- Srilata Sircar
Paula Richman writes in her essay titled “Questioning and Multiplicity Within the Ramayana Tradition” that the corpus of legends, myths, folklore and other literature surrounding the figure of Rama has for long accommodated deviations, variations and implicit modes of questioning. She identifies two broad categories into which these, the ‘other’ Ramayanas, can be divided. The first is the category modeled by Sanskrit philologists, which regards the Valmiki Ramayana as the ‘ur’ or the ‘original’ version of the epic, thus implying that all other versions are derivatives meant to be regarded in hierarchical perspective. The other alternative model I, the second the one developed by A.K. Ramanujan, which may roughly be termed as the ‘Many Ramayanas’ approach. It is in this, the second model, that I wish to locate Michael Madhusudan Dutta’s signature creation, the Megnadh Badh Kabya or The Song of the Fall of Megnadh.
First published in 1861, Megnadh Badh Kabya is Dutta’s best remembered work. Spanning over seven books, like the Valmiki Ramayana itself, Megnadh Badh Kabya relates the climactic latter half of the epic story, in which a war is fought between Rama’s army of monkeys and Ravana’s force of demons. In this paper, I will take up an analysis of Book VI of Megnadh Badh Kabya, and attempt to argue that through his negotiation of the dynamics within the narrative, Dutta not only challenges the popular notions of Rama as the ultimate hero and Ravana as the ultimate villain, but nearly inverts the thesis of the myth by garnering the reader’s sympathy and admiration in favour of Megnadh (the son of Ravana), who most definitely is the hero of Book VI.
The Book on the fall of Megnadh opens with Lakshman reporting to Rama his encounter with the goddess Maya whom he had pleased with his devotion and ardour and won over her assistance in his mission to execute Megnadh. The theme of divine intervention is recurrent throughout the book, as if to suggest the injustice of the unfavourable situation that this places Megnadh in and the undue privilege that Lakshman enjoys over him. Lakshman in his opulent warrior’s attire, has a bright armour decked on his chest, a flashing sword beneath his radiant belt, a shield on his back and a quiver full of arms donated by deities whose favour he had secured. When he reaches Nikumbhil, where Megnadh sits lost in meditation, he finds him seated on a mat of holy grass, adorned by a silken cloth. His brow is marked with sandal and his neck is garlanded by fragrant blossoms. The contrast drawn by Dutta between the figure of the regal warrior and that of the unarmed, unsuspecting devotee is stark and unmistakable. The contrast takes an almost caricaturist turn when Megnadh assaults Lakshman with a jar of water and despite his resplendent armour, he falls and swoons “As down comes with a mighty creak and crash/A tree gigantic pulled out by the storms”. This is followed by an extensive conversation between Megnadh and Vibhishan who had accompanied Lakshman to Lanka. It is only after a sufficient lapse of time that Dutta allows Lakshman to regain consciousness and resume the lop-sided battle. The projection of this battle as a divine conspiracy in which various deities connived to bring about the fall of Megnadh is furthered by Dutta’s treatment of the role played by goddess Lakshmi.
Lakshmi is approached by Maya to assist Lakshman in entering Lanka unnoticed, in the garb of a god. Lakshmi obliges out of a reverence for Maya, but indiscreetly laments the fate of Ravana, whose family had faithfully served her. She regrets her move of betrayal and blames it on the irreversibility of the wheel of fate and the cycle of time. Having accomplished the task assigned to her, she steals away from Maya and weeps in grief and guilt. The pre-ordained nature of Megnadh’s death is repeatedly emphasized, as if to dispel any notions of a lack of valor on his part. Lakshmi justifies the inevitability of his death on the basis of the sins of Ravana.
Another device employed by Dutta to patheticize the fall of Megnadh is the metaphor of a hunt, that emerges time and again in his description of the entire exercise. In the opening lines of Book VI, Dutta describes Lakshman’s retreat to the tent of Rama as a “fowler”, “who hath perceived a lion in the woods”. He alternates between depicting Lakshman as the cowering escapist and identifying him with the figure of the sly, opportunistic hunter. Goddess Maya, herself complicit in the murder of Megnadh, calls the act a “coup-de-main”, stating that it would be impossible to subdue him in a free and equal battle. In his description of Lakshman’s surreptitious entry into Lanka, Dutta takes this metaphor to its most explicit and poignant form: “As in a forest dense/ The tiger, (when the beast perceives a fawn),/ Concealed in ambush makes a cautious move/ And bides his time; or as the ravenous shark,/ Unseen, perceiving from the river’s bed/ A person (bathing on its lovely coast),/ Advances to his prey like wheels of death/ So Lakshman brave, attended by his friend/ With guarded footsteps marched to slay the foe,/ Whose doom was sealed…” The simile is sustained in the passage describing Lakshman’s arrival at Megnadh’s chamber of worship. It reaches its culmination when Lakshman himself is made to adopt it in his dialogue with Megnadh. When Megnadh demands a fair opportunity to fetch his weapons before embarking on a confrontation, Lakshman retorts that just like a hunter never releases a tiger caught in his net, he would also be a fool to let him go and would kill him by “methods foul or fair”. He then cites the example of Abhimanyu, Arjuna’s son, who died in the great battle of Kurukshetra, combating seven opponents at a time. The consistent use of the hunter-hunted metaphor is a clear indication of the light in which Dutta views the mythical event of the death of Megnadh. His sympathies undoubtedly lie with the victim and it is this that he wants to evoke in his readers as well.
A similar inclination is betrayed by his characterization of Rama and Vibhishan. The one time that Rama is allowed to speak in Book VI, he comes across as a weak and cowardly man with wavering intentions. He bitterly laments the misfortune that had befallen him due to the scheming Kekai and the vows of his father King Dasharath. Revoking the parting words of Sumitra, Lakshman’s mother and Urmila, his wife, Rama refuses to shoulder the responsibility of any harm borne by his brother and is deeply skeptical of the outcome of this mission. He goes to the extent of saying: “Friend, let me exit back to Dandak woods./ For who can fight the son of Ravana brave, the terror of the demons, men and gods.” He shows no trepidation in forgoing his wife Sita and all plans to rescue her, to ensure his own secure return. In recollecting all the efforts he had made to reach this far, crossing the vast ocean, he betrays a sense of resignation. “In vain we crossed the boundless sea, it seems.” In addition to Bhibhishan’s assurance and Lakshman’s alacrity to go ahead with his task, it takes a divine command from “a daughter of the sky” to coerce Rama into taking on the gauntlet. It is therefore neither his love for his wife, not his instinctive heroism that inspires a gallant show from Rama. It is merely the undeniable word of god that compels Rama into a confrontation that he would have preferred to avoid.
Bhibhishan, in popular imagination, is crystallized as the sagacious brother of the demon-king, who defies the ties of blood to side with the good against evil. However, in his dialogue with Megnadh, Dutta essays Bhibhishan as a faint-hearted traitor. It seems that he deserted his clan more out of fear than out of moral righteousness. He terms his entry and acceptance in Rama’s camp as “safe asylum”, “For who would perish for his kinsmen’s faults?” In response to this justification, Dutta’s Megnadh quotes from the Shastras, saying that an evil kinsman is to be preferred over a good stranger and that ties of blood are to be respected above every other association.
It is the character of Megnadh that is most deified in his own treatment and the response of other characters to him. On numerous occasions, references are made to his military prowess, unblemished moral character and holistic greatness by various characters including Rama, Lakshman and gods and goddesses. When he first encounters Lakshman in the garb of the fire god in his chamber of worship, he approaches him with folded hands and kow-tows repeatedly. Even on being informed about Lakshman’s true identity and his sinister intentions, he continues to regard him as an honored guest. He appeals to Lakshman’s Kshatriya spirit to allow him a fair and suitably armed fight. On being met with scorn and rebuff, he faces his enemy boldly and derives strength from the justness of his stance. Dutta’s deification of Megnadh reaches its pinnacle when his death is compared to the departure of Krishna from Gokul and the immense sorrow that it spelled for the people of Vrindavan. Megnadh’s image in the public eye and the following that he enjoys are previously established in the text through conversations that Lakshman overhears amongst the subjects of Lanka. A parallel is also drawn between the death of Megnadh and the killing of Duryodhana by Bhim. The illegitimacy of the latter is widely acknowledged, even by ancient scholars of the Mahabharata, as Duryodhan was killed by the crushing of his thighs, while in lawful warfare, an assault beneath the waist is unacceptable. With this, Dutta’s verdict on the issue is sealed and his disapproval of the means adopted by Lakshman is made evident. While neither Lakshman nor Rama are demonized in his narrative, they are certainly shown to be smaller than their projected selves. Megnadh (a demon), on the contrary, and through him vicariously Ravana too, is glorified and portrayed as a tragic hero who was victim of a conspiracy that enjoyed divine endorsement.
Myth in this case, as in most others, is an agency for the expression of opinion. The historicity of the takes of the Ramayana is still hotly debated. However, as argued by Pargitter in “Ramayana: The Epic Tradition”, the Ramayana in course of its evolution has undergone the transition from ‘tale’ to ‘myth’. The larger than life cult symbol that Rama has now come to emblematize has been inspected, enacted and even denounced in various readings and writings of this myth. The plot has been manipulated, the events have been situated in different regional, social and cultural set-ups and they have always eluded specific plotting in terms of the co-ordinates of time. What is unique about Megnadh Badh Kabya is that despite being one of the lesser tellings of the myth of Rama, it is perhaps the only version that focuses entirely on reworking the inter-personal dynamics of the epic. Thus without deviating from the plot in any significant measure, it presents a wholly unprecedented interpretation of the myth that stands exactly at odds with its popular perception. Romila Thapar, in her introduction to the book Questioning Ramayanas has commented on the absence of the Megnadh Badh Kabya from the academic scenario pertaining to the Ramayana, for the last few decades. Gopa Majumdar, in the preface to her translation of Michael Madhusudan Dutta’s biography titled Lured by Hope mentions her admiration for Dutta for bringing the female characters of the Ramayana into prominence and giving them a voice of their own. Megnadh Badh Kabya therefore represents the synthesis of several strands of subaltern thought and maps them on to the Ramayana, the oldest epic of our land. Thus, in conclusion I would like to re-emphasize on the unique character of the reading provided to me by Dutta and the reversal of thesis that it brings about. Megnadh Badh Kabya continues to present us with a high measure of unexplored potential for academic and literary analysis.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
1. Megnadh Badh Kabya – translation Ghulam Murshid
2. Lured by Hope- Ghulam Murshid, translated by Gopa Majumdar
3. Questioning Ramayanas- (ed.) Paula Richman
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