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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.
564 pages, Paperback
Published April 20, 2018
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Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews
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.
December 25, 2025
Amazing rendition of the amazing epic Ramayana with great tone and humor. Hanuman’s tone comes across so humorously. Throughly enjoyable 😊
Read
May 16, 2026“Diwali is a celebration of the coronation of the god king Rama after his epic battle with Ravena, the demon king of Lanka. It symbolizes the battle between good and evil." - Dwight Schrute
I had some idea that The Ramayana is a major work in ancient Indian literature, and in my mind I related it to something like The Iliad or The Odyssey or The Aeneid. Or maybe even the Bible. But somehow it wasn’t until I was almost halfway through that I realized that it’s also the origin story of Diwali, and that Dwight captured it pretty perfectly in the quote above.
I read the abridged (still almost 600 pages) prose translation from Arshia Sattar, and it was pretty darn entertaining. I don’t actually have any basis for comparison for how good this particular translation is, but some woman named Wendy Doniger is quoted on the cover as saying, “Of all the many translations of The Ramayana into English, this is the only one that is both accurate and a pleasure to read,” and I’m inclined to believe her.
The story is one big adventure quest that is actually pretty engaging. The Ramayana takes the hilariously extreme exaggerations ancient texts tend to use to a whole new level. Monkeys grow to the size of mountains and leap across oceans. Thousands of millions of warriors team up to fight. Everybody lives for a thousand years and has a thousand sons. Warriors are pierced by one hundred arrows and then get up to keep fighting.
A lot of the descriptions and analogies throughout the book are (sometimes intentionally, sometimes unintentionally) funny, especially when it comes to describing women’s bodies. There are great lines such as, “Your breasts rise up to your shoulders as if to rival them.” And, “Your hips are wide and your thighs are as strong as an elephant trunk.”
It’s really interesting to compare how Rama is depicted in The Ramayana with how figures like Menelaus, Odysseus, or Aeneas are depicted in Greek and Roman literature. I think those differences reveal a lot about what each culture most wanted to idealize in a hero, though obviously I’m working from a small sample of texts with very different aims and contexts.
Aside from being perfect in every way, the Ramayana specifically emphasizes Rama’s righteousness, including his commitment to dharma, his restraint, his compassion, his willingness to protect innocent beings, and his responsibility to his people. He is handsome, strong, and a great warrior, of course, but he is also humble, forgiving, and even kind. Meanwhile, Greek and Roman heroics seem to focus more exclusively on glory, honor, status, battlefield excellence, and building a public reputation.
It was also tempting to compare Rama with Menelaus, since both men have their wives taken from them. (Although Sita is much more similar to Penelope than Helen in terms of perceived loyalty.) When Sita is abducted, Rama seems devastated not just because his wife has been taken, but because he loves her, wants to be with her, and feels that he has failed to protect her. Menelaus, on the other hand, does seem wounded by Helen’s loss, but he mostly seems worried about the public humiliation it caused him and the need to restore his pride and authority.
So Rama seemed like the better guy, until the very end when he completely ruined my perception of him by giving a speech about how he rescued Sita only to restore his own honor and suggesting he would accept her burning herself alive to prove her purity. Ugh. Come on, Rama.
The Ramayana also seems to give women a more central role in the story compared to women in Greek and Roman epics. Sita is given somewhat of her own personality and is often praised in her own right, albeit for a limited set of acceptable feminine characteristics, such as beauty, loyalty, patience, and purity. This compares to women like Helen, who is treated less as a fully developed person and more like a beautiful object around whom male desire, honor, and conflict revolve.
Even The Ramayana’s primary villain, Ravana, shows some level of decency towards women, when, after he kidnaps Sita, he says, “A man cannot act against the wishes of the woman that he desires” and doesn’t lay with her while he doesn’t have her consent.
Still, that is not to say The Ramayana reflects a view of women that would feel acceptable by modern Western standards, or that Greek and Roman literature does either. In each case, women are often constrained to very specific roles, and their value is frequently tied to sexual purity, obedience, beauty, motherhood, or their relationship to men. On multiple occasions in The Ramayana, women are generalized in openly negative ways, as if fickleness, emotional instability, or mischief are simply part of female nature. For example, at one point, Lakshmana tells Sita, “Women are like this everywhere in the world. They are unrighteous and fickle and they breed mischief.”
As a side note, I really had to expand my vocabulary reading this. You will very quickly become familiar with a handful of words that seem to appear on just about every page, such as rashaka, dharma, boon, ascetic, auspicious, and austerities.
Also, I almost wish I had skipped the first kanda, or left it for later, because the main story doesn’t really start until the second kanda. The first part almost scared me away by introducing like a dozen new complex Indian names per page, but the plot started to flow a lot smoother after that.
I had some idea that The Ramayana is a major work in ancient Indian literature, and in my mind I related it to something like The Iliad or The Odyssey or The Aeneid. Or maybe even the Bible. But somehow it wasn’t until I was almost halfway through that I realized that it’s also the origin story of Diwali, and that Dwight captured it pretty perfectly in the quote above.
I read the abridged (still almost 600 pages) prose translation from Arshia Sattar, and it was pretty darn entertaining. I don’t actually have any basis for comparison for how good this particular translation is, but some woman named Wendy Doniger is quoted on the cover as saying, “Of all the many translations of The Ramayana into English, this is the only one that is both accurate and a pleasure to read,” and I’m inclined to believe her.
The story is one big adventure quest that is actually pretty engaging. The Ramayana takes the hilariously extreme exaggerations ancient texts tend to use to a whole new level. Monkeys grow to the size of mountains and leap across oceans. Thousands of millions of warriors team up to fight. Everybody lives for a thousand years and has a thousand sons. Warriors are pierced by one hundred arrows and then get up to keep fighting.
A lot of the descriptions and analogies throughout the book are (sometimes intentionally, sometimes unintentionally) funny, especially when it comes to describing women’s bodies. There are great lines such as, “Your breasts rise up to your shoulders as if to rival them.” And, “Your hips are wide and your thighs are as strong as an elephant trunk.”
It’s really interesting to compare how Rama is depicted in The Ramayana with how figures like Menelaus, Odysseus, or Aeneas are depicted in Greek and Roman literature. I think those differences reveal a lot about what each culture most wanted to idealize in a hero, though obviously I’m working from a small sample of texts with very different aims and contexts.
Aside from being perfect in every way, the Ramayana specifically emphasizes Rama’s righteousness, including his commitment to dharma, his restraint, his compassion, his willingness to protect innocent beings, and his responsibility to his people. He is handsome, strong, and a great warrior, of course, but he is also humble, forgiving, and even kind. Meanwhile, Greek and Roman heroics seem to focus more exclusively on glory, honor, status, battlefield excellence, and building a public reputation.
It was also tempting to compare Rama with Menelaus, since both men have their wives taken from them. (Although Sita is much more similar to Penelope than Helen in terms of perceived loyalty.) When Sita is abducted, Rama seems devastated not just because his wife has been taken, but because he loves her, wants to be with her, and feels that he has failed to protect her. Menelaus, on the other hand, does seem wounded by Helen’s loss, but he mostly seems worried about the public humiliation it caused him and the need to restore his pride and authority.
So Rama seemed like the better guy, until the very end when he completely ruined my perception of him by giving a speech about how he rescued Sita only to restore his own honor and suggesting he would accept her burning herself alive to prove her purity. Ugh. Come on, Rama.
The Ramayana also seems to give women a more central role in the story compared to women in Greek and Roman epics. Sita is given somewhat of her own personality and is often praised in her own right, albeit for a limited set of acceptable feminine characteristics, such as beauty, loyalty, patience, and purity. This compares to women like Helen, who is treated less as a fully developed person and more like a beautiful object around whom male desire, honor, and conflict revolve.
Even The Ramayana’s primary villain, Ravana, shows some level of decency towards women, when, after he kidnaps Sita, he says, “A man cannot act against the wishes of the woman that he desires” and doesn’t lay with her while he doesn’t have her consent.
Still, that is not to say The Ramayana reflects a view of women that would feel acceptable by modern Western standards, or that Greek and Roman literature does either. In each case, women are often constrained to very specific roles, and their value is frequently tied to sexual purity, obedience, beauty, motherhood, or their relationship to men. On multiple occasions in The Ramayana, women are generalized in openly negative ways, as if fickleness, emotional instability, or mischief are simply part of female nature. For example, at one point, Lakshmana tells Sita, “Women are like this everywhere in the world. They are unrighteous and fickle and they breed mischief.”
As a side note, I really had to expand my vocabulary reading this. You will very quickly become familiar with a handful of words that seem to appear on just about every page, such as rashaka, dharma, boon, ascetic, auspicious, and austerities.
Also, I almost wish I had skipped the first kanda, or left it for later, because the main story doesn’t really start until the second kanda. The first part almost scared me away by introducing like a dozen new complex Indian names per page, but the plot started to flow a lot smoother after that.
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.
Read
April 29, 2025Epic indeed. Valuable beyond me and my understanding but relevant to every individual that reads it as we determine our own understandings of dharma. Good experience
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews