 |
| Swami Vivekananda, 1894 |
There are two great epics in the Sanskrit language, which are very
ancient. Of course, there are hundreds of other epic poems. The Sanskrit
language and literature have been continued down to the present day,
although, for more than two thousand years, it has ceased to be a spoken
language. I am now going to speak to you of the two most ancient epics,
called the Râmâyana and the Mahâbhârata.
They embody the manners
and customs, the state of society, civilisation, etc., of the ancient
Indians. The oldest of these epics is called Râmâyana, "The Life of
Râma". There was some poetical literature before this — most of the
Vedas, the sacred books of the Hindus, are written in a sort of metre —
but this book is held by common consent in India as the very beginning
of poetry.
The name of the poet or sage was Vâlmiki. Later on, a
great many poetical stories were fastened upon that ancient poet; and
subsequently, it became a very general practice to attribute to his
authorship very many verses that were not his. Notwithstanding all these
interpolations, it comes down to us as a very beautiful arrangement,
without equal in the literatures of the world.
There was a young
man that could not in any way support his family. He was strong and
vigorous and, finally, became a highway robber; he attacked persons in
the street and robbed them, and with that money he supported his father,
mother, wife, and children. This went on continually, until one day a
great saint called Nârada was passing by, and the robber attacked him.
 |
| The youthful sage Narada at the white-bearded Valmiki's hermitage |
The
sage asked the robber, "Why are you going to rob me? It is a great sin
to rob human beings and kill them. What do you incur all this sin for?"
The robber said, "Why, I want to support my family with this money."
"Now", said the sage, "do you think that they take a share of your sin
also?" "Certainly they do," replied the robber. "Very good," said the
sage, "make me safe by tying me up here, while you go home and ask your
people whether they will share your sin in the same way as they share
the money you make."
The man accordingly went to his father, and
asked, "Father, do you know how I support you?" He answered, "No, I do
not." "I am a robber, and I kill persons and rob them." "What! you do
that, my son? Get away! You outcast!" He then went to his mother and
asked her, "Mother, do you know how I support you?" "No," she
replied. "Through robbery and murder." "How horrible it is!" cried the
mother. "But, do you partake in my sin?" said the son. "Why should I? I
never committed a robbery," answered the mother. Then, he went to his
wife and questioned her, "Do you know how I maintain you all?" "No," she
responded. "Why, I am a highwayman," he rejoined, "and for years have
been robbing people; that is how I support and maintain you all. And
what I now want to know is, whether you are ready to share in my sin."
"By no means. You are my husband, and it is your duty to support me."
The
eyes of the robber were opened. "That is the way of the world — even my
nearest relatives, for whom I have been robbing, will not share in my
destiny." He came back to the place where he had bound the sage,
unfastened his bonds, fell at his feet, recounted everything and said,
"Save me! What can I do?"
The sage said, "Give up your present course of
life. You see that none of your family really loves you, so give up all
these delusions. They will share your prosperity; but the moment
you have nothing, they will desert you. There is none who will share in
your evil, but they will all share in your good. Therefore worship Him
who alone stands by us whether we are doing good or evil. He never
leaves us, for love never drags down, knows no barter, no selfishness."
 |
| Vâlmiki composing the Râmâyana |
Then
the sage taught him how to worship. And this man left everything and
went into a forest. There he went on praying and meditating until he
forgot himself so entirely that the ants came and built ant-hills around
him and he was quite unconscious of it. After many years had passed, a
voice came saying,"Arise, O sage! "
Thus aroused he exclaimed,
"Sage? I am a robber!" "No more 'robber'," answered the voice, "a
purified sage art thou. Thine old name is gone. But now, since thy
meditation was so deep and great that thou didst not remark even the
ant-hills which surrounded thee, henceforth, thy name shall be Valmiki —
'he that was born in the ant-hill'." So, he became a sage.
And
this is how he became a poet. One day as this sage, Vâlmiki, was going
to bathe in the holy river Ganga, he saw a pair of doves wheeling round
and round, and kissing each other. The sage looked up and was pleased at
the sight, but in a second an arrow whisked past him and killed the
male dove. As the dove fell down on the ground, the female dove went on
whirling round and round the dead body of its companion in grief.
In
a moment the poet became miserable, and looking round, he saw the
hunter. "Thou art a wretch," he cried, "without the smallest mercy! Thy
slaying hand would not even stop for love!" "What is this? What am I
saying?" the poet thought to himself, "I have never spoken in this sort
of way before." And then a voice came: "Be not afraid. This is poetry
that is coming out of your mouth. Write the life of Rama in poetic
language for the benefit of the world." And that is how the poem first
began. The first verse sprang out of pits from the mouth of Vâlmiki, the
first poet. And it was after that, that he wrote the beautiful Râmâyana, "The Life of Rama".
