Ram Navami

BY MASTI VENKATESA IYENGAR

(Rendered from his verse-tale in KANNADA)

“Just here sat the lady Sita; and here close beside her stood the noble Rama; and there a few paces away stood the excellent brother, Lakshmana.”

Walking on Ram Navami day in the neighbourhood of Bovanahally, I saw an old man seated under a great Basari tree.

With the grace of a serpent lifting its hood, he raised his head and fixed his eyes on me.

They shone like jewels, those eyes, and his teeth were small and well set like pearls. In each ear he wore a golden ear-ring and one of those rural flowers, also made of gold.

With a huge turban on his head and his face full of grey hair, the old man looked really handsome.

Moved to speak to him, I said: “Pleased to see you, sir elder.” Some bond in nature between being and being makes us speak like this to people whom we do not know.

It gave him pleasure to be spoken to. “I fold my hands to you, respected sir; where are you strolling to?” he said in reply, suspending my walk for the time.

When we had exchanged words of courtesy, he told me the following story of old time showing the importance of the spot where he was sitting.

“The noble Rama, in the days of his exile, spent here, they say, sir, a day. With him was that gracious daughter of the King of Mithila, his young consort, the lady Sita.

“With them as attendant was brother Lakshmana. So we have been told by the elders of our people who have believed through the centuries.

“Starting from somewhere earlier in the morning they reached here a little before noon, a burning sun overhead.

“By the time they reached near this tree the lady felt tired. ‘What Sun!’ she exclaimed, and gave in fatigue a long breath which imparted fragrance to the air around.

“Climbing to the top of the sky-wall and tying wings as it were to his feet, the Sun sped up the sky, an eagle with outspread wings, victorious over everything.

“Under the vanquishing outburst of his too evident might, rock and boulder admitted defeat and gasped in weariness. Could she do else, the lady Sita, delicate as a flower?

“Royal Rama saw the manner of his queen and was deeply distressed. ‘What play of fate is this!’ he said to himself, ‘What perverse destiny swaying lives?’

“ ‘The great daughter of the ruler of Videha, daughter-in-law to imperial Dasaratha, is this the life for her? Is this strain that she can bear?’

“To her desire to stay in his company the lady had given the name of duty, and was now going through all this suffering in consequence of her love to him.

“Rama, unhappy at thought of her suffering, saw this great tree full of foliage, and remembering the limits of a woman’s strength asked her to sit here and rest.

“And just here sat the lady Sita, and here beside her stood the noble Rama; and there a few paces away stood that excellent brother, Lakshmana.”

The village elder used such and so much Sanskrit in saying all this that I wondered where he should have learnt it. I have no doubt that you too would like to know how he was so well versed.

“Where, sir elder, did you learn your Sanskrit?” I asked him. Showing in his eyes a glint of pleasure at being asked that question, the old man replied:

“What after all is the Sanskrit that I know? When our priest’s mill of learning went round and round and ground the sugar-cane of the Shastra.

“I, wise in the taste of its juice, stood beside him and licked up such spray of it as fell into my hand. No high hill is this learning of mine; it is but a few pieces of sugar-candy.

“As the valiant Rama stood beside her here, the lady Sita sat just here and said: ‘Rama, how pleasant is this shade!’ Her lips, sir, were soft red as coral.

“And see, sir, on the day of this feast there is very little of wind. The flow from the East has ceased and the wind from the west not yet come.

“It must be that the hills of the West have gathered all the winds together and held them back for a day fixed for the flight. Why else is it so still that the withered grass will not move?

“If, of the winds so gathered, a little wisp should spring past the arms of the hills, like a mischievous urchin running in evasion of his servant guardian, that makes the day a day of festival.

“As the lady sat here in fatigue, a little wind from the West stole up as if to wait upon her and get her blessing;

“Played round about and touched her gentle frame; played with the leaves and whispered something; and somehow drove fatigue and gave ease to hearts.

“It is a strange thing, this Western wind of spring, playing not with this flower or that, but peeping in everywhere and peering at everything.

“Its way is not to have sport with such creepers as are its peers and leave other things free: it storms the great trees even. What shall I say of the stoutness of its Courage?

“It embraces a hundred flowers and gathers into its mantle one hundred fragrances before it reaches us. The way of the Southern breeze is strangely promiscuous.

“Do you laugh, my master, because I describe the wind as promiscuous, suggesting irregular life? You may laugh indeed. For what were life without laughter?

“Promiscuity is harm in beings housed in bodies. It is no defect in spirits. To be in excess of the bounds of men is not necessarily extravagance in gods.

“Not merely does this wind from the West carry a fragrance of the flowers that are; it plunders even the green life that is to blossom long hereafter.

“And then, sir, there is a fragrance which comes from its own heart’s core. Those who know of it do not yet speak of it: it is a mystery not to be revealed.

“Blowing over the Western seas this wind touches the fringe of the ocean of milk, and, coming in its progress there into contact with the form of Hari, derives a paradisal scent.

“In the little wind that came and played about her, the lady Sita recognised the fragrance of Rama’s frame. This privilege, sir, comes to the portion of the more fortunate among women.

“Relieved of fatigue the lady Sita turned her eyes around. What a beautiful woodland it was and how beautiful was that clump of thin yellow bamboo there!

“It looked as if the frame of earth had thrilled in very joy and was flowering everywhere. So entrancing was the smile that the coming of Spring had brought to Nature’s face.

“This beauty of the days succeed in the first days of year is a beauty all by itself, manifesting the victorious station of Spring triumphant over winter time.

“All around is a crowding of green, a fair of majestic trees. What can be the matter? Who gathers them here inviting them to assemble?

“May be the queen of the Lord of Mountains has sent word of the anniversary of Uma and Mahesha’s wedding and summoned her circle of relations to the festivities. This call has gone forth;

“And hill has called to hill and cried the summons thrice, and over all the world is the joy of a carnival, an up lifting of the sprit.

“There is not a tree but has heard the call and said, ‘let us go and bless the pair’, and in preparation for the journey has decked itself in fresh robes.

“Beneath the Hongue is a spread of flowers, white and violet and blue; and overhead is its mass of green, cool as the bosom of the mother who gives being.

“The cuckoo which stilled its voice long ago and had gone is crying again and saying ‘New year is here and so am I’ and is announcing happy times.

“In the jasmine garden of God’s temple the flowers are strewn like stars; and, in the Champak tree, see what blossom on each little branch!

“And then this mango tree, lifting its hundred blossom bunches like a constellation of lights to wave. Is it a real tree or a picture limned against heaven’s wall?

“Should you have flowers to scatter sweetness? Why? the Jack tree seems to say and makes the air sweet by mere magic, as it were.

“All the trees, old or withered or gnarled, have obeyed the call in their souls, and put on for once in the year the smile due to the occasion.

“Sita saw the outspread beauty of the scene and said: ‘Rama, how entrancing is the land! Can anything be more beautiful?’

“ ‘No’ said Rama, unwilling to speak out of tune, but unable to expand into words, mindful of the distress in which he had seen his beloved, only the moment before.

“The half word that her loving lord uttered did not satisfy the princess. She spoke to fill the void as also to relieve her husband of some thought which she saw was making him unhappy.

“ ‘Rama’ she said, ‘how you described the hardships of life in the forest; how strenuously you opposed the thought of my accompanying you!

“ ‘Could I have seen this beauty of the woodlands if I had not insisted and come with you? So abounding is this beauty that I could stay here another ten years merely to look upon it.

“ ‘What feasting of the eyes has been mine, seeing wood after wood so beautiful and fragrant, and thinking for the moment that I stood not on earth but in the garden of paradise.

“‘You brought me here, considerate one, and I could see what I have seen. If you had not brought me, I should have been denied this privilege.

“ ‘To sit in the shade of trees at midday is a pleasure denied to palace dwellers. It is not consistent with royal state to walk under trees in the middle of the day!

“ ‘I knew that it should be very pleasant to wander in the woods all through the day. But I did not know that it was so pleasant. The fact excels imagination.

“ ‘Day after day in Ayodhya there, the same Sun and Moon shone overhead. Why in the name of wonder did they not feel so?’

“The lady Sita half spoke a real joy of heart in these words. The other half was prompted by her wish that her Lord should not be unhappy for her account.

“This, of course, Rama knew. Daily he had wondered at the friendship, which appeared in Sita’s ways to him. That day again he saw the depth of that friendship and again he wondered.

“Talking of woodland beauty, sir, I should say that what they said that day is just as true today. Life in the cities has made havoc of the joy of our people’s living.

“City is not the word for that wilderness of structures. ‘Pity’ were a more suitable name. Those surely are not houses from which I hear the cry of the debts that make broken men.

“Man needs a house to stay in, but he needs the open space. ‘I’ is required, but so is ‘we’. You balance when you have both.

“If they stay within four walls all the time, how shall men know the beauty of the open? The populace of our cities has made a hole of its houses like a bandicoot: beat it out of the hole.

“It wants nor earth nor water; it wants not light or air. One single obsession it has: the fire of overweening desire that would consume all things and everything.

“The light that comes to the face of a man like you who walk in the open some time is unknown to the face of him whose business tears his time to rags.

“As they sat here speaking thus, loving Rama and beloved Sita, a mina of the golden tongue flew to this tree, and seated on a branch above, raised its voice and sang,

“And thrilled the place around. A tree, sir, gets such joy only if a bird comes to it and sings. If you did not come and speak to me, how should I have this talk with you?

“Of the numerous sounds we hear in the woods, the mina’s sound is sweetest. No other sound of all I hear fills my ear with the same delight.

“Not that there is any lack of sweetness in the sounds that fill the world. Where is the limit to the sounds and the tastes of this play-house of God? And can man paint all the colours he can see?

“Sweet are all the sounds we hear, for all are of the voice calling us to God. It sounds once this way and once in another, and manifest in it all is the same tenderness.

“He is somewhere where we do not know, and from him there there comes the call. Who is it? A bird. He who calls is not seen: ‘Eh!’ ‘Hi!’ ‘Hee!’ ‘Tis his play.

“He is within us, say some people. He may be; why should he not? Yet it is wrong to dogmatise. Our master is a conjuror and not to be caught.

“I have heard of a dome in Bijapur. You sit at this end and a friend sits at the other end and he whispers against the wall. You hear the whisper from the wall here and in between is empty space.

“A waterless well so wide that your head turns, and you cannot swim because it is mere emptiness. Your friend is not beside you and you cannot touch him. You can see him, and for that you are grateful.

“You hear the whisper from the wall beside you: does it take birth there? What folly were it to think so! Is He within? Is He without? Where is the end to question? So; not so; yet so.

“In the dome there you see the friend: in the dome here our friend whispers without being seen. We look for him all round and lose our way in thought.

“What was I saying? Yes. As the bird sang and thrilled the space with its dulcet note, what joy thrilled those hearts, in a streak, as it were, of lightning!

“Delighted by the song of the bird the lady Sita said: ‘Rama, can another voice be sweet like this? It is delicious as honey.’

“To his beloved speaking her heart’s joy in these words Rama said in playfulness: ‘I know a voice that is sweeter.’

“‘What voice is that? Have I heard it?’ asked our mother, willing as ever and even pleased to learn from her husband who knew so much more.

“‘It is the voice in which you call me Rama. It is sweeter far to me,’ said Ramachandra. Even in playfulness he could only speak the truth.

“‘In fact, sir, Rama’s feeling towards his wife was one of admiration not to be described. The mother of the universe was such a person: what wonder that he loved her so?

“That beautiful brow with that neat face-mark; those eyes each wide as a hand; that nose that looked like a Champak bud; and lips ripe in the warmth of her sunny smile.

“The flower in her hair, rose and jasmine tied together, was just a little withered from the sun, and gave to the coiffure a beauty that seemed altogether new.

“Mother Sita full well knew that her voice was in simple truth sweetest to Rama. Yet the inclination to laugh a little at him would not desert her.

“So she turned that face of hers,–it was slightly browned by the sun, sir,–towards Rama, and with lips half opened in a smile that overflowed the ends of her eyes, she said:

“ ‘Day after day you say things like this to me. Is it right in the wise to feed a woman’s vanity by such talk?’

“Rama listened to his queen and smiled and was silent, tasting with his eyes the arch look on that beloved face.

“At this moment the lady remembered that the day was the ninth of the year’s first bright fortnight and the day on which Rama was born. Remembering it she cried out at once:

“ ‘What a pity, Rama, I had almost forgotten that today is your birthday. I recollected it yesterday but it slipped from my memory today. What shall I say of my dullness?

“ ‘Lakshmana, I might forget it, but how could you who have made yourself responsible for all that is good in our lives? How can we get on if you neglect?

“ ‘Well, we shall celebrate the birthday here. I shall cook under that tree. Look about the place and bring what fruit and vegetables you can. Come, brother, hurry up.’

“What enthusiasm! What happy fuss! And what grace in all she said and did! When her husband was with her, every word of the lady Sita was sweet like fresh drawn honey.

“To help his mate to do the cooking, Rama himself collected thin dry wood which would burn easily, proving, what is always true, that God will even serve as a servant those whom he loves.

“What, you ask, was the cooking that day? Why shall we talk of that? Could there be a dinner for princes in this wilderness? How should you get in this place the fine dishes of cities?

“They had a soup of brinjals and curry made of a wild berry; rice of one inferior grain, and porridge of another. What had they to dine on but their stolen royal state?

“The daughter of Janaka, sir, thus on Rama’s birthday herself cooked a feast for him. So it is described in the great poems of old.

“Taking his food with his elder brother and serving what remained to his sister-in-law, Lakshmana waited upon those elders, each according to his or her desire

“And oh, my mother Sita suffered like muslin spread on bramble. I think of it and feel pricked in my inner being, and my hair stands on end so, I cannot bear it.

“Your bedding, sir, lies one hour in the dust in the sun. When evening comes it is on your cot and has the privilege again of touching your person.

“Who is exempt from the ups and downs of life? When God said, ‘I shall look after those whom I love,’ it said in reply, ‘then I shall hurt you.’

“You have heard the word of the devotees. ‘Life is bright fortnight and dark in alternation. Make up a bundle of good for yourself. If you do not you are lost.’

“At the hour of leaving this place the lady Sita blessed the tree and said: ‘My sister who gave me shelter in need, be you ever green and ever bloom in wealth of foliage; and O well, which gave us water for our feast may you never dry.’

“That blessing to the tree and to the well, like a mother’s blessing to two children, has guarded them till this moment. That same tree stand here and that water is still there.

“We say that this is the same tree. The clever fellow says it is not. What is the use of swelling in words? Supposing it is not the same tree, it is a child of that tree or the child of a child.

“There is not one in this village who knows when this tree did not stand, here. Do we know from when it has stood? What good is talking of that of which we have not knowledge?

“No one cuts leaves from this tree and it has never once gone quite bare, and when Spring comes what an accession of tender green overwhelms it!

“I do not know when this stem was planted here. If ever the day should come when it dries, may people have the sense to lop a branch of it and plant it in this place!

“In trees of its own kind there is not another whose shade is so full and so cool. Sit under it and see, I say to any one. There is nothing like it and I speak the truth.

“So delighted was the lady Sita with this place, in which she celebrated that birthday of her husband, that every birthday of Rama she comes here for a little while.

“Rama and Lakshmana and the lady come here together and spend some time wandering, happy, over the place.

“Grand-father and great-grand-father in our village have seen the brothers and the lady on such occasion. This has been told in our houses from generation to generation.

“I have heard it said that they are seen by those who are good. I would say they are seen by those to whom they are gracious. Why shall we talk of the merit of men, and place a limit to God’s tenderness?

“Wondering whether I might have the privilege of seeing them some day, I from my youth up have come to this place and waited, every birthday of Rama.

“Today also, thinking that happily I might see them, I have come and sat near this tree and this well which they hallow with their grace. Not a single Ram Navami have I missed coming and waiting here. Oh, sir, how hot it is.

“Ninety people and nine but of a hundred say to thought like this: ‘Can it be that Sita and Rama are seen?’ A half of the others believe, yet believe not.

“I for my part accept the word of my elders and believe. Should we not see if they can be seen, and can we do it without belief?

“You cannot see the air; but if you play your hand about, the air touches your body and says: ‘I am here.’ It is the same with God. He is not to be seen as a matter of course.

“He is tenuous; but if you play your mind about, He will touch your self. Those to whom it is given can thus see God, before them, walking.

“In our very presence, sir, in this life of ours, heaven and hell are twined together. We by our actions find of the two that one for which we long.

“You beat with it and you have made hell; feed with it, you have made heaven: of this same right hand. Wash it, it is a temple; neglect it, it is a little rotting wineskin this same body of ours.

“Speak sweet and your tongue is heaven; wrangle with it, it is hell. Day after day in the same one thing we see the two side by side.

“Heaven and hell are thus twined all about us, so that, almost, they are not to be extricated. Men have to learn, sir, to see the two in the one.

“Shall I see Sita and Rama and Lakshmana, the three together, walking in my presence? When will it be that I shall see the God of my heart’s devotion?

“It is not right to insist upon seeing though it would be so good if we could see. It matters not if we cannot see. We may sit and think of them in silence and even that is good.

“Oh you to whom our elders called as Prince of the race of Raghu, and Rama, Lord of Sree and King, be gracious unto me, and come in your person, and stand before me.”

As I was listening to the old man I looked towards a tree at some distance in the valley and saw there two persons, a young man standing, and sitting close to him a young woman.

The two had just stepped into youth. The young woman was laughing and saying something; the young man had no ears for that she said: he had become mere eyes.

“Are they Sita and Rama?’ asked my mind and my heart leapt at the thought. Why should it not be they? They might have come to fill the longing of this old waiting soul.

Was the young woman washing some clothes? The bangles on her wrist were jingling. And what was the young man saying to her? For one could see that he was speaking.

Noticing that I was looking at the young couple near the tree, the old man looked that way himself and said: “It is my son and daughter-in-law come to call me home.

“When coming out in the morning I asked them to come and tell me when it was time for worship. They have come together to call me. It is some work done and also some time spent together.

“How can a young woman say to her husband in a crowded house all that she would like to say. So she signals to him to come out with her and leads him to the tree or well.

“Twisting a rope or washing the clothes and seeming to do some work, they spend some time together and laugh and talk, two lives in love with each other.

“Oh, Yiravya, my mother, come thou here for a moment. Son Rama, come for a moment. See, our master here from the town is making enquiries after you.

“Come and do obeisance to him together and take his blessings. Let the potent words of a good gentleman have effect and our lineage continue.

“I have heard men who are wise in words say that the son of the house is Rama and that every woman is Sita. But is it enough if we can say this thing in words?

“A clever man like this feeds his cane mill with wild cane. What juice and what jaggery can it yield this grinding of mere wild word?

“Mention others’ women and the eye-brows of these men jump. When every woman becomes Sita to them you will forge a chain from mica.

“Sure enough it was God moving in front of him; yet Dasaratha who begot Rama saw in him his son and not his God. Who is above this illusion?

“If to Dasaratha of impregnable Ayodhya the privilege was denied of recognising his God in his offspring, is it likely that it will be granted to me? Such talk is pure romancing.

“One has to strip oneself of self before he can see God in a son. Man should have reached the state of salvation to have that equal vision.

“In each grain of sand and in each speck in creation Rama is present, and illusion covers him as a veil. When he wills he pulls it aside and shows himself to us.

“This he might do of his grace to any of us, for illusion is only a veil. Not so easy is it for man to get rid of the cataract of ‘me and mine’ against the mind’s eye.”

As the old man was speaking the two young people, in response to his call, walked up together towards us. It is ever a beautiful sight to see youth and maid walking in company.

On reaching where we were they folded their hands to me, and 1 said: “God give you happiness.” The youth stepped towards his father and the young woman stood behind him.

“Mother sent us,” said the youth to the old man, “to say that it is time for worship. The temple horn will be blowing presently.”

Whatever might be the old man’s view of the matter, there formed at that moment in my own mind a picture composed of the four of us.

Those three became Dasaratha and Rama and Sita and I became her father Janaka. So vivid was the picture that it will remain in my mind to the very end of my days.

“Sir elder,” I said, “you have told me on this feast day a story well worthy of it. I have derived great comfort by the sight of you and your ways. Will you now give me leave?” With this I made ready to start. The old man stood up and put his hands together against his face in salutation.

“You too, sir,” said he, “came to me on this feast day as might Sree Rama himself. God be with you. Step this way and favour us some day again.”

“Quite so,” I said to myself and, in order that I might enquire for him if necessary, I asked the elder what his name was.

He would not answer the question. “What name have I to speak off’ he said. “No fame, no name. The man is a worm whom life has beaten, six foot long at best.”

“That is all right,” I said; “but you know the worst of us worms is given a name by his mother. All may give one up but not the mother who bore.”

Reluctant to utter his name, the old man yet gave it to me on so much pressure. “Javara was the name by which my mother called me as a child, putting me to her breast.

“Javara, she called me, and put her lips to my face and put my mouth against her breast; and made the little creature into a man and I stood up proud and strong.

“Uttering the name Javara she disappeared from the world, leaving to these hands the task of burying her remains. I feel the Earth which holds them inviting my body too.

“That the mother called me by that name in such tones of tenderness has been the cause of much harm, self-love rising like prickles on the tongue in the fever which men call life.”

“Not in your case, old sir,” I said; “you have walked in truth. God has led you right till now and cannot abandon you hereafter.”

With this I took leave again of the group and came home, my heart lost in admiration of the old man and his ways.

Reaching home I told the household all that had occurred; moved by the story my wife said: “God be gracious to the old man.”

My daughter said: “I desire greatly to see Yiravva”; and my son-in-law said to her: “Can one make count of all the desires you feel!”

The recollection of the morning’s occurrence brought unusual brightness to the festival, and a joy whose quality I cannot describe lighted my being within and without.

“Believing, none has lost,” the old man seemed to swear, a visible figure before me. “See,” he is saying, “how rich is my life.”

And as the mother of the worlds speaks within, I clearly hear in my heart the words: “I am Yiravva; I am daughter; and I the eternal Sita.”

I have not had sight of the mother in the manner the old man has in mind. I have not heard the voice in my ear nor seen the lips moving with my eyes.

The truth has reached the field of knowledge; it has touched the plane of emotion. Some day in the time to come, when the knot of this little self is loosed, it will, no doubt, touch the soul.

Those who ask whether there can be such a thing as Sita and Rama being seen, are wise, I agree, in their way; but their wisdom saves the shell while it kills the kernel of truth.

That which lights the path of life I call truth. What cannot do this is not truth but a lay-figure of truth.

How can that be aught but truth which lights the way of man in life? The power to show the way is the power of light, not of darkness.

The faith that dwells in the village elder’s heart does not spring in mine and the faith that is given to me is not meant for you. Of a truth, in mind as in face in God’s creation, no man is just like another.

The soul of my village elder has developed that fineness in the faith that has come to him. May the encrustation in your own being be removed by the truth to which you give your heart!

I shall go further: such is the unfortunate history of the world that the whole of it cannot now together worship the names of Rama and Sita.

But whatever it does with the names themselves, whether it accepts or rejects them, may the world not fail to plant in its mind the truth for which they stand!

And may the seed of it sprout and grow; and become a noble tree; and may all find solace in its shade and prosper evermore!

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