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Valmiki's Ramayana
One of India’s greatest epics, the Ramayana pervades the country’s moral and cultural consciousness. For generations it has served as a bedtime story for Indian children, while at the same time engaging the interest of philosophers and theologians. Believed to have been composed by Valmiki sometime between the eighth and sixth centuries BCE, the Ramayana tells the tragic and magical story of Rama, the prince of Ayodhya, an incarnation of Lord Visnu, born to rid the earth of the terrible demon Ravana. An idealized heroic tale ending with the inevitable triumph of good over evil, the Ramayana is also an intensely personal story of family relationships, love and loss, duty and honor, of harem intrigue, petty jealousies, and destructive ambitions. All this played out in a universe populated by larger-than-life humans, gods and celestial beings, wondrous animals and terrifying demons. With her magnificent translation and superb introduction, Arshia Sattar has successfully bridged both time and space to bring this ancient classic to modern English readers.
562 pages, Paperback
Published April 20, 2018
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May 14, 2024
I don’t have a background in the tradition of the Rāmāyaṇa; I was aware of the story in outline, but no more. As such, I can’t speak to the faithfulness of the translation, the quality of the abridgement, or the integrity of the way in which Arshia Sattar reanimates a story first told over 2,000 years ago.
What I can speak to is this: coming from an interested, loosely informed but otherwise non-expert background, this version does a superb job of bringing a story first told over 2,000 years ago to a modern audience. The translation is contemporary without being contrived, authentic whilst being non-obtrusive; the vernacular is easy to follow, and doesn’t condescend to the reader by trying to translate Sanskrit concepts without a natural English translation (dharma, asura, rākṣasa). Indeed, half the joy is in reaching an understanding of these terms through the reading process itself. This editorial process allows the Rāmāyaṇa its own voice, and foregrounds the extent to which this is a text which explores timeless themes: what does loyalty look like when extended to those who do not show back? What is the price of a promise, and the cost of breaking one? What is the meaning of sacrifice? That it does so through a world populated by flying monkeys, (remarkably) conversant birds and immortal beings makes the joy all the greater - and the translation allows for such suspension of belief that the reader very quickly ceases to question the existence of any of these things. If the aim is to bring these themes through to a modern audience without disturbing our immersion in the world of the Rāmāyaṇa, Sattar has succeeded.
What remains is a text that is familiar to readers separated from Vālmīki by centuries. Much other epic literature is typically episodic in nature, and bare-bones in its treatment of characters (I’m thinking here, for example, of the Shahnameh); the Rāmāyaṇa might be magical realism, but it is most certainly realism. The narrative is dramatic and textured, displaying a remarkable focus on specific events (and the emotions of those experiencing them); Sītā’s capture is one of the most startling and memorable passages of the entire text. In doing this, the Rāmāyaṇa creates characters with real depth - who descend from the level of the mythic to have thoughts and emotions of their own.
This is perhaps the clearest means by which the story of the Rāmāyaṇa is rendered intelligible across time and space. We empathise with Sītā; we anger with Lakṣmaṇa; we feel guilt with Daśaratha. It is also, perhaps, the most interesting aspect of the tale. The Rāmāyaṇa derives some of its complexity from the nature of Rāma himself, whose ambiguity (arising from, in particular, his treatment of Sītā) is surprising; but he is, after all, an incarnation of Viṣṇu, and there is only so much dimensionality that he can bear. Instead, it is those squarely mortal beings - both human and animal - that provide an outlet for our emotions, and a voice for the reader’s desires: see Lakṣmaṇa and Sugrīva in particular.
The Rāmāyaṇa is at its most thought provoking when it leans into this nuance; I did not feel encouraged to empathise with Rāma for his failings, nor admonished when I inevitably did not do so. In resisting this urge towards hagiography, Vālmīki invites us to question whether Viṣṇu’s incarnation is therefore compromised in his assumption of human form (and all the fallibility that comes with it). Through this, the reader better reflects on dharma - perhaps the true subject of the story - and the way in which it can only be attained through struggle against our base selves. The Rāmāyaṇa is at its least thought provoking when it seeks to shortcut this type of discussion by mechanistically ascribing characters� decision making to fate: Rāvaṇa is impelled to reject Rāma’s peace overtures, because his end is determined. Given that, after all, this is legend, the few moments in which the text employs these kinds of tropes can be forgiven.
All of these things give the Rāmāyaṇa a notable pace. Ultimately, it is a story - 500 pages of charming, layered, continuous prose. It therefore reads almost like a novel; at points, I even found myself holding my breath. To the extent I had criticisms, these were of the tradition and not the text. The first and last chapters are later insertions, and the story is made weaker by knowing from the outset that Rāma is an incarnation of Viṣṇu. That is no fault of Sattar’s, who stays faithful to the story as it has been handed down to us whilst providing explanation of this point (and others) in the notes.
All in all - an excellent read.
What I can speak to is this: coming from an interested, loosely informed but otherwise non-expert background, this version does a superb job of bringing a story first told over 2,000 years ago to a modern audience. The translation is contemporary without being contrived, authentic whilst being non-obtrusive; the vernacular is easy to follow, and doesn’t condescend to the reader by trying to translate Sanskrit concepts without a natural English translation (dharma, asura, rākṣasa). Indeed, half the joy is in reaching an understanding of these terms through the reading process itself. This editorial process allows the Rāmāyaṇa its own voice, and foregrounds the extent to which this is a text which explores timeless themes: what does loyalty look like when extended to those who do not show back? What is the price of a promise, and the cost of breaking one? What is the meaning of sacrifice? That it does so through a world populated by flying monkeys, (remarkably) conversant birds and immortal beings makes the joy all the greater - and the translation allows for such suspension of belief that the reader very quickly ceases to question the existence of any of these things. If the aim is to bring these themes through to a modern audience without disturbing our immersion in the world of the Rāmāyaṇa, Sattar has succeeded.
What remains is a text that is familiar to readers separated from Vālmīki by centuries. Much other epic literature is typically episodic in nature, and bare-bones in its treatment of characters (I’m thinking here, for example, of the Shahnameh); the Rāmāyaṇa might be magical realism, but it is most certainly realism. The narrative is dramatic and textured, displaying a remarkable focus on specific events (and the emotions of those experiencing them); Sītā’s capture is one of the most startling and memorable passages of the entire text. In doing this, the Rāmāyaṇa creates characters with real depth - who descend from the level of the mythic to have thoughts and emotions of their own.
This is perhaps the clearest means by which the story of the Rāmāyaṇa is rendered intelligible across time and space. We empathise with Sītā; we anger with Lakṣmaṇa; we feel guilt with Daśaratha. It is also, perhaps, the most interesting aspect of the tale. The Rāmāyaṇa derives some of its complexity from the nature of Rāma himself, whose ambiguity (arising from, in particular, his treatment of Sītā) is surprising; but he is, after all, an incarnation of Viṣṇu, and there is only so much dimensionality that he can bear. Instead, it is those squarely mortal beings - both human and animal - that provide an outlet for our emotions, and a voice for the reader’s desires: see Lakṣmaṇa and Sugrīva in particular.
The Rāmāyaṇa is at its most thought provoking when it leans into this nuance; I did not feel encouraged to empathise with Rāma for his failings, nor admonished when I inevitably did not do so. In resisting this urge towards hagiography, Vālmīki invites us to question whether Viṣṇu’s incarnation is therefore compromised in his assumption of human form (and all the fallibility that comes with it). Through this, the reader better reflects on dharma - perhaps the true subject of the story - and the way in which it can only be attained through struggle against our base selves. The Rāmāyaṇa is at its least thought provoking when it seeks to shortcut this type of discussion by mechanistically ascribing characters� decision making to fate: Rāvaṇa is impelled to reject Rāma’s peace overtures, because his end is determined. Given that, after all, this is legend, the few moments in which the text employs these kinds of tropes can be forgiven.
All of these things give the Rāmāyaṇa a notable pace. Ultimately, it is a story - 500 pages of charming, layered, continuous prose. It therefore reads almost like a novel; at points, I even found myself holding my breath. To the extent I had criticisms, these were of the tradition and not the text. The first and last chapters are later insertions, and the story is made weaker by knowing from the outset that Rāma is an incarnation of Viṣṇu. That is no fault of Sattar’s, who stays faithful to the story as it has been handed down to us whilst providing explanation of this point (and others) in the notes.
All in all - an excellent read.
May 14, 2020
Its a english translation of classic ramayan explaining Ramayan in simple and short words. Though I found the book ends just when sugriva sends his army in all direction to search for goddess Sita. Felt the book could have been in more detail and complete.
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