The Ideal Hero

HINDU PHILOSOPHY REGARDS deep sleep as an undying source of serenity. In deep sleep, we are happily reposing within ourselves and have no desires. No desire implies no activity, and no activ­ity means no exertion. This state of deep sleep must not be mistaken for a state of sloth. On the contrary, it is pleasant and refreshing. However, the joy we experience in deep sleep disappears when we wake up.

From time immemorial, our rishis and philosophers devised vari­ous methods to attain this state of joy even in the wakeful state. En­joymentofthearts—poetry, painting, music, dance, sculpture, etc— was not only one such method but it was also the most accessible.

The joy that we experience while savouring the arts is rasa. Rasa refines our emotions by freeing them from the fetters of self-interest and mundane preoccupations. Emotions thus refined assist us in turning inward and knowing ourselves better.

For the longest time, any mention of poetry in India typically evoked the Ramayana, renowned as the adi-kavya (the First Poem). Valmiki Muni, the forerunner of poets, has created a magnificent world of characters and episodes that enthrals as well as instructs. He has also gently led us on the path of leading a fulfilling life. This path contains two main lanes: daivi (divine, virtuous) and asuri (demonic, basal). These are the two dominant traits enunciated in the Bhagavad Gita. In the Ramayana, they are represented pri­marily by Rama and Ravana. The idea is to take the first lane and avoid the second as much as possible.

Ravana was a person of immense strength and resources who didn’t use them for the greater good. Even worse, he did not use them for his own welfare, for his own enlightenment. He relent­lessly chased artha (wealth) and kama (sensual pleasures) and was ultimately ensnared in the vortex of vices. Ravana was disdainful by nature, and used his strength to torment others. Consumed by avarice, he sought to own everything valuable in the world. He could not tolerate the sight of another person possessing anything worthy or beautiful. In his mad quest for hoarding, he terrorised all living beings and seized their precious possessions—from wealth to wife. Ultimately, Ravana fell prey to arisadvarga, the sextet of internal enemies: kama (lust), krodha (anger), lobha (greed), moha (delusion), mada (arrogance), and matsarya (envy). At the core of this downward spiral lay avarice and lust, raw and untrammelled.

Rama emerged to put an end to Ravana. While Ravana repre­sented an unmitigated pursuit of artha and kama, Rama, the em­blem of dharma, eliminated the excesses in this pursuit and made it balanced and wholesome. Two examples suffice to illustrate this point: though Rama killed Vali and Ravana, he did not appropriate Kiskindha and Lanka with a view to extend his dominions. Instead, he installed their brothers, Sugriva and Vibhisana on the throne. After losing Sita, he did not marry again but lived in the company of her golden image. In this manner, Rama’s victory over Ravana sym­bolises the victory of dharma over arisadvarga, to achieve personal and collective welfare. This is the ideal of the Ramayana.

Dharma is what upholds and sustains the world and the in­dividuals in it. It manifests as various qualities and characteristic features. For instance, to flow is the characteristic feature of water. Human beings are endowed with numerous qualities, such as cour­age, forbearance, cleanliness and truthfulness. Every person pos­sesses these qualities in different measures, and it would be a cause of ceaseless wonder if all qualities were to converge in a person.

The Ramayana opens with this question: Is there a man in whom all these qualities converge? It is one of the greatest open­ing lines in the world of epic literature. Valmiki Muni was curious to learn the answer, and asked Narada:

“Is there a person among us who is powerful and wise? He should have a lively sense of virtue and gratitude. His speech must be truthful and his resolve firm. His conduct should be unblemished, and he should have the good of all beings at heart. Is he erudite and capable? Does he charm people at first sight? He should be brave and shouldn’t allow anger to overtake him. Is his appearance radiant? Is he free from envy? The deities themselves must dread him if he is angered on the battlefield. If there is such a man, you, great sage, would surely know.” (1.1.2–5)

Narada gave a one-word answer to this wide-ranging question: Rama.

Two aspects of Valmiki’s question stand out: he wanted to know about a human and not a deity; a human who is his contem­porary and not one from a different age. The ways and mores of the deities are beyond the grasp of humans. On the other hand, the traits of a human being, however lofty, serve as models to emulate. A living person can inspire another by the sheer force of his per­sonal conduct. The energy of a talented, competent and dedicated individual can achieve what institutionalised efforts cannot. It is for these reasons that Valmiki Muni wanted to learn of such a human. He found his man in Rama. The poet made this Rama’s life into a poem and immortalised it, for an epic never fossilises.

At the beginning of Ayodhyakanda, Valmiki Muni enumerates Rama’s choicest traits. We can examine a few:

“He was ever serene and gentle in speech. Even if spoken to harshly, he wouldn’t retort rashly. He was immensely pleased by even a small help but, magnanimous by nature, he wouldn’t nurse the memory of a thousand offences. He was wise and intelligent. He was always the first to speak, and his words were pleasing and kind. His might was immense, yet it sat lightly on his shoulders. He was truthful, erudite and respectful. He loved his subjects, and the subjects loved him. His heart went out to the poor and help­less. He thought highly of ksattra (valour) as it was the natural code of life for his clan. Uninterested in ignoble activities, he shunned frivolous and profane talk. He could marshal logical arguments one after another like Brihaspati, the Lord of Speech. He was a keen judge of people. He knew the heart of dharma and artha. He was talented and had a prodigious memory. He was as conversant with worldly affairs as with customs and traditions. He was mod­est, and never expressed pleasure or pain overtly. Assisted by able ministers, he guarded royal secrets with caution. Neither his joy nor anger was futile; it always bore the apt consequence. He knew when to give and when to withhold. Ever active and vigilant, he knew his own faults as well as those of others. He knew how to make good friends and how to quell evil. He was a connoisseur of the arts. He never derided anything or anybody, and he was not a slave of circumstances.” (2.1.10–31)

Rama’s entire life is a mirror of these traits.

He was slated for coronation but had to leave for forest exile the next day. This cruel twist of fate had no effect on him. He corrected the blunders committed by his parents but never for a moment be­haved superciliously. He did not accept the kingdom when Bharata himself offered it. Even after the passage of 14 years, he nobly de­clared: If Bharata has developed interest in the kingdom after ruling it for so many years, may it be his. He forgave Kaikeyi whose evil machina­tions brought unspeakable distress upon him. What’s more, he counselled Bharata to care for her. When Vibhisana sought refuge in him, he resolved to protect him without a moment’s suspicion. After killing Ravana, he prevailed upon Vibhisana to perform his brother’s last rites and came to be known as “the friend of foes”.

Rama was peerless in strength. Maricha, who was battered by Rama when the latter was a mere boy, shuddered at the mere sound of the letter r. Even Parasurama, the extinguisher of Kshat­triyas, had to back down. When the ocean refused to budge even after Rama requested it to make way, he thundered: Lakshmana, bring my bow and snake-like arrows. I shall dry up the ocean—may the monkeys cross it on foot! From vanquishing Subahu and Maricha to protect the yajna to killing Kumbhakarna and Ravana to win back his wife, Rama used his power solely for upholding dharma.

Rama was an embodiment of friendship and love. Consider­ations of clan, status and species meant little to him. No wonder he considered Guha, Sugriva, and Vibhisana his own brothers. He embraced Hanuman warmly, describing the gesture as the best gift he could offer. Sita meant the world to him. When a mere crow troubled her in the forest, he used the best weapon in his ar­mour—the brahmastra—against it. He loved his parents, Sita and Lakshmana, Bharata, and Satrughna deeply. At several instances in the epic, he has addressed these poignant words to them: You make my life meaningful. I accept the kingdom and all its riches only for you. Indeed, I live for you.

The bond between Rama and his subjects was truly poetic. The epic unambiguously says: “One who doesn’t look at Rama and one whom Rama doesn’t look at was looked down by all the world; their own soul chastised them!” In this backdrop, it is not surprising that when Rama left for the forest, the whole city wept, and a mother did not celebrate the birth of her newborn son. Ruling the kingdom was an upasana—a sacred vocation—for Rama. The reason for this was his unconditional dedication to dharma.

Small wonder Rama became, and remains, perhaps the great­est unifier of India, transcending space and time. He, more than any other deity, has sculpted our national character and forged our culture. He was all too human and through his life, showed the summit to which humans could actually scale.

The ensuing prana-prat­isthapana at Ayodhya is an epoch that evokes and reaf­firms these foundational values of our national cul­ture. There is no India with­out Rama.

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