[[Mohan K.V 2013-01-19, 21:45:09 Source]]
सदास्वाद
गन्तव्यमस्ति कियदित्यसकृत्ब्रुवाणा रामाश्रुणःकृतवती प्रथमावतारम्
(“gantavyam asti kiyad?” ity-asakṛt bruvāṇā rāmāśruṇaḥ kṛtavatī prathamāvatāram)
Meaning
" ‘How much farther?’ – asking thus again and again, she [Sītā] caused Rāma to weep for the first time." In the first half ‘she’ is actually ‘she who was speaking thus’, which compresses an entire sentence into one participle; in the second, ‘causeRāma to weep’ is literally ‘caused the descent ofRāma’s tears for the first time’. This gives a lot of hints: presumably, they were already welling up andRāma was holding them back for some reason; or perhaps whatSītāsaid touched a part ofRāma’s mind and he couldn’t hold back his emotions. How? Read on!
Context
Today’s phrase is taken from the play Bālarāmāyaṇa of Rājaśekhara.Rājaśekhara was a poet in the times of Emperor Mahendrapāla of the Gurjara Pratihara Empire of 1200 years ago, and was a noted poet, dramatist and literary critic. His works are among the favorites of later literary critics and theorists like Mammata, Kuntaka and Bhoja, who repeatedly quote his verses and observations.
This play, one of the longest in all of Sanskrit with 10 long acts and several mini-acts, is a retelling of the Rāmāyaṇa with several interesting changes to the story. For example, Rāvaṇa turns up atSītā’s svayamvara and after failing to win her, takes a vow to kill whoever does! Many such modifications and additions to the story are made, and it is held that for the most part, the play manages to be both familiar and surprising in the right amounts.
Today’s phrase is taken from the 34th verse of the 6th act.Rāma has been sent to exile, and Lakṣmaṇa andSītā had insisted on accompanying him.Sītā had been especially adamant on going, even saying thatAyodhyā was hell itself withoutRāma by her side. The city bids a tearful adieu to its cherished son, and the streets wear a deserted, desolate look.The minister Sumantra, well-sourced with information from all quarters as wise ministers ought to be, describes to Emperor Daśaratha the scene ofRāma leaving Ayodhyā:
सद्यः पुरीपरिसरेऽपि शिरीषमृद्वी
गत्वा जवात्त्रिचतुराणि पदानि सीता ।
गन्तव्यमस्ति कियदित्यसकृत्ब्रुवाणा
रामाश्रुणः कृतवती प्रथमावतारम् ॥
sadyaḥ purī-parisare’pi śirīṣa-mṛdvī
gatvā javāt tri-caturāṇi padāni sītā |
“gantavyam asti kiyad” ityasakṛt-bruvāṇā
rāmāśruṇaḥ kṛtavatī prathamāvatāram ||
(Vasantatilakā metre, 14 syllables per line)
“Still close to the city, the delicate, mildSītā,
walked with vigour for a couple of steps.
‘How much farther?’ – asking thus again and again,
shecaused Rāma to weep for the first time”
This delicate picture-in-words is a veritable treasure-trove of human emotion. How firm the resolve ofRāma was when he calmly accepted his exile! As we saw a few editions ago, his low priority for his own comfort has some versions even have him rushing to console Kaikeyi! Such a stance could only come from a clear, refined knowledge of the consequences of his actions, coupled with a steadfastness to face what’s coming to him. This one act of selflessness alone probably contributes a major part to our conception of the idealRāma.
Rājaśekhara performs a masterstroke by contrasting this strict, detached adherence to an impersonal principle of ethics with the innocent, mild and child-like tenderness ofSītā. In this verse,Rāma, who is almost God-like in his capacity to do the right thing with no regard to himself, and who is a kind of Ideal Man we all are meant to strive to be, meets a very humanSītā who represents an element of natural human innocence that in present in us just the way we are.
Note well thatSītā’s resolve to go to the forest was no less brave than Rama’s was. In fact, given that it was done entirely of her own accord in the face of opposition from everyone, it could even be argued that it wasSītā who demonstrated better the principle of doing the right thing. There is no doubt whatsoever thatSītā would face everything that comes to her with the utmost fortitude; the question is not one of how she would respond, but one of how she feels. Here,Sītā doesn’t know what she’s signed up for. She doesn’t know the difficulties of the forest and losing every comfort she had got used to from birth.
Rama knows all this: knows all the troubles that she’s going to face, knows that she doesn’t know what those troubles are, and that yet she has agreed – no, demanded to accompany Rama! On top of this, he knows she will stand up to anything. This combination of innocence and strength moves him to tears. An observer remarked that the moment we cry in a film isn’t when it’s sad or tragic, but when it’s tender, kind and forgiving. Innocence has a way of breaking all our constructs and reaching a place inaccessible to intelligence, rectitude, beauty or power.
There are a few reasonable objections about this verse, specifically to the use of the word ‘asakṛt’ (’not once’, ie. again and again). Commentators like Kuntaka say that this is in poor taste for two reasons: first, no matter how muchSītā felt like it, it doesn’t fit her perception to have actually asked, let alone ask multiple times. That would be more akin to unthinking ignorance and childishness, not atimorous,childlike innocence. Second – and this is the more poetically beautiful objection – Rama would not have needed to hear it more than once to be moved to tears! Therefore, Kuntaka suggests that ‘asakṛt’ ought to be replaced by ‘avaśam’ (‘involuntarily’ or ‘by chance’ or ‘by a slip’).
So much thought, and so many discussions have gone into the appropriateness of one word in a verse written a millennium ago! And yet, it’s a worthy investment, because it’s a verse that’ll remain beautiful as long as humans continue to encounter and be surprised by genuine innocence :-)
Thought for today
The Rāmāyaṇa is a rich source of the most lofty sentiments, of glimpses of the very best of what we can be. One of the most famous verses in it is part of Rāma’s speech toVibhīṣaṇa, Rāvaṇa’s sole surviving relative, afterRāvaṇa has been killed.Vibhīṣaṇahesitates to performRāvaṇa’s last rites, thinking that a man so bent on doing evil as him does not deserve them.Rāma instantly corrects him, and in the guise of requesting for a favor from him, recountsRāvaṇa’s good side, and asks this:
मरणान्तानि वैराणि निर्वृत्तं नः प्रयोजनम् ।
क्रियतामस्य संस्कारो ममाप्येष यथा तव ॥
maraṇāntāni vairāṇi nirvṛttaṃ naḥ prayojanam |
kriyatāmasya saṃskāro mamāpyeṣa yathā tava ||
“All rivalry ends in death; our purpose here is fulfilled (ie. we harbor no ill feelings anymore). Please perform his last rites – he is as much mine as he is yours”.
The face-value meaning of the poem is exalted enough – the principle of respect to all, and that of giving up enmity when one’s purpose is achieved. But there’s a layer of social context that makes it even more appreciable. In times when a person had number of dependents, especially so for a mighty king likeRāvaṇa, the last rites had immense value in giving closure and in starting out on the path to stability. In that sense, it was a gesture of great honor and respect thatRāma offered to even his mortal enemy.