Valmiki's RamayanaCh. 1 · The First Verse
1 / 15
I was an old man before I made my first verse.
Before that, I had only a question.
Narayana. You look troubled, hermit.
Is there a man alive who is good all the way through?
Brave, and still kind. Wise, and never cruel.
One. I only need one.
There is one. Of Ikshvaku's line.
They call him Rama.
Tell me everything.
Not everything, hermit. Enough.
He told me the outline of a life.
He left out the parts that would hurt.
Not far from the Ganga runs the Tamasa.
Look how clear it is.
Clear as a good man's heart.
On the bank, two cranes were dancing.
They were not afraid of me. Why would they be?
mā niṣāda pratiṣṭhāṃ tvam agamaḥ śāśvatīḥ samāḥ
yat krauñca-mithunād ekam avadhīḥ kāma-mohitam
Hunter, may you find no rest for endless years,
for you killed one of a loving pair.
What did I just say?
Four lines. Equal feet. It has a measure.
It came out of grief. Śoka.
Let it be called śloka.
As you say, teacher.
All the way home I said it over and over.
A hermit does not curse a man.
But it was beautiful, teacher.
That is what frightens me.
At dusk, the Creator came to my hut.
...one of a loving pair...
That verse came by my will, best of sages.
Now tell the life of Rama.
All of it. Even what Narada left out.
Even the parts that hurt?
What is hidden will be shown to you.
And no word of it will be false.
As long as rivers run and mountains stand,
they will sing it.
I sipped water, sat facing the east, and closed my eyes.
And it lay in my hand like a fruit.
A birth.
A bow no one could bend.
A forest. Fourteen years.
A bridge across the sea.
A war. A homecoming. A crown.
And then I saw the end.
She walked up from the river toward a hermitage.
Mine.
Ten years ago a woman had come up that path, alone, with child.
I never asked her name.
Teacher? You were crying.
What did you see?
I had just seen their father.