RAMA'S INITIATION

The new assembly hall, Dasaratha’s latest pride, was
crowded all day with visiting dignitaries, royal emissaries,
and citizens coming in with representations or appeals for
justice. The King was always accessible, and fulfilled his
duties as the ruler of Kosala without grudging the hours
spent in public service.
On a certain afternoon, messengers at the gate came
running in to announce, “Sage Viswamithra.” When the
message was relayed to the King, he got up and hurried
forward to receive the visitor. Viswamithra, once a king, a
conqueror, and a dreaded name until he renounced his
kingly role and chose to become a sage (which he
accomplished through severe austerities), combined in
himself the sage’s eminence and the king’s authority and
was quick tempered and positive. Dasaratha led him to a
proper seat and said, “This is a day of glory for us; your
gracious presence is most welcome. You must have come
from afar. Would you first rest?”
“No need,” the sage replied simply. He had complete
mastery over his bodily needs through inner discipline and
austerities, and was above the effects of heat, cold, hunger,fatigue, and even decrepitude. The King later asked politely,
“Is there anything I can do?” Viswamithra looked steadily at
the King and answered, “Yes. I am here to ask of you a
favour. I wish to perform, before the next full moon, a yagna
at Sidhasrama. Doubtless you know where it is?”
“I have passed that sacred ground beyond the Ganges
many times.”
The sage interrupted. “But there are creatures hovering
about waiting to disturb every holy undertaking there, who
must be overcome in the same manner as one has to
conquer the fivefold evils
4 within before one can realize
holiness. Those evil creatures are endowed with
immeasurable powers of destruction. But it is our duty to
pursue our aims undeterred. The yagna I propose to perform
will strengthen the beneficial forces of this world, and please
the gods above.”
“It is my duty to protect your sublime effort. Tell me when,
and Iwill be there.”
The sage said, “No need to disturb your august self. Send
your son Rama with me, and he will help me. He can.”
“Rama!” cried the King, surprised, “When I am here to
serve you.”
Viswamithra’s temper was already stirring. “I know your
greatness,” he said, cutting the King short. “But I want Rama
to go with me. If you are not willing, you may say so.”
The air became suddenly tense. The assembly, the
ministers and officials, watched in solemn silence. The King
looked miserable. “Rama is still a child, still learning the arts
and practising the use of arms.” His sentences never
seemed to conclude, but trailed away as he tried to explain.
“He is a boy, a child, he is too young and tender to contend
with demons.”
“But I know Rama,” was all that Viswamithra said in reply.
“I can send you an army, or myself lead an army to guard
your performance. What can a stripling like Rama do against
those terrible forces … ? I will help you just as I helped Indra
once when he was harassed and deprived of his kingdom.”
Viswamithra ignored his speech and rose to leave. “If you
cannot send Rama, I need none else.” He started to move
down the passage.
The King was too stricken to move. When Viswamithra
had gone half way, he realized that the visitor was leaving
unceremoniously and was not even shown the courtesy of
being escorted to the door. Vasishtha, the King’s priest and
guide, whispered to Dasaratha, “Follow him and call him
back,” and hurried forward even before the King could grasp
what he was saying. He almost ran as Viswamithra had
reached the end of the hall and, blocking his way, said, “The
King is coming; please don’t go. He did not mean …”
A wry smile played on Viswamithra’s face as he said
without any trace of bitterness, “Why are you or anyone agitated? I came here for a purpose; it has failed; no reason
to prolong my stay.”
“Oh, eminent one, you were yourself a king once.”
“What has that to do with us now?” asked Viswamithra,
rather irked, since he hated all reference to his secular past
and wanted always to be known as a Brahma Rishi.
Vasishtha answered mildly, “Only to remind you of an
ordinary man’s feelings, especially a man like Dasaratha
who had been childless and had to pray hard for an issue…
.”
“Well, it may be so, great one; I still say that I came on a
mission and wish to leave, since it has failed.”
“It has not failed,” said Vasishtha, and just then the King
came up to join them in the passage; the assembly was on
its feet.
Dasaratha made a deep obeisance and said, “Come
back to your seat, Your Holiness.”
“For what purpose, Your Majesty?” Viswamithra asked.
“Easier to talk seated …”
“I don’t believe in any talk,” said Viswamithra; but
Vasishtha pleaded with him until he returned to his seat.
When they were all seated again, Vasishtha addressed
the King: “There must be a divine purpose working through
this seer, who may know but will not explain. It is a privilege that Rama’s help should be sought. Do not bar his way. Let
him go with the sage.”
“When, oh when?” the King asked anxiously.
“Now,” said Viswamithra. The King looked woebegone
and desperate, and the sage relented enough to utter a word
of comfort. “You cannot count on the physical proximity of
someone you love, all the time. A seed that sprouts at the
foot of its parent tree remains stunted until it is transplanted.
Rama will be in my care, and he will be quite well. But
ultimately, he will leave me too. Every human being, when the
time comes, has to depart and seek his fulfillment in his own
way.”
“Sidhasrama is far away … ?” began the King.
“I’ll ease his path for him, no need for a chariot to take us
there,” said Viswamithra reading his mind.
“Rama has never been separated from his brother
Lakshmana. May he also go with him?” pleaded the King,
and he looked relieved when he heard Viswamithra say,
“Yes, Iwill look after both, though their mission will be to look
after me. Let them get ready to follow me; let them select
their favourite weapons and prepare to leave.”
Dasaratha, with the look of one delivering hostages into
the hand of an enemy, turned to his minister and said, “Fetch
my sons.”
Following the footsteps of their master like his shadows,
Rama and Lakshmana went past the limits of the city and
reached the Sarayu River, which bounded the capital on the
north. When night fell, they rested at a wooded grove and at
dawn crossed the river. When the sun came over the
mountain peak, they reached a pleasant grove over which
hung, like a canopy, fragrant smoke from numerous
sacrificial fires. Viswamithra explained to Rama, “This is
where God Shiva meditated once upon a time and reduced
to ashes the god of love when he attempted to spoil his
meditation.5 From time immemorial saints praying to Shiva
come here to perform their sacrifices, and the pall of smoke
you notice is from their sacrificial fires.”
A group of hermits emerged from their seclusion, received
Viswamithra, and invited him and his two disciples to stay
with them for the night. Viswamithra resumed his journey at
dawn and reached a desert region at midday. The mere
expression “desert” hardly conveys the absolute aridity of
this land. Under a relentless sun, all vegetation had dried
and turned to dust, stone and rock crumbled into powdery
sand, which lay in vast dunes, stretching away to the horizon.
Here every inch was scorched and dry and hot beyond
imagination. The ground was cracked and split, exposing
enormous fissures everywhere. The distinction between
dawn, noon, and evening did not exist here, as the sun
seemed to stay overhead and burn the earth without moving.
Bleached bones lay where animals had perished, including those of monstrous serpents with jaws open in deadly thirst;
into these enormous jaws had rushed (says the poet)
elephants desperately seeking shade, all dead and
fossilized, the serpent and the elephant alike. Heat haze
rose and singed the very heavens. While traversing this
ground, Viswamithra noticed the bewilderment and distress
on the faces of the young men, and transmitted to them
mentally two mantras (called “Bala” and “Adi-Bala”). When
they meditated on and recited these incantations, the arid
atmosphere was transformed for the rest of their passage
and they felt as if they were wading through a cool stream
with a southern summer breeze blowing in their faces.
Rama, ever curious to know the country he was passing
through, asked, “Why is this land so terrible? Why does it
seem accursed?”
“You will learn the answer if you listen to this story—of a
woman fierce, ruthless, eating and digesting all living
creatures, possessing the strength of a thousand mad
elephants.”