The monsoons this year have wrought great damage. Many states across India, especially in the Himalayan region, have suffered massive flooding, causing great misery and loss of property and lives. Our hearts go out to those who have died, are injured, have suffered loss of property, or been rendered homeless.
And yet, for millions of others, the monsoons bring relief from the burning heat of summer. In fact, in Indian literature, the rainy season is identified with a huge corpus of romantic poetry. Many people may not be aware that Tulsidas, in the Ramcharitmanas, paints one of the most evocative portraits of the beauty of this season. He does so when Ram and Lakshman, after Sita has been abducted by Ravana, are combing the forest to trace her, and during this endeavour take refuge in a cave to escape the fury of the rains. While they wait to resume their search, Tulsidas, in the words of Ram, describes the glory of the monsoon and its alchemic ability to change the land, flora, and fauna.
I am giving below some of the original lines, and their translation:
{{/usCountry}}I am giving below some of the original lines, and their translation:
{{/usCountry}}Lachimana dekhu mora gana nachata baarida pekhi
Grihi birati rata harasha jasa Bishnu bhagata kahun dekhi
Look here, Lakshmana: the peacocks dance at the sight of the clouds, even as a householder inclined towards detachment would rejoice to see a devotee of Bhagwan Vishnu
Ghana ghamanda nabha garajata ghora
Priya heen darapata man mora
Damini damaka raha naghana mahim
Khala kai priti jatha thira nahim
The tumultuous clouds thunder in the sky, and I bereft on being separated from my beloved, tremble. The lightening flashes but for a second amid the clouds, like the friendship of the wicked never endures.
Barasahin jalada bhumi niaraem
Jatha navahin budha bidya paem
Boonda aghata sahahin giri kainsen
Khala ke bachana samta saha jaisen
The pouring clouds cleave close to the ground even as the learned stoop beneath accumulated wisdom. The mountains endure the buffeting of showers even as a saint would put up with the taunts of the wicked.
Chudra nadin bhari chalin toraai
Jasa thorehun dhana khala itaraai
Bhumi parata bhaa daabara paani
Janu jivahi maya lapataani
The swelling streamlets rush with great speed just as the wicked feel elated even with a small fortune. The water becomes turbid the moment it descends on earth, even as the jiva is enveloped in Maya as soon as it is born.
Samiti samiti jala bharahin talaava
Jini sadaguna sajjana pahin aava
Sarita jala jalanidhi mahun jaai
Hota achala jimi jiva Hari paai
The water coming from various directions gathers into a pool even as commendable virtues find their way into the heart of the noble soul. The water of the stream becomes still once it enters into the ocean, just as the ego finds eternal rest on attaining union with Shri Hari.
Daadura dhuni chahu disha suhaai
Beda padhahin janu batu samudaai
Nava pallava bhae bitapa aneka
Sadhaka mana jasa milen bibeka
On all sides one hears the delightful croaking of frogs, which reminds one of a batch of religious students chanting the Vedas. Clothed with new leaves, the trees of different species look as green and cheerful as the mind of a striving soul who has attained spiritual wisdom.
Bibidha jantu samkula mahi bhraaja
Praja baadhajimi paai suraaja
Jahan tahan rahe pathika thaki naana
Jimi indriya gana upajem gyana
The earth looks charming with the swarms of various living creatures, even as the population flourishes under a good government. Many a weary traveller has stopped here and there, just as with the dawning of wisdom, the senses become still.
What I find exceptionally interesting is the manner in which Tulsidas, while describing the various facets and moods of the monsoon, dexterously weaves in an analogy relating to spirituality and ethics. In doing so with such effortless ease, Tulsidas yet again proves that it was not for nothing that Mahatma Gandhi regarded the Ramcharitmanas “as the greatest book in all devotional literature.” The historian Vincent Smith called Tulsidas the greatest man of his age in India, greater even than Akbar himself, who was Tulsidas’ contemporary. For the linguist Sir George Griffith, “Tulsidas was the greatest leader of the people after Buddha.”
There is a tremendous human quality in the way Ram and Lakshman are depicted as delighting in the rains. In particular, the line—priya heen darapata man mora—not only shows how the Lord of the universe can be vulnerable to fear, but also his deep longing for Sita. Ram, as maryada purushottam, is always composed, restrained, and correct in his behaviour—unlike leela purushottam Krishna, who uninhibitedly shows his emotions. But here, Ram admits how incomplete he is without Sita. She is his shakti—his power, his energy, the secret of his prowess. For Tulsi to profile Ram as subject to this emotion is both a tribute to the many moods of monsoons and an acknowledgement—not very often projected—of the human-ness of Ram.
(Pavan K Varma is an author, diplomat, and former member of Parliament (Rajya Sabha). The views expressed are personal)