Dear Mr. Debroy: Reading the Valmiki Ramayana at Hampi

May 6, 2018 - May 26, 2018

Dear Mr. Debroy,

It has taken me over a month to get myself ready to write this letter. I began writing it before I’d returned from Kishkinda, but I couldn’t find the time to finish it.

I began writing this letter in my Grandfather’s house in a village called Kamalapura, four kilometres from the ruins of Vijayanagara. I had not yet finished the Ramayana, but I wanted to compose this letter before beginning the Yuddha Kanda. I felt that way because oddly enough, my trip this time coincided with the annual marriage of Pampa and Virupaksha. Hampi was swamped with locals. It was scorching hot.

Mr. Debroy, Hampi was perfect. It was perfectly hot enough to read of the misfortunes of Rama. So in the abandoned temple to Ranganatha, the Sleeping Vishnu, where I read the thousand names of Narayana, I sat alone and read the story of Rama of the Bow.

On the first day, I sat under the neem tree that provided me shade for days whilst I read of the misfortunes of the line of Kuru. There, I read of Vishwamitra’s great arrogance, and of his scorn for Vasishtha. As I did so, a young tour-guide asked me what a book under a sitting with my legs crossed, holding a tree, ignoring passers-by was doing. I told him that I was reading the Valmiki Ramayana. He was surprised, but he went on his way.

An hour later, he returned and sat with me for an hour or so, telling me that he was curious. I marked out Rishyamukha Parvata, Matanga Parvata to him, telling him how Rama, my Kodanda Rama, met Sugreeva and how the Rishi Matanga cursed the vain Vali. The boy listened and said he has not met anyone else who loved Hampi as much as I do.

I did not say anything—how could I? I love Hampi but I cannot truly claim that my love is not selfish. I tire of the city and Hampi refuels me.

I do not pray. I go to the Pampa to read Indian classics because those stories mean the world to me. As they did to my grandfathers. And Hampi is sacrosanct. It is home like no other place is. And I know not why! Was I some failed bard who prayed so hard for inspiration that he was reborn as someone who doesn’t believe in prayer?

Then why do these stories matter so much to me? In his quest to prove himself greater than Vasishta, Vishwamitra undertakes a great sacrifice, demanding the King Dasaratha hand over his beloved son Rama as a guardian against the rakshasas that plague the forest.

How? How could the sage believe Dasaratha would hand Rama? No greater son had ever been born in the line of Raghu. Dasaratha had yearned so long and his prayers had yielded fruit in the form of Rama. And this king-turned-sage sought to snatch him away and use him as a shield against demons? Why? Why, Mr. Debroy, does Dasaratha’s pain move me to tears when I have never had a son? What does this story mean to me?

Sir, I love every bit of your translation of the Mahabharata, but I do not know why the Ramayana makes me quiver. I have heard this story so many times. My paternal grandfather would take me for walks around the village, buy me a lassi, and tell me of his Rama, his Kodanda Rama. He described how Raghava raised Janaka’s Bow, The Bow That Could Not Be Strung, and how Rama broke it in an attempt to string it.

I have heard, as many times as I have heard the Gajendra Moksham story, how the sons of Dasaratha protect Vishwamitra’s sacrificial pot. And yet, as if Lomaharshana himself were reciting a version of this tale, the hair on my forearms rose up as I read your translation. The story of Rama wells me up. All stories of Rama do.

The last time I read a version of the Ramayana was Rajaji’s rendition in 2002. I suppose Rajaji was drawing from Kamban, not Valmiki. Yet, I enjoyed the book but I was unimpressed by that description of Rama. “But he doesn’t describe Rama!” I remember telling anyone who would listen. People told me that Rajaji could not possibly know what Rama looked like. How could anyone?

I never bought that explanation. My grandfather knew exactly what Rama looked like. “As dark as the evening clouds,” he would tell me, “and as calm and as cool as this glass of lassi.”

His Rama was taller than most men, and his hair was matted. He wielded a bow that was an extension of his body, and when he attacked, no rakshasa could stay the shower of arrows. His gaze was endless. One look from those eyes could soothe a baby that bellowed for her mother’s breasts. One word from his lips and storms would cease. His Rama was without equal. His Rama was kind, benevolant to a fault. His Rama kept his word. No one knows what Kodanda Rama looked like? Such rubbish.

In 2012, I was working as a production engineer at one of the Lucas-TVS Subsidiaries at Hosur. I didn’t like living by myself so I commuted from Bangalore every day. I don’t drive so I spent most of my time in the bus. One evening, I happened to sit next to an old man. We started talking, and somehow, I cannot recall how or why, the conversation steered to Rama.

“Do you know Rama?” The old man asked me. I did not know how to answer such a question. “I have read the Ramayana,” I replied.

The man patted his chest, full of pride, and clarified. “But have you heard of my Rama?” I shook my head. The old man saw this as a sign that I wanted to hear his stories. I must confess, back then I was tired and wanted to sleep.

“My name is Purushottama Rama.” The man thumped his chest. “My brother’s name was Raghu Rama. Our father,” and at this the old man extended his arms as if pulling the string of an invisible bow—Mr. Debroy, this bus was packed—and he exclaimed: “was named Kodanda Rama: Rama of the Bow.”

“Our Rama is Kodanda Rama.”

How does one react to this? The old man asked me whether a mosque or a temple should be constructed at Ayodhya. I didn’t reply and he said: “My Rama - My Kodanda Rama is here.” He thumped his chest as though he was Anjaneya. “My Rama does not need a temple. He is everywhere.” Somehow, I will never forget that man.

Returning to the shade of those Neem trees during some of the hottest months is like returning home. More so when I have your books with me. How many times can I say this without sounding insane? I owe so much to you.

I don’t stay in the nearly 100 year (or more) older house in my village 4 km from Hampi these days. I only return to sleep & eat dinner. I don’t even feel hungry when I sit there, Surrounded both of the Pampa & those stories you tell me.

Continue. Are you blessed by Vyaasa? I pray that you don’t pray these days, but I do pray that you go on writing.

As I read the Bala Kanda I wanted to know more about the line of Raghu. I wonder if Kalidasa felt the same way! Did he write the Raghuvamsam because he wanted to understand the people who came before Rama?

Dasaratha sounds like someone who both accepts his son’s divinity and rejects anyone who wants to share the pleasure of knowing Rama. He wants Kakutstha all for himself. Somehow… that feels oddly apt. My relationship with my father is… strange to say the least. We have so little in common. At times, it feels like we have nothing to talk about. He goes to God in fear, asking for things. Naturally, he blames God when he gets none of those things. He listens to babas on the television and does not read the stories himself. Blind faith. He lets blind faith define him.

Yet, with such a father-son relationship as an example, I can understand Dasaratha. I can understand Dasaratha’s love for his sons. I can understand his love for Rama. After all, despite our differences, I am a recipient of such love.

Parting with a son—an ideal son at that—would rend the sturdiest of hearts. Parting with a son born of divine sacrifice would shatter the Strongest of Souls.

Oh Vishwamitra! Oh Sage! How could you? Did you think this was akin to attempting to wrench Kamadhenu from the great Vasishtha? You were wrong then and You are wrong now!

Oh Vishwamitra! Could you not find other Kshatriyas to safegaurd your sacrifice? Did you have to seek the Raghava? Divine will, or destiny, might have said he had to. Vishwamitra was only executing the will of the Brahman. Yet to a father, what worth is the universe if the son must be the price?

Mr. Debroy, would you have stood by if you were in that great Raghava’s position? Or would you have invited the wrath of the Warrior Saint?

There was never any fear for Rama’s life, of course. He was Rama. Rama of the Bow. And he had the greatest weapon of all. Lakshmana.

Oh Dasaratha! Did you think there was any reason to fear for Raghava’s life when Saumitra stood by him? As a child, listening to this story, I related to Lakshmana the most. Rama was God, I couldn’t relate to him. Anjaneya was no less divine. So Lakshmana became the focal point for my imagination. What did I care if Rama raised an impossibly heavy bow? I cheered for the arrows that left Lakshmana’s. With Lakshmana at his side, Raghava became Rama of legend.

I have no brothers, just a sister. We quarrel at times, but she is the centre of my existence. The thought of something happening to her shakes me to tears. Her name is Sthuthi Kiran—my parents have some strange affinity towards dual first names. I can understand how Lakshmana could forsake everything for Rama because I love Sthuthi just as much.

Mr. Debroy, how beautiful is the Ramayana in Sanskrit? I cannot explain why it brings someone who loathes religion to tears. Why do fools squabble over the thousands of retellings instead of just accepting one another and not forcing others to give up their Dharma? Why can they not see that Rama - My Rama, my Rama of the bow does not want them to destroy families? They dare. They dare go burn down a rendition of the Dasaratha Jataka because that is not their Rama!

Then their Rama is not Valmiki’s. He is not the Rama that Tulsidas speaks of. He is not the Rama that Kamban sang of. He is not the Rama that Hassankutty the Mad wrote of. The Rama that demands a temple to be built on the ruins of a mosque, is not my Rama. Mr. Debroy, my Rama is legion. My Ramas of the Bow are great beyond human ken. They are those Raghavas that chose to follow Vishwamitra into the forests to protect his pots from those that called themselves “Rakshasas”.

While the sages conduct their sacrifice and offer Oblations, Maricha, Subahu & Tataka attack in the veil of night. Armed with bala and adi bala, Rama & Lakshmana bear down upon the Rakshasas, destroying them, and leaving only Maricha alive. In the aftermath of their daring demonstration, possessing divine sight, Vishwamitra takes the two Raghavas to Mithila.

Mr. Debroy, I turn 32 this week and it is my mother’s great fear that I am never going to get married. I tell her to not worry because I am truly happy. I am happy and I believe that some day I will get married. But I refuse to marry someone just out of fear of being alone. I would rather wait till I find someone I love as much as Rama loves Sita. I would rather wait till I find someone who trusts me and loves me as much as Sita trusts and loves Rama.

I don’t feel worried. There is definitely someone out there, and if Urmila could wait for Lakshmana, so can I.

Oh Janaka! Did you know, when you found Mythili, that her sire would be the Lord of all the worlds? Did you know that Narayana would come for her hand? My mother tells me that Sita is an unlucky name for a girl. “It invites trouble.” Sita has the bad luck of being characterized as the damsel in distress, at least. But she is Sita. There is no Rama without Sita. Romeo and Juliet? If only I could sit down the Bard of Avon and tell him of Rama and Sita.

Stringing and destroying the Bow of Rudra, Rama wins Sita’s hand. At once Janaka sends word to Dasaratha. He was becoming a part of Ajaputra’s family. Would he have given Sita up if he knew what she would go through? How did he feel when he discovered what transgressed after the bride & groom returned to Ayodhya?

As Rama and his brothers wed the daughters of Janaka, Ayodhya rejoiced. High on the emotions from the marriage and overjoyed that his son was finally coming unto his own, Dasaratha made up his mind to declare Rama as King.

Oh Valmiki! Could you not give Raghava this happy ending? “If Rama did not go to the forests, he would not have destroyed the hoardes of Lanka.” My grandfather told me when I asked him why Rama had to go through what happened next. The Hero’s Journey, this is called. Greek playwrights would have lapped this up.

This time, I did not walk around Hampi too much. I alternated between the trees and the abandoned temple to Narayana; it was unbelievably hot. My first day there, I had to drink four glasses of sugarcane juice. Once I gained my reading pace, I didn’t move.

My maternal grandfather, Ramakrishna, had two wives. His first wife, Sumitra, died and he married my grandmother Lakshminarasamma. In all, he had 9 daughters and no sons. I was a Curious child, and I asked my grandmother where the first wife’s children were. Every time I asked, she said “Those scoundrels are in Chitradurga. They never visit.” And I foolishly assumed that was that.

I was wrong. My 2 eldest aunts, my grandmother’s favourite daughters were not her daughters. They were the daughters of the first wife. Mr. Debroy, I could not understand how happy Kaikeyee felt upon hearing about Rama’s Coronation when I was Young but now I can. I can because I remember how my grandmother cried when one of those two daughters died. And I remember how the other daughter cried when my grandmother died. I felt pain but that pain must have been a yojana greater. Mr. Debroy, I smiled at Kaikeyee’s jubiliation.

It is possible for a step mother to love a stepson more than she did her own. Then how could Manthara’s words sway her love? What Cruel god decided this was how Rama was to find his way? The Crooked hag reminds Kaikeyee that she has two boons from Dasaratha that she can exploit. Why?

Oh Kaikeyee! Why must you listen to Manthara? In Bharata’s absence, you assume he would want the throne! You were wrong! The throne is Rama’s! It can take no other. How can you forget your love for Rama & demand he be sent to the forests for 14 years? How could you believe Rama needed to be Sent away lest he coordinate a coup against Bharata? Oh Kaikeyee!

Do you not understand that in one moment, knowing what your heart - his mother’s heart - desires, Rama would Step away from the throne and become Bharata’s greatest advisor instead? Why must wealth of titles rend families apart?

Her vision & heart masked by Manthara’s words, Kaikeyee throws a fit & has Dasaratha begging her to tell him what she desires. Such an evil desire. Make Bharata the Crown Prince instead of Rama. Exile Rama to the forests to live as an ascetic for 14 years. Oh Ajaputra! How your heart must have quivered hearing that beautiful one utter these words!

How you must have cried, Raghava, recalling the curse of those blind, old brahmins! In your haste, you Killed their son, thinking him to be a forest creature, a deer. On Dasaratha! How does one begin to comprehend your sadness?

Oh Valmiki! Merely writing about these characters, my pen quivers. I can’t seem to spell words correctly, my thoughts & emotions race as I do so. How did you compose this magnificent tale? Adi Kavya indeed.

Summoned by Sumanthra to Kaikeyee’s chambers, Rama arrives to find his father in disarray. And Kaikeyee tells him what she asked Dasaratha to grant. Kakutstha acquiesces. He does not question her intent. Instantly, instantly. Dasaratha Knew nothing could Stop this now. If there was one person who would die to uphold Ajaputra’s promise, it was Rama. Truly nothing could stop this now.

Rama returns to his chambers and tells Janaki what has transpired. He tells her he must leave her. Oh Raghava! Did you think Mythili would let you live in the forests while she lived in Comfort? No. Sita follows her Rama, come what may. Mythili makes up her mind. She was going to the forest with Rama. This is Fate.

Resigning to the fact that there was no chance she would let him go alone, Rama tells Lakshmana. Mr. Debroy, is there any chance that Saumitra would have abandoned Rama to this fate? How could Neelamegha Shyama assume this? A Lakshmana follows his Rama. This is Dharma.

Oh Urmila! Is life not unjust to you? Why were you expected to wait 14 years as your husband went into self-imposed exile to be with his brother? Oh Janaka! You gave your daughters to the Sons of Ayodhya thinking they were going to live in comfort. How unfortunate are they! One goes to a forest, following after her exiled husband, while the other must wait for her husband to return.

Does a father that gives his daughter’s hand in marriage hope to find a match like Janaka did? How can he? One day, if I have a daughter, why would I want the fate of Janaka? Grandmothers tell their granddaughters to aspire for a husband like Rama. Why?

Is Sita not defined without her Rama? Or, is it Rama who is not defined without his Sita? Why? Can it not be simpler than this? Can they not exist as individuals and as a couple? Are they not separate yet one whole? Does Sanathana Dharma have to dictate that it is Rudra who gives Parvati half his body? Or is that another misconception by the masses of Bhakts who have not read either the Ramayana or the Mahabharata?

Before Bharata can return from his uncle’s kingdom, the two Raghavas and Janaki depart. And Dasaratha’s soul departs with them. Oh Kaushalya! Oh Sumitra! How your hearts must have shattered that day. To lose your husband and a son the same day! Oh Kaikeyee! Can you not see what you gave Bharata is not a throne but the seat of Damnation?

Sumanthra Sends for Bharata and the mighty Raghava arrives to an Ayodhya without a soul. Indeed! How could Ayodhya survive that loss? To lose three Raghavas in one day, what sins did the people Commit?

Condemning his mother’s heinous act, Bharata performs his father’s last rites. Oh Kaikeyee! You wanted Bharata to have all that should have been Rama’s? It is fitting then that it should begin thus, by lighting Ajaputra’s pyre. After the funeral, Bharata leaves to follow Rama & to bring him back.

Mr. Debroy, the scene in the Dasaratha Jataka where Bharata tells Rama of their father’s fate and the way in which Rama tells Sita and Lakshmana haunts me. As I sat in that abandoned temple, Hampi was full of pomp & decorated to celebrate the wedding of Virupaksha and Pampa. What a strange sight I must have been! I was in tears as Rama Cried for Ajaputra. He did not even get to perform his last rites.

Bharata beseeches him to return, offering to stay in the forest In his stead. But Rama would not budge. Alive or dead, Dasaratha’s word was set in stone. And Kodanda Rama would not let anyone break it, let alone do it himself. Realizing that this was a lost cause, Bharata asks for Rama’s sandals, holding them to his head.

Mr. Debroy, do you know why I read your translations in Pampakshetre? Because you don’t explain the gravitas of Bharata raising his brother’s sandals to his head. Other translators call it respect. I do not agree. If I wanted to respect your work, I would perform my morning Sandhya and Sit in a sunny spot in my house in the village to read your books. No. That is not what I will do, despite all my elders telling me so. Instead, I carry two water bottles with me, wear my favourite shirt & jeans, take a bus to the ruins, walk two kilometres to that abandoned spot, take my shoes off and sit on that rock under the shade of a neem tree and read.

And that is the difference between respect and what Bharata did to show his feelings for Rama. Bharata returns and decides to rule Ayodhya from a hermitage outside the city. Resolute, he lets his devotion for Rama guide him.

Rama, Lakshmana and Sita build themselves a hermitage down South, freeing the forest of the demon hordes that plagued it. How the sages deftly sent them southward, knowing what Rama’s mission truly was! In that hermitage, they were at peace. And then Shurpanaka rears her head.

Oddly, I found it amusing how she felt Sita was ugly. Why don’t more people understand this? One man’s Sita is another man’s Shurpanaka. Again. Why don’t people tell dark skinned girls that they are as gorgeous as Krishna Droupadi? Oh Lakshmana! Why did you defile her face? Why did you cut off her nose? Has the invisible hand of Kala taken control over you?

Angered, Shurpanaka hastens to her brother in Lanka. And, finally, we meet the antagonist of this story. Ravana. Ravanasura. My grandfather was fond of a Telugu film which showed Ravana in a different vein. He was one of the foremost devotees of Rudra, undertaking great penances to satiate Shiva. Apparently, Bhola Shankara needed rigourous oblations when invoked. Ravana cuts open his abdomen to play a macabre Veena for Shiva, Using his intestines for strings. Of course, I haven’t read any source that confirms this, the only Shiva Purana I have encountered is Ramesh Menon’s and I didn’t really enjoy it.

Yet what I mean is even Ravana can be so many things. Even he can be different things to different people. Brother. Father. King. God. Rakshasa. Demon. To the now defiled Shurpanaka, he was a protector of her pride. But she knew how to spin the tale so he would take bait. Sita. She had to seduce him with Sita. Ignite his imagination. So with the very tongue she’d used to tell the Raghavas that Sita was hideous, She tells Ravana how gorgeous Mythili was. And that brings Ravana’s twenty eyes alive. Oh Lankeshwara! Know your limits!

Mr. Debroy, which is your favourite scene with Ravana? I find him to be such an interesting character. I first discovered he was Kubera’s brother when I read Rishi Markandeya’s version of the Ramayana in your translation. Imagine my Surprise! I cannot dislike Ravana as a character really. I think he grows on you through rereads or retellings. He has an overbearing presence, and depth.

Together with his uncle Maricha, Ravana hastens to the hermitage as despite Maricha’s arguments, he forces him to guise himself as a golden doe. Thus the die has been cast. It was like I could hear Shakuni exclaim “I have won.” all over again. Even as Raghava tells her he has a bad feeling about the doe, Janaki demands he go and bring it back for her. How strange! What maya brought about this change in Mythili? So unlike her to throw a tantrum. Rama leaves Lakshmana with clear instructions. Do not leave Sita alone. But Maricha’s deception tricked Janaki.

Oh Saumitra! Did your heart break when your brother’s wife accused you of wanting him dead? Or did it break when she accused you of lusting after her? Surely your heart could not survive one of these allegations, let alone two. Heh. Allegation isn’t a tenth as powerful as the word आरोपण. One day, I will learn Sanskrit. Your translations beep with your love for the language, and that is truly inspiring.

Advising her to not leave the hermitage, Lakshmana leaves to investigate the voice that Called out for him. It sounded like Kakutstha! but Saumitra knew his brother was far too great to fall before a lowly Rakshasa’s Maya. And as Mythili is alone, Sans a protector, Dashagriva appears, in the guise of a medicant. “भवति भिक्षां देहि।”, he exclaims, with all the fake fervour of modern day Godmen. And Sita goes to give him alms.

Oh Bhumi! Couldn’t you raise a mountain between your daughter and the Brother of Kubera? Why couldn’t you protect her? Did you fear Dashanana so much that you couldn’t protect Mythili?

By the time the two Raghavas could return, Janaki is Kidnapped. Oh Saumitra! Did you have a heart left to hear Rama’s admonishment & Survive? I could not survive a hundredth - no! a millionth of your pain.

Oh Maricha! Death by an arrow from Raghava’s quiver is a direct path to Moksha. But instead of tricking him, could you not have sought his mercy? The mere sight of Kakutstha is as cooling as the evening clouds.

As Dashanana carries Janaki away, her eyes swell up with tears. Her cries call the attention of Jatayu. The First Among the Birds Swoops to save Janaki. He attacks Dashagriva, proving a worthwhile adversary. But even his assault does not last long in the face of the powerful Lankeshwara. How Jatayu must have felt! Garuda was Vishnu-Vahana. He was mighty enough for Narayana to trust. Jatayu couldn’t even protect this Narayana’s Consort! If Ravana’s blows hurt, how much must this realization have hurt! I cannot bear to imagine his pain! Jatayu alone deserves a lament worthy of the tongue of Valmiki.

What then of Raghava? Oh Rama! My Kodanda Rama! How long did you cry for Mythili’s sake? In how many pieces did your Shattered heart break apart after returning to that empty hermitage? Mr. Debroy, I have not had the best luck with love to be honest but if rejection is akin to loss, then I can fathom a billionth of Rama’s pain.

As a child reading Rajaji’s Ramayana, I focussed on the battle. I loved the conflict in the story that my Grandfather told me. Now, a few days from my 32nd birthday, I find myself absorbed in the pain of the characters. If Jaya is about Dharma, then the Adikavya is all about the colours of human emotion. It is about Dharma too, but it is about how Dharma and emotion intertwine. It is about loss. And it is about devotion to a cause.

In their search for Janaki, the two Raghavas venture further down South, visiting Shabari. Shabari. If one character in our itihasa must be synonymous with selfless devotion, is that character not Shabari? Ekalavya comes to mind, but he is the student. A tragic one. Oh mother! What did Rama do for you to warrant such devotion?

Further South Rama & Lakshmana venture, and they reach the Pampa. My home. Mr. Debroy, the Raghavas had come to my home. Again, lest you think me religious, I am not. I turn my back to religion because of how ugly it has become. But, Mr. Debroy, I cannot hold back my tears when I think of Rama’s first steps on the soil of Hampi. Is this fanaticism? Is this the same feeling that leads to the destruction of Mosques? I’d rather compose a ballad.

And here, in the land of the golangulas (I refuse to call them langoors now, thank you), they meet Anjaneya. “Hanuman”. Pavana Kumara. Hanumat. An avatar of Rudra, some call him. I once watched a direct-to-dvd movie adaptation of the Chinese Journey to the West. In it Sun Wukong is the Monkey King, “the Monkey”. Sun Goku in some places. How scandalized would some bhakts be if one were to wonder if Monkey was some distant adaptation of the Story of Anjaneya? Plenty, I’d wager. Again, why would a new retelling take away from a God’s divinity? Why can my ballad not add to your God’s glory? Imagine if Kalidasa was told to stop writing the Raghuvamsam!

In Kishkinda, land of the Vanaras, the Raghavas form an alliance with Sugreeva. Rama promises to help him slay Vali. As I sat by the hill of Rishi Matanga, I gazed around at the gigantic boulders and wondered. Hampi is all about balance. It is about carefully balancing the best & worst things about life. One can’t help but wonder if the boulders were carefully balanced atop one another by Some mighty Vanara to remind us of this. Perhaps Anjaneya resides here still, jumping from boulder to boulder, laughing at tourists listening to the lying tour guides. Perhaps, in golangula fashion, he steals away the bananas we leave for a rock we think to be his form, jeering at us as we admonish him for stealing Anjaneya’s prasadam. If idols could eat bananas, all the Golangulas of Pampakshetre would go hungry.

Vali. I feel Vali deserved a better opponent than Sugreeva. If only he’d faced Hanumat in a fight! Now that would have been a fight worthy of Jarasandha and Bhima. But to preserve Sugreeva’s dignity, Anjaneya could not fight Vali for him. And so, Raghava shoots vali from behind a tree. Vali Calls him out, asking him what Dharma compelled him to do this. Truly. What Dharma compelled Raghava to do this? Kakutstha explains. Vali’s greed and his snatching of Sugreeva’s wife lost him the right to a fair fight. Ah Raghava! I see that already you are versed in the tongue of Vasudeva.

In the aftermath of Vali’s death, Sugreeva becomes King and he too fails Dharma, just as he fails Kakutstha. Oh Sugriva! What honour have you now? As Vali took Ruma, you think it your right to bed with Tara. Such hypocrisy does not become you, Oh King!

What then of your word to Rama, your Oath? Do you not know honour? Do you not understand Dharma?

If Rama must come to you, oh Vanara, then know that the time has passed. If Kodanda Rama, that patient one, turns impatient, know then that it is too late. Oh Vanara! Save your face! Save the name of the denizens of Pampa Kshetre. I wonder if this is my lineage. Word breaking Vanaras? Do not incur the wrath of Saumitra, Oh King! Listen to the words of Tara. Listen to her and beg Rama’s forgiveness. The time for cavorting has passed. It is time to find Janaki.

In all directions, the Vanaras hasten to hunt for anyone who knew where Janaki was. As Angada’s troop venture further South, time and again these Vanaras are dismayed & lose hope. Oh Valiputra! It is true. If you could not find Mythili, it would be best to die rather than deliver that fell news to Kakutstha!

And then, with Sampathi’s assistance they discover that Janaki was taken across the Seemingly endless sea to Lanka. But Lanka was too far to leap to. Jambavan Could not leap So far. Neither Could Angada. But there was one who, the wind god willing, could. There was one Vanara whose powers were boundless. As a child, he’d tried to gulp down the sun. As a child, he had gained the blessings of all the gods. As a child, he had already gained the name Chiranjeeva.

Oh Anjani Putra! Oh Maruthi! Remember. Remember how powerful you are. Remember whose blood flows through your veins. Oh Anjaneya! Realize your destiny. Leap to Lanka & find Sita! Bring word of her to Raghava. Tell her that Kakutstha will come for her.

Hanumat, fuelled by his desire to serve Rama, grows to his true potential, rising above all the Vanaras, rivalling mountains in size. It is so odd. Rama can bring out that in us which we Choose to fuel. Why do so many choose to fuel the worst in themselves? Or does a different Rama, not born of Kaushalya, whisper in their ears?

Hanumat chose to fuel his strength, his resilience and his wisdom. I wonder what I choose to fuel. I have relatives who think my way is a sin. They do not read the epics and they choose to judge me. I cannot live a lie. It is not my Dharma to follow prayers and rituals blindly. I’d rather read the epics under a tree. I’d rather live one full day than attain moksha by reciting Shlokas I do not yet understand.

Hanumat leaps, travelling yojanas in mere seconds. His mind has one purpose: to find Janaki. Not even the terrible Lankini can stand in his way. No. Find her he must. And find her he does. Sundara Kanda. Mr. Debroy, I have been hearing that name for years. My relatives read it around Hanumat Jayanthi. Like one does with the Gita, it seems. Read separately. But reading of Hanumat’s journey and his conversations with Mythili out of context seems like an even bigger fallacy than it does reading Krishna’s words to a hesitant Partha. In the Gita’s case at least, it is understandable. How many times it must be read before one realizes one does not understand a tenth of it!

The Sundara Kanda, like the exchange between Shurpanaka and the Raghavas, made me want to someday read this story in it’s original form.

No one knows what Rama looks like? Such rubbish! One need only read Anjaneya’s words to see Neelamegha Shyama before one’s eyes! Oh Vaidehi! Do you doubt that this vanara, this ape, comes from your Raghava? Then hearken! Rama. Janaki Vallabha Rama has eyes like the petals of a lotus. Perhaps he is one who Supreme Lakshmi favours! Kakutstha’s shoulders are broad. Perhaps he was born to bear the weight of the world. Raghava’s Complexion is soothing. The worlds rest in the shade of his existence.

How could anyone claim they do not know what Dasarathi Rama looks like after reading the Sundara Kanda? With soothing words, Anjaneya promises Vaidehi that Raghava would soon arrive. Eased hearing the Vanara’s words, Janaki gives Hanumat her chudamani, to give to Rama. Anjaneya considers saving her himself but here, Valmiki’s plot stops him. Sita Could fall from his back. Or perhaps it was just that Saving the damsel was the protagonist’s job.

Yet, the Vanara could not depart without paying Lankeshwara his due respect. I wonder how Anjaneya could even get “caught” if he did not want to be. The Great Ravana must have been scandalized. A “monkey” causing this much chaos.

I have always loved the popular version of this scene. Ravana and his men are all seated and Anjaneya is in chains, forced to look up at Dashagriva. However, he uses his tail, stretching it out to make himself a high seat. How the Valmiki Ramayana has been told and retold! Angered, Ravana has Hanumat’s tail set aflame. However that only gives Anjaneya a new weapon. Setting most of Lanka aflame, Anjaneya once again leaps across the ocean to return to Rama.

Mr. Debroy, it is curious how many misconceptions - that isn’t the right word - I’ve had about the Ramayana. I thought it was obvious to Ravana why this Vanara vame to Lanka. It was interesting to see that it took Ravana a while he had to realize that Anjaneya left Ashoka vana intact.

If, as a writer, I must appreciate Jaya for one thing, I have said that it is the way such a story flows. Rhythm is hard to do so for even short tales let alone the Mahabharata. If I were to pick one thing I like about the Adikavya, it would be its suspense. An Indian knows that it is the story of Rama. An Indian knows it involves Anjaneya. But amidst the thousands of versions, does one truly know what Valmiki wrote?

As I have been writing this letter, I spend time pondering this. I spoke to a cousin who attends classes in the vedas. She said despite us belonging to a primarily Tamil Brahmin subcaste, we do not follow the Kamba Ramayana. We follow Valmiki’s version. “The original,” she said, with confidence.

I can’t help but wonder. Can anyone say which of these thousand versions is the original? A.K. Ramanujan’s essay is entitled Three Hundred Ramayanas. Is there one fact that links all of these? The only thing that springs to my mind is the image of that old man in the bus. My Rama is the Rama of the Bow! Indeed.

Despite Vibhishana’s entreaty, Dashagriva does not return Sita. Despite the words of his spies, who saw Rama begin to Gross the ocean on a bridge of rocks, Dashanana does not falter. Did he think his boon was so strong? In his request to the Supreme Grandfather, he asked that no god or asura, no beast or yaksha, no gandharva or rakshasa be able to slay him. Ego. He thought no manava could slay him.

Ravana! Your ego alone undid you! Oh Dashanana! Can you not hear Mandodari’s lament? Her cries flow through time itself. Think of your brothers! Kubera is disappointed in you. Kumbhakarna will fall. His girth is no protection from the arrow heads of the Raghavas. Did you think Indrajit’s rituals would protect him? Oh you fool! Anjaneya can lift mountains to fetch herbs so that he can save Lakshmana. What can you do?

Oh Ravana! Repent, and rejoice. The Noose of Yama comes to you from the Bow of Kodanda Rama. A man! A man, Oh Ravana! Did you not say they were no danger to you? Why did you think any boon could protect you. Even Hiranyakashipus most carefully worded boon could not save him from Narayana. As Narasimha, Vishnu fulfilled every single clause. What law school did Narasimha come from, one must wonder.

Oh Lankeshwara! Your fall will free the three worlds. Fall! Fall before Kakutstha! Mr. Debroy, Ravana’s fall did not bring me the tears I shed for Suyodhana. Suyodhana deserved to die for what he’d done, but one can’t help but sympathize with him. Yet, I could hear Mandodari’s cries. How I wish I could read her lament in Sanskrit!

In the aftermath of the battle, as Mythili is brought to him, Rama says the unthinkable! He tells her he only came here to restore his honour by freeing her. He tells her to go where she wishes, he will not “take her back.”

Oh Rama! Why must you test Vydehi after all she has been through? Do you doubt that Ravana’s ten heads would have exploded had he tried to rape her? On Raghava who do you think she was? Sita would sooner set herself aflame than be with another man. What need is there for her to prove her piety? But then again, if she had been abused by Dashanana, how is that her fault? Oh Rama! She made no mistake!

Sita’s entire story must haunt everyone who has a daughter. To be married to the best of men, to follow him to his darkest hour, to be harassed by other men and to be “saved” only to be accused of “impurity”! Oh Purushottama! What do you care for the thoughts of others? How can you put Janaki through this test? test of fire.

Rama. Can I have a Rama that hugged Sita the moment he saw her? Can my Rama tell anyone who accused her to keep their wretched opinions to themselves? Can my Rama be kinder to Sita, not because she is a “woman” or because she is of “the weaker sex”, but because she trusted him and because trust should beget trust? Can my Rama too, exist amidst these thousands of other Ramas?

My grandfather’s first wife, Sumitra Devi, loved my grandfather beyond reason. In those days, a wife could not show affection for her husband in front of elders. She loved her Ramakrishna so much that she wrote him love letters. She cited the epics in those letters, and despite not being related to her by blood, it breaks my heart to think about how she must have felt. “Oh Natha!” She wrote, “Gangeya took an oath of Celibacy and was thus named Bhishma of the Terrible Oath. What Oath have I taken that I cannot express my love to you whenever I want?”

Mr. Debroy, the Ramayana is beautiful. And I wish it could show more people to love like Sita loved Rama. If we should respect our epics, we should through love and reasoning.

After an unfortunate miscarriage, Sumitra Devi went mad. Her hysteria seeped with her love for Rama Krishna, killing her. My grandmother is said to have been possessed by her spirit when she was pregnant for the first time. It was only after they decided to name their first child Sumitra Devi that she was freed. How our itihasa has the power to change us. I wish it could bring more people to learn reason, and to learn to love.

As I read your books, golangulas visited me every day. No Cows came - I wasn’t reading about their gopala after all.

How it must feel to sit in a place like Hampi and write or sing a story of Rama! Inspiration flows like the Pampa there. Mr. Debroy, I cannot express enough thanks. I owe you more than I can ever explain.

These past two years, I have been working my hardest at my job, exploding with creativity. Any time I am tired, I look at your books, which rest atop my shelves in their own section, and I remind myself that I must go on. I love my job, and I love to write.

As I have written before, I am also going to write a book about Rama. It will be a children’s book with a collection of uncommon stories of Rama as told by grandparents around the Indian subcontinent. And I have decided on a working title. “Ramas of the Bow”. I am not writing about my feelings for the Uttara Kanda because I felt that the fall of Ravana and Sita’s test was a good place to stop.

I hope this letter wasn’t too long. My mother tells me that you’ll not have the time to read it. Forgive me If it was very long.

I am sending you a small sculpture of the Stone Chariot. In these two years, Sir, you have sort of become my guru, if you’ll have me. This is my gurudakshina. Please accept this, along with my साष्टांग नमस्कार. I await the release of your translation of the Bhagavat Purana.

Thank you.

Please extend my deepest regards to your family as well.

Yours sincerely,

Vinay Keerthi