Rama Reads the Monsoon as a Living Scripture of the Heart
Kishkindha Kanda, Chaupai 14
Doha 14 · Movement 1 of 2
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Proud clouds thunder terribly across the sky, and Rama confesses that separation from Sita makes his heart afraid. Lightning flashes but will not remain within the cloud, like the unstable affection of the wicked. Rain clouds bend close to the earth as they pour, like the learned who bow after receiving true knowledge. Mountains endure the striking drops as saints endure cruel words.
Small rivers fill and break forward like the wicked made arrogant by a little wealth. Clear rain becomes muddy when it reaches the ground, as Maya clings around the jiva. Water gathers little by little into ponds, as virtues gather near the good. Every sight in the storm opens into the condition of a mind, a life, or a community.
At last the rivers carry their waters into the ocean and become still. Rama sees in that quieting the jiva reaching Hari. The monsoon moves from fear in separation, through flash, impact, turbulence, and cloudedness, toward a vast receiving stillness. Lakshmana sits beside him while the whole rain-filled world becomes an image of bondage, virtue, endurance, and arrival.
The river enters the ocean and becomes still, as the jiva becomes steady upon reaching Hari.
Read the passage from the Manas
घन घमंड नभ गरजत घोरा। प्रिया हीन डरपत मन मोरा।। दामिनि दमक रह न घन माहीं। खल कै प्रीति जथा थिर नाहीं।। बरषहिं जलद भूमि निअराएँ। जथा नवहिं बुध बिद्या पाएँ।। बूँद अघात सहहिं गिरि कैंसें । खल के बचन संत सह जैसें।। छुद्र नदीं भरि चलीं तोराई। जस थोरेहुँ धन खल इतराई।। भूमि परत भा ढाबर पानी। जनु जीवहि माया लपटानी।। समिटि समिटि जल भरहिं तलावा। जिमि सदगुन सज्जन पहिं आवा।। सरिता जल जलनिधि महुँ जाई। होई अचल जिमि जिव हरि पाई।।
Dark clouds rumble with ghamanda, swelling pride, and thunder terribly across the sky. Separated from my Priya, my heart trembles. Lightning flashes but cannot remain within the cloud, just as the priti of the wicked never holds steady. The rain clouds descend close to the earth and pour, just as the learned bow low when they have gained vidya. How do the mountains endure the assault of every raindrop? Just as the saints patiently bear the harsh words of the wicked. Small streams swell and rush forward, breaking their banks with force, just as wicked people grow arrogant with even a little wealth. Water turns muddy the moment it touches the ground, as though maya has wrapped herself around the jiva. Drop by drop, the water gathers and fills the ponds, just as good qualities gather naturally in the hearts of the saintly. The river's water flows into the ocean and becomes still, just as the jiva finds peace upon reaching Hari.