The episode may also be interpreted
allegorically. Rama's sense of privation,
when he misses Sita, is a measure and
image of the mind of God when a single
human soul is lost through sin.


One may ask whether God can lose, or
can suffer pain of mind. If one realises
that all life is divine leela, the play of
God, no further exegesis is needed. Sin,
merit, devotion, all are aspects of that
sport.


Each one of us is beloved of the Lord.
If for any reason we are swept away from
the right path, He suffers like a lover who
has lost his love. And His sorrow too is a
part of His great play.



Next :-39. A SECOND FATHER DIES


Continues.....