Prologue
Attracted by the sublime beauty around a Himalayan cave, Nārada enters into a long meditation. Sent by Indra to obstruct Nārada’s tapas, Kāmadeva fails in his attempts. Nārada forgives him and everywhere the event is celebrated as the protective act of the Lord to save his devotee. But Nārada sees the event as his own victory over lust and anger.
Puffed up with pride and hungering for recognition, he reports the event to Śiva, who advises him not to tell this to anyone else, especially not to Śrī Hari. But Nārada repeats his tale before the Lord anyway. The Lord smiles and, to bring his devotee back on the right path, creates a magic kingdom where a Svayaṁvara is being held for the princess.
Nārada happens to visit the place, falls in love with the princess and, in order to win her hand in marriage, begs the Lord for a divine form. Since the Lord is present everywhere and in everyone, every form is the Lord’s form. Śrī Hari gives Nārada the face of a monkey.
Seeing a semi-beast at the Svayaṁvara ceremony, the princess is horrified and ignores Nārada. Two of Śiva’s attendants at the ceremony rejoice at Nārada’s humiliation and ask him mockingly to look in a mirror. Seeing for the first time his monkey-face and enraged at the attendants, Nārada curses them to be reborn as demons and to suffer.
Lessons Learnt
After pronouncing his curse and still stupefied by his appearance, Nārada again looked at his reflection in the water. This time the monkey-form had vanished. Nārada saw his own form. The Lord’s purpose was fulfilled and he had withdrawn his magical creation.
At least now Nārada ought to have come to his senses. But no, a few concluding lessons remained to complete his education. Burning with fury, Nārada proceeded to Vaikuṇṭha. “Hari is the main culprit,” he said to himself. “He was himself enamored of the princess and that is why he made a fool of me before the whole world.”
Really speaking, only three people—Śiva’s two attendants and the princess—had seen the monkey-form of Nārada; to all others Nārada had appeared as his usual self. But we are familiar with this trait among people: they exaggerate to the skies every little bit of suffering that comes their way. So Nārada felt that he had been made a fool “before the whole world.” To settle his account with the Lord, Nārada hurried to Vaikuṇṭha.
Suppose we see in a dream our neighbor come to us and box our ears. Would we get up the following morning, take a stick, and go to the neighbor’s house to pay him back? Nārada was now on his way to do something similar. The golden kingdom, the Svayaṁvara ceremony, the royal guests, the princess, Nārada's monkey-form—all and everything had vanished. Nārada really ought to have had a good laugh at the dream. But his education was not yet complete. He had not yet become aware that he, “the greatest conqueror of lust and anger,” had been decisively conquered by lust and anger. Nārada made up his mind to curse the Lord, and if that were not possible, to commit suicide.
With Lakshmi and Viśvamohinī on his either side, the Lord met Nārada, who was on his way to Vaikuṇṭha. Śrī Hari enquired lovingly, “My child, where are you going?”
This was too much. Nārada was aghast. The Lord had not only frustrated his wedding plan but had also appropriated for himself the one object of Nārada's desire—and now he had the temerity to come before Nārada along with both his consorts and ask very innocently where the sage was going. Nārada's blood began to boil. But his perception was the perception of a sick mind and, as usual, he completely misinterpreted the Lord’s intention.
Nārada imagined that the Lord wanted to tease him and embarrass him by appearing in the company of the princess. But the truth was that Viśvamohinī was the Lord’s own power (śakti), and it was only natural that she should be with him always. As to the Lord’s question “Where are you going?” it was really meant to awaken Nārada. Suppose a friend decides to visit my place and I see him starting off in the opposite direction, wouldn’t I caution him with “Where are you going?”
Nārada had wanted to go to Vaikuṇṭha. For that he chose the path of anger and revenge. Does this path lead to God? Or does it take one away from God? “Lust, anger and greed are doorways to hell,” says the Gita (16.21). In his mad anxiety to take revenge, Nārada was not really going to Vaikuṇṭha but rushing headlong into the waiting doors of hell. Ever concerned with the welfare of his beloved devotee, what else could the Lord ask Nārada but “My child, where are you going?”
But our “conqueror of anger” was now himself anger personified, so Nārada could not but misunderstand everything and everyone. He lost all sense of propriety and began railing at the Lord and accusing him of many “crimes.” Nārada brought up the subject of the churning of the milk-ocean and accused the Lord of greed and deceit for appropriating Lakshmi to himself and for cheating the demons of their share of the nectar (amṛta). Nārada contended that the Lord, having no one to control him, did everything according to his own sweet fancy. Nārada became a self-appointed crusader, protesting on behalf of the whole world against the lawless rule of the Lord.
In reality, however, Nārada was more concerned with his own personal frustrations and defeat than with anything else. After he had invented sufficient excuses to condemn the Lord, Nārada now pronounced his triple curse: “I curse you that you will have to take a human birth, because it is through that form that you cheated me at the Svayaṁvara ceremony. Second, you too will suffer the pangs of separation from your beloved, just as I am suffering now. Third, you gave me a monkey-form and so it is on monkeys that you’ll have to depend when you are born.”
Nārada paused after handing down the sentence and looked triumphantly at the Lord. He found the Lord calm and cheerful and smiling. This was the greatest defeat of Nārada. In spite of Nārada’s vituperations, the Lord showed no sign of impatience, not even a trace of anger. On the contrary, the Lord stood smiling, as if to say, “I was just waiting for this!”
Lakshmi and Viśvamohinī had by this time disappeared from the Lord’s side and, as Nārada looked on at the blissful and compassionate face of the Lord, the veil of māyā was removed from Nārada’s eyes. He came to his senses. In a flash he understood how he had been deluded by the power of māyā and how the Lord had protected him. Nārada felt disgusted with himself for the foolish way in which he had behaved. Most of all, he could not forgive himself for having the audacity to accuse the Lord and even to pronounce a curse on him.
Utterly remorseful and repentant, he fell down at the Lord’s feet and sought his forgiveness. He said he was withdrawing his curse, but the Lord prevented him from doing so. “Can anything happen, my child, without my willing it?” he said. Nārada had earlier accused the Lord of doing things as he pleased since there was no one above him to control his actions. Now the Lord humorously showed to Nārada that the charge was not really valid. Now there was Nārada's “curse” on the Lord’s head to control him.
It was as a result of this “curse” that the Lord took birth as Śrī Rāma. He utilized the opportunity to reestablish dharma and to subdue the wicked and evil forces of his time. He assumed a human body and through it set a shining example of living spiritually, being in the world but not of the world. Rāma’s life has remained a perennial source of inspiration down the centuries.
As Rāma, Śrī Hari took the help of monkeys—that was another part of Nārada's triple curse—and vanquished the powerful forces of evil, the chief of whom were Rāvaṇa and Kumbhakarṇa. You may have guessed who these two demons were. Yes, they were also down here as a result of Nārada's curse. They were the two attendants of Śiva we met at the Svayaṁvara ceremony.
The Lord fulfilled the third part of Nārada's curse by his experience of grief and suffering at his separation from Sītādevī. What a painful suffering it was! We read in the Rāmāyaṇa that when Rāma wept, the whole nature began to weep. Birds and animals, trees and creepers—just about everyone began to shed tears, seeing Rāma’s suffering. Nārada knew not where to hide his face in shame when he saw the painful result of his thoughtless curse.
A little later in the Rāmāyaṇa, we find things changing dramatically. As the story unfolds, we see Rāma calm, composed, even cheerful. He’s just like an actor in a tragedy, making the viewers weep by his performance, and later, after the curtains are drawn, becoming his usual cheerful self again. Suffering and cheerfulness do not generally go together. But voluntary suffering gives more a sense of joy and fulfillment than of pain and remorse. The Lord had accepted Nārada's curse voluntarily and in order to make it effective he had to abide by the rules of the game called this world.
The Infinite One assumes a finite form to liberate you and me, who are also infinite but have forgotten our true nature. The story of Rāma is a story that can be studied at various levels. At the highest level the Rāmāyaṇa becomes a perfect textbook for every student of Vedanta. In the popular mind, the Rāmāyaṇa is an epic, historical according to some, mythological according to others. But those who have cared to read between the lines have no doubt that it deserves the same status as an Upaniṣad.
The story of Nārada, which we have been studying, shows us the trecherously delusive power of māyā, the gross and subtle dangers lurking in the spiritual path, the importance of self-examination, alertness, discernment, unwavering faith, and true humility. It also assures us of the unfailing, protective hand of the Divine guiding, cajoling, instructing and playing with us.
The “razor’s edge” may be sharp and fearsome when we are struggling to hold the hand of God, but it becomes blunt and ineffective when God takes hold of our hands. It is difficult to hold God’s hands when our sovereignty is surrendered to the ego and we are no longer in control. But when we reclaim our true self and become alert, fortified in our faith and strengthend in our humility, we discover that we are already being held securely in God’s protective arms.
There is then nothing more to do than looking into the eyes of God and not only experiencing love but being love.