When Dharma Walks Ahead of Power
Simplified and faithful rendering
of
the Adi Kavya-36
Rama’s Departure from Ayodhya
Human
Cost of Truth
Vanam Jwala
Narasimha Rao
The preceding episode of the Ayodhya
Kanda concluded with Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana completing their inner
preparation for exile through charity, restraint, and moral resolve, and thus, demonstrating
that renunciation in the Ramayana is never abrupt, impulsive, or careless, but
deeply responsible and inwardly mature. What follows in this chapter is the
outward unfolding of that resolve, as private determination confronts public
emotion and familial bonds are tested by the weight of truth.
This section narrates the immediate
prelude to Rama’s departure and exile into the forest, to be undertaken along
with his brother Lakshmana and his wife Sita Devi, a moment where dharma moves
from principle to practice. Here, Valmiki does not merely describe a prince
leaving a city, but he presents a society witnessing the cost of righteousness
when promises override power, and when personal affection yields to ethical
obligation. Fathers and mothers grieve, ministers protest, citizens lament, and
yet the course of truth remains unaltered. For contemporary readers, this
episode speaks directly to moments when doing what is right is neither popular
nor painless, but still necessary.
When Dasharatha, moved purely by
paternal affection, instructed his minister Sumantra to arrange for a large
military contingent to follow Rama into the forest, Rama firmly but
respectfully declined the offer. He made it clear that exile could not coexist
with royal protection. Subsequently, at the insistence of Kaikeyi, jute-cloths
befitting sages and ascetics were brought for the three. Rama and Lakshmana
accepted these coarse garments with quiet dignity and wore them without
hesitation. In doing so, Rama silently affirmed that renunciation is not merely
about leaving behind comforts, but about consciously refusing privileges that
dilute the very meaning of sacrifice.
Sita Devi, however, felt momentarily
unsettled and uneasy at the thought of wearing the ascetic garments. Observing
her hesitation, Rama approached her gently and demonstrated how the jute-cloths
were to be worn, fastening them over her silken attire. This simple yet deeply
symbolic act, of a husband guiding his wife into a life of hardship, moved the
women present in the palace chamber to tears. Earlier, when Rama had heard of
Dasharatha’s decision to send an army with him, he had questioned its purpose,
asking how royal forces could accompany one who had already renounced
pleasures, severed attachments, and resolved to live on forest fare like a
nomad. The episode reminds modern readers that true transformation demands
inner consistency, that, one cannot cling to symbols of security while claiming
to embrace a path of self-denial.
Rama compared his father’s decision to
send an army with him to the act of abandoning a noble, well-trained elephant
while clinging instead to the rope that binds it. He further remarked, with
gentle irony, that if he were truly to live in the forest for fourteen years,
he should be provided not with soldiers and luxuries, but with the garb of the
destitute, along with a shovel and a basket befitting one who survives on
forest life. Taking his words literally and without compassion, Kaikeyi
shamelessly brought two pieces of bark made of kusa grass and commanded Rama to
discard his finely woven garments and clothe himself in them. Here, the gulf
between dharma-inspired renunciation and power-driven cruelty becomes starkly
visible, reminding us how authority, when devoid of empathy, can turn obedience
into humiliation.
Rama at once donned the garb of an
ascetic, and Lakshmana followed his brother without a moment’s hesitation. When
it came to Sita, Rama himself stepped forward and gently assisted her,
fastening the bark garments over her silken robes. At this sight, the women
assembled in the palace chamber broke down in tears. The garments made of kusa
grass, coarse in texture, measure roughly three arm-lengths when worn, one
piece tied across the chest, another in front near the knees, and a third at
the back. The deliberate description of these garments underscores the physical
and emotional distance between royal luxury and ascetic austerity, making
Sita’s transition all the more poignant.
Overwhelmed with grief, the women
implored Rama not to take Sita with him to the forest. Yet, even as their
voices trembled with distress, Rama continued fastening the bark garment,
resolute in honoring Sita’s unwavering resolve. Witnessing this, the Chief Priest
Vasistha intervened and sternly rebuked Kaikeyi. Addressing her as one who was
evil-minded, who had exceeded all bounds, and who had brought disgrace upon her
lineage, he declared that she was neither upholding righteous standards nor
guiding the king along the path of dharma. At this moment, the voice of moral
authority rises above royal command, reminding every age that power must
ultimately answer to conscience.
Vasistha declared to Kaikeyi that
Princess Sita would not proceed to the forest but would instead ascend the
throne that rightfully belonged to Rama. Affirming that Sita was inseparable
from Rama, indeed, his very self, Vasistha asserted that she was fully
qualified to rule the earth in his stead. He further proclaimed that if Sita
herself chose to accompany Rama to the forest, then all of them would follow
her, and even the city of Ayodhya would move with her.
According to these principles, there
exists no distinction between husband and wife; therefore, the wife may
legitimately occupy the throne in place of her husband. The words of the
Ramayana themselves, Vasistha affirmed, possess the authority of the Vedas, and
to seek further proof of them would be like lighting a lamp to reveal the sun.
This assertion speaks powerfully to modern sensibilities, affirming moral
equality and shared responsibility within marriage, even while rooted in
ancient dharmic thought.
Vasistha further suggested that
Bharata and Shatrughna, clad in garments of bark, would join their elder
brother Rama in forest life. Turning sharply toward Kaikeyi, he remarked that
she alone might then be left to rule a kingdom emptied of people and rendered
desolate, for a land where Rama does not reign cannot truly be called a kingdom
at all. He warned her that even if she were to leap from the earth to the sky,
Bharata, who was well versed in the traditions and moral legacy of his father’s
dynasty, would never act in accordance with her wishes. In essence, Vasistha
made it clear that there was no one in the world who was not devoted to Rama.
Leadership, the passage reminds us, derives legitimacy not from position but
from the trust and devotion it commands.
Having spoken thus, Vasistha prevented
Sita from wearing the bark garments brought by Kaikeyi. He instructed that Sita
be adorned daily, decorated with ornaments, and permitted to accompany Rama to
the forest in dignity, traveling in excellent conveyances, attended by
servants, and provided with all necessary apparel and accessories. He
emphasized that Kaikeyi had never demanded Sita’s exile when she sought her
boons, and therefore had no authority to impose such humiliation upon her. Yet,
despite these powerful words spoken by Vasistha, the royal preceptor, and who
was unrivalled in influence and foremost among Brahmanas, Sita remained
unwavering in her resolve to follow her husband in every circumstance. Here, personal
conviction quietly surpassed even authoritative protection, revealing devotion
as a freely chosen path rather than an imposed obligation.
Notwithstanding Vasistha’s forceful
words, when Sita proceeded to wear the garments of kusa grass at Kaikeyi’s
command, appearing momentarily helpless despite the protection of her husband, and
amid the loud protests of those present against Kaikeyi’s conduct, King
Dasharatha felt as though he had lost all interest in life, religious merit,
and royal dignity. Breathing heavily, he spoke out in anguish, laying bare his
heart. He declared that Sita did not deserve to wear such coarse bark garments
and asserted that she, delicate and long accustomed to comfort, was not suited
to the hardships of forest life. At this point, Dasharatha’s anguish reflected
the inner collapse of authority when moral responsibility was overshadowed by
forced obligation.
Dasharatha further stated that Sita,
the daughter of King Janaka, had committed no offence whatsoever that would
warrant her wearing the bark of trees. He emphasized that he had made no such
pledge earlier, and therefore she should be permitted to accompany Rama
joyfully, fully provided with all necessary and valuable possessions. He
lamented that a cruel vow had been extracted from him on oath, one so grievous
that he felt unworthy of continuing to live. He also made it clear that the
insistence on hermit’s robes for Sita had arisen solely from Kaikeyi’s childish
obstinacy. The passage exposed how literalism devoid of compassion can turn
promises into instruments of cruelty.
Dasharatha went on to say that even if
Rama had committed some slight offence against Kaikeyi, Sita had done nothing
to deserve such treatment. To go beyond what he had originally consented to, he
argued, was wholly unjust. In this context, Andhra Valmiki Vavilikolanu
Subbarau (Vasudasa Swamy), in his faithful Telugu rendering of the Sanskrit
Valmiki Ramayana, undertaken with the same number of verses as the original
shlokas, offers an interpretive remark on this episode. His observation as
detailed below, helps bridge textual fidelity with ethical reflection, allowing
later generations to grasp both the letter and the spirit of the narrative.
‘It has already been affirmed that
Sita Devi is a Pativrata (Faithful and dutiful to Husband) and equal in conduct
to her husband. If such an exemplary devoted wife were to see her husband
donning garments of bark-fiber, how could she herself wear silk robes? Would
that not amount to a breach of her vow? Dharma itself answers in the negative.
For even if she were to wear silk garments, she would not be doing so out of
sensual desire, nor seeking pleasure or enjoyment. Precisely because, she is a
Pativrata, equal in conduct, Sita, despite repeated objections and prohibitions
by elders like Vasiṣṭha, gladly chose to wear the bark garments alone.’
Thus, overwhelmed by grief, the king
saw no end to his suffering. Saturated with intense devotion to his son and
deeply wounded by the unfolding events, Dasharatha collapsed upon the ground.
Rama, even as he stood on the threshold of exile, approached his father with
humility, bowed his head, and sat beside him, offering words of consolation.
Rama gently reminded him that his mother Kausalya was advanced in age, of
unblemished character, and would never harbor resentment toward her husband. In
this moment, Rama’s concern extended beyond his own hardship, revealing
leadership rooted in empathy rather than self-pity.
Rama urged Dasharatha to care for
Kausalya with even greater tenderness, for she had been deprived of his
presence, submerged in sorrow, and unfamiliar with such overwhelming
affliction. He emphasized that she now needed her husband’s affection more than
ever, especially as she endured the pain of her son’s departure to the forest.
The passage quietly underscored a timeless truth: in times of collective
crisis, responsibility shifts toward protecting the most emotionally
vulnerable.
Hearing Rama’s words and beholding him
clad in bark-fiber garments, Dasharatha once again lost consciousness. Consumed
by grief, he could neither look upon Rama nor speak to him directly. For a
time, he lay insensible, tormented by remorse and absorbed entirely in thoughts
of his son. He uttered Rama’s name only once, his voice choked by tears, and
could say no more. Regaining consciousness at last, he instructed Sumantra to
prepare a chariot, strong and well-fitted, yoked with excellent horses, and to convey
Rama, the noble prince, beyond the boundaries of Ayodhya. Here, the final act
of a broken father became an irreversible turning point, sealing exile not
merely as a royal decree, but as a lived human tragedy.
Sumantra departed and soon returned
with a finely adorned chariot, yoked to superb horses, and made ready for the
journey. Thereupon, the king summoned the officer in charge of the treasury and
instructed him to bring for Sita garments of great worth and ornaments of the
finest quality, that are to be sufficient for all the years she was to spend in
exile. The command was promptly carried out, and the treasures were placed
before her. As she prepared to depart for the forest, Sita adorned her graceful
limbs with those exquisite jewels, illuminating the palace like the rising sun
brightens the sky.
Embracing Sita and inhaling the
fragrance of her head in a gesture of deep affection, her mother-in-law
Kausalya imparted to her words of righteous counsel. Even at the edge of
renunciation, dignity and grace were preserved, not as indulgence, but as
expressions of inner worth. Kausalya said to her: ‘Women who are dishonest,
though constantly cherished by their husbands, lose respect for them when
adversity arises, including poverty. Having once enjoyed happiness, such women
abandon their husbands, that was the nature of the ignoble.’
‘Young women who are evil-minded were
untruthful in disposition, driven by passion, and difficult to comprehend. Their
aversion arises in a moment. Neither noble birth, nor personal accomplishment,
nor learning, nor gifts, nor even pleasures can secure the hearts of such
women, for their minds lack stability. But women who are firmly grounded in
good conduct, truthfulness, sacred learning, and inner tranquility regard their
husbands alone as the most sacred presence in their lives.’ The counsel, though
severe in expression, seeks not condemnation but discernment, urging
steadfastness of character over the fluctuations of circumstance.
Andhra
Valmiki, Vavilikolanu Subbarau (Vasudasa Swamy), in his Telugu rendition of
Valmiki’s Ramayana, offers an interpretive comment on this passage, clarifying that the description is not meant to apply to all
women, but is contextually directed at a particular type. He wrote: ‘Not all
women behave in this manner. Such actions are attributed only to women like
Kaikeyi, who are fickle-minded, unstable in their hearts, and dull-witted. When
one wishes to firmly fix a pillar, it must first be shaken well from side to
side in the pit and only then secured tightly. In the same way, Kaushalya began
by describing the characteristics of wicked women in order to warn others, not
to behave like Kaikeyi. Thereafter, she went on explaining the qualities of a
virtuous and exemplary woman who is worthy of emulation.’
Perceiving that Kausalya’s words were
imbued with the essence of righteousness, Sita responded with composed
humility, affirming that she would conduct herself exactly as her mother-in-law
desired toward her husband. She added that she had long been familiar with
these principles and was incapable of deviating from the path of virtue. Sita
then declared: ‘A father bestows in limited measure, a mother too in limited
measure, and even a son gives in moderation, but a woman offers herself
entirely to her husband, who is the giver of boundless purpose. Having learned
the special and general duties of a wife from noble women, how could I ever
disregard my husband, who is regarded as a deity by women?’ Sita’s words reveal
devotion not as submission, but as a conscious moral alignment freely chosen.
Hearing Sita’s resolve, Kausalya was
overcome with emotion and began to weep. Rama then approached his mother and
gently urged her not to grieve, requesting instead that she take special care
of his father. He consoled her by saying that the fourteen years of exile would
pass as swiftly as sleep, and that she would soon see him return in full
strength, surrounded by well-wishers. Here, Rama offered hope not by denying
suffering, but by placing it within a larger horizon of time and purpose.
Having spoken thus, Rama cast a
thoughtful glance upon his three hundred and fifty stepmothers and offered his
respectful salutations to them as well. Thereafter, Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana
bowed at the feet of Dasharatha and circumambulated him reverently with folded
palms. After taking leave of the king, Rama and Sita bowed together before
Kausalya. The gestures of farewell reaffirm that reverence for elders remains
intact even when destiny demands separation.
Lakshmana then bowed to Kausalya and
next to his own mother, Sumitra, who, weeping yet resolute, offered him her
final counsel. She told him that she had granted him permission to dwell in the
forest with his elder brother Rama and urged him never to neglect him. Whether
in adversity or in prosperity, she said, Rama alone must be his refuge.
Declaring that it should become a guiding principle for the world that the
younger brother remains subject to the elder, she instructed Lakshmana to
regard Rama as Dasharatha himself, to look upon Sita as his own mother, to
consider the forest as Ayodhya, and to depart with a peaceful heart. Sumitra’s
counsel transforms exile into belonging, redefining home not as a place, but as
the presence of righteousness.
Andhra Valmiki, Vavilikolanu Subbarau
(Vasudasa Swamy), in his Telugu rendition of Valmiki’s Ramayana, offers an
interpretive comment on this passage, and wrote that: {{Sumitra instructed
Lakshmana in dharma so that, if he were to face hardships while following Sri
Rama, he would not be overcome by thoughts of his parents or of Ayodhya. She
advised him to relinquish attachment to Dasharatha, saying that Dasharatha’s
love was ‘conditional’ (Sopadhika), and that one should not rely upon or cling
to relationships that are conditional in nature.
She further stated that, Sri Rama is
your natural and unconditional father. Therefore, your love should rest
entirely with him. Do not be attached to me. Even if you have great affection
for me, and I for you, of what use is it? Can I relieve your suffering? Hence,
maintaining a maternal attachment toward me yields no real benefit. Janaki is,
by her very nature, your mother. Even a single act of reverence to her will
ensure your protection, ‘Janaki who becomes gracious upon surrender.’
Sumitra continued and said that, Ayodhya
without Sri Rama is no better than a forest, wherever he resides, that place
alone is Ayodhya. Therefore, affection toward us brings no gain. The place
where Sri Rama dwells is the destination you should seek. All the virtues
present in Dasharatha exist in Sri Rama; thus, when Sri Rama stands before you,
there is no need to recall Dasharatha at all. The happiness you would
experience in Ayodhya will be equally present in the forest. Through the
constant companionship of Sri Rama, you will attain uninterrupted fulfillment
even in the wilderness.
In this context, some argue that
Lakshmana’s conduct was severe. In seeking permission for his forest exile,
Lakshmana did not go to the houses of Sumitra or Urmila. Sri Rama himself
instructed Lakshmana only to obtain his mother’s consent and made no mention of
seeking his wife’s approval; he merely told him to inform his well-wishers and
return quickly, said Sumitra. Be that as it may, in Valmiki’s Ramayana, the
name of Urmila appears only in the Bala Kanda and nowhere else. Perhaps, in the
narrative world Valmiki intended to present, her role was not considered
essential.
In reality, between Sita and Urmila,
it was Urmila who endured greater suffering. Sita attained greater renown due
to the force of circumstances; without events such as her abduction, she may
not have achieved such fame. Being with her husband, she did not experience
physical hardship to the same extent. In contrast, Urmila, separated from her
husband during his exile, renounced all comforts, abandoned adornment, and
lived in constant meditation upon him. It must therefore be said that Urmila
endured deeper mental anguish than even Sita}}.
Sumantra then requested Rama to ascend
the chariot, assuring him that he would drive swiftly to whatever destination
Rama chose. With quiet restraint, Sumantra also reminded him that the fourteen
years of forest life were to be regarded as having already begun. Adorned with
the precious ornaments presented by her father-in-law, Sita mounted the chariot
first. Rama and Lakshmana then followed, quickly taking their places in the
chariot, which gleamed like fire and was richly decked with gold. The moment marks
the formal crossing from royal life into exile, where ceremonial grandeur
stands in poignant contrast to the renunciation it carries.
With the help of attendants, weapons
and sturdy armor covered in leather were placed securely in the center of the
chariot. Sumantra then urged the horses forward, their speed likened to the
force of the wind. As Rama departed for the long forest sojourn, a wave of
stunned silence and faintness swept through the city. The strength of the
people seemed to drain away, and Ayodhya resounded with tumult, its elephants
in rut trumpeting loudly and the ornaments of horses rattling sharply. Stricken
by unbearable anguish, the city itself appeared to surge forward after Rama.
Collective grief here becomes a public emotion, revealing how deeply moral
leadership binds a community.
Running alongside the chariot, leaning
toward its sides and rear, their tear-filled faces fixed upon Rama, the people
cried aloud to Sumantra to halt and proceed slowly. They begged for a final
glimpse of Rama’s face, knowing that it would soon become painfully rare. In
their anguish, they praised the virtues of Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana, as well
as the noble character of Kausalya. Tears flowed freely, unrestrained by
decorum. At that moment, King Dasharatha too emerged from the palace,
surrounded by women overwhelmed with grief. The people’s lament shows that the
loss of a righteous leader is felt not as political change, but as personal
bereavement.
On seeing
his father and the surging crowd, Rama instructed the charioteer to drive the
chariot swiftly forward, even as the people cried out for it to stop. Caught
between conflicting commands, the charioteer stood momentarily paralyzed.
Valmiki poignantly observes that the dust raised on the road was soaked and
silenced by the falling tears of the citizens. After their cries reached a
crescendo, many collapsed in overwhelming agony, while tears poured from the
eyes of women like unceasing streams. Overcome by grief, Dasharatha too fell to
the ground. The imagery captures collective sorrow as a force capable of
stilling even the earth itself.
Glancing
back, Rama beheld his father Dasharatha, stricken with sorrow and confusion,
and his mother Kausalya following on foot along the road. Bound firmly by the
cord of righteousness, Rama could not bring himself to gaze openly upon them.
Seeing his parents, who were worthy of chariots, long accustomed to comfort,
and undeserving of such suffering, but walking behind him, Rama once again
instructed the charioteer to drive faster. He could not bear the sight of their
anguish. Here, restraint becomes an act of compassion, as Rama preferred
distance to spare both himself and his parents further pain.
Again and
again, Rama saw Kausalya running after the chariot, crying out ‘Oh Rama! Oh
Sita! Oh Lakshmana!’ her tears flowing unchecked as she staggered forward like
one dancing in distress. Dasharatha shouted ‘Stop’ while Rama insisted ‘Proceed,’
leaving Sumantra torn between obedience and pity. Yielding to Rama’s command,
the charioteer drove the horses still faster, even as the people struggled to
follow.
Though the
citizens eventually turned back in body, their minds remained fixed upon Rama,
and their tears showed no sign of abating. The
Ministers advised King Dasaratha that, they should not follow Rama to a long
distance except to wish him to come back after the exile so that they may see
him. Hearing their words, Dasaratha felt miserable, stopped short, staring at
his wife, at his son Rama, with his whole body sweaty and wearing a dejected
look. The passage lays bare
the human cost of righteousness when duty demands separation from love.
Thus ends
one of the most heartrending passages of the Ayodhya Kanda, where Rama’s
departure from Ayodhya transforms exile from a legal decree into a collective
human tragedy. The city did not merely watch him go, but it ran after him, wept
for him, and collapsed in his absence. Dasharatha’s fall, Kausalya’s anguished
pursuit, and the citizens’ helpless cries together revealed that righteousness,
while morally luminous, can cast long shadows of sorrow.
Yet, it is
precisely here that Rama’s greatness becomes most evident. He did not turn back,
not out of hardness of heart, but because compassion itself demanded restraint.
By choosing distance, he spared his parents prolonged suffering and by choosing
exile, he preserved the sanctity of truth. Power, in this moment, stands
stripped of authority, while dharma alone commands obedience. Rama taught that
leadership was not measured by how many follow you, but by how firmly you stand
when you must walk alone.
This
episode prepared the ground for what was ahead. Ayodhya had lost its prince in
body, but gained an enduring moral compass. As the narrative moves forward into
forest life, the reader understands that Rama had already relinquished the
throne within himself. What follows is not merely a journey through the
wilderness, but the unfolding of ethical leadership, where sacrifice becomes
strength, obedience becomes freedom, and truth, though costly, remains
victorious across time.
>>>>Photographs courtesy Rama Bhakta Vijaya Raghava Dasu
{{From my Published Book ‘Simplified
and Faithful Rendering of the Adi Kavya’
Valmiki Ramayana: The Greatest Epic
(Bala and Ayodhya Kandas)}}
(This Book
is free of cost for all those who are interested to read the English Version of
Valmiki Ramayana, provided they collect it from me in person preferably.
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