हनूमता भरताय रामवृत्तान्तकथनम्

“Many years have gone by since my lord went into the great forest,” said Bharata, “and today I hear news of him that fills me with joy. The old saying seems to me true and happy indeed: ‘Joy comes to the man who lives, even if it takes a hundred years.’ How did Rāghava come to meet the monkeys? In what country, and for what reason? Tell me truly, for I want to know.” In calling Rāma “my lord” Bharata counts him his master, not only his brother. The popular saying is wisdom tested by people's experience: even in long sorrow one must not give up hope, for to the one who lives, happiness surely comes at last; and Bharata's fourteen years of waiting had today borne fruit. His question comes not from curiosity but from love, a wish to know every one of his brother's sorrows. Questioned by the prince and seated on a mat of kuśa grass, the seat of sages that Bharata, himself an ascetic, offered his guest, Hanūmān then told him the whole story of Rāma's life in the forest.

He began by briefly recalling what Bharata already knew. “My lord, how Rāma was exiled, how the two boons were granted to your mother, how King Daśaratha died of grief for his son; how messengers brought you in haste from Rājagṛha; how, when you entered Ayodhyā, you did not want the kingdom; how, following the way of the good, you went to Mount Citrakūṭa and begged your brother, the tormentor of his foes, to take the kingdom; how he, holding to the king's word, gave the kingdom up, and how you came back carrying the noble one's sandals — all this, mighty-armed prince, you know exactly as it happened. Now hear from me what happened after you left.” Rājagṛha was the city of the Kekaya king, where Bharata had been staying at his uncle's house. The repeated “how” strings the events together like a garland, and in these few words the whole story of the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa is summed up. By this opening Hanūmān shows that he knows Bharata's sacrifice, and “following the way of the good” praises him. The account begins with Bharata's painful memories but ends with his honour, so that Hanūmān does not reopen his grief, but reminds him of his faithfulness to dharma before beginning the new story.

“After you had gone, that forest seemed utterly forlorn, its beasts and birds distraught”, for Bharata's army had disturbed them, and as Ayodhyā grieved for Rāma, so the Citrakūṭa forest grew empty when that army left. “Then Rāma went into the great Daṇḍaka forest, dreadful and empty of men, trampled by elephants and teeming with lions, tigers and deer. As they went on through the thick forest, the mighty Virādha appeared before them, roaring tremendously. Still roaring, trumpeting like an elephant, arms flung up and face down, the two brothers lifted him and threw him into a pit. Having done that hard deed, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa reached Śarabhaṅga's lovely hermitage at evening. When Śarabhaṅga had gone to heaven, Rāma, true in his valour, saluted all the sages and went on to Janasthāna.” This is the beginning of the Araṇya Kāṇḍa. The Daṇḍaka forest was empty of men; only sages and rākṣasas lived there. Virādha was the first rākṣasa Rāma met in the forest, and with his death the warlike part of the exile begins; the image of the trumpeting elephant tells how huge and fearsome he was. No weapon could kill him, and so, as the Araṇya Kāṇḍa tells at length, they buried him in a pit. Śarabhaṅga, on seeing Rāma, entered the fire and went to Brahmā's world. Hanūmān may have heard these things from Sampāti or from Sugrīva, but he recalls them all in order.

“Later a rākṣasī called Śūrpaṇakhā came up to Rāma, and the mighty Lakṣmaṇa, at Rāma's bidding, sprang up at once, seized his sword and cut off her ears and nose. While he lived there, the great-souled Rāghava slew fourteen thousand rākṣasas of dreadful deeds. Meeting Rāma alone at the forefront of battle, they were wiped out to the last man within a quarter of a day. Those mighty, valiant dwellers in the Daṇḍaka forest, who hindered the sages' austerities, were struck down and crushed by Rāghava in battle; Khara was killed in the fight, after Dūṣaṇa had fallen first, and Triśiras after him. Then, tormented by all this, the young rākṣasī went to Rāvaṇa.” The word “alone” shows Rāma's matchless courage: he destroyed fourteen thousand single-handed in a quarter of a day, a matter of a few hours. That they hindered the sages' austerities recalls that protecting the seers was the chief purpose of the exile. Lakṣmaṇa's part is not forgotten either: he punished Śūrpaṇakhā at Rāma's command, not on his own. From her humiliation the seed of the whole war was sown. Khara had been Rāvaṇa's deputy in Janasthāna; with the death of Khara, Dūṣaṇa and Triśiras, the rākṣasas' power in Janasthāna was at an end, and Rāvaṇa's southern frontier stood empty, so Śūrpaṇakhā went to Laṅkā and roused Rāvaṇa.

“A dreadful rākṣasa called Mārīca, one of Rāvaṇa's followers, turned himself into a deer that seemed made of jewels and tempted Vaidehī. Seeing it, Vaidehī said to Rāma, ‘Catch it for me! This lovely, charming creature will live in our hermitage.’ So Rāma, bow in hand, ran after the deer, and as it ran he killed it with a smooth-jointed arrow. While Rāghava was away after the deer and Lakṣmaṇa too had left, gentle friend, the ten-necked Rāvaṇa entered the hermitage and seized Sītā by force, as a malign planet seizes the star Rohiṇī in the sky. When the vulture Jaṭāyus tried to rescue her, the rākṣasa killed him in combat, snatched up Sītā and made off in haste. Then some monkeys, strange to look at and huge as mountains, standing on a mountain top, saw Rāvaṇa, lord of the rākṣasas, carrying Sītā away, and were astonished. The mighty rākṣasa mounted the aerial car Puṣpaka, swift as thought, with Vaidehī, sped away and entered Laṅkā. There, in a great and splendid mansion adorned with gold, he lodged Maithilī and tried to soothe her with words. But Vaidehī, caring nothing for him, held his speeches and that bull among the rākṣasas himself as worth no more than straw, and went to the Aśoka grove.” Mārīca had once been flung into the ocean by Rāma's arrow at Viśvāmitra's sacrifice, and now, out of fear of Rāvaṇa, he became the magic deer. Sītā's “Catch it for me” shows a simple, natural wish, not greed. After Rāma left, Mārīca's cry in Rāma's voice drew Lakṣmaṇa away too at Sītā's urging. The seizing of Rohiṇī by a malign planet is an image from astronomy. “By force” names Rāvaṇa's violence; Jaṭāyus, old as he was, fought to save Sītā and gave his life. The monkeys who saw them were on Ṛṣyamūka, and Sītā dropped her ornaments among them, the knot on which the story turns. The Puṣpaka Rāvaṇa rode had been stolen from Kubera. Hanūmān tells this part at length, for Sītā's abduction was the root of all the sorrow; and since he himself had seen her in the Aśoka grove, his words are those of an eyewitness. He stresses Sītā's steadfastness to Bharata especially, for Bharata would be eager to know of his brother's wife's virtue: to her all Rāvaṇa's splendour, his coaxing and his temptations, were no more than straw, and she lived ten months in that grove, faithful to her husband.

“Meanwhile Rāma killed the deer in the forest and turned back. On his way back Kākutstha saw the vulture and was stricken; seeing the vulture slain, who had been dearer to him than his own father, Rāma was full of grief. Then, searching for Vaidehī, Rāghava and Lakṣmaṇa went along the Godāvarī and through the flowering stretches of forest, and in the great forest the two of them came upon a rākṣasa called Kabandha. Then, on Kabandha's advice, Rāma, true in his valour, set out for Mount Ṛṣyamūka.” Jaṭāyus had been Daśaratha's friend, and Rāma performed his funeral rites as for a father. The search began southwards from the Godāvarī and went on towards the Pampā. Kabandha caught living creatures with his arms alone; Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa cut off his arms and freed him from a curse, and, released, he advised Rāma to make friends with Sugrīva. Here the story reaches the end of the Araṇya Kāṇḍa.

“He went to Mount Ṛṣyamūka and met Sugrīva. From the first a heartfelt affection sprang up between them. Sugrīva had been driven out long before by his angry brother Vālin, and as they talked with one another their friendship grew deep. By the strength of his own arm Rāma killed the huge and mighty Vālin in battle and gave Sugrīva back his kingdom. Sugrīva, installed as king with all the monkeys, promised Rāma to search for the princess. At the command of the great-souled Sugrīva, lord of the monkeys, ten crores of monkeys were sent out to every quarter. And while we were far off on the Vindhya, best of mountains, sunk in grief, a long time went by.” Their friendship was firm because their sorrows were alike: both had lost their wives and been driven from their kingdoms. Hanūmān was Sugrīva's minister, and it was through him that the friendship began, but he does not praise himself here; “by the strength of his own arm” makes Vālin's death Rāma's feat alone. The ten crores of monkeys were sent to the four quarters, and to the south, under Aṅgada's lead, went Hanūmān and Jāmbavān, so that the “we” includes Hanūmān himself. The long time that went by means that they lost their way in a cave in the Vindhya and the month Sugrīva had allowed them ran out, and, as the Kiṣkindhā Kāṇḍa tells, with Sītā still not found the monkeys resolved to fast to death.

“Then Sampāti, the valiant brother of the king of vultures, told us that Sītā was living in Rāvaṇa's palace. So I, to drive away the grief of my sorrowing kinsmen, gathered my own strength and leapt across a hundred leagues. There I saw her in the Aśoka grove, all alone, dressed in silk but soiled, joyless and firm in her vows. I approached that blameless lady in due form and asked her everything, and I gave her as a token a ring bearing Rāma's name; and when I had received a jewel from her as a token, I came back, my purpose achieved. On my return I gave Rāma, whose deeds never falter, that token, the great radiant jewel. When he heard of Maithilī, Rāma took hope of life again, like a sick man at death's door who has drunk nectar. Then, rousing everyone to action, he set his mind on the destruction of Laṅkā, like the fire at the end of the world that longs to burn up all the worlds.” Sampāti, Jaṭāyus's elder brother, had lost his wings and lived on the seashore, and with his divine sight he had seen Sītā in Laṅkā. Hanūmān sums up his own great feat humbly, in a single sentence about leaping a hundred leagues, a leap that was the cure for the monkeys' despair; and even here he says nothing of burning Laṅkā, killing Akṣa or speaking in Rāvaṇa's court. “All alone” carries the pity of Sītā's loneliness. Though she wore silk it was soiled, for she had given up all adornment, and “firm in her vows” speaks of her faithfulness. There were two tokens, Rāma's ring for Sītā and Sītā's crest-jewel for Rāma. Rāma's response was twofold: first the hope of life, then the resolve to fight, so that the finding of Sītā was the starting point of the war.

“Then, reaching the ocean, Rāma had Nala build a bridge, and by that bridge the army of monkey heroes crossed. Nīla killed Prahasta, Rāghava killed Kumbhakarṇa, Lakṣmaṇa killed Rāvaṇa's son, and Rāma himself killed Rāvaṇa. He met Indra, Yama and Varuṇa, Maheśvara and the Self-born Brahmā, and Daśaratha too, and from them and from the sages and divine seers gathered there the glorious Kākutstha, scorcher of foes, received boons. Having received the boons, he went joyfully with the assembled monkeys to Kiṣkindhā in the aerial car Puṣpaka. Now he has come back to the Gaṅgā and is staying with the sage Bharadvāja, and tomorrow, under the constellation Puṣya, you will see Rāma without hindrance.” The long story of the Yuddha Kāṇḍa is compressed into a few sentences, and Hanūmān tells Bharata only of the deaths of the chief warriors. The killing of Indrajit was Lakṣmaṇa's greatest deed, and Hanūmān reports his brother's courage to Bharata particularly; and “Rāma himself” gives Rāma the honour of slaying the chief enemy with his own hand. The gods who came after Rāvaṇa's death had granted the boon that brought the monkeys back to life, and at Kiṣkindhā, as the last sarga told, Sugrīva's wives and the other monkey women were taken aboard. Puṣya is an auspicious constellation for a consecration, and “without hindrance” means that nothing now blocked the way, since every enemy was dead. So Hanūmān carried out Rāma's order completely, telling everything to Guha and to Bharata, and this sarga becomes a summary of the whole Rāmāyaṇa from the Araṇya Kāṇḍa to the Yuddha Kāṇḍa.

When he had heard everything from Hanūmān's sweet words, Bharata, overjoyed, joined his palms and spoke words that gladdened the heart: “At long last my heart's desire is fulfilled!” For fourteen years he had had only one desire, Rāma's return. As he listened, he felt his brother's sorrows as his own, and so his joy too ran deep.