A story · Ramayana · Childhood

Valmiki and the First Verse

Valmiki Ramayana 1.1 · read aloud in the app

The story · English

Valmiki, first among the hermit sages, once asked Narada, the wisest of speakers, a question. “Is there anyone alive who is truly good and truly brave? Someone who keeps his word, is kind to every creature, wise and just, free of envy and never ruled by rage, and yet so fierce in battle that the gods themselves fall back? You can see what others cannot. Tell me if such a man exists.” Narada, who sees past, present and future as plainly as the ground at his feet, answered at once. “Qualities like these are rare. But one man has them all. He is Rama, of Ikshvaku's old line. He is long-armed and dark-skinned, with large shining eyes. He is patient as the earth, and once roused, fierce as the fire that ends the world. His father, King Dasharatha, chose him, his eldest and best son, to be his heir.”

“But Kaikeyi, the youngest queen, watched the preparations for the crowning with envy. She reminded the king of two gifts he had promised her long ago, and asked for them now: that Rama be sent into the forest, and that her own son be made heir. The king was bound by his word, and in his misery he gave in. Rama went into exile without a word against her. His brother Lakshmana would not be left behind, and chose to share every danger out of love. And Sita, Rama's wife, whom he loved as his own life, a daughter of Janaka's royal line, held fast to her husband as the star Rohini keeps to the Moon. The king and his people followed the chariot a while in their grief. At Shringavera, on the Ganga, Rama sent his driver home, and Guha, king of the Nishadas, took them across the river.”

“They went on from forest to forest, as the sage Bharadvaja told them, until they reached Chitrakuta hill. There Rama and Lakshmana built a small cottage, and the three lived in bark and deerskin, and the hill shone with them the way Meru shines when the gods rest beneath it. Far away, the old king pined for Rama until he left the earth for heaven. His son Bharata refused to take the throne, however hard they urged him. He went into the forest, fell at his brother's feet and cried, “Everyone agrees the kingdom is yours. Come home and be our king.” But Rama held to his father's word. He put his sandals into Bharata's hands as a pledge and sent him back. Bharata would not even live in Ayodhya. He ruled from Nandigrama, and waited for news of Rama's return.”

“So that the people would not come looking for him again, Rama moved on into the ancient forest of Dandaka. There he killed the giant Viradha and became the friend of the sage Agastya, who guided him to the bow and sword of Indra, and two quivers that never ran out of arrows. The hermits of the forest came to him trembling and begged him to destroy the fiends who tormented them. When the giantess Shurpanakha came to him burning with lawless desire, Rama's blade cut deep into her face. Her brothers heard her screams. The three-headed giant and Dushana rushed at him with thousands of fiends, and every one of them died under Rama's hand. Then Ravana, the king whose name shook earth, heaven and hell alike, heard of the slaughter, and he wanted revenge.”

“He ordered the fiend Maricha to help him. Maricha was wise, and warned him that not even Ravana could stand against Rama, but Ravana, blind with rage, came to the hermitage anyway. Maricha's magic drew the two brothers away; Ravana killed the vulture Jatayu and carried Sita off. Rama came back to find Jatayu dead on the ground and the cottage empty. Then his strength left him, and he wept and cried out in despair. He laid the bird on a funeral pyre and went on searching. He killed the monstrous Kabandha and burned the body, and out of the flames Kabandha rose in a beautiful form and told him to find a holy woman of the forest. On her advice Rama came to the lake of Pampa, and there he won the friendship of Hanuman, son of the Wind God.”

“Hanuman brought him to Sugriva, chief of the vanaras, and the two swore friendship before the sacred fire. Sugriva told of the wrongs his brother Vali had done him, and warned how strong Vali was. Rama kicked the mountainous corpse of a fiend Vali had killed twenty leagues away, and sent one arrow clean through seven palm trees. So Sugriva called Vali out at Kishkindha, and a single arrow from Rama laid Vali in the dust. Sugriva became king, and sent searchers in every direction. Guided by Sampati, Hanuman leapt two hundred leagues over the sea to Lanka, and found Sita sitting sorrowful under the Ashoka trees. He gave her Rama's ring and took a token from her. Then he smashed the garden gate, killed Ravana's captains and young Aksha, let himself be bound, burned the city, and flew back to Rama.”

“Rama came to the shore and struck the sea with arrows bright as the summer sun, and the King of Rivers rose and obeyed him. Nala built a bridge across, and they crossed to golden Lanka, where Rama struck Ravana down and left Vibhishana to rule. When Sita came to him, Rama, stung with anger and shame, spoke harshly to her before the crowd. Sita, hurt and proud, gave herself to the fire. The Wind God appeared, a voice from heaven cleared her name, and Rama took her back unharmed. The gods honoured him, and he brought his fallen allies back to life. He flew home in the magic chariot, met his brothers at Nandigrama, and ruled in Ayodhya. In his reign there was no famine, no disease, no father burying his son. It was a golden age again.”

Valmiki listened, full of wonder. In his heart he honoured Rama, whose life he had just heard, and he and his pupil bowed before Narada, who took his leave and returned to heaven. Afterward Valmiki walked down to the Tamasa, a quiet stream not far from the Ganga, with his pupil Bharadvaja beside him. The water ran clear over the pebbles. “Look at this,” he said. “Not a speck in it. It is as clear as a good man's heart. Put the pitcher down here and bring me my bark cloth. I'll bathe here. Go quickly, don't waste the time.” Bharadvaja brought it, and Valmiki tied it round his waist, bathed, said his prayers quietly, and offered water to the gods and the spirits. Then he wandered along the bank, looking out at the forest.

Close to the bank a pair of curlews were playing, unafraid. A fowler crept up behind them and, with an aim too sure, shot the male. The hen saw her mate on the ground, quivering, his wings red with his blood, and she beat the air and cried a long, bitter cry. Valmiki's heart filled with pity, and with her cries still in his ears, words came out of him: “You will have no fame, ever, outcast, for killing one of this gentle pair at play.” Even as he spoke he wondered what he had said. He went over the words, measuring each one, and turned to Bharadvaja. “Equal lines, even feet, rhythm and tone complete. Words I spoke in the shock of grief. Let this be called a sloke.” “Let it be as you wish,” said Bharadvaja.

Valmiki went home still turning it over, and sat lost in thought. Then Brahma himself, the four-faced Creator, came to his hermitage. Valmiki sprang up, bowed, washed his feet and gave him a seat, but even with the Creator before him, his mind was on the grieving bird, and he kept repeating his verse under his breath. Brahma smiled. “That verse came from you on its own. Don't strain to understand it. Use it. Tell the whole life of Rama as Narada told it, every deed, what was seen and what was hidden. All of it will be shown to you, and no false word will enter your poem. As long as rivers flow and mountains stand, the Ramayan will last.” Then he vanished. The pupils chanted the verse in wonder, and in hundreds of such verses, Valmiki told the deeds of Rama.

कथा · हिन्दी

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