Rāma Viraha Vilāpa (Tulasī Rāmāyaṇa)

Sītā had disappeared from the āśrama at Pañchavaṭī on the Godāvarī. Bhagavān Rāma then wandered through the Daṇḍakāraṇya, looking for his beloved and calling out to her. The Tulasī Rāmāyaṇa tells this viraha-vilāpa (lament of separation) in one of the most deeply felt passages of the Araṇya Kāṇḍa. It is especially known for the way Rāma speaks to the birds, animals, flowers and trees of the forest.

Bhagavān Śiva, telling this to Pārvatī, says plainly that it was part of the avatāra-līlā (the divine play of the avatāra). Rāma is the all-knowing, all-pervading Brahman. Out of kindness he chose to act out the grief of an ordinary human. He did this to teach the world the result of the three kāma-vyasanas (harmful desires) that bring a man to ruin, and to further the divine purpose of Rāvaṇa’s destruction.

Discovery of the empty āśrama

Rāmacandra had killed the golden deer, Mārīcha, and was turning back toward the āśrama. On the path he met Lakshmaṇa coming toward him. Lakshmaṇa was alone, and had left Sītā unguarded in the āśrama, in a forest where rākshasas lived. Rāma was at once filled with a terrible fear. In a sorrowful voice he asked Lakshmaṇa why he had left Jānakī alone. Lakshmaṇa folded his hands and replied only that he was not at fault.

The two brothers hurried to the parṇaśālā (leaf hut). When they arrived, they found the āśrama silent and empty. Sītā was nowhere to be found. Rāma stood in the doorway and looked at the empty āśrama, and he was overcome.

“Like a common man who has lost everything, overcome by the loss, the king of Kosala gave way to the grief of separation and began to weep like an ordinary mortal.”

Rāma searched the forest in every direction. At every tree, thicket, stream and rock face he called out for Sītā:

“My Jānakī! My Sītā! My Sītā of beauty, virtue and good character! My very life! Where have you gone? Where are you? Who has seen you?”

He asked every living creature and every still thing he met: the trees, the vines, the birds, the insects, the deer. He wept. He looked into the undergrowth. He climbed the rocks and called from the heights. He turned over the fallen leaves. Lakshmaṇa followed him helplessly. He tried in a hundred ways to calm and comfort Rāma, and failed completely.

The lament to the creatures of the forest

In a well-known verse, Rāmacandra spoke in his distress to the birds and animals of the forest:

Hē khaga mṛga madhukara śrēnī! Tumha dekhī Sītā mṛganayanī! Khaṃjana śuka kapōta mṛga mīnā! Madhupanī-kara kōkilā prabīnā! Kundakalī dāḍimā dāminī! Kamala śarada śaśi ahi bhāminī! Baruna pāśa manoja dhanuhaṃsā! Gaja kesarī nija sunata prasaṃsā!

The meaning: O flocks of birds! O deer! O swarms of bees! Have you seen Sītā of the deer eyes? O wagtail, parrot, dove, deer, fish! O swarms of bees and skilful koel! O jasmine bud, pomegranate flower, lightning! O autumn lotus, moon, snake’s beloved! O snare of Varuṇa, bow of Manmatha, O swan! O elephant, O lion who rejoices to hear your own praise, tell me, where is Sītā?

He spoke to each tree and flower in turn, asking whether it had seen his beloved pass by. The whole forest, silent and unmoved, gave no answer.

Śiva’s words to Pārvatī

Śiva, telling this scene to Pārvatī, pauses to explain its inner meaning:

“O Giriputrī! Rāma is *triguṇātīta (beyond the three guṇas), sarvāntaryāmī (the all-pervading inner guide), and Jaganmitraka (friend of the whole world). Yet he acted out this lament of separation, calling out like a man longing for his wife, to show the result of desire and to fulfil the great purpose of Rāvaṇa’s destruction. This was not ordinary grief but divine līlā.”*

Elsewhere in the Araṇya Kāṇḍa, Rāma speaks to Nārada at Pampā Sarovara. He himself describes this grief as the feeling that Manmatha (the deva of desire) stirs in the heart. Even a wise man is not free from the pull of kāma (desire) when separation strikes. But in Rāma’s case the apparent grief hid the divine witness, who stayed unmoved beneath all appearance.

Finding Jaṭāyu

The viraha-vilāpa went on as Rāma searched the forest, calling Sītā’s name in every glade and thicket. In the course of this search he came upon the badly wounded Jaṭāyu, lying in his own blood and saying Rāma’s name (nāma) in a weak voice. This sight pushed aside Rāma’s own grief for a moment, and tenderness for the faithful eagle took its place. The eagle had given everything to protect Sītā. Rāma lifted the bird in his own arms and wept for him. He wept not for himself but for the old eagle who lay dying for love of Rāma’s wife.

Sources

  • Tulasī Rāmāyaṇa, Araṇya Kāṇḍa