The Stories of the Ramayana and the Mahabharata

John Campbell Oman

• Publisher: Taylor & Francis
• Year: 2019
• eBook ISBN: 9780429838729
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Literary Criticism
• Index: Literature

First published in 1900, this volume reproduces the key events of the Ramayana and Mahabharata Indian epics. It emerged amongst significant academic interest in Indian culture and literature. Whilst many Indian histories had provided abstracts and full texts of the two epics presented here, this book provided reproductions of the main incidents and striking features of these two otherwise imposing, lengthy works. The volume deals with each text separately and presents several key excerpts along with a general introduction and introductory remarks for both texts.

Part I
The Ramayana

Chapter I
Introductory Remarks

Once every year, at the great festival known as the Dasahra, the story of the famous Hindu epic, the "Ramayana," is, throughout Northern India, recalled to popular memory, by a great out-door dramatic representation of the principal and crowning events in the life of the hero, Rama. The "Eamayana" is not merely a popular story, it is an inspired poem, every detail of which is, in the belief of the great majority of the Indian people, strictly true. Although composed at least nineteen centuries ago, it still lives enshrined in the hearts of the children of Aryavarta and is as familiar to them to-day as it has been to their ancestors for fifty generations. Pious pilgrims even now retrace, step by step, the wanderings, as well as the triumphal progress, of Rama, from his birth-place in Oudh to the distant island of Ceylon. Millions believe in the efficacy of his name alone to insure them safety and salvation. For these reasons the poem is of especial value and interest to anyone desirous of understanding the people of India; affording, as it does, an insight into the thoughts and feelings of the bard or bards who composed it and of a race of men who, through two thousand eventful years, have not grown weary of it.

In the following chapters I shall first give a brief summary of the leading events narrated in the "Ramayana" and then proceed to link, as it were, the past with the present, by describing the annual play as I have often witnessed it in Northern India.

The "Ramayana," written in the Sanskrit language, embraces an account of the birth and adventures of Rama. The whole poem, which is divided into seven books or sections, contains about fifty thousand lines and occupies five goodly volumes in Mr. Ralph Griffith's metrical translation,¹ which is, to a certain extent, an abridged version. To Valmiki is attributed the authorship of this famous epic, and a pretty story is told of the manner in which he came to write it. A renowned ascetic, a sort of celestial being, named Narada, had related to Valmiki the main incidents of the adventurous life of Rama, and had deeply interested that sage in the history of the hero and his companions. Pondering the events described by Narada, Valmiki went to the river to bathe. Close at hand two beautiful herons, in happy unconsciousness of danger, were disporting themselves on the wooded bank of the stream, when suddenly one of the innocent pair was laid prostrate by the arrow of an unseen fowler. The other bird, afflicted with grief, fluttered timidly about her dead mate, uttering sore cries of distress. Touched to the heart by her plaintive sorrow, Valmiki gave expression to his feelings of irritation and sympathy in words which, to his own surprise, had assumed a rhythmic measure and were capable of being chanted with an instrumental accompaniment. Presently, Brahma himself, the Creator of all, visited the sage in his hermitage, but Valmiki's mind was so much occupied with the little tragedy at the river-side, that he unconsciously gaye utterance to the verses he had extemporized on the occasion. Brahma, smiling, informed the hermit that the verses had come to his lips in order that he might compose the delightful and instructive story of Bama in that particular measure or shloka. Assuring Yalmiki that all the details of the stirring tale would be revealed to him, the Supreme Being directed the sage to compose the great epic, which should endure as long as the mountains and seas exist upon this earth. How Valmiki acquired a knowledge of all the details of the story is worth remembering, as being peculiarly Indian in its conception.

"Sitting himself facing the east on a cushion of Kusa grass, and sipping water according to the ordinance, he addressed himself to the contemplation of the subject through Yoga.¹ And, by virtue of his Yoga powers, he clearly observed before him Rama and Lakshmana, and Sita, and Dasahratha, together with his wives, in his kingdom, laughing and talking and acting and bearing themselves as in real life."²

"The Rámáyan of Válmikí," translated into English verse by Ealph T. H. Griffith, M.A., Principal of the Benares College (London, Tiübner and Co.),

¹ Of Yoga and Yogaism I have given a brief account in a previous work, " Indian Life, Religious and Social," pp. 11-47 (London, Fisher Unwin).

² " The Ramayana," translated into English prose from the original Sanskrit of Valmiki by Manmatha Nath Dutt, M.A. (Deva Press, Calcutta). If not otherwise stated, all prose quotations from the " Ramayana " included in the following pages are derived from this work.

Chapter II
The Story

The story of the "Ramayana," in brief outline, is as follows:

In the ancient land of Kosala, watered by the River Surayu, stood the famous Ayodhya,¹ a fortified and impregnable city of matchless beauty, and resplendent with burnished gold, where everyone was virtuous, beautiful, rich and happy. Wide streets traversed this city in every direction, lined with elegant shops and stately palaces glittering all over with gems. There was no lack of food in Ayodhya, for "it abounded in paddy and rice, and its water was as sweet as the juice of the sugar-cane." Gardens, mango-groves and " theatres for females" were to be found everywhere. Dulcet music from Venas and Panavas resounding on all sides, bore evidence to the taste of the people. Learned and virtuous Brahmans, skilled in sacrificial rites, formed a considerable proportion of the population; which also included a crowd of eulogists and " troops of courtesans." The pride of ancient families supported a large number of genealogists. Hosts of skilled artisans of every kind contributed to the conveniences and elegancies of life, while an army of doughty warriors protected this magnificent and opulent city from its envious foes. Over this wonderful and prosperous capital of a flourishing kingdom, ruled King Dasahratha, a man some sixty thousand years of age, gifted with every-virtue and blessed beyond most mortals. But, as if to prove that human happiness can never exist unalloyed with sorrow, even he had one serious cause for grief; he was childless, although he had three wives and seven hundred and fifty concubines.¹ Acting upon the advice of the priests, the Maharajah determined to offer, with all the complicated but necessary rites, the sacrifice of a horse, as a means of prevailing upon the gods to bless his house with offspring. The accomplishment of such a sacrifice was no easy matter, or to be lightly undertaken, even by a mighty monarch like Dasahratha, since it was an essential condition of success that the sacrifice should be conducted without error or omission in the minutest details of the ritual of an intricate ceremony, extending over three days. Not only would any flaw in the proceedings render the sacrifice nugatory, but it was to be feared that learned demons (Brahma-Rakshasas), ever maliciously on the look-out for shortcomings in the sacrifices attempted by men, might cause the destruction of the unfortunate performer of an imperfect sacrifice of such momentous importance. However, the sacrifice was actually performed on a magnificent scale and most satisfactorily, with the assistance of an army of artisans, astrologers, dancers, conductors of theatres, and persons learned in the ceremonial law. Birds, beasts, reptiles, and aquatic animals were sacrificed by the priests on this auspicious occasion, but the sacred horse itself was despatched, with three strokes, by the hand of Kauçalya, Dasahratha's queen. When the ceremonies had been conducted to a successful close, Dasahratha showed his piety and generosity by making a free gift of the whole earth to the officiating priests; but they were content to restore the magnificent present, modestly accepting in its stead fabulous quantities of gold and silver and innumerable cows.

The gods, Gandharvas and Siddhas, propitiated by the offerings profusely made to them, assembled, each one for his share,¹ and Dasahratha was promised four sons.² While these events were transpiring, a ten-headed Rakshasa named Ravana was making himself the terror of gods and men, under the protection of a boon bestowed upon him by the Creator (Brahma), that neither god nor demon should be able to deprive him of his life. This boon had been obtained by the Rakshasa as the reward of long and painful austerities.³

The hierarchy of minor gods, in their own interest and for the sake of the saints who were constantly being disturbed in their devotions by this Ravana and his fellows, appealed to the Supreme Deity to find some remedy for the evil. Brahma, after reflecting on the matter, replied—

"One only way I find
To stay this fiend of evil mind.
He prayed me once his life to guard
From demon, God and heavenly bard,
And spirits of the earth and air,
And I consenting heard his prayer.
But the proud giant in his scorn,
Recked not of man of woman born,
None else may take his life away
But only man the fiend may slay."

—GRIFFITH.

On receiving this reply the gods petitioned Vishnu to divide himself into four parts and to appear on earth, incarnate as the promised sons of Dasahratha, and thus, in human form, to rid the world of Ravana. Yishnu consented. He proceeded to the earth and appeared amidst the sacrificial flames of Dasahratha's offering, in an assumed form " of matchless splendour, strength and size "—black, with a red face, and shaggy hair—apparelled in crimson robes, and adorned with celestial ornaments, holding in his hands a vase of gold, containing heavenly nectar, which he handed to the king, with instructions to make his three queens partake of the sacred draught, in order that they might be blessed with sons.

Dasahratha distributed the nectar amongst his wives, though not in equal proportions. In due time the promised sons were born, viz., Rama, Lakshmana, Bharata and Satrughna. Rama possessed the larger share of the divine nature and decidedly excelled his brothers in prowess. To him, especially, was allotted the task of destroying Ravana. And countless hosts of monkeys and bears were begotten by the gods, at Brahma's¹ suggestion, to aid him in his work.

Whilst yet a mere stripling, Rama was appealed to by the sage Vishwamitra to destroy certain demons who interrupted the religious rites of the hermits.

The boy was only sixteen years of age, and Dasahratha, naturally solicitous for his safety, declined to let him go to fight the dreadful brood of demons, who had an evil reputation for cruelty and ferocity; but the mighty ascetic waxed so wrath at this refusal of his request, that " the entire earth began to tremble and the gods even were inspired with awe." Vasishta, the king's spiritual adviser, who had unbounded confidence in Vishwamitra's power to protect the prince from all harm, strongly advised compliance with the ascetic's request, and Dasahratha was prevailed upon to allow Rama and Lakshmana to leave Ayodhya with Vishwamitra.

The incidents of the journey reveal a very primitive state of society. The princes and their guide were all of them on foot, apparently quite unattended by servants and unprovided with even the most ordinary necessaries of life. When they reached the River Surayu,² Vishwamitra communicated certain mantras or spells to Rama, by the knowledge of which he would be protected from fatigue and fever¹ and from the possibility of being surprised by the Rakshasas against whom he was going to wage war.

The land through which our travellers journeyed was sparsely inhabited. A goodly portion of it seems to have been covered with woods, more or less pleasant, abounding in the hermitages of ascetics, some of whom had been carrying on their austerities for thousands of years. Beside these pleasant woods there were vast, trackless forests, infested by ferocious beasts and grim Rakshasas, and it was not long before the might of the semi-divine stripling, Rama, was tried against one of these terrible creatures, Tarika by name, an ogress of dreadful power, whom Rama undertook to destroy "in the interests of Brahmans, kine and celestials." When the ascetic and the two princes arrived in the dark forest where the dreaded Tarika ruled supreme, Rama twanged his bowstring loudly, as a haughty challenge to this redoubtable giantess. Incensed at the audacious sound of the bowstring, Tarika uttered terrible roars and rushed out to attack the presumptuous prince. The ascetic raised a defiant roar in response. That was his entire contribution to the combat in which Rama and his adversary were immediately involved, Lakshmana taking part in it also. This, the first conflict in which Rama was engaged, may be taken as a type of all his subsequent battles. Raising clouds of dust, Tarika, "by help of illusion," poured a shower of huge stones upon the brothers, but these ponderous missiles were met and arrested in mid-air by a volley of arrows. The battle raged fiercely, but the brothers succeeded with their shafts in depriving Tarika of her hands, her nose and her ears. Thus disabled and disfigured, Tarika changed her shape¹ and even concealed herself from view, while still continuing the fight with unabated fury; but Rama, guided by sound alone, assailed his invisible foe with such effect that he eventually laid her dead at his feet, to the joy of Vishwamitra and the relief of the denizens of the great forest over which she had terrorized.

After this successful combat, the ascetic, Vishwamitra, conferred on Rama a gift of strange weapons, which even the celestials were incapable of wielding. How very different the magic weapons received by Rama were from those familiar to the sons of men, will be apparent from the poet's statement that the weapons themselves made their appearance spontaneously before Rama, "and with clasped hands, they, well pleased, addressed Rama thus: These, O highly generous one, are thy servants, O Raghava. "Whatever thou wishest, good betide thee, shall by all means be accomplished by us."

Such wonderful and efficient weapons, endowed with a consciousness and individuality of their own, needed, however, to be kept under strict control, lest in their over-zeal or excitement they might effect undesigned and irreparable mischief. The sage accordingly communicated to Rama the various mantras or spells by which they might, on critical occasions, be restrained and regulated in their operations.

In their woodland wanderings amongst the hermitages the brothers and their guide came across many sages whose laborious austerities were constantly being hindered by wicked, flesh-eating Rakshasas. Indeed the world, outside the cities and villages,— which it would seem were very few and far between,— as pictured by Valmiki, is a very strange one, mostly peopled by two sets of beings, hermits striving after supernatural power through the practice of austerities, and demons bent on frustrating their endeavours by unseasonable interruptions of their rites, or impious pollution of their sacrifices. Sometimes, as in the case of Ravana, the demons themselves would practise austerities for the attainment of power.

Very prominent figures in the poem are the great ascetics, like Vishwamitra himself, who, a Kshatriya by caste and a king by lineage, had obtained, through dire austerities prolonged over thousands of years, the exalted rank and power of Brahmanhood. A single example of his self-inflicted hardships and the consequences resulting therefrom may not be out of place. He once restrained his breath for a thousand years, when vapours began to issue from his head, "and at this the three worlds became afflicted with fear." Like most of his order, he was a very proud and irate personage, ready, upon very slight provocation, to utter a terrible and not-to-be-escaped-from curse.¹ Once, in a fit of rage against the celestials, Vishwami...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Title
• Copyright
• Original Title
• Contents
• GENERAL INTRODUCTION
• PART I.—THE RAMAYANA
• PART II.—THE MAHABHARATA
• APPENDIX (1) THE BHAGAVATGITA OR DIVINE SONG
• NOTES
• CONCLUDING REMARKS