The Ramayana Read Free Page B

Wind. You can enter men’s minds and read their thoughts; and surely mine as well.” He paused, then declared, “Holy One, I wonder if any man born into the world was blessed with all the virtues by your Father in heaven.”
    â€œTell me what the virtues are, and I will tell you the man who has them.”
    Valmiki began in his inward way, enunciating each attribute carefully: “Integrity, bravery, righteousness, gratitude, dedication to his beliefs, a flawless character, compassion for all the living, learning, skill, beauty, courage beyond bravery, radiance, control over his anger and his desires, serenity, a lack of envy, and valor to awe Indra’s Devas.” As Narada’s eyes grew wistful, Valmiki continued. “I know I am asking for perfection in a mere mortal. But I wondered if a man of this world could have all these, which not even the Gods possess.” The sage was convinced his perfect man could only be the figment of a romantic imagination.
    Narada still gazed out over the river’s crisp currents, as if the water on which the noon sun sparkled could conjure the image of Valmiki’s paragon. At last he said softly, “In these very times such a man was born into the world. His name is Rama.”
    Narada beckoned to Valmiki’s disciples to come closer as he began his story, as if it was a secret that not the jungle behind them nor their thatched huts on its hem should share, so precious was it. Weaving his tale into the river’s drift, Narada began the legend of Rama, prince of Ayodhya, who was as noble as the sea is deep, as powerful as Mahavishnu, whose Avatara he was when the treta yuga was upon the world, as steadfast as the Himalaya, handsome as Soma the Moon God, patient as the Earth, generous as Kubera, just as Dharma; but his rage if roused like the fire at the end of time. His audience sat entranced, as heedless of the time that passed as they were of the flowing river. Valmiki sat in the lotus posture with his eyes shut, to listen to the tale of a human prince who was as immaculate as the stars.
    The Tamasa turned dark with dusk, but the disciples sat entranced. Never before had they heard such a story. Twilight turned to night; the moon rose over the river. Narada’s legend was of a living man. But he did not speak about Ramarajya, when a perfect kshatriya ruled Ayodhya as the world’s very heart, but of a time before Rama became king, the bitter time of his exile. It was those years in the wilderness that left such an indelible impression upon the memory of the race of men.
    Moonlight turned to darkness, and darkness to scarlet dawn on the susurrant eddies of the Tamasa, when Narada finished his epic of Rama. There was not a dry eye among his listeners at what finally befell the exquisite Sita. Valmiki’s disciples saw even their master wept.
    Narada broke his trance; he stretched his ageless body and rose. With an airy wave, he was off again, plucking on his vina. Yawning, the disciples set about their daily tasks: fetching water and kindling the morning fires. But Valmiki stood a long time staring after Narada.
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    2. A curse
    Long after Narada’s visit to his asrama, the story of Rama haunted Valmiki. Months after he heard the legend he saw images of Rama’s life before his eyes, whenever he shut them to meditate.
    One morning, Valmiki walked along the banks of the Tamasa with his youngest disciple. Spring was in the air, abundant and heady. The sage saw the river was sparklingly clear, and decided to bathe in it. He sat dipping his feet in the jeweled flow and a fine languor stole over him. He said to his boy of sixteen summers, “Look, child, the water is like the heart of a rishi.”
    The serene youth handed his master the valkala, the tree bark with which to scrub himself. Above them, a kadamba spread its awning, and in the living branches they heard the sweetest song: two krauncha birds were mating there, abandoned