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| Sri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram |
On Saturday, April 20th, 2013 the birthday of
Lord Rama is celebrated as the festival Ramnavami. In the past, I have presented some stories
about Rama and summarized the epic tale of his life, The Ramayana. Today I would like to spin a yarn about how this epic
came to be. It is the story of how the
gift of poetry was given to humanity.
So with great reverence to Valmiki, William Buck (who wrote my favorite retelling of the story), and the spirit of the tale, my version of how poetry came to the world:
Once upon a time, in India…
There lived a lowly thief, a highwayman, named
Ratnakara. I guess with a name like
‘Ratnakara’ your career options are pretty limited; certainly does not sound
like the name of a pillar of the community.
One day he spied a lone traveler walking down the road. Thinking this was easy pickings, Ratnakara
stopped the traveler and demanded all his money and possessions.
Unbeknownst to Ratnakara, the traveler was the divine
sage Narada. Narada was not scared or surprised by Ratnakara’s threats, nor did
he respond in his usual manner (Narada reportedly was, shall we politely say,
um, someone who makes Gordon Ramsey look like the world’s best boss). Instead, he said very kindly to the thief:
“I have the power to give you
anything that you want. I can make
plants bloom in winter and lakes freeze in summer. I can turn the sky green and
the grass blue. Indeed the gods themselves jump to do my bidding when I am
happy and hide in fear when I am angry.
Creating piles of wealth is a simple parlor trick for me. But first you
must answer for me two questions. Tell
me, why is it you steal?”
Ratnakara’s bravado had
disappeared. He stood hypnotized before the sage. “I steal to provide for my
family,” he mumbled.
“Will your family accept their
share of all the negative merit you have accrued from this life of crime? If so, I will turn this very ground into gold
for you.”
“I don’t know,” stammered
Ratankara.
“Well go ask them. I will wait right here.”
Without any conscious thought
about his actions, Ratnakara walked to his home. Upon opening the door he was
greeted by his family “Father, husband, have you brought us food?”
Ratnakara surveyed his wife and
children. “I have been taking from others to provide for you. Will you accept
the punishments I will receive in this life and the next for stealing?”
“Oh father, do not tease us with
this philosophical talk. We do not care about the next life, we are hungry now.
Give us food now!”
Ratnakara stood once again
before Narada. He fell at the sage’s
feet.
“They do not care. They only want for themselves. They do not care what happens in the
future.” Ratnakara sobbed. “Oh glorious
sage, teach me how to break from this life of theft and violence. I am you pupil!”
“Well said, my son. Salvation is
only one word away. That word is
‘death.’ Meditate on that one word alone and you will be saved.”
“Death death death…” Ratnakara
mumbled. He sat up and focused his
entire mind on repeating that one word.
“Death death death….” Ratnakara became still. The world
disappeared. The one thing that remained
was the word “death.” He became so still
that the ants on the ground beneath him thought he was just another rock and
they built their anthill (valmiki in
Sanskrit) over the top of him.
Here is where English fails
us. Not just because of my horrible
grasp of the language, but because of the perfection of the Sanskrit and the imperfection of English. I mentioned that the word for death is mara,
which is composed of two syllables, ma (म) and ra (रा). When it is said over and over, you get:
ma ra ma ra ma ra
ma ra ma ra ma ra ma ra ma….
म रा म रा म रा म रा म रा म रा म रा म रा म रा
Go ahead, say it out loud.
By
shifting the focus slightly (and the stress—our habits in English cause us to
stress the first syllable, but Sanskrit does not have this problem), you get:
ra ma ra ma ra ma
ra ma ra ma ra ma ra ma ra ma…
रा म रा म रा म रा म रा म रा म रा म रा म रा म रा म
The word for “death” (mara) is
really nothing more than the name of an incarnation of the Divine (Rama). Our good friend Narada knew that he could
never convince such a corrupt individual to say the name of the Divine, so he
gave him a focal point that was much more applicable. Narada also knew that the name of the Divine, said correctly or incorrectly, knowingly or unknowingly, with feeling or without feeling, will give the correct result. Through billions and
billions of repetitions, the one-time scoundrel purified his soul.
Some time later (years, eons,
lifetimes, who can say?) Narada whispered into Ratnakara’s ear that it was time
to wake up. Regaining his consciousness,
he emerged from the anthill cocoon. What had been a deserted back
road had transformed to a hermitage. The
power of the repetition of the divine name Rama sanctified the area. The person who was the criminal Ratnakara
rejoined the world as the sage Valmiki.
Valmiki went to the river to
wash the dust and ants from himself. He
began splashing water on himself when he became distracted by the beautiful
mating song of two birds on a nearby tree.
As he watched and listened, a hunter’s arrow pierced and killed the male
bird. His mate’s song instantly turned
from one of joy to one of lament. Valmiki
saw the hunter emerge from the bushes.
Without any though, Valmiki uttered a curse upon the hunter.
मां निषाद प्रतिष्ठां त्वमगमः शाश्वतीः समाः। यत्क्रौंचमिथुनादेकम् अवधीः काममोहितम्॥'
- You will find no rest for the long years of Eternity
- For you killed a bird in love and unsuspecting(2)
- ( 1 Sacred-Texts.com IAST encoded transliteration modified from original source to accurately reflect sandhi rules.
- 2 Buck, William and van Nooten, B. A. Ramayana. 2000, page 7)
The curse came out in perfect metered verse. It was the first time language had been
spoken in this way by a man.
The hunter’s heart immediately
exploded.
Valmiki contemplated what he had
done. Brahma, the god of creation, saw
the whole thing. He appeared before Valmiki.
“Valmiki, you have work to
do. You have uttered the first poetry of
man. You will use this gift to give
mankind the story of Lord Rama, whose exiled wife, the sinless Sita, now
approaches the hermitage. I give you the
gift of divine sight. Every aspect of
Rama’s life, past, present, and future will be revealed to you as if you were
there. Look—“ he motioned to the water
cupped in Valmiki’s hands.
In that water Valmiki saw the
comings and goings of Rama. In his mind
the story was expressed in verse, and the world’s first epic poem was composed.
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