Life Lessons from the Ramayana – Part 1 by HG Chaitanya Charan Das

So, I have a very big ego. When I am writing on the board, I notice people often look away from me. I don’t like that. Maybe it’s true that I’m overly conscious of it. One devotee even joked with me, saying I must be doing a lot of neck exercises from all the glancing around! Anyway, I will write and draw on the board as we discuss. Thank you all for coming today.

Today, we will address a common challenge we all face in life: what to do when things go wrong. We plan for one outcome, but something completely different happens. Sometimes things go slightly wrong; other times, they go severely or even catastrophically wrong. And often, our reactions to these situations can make things even worse.

To explore this, we’ll look at a traumatic incident in the Ramayana and analyze how the characters involved responded. The session will have three parts:

1. Four Approaches to Understanding Sacred Texts – We’ll explore how to interpret stories from the Ramayana, Mahabharata, and Bhagavatam.
2. The Incident Analysis – We’ll discuss the specific event, the underlying psychology, and the thought processes of the characters involved.
3. Virtue and Aversion to Fault-Finding – Inspired by Bhagavad Gita 16.2, we’ll explore how to avoid blame and focus on resolving the situation.

Today, we’ll cover the story up to the point where Sita is abducted. Tomorrow morning, we’ll discuss what Rama, Lakshmana, Jatayu, and Sita herself did afterward. We’ll see how each contributed, in their own way, to resolving the crisis.

Understanding Sacred Texts: Four Levels of Approach

When we hear stories from sacred texts, we often enjoy their novelty, adventure, and moral lessons. These stories are woven with drama, action, romance, betrayal, and intrigue. Many of us might have grown up hearing these tales from the Ramayana or Mahabharata or encountered them through movies, TV shows, or as part of our journey into Bhakti.

The richness of these stories allows us to approach them at different levels. I use the acronym LEAD to explain these levels:

1. Literal
2. Ethical
3. Allegorical
4. Devotional

Each level offers unique insights, but each also has its limitations. Think of these approaches as different perspectives—just like when buying a house, we examine it from various angles to get the full picture.

1. Literal Level

The literal level involves understanding the story as it is—what happened, where, and to whom.

Positive Aspects:

• Entertainment: These stories are not only engaging but also filled with pious values.
• Appeal to All Ages: They serve as enjoyable tales for children and often convey good moral lessons.

Limitations:

• Repetition and Boredom: Knowing the story beforehand might reduce interest.
• Superficial Understanding: Intelligent or analytical individuals may dismiss them as unsophisticated or overly miraculous.

For example, when I first heard these stories, I sometimes felt intellectually underwhelmed. It was only later, as I studied the works of great Acharyas like Vishvanath Chakravarti Thakur, Baladeva Vidyabhushana, and Bhaktivinoda Thakur, that I saw the depth in these stories.

2. Ethical Level

At this level, we analyze the actions of characters to extract moral lessons and guidance for decision-making.

Examples:

• Kaikeyi’s downfall illustrates the danger of listening to biased advice, as seen when Manthara poisoned her mind.
• Rama’s obedience to his father serves as an example of filial duty.
• Lakshmana’s devotion to Rama demonstrates the importance of loyalty to one’s elders.

Even Srila Prabhupada emphasizes ethical principles in his purports. For instance, in the first chapter of the Bhagavad Gita, he praises Arjuna’s thoughtfulness, which qualifies him to receive Krishna’s teachings.

Limitations:

• Judgmental Views: We might unfairly criticize sacred characters for perceived flaws (e.g., questioning Yudhishthira’s decision to gamble).
• Focus Shift: Ethical analysis might shift our focus from learning lessons to judging who was right or wrong.

To avoid this, our focus should remain on what is right, not who is right. These are sacred personalities, and we must respect them.

3. Allegorical Level

At the allegorical level, we interpret the deeper symbolic meanings behind stories.

Examples:

• Bhaktivinoda Thakur explains how demons in Krishna’s pastimes represent various anarthas (inner impurities). For instance, Putana represents a false Guru.
• Similarly, Madhvacharya and other Acharyas provide allegorical insights into the Ramayana and Mahabharata.

This approach enriches our understanding by revealing the stories’ spiritual significance.

4. Devotional Level

Finally, the devotional level focuses on the characters’ relationships with the Supreme Lord and the transcendental emotions involved.

This level inspires Bhakti by showing how sacred personalities demonstrate devotion in their actions, thoughts, and lives. At this level, we see how their stories are not just lessons but reflections of their love for the Lord.

Each level of interpretation has its place and purpose. When we combine these perspectives, we can fully appreciate the depth of sacred texts and apply their wisdom in our lives.

Tomorrow, we will continue exploring the responses of Rama, Lakshmana, Jatayu, and Sita to Sita’s abduction and learn how their actions exemplify the ideal balance of Dharma and emotional intelligence.

Thank you for your attention, and I look forward to continuing this discussion.

At the same time, these sacred characters exist in the material world, which is inherently a messy and unpredictable place. As a result, they may sometimes make decisions that seem flawed or questionable. We will explore the reasons for these decisions from different perspectives later. However, our primary focus should not be on judging these characters or placing ourselves in a superior position—thinking, “This character was foolish” or “This character was short-sighted.” Instead, we should focus on what we can learn from their experiences. The emphasis should be on understanding what is right rather than who is right.

This is why Śrīla Prabhupāda, in the first chapter of the Bhagavad Gītā, highlights Arjuna’s thoughtfulness and deliberate reflection, encouraging us to be thoughtful like Arjuna. However, in the second chapter, the focus shifts. While being thoughtful is important, without a foundation of knowledge, thoughtfulness alone cannot guide us effectively. Thoughtfulness needs to be anchored in spiritual knowledge to be meaningful and transformative.

Prabhupāda often employs this dual perspective. For instance, in the sixth canto of the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, during the pastime where Maharaj Citraketu laughs at Lord Śiva’s unusual behavior and is subsequently cursed by Pārvatī, Prabhupāda offers nuanced lessons. When Citraketu laughs, Prabhupāda remarks that great sages present in the assembly refrained from laughing—highlighting the importance of not passing judgment or acting disrespectfully toward great souls, especially when we do not fully understand their actions. However, when Pārvatī curses Citraketu, and Citraketu responds with composure and devotion, Prabhupāda emphasizes that Pārvatī could have considered the restraint shown by the sages and Lord Śiva himself before rushing to judgment. From this, we learn two key lessons:

1. Avoid being quick to judge or mock others, especially when their actions appear questionable.
2. If someone does act disrespectfully, those in positions of power should avoid immediate punishment and instead seek to understand the situation more deeply.

The focus, therefore, remains on discerning what is right rather than assigning blame or determining who is right.

Moving on to the third approach: the allegorical level. This level appeals to those with an analytical and intellectual inclination, as it explores the symbolism in the sacred texts and the universal themes they represent. For instance, rather than focusing solely on who Rāvaṇa is, we consider what Rāvaṇa represents. While Rāvaṇa is historically a demon from a particular time, he also symbolizes uncontrolled lust—a destructive force when it disregards dharma.

Similarly, in the story of Devakī’s six slain children, the six children are said to represent the six anarthas (lust, anger, greed, envy, pride, and illusion). Devakī’s womb symbolizes the heart, and once these anarthas are removed, the spiritual master (symbolized by Balarāma) and the Supreme Lord (symbolized by Kṛṣṇa) manifest fully in the heart, enabling spiritual transformation.

This allegorical approach can enrich our understanding of these pastimes, providing deeper insights. However, it also carries risks, especially when taken to an extreme. Excessive reliance on allegory can lead to deconstruction, where the stories are stripped of their historical and literal significance. For example, some commentators have interpreted Kurukṣetra symbolically as the human body, with the Pāṇḍavas representing virtues and the Kauravas representing vices. While such interpretations can offer additional meaning, Prabhupāda cautions against reducing these sacred texts to mere symbolism, insisting on recognizing their historical reality as well. The symbolism should complement the literal understanding, not replace it.

Finally, at the devotional (or transcendental) level, the stories are viewed as divine pastimes (leelas), where everything that happens is understood as the Lord’s arrangement. This perspective emphasizes the glory of the Lord and His devotees, as well as the Lord’s reciprocation with His devotees. For example, Prabhupāda explains that Arjuna’s initial confusion in the Bhagavad Gītā was orchestrated by Kṛṣṇa to set the stage for sharing this profound spiritual wisdom with the world.

While this perspective fosters deep devotional absorption, it can sometimes feel ethically or intellectually unsatisfactory. If everything is attributed to the Lord’s arrangement, it may seem to negate human free will or the need for deliberate action and decision-making. For instance, if a plane crashes, one could superficially claim that gravity caused it. While gravity is undeniably a factor, the real question lies in identifying why the mechanisms of the plane malfunctioned. Similarly, while acknowledging that everything is ultimately Kṛṣṇa’s arrangement, we must also consider the human choices and circumstances that play a role in these events.

Thus, the devotional approach should inspire reverence and absorption in the Lord while still leaving room for thoughtful ethical and intellectual deliberation. By integrating these four approaches—literal, ethical, allegorical, and devotional—we can gain a more holistic and enriching understanding of sacred texts and the lessons they offer.

Especially for someone who is approaching these stories and has not yet accepted the supremacy of Krishna—or, more specifically, Krishna’s benevolence—this can be challenging. Krishna is described as suhridam sarva bhutānām—the well-wisher of everyone. For such a person, they might think, “The way you’re looking at these stories neglects the moral aspects.” So, the devotional approach is especially valuable for experiencing a transcendental level of understanding.

Different approaches to these stories can be used. Which approach is appropriate depends on the individual. For children, a literal approach works well. This is also true for people who are not very analytical or those who seek thrill and entertainment—someone who can be a good storyteller would resonate with them. For people who are more analytical, the ethical and allegorical approaches are more fitting. These analyses can come from various perspectives, often focusing on learning life lessons or values.

As Bhaktivinoda Thakur explains, the literal approach is suitable for the kanishtha devotees—the first level of devotees. They take everything literally and focus primarily on worshiping the deities in temples without associating much with other devotees. At this stage, their focus is on the literal meaning. The madhyama level devotees, who are a bit more analytical, can delve into the non-literal or symbolic meanings of these stories.

In the course of these teachings, Bhaktivinoda Thakur recognizes that analytical individuals may sometimes dismiss the kanishthas, seeing their focus on literal meanings as primitive or naïve. But he encourages respect for their level of devotion and acknowledges that being analytical and thoughtful is important. However, he also highlights that the devotional level, which encompasses the experience of rasa (spiritual bliss), is the highest. At this level, the stories transport us into a deeper reality, allowing us to experience Krishna’s love and intimacy in a profound way.

For pure devotees or those aspiring to be, the devotional approach is the most enriching. For example, during Janmashtami, devotees may focus deeply on the appearance of Krishna and relish the details of that moment, immersing themselves in the story again and again. This kind of love for Krishna allows us to experience ever-new realizations, as Krishna is eternal and expansive.

Now, in our discussion here, we will focus on the ethical level. We will explore how to deal with challenges and mistakes in life. While the devotional perspective is important, we will focus more on the ethical side, analyzing how we handle difficult situations. If someone suffers because of a mistake, it wouldn’t be helpful to simply say, “It’s Krishna’s arrangement.” That could sound dismissive or even offensive, especially when someone is genuinely suffering due to our actions.

In such cases, rationalizing with phrases like “It’s Krishna’s arrangement” can be harmful. While philosophy can help us understand certain aspects of life, it should not be used to justify our wrongdoings. Sometimes, we may try to justify poor actions with seemingly rational explanations, but this only leads to more confusion.

Let’s now explore the story of the Ramayana, particularly the sequence that leads to the abduction of Sita. When the exile began, there was heartbreak for everyone except Kaikeyi. Ram, Sita, and Lakshman went to the forest, initially staying in Chitrakoot. This period brought them closer together, as they had more time for each other in a peaceful environment. But eventually, they moved southward to explore more of the forest and meet with sages.

This is when the traumatic events occurred that led to Sita’s abduction. It’s important to analyze where the causal link begins. Some might say it was Kaikeyi’s plot that set everything in motion, but how far back can we trace the origin? It could be said that if Ram and Sita had stayed in Chitrakoot, nothing would have happened. But the chain of events continued, and soon they encountered Shurpanakha, who was wandering the forest.

Shurpanakha, after smelling human flesh, followed the scent and saw Ram. At first, she was attracted to him and proposed a relationship, but Ram politely turned her down. He explained that he was already married and had taken a vow of monogamy. She then approached Lakshman, but he also rejected her, leading her to become furious and act impulsively. In her anger, Shurpanakha attacked Sita, which led to a series of unfortunate events.

The story highlights the difference between divine and demoniac natures. Divine beings live within boundaries, respecting them even when angry or hurt, while demoniac beings disregard boundaries altogether. Shurpanakha’s actions, fueled by lust and anger, led to violence and the eventual abduction of Sita by Ravana.

Through these stories, we see the consequences of crossing moral boundaries. While it is natural to feel hurt or angry when rejected, it is how we respond that defines us. Respect for boundaries is essential, and the actions of Shurpanakha show the dangers of ignoring this principle.

In this discussion, we will continue to analyze how ethical and moral boundaries are important in dealing with life’s challenges and mistakes.

And when he saw the power of Ram, he just ran away. He ran all the way to Lanka. His name was Akampan. But when he came before Ravana, he was trembling in fear. And then he told Ravana what had happened. Ravana was enraged. He said, “I will destroy all of them.”

Akampan, however, told him, “I have seen Ram’s powers. He is an extremely powerful warrior. It might be very difficult to face him in battle.”

Akampan spoke cautiously because he was a king and did not want to downplay Ravana’s power. Ravana also respected Akampan as a skilled fighter. But Ravana, feeling insulted, responded, “Do you expect me to take this advice? I will never back down.”

He added, “I have a strategy. I saw that Ram brought his wife with him. This shows he must be very attached to her. If you can abduct his wife, he will become mad. He will be so dejected, his attachment will become his weakness.”

This logic, though, is flawed. Generally, when someone attacks the family of a hero, it only makes them angrier. But Ravana, confident in the security of Lanka, believed this could work. He thought, “We are protected on this island. They will never be able to reach us. And when Ram is unable to find Sita, he will become disheartened, and then we can defeat him.”

Ravana then went to Maricha, and when Maricha heard the word “Ram,” he said, “Who told you to mess with Ram? Ram’s arrows are so powerful that they threw me miles away. I live in constant terror. Just hearing the name ‘Ram’ makes me tremble. Whatever has happened, forget it.”

At this point, Ravana no longer had any personal interest in Sita. He saw her only as a means to provoke Ram. He returned to Lanka, but when Shurpanakha came back to him, she was furious. She said, “What are you doing? Enjoying the music of dancers, when your own army has been destroyed, and your sister humiliated?” Ravana, feeling embarrassed, needed a way to save face. He asked her what had happened, and Shurpanakha recounted the events.

However, Shurpanakha, not expecting Ravana’s reaction, quickly spun the story. She told him, “I didn’t go there just to attack them. I saw how beautiful Sita was. She would be the perfect jewel for you. I went to get her for you.”

As Ravana heard about Sita’s beauty, his desire grew. The mention of her beauty sparked his lust, and he became interested in Sita not to get back at Ram, but to have her for himself.

Initially, Ravana’s motivation was his pride, which was hurt when Ram rejected Shurpanakha. But once his lust was triggered, his pride was overshadowed. This is a reminder that our attachments, our desires, can often become our weaknesses, and others can exploit them.

Shurpanakha’s manipulation had worked. Ravana, now obsessed with Sita, disregarded Maricha’s warnings and commanded him to help abduct her. Maricha, understanding the danger, thought, “My end has come.” But he resolved that if he was going to die, it would be better to die at the hands of Ram, as that would lead to a more auspicious end, rather than dying at the hands of Ravana.

At one level, Maricha’s actions show a certain understanding that being killed by the Lord brings auspiciousness. But what is he doing? He is seeking his own elevation or liberation at the cost of harming the Lord. So, he is becoming a pawn in the hands of the one who wants to hurt Ram. This is a knowledgeable but selfish calculation. It is not a service-oriented one. You could say it is Maricha’s miscalculation. This was also a contributing factor to what happened next.

Maricha came to Ram’s hermitage in the form of an extraordinarily beautiful and enchanting deer. Sita, sitting in the hermitage, looked out the window and said, “Hey Ram, Lakshman, come here. Can you see how beautiful this deer is?” The deer pranced around, capturing her attention, much like a small pet that looks so cute and attractive. Sita asked, “Can you bring this deer back as a pet for me? We can have a nice time with it. When we return to Ayodhya, we can give it as a gift to Mandarakaikai.”

Now, one might say that Sita’s desire for the deer was the cause of the problem. Was her desire selfish? Not necessarily. You could argue that it was innocent. She was in the forest and simply wanted something for recreation—a lighthearted wish. It could even be seen as a selfless desire, given that it was not about personal gain but more about enjoyment.

Laxman, ever watchful, had always been on guard duty and found the situation suspicious. He said, “This deer seems too good to be true. Normally, a deer is an innocent creature, and when it plays, other animals are usually around it. But this deer is alone. It doesn’t seem right. It could be a demon in disguise.”

Sita, however, dismissed his concerns, saying, “Laxman, you are too suspicious. It’s just a beautiful deer.” She then turned to Ram and said, “Please get it for me.”

Ram, moved by Sita’s request, thought, “She has sacrificed so much for me—she left the kingdom to come with me into the forest, and she’s never complained about the hardships of forest life. She’s asking for something simple, so I should get it for her.” He disregarded Laxman’s warnings and decided to chase after the deer.

We can say that Ram’s decision to chase the deer led him farther away, but it wasn’t the sole cause of what eventually happened. Rather, it was a contributing factor.

As Ram pursued the deer, it seemed to leap just out of his reach, jumping enormous distances. Slowly, Ram’s suspicions began to rise. He still wanted to catch the deer for Sita, but he could no longer ignore the growing doubts in his mind.

At one point, after a particularly large leap, the deer turned around, grinning mockingly as if it were enjoying itself at Ram’s expense. This pushed Ram to the breaking point. He thought, “Enough is enough.” By now, he had been led far away from Sita and Laxman, and the time for patience had passed.

He decided to use his arrow. Ram is known as the “Amogha Sharana,” whose arrows never fail. His arrow struck the deer, and it fell to the ground with a loud thud. Immediately, the deer’s body transformed, revealing Maricha in disguise. As Maricha fell, he cried out in a voice that mimicked Ram’s, calling, “Hey Sita! Hey Laxman!”

Upon hearing this, Ram realized that this was a full-blown conspiracy. Something deadly was afoot. He quickly rushed back to where the sound had come from, determined to put an end to it.

I once told this story in Australia, and a devotee asked me, “If Maricha screamed, ‘Hey Sita! Hey Laxman,’ why didn’t Ram immediately tell them, ‘That was not me?’” The answer is that while the Lord is indeed God, He does not always act as God in His Leela (divine play). If Ram were acting as God at that moment, He wouldn’t have needed to chase the deer. He could have simply commanded it to stop.

Instead, Ram demonstrates how an ideal human being would act. He stays within human limitations and doesn’t rely on divine powers unless necessary. Thus, while Ram is God, He acts according to the role of an ideal human in this story.

In the universe, there are many hierarchies—physical and ethical. In the ethical hierarchy, humans are above demons, and devatas (gods) are above both. However, in the physical hierarchy, devatas are above humans, but demons are almost as powerful as devatas. This explains why Maricha’s voice was much louder than Ram’s.

Ram’s decision to chase the deer was guided by human limitations, and this ultimately led to the tragic sequence of events.

Meanwhile, Sita grew more anxious. Although she had initially dismissed Laxman’s warning as unnecessary suspicion, his words lingered in her mind. She thought, “Ram should have caught the deer by now and returned.”

As time passed, Sita’s anxiety deepened. In a way, this mirrors a scenario where you ask someone to do something small, but then they don’t return as expected. You begin to wonder: Is something wrong? Has something happened to them? What if the storm is worse than we thought?

As Sita waited, her feelings became more complex. She was not only anxious, but also guilty. “Was I responsible for bringing this trouble upon Ram? Was my desire for the deer the cause of this?”

Eventually, when she heard the voice calling, “Hey Laxman! Hey Sita!” she immediately told Laxman, “Your brother is in trouble. Please go and help him!”

Laxman, however, remained calm and unshaken. He said, “That is not Ram’s voice. It is likely the demon imitating him.” Sita, desperate, pleaded, “Don’t you recognize his voice? It is my husband’s voice! Go immediately and help him!”

Laxman, though firm in his decision, was not ready to leave his post. He explained, “Ram told me to stay here and protect you. There is no danger. Ram is powerful and can take care of himself.” But Sita, growing increasingly upset, insisted, “Please go! Ram needs help!”

Laxman, trying to calm her down, remained steady. However, Sita, overwhelmed by her fears, could not understand why he wasn’t reacting as she thought he should. As Krishna says in the Bhagavad Gita, self-destructive desires often cloud our judgment, making it difficult to think clearly or rationally in times of distress.

It can refer to any desire or emotion, any self-destructive desire or emotion that arises within us. It exists at the level of the senses, the mind, and can also manifest at the level of the intelligence, as described in verse 3.40 of the Bhagavad Gita.

So, what does this mean? At the level of the senses, we see something and become agitated. At the level of the mind, what we have seen keeps replaying in our thoughts. When it reaches the level of intelligence, we begin to scheme—thinking, “How can I do this?”

If we know something is wrong, but we think we can get away with it without getting caught, we start scheming. For most of us, when there is some temptation, the mind pulls us towards it, but the intelligence says, “No, don’t do it; it’s not good for you.” However, sometimes the mind becomes so powerful that it not only drags the intelligence along, but it also uses the intelligence to justify the action.

For example, the mind might say, “This isn’t really wrong. Why do people consider this wrong? Everyone does it.” We rationalize our actions by coming up with various justifications.

For Sita, her mind was extremely agitated. Now, at an ethical level (not a devotional one), we see that Sita, in her anxiety, was trying to make sense of things. When we are under stress, we often don’t even realize what we’re doing. In her state, she somehow convinced herself that Lakshmana wasn’t going to help because he had evil intentions toward her. She accused him of wanting to possess her, even though Lakshmana had served them faithfully for years. These words were like a thunderbolt to Lakshmana.

To be accused of something we haven’t done is painful enough, but to be accused by someone we trust—someone who should trust us—is even more unbearable. Lakshmana, trying to pacify Sita, said, “Oh, Sita, please don’t speak such words. Ram will come back soon.” But Sita was so consumed by her anxiety that she shouted, “You will never fulfill your evil desire. If Ram doesn’t come back, I’d rather die than be touched by you.”

Hearing these words, Lakshmana could no longer bear it. He said, “I cannot stay here and hear what you are saying. I must leave.” And with that, he left.

As Lakshmana ran toward Ram, he was deeply hurt by Sita’s accusations. He hoped he would find Ram and explain everything. When Lakshmana found Ram, he was relieved, but Ram was agitated and asked, “Why are you here? Why aren’t you with Sita? Is something wrong?”

Lakshmana could not immediately repeat the painful words Sita had spoken. He tried to find the right words, but as Ram pushed him for an answer, Lakshmana finally shared the harsh words Sita had said. Ram, however, was calm and said, “She must have spoken out of anxiety. Why are you taking her words so seriously?”

Lakshmana could have turned back and said, “But Ram, you should have listened to me when I warned you about the deer.” However, they didn’t dwell on it. They turned around and began looking for Sita.

Even though Ram had told Lakshmana not to take Sita’s words seriously, he didn’t blame him. Similarly, Lakshmana didn’t blame Ram for chasing the deer. Instead, they both focused on the real issue: Sita was missing.

When something bad happens, people often look for someone to blame. However, in moments of crisis, both Ram and Lakshmana understood the importance of perspective. Sita’s hurtful words were painful, but the far greater danger was her abduction. At that moment, neither Ram nor Lakshmana blamed each other, but instead, they focused on finding Sita.

Finally, it’s important to note that human nature often leads us to personify problems. Instead of addressing the root cause, we tend to blame or give our troubles a “face,” often making them seem more personal than they really are.

When a problem arises, if it doesn’t have a face, it becomes difficult to deal with. Often, we want to pin the blame for a problem on a person and target them. This tendency can lead to scapegoating.

Now, regarding the Lakshmana Rekha, in the Valmiki Ramayana, there is no mention of it. The concept of Lakshmana Rekha appears in later retellings, especially in the Ramcharitmanas. Sometimes, it is said that Sita’s abduction occurred because she stepped outside the Lakshmana Rekha, and that it was her mistake. This analysis can sometimes lead to victim-blaming, as if to suggest, “What did you do to bring this on yourself?” Such thinking is harmful.

The Valmiki Ramayana, however, does not support such an interpretation. It clearly states that Ravana abducted Sita, and it doesn’t suggest that Sita had any responsibility in this. The important point here is that neither Ram nor Lakshmana blamed anyone for the situation; they focused on what could be done now that the problem had occurred.

Our natural tendency is often to find someone to blame when something goes wrong, but real life is far more complex, with many factors at play. The primary cause of Sita’s abduction was Ravana, not any of the other circumstances surrounding it. Sometimes, when bad things happen, we excuse the wrongdoer, saying, “They’re just bad people, and this is what they do,” but we shouldn’t shift the blame onto those who are not at fault, especially good people. It’s crucial to avoid this tendency to blame others for every misfortune. While we can learn from mistakes, we shouldn’t let the habit of blaming others worsen the situation or damage relationships.

In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna speaks of “Aparigraha”—the aversion to fault-finding, which is considered a characteristic of a godly nature. We should avoid jumping to conclusions and blaming others without understanding the situation fully.

Even Lakshmana, after the war was won and they were reunited, didn’t hold a grudge. He could have said, “When are you going to apologize for the words you spoke to me?” But there is no mention of this in the text. Often, words spoken in tension should not be taken as the person’s true feelings. Sometimes, life is so stressful that even the best of us may say things we regret.

For example, I once met a devotee in America who was hosting me. He had brought his father to the U.S. in hopes of helping him immigrate. However, his father was emotionally distant and unresponsive, which troubled the devotee. He confided in me that no matter what he did for his father, the father remained cold. I spoke to the father, and he shared a painful memory. He said that when his wife passed away, he was doing his best to care for his son, despite the grief he felt. One day, during his son’s 10th-grade exams, the son had asked him to wake him up early. The father did so, but the son was upset when he was woken up late, and in his frustration, he said, “It would have been better if you had died instead of my mother.”

The father explained that this hurtful remark had remained with him, and since then, he had found it hard to show affection. I spoke with the son, who didn’t even remember saying such words. He explained that he had been under immense stress and didn’t intend to hurt his father. After hearing each other’s perspectives, they reconciled.

This is a clear example of how words spoken in tension can be misinterpreted. While the son’s words were harsh, they came from a place of anxiety and not malice. Similarly, the harsh words spoken by Sita to Lakshmana during her anxiety were not reflective of her true feelings.

So, we need to understand that, especially in times of tension, we should not read too deeply into harsh words spoken in the heat of the moment. People may say things in such moments that they don’t truly mean. It’s important to let these things go, as long as the overall relationship is affectionate and respectful.

When we focus on how to avoid blaming others, we need to understand the difference between being responsible and blaming. The key difference lies in the focus. In blaming, we focus on the cause of the problem, while in being responsible, we focus on the solution. Understanding the cause is important, but the focus should always be on how to resolve the issue.

Sometimes, in life, we may not be able to understand the cause of a problem. I have a friend in California who is a firefighter. California is prone to wildfires, and when a fire breaks out, the first question is always, “What caused the fire?” Was it an accident, or was it intentional? But sometimes, the cause of the fire is unclear, and there are no clues. However, even if the cause is unknown, the firefighters still focus on putting out the fire and saving lives. The priority is always the cure, not the cause.

Life can be the same. We might not always understand why something happened, but we should focus on resolving the problem, not blaming someone for it.

When a problem arises, it’s difficult to deal with if we can’t assign a face to the problem. Often, we want to pin the blame on someone and target that person, which can lead to scapegoating.

Regarding Lakshmana Rekha, in the Valmiki Ramayana, there is no mention of Lakshmana Rekha. It is only introduced in later retellings, especially in the Ramcharitmanas. Sometimes, people argue that Sita’s abduction happened because she crossed the Lakshmana Rekha, implying it was her mistake. This kind of analysis blames the victim, as if to say, “You must have done something to provoke this.”

However, the Valmiki Ramayana doesn’t blame Sita. It simply states that Ravana abducted her, without assigning fault to her. Neither Rama nor Lakshmana tried to blame anyone. Instead, they focused on the bigger picture, which is a healthier approach to problem-solving.

In real life, problems often arise from multiple factors, and it’s important not to jump to conclusions or immediately place blame. While there may be contributory factors, the primary cause of Sita’s abduction was Ravana, not Sita’s actions.

Blaming others, particularly the victims, can make matters worse. We need to avoid this tendency. Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita says that aversion to fault-finding is a characteristic of the godly nature. So, we should avoid blaming others, especially in moments of tension.

Lakshmana’s reaction after the war was an example of this. When he asked Rama, “When will you apologize for what you said to me?” it was after they had won and their emotions had calmed. Similarly, during tense moments, people can say hurtful things, but we shouldn’t take those words as definitive. Instead, we should consider the circumstances.

I had a personal experience with a devotee in America. His father was very cold towards him, and the devotee couldn’t understand why. The father, when we spoke, revealed that many years ago, after the devotee’s mother passed away, the son, in his anxiety, said some harsh words to his father, including, “It would have been better if you had died instead of my mother.” These words had scarred the father, who had never been able to show affection towards his son since then. The son, when he heard this, was shocked, as he didn’t remember saying it. After apologizing and understanding the situation, they both embraced, clearing up the misunderstanding.

This example shows that in times of tension, we can say things we don’t mean. We must avoid seeing those words as reflective of someone’s true feelings.

In the Bhagavad Gita, Arjuna faces the difficult situation of fighting his own relatives. Krishna doesn’t dwell on past lives or causes but instead focuses on the present: “What can we do now?” The focus is on the solution, not the cause. This is a powerful lesson for us. In life, when faced with problems, we should ask, “What can I do to solve this?” rather than getting lost in why it happened.

Take the example of a forest fire. Fires can happen naturally, and we may not always know the cause, but we still need to act. The first thing we do is fight the fire, and only later do we look for the cause. Similarly, in life, the focus should be on the solution, not on finding the cause, especially when it comes to blame. Being responsible means focusing on fixing the problem, even if the cause is unclear.

To summarize, we discussed three main points today:

1. Approaches to Scripture: We looked at the four approaches to studying scripture—Literal, Ethical, Allegorical, and Devotional (L, E, A, D). Each approach has its own value depending on the person’s level of understanding.
2. Blaming and Responsibility: We discussed how to avoid the tendency to blame and instead focus on responsibility. Blaming only worsens the problem, while responsibility focuses on the solution.
3. Words Spoken in Tension: We also discussed the importance of not taking words spoken in moments of tension personally. We all can say things we don’t mean when under stress.

The key takeaway is that when we face a problem, we should focus on finding a solution, not on blaming someone. It’s important to take responsibility and act with a constructive mindset.

Thank you very much.