“Where Is Vaidehi?”

Seeing Lakshmana downcast and empty, come without Vaidehi, righteous Rama, son of Dasharatha, asks: “Where is that Vaidehi, Lakshmana, who followed me when I set out for the Dandaka forest, whom you have left to come here? Where is my slender-waisted Vaidehi, my companion in sorrow, as I wander the Dandakas, fallen from my kingdom, wretched? Where is that Sita, like a daughter of the gods, companion of my life, without whom I cannot bear to live a moment, hero? I would not want lordship over the immortals or over the earth, Lakshmana, without that Janaka’s daughter, golden in colour. Is Vaidehi alive, dearer to me than my life? Will my exile not become false, hero? When I am dead because of Sita and you have gone back, Saumitri, will Kaikeyi have her wish and be happy? Will devoted Kausalya, her son dead, have to wait humbly on Kaikeyi, her purpose achieved, with her son and the kingdom? If Vaidehi lives, I will go back to the hermitage; if she has died, I will give up my life, Lakshmana. If, when I come to the hermitage, Vaidehi does not speak to me, if Sita does not come before me laughing, I will perish, Lakshmana. Tell me, Lakshmana, is Vaidehi alive or not? Has the devoted one been eaten by rakshasas through your carelessness? Delicate, young, never used to sorrow, Vaidehi is surely grieving and sick at heart at being parted from me. That crooked, wicked rakshasa, crying ‘Lakshmana!’ loudly, surely made you afraid too. And I think Vaidehi heard that voice so like mine; frightened, she sent you, and you came quickly to see me. In every way it was a grave thing to leave Sita in the forest; an opening has been given to the cruel rakshasas to take revenge. The flesh-eating rakshasas, grieved by the killing of Khara: those terrible ones will surely have killed Sita, no doubt. Ah, I am sunk in calamity in every way, destroyer of enemies. What shall I do now? I fear something like this must happen.” So, thinking of lovely-hipped Sita, Raghava hurries with Lakshmana to Janasthana. Reproaching his distressed younger brother, worn by hunger, fatigue and thirst, sighing, his mouth dry, dejected, he reaches their dwelling and finds it empty. The hero, plunging into his own hermitage, going round the places where they used to play, saying “This is where it was,” in their home, his hair standing on end, is stricken.

Press › to begin with verse 1.

स दृष्ट्वा लक्ष्मणं दीनं शून्यं दशरथात्मजः ।पर्यपृच्छत धर्मात्मा वैदेहीमागतं विना ॥ १ ॥

Seeing Lakshmana downcast and empty, come without Vaidehi, righteous Rama, son of Dasharatha, questioned him:

Rama’s questions to Lakshmana pour out without waiting for answers. He fears for Sita, and he also fears what her loss would mean: his exile “made false”, Kaikeyi triumphant, Kausalya humbled. These are the anxieties of a man whose whole life has been built on keeping promises, suddenly facing the possibility that it was all for nothing.

The sarga ends with the empty hut: Rama “going round the places where they used to play, saying ‘This is where it was’” (verse 20). It is one of the simplest and most painful moments in the poem. Grief will now take over the next several sargas: the perfect hero becomes, for a time, a man broken by loss.

Sources. Valmiki Ramayana, Aranya Kanda, sarga 58 (southern recension, Gita Press numbering). Commentary by Vani Darshan, not scripture.