Author: Harsh Satya

(This is part 2 of the reflections inspired by my YouTube conversation on the Ramayana with my friend Pranav. Available here)

Nārada muni had confirmed to Vālmiki that it was possible for someone to have the sixteen guṇa-s, and Ram was one such person. After few days, Brahma the sriśṭikartā visited Vālmiki’s ashram. Brahma confirmed about Ram, what Nārada had claimed. He encouraged Vālmiki to write Ram’s story and spread it in the world, for people to follow as an example. The advice from Brahma created a resolve in Vālmiki to spread the word about Ram.

One morning, Vālmiki saw a hunter hunt down a bird while the bird was in middle of mating with his partner. Seeing this, Vālmiki spontaneously said ­– मा निषाद प्रतिष्ठां त्वमगमश्शाश्वतीस्समा: । यत्क्रौञ्चमिथुनादेकमवधी: काममोहितम् ।।1.2.15।। 15 (Tr. “O fowler, since you have killed one of the pair of infatuated kraunchas you will be permanently deprived of your position”). Importantly, the sentence was spoken in a particular chhanda (meter) of poetry. It was beautiful. After that, Vālmiki decides to narrate/compile the story of Ram in the particular meter of poetry. And hence, we witness the birth of the poet in Vālmiki.

In my opinion, there are two important points to note here. First, in both classical India and classical Greece, the poet was the historian. Histories were written/sung in the form of poetry. And unlike the modern process of history writing, for which time-sequence is sacrosanct (what happened before : what happened after), the classical historiography is description of an event. For the classical poets, “the lesson of each event, deed or occurrence is revealed in and by itself” (Arendt. “Between Past and Present”, p.64, Penguin Books 2006). In my opinion, an event by definition is autonomous i.e., it has the capacity to reveal (aspects of) Truth independently, with no need for any causal relation with past or future events. Our interest in narrating events is reflection on Truth, and not to find causal ‘time-sequence’, which modern historiography seems to be obsessed about.

Secondly, the prominence of poets in a society (and poets as those who describe events) was common to both classical Greece and India. The importance accorded to poets is probably due to the realization that whatever is worth passing on to next generation needs to be inscribed in meter of poetry. This is in contrast to contemporary attitude (or modern attitude) which gives importance and dignity to inscription in the form of binary-logic. I think, one important tenet of Indian civilization is its kalā-pradhāntā or kathā-pradhānta and this aspect is a natural outcome of the tradition of poets in our society.

Pranav, in this recording calls maharishi Vālmiki as ādi-kavi (the original poet or the first poet) and Rāmayaṇa to be ādi-kāvya (original poetry or first poetry). The purpose of Rāmayaṇa is to pass the learnings of Veda-s amongst people. And therefore, there is a bias towards knowledge (veda). The classical historiography is biased, is subjective unlike modern historiography whose character is “eunuchic objectivity” (Arendt. “Between Past and Present”, p.49, Penguin Books 2006) i.e., incapable of any reflection on matters of Truth.

In my opinion, this is an important matter to flag – the classical process of historiography, when conceptualizing the ‘Indic framework of expression’.

(The following reflections are inspired by the conversation I had with Pranav on the Ramayana. Available here)

I am finding the story of Ratnakar, the dacoit transforming to Vālmiki, the poet very interesting.

Ratnakar used to loot and kill travelers, and thus support his family. On one such occasion, he caught hold of 7 rishi-s and looted them. Before being killed, one of the rishis asked Ratnakar if he is aware that his actions will invite pāpa upon him. Ratnakar said he was aware of it but justified his actions by saying he has to feed a family. The rishi-s then asked – “are the family members willing to share a portion of your pāpa?” The questions stunned him, for he never thought about this. He had assumed that the pāpa will be shared by the family. But the rishi-s suggested him to check with family members. To Ratnakar’s shock, the family refused to have any part in his pāpa – Ratnakar’s sins were his own, and he alone would bear the brunt. The realization that pāpa is not shared, nor transferred to anyone, proved to be a turning point. Ratnakar now asks the rishi of what he should do for prāyaścita. The rishi-s give him a mantra and ask him to do tapasyā. And so, Ratnakar leaves dacoity and become a tapasvi.

I thought this was one important point for us to flag. In India, we do not believe in ‘aggregation’ of sin. This is in contrast to the abrahmic world, where sins of many can be aggregated together and then transferred to someone (Jesus, the son of God, decides to suffer on behalf of men – a decision which transformed him into Christ). In India, perhaps we do not believe such a thing is possible – and this belief is an important aspect of the karma-phala principle.

Moreover, the case of Ratnakar has another interesting aspect. He knew that his actions would invite sin, and yet he chose to continue with them. It was not a case of ill-informed decision making on his part. Pranav explains, that according to veda-s certain actions invite puṇya and certain invite pāpa. The human being always has a choice to act or not act correctly. However, whatever action he chooses to do, the associated puṇya or pāpa cannot be escaped from. A human being may choose to postpone his mokśa to next life by choosing to do actions worthy of pāpa. We find another such example in Duryodhana, who says that he knows his actions are adhārmic but he still chooses to do them.

Moving on with the story,

Ratnakar’s tapasyā was intense. Over a period of time, an ant hill (called valmika in Sanskrit) got formed all around him, but he remained unfazed in his chanting. Once the same group of rishi-s was passing by, when they heard sound of chanting emanating from inside the valmika. On clearing that, they found Ratnakar immersed in his tapasya. Impressed by his transformation they predicted he will find glory and named him Vālmiki – the one from valmika. On their suggestion, Vālmiki built an ashram on the banks of river tamasa, where he continued with his tapasyā.. One day, probably as a result of the tapa, he formulated 16 characteristics (guṇa) an ideal man would have. Having thought of these, he wondered if there is actually anyone in this world with all the sixteen guṇa-s. One day, rishi Nārada visited Vālmiki in his ashram. Vālmiki described the sixteen guṇa-s and posed the same question to Nārada muni – is there anyone in this world with these guṇa-s? It is then, that Nārada muni told Vālmiki about Ram.

(To be continued…)

I have known Pranav for more than a decade, since our days in CEH at IIIT-Hyderabad. For some time, I have been wanting to have a series of discussions with him on the Rāmāyaṇa.

Why Rāmāyaṇa? Like many, I have faint memory of watching Ramanand Sagar’s Rāmāyaṇa serial on Doordarshan. In addition, I have heard the story in bits and pieces in moral conversations in the family, especially with my Nani. I remember, for many years my Nani every morning did pooja of Ram and Sita before she would eat her first meal. In more recent times, I heard Rāmāyaṇa from Guruji Ravindra Sharma at his place in Adilabad. His rendering caught my attention and developed a curiosity towards the story of Ram. Further, in discussions with Navjyoti sir, we pondered over the idea of maryādā and maryādā-puruśa. Navjyoti’s long essay titled “Role of Good Manners as a Bridge between the World Religions in the Sanatana Tradition (Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, Sikhism)”, chapter published in “Philosophy Bridging the World Religions” (Ed. Peter Koslowski, Kluwer Academic Publishers, 2003) is an important read. In this essay, Navjyoti has attempted to show that construction of a maryādā-puruśa is perhaps common endeavor to all religious pursuits, and the ‘Sanatana theory of justice’ can be the basis of all dispute resolution. Further, in discussions with Navjyoti we learnt about the enterprise of Itihāsa (distinct from the enterprise of History); Rāmāyaṇa and Mahābhārata have been considered Itihāsa by people of India.

Of late, in SIDH, I have been contemplating upon Dharampal’s seminal essay – “Bhāratiya, Citta, Mānasa aur Kāla”. In that, amongst other things, Dharampal has called for a need to develop a conceptual framework of ‘Indianness’ or public behavior supported by systemic structure. Our small team in SIDH has been contemplating on what would constitute such a framework? Further, the question we have faced is where do we begin from? In that regard, I thought a contemplative conversation on Rāmāyaṇa could be useful, since Ram is integral to India. And I could not think of a better person to converse with than my dear friend Pranav Vashisht. There would be very few people in my generation who are not only familiar with western philosophies but have also read the Śāstra-s. Pranav is one such person.

In Episode 1, Pranav talks about the story of Agnisarma, also known as Ratnakar, a dacoit who lived by looting and killing travelers. The story is about his transformation into Valmiki – the poet, who decides to tell the story of Ram. (It is important to note that both in classical India and Greece, the poet plays the historian). Towards the end of episode 1, I put forward three questions – 1. Is it possible to share/transfer one’s pāpa/puṇya with/to others, 2. What is the significance of considering Veda-s to be aupurushiya (author-less) and 3. What is the significance of using meter (of poetry) to describe good deeds to future generations?

The reading of Itihāsa is a lifelong process. Let us see how far Pranav and I can go with it. Hopefully, this would help us identify some basic tenets of Bhārtiyatā.

The talk is available at: