RAVAN IS NOT JUST OUTSIDE; HE LIVES WITHIN US TOO: Dr. VIJAY KUMAR VERMA

RAVAN IS NOT JUST OUTSIDE; HE LIVES WITHIN US TOO: Dr. VIJAY KUMAR VERMA

21-OCT-ENG 6

RAJIV NAYAN AGRAWAL

ARA-----------------------It is said that in the *Satyuga* (the Age of Truth), gods and demons resided in separate realms. By the *Tretayuga*, they began to inhabit the same world. In the *Dvaparayuga*, this distance narrowed further, and both divine and demonic tendencies began to manifest within the same family. And with the arrival of the *Kaliyuga*, both have chosen the human heart as their dwelling place. There is no longer any need to search for gods or demons in distant realms, kingdoms, or households; both now reside within us. At times, the divine awakens through our compassion, while at other times, the demon rears its head through our ego.

While this perspective may not be a canonical tenet from any scripture, it is profoundly deep and thought-provoking when it comes to understanding human psychology. Truly, how difficult it has become to discern the true nature of a human being today!

The very same person might feed the hungry, yet also snatch away the rights of the vulnerable. That same individual might bow their head in reverence at a temple, only to return home and mistreat their own parents. One might preach morality from a public platform, yet abandon all ethical values ​​in their private life for the sake of self-interest. The same person might demonstrate divinity by helping a stranger, only to break the heart of a loved one the very next moment—driven by anger, jealousy, or ego.

…This raises the question: what, then, is a human being, really?

A god, or a demon?

Perhaps neither—or rather, not exclusively one or the other. A human being is a perpetual conflict between these two possibilities.

Within us, there is both light and darkness; love and hatred; selflessness and greed; compassion and cruelty; wisdom and ego.

This is the greatest complexity of being human. Vijayadashami offers a remarkable opportunity to contemplate this complexity. Today, in open grounds across our cities, towering effigies of Ravana are erected. Constructed from bamboo, paper, cloth, and firecrackers, the ten-headed Ravana stands in his full, imposing form. Children are filled with excitement, crowds of families gather, fairs come alive, and everyone awaits the moment when, struck by a flaming arrow, Ravana will burst into a roaring blaze.

In mere moments, the colossal effigy is reduced to a heap of ash. Fireworks illuminate the sky, and cries of "Jai Shri Ram" echo through the air. People exchange wishes for Vijayadashami and head back to their homes.

Yet, amidst these festivities, a question lingers, silent and persistent—

Has Ravana truly been consumed by the fire?

If Ravana was merely a king of Lanka, then his end occurred long ago, in the Treta Yuga. If he is simply a historical or mythological figure, then the burning of his effigy is merely the preservation of a cultural memory. But if Ravana also serves as a symbol of ego, injustice, lust, greed, deceit, and unbridled, mindless power—can he truly be destroyed by burning an effigy made of bamboo and paper?

The Ravana we burn in the open field turns to ash in an instant. But the Ravana that resides within us often remains alive throughout the entire year.

He manifests in our speech, reveals himself in our behavior, influences our decisions, and inflicts wounds upon our relationships. And, most surprisingly, we often fail to even recognize him—for while the Ravana outside possesses ten heads, the Ravana within hides behind the mask of our own face.

This is the most profound philosophical question posed by Vijayadashami. Every year, we burn an effigy of Ravana—but how often do we consign the ego within us to the flames? We celebrate the triumph of righteousness over injustice, yet how firmly do we stand on the side of justice in our daily lives? We sing the praises of Lord Rama—the embodiment of moral rectitude—but to what extent do we uphold such moral standards in our own conduct?

The significance of the Ramayana lies not merely in the war between Rama and Ravana; it is significant because it teaches us the distinction between raw power and moral restraint.

Ravana was no ordinary man. In the traditions of the Ramayana, he is described as an extraordinary scholar, an ascetic, a devotee of Shiva, and a formidable ruler. He possessed knowledge, opulence, power, and a vast empire. Yet, his scholarship could not keep his ego in check, and his immense capability could not safeguard his wisdom.

Herein lies the most profound message within the character of Ravana.

Possessing knowledge is one thing; being truly wise is quite another. Being powerful is one thing; being virtuous is something else entirely.

When knowledge is divorced from humility, it can become an instrument of ego. When power is stripped of moral restraint, it can descend into tyranny. And when devotion fails to purify one’s conduct, it cannot liberate a person from their own flaws.

Ravana’s downfall was not caused by a lack of power, but by his ego gaining dominion over his wisdom.

This holds just as true for contemporary society.

We live in an era where humanity has achieved extraordinary feats through science and technology. We have reached outer space, explored the depths of the oceans, and developed artificial intelligence. We can communicate in an instant with someone sitting on the other side of the globe.

But has the human heart expanded in proportion to these achievements? Has technological progress diminished the envy within him?

Has education completely eradicated his ego?

Has affluence made him more generous?

The answer is not simple.

Even today, man, intoxicated by his own success, insults others. Upon attaining power, he sometimes begins to view even his own people as insignificant. As soon as he acquires wealth, he starts assigning a monetary value to his relationships. When faced with a difference of opinion, he perceives the other person as an enemy. It takes root.

This is the moment when the Ravana within awakens.

However, a note of caution is necessary here.

We cannot label a person as either 'Rama' or 'Ravana' based solely on their appearance, attire, religion, caste, language, or social identity.

Sometimes, an individual who appears gentle may act with cruelty, while someone with a stern exterior may unexpectedly become a source of profound compassion for the helpless.

The presence of a *tilak* on one’s forehead does not automatically prove the nobility of their character; conversely, the absence of religious symbols in one’s outward appearance does not diminish their humanity.

A person’s true identity lies not in their clothing, but in their actions.

Merely looking like Rama is not enough; one must cultivate the conduct of Rama.

Likewise, adopting an exterior that resembles Ravana does not extinguish the compassion or virtues that may still reside within a person.

In truth, viewing Rama and Ravana merely as two individual figures limits the moral scope of this great epic. They can also be understood as symbols of two opposing tendencies that exist within every human being.

When we stand on the side of truth, the essence of Rama—*Ramatva*—manifests within us. When we protect the vulnerable, this essence awakens. When we embrace our duties alongside our rights, this essence expands.

Conversely, when we insult others for the sake of our own self-interest, resort to deceit, violate the rights of others, or abuse our power, the demonic tendencies within us become active.

Therefore, the true struggle of Vijayadashami is not about proving someone else to be a 'Ravana'; it is a struggle for self-discovery.

How easily we spot the flaws in others! We are quick to comment on someone’s minor mistake or perceive arrogance in their behavior. We often attribute others' success to selfishness and their failures to personal weaknesses. Yet, when the very same flaws exist within us, we seek justifications for them. We perceive another’s anger as mistreatment, while viewing our own as a defense of self-respect. We see another’s greed as immoral, while framing our own as a means to secure the future. We find another’s ego intolerable, yet perceive our own as a sign of a strong personality. We label another’s partiality as injustice, while justifying our own as a necessity of maintaining relationships. It is this self-deception that grants the greatest power to the 'Ravana'—the darkness—within us.

After all, how can one find a path to liberation from a flaw that one refuses to even acknowledge as a flaw?

Indian philosophy speaks of three *gunas* (qualities) present within every human being: *Sattva*, *Rajas*, and *Tamas*. *Sattva* leads toward clarity, balance, and discernment; *Rajas* is associated with activity, desire, and attachment; while *Tamas* represents ignorance, inertia, and delusion. These tendencies remain active within an individual in varying proportions; no person remains in the same mental state at every moment.

At times, our discernment prevails; at other times, our desires lead us astray; and occasionally, ignorance clouds our judgment.

In this light, 'burning the Ravana within' does not mean destroying one's own existence, but rather gaining control over those tendencies that drive us toward injustice and inhumanity. Anger, in itself, is not always destructive; moral outrage—sparked by witnessing injustice—can even become a catalyst for positive change. However, when such anger loses the guidance of discernment, it devolves into violence and vengeance.

Desire propels life forward, but when left unchecked, it transforms into greed.

Self-respect is an essential aspect of human dignity; yet, when it shifts into a mindset that views others as inferior, it becomes ego. Therefore, true spiritual discipline (*sadhana*) does not mean eliminating emotions, but rather subjecting them to discernment and moral boundaries (*maryada*).

The embodiment of 'Ram' (*Ramattva*) is the practice of achieving this very balance.

On the occasion of Vijayadashami, a question arises that also pertains to our family life. We narrate the story of Ram and Ravana to our children, telling them that, ultimately, truth triumphs. Yet, children do not learn solely from stories; they also observe our conduct.

If a father teaches his child to speak the truth but lies himself for the sake of convenience, whom will the child consider an ideal?

If a household worships the Divine Mother (*Devi*) yet fails to respect the women within that same home, how effective can the moral message of such worship truly be?

If we teach our children compassion, but treat our employees, colleagues, or the vulnerable with disrespect, why would they believe our words?

The most impactful way to present the character of Ram to children is not merely by recounting the Ramayana, but by embodying moral restraint (*maryada*) in our own lives—for values ​​are instilled less through lectures and more through behavior.

This same question arises in the public sphere of society. Anyone who attains power, prestige, or authority undergoes a moral test. The true beauty of power lies not in how many people it can force to bow, but in how many it can protect.

If someone in a position of authority uses that power to instill fear in others, it signifies a growing ego. Conversely, if that same authority serves as a vehicle for justice, protection, and the public good, it reflects the light of moral restraint. This principle is not confined to any single political party, religion, institution, or individual; it applies to every human being who holds the capacity to influence the lives of others.

Even within a teacher, the potential for both 'Ram' and 'Ravana' exists. Through their knowledge, they can shape a student's future—or, through disrespectful behavior, they can even shatter one’s self-confidence.

A merchant can honestly fulfill the needs of society, or, driven by greed, exploit others.

An official can use their position as a means to serve, or turn it into a throne for their own ego.

Even an ordinary person, through their everyday actions, is constantly choosing between these two tendencies.

Therefore, *Ramatva* (the quality of Rama) is not the attainment of a specific position, nor is *Ravanatva* (the quality of Ravana) the hallmark of any particular class.

Both are possibilities inherent in human conduct.

Perhaps the most profound meaning of Vijayadashami lies in this daily choice.

Each morning brings a new opportunity. We can choose to treat others with kindness, or we can spread bitterness. We can rejoice in someone else’s success, or we can burn with envy. We can acknowledge our own mistakes, or we can concoct a web of lies to conceal them.

These small, incremental decisions gradually shape our character.

And character is not a victory achieved in a single day; it is a lifelong endeavor. That is why merely burning an effigy of Ravana once a year is not enough.

If the essence of Vijayadashami is to truly take root within us, we must engage in a bit of self-reflection every single day.

Whom did I insult today?

Whose suffering did I choose to ignore?

At what point did my ego overpower my conscience?

On what occasion did I choose to remain silent, even when I knew the truth?

And where, out of self-interest, did I disregard the rights of another?

These questions may seem simple, yet answering them is difficult. It is easy to appear blameless before the world, but far harder to examine oneself before the tribunal of one’s own conscience.

The 'Ravana' within us does not fear the accusations of others nearly as much as it fears our own honest, self-reflective admission. The moment a person acknowledges their own mistake, the first lamp of transformation is lit within them.

In truth, the battle between Rama and Ravana is not merely a memory from the past; it remains a moral challenge for the present.

This battle unfolds within us whenever we are forced to choose between personal gain and justice.

It arises when we must decide between seeking revenge and offering forgiveness.

It occurs when ego and humility stand face-to-face.

It happens when the path of convenience and the path of truth diverge.

In such moments, no external army can come to our aid. There is no grand bow to be seen, nor any battlefield laid out; there is only our own conscience and the decision that stands before it. This is the true 'Lanka' in a person’s life—and the true 'Vijayadashami' that takes place within. Yet, we must remember that no human being is perfect. We all harbor weaknesses; we make mistakes, occasionally lose our way, and sometimes drift far from our own ideals. However, human greatness does not lie in never making a mistake; rather, it lies in the courage to recognize one’s errors and the resolve to set them right.

Only those who can acknowledge the darkness within themselves can move sincerely toward the light.

Those who constantly view themselves as 'Rama' often find it difficult to recognize the 'Ravana' hidden within.

Conversely, those who identify the demonic tendencies lurking inside themselves open the door to cultivating the qualities of 'Rama'—this is the beginning of self-awareness.

Today, as effigies of Ravana are consigned to the flames on the occasion of Vijayadashami, do not view this merely as the conclusion of a celebration. See it, instead, as an invitation to look inward. Recognize your own anger within the flickering flames, and behold your own ego in their light. Examine your own greed, envy, deceit, and unjust tendencies in the heat of this reflection. Ask yourself: the Ravana I am burning externally—am I, perhaps, harboring a part of him within myself?

If the answer is yes, there is no need to despair. This very admission marks the beginning of transformation.

The message of Vijayadashami is not to drown a person in guilt, but to awaken moral courage within them.

The celebration of Rama’s victory becomes truly meaningful only when we make more room in our lives for truth, compassion, self-restraint, justice, and moral integrity.

For the world does not merely need people who burn effigies of Ravana; it needs individuals who can master their own ego, respect the dignity of others, and remain humble even when they attain power.

Therefore, the question is not how grand or formidable the Ravana of legend was.

The question is: how vast is the ego that resides within us?

The question is not how many arrows Rama shot.

The question is: how much light—the light of discernment—have we been able to cast upon the ignorance within ourselves?

Nor is the question how many effigies were burned today.

The most significant question is: how many people, today, have resolved to abandon an evil that dwells within them?

Perhaps it is in this very resolution that the true victory of Vijayadashami lies.

The external Ravana is consumed by fire, but the internal Ravana is weakened by self-awareness. A single arrow may suffice for the Ravana outside, but the Ravana within must be confronted daily with the arrows of discernment, self-restraint, and virtuous conduct.

The burning of the external Ravana is a celebration.

The subduing of the internal Ravana is a spiritual discipline—a *sadhana*.

And this discipline is not for a single day; it is a lifelong endeavor. The day we begin to recognize the demonic tendencies within ourselves—before seeking out a 'Ravana' in others—that very day, Vijayadashami will cease to be merely a date on the calendar; it will transform into a celebration of our own character.

For the most decisive battle between Rama and Ravana is not fought on some distant battlefield; it continues to be waged, even today, within the human conscience. And in this conflict, victory does not mean defeating another, but rather evolving into a better human being.

Effigies of Ravana are burned every year But the day the ego within us is consumed, that very day the first ray of *Ramrajya* (an ideal, righteous society) will truly dawn upon our lives.