The Ramayan

The Ramayan by Valmiki (300)

The Ramayan is an ancient Sanskrit epic poem written by the sage Valmiki. It is one of the two major Sanskrit epics of ancient India, the other being the Mahabharata. The Ramayan tells the story of Rama, an incarnation of the Hindu god Vishnu, and his quest to rescue his beloved wife Sita from the clutches of the demon king Ravana. The epic is divided into seven books, known as kandas, and is composed of 24,000 verses. The first book, Bala Kanda, tells the story of Rama's birth and childhood. The second book, Ayodhya Kanda, tells the story of Rama's exile and his return to Ayodhya. The third book, Aranya Kanda, tells the story of Rama's journey to the forest and his battle with the demon king Ravana. The fourth book, Kishkindha Kanda, tells the story of Rama's alliance with the monkey king Sugriva and their battle against Ravana. The fifth book, Sundara Kanda, tells the story of Rama's journey to Lanka and his battle with Ravana. The sixth book, Yuddha Kanda, tells the story of Rama's victory over Ravana and his return to Ayodhya. The seventh book, Uttara Kanda, tells the story of Rama's coronation and his rule over Ayodhya. The Ramayan is an important part of Hindu mythology and is widely read and studied in India and other parts of the world. It is considered to be one of the greatest works of Sanskrit literature and is often referred to as the Adi Kavya, or the first poem.

By Valmiki · First published 300 · Genre: Epic Poetry, Mythology, Religious Text · 60 chapters · 330,617 words

First lines

When Rama, valiant hero, stood In the vast shade of Dandak wood, His eyes on every side he bent And saw a hermit settlement, Where coats of bark were hung around, And holy grass bestrewed the ground. Bright with Brahmanic lustre glowed That circle where the saints abode: Like the hot sun in heaven it shone, Too dazzling to be looked upon. Wild creatures found a refuge where The court, well-swept, was bright and fair, And countless birds and roedeer made Their dwelling in the friendly shade. Beneath the boughs of well-loved trees Oft danced the gay Apsarases. Around was many an ample shed Wherein the holy fire was fed; With sacred grass and skins of deer, Ladles and sacrificial gear, And roots and fruit, and wood to burn, And many a brimming water-urn. Tall trees their hallowed branches spread, Laden with pleasant fruit, o'erhead; And gifts which holy laws require, And solemn offerings burnt with fire, And Veda chants on every side That home of hermits sanctified. There many a flower its odour shed, And lotus blooms the lake o'erspred. There, clad in coats of bark and hide,-- Their food by roots and fruit supplied,-- Dwelt many an old and reverend sire Bright as the sun or Lord of Fire, All with each worldly sense subdued, A pure and saintly multitude. The Veda chants, the saints who trod The sacred ground and mused on God, Made that delightful grove appear Like Brahma's own most glorious sphere. As Raghu's splendid son surveyed That hermit home and tranquil shade, He loosed his mighty bow-string, then Drew nearer to the holy men. With keen celestial sight endued Those mighty saints the chieftain viewed, With joy to meet the prince they came, And gentle Sita dear to fame. They looked on virtuous Rama, fair As Soma in the evening air, And Lakshman by his brother's side, And Sita long in duty tried, And with glad blessings every sage Received them in the hermitage. Then Rama's form and stature tall Entranced the wondering eyes of all,-- His youthful grace, his strength of limb, And garb that nobly sat on him. To Lakshman too their looks they raised, And upon Sita's beauty gazed With eyes that closed not lest their sight Should miss the vision of delight. Then the pure hermits of the wood, Rejoicing in all creatures' good, Their guest, the glorious Rama, led Within a cot with leaves o'erhead. With highest honour all the best Of radiant saints received their guest, With kind observance, as is meet, And gave him water for his feet. To highest pitch of rapture wrought Their stores of roots and fruit they brought. They poured their blessings on his head, And "All we have is thine," they said. Then, reverent hand to hand applied, Each duty-loving hermit cried: "The king is our protector, bright In fame, maintainer of the right. He bears the awful sword, and hence Deserves an elder's reverence. One fourth of Indra's essence, he Preserves his realm from danger free, Hence honoured by the world of right The king enjoys each choice delight. Thou shouldst to us protection give, For in thy realm, dear lord, we live: Whether in town or wood thou be, Thou art our king, thy people we. Our wordly aims are laid aside, Our hearts are tamed and purified. To thee our guardian, we who earn Our only wealth by penance turn."

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Epic poetry · Epic poetry, Sanskrit · Folklore · India · Poetry · Rama (Hindu deity) · Sanskrit · Translations into English · bow · bright · brother · cried

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