Autumn; Rama’s Anger at Sugriva

When Sugriva has gone into his house and the sky is free of clouds, Rama, who has stayed through the nights of the rains, is tormented by love and grief. Seeing the pale sky and the clear disc of the moon, the autumn night smeared with moonlight, seeing Sugriva living for pleasure, Janaka’s daughter lost, and the time gone by, he faints in deep anguish. Recovering after a moment, the wise king thinks of Vaidehi, who lives in his heart. Seeing the clear sky, with lightning and clouds gone, echoing with cranes, he laments in a pained voice. Sitting on the peak of the mountain, adorned with golden minerals, seeing the autumn sky, he goes to his beloved in his mind: “She who delighted in the hermitage, the young one who called like a crane among the cranes’ calls, how can she be happy now? Seeing the asana trees in flower, clear like gold, how can the young one be happy, looking and not seeing me? She who used to wake, sweet-voiced, lovely in every limb, at the sweet calls of the kalahamsa geese, how can she be happy now? Hearing the cry of the chakravakas who move in pairs, how will the lotus-eyed one fare? Wandering lakes, rivers, ponds, groves and forests without that fawn-eyed one, I find no happiness today. Love, unbroken by the qualities of autumn, may torment the lovely one deeply, because of separation from me and her tenderness.” So the best of men laments, like the chataka bird begging the lord of the gods for water.

Lakshmana, who has been roaming the lovely mountain slopes looking for fruit, comes back and sees his elder brother. Seeing him alone in that lonely place, overwhelmed by unbearable anxiety, senseless, high-minded Saumitri, hurrying, very sad at his brother’s despair, says: “Noble one, what is the use of falling under the power of love? What is the use of the defeat of your own manhood? Your composure is being taken away by shame; why does it not return with effort? Take to action, peace of mind, time spent in focused effort, and the strength of allies; with an undaunted spirit, dear one, make your own deeds the cause. Lord of the line of Manu, Janaki, protected by you, cannot easily be won by another. No one who approaches a blazing flame escapes burning, hero worthy of the best.” Rama says to Lakshmana of auspicious marks, the unassailable, words that come from his own nature, good, wholesome, joined with policy, with conciliation, dharma and interest: “Without doubt the task must be looked to, and the special action must be followed; but the fruit of great, unassailable valour must also be thought of, prince.” Then, thinking of lotus-eyed Maithili, Rama says to Lakshmana with his mouth drying: “The thousand-eyed one, having satisfied the earth with water and brought the crops to ripeness, has finished his work and rests. The clouds, with long, deep roars, going ahead of mountains and trees, have let go their water and are at peace, prince.”

He describes the autumn: the clouds, dark as blue water-lilies, quieted like elephants past their rut; the winds of the rains ended; the noise of clouds, elephants, peacocks and waterfalls suddenly stilled; the mountains, washed by great clouds, seeming smeared with moonlight. Autumn has divided its beauty among the branches of the saptacchada trees, the light of stars, sun and moon, and the play of the best elephants; and its glory shines most in the lotus pools woken by the sun’s first rays. Swans play with chakravakas on the sandbanks of great rivers; beauty is shared among proud elephants, haughty herds of cattle, and clear-watered rivers. “Seeing the sky freed of clouds, the peacocks in the woods have shed their ornament of tails; their beauty gone, no longer in love with their mates, their festival over, they brood.” The sky is clear like a polished blade, the rivers thin, the winds cool with kahlara lilies, the directions bright. “The earth, its mud dried by the sun’s heat, has long had its thick dust exposed. Now is the time for kings joined in mutual enmity to march.” Bulls, their beauty swelled by autumn, roar among the cows, eager for battle; the she-elephant follows her rutting mate through the woods; elephants scare the ducks and drink from lotus-adorned lakes; swans light joyfully on rivers with sandy banks. “The night shines like a woman dressed in white, her gentle face the risen moon, her lovely eyes the opened stars, her veil the moonlight. The line of cranes, having eaten the ripe rice, flies swiftly across the sky like a garland strung together and tossed by the wind. The water of the great lake, with one swan asleep and kumuda lilies, shines like the night sky freed of clouds, with the full moon and hosts of stars.” The kasha grass along the banks waves like spotless washed linen; the bees, drunk on honey, golden with lotus pollen, follow the wind. “Clear water, smiling flowers, the cry of curlews, ripe rice fields, a gentle wind and a clear moon announce that the rainy season is gone. The rivers, their girdles shown by fish, move slowly now, like women walking languidly at dawn after a night with their lovers. The mouths of the rivers, with chakravakas and moss, covered with kasha grass like silk, look like the faces of brides with painted lines and gorocana. In the woods, bright with flowering bana and asana trees and humming with bees, Love, with his fierce bow raised, is fierce today. Having pleased the world with good rain, filled rivers and ponds and made the earth rich with crops, the clouds have left the sky and vanished. The autumn rivers slowly show their sandbanks, like shy young women at a first meeting showing their hips.

“Now the time has come, gentle prince, for kings bent on conquest, bound in mutual enmity, to set out. This is the first season for kings’ marches, prince, and I do not see Sugriva or any such effort. The four months of the rains have passed like a hundred years for me, burning with grief and not seeing Sita, she who followed me into the forest like a chakravaki her husband, into the rough Dandaka forest as though it were a pleasure garden. Without my beloved, stricken with sorrow, my kingdom taken, banished, King Sugriva shows me no pity, Lakshmana. ‘He is without protector, robbed of his kingdom, insulted by Ravana, wretched, far from home, lovesick, and has come to me for refuge’: for these reasons, gentle one, I, scorcher of foes, am despised by wicked Sugriva, king of the monkeys. Having fixed the time for searching for Sita, having made the agreement and gained his aim, the fool does not remember. So go into Kishkindha and tell the bull among monkeys, foolish Sugriva, attached to vulgar pleasure, from me: ‘He who raises the hopes of suppliants who have come to him, who earlier helped him, and then dashes them, is the lowest of men in the world. He who holds to the word he has spoken, good or bad, by truth, is a hero, the best of men. Those who, their own aims achieved, do not stand by friends whose aims are not achieved, ungrateful ones, even carrion eaters will not eat when they are dead.’ Surely you want to see again the form of my gold-backed bow drawn in battle, like a mass of lightning. Surely you want to hear again the terrible twang of my bowstring as I rage in battle, like the crash of the thunderbolt. Even so, his valour known, I would have no worry, hero, with you as my ally, prince. The lord of the leapers, his aim achieved, does not remember the agreement for whose sake this was all begun, conqueror of enemy cities. Having promised the end of the rains as the time, the lord of the monkeys, enjoying himself, does not notice that four months have passed. Playing with his ministers and court, he devotes himself only to drinking; Sugriva shows no pity to us, who are wretched with grief. Go, hero of great strength, and let Sugriva be told; tell him what form my anger takes, and these words: ‘The path by which Valin went when he was killed has not closed. Keep to the agreement, Sugriva; do not follow Valin’s path. I killed Valin alone in battle with an arrow; you, who have strayed from truth, I will kill with your kin.’ And whatever else is good in the matter as it stands, bull among men, say it, best of men; hurry, the time is passing. ‘Keep your word to me, lord of monkeys, looking to eternal dharma; do not today, driven by my arrows, go dead to Yama’s abode and see Valin.’” Seeing his elder brother in such sharply risen anger, lamenting, wretched, Lakshmana, of fierce splendour, increaser of the line of Manu, forms a fierce resolve against the lord of the monkeys.

Press › to begin with verse 1.

गृहं प्रविष्टे सुग्रीवे विमुक्ते गगने घनैः ।वर्षरात्रे स्थितो रामः कामशोकाभिपीडितः ॥ १ ॥

When Sugriva had entered his house and the sky was freed of clouds, Rama, who had stayed through the nights of the rains, was tormented by love and grief.

The autumn (sharad) description balances the rains of sarga 28. Clouds rest “like elephants past their rut”, peacocks shed their tails and brood, the night is a woman in white with the moon for a face, and rivers show their sandbanks “like shy young women”. Two images bind it to the plot. This is the season when kings march to war, and Sugriva has not marched. And the brooding peacocks, “no longer in love”, mirror Rama’s own state.

His anger, long held back, breaks out. The message he gives Lakshmana has become proverbial: “The path by which Valin went has not closed” (verse 81). It is a threat, but a measured one. He asks Lakshmana to add “whatever is good”. Rama still hopes for friendship, not war. Lakshmana, by contrast, takes up the anger fiercely, and the next sargas show what happens when the gentler brother’s wrath is let loose.

Sources. Valmiki Ramayana, Kishkindha Kanda, sarga 30 (southern recension, Gita Press numbering). Commentary by Vani Darshan, not scripture.