Bal Kanda
Analysis
We’ve begun Maharsi Valmiki’s Ramayana and covered about eight chapters. From these, I’ll share the essential ideas I’ve understood.
First, in my view, the Ramayana—the story of Rama—is not imaginary. It is the truth within us—a truth we’ve almost completely forgotten. A sage like Valmiki has presented that forgotten inner truth before us in the form of Rama’s story. So if we approach the Ramayana spiritually, it points us toward our own eternal truth. And what is it that we truly need to know? We need to know: What is the eternal truth within me?
Right now, I sit identifying only with the body. From mere bookishness I may study these texts and boast, “I’ve read this and that.” But whether it’s Valmiki’s Ramayana or the Ramcharitmanas—read them fifty times—even then, one may not discover the inner truth. Discovering that inner truth is essential; that is precisely the lens with which we now want to consider Valmiki’s Ramayana.
To me, this Ramayana is a spiritual narrative, expressed in a symbolic, personified style so artfully that the story appears like history. I believe the entire inner journey—from where we are to liberation—has been turned into characters and events: each step of knowledge personified and presented so beautifully that, being unfamiliar with symbolic style, we keep hearing the story as mere history and miss the knowledge hidden inside it.
Our scriptures are like a capsule: the sweet outer shell is the captivating story; inside lies the medicine of knowledge. We love the sweet coating, we’re comfortable with it, and we get attached to our beliefs and assumptions about the “historical” narrative. But the medicine inside—the knowledge—feels less “comfortable.” Why? Because in the pleasant story of Rama, Rama does everything. I just sit and enjoy: “Rama did this, Rama endured that.” But if I apply it to myself—“If Rama did it, can I do it? Rama killed Ravana—how will I kill my Ravana?”—then I must become Rama-like. The moment I take that step, I must swallow the medicine of knowledge and leave my comfort zone, even a little.
I’m not saying throw away the outer story—it will naturally loosen its hold as we keep taking the medicine. At first we may feel uneasy. Slowly it becomes a habit, and we begin to enter knowledge. So for our upliftment, let’s set aside our comfort zone for a while and try to absorb the knowledge. I myself keep choosing the medicine; I’d like you to try as well.
Now, to Valmiki’s Ramayana. We all know Rāmāyaṇa means Rama’s “ayana”—his dwelling, home, or abode. Which Rama? Not a merely physical, historical person “out there.” This narrative concerns two senses of Rama:
Rama as Paramatma—the ground of creation, pervading every atom (Rama, “the One who delights in every particle”).
Rama as the Self (Atman)—the One present in every body; hence the saying, “Rama dwells in every heart.”
We often say “Atman, Atman,” but we don’t truly grasp that I am the Atman. We’ve made Atman into something separate: “I am the body, and my body has a soul.” It must be turned the right way: “I am the Self; the body is my instrument.” The day I stand in the knowledge “I am the Atman (Rama), and this body is mine (as a tool),” that very day Rama descends within—this is the Rama Valmiki describes.
The Ramayana begins with Rama’s descent. Before that descent, the text mentions forebears—Manu, Ikshvaku, Raghu—and Dasharatha as father. These are not family trees in the ordinary sense. Pūrvaja (ancestor) literally means “that which happens before” (pūrva + jāyate). These “lineages” are stages of consciousness that must occur before Rama (Self-knowledge) manifests within.
For example, Rama is called Sūryavaṃśī. In spiritual terms, Vivasvan (Sun) points to a state free of vāsanās (latent tendencies). So the first state is vāsanā-lessness.
Next, Rama is called Ikshvaku-vaṃśī. Ikṣ = “to see,” and vāk/pashyati here points to seeing within—turning inward. We must shift from outward-looking to inward-looking.
Then comes Kakutstha (often said as Kakut): dwelling on the crest, i.e., abiding in high, noble thoughts—rising above petty, worldly thinking.
Then Raghu: from the root meaning to cross/overleap—the mind learns to easily cross adverse circumstances.
After these, Dasharatha: symbol of the pure, peaceful, steady mind. Only in such a mind can Rama (Self-knowledge) be born—“Rama was born in Dasharatha’s house.”
So: to have Rama descend within, I must become vāsanā-free, inward-turned, rooted in high thought, able to cross adversity, and finally establish a pure, steady mind. Only then does my forgotten Self-knowledge arise. External “Rama” is our cultural glory—but culture becomes glorious only when we become glorious within.
Why seek Self-knowledge? Because the liberation we crave—“mukti, mukti”—is liberation from our own defilements and ego. These trouble us day and night. Self-knowledge is how we free ourselves from them and establish Rama-rajya within. An outer Rama-rajya, even if it existed, doesn’t help me unless it arises inside—that’s what brings peace and joy.
Thus, through the Ramayana, Valmiki is really describing the splendor of Self-knowledge (Rama)—what a person does when established in it. “Rama did this, Rama did that” means: what a Self-knower does in those situations. If I want Rama-rajya within, I must remember and live my true nature, step by step.
A clarification: when we say Rama = Self-knowledge, note the distinction between Paramatma (unborn, eternal, unmanifest) and the birth of knowledge in me. Paramatma is ajanmā (unborn). But Self-knowledge in me arises and can also fade. In Satya Yuga, many were established in it; in Kali Yuga, very few are. So Self-knowledge takes birth (in Dasharatha’s house) and can also be “killed”—as hinted in the second chapter’s prologue where the male bird is slain: the loss of Self-remembrance. The Ramayana’s central project is to re-establish that Self-knowledge in Kali Yuga—this is what Valmiki does by “establishing Rama.”
We also hear Ayodhya, Ashvamedha, and calling Rishyashringa. These emphasize the mind’s purification:
Ayodhya—“no war”: a mind free of inner conflict and dualities; only then can it be steady.
Ashvamedha—making the horse-like mind medhya (pure).
Rishyashringa from Romapada of Anga: Romapada (literally “fallen hairs”) hints at outer excitability settling when inner stillness is deep.
Rishyashringa here signifies inner illumination/inner prompting (antaḥ-sphuraṇa). Great souls do not act merely on external instruction; real, lasting action arises from inner prompting. So Sumantra’s advice—“Call Rishyashringa”—means: before any great work (like purifying the mind), look for the inner spark. External inspiration helps, but only inner ignition sustains the work.
So, before Rama descends, eight necessities are indicated:
be vāsanā-free (Vivasvan), inward-turned (Ikshvaku), rooted in noble thought (Kakutstha), able to cross adversity (Raghu), establish a pure steady mind (Dasharatha), abide in non-conflict (Ayodhya), purify the mind (Ashvamedha), and act from inner prompting (Rishyashringa).
A note on conscious vs subconscious: removing defilements from the conscious mind isn’t too hard. What’s hard is what’s sunk into the subconscious—these become deep samskaras. Valmiki calls the subconscious Lanka. To destroy the ego and defilements lodged there—Ravana, Kumbhakarna, Meghnada—we must be established in Self-knowledge. That’s why Rama must “go to Lanka.”
So the Ramayana’s flow is: first, Who is Rama? Then, Why does Rama’s descent matter? Only when I destroy my Ravana-like ego and other inner demons do I become self-governing (svarajya)—like the great ones, clean within, inwardly guided, steady in the Self. As we proceed, Valmiki will describe how Rama descends—right now we’ve reached Sumantra’s counsel: perform Ashvamedha, and invite Rishyashringa for the Putreshti.
Lastly, a point from last time: the text calls Dasharatha jita-indriya (master of the senses), yet also says he desires a son. Isn’t that contradictory? In the Puranic idiom, putra (son) often means a quality (guna), and putri (daughter) a special capability/virtue. So Dasharatha’s “desire for a son” means the pure, steady mind yearns for Self-knowledge—the supreme quality among qualities. He has conquered the senses, yes; the next step is the descent of knowledge: “Who am I—this body, or the power that runs it?” His mind longs to receive and abide in that understanding.
So, as we continue, remember: Valmiki only signals the preparatory disciplines (there are other texts on how to purify the mind); his purpose is to show the descent of Self-knowledge (Rama) and its majesty—across the whole Ramayana.