Where Rama LIves

No epic has gripped the psyche of a nation as the story of Rama, which continues to hold sway over the people of India. Earlier I used to think, that there was the original 'Ramayana' in Sanskrit by Valmiki and that Ramcaritamanas by Tulsidas was its adaptation in Hindi, or more correctly in Awadhi, an eastern dialect. Later, it struck me that Valmiki wrote his version more as a reporter, with warts and all. On the other hand, Tulsidas wrote his story as a Rama bhakta (devotee), where Rama could do no wrong, even in banishing Sita to the forest. As my world grew, I became aware that there was also a Ramayana written in Tamil by Kamban, which was substantially different from the two versions I knew. When the TV version of the epic, by Ramanand Sagar burst on the scene, then seeing the credits I was amazed, that there was a version of this Rama katha in all languages of India, including Urdu and Persian. Recently, I read a book on Ramayana, and about its different versions and interpretations of its central characters. Then I realized that the whole subject of Rama and stories around him is a Pandora's Box. This is apart from the controversy between the Hindus and Muslims about his birthplace. The Jains claim that their Ramayana is historically more precise than Valmiki's, and Buddhists regard him in their Jataka stories as a Buddha, in one of his previous births. In one version, Rama, Sita and Lakshman were siblings! All regions and tribes of India and the various subcultures have a different angle on Rama. The oppressed and the marginalized have their own story to tell, and Rama is not necessarily a role model in all of them.

To my simple mind, I would like to think that ages ago, exploits of a wise tribal chief, known for his sense of duty, sacrifice, justice and physical prowess, became the stuff of tribal folklore, and took on innumerable avatars, from the sophistication of Valmiki's Ramayana on one end, to the pop culture of today's annual Ramlila. There is also a full length parody titled, 'Gadbad Ramayan' by one Gadbad Banarasi! 'Gadbad' means upside down. It is a tribute to the Hindu ethos that it can laugh at a parody of its greatest holy epic. It is a cliché that India without firing a shot has over the ages, won the hearts and soul on the world. I see the soul of India in the slow swaying of the classical dancers in Thailand, who perform ballets based on stories from Ramayana. My heart warms up when in a Buddhist temple in Bangkok; I find murals depicting stories from Ramayana. It is thrilling to know, that the ancient capital of Thailand, Ayutthaya was named after our very own Ayodhya. Many roads in Bangkok are named after their kings, who adopted Rama's name such as of Rama the First, etc. In predominantly Muslim Indonesia, their different art forms derive inspiration from Ramayana, like their shadow plays using leather puppets. Even there, just as in India, the audience looks up to Rama with awe and reverence and the children follow with glee, the exploits of Hanuman's monkey-brigade.

For many in India, Rama is a presence which they encounter everyday in their lives. He is not some remote fabled character. Neither the Greek epics nor the Nordic Sagas have thrown up a character with whom the modern Greek or a Scandinavian identifies today, or holds in reverence. These are stories to be read in school and are otherwise a subject for scholars and an occasional movie. Same is true in England about the stories of the wise King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. In a way, I feel sorry for the young kids of India, for whom Rama and the other characters are just two-dimensional characters on the flat TV or the PC screen. With us it was different. We got up in the morning chanting his name. We greeted each other with 'Jai Ramaji ki'. After having her bath, Nani (Granny) would spread her mat and sit down to read the Tulsi Ramayan to us. We also sat on our mats, facing her. The Tulsi Ramayana rested on a folding, engraved wooden stand. Then she would open a page and start singing the chaupais (four line verses) from a Kand (canto). We would sing along with her. The Awadhi dialect was difficult for us to follow. But then she would relate the whole story of the passage she had just read. The exploits of the Monkey God, Hanuman and his band created the most excitement among us. How the monkeys built a bridge across the sea to Lanka. How Hanuman burnt with his tail the entire palace of Ravana, the demon king.

Other ladies of the house and also our servants use to sing Ramayana to us or relate its stories. In North India many in the household used to know the entire Ramayana by heart. Not many realize that Tulsi Ramayana is the worlds most by hearted epic. When he wrote his version of the epic, Tulsi was ostracized by the priestly class, for having dared to render the Holy Book in Hindi, and that too in a lowly eastern dialect. In our families, if there ever was a dilemma, about what was right and what was wrong in a particular situation, then some one would recite a chaupai from Tulsi and the solution would become crystal clear. They say that, some chaupai or the other in Ramayana holds the key to all the problems one faces in life. In moments of distress people would chant the name of Rama. Some would meditate on his name as a matter of daily routine. Nowhere has a character got so entwined with folklore, history, religion, spiritual solace and culture, to weave such a powerful and beautiful living tapestry.

For us kids, Rama and other characters in his story were real flesh and blood people, who did not exist only between the covers of a book. And we came face to face with them at least once a year at Dussera time, when we looked forward to being taken to the ten day enactment of Ramayana - the Ramlila, which was staged at Parade ground. When Rama, Sita and Lakshman were brought in a procession, on a silver throne, to the Parade ground, it never occurred to us that they were ordinary mortals like us. It did not also occur to us that this Sita was a boy dressed as a woman. All those who could would touch their feet in obeisance. When sitting on the throne, Ravana used to put on his ten heads. But when striding the stage, he used to take off his ten heads. We were transported to a magic world!

The last three days were the climax, when each day an effigy of Meghnad, Kumbhkaran and finally Ravana was burnt with a lot of fireworks packed inside. Each time a fiery arrow shot by Lakshman or Rama would plunge into the belly of the demon, and lo and behold, right in front of our eyes we saw the nasty rakshasas (demons) turn to ash. On the way back home, we would buy small bows and arrows and play out the different battles between vanars (monkey army) and rakshsas (demons), on our terrace, sometimes with disastrous results!

Apart from the fiery and noisy end of the evil men, there were certain parts of the enactment of the story of Rama, which we looked forward to year after year. Such first incident in Ramlila was the tantrums that Parasuram used to throw at Sita's swayambar (groom selection), enraged that anyone had dared to touch Siva's bow, to win Sita's hand. He would turn ferocious and curse and jump and jump on the wooden platform, till it gave way. The act never got over till the platform broke. We all used to guess, how long this act would last that year. One year the poor Parashuram just failed to break the platform. The one incident we kids used to enjoy the most and just couldn't contain ourselves and giggle and giggle, was when Lakshman in rage would cut Surpnakakha's nose. She was the mighty Ravana's sister, and this set the stage for his abducting Sita. Ramlila had battles galore and we exulted in them, with both sides wielding clubs and bows. Once in a while an arrow would fall among the audience, and each was keen to take it home as a souvenir.

On the stage, there was always a stage director called 'vyas', who would shout instructions. Once I heard him shout, 'Call Lakshman, pronto'. Reply from backstage came, 'Lakshman is smoking. He'll come soon.' 'And where are the monkeys?' he asked. Prompt came the reply, 'They will also come. Just let them smoke a bit!' Our elders had always scorned on smoking. It was bad, it was evil. I couldn't believe that Lakshman and Hanuman's monkeys could be smoking. It dawned on me with a shock, that these characters were ordinary mortals like us, meant only to amuse. What went on the stage was an illusion, just maya. The real Rama, Sita, Lakshman and others lived only in the hearts of the true believers!