Kevaṭa Gaṅgā Taraṇa

Kevaṭa was a ferryman on the Gaṅgā. In the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa of the Tulasī Rāmāyaṇa, he would not ferry Bhagavān Rāma, Sītā and Lakshmaṇa across the river until he had washed Rāma’s lotus-feet with his own hands. His reason sounded like rustic wit, but it came from pure devotion. A simple man received what great ṛshis seek through lifetimes of tapas (austerity): the chance to wash the feet of Bhagavān Rāma with his own hands.

Background: the exile and the Gaṅgā crossing

Rāma accepted his father’s command and went to the forest for fourteen years. He left Ayodhyā with Sītā and his devoted younger brother Lakshmaṇa. The charioteer Sumantra drove them as far as he could. Then Rāma sent him back to comfort Daśaratha.

From there, Nishādapati Guha went with them. He was the king of the forest people and a devoted friend of Rāma. He took them to the bank of the Gaṅgā near Śṛṅgaverapura.

The Gaṅgā lay before them, holy, wide and beautiful. Rāma sent word to the ferryman who kept the boat at that crossing.

The ferryman’s request

Kevaṭa came and stood before Rāma with folded hands. His heart was full of devotion that knew how to make itself useful. He had heard of Ahalyā. She was a great ascetic woman who had been cursed to remain a stone. The mere touch of the dust of Rāma’s foot on that stone had brought her back to full human life. A stone, harder than wood, had become a living woman by that holy touch.

Kevaṭa looked at the wooden planks of his boat and at the lotus-feet of the one who stood before him. He spoke with plain simplicity:

“Prabhu Rāma! I have heard that the dust of your feet can change any substance into a woman. The proof stands before us. Your foot-dust touched a hard stone and it became a lovely human being. My boat is made of wood, which is softer than stone. If you put your foot on it, my boat too will become a woman. This boat, Prabhu Rāma, is my only living. With it I feed my wife and children. I am not refusing to carry you across. I only beg your leave to wash your feet first with my own hands. Grant me this, and I will take you across without taking even a cowrie shell as payment. Even if your brother raises his bow against me, I will not let you into the boat until I have washed those feet.”

The grace that descended

Rāma heard these words, full of bhakti (devotion) and spoken in the plain speech of a riverman. He looked at Sītā and Lakshmaṇa with a smile of both recognition and delight.

He had freed Ahalyā by the grace of simply walking. His three great strides had measured the whole universe in the Vāmana avatāra. His name, spoken even once, lets a jīva (living being) cross the boundless ocean of saṃsāra (the cycle of birth and death). That same Bhagavān Rāma now stretched out his lotus-foot to the hands of a boatman.

Kevaṭa brought a wooden vessel filled with Gaṅgā-jala (water of the Gaṅgā) and knelt before Rāma. With trembling hands and a heart too full of joy for words, he began to wash Rāma’s feet. His humble hands touched the lotus-feet of Hari, and the holy water of the Gaṅgā touched Hari’s toenails. The Gaṅgā herself, ever pure and ever flowing, thrilled with a joy she had not known even in the washing of brāhmaṇas’ feet through countless ages.

In the sky above, the devas and siddhas who had gathered to see Rāma’s exile were spellbound. A rain of divine flowers fell on the ferryman. No great ṛshi had gained this by tapas alone: the right to wash the lotus-feet of Bhagavān Rāma and drink the pāda-tīrtha (the water that has washed the feet) with one’s own hands. This simple man of the river had gained it by the artless courage of his love.

Kevaṭa, his wife and his children drank the pāda-tīrtha. They were made pure for countless lives to come.

The crossing and the refusal of payment

After this most holy act of pādāvalambana (holding the feet), Kevaṭa took Rāma, Sītā, Lakshmaṇa and Guha safely across the wide Gaṅgā to the far shore. He then stood before Rāma with folded hands. His wish was fulfilled and he asked for nothing.

Rāma had entered the forest without worldly goods. He felt the distress of a host who cannot honour his guest properly. Sītā always knew what moved in her husband’s heart. She quietly slipped a precious ring from her own finger and put it in Rāma’s hand to give to the ferryman.

Rāma held out the ring. Kevaṭa did not take it. He gently held Rāma’s feet and said:

“Prabhu Rāma! What have I not received this day? My pāpa (sin) is destroyed. My sorrow is gone. My disease is healed. My poverty is ended. All of it came by the *darśana (sight) and sparśana (touch) of Bhagavān Rāma. The fruit of all my years of work on this river has been given to me today. What more do I need from you? When you return from the forest, whatever you give me then, I will receive it with honour. Now please accept my praṇāma (bow) and bless me.”*

Rāma was moved by the pure refusal. He gave Kevaṭa akshaya bhakti (inexhaustible devotion). It would stay with him through births and deaths, through all the turning of time.

Sources

• Tulasī Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa