The Mother

THE MOTHER
(A Story) ¹

(Rendered from the Tamil by K. Sampathgiri Rao and Navaratna Rama Rao)

Long ago, before the events of the Ramayana story had come to pass, Sri Devi, her Mother’s heart full of divine pity, asked Mahavishnu: “Beloved Lord, why do wails of pain and of sorrow come incessantly from the world of men? Why do mortals suffer thus? Don’t they know that it is all your Divine Play, your Maya?”

A smile softened the sublimity of Mahavishnu’s face and sweetly came his reply:

“My own beloved, your question comes to me somewhat as a surprise, as I thought you knew all about it.”

“No, My Lord! I have not understood this at all. Why should wise people give way to grief when they know that joy and grief are but the play of Divine Maya? Have not many seers fully taught this truth to the people of the earth? Is it not proclaimed in the Upanishad verses with their solemn melody, and in the beautiful Vedic chants which rise to heaven from the world of men? Why then these wails of anguish and pain?”

Mahavishnu remained silent for a moment, and then replied: “We shall do one thing, Beloved. The Devas and Rishis have laid on me a task, which will mean my being with them on earth for some time. If you also will go with me, your doubt will be cleared better than mere words could do it, by seeing and living the life of earthly beings. Will you accompany me to the Earth?”

Mahalakshmi agreed with joy. “There is no need to ask me. Your least wish is my law and sole delight.”

During His previous visits to the World of men Mahavishnu had not taken Sri Devi. “It is but a brief visit, and remember I shall also be here all the time,” the Omnipresent Lord used to say, and He could be an incarnation on earth in all His glory while remaining also with Mahalakshmi all the while. He did this because nothing is impossible to Him.

Now His proposal that they should both go to the mortal world made Sri Devi rejoice greatly; and filled her with enthusiasm.

“Yes, We shall go,” she said. In the Divine world, a thought becomes a fact; a flower ripens into fruit without intervention of time.

King Janaka was preparing the ground for a Divine sacrifice. He was himself guiding the plough, as even kings used to do in those days, and was watching the shapely furrows with all a husbandman’s pride. When lo! in the soft deep new-turned earth he beheld a babe of such loveliness as is not of this world. This was scarcely wonderful, for Sri Devi herself had taken birth as that babe. Janaka was overwhelmed with joy, gathered up the beautiful babe to his bosom and took it to his queen, saying “Look! This is the gift of Mother Earth”. The babe grew in beauty of body and mind as the days passed. She was Sita.

As the same time, old King Dasatatha of the solar line, longing for progeny, performed a big sacrifice. From the sacrificial Fire arose like a flame a Divine figure holding a gold vessel full of Payasam ² which he offered to Dasaratha with this message from the gods: “Let your Queens drink this, and they shall have children.”

Dasaratha rejoiced at the fulfillment of a long-cherished desire. Saluting the Divine figure with grateful reverence, he took the gold vessel into his hands, and without placing it on theground or decanting its contents into other vessels, he sought to distribute the gift of the gods among his queens, bearing in his mind their claims and seniority. The Payasam was a Divine gift, and it would be sacrilege to pour it into baser receptacles even for apportionment. So he first went to Kausalya.

“You take a half of this,” he said.

She drank a half of the quantity, and returned the vessel to Dasaratha. The King desired that all his queens should bear children. He next approached Sumitra: “You drink half of this,” he said. Sumitra was a lady of great understanding, modest, devoted, and the very embodiment of gentleness and peace. “Has Kausalya had her share?” she asked and, having learned that the Elder Queen had been served, she drank half of what remained in the vessel and gave it to her Lord, requesting that it should be given to Kaikeyi too.

Dasaratha took the vessel and went to Kaikeyi.

“I am distributing this gift of the gods to all three of you because I wish you all to bear children and make me happy. Drink; half of this,” said the King. She was the youngest of the queens and entitled to the smallest share. That was why he adopted this method of distribution. Kaikeyi took her share and returned the vessel to the King. He again went to Sumitra and gave her the eighth part that remained after Kakeyi had drunk out of the vessel. The King was greatly gratified at the realisation of this long-felt wish and was looking forward eagerly to the blessed event, the birth of children in his household.

In due course all the queens bore children. To Kausalya was born the Crown Prince, Ramacharidra. Kaikeyi bore Bharata. As Sumitra had drunk the Payasam twice, she gave birth to beautiful twins, who were named Lakshmana and Satrughna. Lakshmana was brought up with Rama and grew deeply devoted to him. He was the fruit of the first portion drunk by Sumitra. The fruit of the eighth portion drunk by her after Kaikeyi had taken her share was Satrughna, who grew up with Bharata and became his bosom friend and inseparable companion.

What happened later has been narrated beautifully to the world by Valmiki, Kamban, Tulasi Das and others. Sita was won by Rama and became his life’s partner. Was she not Sri Dev come upon the earth to realise the true import of sorrow and suffering on earth? Alas, she realised it in all its sharpness. No teacher taught it her out of books. She learnt her lessons amidst life’s hard realities, and herself passed through the fire. If one learns of suffering through a mere study of words and books, can one ever realise its full significance? But going through the bitter experience of exile, fear, and unmerited disgrace, her heart broken by unjust accusations and sudden partings from those dearer life itself, she realised what people here below have to go through in their passage through this vale of tears. The world, indeed, has few sorrows that did not fall to the lot of Sita herself as the spouse of Rama in His incarnation upon the earth.

The status of kingship which was almost in Rama’s grasp was snatched away, and faded like a dream. Not willing to be separated from her husband she accompanied Him to the forest. And there she was assailed by delusive temptations to which she had before been a stranger. “Get me the golden deer,” she importuned like a willful child. To Lakshmana, the very embodiment of selfless devotion, she spoke cruel words charged with unworthy suspicion and drove him away in bitter tears on what he knew to be a fool’s errand. She was carried away by Ravana, wailing in helpless anguish–indeed, she who was Lakshmi herself wailed and sobbed like any mortal. She had the great grief of seeing the chivalrous Jatayu slain in unequal combat in an attempt to rescue her. Then she was confined, a prisoner in Lanka. A year passed and seeing no hope of deliverance, she was about to put an end to her life when Hanuman appeared before her. “I have deliverance, at last,” she felt, and rejoiced.

As she had expected, her husband came, and killed Ravana and destroyed the Rakshasa hordes. Her deliverance was come but no joy came with it. A messenger was sent to fetch her from the Asoka grove where she was imprisoned. She went with a vague and inexpressible dread. And what did she see? Not the joyful face of her welcoming Lord Buta hard, stern countenance; instead of words of love instinct with emotions, she heard a cold hard voice which said: “Let me have proof that you have not swerved from the path of virtue.” When she who was Sri Devi incarnated as Sita heard this, she thought within herself: “Alas! Now I realise indeed the full import of grief.”

She entered into the flaming fire which was to test her, but the God of Fire became soft and cool in worship of her matchless purity. She emerged triumphant from all trials and returned to their city. But her sorrows were not over. Some people of the city spoke slightingly of her as one who had been a prisoner of a lustful Rakshasa. She who had passed through the fiery ordeal was not beyond the reach of their poison-tongues; and she burned with shame. (It is difficult for me even to proceed with the story at  this point.) “Why do falsehood and illusion trouble the people of the world?” had been her old question. Here was an answer to it in her own bitter experience. Sita was exiled to the forest, when she was about to become a mother. In this state women subject to various fancies and longings, and it seems she expressed a yearning to go to the forest and recapture the young happy days of her life with Rama. Advantage was taken of this to send her on a second and crueller exile. Recognition of her unsullied purity came only when, weary with trials, she was received into the soothing arms of the Mother who had given her birth.

The Incarnation was over. All illusions were past. We come again to the Ocean of Milk where reposes Mahavishnu. “Lord, I have now, realised what sorrow is,” said Sri Devi. “I have realised, as never before, the power of Maya. Henceforth it shall be my task to attend, to mortals in pain and sorrow, and wipe their tears and plead for them. Yours must be to save them,” she said. Bhagavati, Iswari; Sri Devi, Lakshmi, Gowri, Parvati are different names for the compassionate Mother of the Universe who dwells in the presence of the Lord and is the Dispenser of His mercy. Hers is the Mother’s heart–compassionate, for as Sita she had known pain, and sweet with an infinite love of which the purest earthly mother-love is a particle.

The Mother, came down to the earth, and experienced the sufferings and sorrows of the mortal world. She knows all our sufferings. We need, therefore, have no fear of them. It is enough if we pour forth our prayers out of a full and a contrite heart.

¹ The story was written by Sri Rajaji and sent as a gift on the occasion of the wedding of Sowbhagyavati Tangam, granddaughter of Sri T. K. Chidambaranatha Mudaliar.
² A kind of sweet porridge.