INTRODUCTION.
The Sanskrit Rámáyana of Válmíki has been published more than once, with all the advantages of European editorial skill and the most luxurious typography. It has also been translated both in verse and prose, and, in part at least, into Latin as well as into Italian, French and English. The more popular Hindi version of the same great national Epic can only be read in lithograph or bazar print,[1] and has never been translated in any form into any language whatever. Yet it is no unworthy rival of its more fortunate predecessor. There can, of course, be no comparison between the polished phraseology of classical Sanskrit and the rough colloquial idiom of Tulsi Dás's vernacular; while the antiquity of Válmíki's poem further invests it with an adventitious interest for the student of Indian history. But, on the other hand, the Hindi poem is the best and most trustworthy guide to the popular living faith of the Hindu race at the present day—a matter of not less practical interest than the creed of their remote ancestors—and its language, which in the course of three centuries has contracted a tinge of archaism, is a study of much importance to the philologist, as helping to bridge the chasm between the modern tongue and the medimval. It is also less wordy and diffuse than the Sanskrit original and, probably in consequence of its modern date, is less disfigured by wearisome interpolations and repetitions; while, if it never soars so high as Válmíki in some of his best passages, it maintains a more equable level of poetic diction, and seldom sinks with him into such dreary depths of unmitigated prose. It must also be noted that it is in no sense a translation of the earlier work: the general plan and the management of the incidents are necessarily much the same, but there is a difference in the touch in every detail; and the two poems vary as widely as any two dramas on the same mythological subject by two different Greek tragedians. Even the coincidence of name is an accident; for Tulsi Das himself called his poem 'the Rám-charit-mánas,' and the shorter title, corresponding in character to 'the Iliad' or 'Æneid,' has only been substituted by his admirers as a handier designation for a popular favourite.
However, the opinion that the more modern poem is but an adaptation, or rifaccimento, of the Sanskrit original is very widely entertained, not only by European scholars but also by Hindús themselves. For among the latter, an orthodox pandit is essentially homo unius libri, to whom the idea of comparative criticism is altogether strange and unintelligible. Whatever is written in the one book, to which he pins his faith, is for him the absolute truth, which he positively declines to weaken or obscure by a reference to any other authority. If he can understand Válmíki's Sanskrit, he despises Tulsi Dás as a vulgarian and would not condescend to read a line of him; if he knows only Hindi, he accepts the modern poem with as implicit faith as if it were an immemorial shástra, and accounts a quotation from his Rámáyana an unanswerable argument on any disputed topic. Thus, in all probability, the only educated Hindús who have any acquaintance with both poems are the professors and students of Government colleges, whose views have been broadened by European influence. It may, therefore, be of interest to show a little more at length how great is the divergence between the two poems.
In both, the first book brings the narrative precily to the same point, viz., the marrige of Ráma and Síta. But with Tulsi Dás it is much the longest book of the seven, and forms all but a third of the complete work, while in the Sanskrit it is the shortest but one. In the latter, the four first cantos, which give a table of contents, and relate how Válmíki learnt the story from Nárad, and taught it to Kusa and Lava, are a late addition, and correspond in no respect with Tulsi Dás's introduction. The actual poem commences at once with a description of Ayodhyá and its King Dasarath and his ministers, and of his longing for an heir and tells how Rishyasring, Vibhandak's son (whose previous adventures are recorded at length) was invited from the palace of his father-in-law, Lomapád, the King of Champá, to direct the ceremonies of a great sacrifice, which the childless Dasarath resolved to celebrate, in the hope of thereby obtaining his desire. The gods, being at that time sorely distressed by Rávan's persecution, had fled to Vishnu for succour; and he in answer to their prayer became incarnate in the four sons that were born to the king, while inferior divinities took birth as bears and monkeys. The four princes are named by Vasishta. They grow up, and the king is thinking where to find suitable brides for them, when Visvamitra comes and after a long colloquy takes away with him Ráma and Lakshman to protect him at the time of sacrifice from the demons that persistently assail him. On the way they pass by the Anga hermitage, where the god of love had been reduced to ashes by Siva—a legend to which very brief allusion is made,—then through the forest of Táraká, whom Ráma meets in battle and slays, after her genealogy has been given in full. He is then invested by the saint with certain heavenly weapons and magical powers, and, arriving at Visvamitra's hermitage, he slays the demons Márícha and Subáhu. Being told of Janak's bow-sacrifice, he resolves to attend it; and as he crosses the Son and the Ganges on his way thither, Visvamitra details at length his own descent from king Kusa, the birth of Gangá, the legend of the sons of Sagar and his sacrifice, and how his descendant Bhagirath brought down the Ganges from heaven, and the genealogy of the kings of Visála. As they draw near to Mithilá, Ráma delivers Gautam's wife, Ahalyá, whose legend is given full. He is weleomed by Janak and Ahalyá's son, Satánanda, and the latter relates the complete history of the contention between Visvamitra and Vasishta, of Trisanku and Sunahsepha and Ambarísha, and of Visvamitra's final promotion to Bráhmanical rank,—his speech occupying eight hundred lines. Janak shows Ráma the bow in its case, and he then and there takes it up and snaps it in pieces. The royal suitors had all tried in vain, and after fruitlessly besieging the city, with intent to carry off Sita by force, had returned discomforted to their own realms. Envoys are despatched to Ayodhyá for King Dasarath; Kusadhwaj, Janak's brother, is also summoned from Sankasya; and then in full conclave Vasishta declares Ráma's pedigree, after which Janak recites his own. The fourfold nuptials then take place, a hundred thousand cows being given to the Bráhmans in the name of each of the brides, and many precious gifts being bestowed in dowry. Dasarath then takes his way home with his sons and daughters, but is met by Parasurám with Vishnu's bow, which Rima strings at once, and the son of Bhrigu acknowledges his supremacy. They then reach Ayodhyá, whence Bharat soon departs with his uncle, Yudhajit, on a visit to his mother's father, Kekaya.
On comparing the above sketch with my translation of the corresponding portion of the Hindi poem, it will be seen that the two agree only in the broadest outline. The episodes so freely introduced by both poets are, for the most part, entirely dissimilar; and even in the main narrative some of the most important incidents, such as the breaking of the bow and the contention with Parasurám, are differently placed and assume a very altered complexion. In other passages, where the story follows the same lines, whatever Válmíki has condensed—as, for example, the description of the marriage festivities—Tulsi Dás has expanded; and wherever the elder poet has lingered longest, his successor has hastened on most rapidly.
In the seventh, or last, Book, the divergence is if anything still more marked. It consists with Válmíki of 124 cantos, the first 49 of which are occupied by a dialogue between Ráma and the Rishi Agastya, who relates the story of Rávan's birth and his conquest of the world. In the 50th canto Ráma dismisses his monkey followers to their homes: and it is only in this one passage and in occasional references to the glory and happiness of Ráma's reign that there is any concidence with the Hindí 'Sequel.' The remainder of the Sanskrit poem relates the exile of Sita and the Asvamedh sacrifice; after which Ráma and his brothers ascend to heaven. All these topics are totally omitted by Tulsi Dás, who substitutes for them the story of Káka-bhusundi and a series of laboured disquisitions on the true nature of Faith.
The earliest notice of our author, as indeed of all the other celebrated Vaishnava writers who flourished about the same period, viz., the 16th and 17th century A.D., is to be found in the Bhakt-Málá or 'Legends of the Saints,' one of the most dificult works in the Hindi language. Its composition is invariably ascribed to Nábhá Ji, himself one of the leaders of the reform, which had its centre at Brindá-ban; but the poem, as we now have it, was avowedly edited, if not entirely written, by one of his disciples named Náráyan Dás, who lived during the reign of Shahjahán. A single stanza is all that is ordinarily devoted to each personage, who is panegyrized with reference to his most salient characteristics in a style that might be described as of unparalleled obscurity, were it not that each such separate portion of the text is followed by a tika, or gloss, written by one Priya Dás in the Sambat year 1769 (1713 A.D.), in which confusion is still worse confounded by a series of the most disjointed and inexplicit allusions to different legendary events in the saint's life. The poem has never been printed, and though it is of the very highest repute among modern Vaishnavas and is therefore not rare in MS. either at Mathurá or Brindá-ban, it is utterly unintelligible to ordinary native readers. The text of the passage referring to Tulsi Dás is therefore here given, and is followed by a literal English translation:—
कलि कुटिल जीव निस्तार हेत बाल्मीक तुलसी भयो ॥
त्रेता काब्य निबंध करिब सत कोटि रामायण ॥
इक अक्षर उद्धरै ब्रह्महत्यादि करी जिन होत पारायन ॥
अब भक्तनि सुख दैंन बहुरि वपु धरि लीला बिस्तारि ॥
राम चरन रसमत्त रटत अह निस ब्रतधारी ॥
संसार अपार के पार को सुगम रूप नौका लियो ॥
कलि कुटिल जीव निस्तार हेत बाल्मीक तुलसी भयो ॥
Translation of the text of Nábhá Ji.
For the redemption of mankind in this perverse Kali Yug, Válmíki has been born again as Tulsi. The verses of the Rámáyana composed in the Treta Yug are a hundred crores in number; but a single letter has redeeming power, and would work the salvation of one who had even committed the murder of a Brahman. Now, again, as a blessing to the faithful, has he taken birth and published the sportive actions of the god. Intoxicated with his passion for Ráma's feet, he perseveres day and night in the omplishment of his row, and has supplied as it were a boat for the easy passage of the boundless ocean of existence. For the redemption of man in this perverse Kali Yug, Válmíki has been born again as Tulsi.
तिया से सनेह बिन पूछे पिता गेह गई
भूली सुधि देह भजे वाही ठौर आए हैं ॥
वधू अति लाज भई रिसि से निकसि गई
प्रीति राम नई तन हाड़ चाम छाए हैं ॥
सुनी जब बात मानों हाय गयो प्रात वह
पाछे पछितात तजो कासीपुरी धाए हैं ॥
किया तहां बास प्रभु सेवा लै प्रकास
कीनों दृढ़ भाव नैन के तिसाए हैं ॥
सौंच जल सेस पाय भूतहू बिसेस कोऊ
बोल्यो सुख मानि हनुमान जू बताए हैं ॥
रामायन कथा सो रसायन है काननि को
आवत प्रथम पाछे जात घृना छाए हैं ॥
जाय पहिचान संग चले उर आनि आए
बन मधि जानि धाय पाय लपटाए हैं ॥
करें सीतकार कहि सकोगे न टारि में तो
जाने रससार रूप धर्यो जेसे गाये हैं ॥
मांगि लीजे बर कहि दीजे राम भूप रूप
अतिही अनूप निक्त नैन अभिलाखिये ॥
किया ले संकेत वाही दिन ही से लाग्यो हेत
आई साई समै चेत कब छवि चाखिये ॥
आये रघुनाथ साथ लछिमन चढ़े घोरे
पट रंग बारे हरै कैसे मन राखिये ॥
पाछैं हनूमान आय बोले देखे प्रान प्यारे
नैकुन निहारे मैं तो भले फेरि भाखिये ॥
हत्या करि बिन एक तीरथ करत आया
कहै मुख राम भिक्षा डारिये हत्यारे को ॥
सुनि अभिराम नाम धाम में बुलाय लियो
दियो ले प्रसाद किया सुद्ध गायो प्यारे को॥
भई द्विजसभा कहि बोलि के पठाए आप
कैसे गये पाप संग लेके जैये न्यारे को ॥
पाथी तुम बांचा हिये सार नहीं सांचा अजू
तातें मत काचो दूर करे न अंध्यारे को ॥
देखी पोथी बांच नाम महिमाहू कही सांच
अपै हत्या कर कैसे तरे कहि दीजिये ॥
आवै जो प्रतीत कहो कही या के हाथ जेवें
सिव जू को बेल तब पंगति में लीजिये ॥
थार में प्रसाद दियो चले जहां पन कियो
बोले आप नाम के प्रताप मति भीजिये ॥
नेसी तुम जानों तैसी कैसे के बखानों अहो
सुनिने प्रसन्न पायो जै जै धुनि रीजिये ॥
आये निस चार चारी करन हरन धन
देखे स्यामघन हांथ चाप सर लिये हैं ॥
जब जब आवे बान सांधि डरपावै बे तो
अति मंडरावे अर्षे बली दूरे किये हैं
भार आय पूछे अजू सांवरों किसोर कोन
सुनि करि मान रहै आंसू डारि दिये हैं ॥
दई सबै लुटाय जानी चौकी रामराय दई
लई उन्हें दीछा सीछा सुद्ध भये हिये हैं ॥
कियो तन विप्र त्याग लागि चलो संग तिया
दूरहीं तें देखि किया चरन प्रनाम है ॥
बोले यो सुहागवती मार यो पति होउ सती
अब तो निकस गई ज्याऊ सेवा राम है
बोलिके कुटंब कही जो पै भक्ति करो सही
गही तब बात जीव दियो अभिराम है ॥
भये सब साधु व्याधि मेटी ले बिमुख ताकी
जाकी बास रहै तो न सूझे स्याम धाम है ॥
दिल्लीपति पातसाह अहदी पठायो लैन
ताकों से सुनायो सू वे विप्र ज्यायो जानिये ॥
देखिवे की चाहै नीक सुख से निबाहैं आप
कहि बहु बिनय गहि चले मन आनियें ॥
पहुंचे नृपति पास आदर प्रकास किया
उच्च आसन ले बोल्यो मृदु बानियें ॥
दीजे करामाति जग ख्याति सब मात किये
कही झूठ बात एक राम पहिचानिये ॥
देखैं राम कैसो कहि कैदि किये किये हिये
हूजिये कृपाल हनूमान जू दयाल हो ॥
ताही समय फैलि गए कोटि कोटि कपि नये
लोचे तन बैंचें चोर भयो यो विहाल हो ॥
फोरें कोट मार चोट किये डारे लोट पोट
लीजे कान ओट जानि मानों प्रल काल हो ॥
भइ तब आखैं दुखसागर को चाखै अब
वेई हमैं राखें भाखें वारों धन माल हो ॥
आय पाय लिये तुम दिये हम प्रान पावे
आप समझा करामात नेकु लीजिये ॥
लाज दबि गयो नृप तब राखि लियो कह्यौ
भया घर राम जू को बेगि छोड़ दीजिये ॥
सुनि तजि दिया और कर्यो लैके कोट नयो
अबहू न रहै कोज वामैं तन छोजिये ॥
कासी जाय वृन्दावन आय मिले नाभाजू से
सुन्यो हो कबित निज रीझि मति भीजिये ॥
मदन गोपाल जू को दरसन करि कहि
सही राम इष्ट मेरे दृष्टि भाव पागी है ॥
वैसाई सरूप किया दियो लै दिखाय रूप
मन अनरूप छबि देखि नीकी लागी है ॥
काहू कही कृष्ण अवतारी जू प्रसंस महा
राम अंस सुन बोले मति अनुरागी है ॥
दसरथसुत जानो सुंदर अनूप मानों
ईसता बताई रति बीस गुनी जागी है ॥
Translation of the gloss (or supplement) by Priya Dás.
He had great love for his wife: without asking his leave she went home to her father's; he forgot all about himself and hastened there too. She was greatly ashamed, and went away in anger, saying:—"Have you no love for Ráma? My body is but a framework of skin and bone." When he heard these words it was, as it were, the daybreak; he felt compunction and left her and sped to the city of Kási. There he made his abode, worshipping the lord publicly, making a rigid vow, and thirsting exceedingly for a vision.
A certain ghost, who had secured the remainder of the water he had used in washing,[2] was grateful and told him of Hanumán. "A recitation of the Rámáyana has a special charm for his ears; he will be disguised in mean attire, but is always the first to come and the last to leave." Thus recognizing him as he left, he went with him in full confidence, and in the wood, knowing him to be in truth the god, ran and embraced his feet, erying with a shout of joy:—"You shall not escape me." Perceiving his intense devotion, he assumed the form in which he is famous and said:—"Ask of me what you will." "I am ever craving to behold with my very eyes the incomparable beauty of King Ráma." He told him the place for meeting. From that day forth he was longing till the time came, thinking: 'When shall I behold his beauty?' Raghunáth came, and with him Lakshman, both mounted on horseback, in green raiment (like huntsmen). Why should he notice them? Afterwards came Hanumán and said:—"Have you seen your dear lord?" "I did not give them even a glance; turn now and speak to them again."
A Bráhman, who had committed a murder, came on a pilgrimage, crying "For the love of Ráma give an alms even to me, a murderer." On hearing the delightful name, he called him into his own house, and gave him of the offerings to the god, and purified him and sang the praises of his Beloved. The Bráhmans met in conclave and summoned him before them, saying—"How has his guilt been remitted that you could thus take and eat with him apart?" "Read your books; their real meaning has not penetrated your heart; therefore your faith is dull and your blindness has not been removed." "We have read and examined our books; the virtue of the Name is truly as you have said; but can a murderer be absolved? Please explain that." "Tell me how I may convince you." They said:—"If Siva's bull will eat from his hand, then will we receive him into our company." He gave him of the temple offerings in a dish and they returned to the place where he had made the vow. There he cried: "Saturate their souls with the glory of thy name; thou knowest how the matter stands, what can I say?" On hearing those words he gracionsly accepted the offering: there was a joyous shout of Victory, Victory.
Some thieves came by night to thieve and plunder his goods: but beheld a cloud-dark form with bow and arrows in his hand. Whenever he approached with ready shaft, they were afraid; and though they went round and round they could not get rid of this watehman. At daybreak they came and asked him:—"Sir, who is this dark-complexioned lad of yours?" On hearing this question, he remained silent and wept; then gave away all that he had, knowing that Ráma himself had been the watchman. They were initiated and received instruction, and became pure of heart.
A Bráhman had died; his wife was following him to the pyre. She saw him at a distance and made him obeisance. He addressed her as a happy wife. She replied,—"My husband is dead, and I am about to perish with him." "The word has passed my lips; I will restore him to life; worship thou Ráma." Then he called her kinsfolk and said, " But you nust adopt a religious life." They hearkened to his word, and he restored the man to the delights of life. They all became saints, when he had taken away their sinful frowardness: none can see heaven in whom passion still lives.
The Emperor of Delhi sent an officer to fetch him, explaining "It is he, you must know, who brought the Bráhman to life again." "He is anxious to see you," they said,—"so come; all wiil be well." They spoke so courteously that he agreed and went. They arrived before the king, who received him with honour, gave him an exalted seat, and said in gracious tones:— Let me see a miracle; it is noised throughout the world that you are master of everything." He said:—"It is false; know that Ráma is all in all." "How is Ráma to be seen?" he said and threw him into prison. He prayed within himself: "O gracious Hanumún, have pity upon me." That very moment thousands upon thousands of sturdy monkeys spread all over the place, clawing bodies, tearing elothes, and great was the alarm. They broke open the fort, wounding the men, destroying everything; where could one fly for safety? it seemed as though the end of the world had come. Then his eyes were opened by this taste of a sea of calamities, and he cried,—"Now I wager all my treasure it is he only who can save me." He came and clasped his feet: "If you give me life, I live; pray speak to them." "Better watch the miracle a little." The king was overwhelmed with confusion. Then he stopt it all and said:—"Quickly abandon this spot, for it is the abode of Ráma." At the word he quitted the place and went and built a new fort, and to this day any one who abides there falls ill and dies.
After returning to Kási he came to Brindá-ban and met Nábhá Jí, and heard his poetry, and his whole soul was filled with delight. On visiting the shrine of Madan Gopál he said—"Of a truth Ráma is my special patron; I would fain see him." Then appeared the god to him in that very form; and he was glad on beholding his incomparable beauty. It was said to him "The Krishna Avatár is of greatest renoun; Ráma was only a partial incarnation." On hearing this he said:—"My soul was full of love for him when I took him only for the son of Dasarath and admired his incomparable beauty; now that you tell me of his divinity, my love is increased twenty-fold."
Professor Wilson, in his most valuable and interesting "Essay on the Religious Sects of the Hindus," gives the following notice of Tulsi Dás, and adds that he had derived it from the Bhakt-Málá:-"Having been incited to the peculiar adoration of Ráma by the remonstrances of his wife, to whom he was passionately attached, he adopted a vagrant life, visited Benares, and afterwards went to Chitrakút, where he had a personal interview with Hanumán, from whom he received his poetical inspiration and the power of working miracles. His fame reached Delhi, where Shahjahán was emperor. The monarch sent for him to produce the person of Ráma, which Tulsi Dás refusing to do, the king threw him into confinement. The people of the vicinity, however, speedily petitioned for his liberation, as they were alarmed for their own security: myriads of monkeys having collected about the prison and begun to demolish it and the adjacent buildings. Shaljahán set the poet at liberty and desired him to solicit some favour as a reparation for the indignity he had suffered. Tulsi Dás accordingly requested him to quit ancient Delhi, which was the abode of Ráma; and in compliance with this request the emperor left it and founded the new city, thence named Sháhjahánabád. After this Tulsi Dás went to Brindá-ban, where he had an interview with Nábhá Jí; he settled there and strenuously advocated the worship of Sitá Ráma, in preference to that of Rádhá Krishan."
On comparing this sketch with the literal translation of the text from which it was derived, it will be seen that it is not very closely in accord with it. It omits many particulars and adds others, and was probably taken not from the genuine Hindi poem itself, but from some modern prose adaptation,[3] of which, in consequence of the difficulty of the original, there are very many in existence.
It is a curious illustration of the indifference to historical truth and the love for the marvellous, by which the Hindú mind has always been characterized, that although the tika even of the Bhakt-Málá was written less than a century after the poet's death, it still gives so little trustworthy information about the real incidents of his life and supplies so much that is clearly fictitious. That it was his wife who first persuaded him to exchange an earthly for a divine love and to devote himself to the service of Ráma may well be accepted as a fact. As to the other legends—of the ghost who introduced him to Hanumán, through whom he obtained a vision of Ráma and Lakshman; of the murderer whom he recognized as cleansed of his crime by the repetition of the holy name; of the widow on her way to the funeral pile, whose husband he restored to life; of the emperor's requiring him to perform some miracle and, on his refusal to produce the god to whom he aseribed all his power, throwing him into prison, from which he was delivered by Hanumán's monkey host; of the emperor's thereupon abandoning a spot which Ráma had made so peculiarily his own; of the thieves who were prevented from breaking into the poet's house by Ráma himself acting as watchman; of his visit to Brindá-ban and his interview with Nábhá Ji; and finally of his persistence in preferring the worship of Ráma to that of Krishna, though the latter assured him in person that there was no difference between the two—all these legends, as given in the Blakt-Málá, whatever their foundation, are still popularly accepted as verities and are indissolubly connected with the poet's name. A few further facts of more prosaic character may be gathered from his own works and from tradition: thus we learn from the prologue to the Rámáyana that he commenced its composition at Ayodhyá in the Sambat year 1631, corresponding to 1575 A.D., and that he had studied for some length of time at Soron. He was by descent a Bráhman of the Kanaujiya clan, and in the Bhakt-Sindhu—a modern poem: of no great authority, the writer when at a loss for facts being, as it seems, in the habit of supplying them out of his own imagination—it is stated that his father's name was Atmá Ram, and that he was born at Hastinapur. Others make Hájipur, near Chitrakút, the place of his birth. The greater part of his life was certainly spent at Benares, though he also passed some years in visits to Soron, Ayodhyá, Chitrakút, Allahabad, and Brindá-ban. He died in the Sambat year 1680 (1624 A.D.) Two copies of the Rámáyana in his own hand-writing are said to be still in existence, the one being preserved at Rájapur and the other in the temple of Sitá Ráma, which he himself founded, at Benares. The MS., however, is regarded as a fetish and not allowed to be handled. In addition to this his great work he composed at least six other poems, all of them having the one object of popularizing the cultus of his tutelary divinity. They are the Rámgítávali, the Dohávali, the Kabit-sambandh, the Binay Patriká, the Pad Rámáyana, and the Chhandávali. Of these the Rámgítávali is a text-book in the Government examination for a degree of honour in Hindi, though it exists only in MS., which is also the case with all the others, excepting the Binay Patriká, which was printed in good type by Sri Lallú Ji for the use of the College of Fort William in the year 1826; but copies of this edition are now very scarce. The list is not unfrequently extended by the addition of the following minor works, as to the genuineess of which there is considerable doubt, viz., the Ráin-Saláká, the Hanumán Báhuka, the Jánaki Mangal, the Párvati Mangal, the Karká Chhand, the Rora Chhand and the Jhulná Chhand.
His theological and metaphysical views are pantheistic in character, being based for the most part on the teaching of the later Vedantists as formulated in the Vedánta-Sára and more elaborately expounded in the Bhagavad Gíta, which is the most popular of all Sanskrit didactic poems. The whole visible world, as they maintain, is an unreal phantasm, induced by ignorance or illusion, and it is only by a concession to conventional speech that it can be said to exist at all. The sole representative of true existence is the supreme spirit, Brahm, conceived as absolute and unchangeable unity; invisible, eternal and all-pervading, but having no relation to the world—since that would involve a notion of dualism—and for the same reason void of cognition, will, activity and all other qualities; a potentiality, in the ordinary use of language, rather than an actual entity. All phenomena, whether material or spiritual, including even the gods of Vedic mythology, are simply fictions of the mind. But the worship of the inferior divinities and compliance with the external ritual of religion are considered to purify and prepare the intellect for the reception of higher truths. They are therefore salutary and even necessury practices during the early days of the soul's progress towards perfection. If a man is overtaken by death before he has advanced beyond this preliminary stage, he is born again either into this or into a higher world in some different form, the dignity of which is determined by the aggregate merit or demerit of all his actions in all his previous births.[4] The highest reward for devotion to any special god is the exaltation of the soul to his particular sphere in heaven. But this blessedness is not of permanent duration; on the expiry of a proportionate period the burden of mundane existence has again to be undergone. It is only on the attainment of perfect knowledge that final emancipation is complete and the individual soul is absorbed for ever into the Impersonal:
"A spiritual star-wrought in a rose
Of light in Paradise, whose only self
Is consciousness of glory wide diffused."
Except to a theosophist, the promise of such an ultimate destiny is not a very attractive one, nor is it conducive to popular morality. For good deeds and evil deeds and the god that recompenses them all alike belong to the unreal, to the fictitious duality, the world of semblances: while the so-called Supreme Being is no proper object of worship, being a mere cold abstraction, unconscious of his own existence or of ours, and devoid of all attributes and qualities. To correct this practical defect and supply some intelligible motive for withstanding temptation and leading a pure and holy life, the supplementary doctrine of Bhakti, or Faith, was developed. Some one of the recognized incarnations of the Hindu Pantheon was no longer regarded as a partial emanation of the divinity, but was exalted into the complete embodiment of it. A loving devotion to his personality was then enjoined as a simple and certain method of attaining to endless felicity; not the transitory sensual delights of Indra's paradise, nor the mere unconsciousness of utter extinction, but the conscious enjoyment of individual immortality in the immediate presence of the Beatific Vision.
The late introduction of this crowning dogma and its marked similarity to Christian ideas have induced several scholars to surmise that the Bráhmans borrowed it from the early Christian communities in Southern India. The notion is favoured—if not indeed originated—by the fact that in the Bhagavad Gíta it is Krishna who figures as the embodiment of the Supreme Being, and both in the name and in the legends of Krishna there is a superficial resemblance to the name of Christ and to some of the incidents recorded of Him in the Gospels. As I have shown more fully elsewhere, there is no historical basis for the supposed connection, while the similarity of name is demonstrably accidental. The doctrine appears to have grown up as a natural sequel to the purely indigenous school of thought in which we find it established, and an exact parallel can he traced in the history of Buddhism, where the nihilism of Nirvána was practically abrogated by the gradual deification of its teacher.[5] In selecting Ráma as his ideal of the divine in preference to Krishna, Tulsi Dás has certainly improved upon the teaching of the Bhagavad.
The tendency of modern scientific thought is setting strongly in favour of the Vedantist theory; as declaring the existence from all eternity of a personal God to be simply unknowable, and referring all phenomena to a strange mysterious energy, or will, that pervades all nature, that produces all the work done on the face of the earth, and is probably at the root of life itself; invisible and insensible, and exhibited only in its effects. Such a theory—as we see from our author's own case—is by no means incompatible with a belief in a divine incarnation: the difficulty is to establish by historical proof that such and such a character—Ráma, or Krishna, or whoever it may be—was really born out of the ordinary course of nature, really performed the marvellous acts ascribed to him, for the deliverance of the Saints, the overthrow of the wicked and the establishment of righteousness, and having accomplished them was again taken up into the heaven from which he came. The whole of Tulsi Dás's Rámáyana is a passionate protest against the virtual atheism of philosophical Hindu theology. The problem that confronted him is the very same that now most exercises the thought of the nineteenth century. If the Supreme Being is a personal God, he must be limited by the conditions of personality, and can neither be omniscient nor omnipotent. If, on the other hand, the Deity is an omnipresent, all-pervading impersonality, how can any special relation be developed between such an abstraction and the individual soul? The difficulty is one that has its root in the nature of things; and no solution of the mystery can be found but in the recognition of faith and reason as two distinct human faculties, with the infinite and the finite as their separate provinces. In the words of Saint Ambrose, non in dialecticâ complacuit Deo salvum facere populum suum. God would not be adorable, if he were not incomprehensible; and a religion that does not transcend man's understanding is not, strictly speaking, a religion at all. A just discrimination of good and evil and a sound code of morality are not beyond the compass of natural intelligence: but the rites and mysteries of religion can only be learnt by a direct revelation from God and through the action of His grace. Their acceptance by faith, even when they seem to conflict with reason, is a part of our earthly probation and a meritorious confession of our dependence on the Supreme. The final purpose of the Incarnation, like the idea of any revelation whatever from God to man, is above comprehension. The fact of the divine message having been sent may be reasonably established by historical evidence; but the tenor of the message transcends argumentative discussion, and demands nothing short of implicit and absolutely unquestioning submission. For the dogmas of revealed religion must ex hypothesi be incomprehensible mysteries. If they were ascertainable by the ordinary processes of reason, it would not be consistent with the economy of the universe to communicate them by the special vehicle of revelation. A professedly revealed religion, which is demonstrable and intelligible throughout, stands self-convicted as a human invention.
The introductory portion of the first book of the Rámáyana is curious as containing the author's vindication of his literary style as against his critics, the pedants. They attacked him for lowering the dignity of his subject by clothing it in the vulgar vernacular. However just his defence may be, it has not succeeded in converting the opposite faction and the professional Sanskrit pandits, who are its modern representatives, still affect to despise his work as an unworthy concession to the illiterate masses. With this small and solitary exception the book is in every one's hands, from the court to the cottage, and is read, or heard, and appreciated alike by every class of the Hindú community, whether high or low, rich or poor, young or old. The purity of its moral sentiments and the absolute avoidance of the slighest approach to any pruriency of idea—which the author justly advances among his distinctive merits—render it a singularly unexceptionable text-book for the native boys. For several years I persistently urged its adoption upon the Education Department,[6] and—thanks to Rája Siva Prasád—extracts from it have now been introduced into our primary schools; while it has always been prescribed as the principal test in the civil examinations for high proficiency and a degree of honour. It is equally well adapted for both these apparently incongruous purposes: for a Hindu child generally grasps at once the familiar idiom, and finds no great difficulty in even the most crabbed passage; while on the other hand both the terminology and the syntactic collocation of the words are in the highest degree perplexing to the European student, and severely try his knowledge of the language. As has been said of Spenser in the Faerie Queene, Tulsi Dás never scruples on his own authority to cut down or alter a word, or to adopt a mere corrupt pronunciation, to suit a place in his metre, or because he wants a rhyme. His treatment of words, on occasions of difficulty to his verse, is arbitrary in the extreme. He gives them any sense and any shape that the case may demand. Sometimes he merely alters a letter or two; sometimes he twists off the head or the tail of the unfortanate vocable altogether. Such vagaries, being unconsciously regulated by the genius of the language, are no more puzzling to a Hindu than the colloquialisms of Sam Weller or Mrs. Gamp are to an English reader of Dickens. But the would seem inexplicable mysteries to any Anglo-Indian official, who knew only the language of the courts, and had never studied the vernacular of the people. For such neglect there has hitherto been much exeuse, in the absence both of a dictionary and a grammar; but the latter want has now been most admirably supplied by Mr. Kellogg, of the Allahabad American Presbyterian Mission, in a work that leaves nothing to be desired, and is in a remarkable degree both lucid and exhaustive; while Mr. Bate's dictionary, though searcely intended for very advanced students, will be of much use to beginners, since it gives in alphabetical order all the archaic forms of inflection, which at the outset are found so perplexing.
The second book is more generally read than any other part of the poem, and is the most admired by Hindu critics. The description of king Dasarath's death and the different leavetakings are quoted as models of the pathetic, and in a public recital there is scarcely one in the andience who will not be moved to tears. The sentiments that the poet depiets, and the figures that he employs to illustrate them, appeal with irresistible force to the Hindu imagination; and, if for no other reason than this, they would be interesting to the English student for the insight they afford into the traditional sympathies and antipathies of the people. The constant repetition of a few stereotyped phrases—such as 'lotus feet,' 'streaming eyes,' 'quivering[7] frame'—are irritating to modern European taste, though they find a parallel in the stock epithets of the Homeric poems, and a still more striking one in Klopstock's Messiah, where similar expressions are for ever recurring in wearisome reiteration. Everybody wonders and weeps and smiles and embraces everybody else and dissolves in tears, while every hair on their body stands on end; the last two performances being so specially Tulsian, that the eyes of his dramatis personæ may be described without exaggeration, in the words of Crashaw, as:
Two walking baths, two weeping motions,
Portable and compendious oceans.
Again, the curiously artificial similes derived from the frequently fabulous habits of different birds and plants, which—like the oft-repeated refrain of a popular song—never fail to elicit the applause of an appreciative audience, only repel a foreigner as frigid and unmeaning conventionalities. Such are the perpetual allusions to the lotus, that expands in the day and closes at evening; to the lily, that blossoms in the night and fades at sunrise; to the rice crop, that luxuriates in the rain, and to the jawása plant that is killed by it; to the chakuá, that mourns its mate all through the hours of darkness ; to the chakor, that is never happy except when gazing upon the moon; to the chátak, that patiently endures all the buffeting of the storm, in the confident expectation that the cloud will at last let fall the one auspicious drop for which it thirsts; to the swan, that knows how to separate milk from the water with which it has been mixed; and to the snake, that carries a precious jewel in its head, of which it is always afraid of being robbed. In spite of these drawbacks there are many passages instinct with a genuine poetic feeling, which appeals to universal humanity, and which it is hoped will be dimly recognized even through the ineffectual medium of a prose translation.
The characters also of the principal actors in the drama are clearly and consistently drawn; and all may admire, though they refuse to worship, the piety and unselfishness of Bharat; the enthusiasm and high courage of Lakshman; the affectionate devotion of Síta, that paragon of all wife-like virtues; and the purity, meekness, generosity and self-sacrifice of Ráma, the model son, husband, and brother, 'the guileless king, high, self-contained, and passionless," the Arthur of Indian chivalry.
In the later Books the narrative is generally more rapid than in the earlier part of the poem and several incidents are so casually mentioned that, without the explanatory references to the Sanskrit Rámáyana, which I have given in the notes, a literal rendering would convey no meaning to the ordinary reader.[8] It is to some extent a literary defect that the rôle of poet is so often dropt for that of theologian; and the frequent hymns to Ráma, who is apostrophized under every conceivable name that can help to realize to the mind the mystery of incarnate divinity, soon become wearisome. But the object that Tulsi Dás had in view is his sufficient excuse. By the course that he has adopted, fitting his special doctrines of faith, individual immortality and the like into the familiar framework of ancient legend, instead of inculcating them by a more strictly didactic method, he has succeeded in popularizing his views to a far greater extent than any of the rival Hindu Reformers, who flourished about the same period. It was their object also to simplify the complications and correct the abuses of existing practice, but the only result of their preaching was to establish yet another element of dissension and augment the disorder which they hoped to remove. Tulsi Dás alone, though the most famous of them all, has no disciples that are called after his name. There are Vallabhacháris and Rádhá Vallabhis and Malúk Dásis and Prán-náthis and so on, in interminable succession, but there are no Tulsi Dásis. Virtually, however, the whole of Vaishnava Hinduism has fallen under his sway; for the principles that he expounded have permeated every sect and explictly or implicitly now form the nucleus of the popular faith as it prevails throughout the whole of the Bengal Prasideney from Hardwár to Calcutta.
It will, I think, be admitted that a poem of such manifold interest deserved the honour of an introduction to the English reader; and I had long hoped that either Mr. Kellogg, or some of the very able scholars, his colleagues, might have been induced to supply the want they unanimously deplored. But they all pleaded the length of the work and their insufficient leisure as an excuse for declining the task. At last after ascertaining that there was no prospect of my hope being realized by their labours, I commenced the present translation, the first Book of which was published as a specimen in the year 1876, while I was still at Mathurá, in a congenial atmosphere of Hindu associations.
As a result of the fact that no translation had ever before been attempted, I anticipated that there would be found a number of errors and oversights in my performance, and the more so as it was executed under not very favourable circumstances; a considerable portion of it having been written in camp, when I had few books of reference at hand, and the remainder during the midday heat of the summer months in the plains, when the intellectual faculties are apt to become a little torpid. Several correspondents kindly responded to the request, with which I prefaced my first appearance, by sending me such suggestions for improvement as on perusal had occurred to them. But the actual errors indicated were fewer and less important than I couid have hoped; while the rapidity with which every copy of the first issue was sold and the frequency of the letters which I received after the book had become out of print, enquiring where it could be obtained, were most gratifying evidences of the favour that the public accorded to my labours. I was thus encouraged to continue my undertaking, though after my transfer to Bulandshahr in 1877 I laboured under the serious disadvantage of writing in a thoroughly Muhammadanized district, where it is impossible to obtain any assistance, every subject connected with Hindu literature or scholarship being almost as incongruous with my environment as it would be in England. I can only hope that my familiarity with my author has been sufficiently long and intimate to save me from falling into many serious misconceptions of his meaning.
At the outset I was under the impression that as a translator there was no one at all in the field before me; but after making some little progress in the second book I discovered that there was already in existence for that particular section of the poem, an English version, published in 1871, by Adálat Khán, a Muhammadan Munshi of the College of Fort William in Calcutta. I at once procured a copy of it, and it is only proper to acknowledge that it was of considerable assistance to me. It does not, however, encroach very largely upon the ground that I had intended to occupy. The Munshi appears to have written solely with a view to lighten the labours of his own pupils and of others who like them were preparing for a special examination. Despite not a few misapprehensions of the sense, such persons will probably find it quite as useful for their purpose as my translation, if not more so. But in the attempt to secure literal accuracy, and also no doubt from the fact that English was not the mother-tongue of the translator, the language employed is throughout so curiously unidiomatic that in many places it is absolutely unintelligible without a reference to the original, and this the general reader would not be in a position to make. As a specimen I give the chaupái following dohá 224 (with which may be compared my rendering, page 286):—
"If he leaves me, knowing my mind wicked, and receives me, considering his servant, my sheltering-place then will be in the shoes of Ráma: he is my good master; but the fault is in this servant. The chátak and the fish deserve the praise of the world; they are sincere in their asual vow and love. Thus having reflected in his mind, he went along the road, ashamed and overpowered with love. The sin committed by his mother was as if keeping him back; but the Bull of patience was walking by the power of his faith, and when he knew the nature of Ráma, his feat fell on the ground hurriedly. The state of Bharat at that time was such as that of the bee in a current of water. Seeing the grief and love of Bharat, the pilot became stupefied at that moment."
As may be readily imagined, a translation of which the above passage is a fair specimen, might occasionally be useful in allowing me to take a rapid view of the context, but was not a very trustworthy guide on any point of real difficulty, though the Munshi states that he consulted a great many learned authorities.
The uncouthness of the Munshi's style will give some idea of what is certainly the main difficulty that has to be encountered in a prose translation from Hindi verse. No one who has not had practical experience in the matter can fully appreciate the amount of thought that has to be expended on almost every sentence, before the peculiarities of Oriental expression can be adapted to the requirements of English idiom. Without the most delicate handling it is impossible to avoid either a sacrifice of accuracy in the letter, or a misrepresentation of the spirit by a baldness of rendering, which suggests only images of the ludicrous and grotesque, while the sentiments of the original in their native dress are felt to be both natural and pathetic.
As regards what is really the minor difficulty of ascertaining the precise sense of the text, I have in the two first books relied with much confidence upon the explanations given in a Hindi commentary, published under the auspices of the Mahárája of Benares, who has himself an unequalled knowledge of the and has made it a special and lifelong study. Unfortunately it has not been carried beyond the second Book. So long as I was at Mathurá, I was able to refer on all doubtful passages to Pandit Benche Lál, a Sárasvat Bráhman of Mainpuri, who was at that time the head-master of the Branch school in the city of Mathurá. He possesses a wider acquaintance with early and mediæval Hindi literature than any one I have met since I have been in the country. I also received many valuable suggestions and emendations from Chaube Bihári Lál, of the Ránchi Normal school; and my thanks are further due to a distinguished European scholar, Mr. W. F. Johnson, of the Allahabad Mission, who kindly ealled my attention to several slips and oversights in my first issue.
The illustrations, with which the present edition are enriched, are mostly taken from an illuminated MS. in the library of the Mahárája of Benares, who was good enough to present me with the negatives. They are quite modern, but will, it is hoped, be of interest to English readers as specimens of traditional Hindu design. One plate, representing the annihilation of the God of Love, is reproduced from a lithograph drawn by a Bengali artist of some promise, who came and settled at Mathurá when I was there, but died shortly afterwards. The landscapes of Chitrakút and its neighbourhood were taken by a local native photographer, whose services I was able to secure through the assistance of Mr. McConaghey, who was then the Collector of the Bánda district. They have all been printed by the London Autotype Company, and are satisfactory productions of their skill.
Bulandshahr, 
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May 1, 1883.  F. S. GROWSE.
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- ↑ A handsome edition of the text was issued from the press of the Baptist Mission in Calcutta many years ago; but it has long been out of print, and the only copy I have ever seen of it was the one in use at the College of Fort William. I had thus entirely forgotten the fact till reminded of it by Mr. Bate, a gentleman who has ably maintained the scholarly reputation of the Mission by the very useful Hindi Dictionary that he has lately compiled.
- ↑ A ghost is supposed to suffer from perpetual thirst and to be glad to secure eveu a drop of water, however impure the purpose for which it has been used.
- ↑ I have since beon able to verify this conjecture, as Mr. Leonard, the Assistant Secretary of the Calcutta Asiatic Society, was kind encugh to lend me his copy of Price's Hindi and Hindustáni Selections, a work to which Professor Wilson refers more than once in the course of his essay. It was published in Calcutta in 1827 and has long been out of print. I find that as many as 50 pages of it are occupied with extracts from the Bhakt-málá; but with the exception of some 18 stanzas from the mûl of Náblhá Jí, all the rest is in simple narrative prose; and the compiler in his introduction specially mentions that the work itself wes rarely to be met with in the lower provinces, and that his extracts were taken from a copy in Mr. Wiison's library. [Sanskrit aud Hindi being two languages, as distinct as Latin and Italian, the above remarks were never intended (as a reviewer wrongly supposed) to detract in any way from tbe peculiar merits of one of the greatest Sanskrit scholars that England has ever produced and to whose works no one is more indebted than myself].
- ↑ The absence of all recollection of acts done in former states of existence is not an objection to the theory of transmigration; for the continuity is not one of consciousness, but of that tendency or disposition, which is the separate nature of each individual.
- ↑ In a Chinese inscription, of the year 1021 A. D., that has been discovered at Buddh Gaya, he is thus addressed: "O great master, merciful to the people, sympathizing with all creatures, although thou dost not manifest thyself, still thou art a most effiacious God."
- ↑ A recent writer in the Calcutta Review has expressed his astonishment at my proposal. But he falls into the error which has wrecked so many well-intentioned schemes in this country, that of measuring Indian tastes and requirements by a purely English standard. Manuals of history, geography and physical science are all very well in their way, but correct information by itself is really the least part of education.
- ↑ The word pulak, which I generally translate by 'quivering' or 'throbbing,' means strictly the bristling of the hair upon the body, which is a sign of violent mental agitation. The Munshi with whom I read in Calenta some twenty years ago always, I remember, rendered it by 'horripilation'; a frightful word, which would destroy all the poetic effect of the most impressive passago, but which he greatly admired on account of its sesquipedalian proportions.
- ↑ Of the two current recensions of the older poem, the one generally followed by Tulsi Dás is the Bengal, which is the text given by Gorresio in his handsome edition.