Whether we choose to draw inspiration from Valmiki's original work or from Tulsidas's worshipful rendition, the fact is that the legend of prince Ram lives in us. It is kept alive because of our anxieties, writes Madhavi S Mahadevan
Even with an abundance of religious festivals, thirty-six at a conservative estimate, Vijaydashmi or Dussehra has remained special. Marking the end of Navratri, it celebrates the victory of good over evil. A double victory — of the goddess Durga over the buffalo demon Mahishasura and of the legendary prince Ram over Raavan, the ten-headed king of Lanka. Anyone who has witnessed the burning of the enormous effigies of Raavan, his two rakshasa brothers, Kumbhakarna and Meghnad, cannot forget the high-octane drama that is a fitting finale to the preceding nine nights when one of the world’s oldest epics, the Ramayana, is dramatised in parts of North India as the Ramlila.
Attributed to the sage Valmiki, composed between 200 BCE-200 CE, the Ramayana (Ram’s Journey), a 24,000 verse poem in Sanskrit, is one of ancient India’s principal literary works, a cornerstone of art and culture in, not just the subcontinent, but across Southeast Asia. The story, compressed, is about Ram, a righteous, dutiful prince, who struggles to rescue his wife Sita from the clutches of her abductor, Raavan.
Ram’s difficulties, however, begin much earlier, on the eve of his coronation when, due to the machinations of his stepmother, he is exiled for fourteen years. The couple go to the forest accompanied by Ram’s younger brother Lakshman. When both brothers spurn the overtures of the rakshasi Surpanakha, she incites her brother Raavan, the all-powerful king, who abducts Sita and imprisons her on his distant island kingdom. In his efforts to rescue Sita, Ram is helped by the armies of the monkey king Sugreev, and his minister Hanuman. A terrible battle follows, Raavan is killed. Reunited with Sita, Ram returns to Ayodhya to assume kingship.
While Valmiki planted the tree, the Ramayana, with over 300 transcreations, has grown into a forest. Among its offshoots in the Gangetic plain is the Ramcharitmanas. Composed by the 16th century Vaishnava saint, Tulsidas, the chaupais (quatrain verses of poetry popular in the medieval period) in Awadhi bhasha, are still recited in Hindu homes. Whereas high literary quality marks Valmiki’s work, the Ramcharitmanas is regarded as a ‘holy book’; Ram occupies a pedestal as maryada purushottam, the man who practised righteousness to perfection.
While its piety has given comfort to many, the Ramcharitmanas has also inspired a colourful annual ritual, the Ramlila, a theatrical event of immense popularity that had its first performance, it is said, in Varanasi around 480 years ago. Later, as Hindu immigrants crossed overseas, the Ramlila tradition travelled to Fiji, Mauritius, South Africa, Guyana, Suriname, Trinidad and Tobago. Within India, although the Ramayana has versions in several regional languages, Ramlila performances are almost exclusive to the north.
The story’s episodic structure lends itself to enactment. Individual episodes bear titles like Van Gaman (Departure for the Forest), Sita Apharan (The Kidnapping of Sita), Lanka Dahan (The Burning of Lanka), Raavan Vadh (The Killing of Raavan). Though similar to the original, these amateur dramatisations can be a purist’s worst nightmare come true. Using local talent for every aspect of the production — from lights and music to scripting, direction and acting — they frequently combine Bollywood style entertainment. Songs, dances and over-the-top dialogues are interspersed with reiterations of the messages of the Ramcharitmanas.
For instance, in the scene where Surpanakha makes overtures to Ram and Lakshman, she may sashay onstage to the song Yeh mera dil pyaar ka diwana (from the film Don). The next episode, showing the decadence of Lanka, may have the demon king, dressed in black and gold, quaffing wine and regaling his inebriated court with Urdu poetry. Zing is added to speech through rhyming, as when Hanuman proclaims his loyalty to Ram: Hanuman aapka wafadaar hei, sahayata karne ko taiyaar hei.
The didactic quality of the Ramcharitmanas, the razzmatazz of the Ramlila have contributed to the legend’s popularity, but, in the last hundred years, movie-making has become instrumental in the spread of the meta-narrative. Dadasaheb Phalke who made India’s first film, Raja Harishchandra (1913) also made Lanka Dahan (1917). However, the credit for, arguably, the most accomplished and, in their time, extremely successful screen adaptations of the epic belongs to Vijay Bhatt who made Bharat Milap (1942) and Ram Rajya (1943). The latter, supposedly, was one of the two films that Mahatma Gandhi ever watched. In recent times, the crown for record viewership goes to the televised version of the Ramayana, first aired in 1987 and, more recently, in April 2020 when it garnered, according to Doordarshan, 7.7 crore viewers. Following the re-telecast, the social media was inundated with memes and discussions, such as Manthara being voted the world’s favourite villain, proving that the story is evergreen.
This begs the question: What does the legend of Ram offer modern audiences?
Among millennials, age bracket 25-40 years, the oldest were children when the 1987 telecast kept entire families glued to their TV sets. In subsequent years, as the country shed its socialist image and opted for more liberal economic policies, they entered the job market. Better educated than previous generations, internet- savvy, they have preferred the rapid growth promised by the private sector, irrespective of frequent job changes, over the slow-but-stable progression of government employment. Leveraging technology in the pursuit of their professional and personal aspirations, they have focussed on creativity and value-addition. Economically better off than their parents, owning a home and a car has become de rigueur, as has been affording their children a more comfortable lifestyle.
While the family remains a core concern, millennials are aware that having more choices has improved their quality of life. However, they are wary of being trapped by the ‘hedonic treadmill’. While increased awareness of the world has meant that they are more individualistic in their choices, there is a concern about the environment, a respect for diversity, a growing egalitarianism. Articulate on social media, they are ready, through collective power, to generate dissent over societal ills, to push for change.
However, as newer realities emerge, hope has given way to anxiety. The economic slowdown, hugely exacerbated by the ongoing Covid-19 pandemic, has already led (according to a CMIE report) to 21 million salaried job losses. In these circumstances, difficult decisions need to be taken. As disquiet builds up and a certain amount of introspection is inevitable, the legend of Ram becomes less about myth and more about examining the civilisational values it propagates.
Whether we choose to draw inspiration from Valmiki’s original work or from Tulsidas’s worshipful rendition, the fact is that the legend lives in us. Just as it nurtures us, it is kept alive because of our anxieties. As audiences of longstanding, we are in the narrative, seeing something of ourselves in its characters and something identifiable about them in us. What makes the Ramayana, in particular, interesting is the way it humanises its hero Ram: as a man who, even at the worst of times, chooses to maintain his composure and, consequently, acts with intelligence, courage and commitment. The life lessons are custom-made for Indian realities, predicated on the notion that the life you live isn’t always the one you want, but the one you are given.
Ergo, opting to conduct oneself with dignity, decency and decorum is praiseworthy. It starts with the awareness of dharma — knowing what one’s duty is to oneself, family and society. The advice, though not always simple, is sound: follow the path of truth and righteousness, work for unity within the family and in society, respect diverse cultures, use your judgement to filter good advice from bad, don’t speak ill of others, keep your word, control your senses if you want to avoid sorrow, be compassionate. Understand that life can change its course in a split second; accept what you cannot control but do your best, via the right attitude and action, to deal with it. Finally, it is adversity that brings one closer to the Self.
While the wisdom of these tenets is respected, there are aspects of the legend that make millennials uncomfortable. (Devotees are different as they see all Ram’s actions as godly acts.) There are three instances when Ram’s behaviour appears questionable: the deceitful killing of Vali, the killing of the Shambuka, the shudra ascetic who performed tapas and the rejection of Sita. The last two appear in the seventh chapter of the Ramayana, Uttara Kanda, believed to be a later addition. Ram’s treatment of Sita, in particular, is condemned. Nothing new in that: through folk narratives, women have always shown sympathy with Sita’s pain.
However, millennials’ views, focussed on the injustice, are gender neutral. Says Teesta, a thirty-five-year old Food Quality and Supply Chain Management professional, ‘The agnipariksha Sita had to undergo was uncalled for… synonymous with the disrespect and distrust of a man towards his wife. The foundation of any relationship is trust. Ram misjudged and misconstrued his wife to defeat this very basis. He is a man of principles, an ideal son and brother, but not perfect — not in today’s context.’
Sanjay Rao, a thirty-year-old commercial pilot differs. ‘He was the ideal man, but the people he ruled were not. It was they who made the allegations. As their king he had to take notice and act… though he sent Sita away to the forest, he remained constant to her, in an age when kings were allowed several wives.’
A third view is articulated by Tilak, a thirty-six year old investment banker: ‘The trial-by-fire, though unpleasant, established Sita’s blamelessness, but casting her away, because of a smear campaign, is unacceptable… She was pregnant at the time… If he felt that his credentials as a ruler were under a shadow, he could have considered stepping down, asked Bharat to continue, as he had been regent for fourteen years, or appointed Lakshman. That would have been more honourable and taught his people a well-deserved lesson.’
Epics are relevant for the questions they raise. While these don’t change, every age finds new answers. Mythological time being immutable, we celebrate the victory of good over evil with every Dussehra, and welcome the victor home with every Diwali. Perhaps, as this year’s diyas are lit, it’s time to acknowledge that Ram rajya — a society built on virtues, morality and fairness — is what we create.
The writer is an author. She has recently published ‘Bride of the Forest: The Untold Story of Yayati’s Daughter’ with Speaking Tiger Books
