We had seen Rama reaching Mount Chitrakuta and dwelling in the lap of nature along with Sita and Lakshmana.
Sumantra, the charioteer travels back to Ayodhya and carries the message of
Rama and Lakshmana to the king. His arrival into the kingdom sets off a series
of reactions which brings doom to Dasaratha as a long-standing curse comes to
reality. Let us look at the description of the last few sad days of the mighty
king who gave Rama to the world. The next few chapters will lead to the moment
of passing away of Dasaratha, a noble Ikshvaku king who has been crest-fallen
in abject agony from the day Rama’s exile was pitched before him.
In chapter 59, Sumantra narrates the events
after he took leave of Rama near river Ganga. Dasaratha
laments and soon falls unconscious.
Sumantra went on with his narration of events that
had taken place after he left Rama. He said that even the horses, shedding
tears, were reluctant to part with Rama and how he had tarried with Guha, in
the hope of Rama sending for him. "Rama's exile is beyond
description" he said, "and so are the ensuing effects on nature. A
shroud of gloom hangs over the entire earth, where trees wither, flowers have
no scent, rivers and lakes are dry and limpid pools turbid. The forests are
soundless as no beasts roam there. Weighed down with grief, the leaves of the
lotus have drowned, groves and gardens have lost their charm and birds no
longer chirp. People behold my chariot in disappointment for they do not see
Rama in it."
As he listened to Sumantra, Dasaratha was a picture
of abject misery. Wearied of deceptions, deprived of a dutiful son and
denounced by his people, he was haunted by a sorrow that bore him down. Blaming
himself, he told Sumantra, "Enticed by Kaikeyi, whose mind is an abode of
evil, I have committed an unforgivable folly, which will now destroy my
dynasty. "Sumantra, if ever I have rendered you a service, bring back that
mighty armed son of mine or take me to him, as I am about to die. If still
alive I can feast my eyes on my gloriously handsome son with Sita and Lakshmana
by his side. To Kausalya he said, "The ocean of grief in which I am
immersed is boundless. It has Rama's misfortune as its currents and Sita's
banishment as its utmost bourn. My sighs are the waves whose foaming waters are
polluted by my tears. My flailing arms are like the fish and my wailing
competes with the sound of crashing waves. In its depth dwells the dreadful
volcanic fire, called Kaikeyi, who is born out of my copious tears. This ocean
is infested with monstrous crocodiles, which are the words of the hunch -back
Manthara. Its fathomless waters are like the wicked boons of Kaikeyi and its
far shores are Rama's exile, caused by that vile woman. Without my Rama, how
can I cross this ocean of sorrow? It will be a great calamity if in spite of my
longing I cannot ever behold my Rama and Lakshmana."
In chapter 60, Sumantra was unable to
console Kausalya, who lied on the floor due to her extreme grief over her
separation from Rama, even though he tries to avert her grief by telling her
that Rama can reside in the forest delightfully, by warding off his agony.
Kausalya wept inconsolably. She asked Sumantra to
take her to where Rama was, as she could no longer live away from him. Sumantra
said, "Mother, dispel your grief. Rama is served by no less than Lakshmana
who is a noble brother, aware of every dharma and master of all his senses. He
serves Rama with a devotion that makes him worthy of heaven. As for Sita,
though living in the wilderness, ever meditating on Rama, she lives as
fearlessly as she would in the palace. I see no trace of self-pity in her,
whose radiant face is ever serene as she follows Rama revelling under the green
canopies. As Rama is her very life, if she were here without him, Ayodhya would
be the most dreaded of forest for Sita. Fascinated by the glories of nature and
wanting to know of them she minds neither the heat of the sun nor the
inhospitable forestland nor the unbridled force of the winds. She remains
dainty as a lotus, luminous as moon and her feet though devoid of vermilion remain
supple and tender like the lotus buds. Her anklets tinkle as she traipses
alongside Rama, fearing neither elephant, tiger nor lion, she takes refuge in
the arms of her consort.
"The famed story of a son's submission to his
father's commands will forever find pride of place in the history of this
world. Abandoning all sorrow they walk the path of the great Rishis, with
uncompromising resolution. So, there is no reason to grieve for Rama, or for
the king." Despite Sumantra's reassurance of Rama's safety and welfare,
Kausalya refused to give up her lament.
In chapter 61, Kausalya, while weeping, rebukes
Dasaratha for his evil act of sending Rama to exile. She explains various
difficulties being faced by Rama, Lakshmana and Seetha in their forest-life. She
says Rama might not accept the kingdom from Bharatha in fifteenth year.
Kausalya in her sorrow, blamed Dasaratha for the
woes of her children. She asked him how, a king so righteous, renowned and
compassionate could bear the thought of their suffering. "How can Sita
exposed to the elements, living on forest fare, and hearing the fearful roar of
animals in place of the melodies of music, survive? When will I behold my Rama
enjoying the comforts of the palace? The princes who once had the luxuries of a
kingdom at their command are now victims of your ruthless command. Should Rama
return at the end of his fourteen-year exile, he will not accept the kingdom
from Bharata. To him, it will be like the food offered at a 'Shraddha'
ceremony. Rama will not accept a kingdom passed on to him after being enjoyed
by a brother younger than him and will not suffer such ignominy.
Rama, whom the united forces of the Devas and
Danavas cannot vanquish, has been destroyed by you. The first refuge for a
woman is her husband, the second her son, the third her relatives. The fourth
is independence, which does not exist for me in this world. Enslaved to
Kaikeyi, you are no longer mine. As you are nothing to me you are no longer my
refuge. My second refuge Rama is in the forests where I cannot go, because I am
married to you. As for my family it is far away and beyond my reach, so in
every way you have destroyed me, ruined yourself, the kingdom and the
ministers. You have no crown, kingdom, kinsmen or counsellors and have brought
nothing but disaster. The inhabitants of Ayodhya, my son and I are ruined.
Bharata and Kaikeyi alone rejoice.” Listening to Kausalya's accusations,
Dasaratha's battered mind writhed with remorse. Overwhelmed with unbearable anguish
it fell silent refusing to function.
In chapter 62, after hearing harsh
words from Kausalya, king Dasaratha loses consciousness and restores it after a
long time. Kausalya then repents for her mistake of speaking such crude words
and consoles the king with her reconciliatory words. Overcome by grief, Dasaratha
fell into the grip of slumber as the night prevailed.
Dasaratha sank into a deep melancholy as he brooded
over events that had taken place and which were beyond his control. Slowly in
his mind surfaced the memory of an incident that had occurred many years ago.
He remembered an unpardonable sin he had committed, as a young prince, while
indulging in his favourite pastime of hunting. He had unwittingly released an
arrow, towards what he thought was a sound made by an animal only to find out
that his target was an ascetic. It now dawned on Dasaratha that his present
suffering was the consequence of that act, which had ended in a great calamity.
The memory shook him and bowing to Kausalya, with palms together, he said,
"Do forgive me, you are a woman of great compassion even to your enemies.
I, who am plunged in a great sorrow, beg you to curb your temper, for I cannot
bear such anger."
Hearing a king as mighty as Dasaratha, begging for
mercy and forgiveness, Kausalya was devastated. Holding Dasaratha's hands, she
said, "I prostrate in obeisance to you my lord, and I am a sinner for
having made you beg of me. A woman, who compels her husband to seek her pardon,
loses her place in this world and the world after. My grief perhaps betrays my
discretion for there is no greater enemy than grief. Rama's five days of exile
seem like five years to me and the more I think of him the more I sorrow."
The sun set on one more day and the great monarch lulled and consoled by his
consort fell into blissful sleep.
In chapter 63, Dasaratha wakes up
with anxious thoughts. Recalling his earlier sin, he starts recounting the
story of a young ascetic to Kausalya and how killing him is a sin committed by
him.
Coming awake hours before dawn, thoughts that had
tormented Dasaratha the day before assailed him. Wanting to share them with
Kausalya, on the sixth day of Rama's exile, at midnight Dasaratha, remorsefully
recollected the misdeed he had committed unwittingly, in his youth.
"Kausalya, man has to reap the fruit of all his deeds, be they good or
evil. Only the foolish do not consider the consequences of their acts. A good
act gains him merit but an evil act brings suffering. A wrong act committed
thoughtlessly may be regretted but its outcome can never be stemmed. In my
youth, I had mastered 'Shabdavedi' the great skill of shooting at any target,
not by seeing it visibly, but by hearing it. This mastery that brought me great
renown as an archer was also the cause of my sin. Its consequences make me
suffer not in the next world, but here in this world and now."
"As a young prince hunting was my favourite
sport and armed with the knowledge of 'shabdavedi', it was even more thrilling.
On a beautiful evening I went on to the banks of the Sarayu. The Sun was westward
bound, the heat had abated, birds sang, frogs croaked in delight and I was
exhilarated and excited. As thick clouds scudded across the skies, twilight
gently embraced the earth. At that moment I heard a gurgling sound. Unable to
see clearly, mistaking the sound to that of an elephant drinking water, I aimed
my arrow towards that sound. The arrow piercing through the dusk struck an
ascetic and not an elephant. The noise I heard was that of the ascetic filling
his pot with water. My target fell into the waters of the Sarayu. To my horror,
I heard a voice, which said, "How can weapons fall on me? Who shot this
arrow and why? I do not rue my destruction, but what of my parents? How can
they survive after death claims me? Who is that ignoble one who killed us all
with a single arrow? Petrified with shock, feeling drained, my bow slipped to
the ground.
"I rushed towards the sound and to my dismay
beheld a young ascetic, whose body was covered with blood and dust. A broken
pot lay by his side bearing mute witness to my sin. As I stood quivering with
fear he looked at me like one who wanted to immolate me in the blaze of his
anger. "Speaking harshly he said, "To fetch a pot of water for my
parents I had come here, but now that I am struck, my parents too will perish."
He then asked me to quickly take some water to his old parents but warned me to
pacify his father first, so as to avert any curses he may pronounce. He also
asked me to remove the arrow still in his body, as the pain was unbearable. I
stood rooted to the ground, miserable and horrified. Beholding my sorrow, he
said gently, "My mind grows peaceful. I no longer grieve and I will soon
be dead. And you, king will not be guilty of killing a Brahmin, for I am no
Brahmin, but born of a 'Sudra' mother and a Vaisya' father". I then pulled
out the arrow and he shuddered with pain, until death released him from his
suffering. An innocent life was lost and I was to blame. Though unwitting it
was still a sin irreversible and unpardonable.
In chapter 64, King Dasaratha continued
to narrate to Kausalya how he went to the aged parents of the deceased sage and
informed about the death of their son and its cause, and finally how, having
cursed the king that he too would die of agony caused by the separation from
his son, the aged couple gave up their lives. Having thus narrated the
story of his getting the curse long back and loudly weeping, king Dasaratha
dies of grief.
Dasaratha continued with the narration of his
harrowing tale, "By slaying an ascetic, I committed a crime that no man
should ever have. Alone, shattered by a disaster, beyond description and afraid
of its consequences, I stood stunned. Finally taking some water I wended my way
to the cottage where I beheld an old couple, who were blind. With none to help
them they were like birds, whose wings had been severed. They sat talking of
their son not knowing he would no more fetch them water, for a fault of mine.
My grief doubled at the thought, hearing my footsteps, the old father said,
"Why the delay my son? Your mother waits for you impatiently. Give us the
water. To us who are blind you are our eyes and our very life. We have no other
refuge other than you. Speak my child, why are you silent?" As I looked at
him my heart filled with dread, my voice felt strangled and my words came
garbled, but I managed to say, "I am a Kshatriya, Dasaratha is my name. I
am not your son but the cause of a great calamity. Noble sire, as I stood on
the banks of the Sarayu I shot an arrow at what I thought was an elephant. To
my horror, I soon found out, that my arrow had not struck an elephant but had
fatally wounded your son."
"Grieving for you, who would no longer have any
refuge, he breathed his last on the shores of the holy Sarayu, committing me to
tend to your needs. My sin though unpardonable was not intentional; I implore
you to forgive me." Devastated at the news of his son's death, the sage's
eyes streamed with tears. Sighing he said, "In your ignorance you have
transgressed. If you had not confessed to it, you would not be alive; your head
would have shattered into a thousand pieces. The race of the Ikshvakus, will
also now continue, which would otherwise have been destroyed." Crying
piteously for a son, who was their every thing they wailed, saying, "Who
will now protect us, feed us and look after us as honoured guests? Without your
shelter we too will soon follow you to that abode of death. There I will
request Yama to give you back to us and the righteous lord, will surely grant
my wish."
The old couple tearfully performed the funeral rites
of their son, who by merit of his penance and service to his parents
immediately ascended the heavens. He then came back to console his parents,
assuring them that they would soon be with him and the sage said, "Slay me
now, with a single arrow you snuffed out my son's life. What can surpass that
pain? May the grief that now consumes me befall you too, causing your death, as
it now causes mine. Since you sinned unwittingly, instead of reducing you to
ashes here and now, I curse you to die like me, grieving for a son."
Musing over those past events Dasaratha said,
"Sorrowing for my son, I too will die now and the curse of the sage will
come to pass. Banishing Rama was an injustice and does not befit me. No greater
grief can befall me than that of not seeing him. It was my destiny to banish
Rama as dictated by Kaikeyi. "If only Rama can touch me once, or appear
before me, I may still live. Once a person goes to the land of the dead, they
can no longer see any one. Kausalya, I cannot see you, my faculties are
deserting me, and the messengers of death hurry me. My life flickers as a flame
in a lamp whose oil is soon to be over, my body feels like the banks of a
river, being washed away, by the force of its waters." As death approached
and drove away his hopes of ever seeing Rama, a cry of torment escaped
Dasaratha who called out "O Rama, where are you my son and my protector? Kausalya!
Sumitra! Kaikeyi you are my enemy, the destroyer of my race" Remorseful
and above all anguished beyond endurance at Rama's separation, the noble
Ikshvaku Dasaratha, fated to die away from Rama, gave up the last breath of
life, a little after midnight.
In chapter 65, the queens and the people come to
know about the passing away of Dasaratha and grieves inconsolably.
The fateful night which had witnessed the end of
Dasaratha's grief, remorse and his very life, ended. A new dawn brought with it
the usual early morning visitors to the palace. There came the ministers,
bards, musicians and others, all singing praise of the king. The king's
attendants busied themselves with golden pitchers filled with aromatic waters
for the royal ablutions, while beautiful women saw to the procurement of
unguents, oils, mirrors and combs. The Sun rose higher and the king still
slumbered. The ladies in attendance grew anxious and approached the couch but
the king did not move, nor did he seem to breathe. Fearing for his life they
shook like reeds caught in the river currents and a closer look revealed that
their worst fears had come true. The palace was soon to find out a mighty king,
who had ruled Ayodhya gloriously had passed on. Noble and renowned as an
embodiment of Kshatriya dharma, Dasaratha had at last succumbed to the
accusations of Lakshmana, to the silent tears of Sita and to the greatest blow
of his life, his separation from Rama. The air of doom that had hung over
Ayodhya seemed to have descended, to claim the life of its king. Dasaratha's
last breath escaped his body on that fateful night never to return. For
Kausalya and Sumitra their hour of waking had come and gone, but they slept
deeply. Exhausted with grief, their tear-stained faces were dull, as was
Dasaratha's in death. The queens awoke to the terrible wailing of the women of
the palace. Realizing that Dasaratha was no more all the queens, overcome with
grief, fell in a faint mourning the loss of their protector. The air was soon
filled with distressing sounds as the attendants, voiced their anguish weeping
inconsolably.
This concludes chapters
59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64 and 65 of Ayodhya Kanda which mainly tells about the two
days before the end of Dasaratha. It is going to haunt everyone concerned and
becomes one of the main event as Rama went on exile in second book. This is the harsh
reality for a crucial character in the play’s first book as the sorrow eats him
up and renders life-less by the wicked designs of his cruel wife. This simply
tells what separation and cruel treatment of heavenly souls can usher the kind
of devastation to the near and dear. The sorry tale of the eminent Ikshvaku death
due to the fate of his godly son and consequent happenings will stay on for
some more time which can be seen in subsequent chapters.
No comments:
Post a Comment