The Ramayana Summary as retold by Sri C Rajagopalachari
28) BHARATA BECOMES RAMA'S DEPUTY :
WHEN it was known that the four princes and the three queens were reunited and could be seen together in one place, a chorus of joy went up in the army and retinue and they came surging forward to witness that happy spectacle. They were sure now that Rama would return to Ayodhya and the people embraced one another for the very joy.
The sage Vasishtha conducted the three queens to the hut. On the way, they saw the river Mandakini. When he showed them the spot where the princes daily took water for their use, Kausalya and Sumitra broke down and sobbed. Said Kausalya:
"From this pool in the river, Sumitra, your son takes water to the ashrama every day. Lakshmana is prepared to do the commonest task cheerfully for his brother. He does not mind the weight of the water pot on his princely shoulder."
They saw the spot where Rama and Lakshmana poured out libations for their father's Spirit. The darbha grass lay with the ends facing south, beside the oil cake.
Kausalya clung to Sumitra and said: "O Sister! This is the food that the mightiest kings have to be content with after death."
They reached the hut. There they saw the princes with faces clouded with sorrow, seated under a thatched roof. Unable to bear the sight, the royal mothers sank to the floor.
When Rama lifted Kausalya tip, she stroked him with her flower-soft hands and was at once sad and happy. She embraced Sita and said: "My child, Janaka's daughter, daughter-in-law to the King of Ayodhya, do you live in this hut in the forest? O, faded lotus-flower! O, golden image covered with dust! My heart melts at the sight of you."
Rama reverently touched the feet of Vasishtha who seemed another Brihaspati, the preceptor of the gods, come down to earth, and then sat by his mother. Bharata humbly sat apart facing Rama. The elders surrounded them, eagerly awaiting what Bharata would say and how Rama would react.
"Bharata, why have you left your kingly duties and come here in deer skin and with matted locks?" asked Rama. Bharata attempted to speak several times, but at first could not get beyond the word 'Brother.' Then he pulled himself together with a great effort and said:
"Sending you to the forest, but unable to bear the pain, our father's soul fled to heaven. All the good my mother has got from her evil plan has been that she has become a sinner and a widow and is in deep sorrow. Despised by the world, she experiences hell on earth. Only you can save us. Undo all the evil that has been done and wipe off our tears by agreeing to be crowned. It is to implore you for this that we and the citizens and the army and the widowed queens have come and are all here waiting on your word. Grant us our prayer. This alone will put an end to our sorrow and re-establish the dharma of our race. Without a rightful king, the land is like a widow, desolate and helpless. You must come back and make it happy and secure. Like the full moon rising, dispel our darkness. The ministers here and I fall at your feet and beg of you. Do not refuse, O, brother!"
Saying this, the great Bharata, with tear-filled eyes, clung to the feet of Ramachandra.
Rama raised him from the ground and embracing him said:
"Child, we were born in a noble family and brought up in good ways. Neither you nor I can do anything wrong. I see no fault in you, my blameless brother! Do not feel sad and do not speak unkind words about your mother. It is not proper that we should blame her. Surely our father had the right to tell us what to do, aye, even to decree banishment, just as he had the right to order a coronation. Our duty is to honor our father and our mother. How could I disobey or question their command? Was it for me to refuse my father's command that I should go to the forest? He gave you kingship and he ordained for me life in the forest. He certainly had the right to settle the manner of our lives. What right do we have to alter or reject his plans? Far from being wrong, it is your duty to rule the land. And I too shall do my duty and fulfil our father's last command by living fourteen years in the Dandaka forest. Failing to fulfil our father's wish, can I find contentment in the possession of the whole world?"
Bharata repeatedly besought and importuned Rama. Rama realised that Bharata grieved that it was for his sake injustice had been done and that he endeavored to remove the blot.
"Do not blame yourself," he said. "Do not think that all these things took place for your sake. Destiny rules everything. Give up your grief. Return to Ayodhya and rule the kingdom. Let us each perform the duties assigned to us by the father we love and revere."
The people who watched the talk and saw the determination of the prince were filled with joy and sorrow in equal measure. Bharata's affection and purity filled them with pride and joy.
Rama told Bharata his unalterable decision. "I cannot possibly disobey my father's word. You will please me by not persisting in trying to persuade me. Satrughna is there to help you in ruling, as Lakshmana is here to help me in forest life. With Lakshmana by my side, I lack nothing. Let us all four, brother, do our other's will."
The learned Jabali, one of the priests who had accompanied Bharata, here interposed a lesson on worldly wisdom for the benefit of Rama. "You talk again and again of your father's command. Dasaratha was a physical body which has now rejoined the five elements. You talk as though there is some continuing relationship between that person who is now no more and yourself. This is sheer illusion. Why do you like the foolish prating of dharma and seek to give up the good fortune to which you were born? Like a woman mourning with dishevelled hair, the city of Ayodhya is plaintively longing and waiting for your return. Go back. Accept the crown. Enjoy life's pleasures. Listen to Bharata. Do not fail in your proper duties."
This lecture angered Rama. He said with much sharpness: "Sir, you seem to set little value on truth and rectitude. Your materialist talk fills me with such abhorrence that I wonder that an unbeliever like you should have been tolerated in the court."
Jabali hastened to explain that, far from being an infidel, he had all his life been a teacher of the Shastras and that he had only spoken as he had done out of an earnest wish to persuade Rama to return. Vasishtha also intervened on his behalf and that unlucky interlude came to an end.
Vasishtha then put the case for Rama's return this way:
"On the whole, my opinion is that you should return to Ayodhya and accept the throne. Of course, your father's command also has to be considered, and reconciled to this step. You have obeyed that command at once and unhesitatingly, but now a new situation has arisen. Bharata in his helplessness, fearing infamy, has sought shelter at your feet. How can you spurn him? We all know that you love him as your life. You never refuse those who approach you for help. How then can you deny it to Bharata now? Is it not your life-principle to help those who seek refuge at your feet?"
But Rama showed no signs of relenting. Then, Bharata turned to Sumantra and said, "My brother has no pity for me. Please spread a bed of darbha grass here for me. I shall take the pledge of fasting unto death."
Sumantra hesitated and looked at Rama. Then Bharata himself fetched and spread the grass and sat on it.
"My child, this is not right," said Rama firmly. "Rise. Go to Ayodhya and fulfil your duties. Do not go against Kshatriya dharma."
Bharata got up and as a last resort appealed to the people who had accompanied him, a representative crowd of soldiers and citizens from Ayodhya: "O, citizens of Ayodhya! Why do you stand mutely looking on? Do you not want Rama to return? Why then are you silent?"
The people answered: "Rama will not swerve from truth. He will stand firm by his father's promise. He will not return to Ayodhya. What is the use of pressing him further?"
Rama said, "Listen to them, brother. They wish well by both of us. Virtue dwells in their hearts."
Bharata said: "Here I am as guiltless as Rama and a fit substitute for him. If the King's word should be fulfilled let me stay here in the forest in place of Rama. Let him fill my place and rule in Ayodhya."
Rama laughed and said: "This procedure of exchange cannot apply here. This is not trade or business for barter and agreement. It is true that sometimes one discharges the duties of another, when the latter is too weak and unable to do it. But how does it fit on this occasion? Can any of you say that for life in the forest I have no capacity but only Bharata has?"
Then the wise Vasishtha found a solution for the problem in which righteousness struggled with righteousness as to which should be more right. "O, Bharata, rule the kingdom under Rama's authority and as his deputy. No blame would attach to you then and the pledge would be kept."
Rama took Bharata on his lap and told him, "Brother, look on the kingdom as my gift to you. Accept it and rule it as our father wished."
A glory descended on Rama and Bharata at that moment at they shone like two suns.
Bharata said: "Brother, you are my father and my God. Your least wish is my dharma, Give me your sandals. That token of yours shall reign in Ayodhya till you return. And for fourteen years I shall stay outside the city and discharge the King's duties in your place, paying reverent homage to your sandals. At the end of that period, you will return and accept the kingship."
"So be it," answered Rama.
He placed his feet on the sandals and handed them to Bharata who prostrated himself on the ground and accepted them and put them on his head.
Bharata and his retinue turned back towards Ayodhya. On the way, they met the sage Bharadwaja and reported what had happened. He blessed Bharata saying:
"Your virtue will be for ever remembered. Are you not a son of the solar race? As water flows downwards, the virtue of your family runs its inevitable course in you. Your father Dasaratha is indeed happy. He is not dead but lives again immortally in you."
They met Guha again and crossed the Ganga and reached Ayodhya. Bharata and his followers entered Ayodhya. The city, bereft of the King and Rama, appeared desolate to Bharata. It seemed to be enveloped in the darkness of a moonless night. When he returned in haste from Kekaya, he had entered the city in fatigue and shapeless fear and suspense; but today he entered it again fully realising all the tragedy.
He remembered the past and thought of the present and grieved afresh. He went to the palace and took the queens to their desolate apartments. He went to the assembly hall, and said: "Great is my sorrow. But I shall bear it. I shall stay in Nandigrama and carry out my tasks as I have promised Rama. Make all arrangements for this purpose."
This was done and he solemnly announced in the assembly, "This kingdom is Rama's. For the time being, he has asked me to be in charge. In my brother's place I have installed his sandals. Deriving my authority from them I shall do my work as king."
Accordingly, Bharata stayed in Nandigrama and with the help of ministers ruled the kingdom as a religious duty until Rama should return after completing his forest life. And indeed, is it not the law laid down in Scripture that one should serve the world unselfishly and without attachment, leaving the fruit of one's work at the feet of the Lord? Rama did his penance in the forest for fourteen years and all the time Bharata too did his penance at Nandigrama near Ayodhya.
The sage Vasishtha conducted the three queens to the hut. On the way, they saw the river Mandakini. When he showed them the spot where the princes daily took water for their use, Kausalya and Sumitra broke down and sobbed. Said Kausalya:
"From this pool in the river, Sumitra, your son takes water to the ashrama every day. Lakshmana is prepared to do the commonest task cheerfully for his brother. He does not mind the weight of the water pot on his princely shoulder."
They saw the spot where Rama and Lakshmana poured out libations for their father's Spirit. The darbha grass lay with the ends facing south, beside the oil cake.
Kausalya clung to Sumitra and said: "O Sister! This is the food that the mightiest kings have to be content with after death."
They reached the hut. There they saw the princes with faces clouded with sorrow, seated under a thatched roof. Unable to bear the sight, the royal mothers sank to the floor.
When Rama lifted Kausalya tip, she stroked him with her flower-soft hands and was at once sad and happy. She embraced Sita and said: "My child, Janaka's daughter, daughter-in-law to the King of Ayodhya, do you live in this hut in the forest? O, faded lotus-flower! O, golden image covered with dust! My heart melts at the sight of you."
Rama reverently touched the feet of Vasishtha who seemed another Brihaspati, the preceptor of the gods, come down to earth, and then sat by his mother. Bharata humbly sat apart facing Rama. The elders surrounded them, eagerly awaiting what Bharata would say and how Rama would react.
"Bharata, why have you left your kingly duties and come here in deer skin and with matted locks?" asked Rama. Bharata attempted to speak several times, but at first could not get beyond the word 'Brother.' Then he pulled himself together with a great effort and said:
"Sending you to the forest, but unable to bear the pain, our father's soul fled to heaven. All the good my mother has got from her evil plan has been that she has become a sinner and a widow and is in deep sorrow. Despised by the world, she experiences hell on earth. Only you can save us. Undo all the evil that has been done and wipe off our tears by agreeing to be crowned. It is to implore you for this that we and the citizens and the army and the widowed queens have come and are all here waiting on your word. Grant us our prayer. This alone will put an end to our sorrow and re-establish the dharma of our race. Without a rightful king, the land is like a widow, desolate and helpless. You must come back and make it happy and secure. Like the full moon rising, dispel our darkness. The ministers here and I fall at your feet and beg of you. Do not refuse, O, brother!"
Saying this, the great Bharata, with tear-filled eyes, clung to the feet of Ramachandra.
Rama raised him from the ground and embracing him said:
"Child, we were born in a noble family and brought up in good ways. Neither you nor I can do anything wrong. I see no fault in you, my blameless brother! Do not feel sad and do not speak unkind words about your mother. It is not proper that we should blame her. Surely our father had the right to tell us what to do, aye, even to decree banishment, just as he had the right to order a coronation. Our duty is to honor our father and our mother. How could I disobey or question their command? Was it for me to refuse my father's command that I should go to the forest? He gave you kingship and he ordained for me life in the forest. He certainly had the right to settle the manner of our lives. What right do we have to alter or reject his plans? Far from being wrong, it is your duty to rule the land. And I too shall do my duty and fulfil our father's last command by living fourteen years in the Dandaka forest. Failing to fulfil our father's wish, can I find contentment in the possession of the whole world?"
Bharata repeatedly besought and importuned Rama. Rama realised that Bharata grieved that it was for his sake injustice had been done and that he endeavored to remove the blot.
"Do not blame yourself," he said. "Do not think that all these things took place for your sake. Destiny rules everything. Give up your grief. Return to Ayodhya and rule the kingdom. Let us each perform the duties assigned to us by the father we love and revere."
The people who watched the talk and saw the determination of the prince were filled with joy and sorrow in equal measure. Bharata's affection and purity filled them with pride and joy.
Rama told Bharata his unalterable decision. "I cannot possibly disobey my father's word. You will please me by not persisting in trying to persuade me. Satrughna is there to help you in ruling, as Lakshmana is here to help me in forest life. With Lakshmana by my side, I lack nothing. Let us all four, brother, do our other's will."
The learned Jabali, one of the priests who had accompanied Bharata, here interposed a lesson on worldly wisdom for the benefit of Rama. "You talk again and again of your father's command. Dasaratha was a physical body which has now rejoined the five elements. You talk as though there is some continuing relationship between that person who is now no more and yourself. This is sheer illusion. Why do you like the foolish prating of dharma and seek to give up the good fortune to which you were born? Like a woman mourning with dishevelled hair, the city of Ayodhya is plaintively longing and waiting for your return. Go back. Accept the crown. Enjoy life's pleasures. Listen to Bharata. Do not fail in your proper duties."
This lecture angered Rama. He said with much sharpness: "Sir, you seem to set little value on truth and rectitude. Your materialist talk fills me with such abhorrence that I wonder that an unbeliever like you should have been tolerated in the court."
Jabali hastened to explain that, far from being an infidel, he had all his life been a teacher of the Shastras and that he had only spoken as he had done out of an earnest wish to persuade Rama to return. Vasishtha also intervened on his behalf and that unlucky interlude came to an end.
Vasishtha then put the case for Rama's return this way:
"On the whole, my opinion is that you should return to Ayodhya and accept the throne. Of course, your father's command also has to be considered, and reconciled to this step. You have obeyed that command at once and unhesitatingly, but now a new situation has arisen. Bharata in his helplessness, fearing infamy, has sought shelter at your feet. How can you spurn him? We all know that you love him as your life. You never refuse those who approach you for help. How then can you deny it to Bharata now? Is it not your life-principle to help those who seek refuge at your feet?"
But Rama showed no signs of relenting. Then, Bharata turned to Sumantra and said, "My brother has no pity for me. Please spread a bed of darbha grass here for me. I shall take the pledge of fasting unto death."
Sumantra hesitated and looked at Rama. Then Bharata himself fetched and spread the grass and sat on it.
"My child, this is not right," said Rama firmly. "Rise. Go to Ayodhya and fulfil your duties. Do not go against Kshatriya dharma."
Bharata got up and as a last resort appealed to the people who had accompanied him, a representative crowd of soldiers and citizens from Ayodhya: "O, citizens of Ayodhya! Why do you stand mutely looking on? Do you not want Rama to return? Why then are you silent?"
The people answered: "Rama will not swerve from truth. He will stand firm by his father's promise. He will not return to Ayodhya. What is the use of pressing him further?"
Rama said, "Listen to them, brother. They wish well by both of us. Virtue dwells in their hearts."
Bharata said: "Here I am as guiltless as Rama and a fit substitute for him. If the King's word should be fulfilled let me stay here in the forest in place of Rama. Let him fill my place and rule in Ayodhya."
Rama laughed and said: "This procedure of exchange cannot apply here. This is not trade or business for barter and agreement. It is true that sometimes one discharges the duties of another, when the latter is too weak and unable to do it. But how does it fit on this occasion? Can any of you say that for life in the forest I have no capacity but only Bharata has?"
Then the wise Vasishtha found a solution for the problem in which righteousness struggled with righteousness as to which should be more right. "O, Bharata, rule the kingdom under Rama's authority and as his deputy. No blame would attach to you then and the pledge would be kept."
Rama took Bharata on his lap and told him, "Brother, look on the kingdom as my gift to you. Accept it and rule it as our father wished."
A glory descended on Rama and Bharata at that moment at they shone like two suns.
Bharata said: "Brother, you are my father and my God. Your least wish is my dharma, Give me your sandals. That token of yours shall reign in Ayodhya till you return. And for fourteen years I shall stay outside the city and discharge the King's duties in your place, paying reverent homage to your sandals. At the end of that period, you will return and accept the kingship."
"So be it," answered Rama.
He placed his feet on the sandals and handed them to Bharata who prostrated himself on the ground and accepted them and put them on his head.
Bharata and his retinue turned back towards Ayodhya. On the way, they met the sage Bharadwaja and reported what had happened. He blessed Bharata saying:
"Your virtue will be for ever remembered. Are you not a son of the solar race? As water flows downwards, the virtue of your family runs its inevitable course in you. Your father Dasaratha is indeed happy. He is not dead but lives again immortally in you."
They met Guha again and crossed the Ganga and reached Ayodhya. Bharata and his followers entered Ayodhya. The city, bereft of the King and Rama, appeared desolate to Bharata. It seemed to be enveloped in the darkness of a moonless night. When he returned in haste from Kekaya, he had entered the city in fatigue and shapeless fear and suspense; but today he entered it again fully realising all the tragedy.
He remembered the past and thought of the present and grieved afresh. He went to the palace and took the queens to their desolate apartments. He went to the assembly hall, and said: "Great is my sorrow. But I shall bear it. I shall stay in Nandigrama and carry out my tasks as I have promised Rama. Make all arrangements for this purpose."
This was done and he solemnly announced in the assembly, "This kingdom is Rama's. For the time being, he has asked me to be in charge. In my brother's place I have installed his sandals. Deriving my authority from them I shall do my work as king."
Accordingly, Bharata stayed in Nandigrama and with the help of ministers ruled the kingdom as a religious duty until Rama should return after completing his forest life. And indeed, is it not the law laid down in Scripture that one should serve the world unselfishly and without attachment, leaving the fruit of one's work at the feet of the Lord? Rama did his penance in the forest for fourteen years and all the time Bharata too did his penance at Nandigrama near Ayodhya.
29 ) VIRADHA'S END :
NOT far from Chitrakuta was an outpost of the Rakshasas, called Janasthana, in charge of a famous warrior named Khara, who was a brother of Ravana. From this station, fierce Rakshasas ranged the forest round, molesting the rishis in their isolated ashramas. They made life so insecure that the rishis abandoned their hermitages in the Chitrakuta region in spite of all that Rama could do to dissuade them.
After Bharata's departure Rama was not quite happy in Chitrakuta. The face of his beloved brother tearful with disappointment and the sad drooping form of his widowed mother were ever before his mind's eye. Now that the going away of the rishis had deprived him of even their companionship, the lonely hut was so full of sad memories that he made up his mind to seek some other resting place in the Dandaka forest.
So they left Chitrakuta and proceeded to the hermitage of Atri, a rishi who knew the country, to seek his advice as to where they might establish themselves. They were most affectionately received and Sita won the heart of Atri's wife, the saintly Anasuya. Anasuya delighted at finding in Sita a perfect embodiment of wifely virtues, blessed her and presented her with beautiful garments and auspicious cosmetics that set out the charms of lovely young wives.
Anasuya was the embodiment of pure womanhood and her gifts added beauty and inner strength to Sita. She received the gifts and said: "My Lord the prince loves me with the love of a mother and a father. I am indeed blessed."
Then they made inquiries concerning the way and resumed their journey.
Walking, through the great Dandaka forest, Rama, Sita and Lakshmana reached a spot where many rishis lived. Even as they approached the place, they saw the sacrificial materials, bark garments and deerskins spread out to dry and they knew it was a colony of holy men.
The place was beautiful to look at. Birds and animals moved about with the freedom from fear born of affectionate familiarity with their human neighbors. Ripe fruits hung from the trees. The beautiful sound of Vedic chanting was heard.
As they came near, they saw the radiant faces of the rishis. They welcomed Rama. "O, King! You are our protector," they said. "Whether we are in the town or in the forest, you are our king." And they gave the new comers all they needed and a place in which to rest.
The following morning, the three took leave of the rishis and re-entered the forest, which was now denser than before and there were tigers and other wild animals. They proceeded slowly and cautiously.
Suddenly, a gigantic form distorted like a broken fragment of a hill rushed at them making a blood-curdling noise. It was a man-eating rakshasa and his roar was like thunder. He was unutterably ugly and the tiger-skin he wore was covered with blood and gobbets of flesh of the slaughtered beast were sticking to it still.
The corpses of three lions and the head of an elephant recently slain were impaled and strung in a row on the great spear which he shook menacingly at them.
The rakshasa lifted his weapon, roared horribly and, springing forward lifted Sita and as he held her, shouted at the princes: "Who are you, little fellows? How dare you enter this forest? You look young but wear matted locks and bark garments. You have disguised yourselves as ascetics; yet you carry bows and arrows, and go about with this woman by your side. Whom are you trying to cheat? Are you not ashamed of yourselves? You are besmirching the good name of the rishis by your conduct, you hypocrites! Know that I am Viradha himself. The flesh of rishis is my daily food. I shall have this lovely damsel for my wife, do you understand? I shall now drink your blood, you villains!"
Held in his grasp, Sita trembled with fear. Rama lost his usual self-control and said: "Lakshmana, this is unbearable. Kaikeyi must have known all this when she sent us to the forest!"
Rama was bewildered and did not know how to meet the Rakshasa. But Lakshmana, hissing like an angry snake, said: "Rama, you are strong like Indra and, with me by your side, you should not talk dejectedly. Look at what my bow and arrow can do. The earth will presently drink this monster's blood. My wrath which was denied outlet at Ayodhya, I shall now direct on this monster, and shatter him as Indra did the winged mountains of yore. I shall attack this creature and slay him."
Viradha roared again: "Who are you? Tell me at once." Rama's mind now cleared. His face glowed with courage and calmly he said: "We are princes of the Ikshvaku race. We have come to live in the forest. May we know who you are?"
The Rakshasa answered. "And so, you are the sons of Dasaratha, are you? My father's name is Jaya. And I am known among rakshasas as Viradha. You puny kshatriyas carrying arms, what can you and your ridiculous weapons do to me? I have secured a boon from Brahma that no weapon can hurt me. Leave this girl here and run away, if you wish to save your lives."
Rama's eyes grew red with anger. "It is time for you to go to Yama," he said and bent his bow and shot a sharp arrow at the monster. It pierced his body and emerged red with blood, glistening like fire, and fell on the earth beyond. But the rakshasa was not killed. Enraged by the pain, he placed Sita on the ground, and lifting his spear and opening his mouth wide rushed towards Rama and Lakshmana. The princes sent a shower of arrows at him. The arrows stuck so thick on his body that he bristled all over like a gigantic porcupine.
The rakshasa however laughed and shook his limbs, and down fell all the darts. He straightened himself and lifted his spear again. Rama and Lakshmana with two arrows broke the spear and rushed at him sword in hand. But he lifted them both up with his hands and put them on his shoulders and strode off into the forest. Sita saw them disappear in the darkness of the jungle and wept loud.
Rama and Lakshmana, seated one on each shoulder, knowing that weapons could not kill him, wrenched off his arms and threw them down. They then attacked him with their hands and feet. Still they could not kill him on account of Brahma's boon, but the agony of his wounds was so great that he howled with it. Unfortunately for him he had asked for immunity from slaughter, but not from pain.
The brothers threw down the exhausted monster and Rama planted his foot on his neck to prevent him from rising.
The touch of Rama's feet cleared the mist in which the curse incurred in a previous birth had shrouded his understanding, and in the sudden light of recollection he joined his hands and said humbly, "Your feet have touched me, Lord, and my eyes are opened. I have realised who you are. I am under a curse, but you can save me. I am not a rakshasa by birth, but a Gandharva. The boon I secured prevents my liberation. If you could somehow kill me, I shall recover my original form and go to heaven."
Accordingly Rama and Lakshmana smashed him without weapons and buried him in a pit they dug in the earth. And the rakshasa returned to the world of Gandharvas.
Then the princes went back to the place where Sita stood terrified and told her all that happened.
They proceeded to the ashrama of Sarabhanga. Indra was there with other gods, talking to the rishi. Knowing that Rama had arrived, he cut short his talk and went away. Then Rama, with his brother and wife, approached the rishi and humbly saluted him.
The old ascetic said: "It is for you I have been waiting. It is time for me to leave the body but my wish was to see you first. And so I have been waiting. Now my desire is fulfilled, I pass on to you all the merit of my penances."
Rama answered: "My Lord, should I not earn my own merit? How can I receive what you have earned? I have renounced everything to live in the forest. Advise me where I can best find an abode in the forest and send me forth with your blessing."
The rishi knew the secret of Rama's avatar and told him: "Learn from the sage Sutikshna where in the forest you should dwell."
Then Sarabhanga kindled a fire and entered it. The gross body perished in the flames and a youthful ethereal form rose from the pyre and floated up the heavens.
When the rishis of that forest heard the news of Viradha's death they came to Rama and surrounded him. "It is our good fortune, O King," they said, "that you have come to dwell in this region. Hereafter, we shall perform our penance untroubled by rakshasas. Look at those bones scattered all round. They are the remains of ascetics killed and eaten by the rakshasas. The rishis on the banks of Pampa and Mandakini live in constant fear of their lives from these man-eating monsters. The King's duty from which he may not fail without sin is to protect his subjects. Just as householders pay taxes, a share of the merit of our penances goes to the King's benefit. You are radiant like Indra, king of the gods. Protect us from this persecution of the rakshasas. You are our only refuge."
Rama answered: "I am bound, O great ones, to obey your command. I gave up kingship and came to the forest in obedience to my father's wish. If in discharging my duty as a son I can also serve you and do some good, I shall count myself twice blessed. I shall stay in the forest and destroy the rakshasas and free you from trouble. Shed your fear."
Rama's promise of help gave relief and joy to the rishis. Rama, Lakshmana and Sita then proceeded towards the ashrama of Sutikshna. They came to a big hill surrounded by a thick forest which they entered. There they saw bark garments drying in the sun and a little later came upon the old rishi himself.
Saluting him, the prince said: "My name is Rama, O holy sage. I have come to have darshan of you. I pray for your blessing."
The sage rose and embraced him. "Welcome, defender of dharma. My ashrama is fit up by your presence. It is now yours. When I heard you had left Ayodhya and taken up your abode at Chitrakuta, I knew you would come here, and have lived in hope of seeing you. Else I would have long ago given up this body. The merit I have accumulated I now pass on to you. Take it for yourself, your brother and the princess." The sage's face was bright with the light of long holy life.
It was the custom of the rishis thus to offer their acquired merit to those who came as their guests. From Rama's answer, we can see how such courtesies were to be received.
"O sage, I must earn merit by my own good deeds. With your blessing, I still hope to do so. I wish to dwell in the forest. The sage Sarabhanga directed me here to receive your blessing and seek your instructions as to where I could build a home for the rest of my stay in the forest."
The rishi's face was bright with joy and he said meaningfully: "You may live in this ashrama. There are many rishis living round about. The forest is full of fruit and roots. But evil beasts are abroad molesting the rishis and obstructing their penance. The sages are unable to bear this trouble. But for this, the place is good."
The prince understood what the sage meant to convey. He bent and strung his bow and said: "Holy sage! I shall destroy these evil-doers. My bow is strong and sharp are my arrows. It is not proper that we should dwell in this ashrama. It may interrupt your penance. We shall find a place for ourselves in the neighborbood. Permit us to do so."
That night they stayed in the sage's ashrama as his guests, The following morning, the three got up and bathed in the cool water fragrant with flowers, lit the sacrificial fire, performed their worship and touched the feet of the sage.
"By your grace, we spent a good night. We desire to see the other rishis in the region and receive their blessings. It is good to set out before the sun grows hot. Pray, give us leave to go."
The sage embraced the princes and blessed them, saying: "Visit the good rishis in the Dandaka forest. They have all gone through great austerities and obtained divine powers. The forest is indeed beautiful with deer and birds and lotus-filled tanks, and the hills with cascades and peacocks. Lakshmana, go now with your brother and with Sita. Come to this ashrama whenever you feel like it."
The three walked round the sage according to custom and took leave of him. Sita handed to them their swords, bows and quivers and the princes set out, more radiant than before because of the great sage's blessings.
After Bharata's departure Rama was not quite happy in Chitrakuta. The face of his beloved brother tearful with disappointment and the sad drooping form of his widowed mother were ever before his mind's eye. Now that the going away of the rishis had deprived him of even their companionship, the lonely hut was so full of sad memories that he made up his mind to seek some other resting place in the Dandaka forest.
So they left Chitrakuta and proceeded to the hermitage of Atri, a rishi who knew the country, to seek his advice as to where they might establish themselves. They were most affectionately received and Sita won the heart of Atri's wife, the saintly Anasuya. Anasuya delighted at finding in Sita a perfect embodiment of wifely virtues, blessed her and presented her with beautiful garments and auspicious cosmetics that set out the charms of lovely young wives.
Anasuya was the embodiment of pure womanhood and her gifts added beauty and inner strength to Sita. She received the gifts and said: "My Lord the prince loves me with the love of a mother and a father. I am indeed blessed."
Then they made inquiries concerning the way and resumed their journey.
Walking, through the great Dandaka forest, Rama, Sita and Lakshmana reached a spot where many rishis lived. Even as they approached the place, they saw the sacrificial materials, bark garments and deerskins spread out to dry and they knew it was a colony of holy men.
The place was beautiful to look at. Birds and animals moved about with the freedom from fear born of affectionate familiarity with their human neighbors. Ripe fruits hung from the trees. The beautiful sound of Vedic chanting was heard.
As they came near, they saw the radiant faces of the rishis. They welcomed Rama. "O, King! You are our protector," they said. "Whether we are in the town or in the forest, you are our king." And they gave the new comers all they needed and a place in which to rest.
The following morning, the three took leave of the rishis and re-entered the forest, which was now denser than before and there were tigers and other wild animals. They proceeded slowly and cautiously.
Suddenly, a gigantic form distorted like a broken fragment of a hill rushed at them making a blood-curdling noise. It was a man-eating rakshasa and his roar was like thunder. He was unutterably ugly and the tiger-skin he wore was covered with blood and gobbets of flesh of the slaughtered beast were sticking to it still.
The corpses of three lions and the head of an elephant recently slain were impaled and strung in a row on the great spear which he shook menacingly at them.
The rakshasa lifted his weapon, roared horribly and, springing forward lifted Sita and as he held her, shouted at the princes: "Who are you, little fellows? How dare you enter this forest? You look young but wear matted locks and bark garments. You have disguised yourselves as ascetics; yet you carry bows and arrows, and go about with this woman by your side. Whom are you trying to cheat? Are you not ashamed of yourselves? You are besmirching the good name of the rishis by your conduct, you hypocrites! Know that I am Viradha himself. The flesh of rishis is my daily food. I shall have this lovely damsel for my wife, do you understand? I shall now drink your blood, you villains!"
Held in his grasp, Sita trembled with fear. Rama lost his usual self-control and said: "Lakshmana, this is unbearable. Kaikeyi must have known all this when she sent us to the forest!"
Rama was bewildered and did not know how to meet the Rakshasa. But Lakshmana, hissing like an angry snake, said: "Rama, you are strong like Indra and, with me by your side, you should not talk dejectedly. Look at what my bow and arrow can do. The earth will presently drink this monster's blood. My wrath which was denied outlet at Ayodhya, I shall now direct on this monster, and shatter him as Indra did the winged mountains of yore. I shall attack this creature and slay him."
Viradha roared again: "Who are you? Tell me at once." Rama's mind now cleared. His face glowed with courage and calmly he said: "We are princes of the Ikshvaku race. We have come to live in the forest. May we know who you are?"
The Rakshasa answered. "And so, you are the sons of Dasaratha, are you? My father's name is Jaya. And I am known among rakshasas as Viradha. You puny kshatriyas carrying arms, what can you and your ridiculous weapons do to me? I have secured a boon from Brahma that no weapon can hurt me. Leave this girl here and run away, if you wish to save your lives."
Rama's eyes grew red with anger. "It is time for you to go to Yama," he said and bent his bow and shot a sharp arrow at the monster. It pierced his body and emerged red with blood, glistening like fire, and fell on the earth beyond. But the rakshasa was not killed. Enraged by the pain, he placed Sita on the ground, and lifting his spear and opening his mouth wide rushed towards Rama and Lakshmana. The princes sent a shower of arrows at him. The arrows stuck so thick on his body that he bristled all over like a gigantic porcupine.
The rakshasa however laughed and shook his limbs, and down fell all the darts. He straightened himself and lifted his spear again. Rama and Lakshmana with two arrows broke the spear and rushed at him sword in hand. But he lifted them both up with his hands and put them on his shoulders and strode off into the forest. Sita saw them disappear in the darkness of the jungle and wept loud.
Rama and Lakshmana, seated one on each shoulder, knowing that weapons could not kill him, wrenched off his arms and threw them down. They then attacked him with their hands and feet. Still they could not kill him on account of Brahma's boon, but the agony of his wounds was so great that he howled with it. Unfortunately for him he had asked for immunity from slaughter, but not from pain.
The brothers threw down the exhausted monster and Rama planted his foot on his neck to prevent him from rising.
The touch of Rama's feet cleared the mist in which the curse incurred in a previous birth had shrouded his understanding, and in the sudden light of recollection he joined his hands and said humbly, "Your feet have touched me, Lord, and my eyes are opened. I have realised who you are. I am under a curse, but you can save me. I am not a rakshasa by birth, but a Gandharva. The boon I secured prevents my liberation. If you could somehow kill me, I shall recover my original form and go to heaven."
Accordingly Rama and Lakshmana smashed him without weapons and buried him in a pit they dug in the earth. And the rakshasa returned to the world of Gandharvas.
Then the princes went back to the place where Sita stood terrified and told her all that happened.
They proceeded to the ashrama of Sarabhanga. Indra was there with other gods, talking to the rishi. Knowing that Rama had arrived, he cut short his talk and went away. Then Rama, with his brother and wife, approached the rishi and humbly saluted him.
The old ascetic said: "It is for you I have been waiting. It is time for me to leave the body but my wish was to see you first. And so I have been waiting. Now my desire is fulfilled, I pass on to you all the merit of my penances."
Rama answered: "My Lord, should I not earn my own merit? How can I receive what you have earned? I have renounced everything to live in the forest. Advise me where I can best find an abode in the forest and send me forth with your blessing."
The rishi knew the secret of Rama's avatar and told him: "Learn from the sage Sutikshna where in the forest you should dwell."
Then Sarabhanga kindled a fire and entered it. The gross body perished in the flames and a youthful ethereal form rose from the pyre and floated up the heavens.
When the rishis of that forest heard the news of Viradha's death they came to Rama and surrounded him. "It is our good fortune, O King," they said, "that you have come to dwell in this region. Hereafter, we shall perform our penance untroubled by rakshasas. Look at those bones scattered all round. They are the remains of ascetics killed and eaten by the rakshasas. The rishis on the banks of Pampa and Mandakini live in constant fear of their lives from these man-eating monsters. The King's duty from which he may not fail without sin is to protect his subjects. Just as householders pay taxes, a share of the merit of our penances goes to the King's benefit. You are radiant like Indra, king of the gods. Protect us from this persecution of the rakshasas. You are our only refuge."
Rama answered: "I am bound, O great ones, to obey your command. I gave up kingship and came to the forest in obedience to my father's wish. If in discharging my duty as a son I can also serve you and do some good, I shall count myself twice blessed. I shall stay in the forest and destroy the rakshasas and free you from trouble. Shed your fear."
Rama's promise of help gave relief and joy to the rishis. Rama, Lakshmana and Sita then proceeded towards the ashrama of Sutikshna. They came to a big hill surrounded by a thick forest which they entered. There they saw bark garments drying in the sun and a little later came upon the old rishi himself.
Saluting him, the prince said: "My name is Rama, O holy sage. I have come to have darshan of you. I pray for your blessing."
The sage rose and embraced him. "Welcome, defender of dharma. My ashrama is fit up by your presence. It is now yours. When I heard you had left Ayodhya and taken up your abode at Chitrakuta, I knew you would come here, and have lived in hope of seeing you. Else I would have long ago given up this body. The merit I have accumulated I now pass on to you. Take it for yourself, your brother and the princess." The sage's face was bright with the light of long holy life.
It was the custom of the rishis thus to offer their acquired merit to those who came as their guests. From Rama's answer, we can see how such courtesies were to be received.
"O sage, I must earn merit by my own good deeds. With your blessing, I still hope to do so. I wish to dwell in the forest. The sage Sarabhanga directed me here to receive your blessing and seek your instructions as to where I could build a home for the rest of my stay in the forest."
The rishi's face was bright with joy and he said meaningfully: "You may live in this ashrama. There are many rishis living round about. The forest is full of fruit and roots. But evil beasts are abroad molesting the rishis and obstructing their penance. The sages are unable to bear this trouble. But for this, the place is good."
The prince understood what the sage meant to convey. He bent and strung his bow and said: "Holy sage! I shall destroy these evil-doers. My bow is strong and sharp are my arrows. It is not proper that we should dwell in this ashrama. It may interrupt your penance. We shall find a place for ourselves in the neighborbood. Permit us to do so."
That night they stayed in the sage's ashrama as his guests, The following morning, the three got up and bathed in the cool water fragrant with flowers, lit the sacrificial fire, performed their worship and touched the feet of the sage.
"By your grace, we spent a good night. We desire to see the other rishis in the region and receive their blessings. It is good to set out before the sun grows hot. Pray, give us leave to go."
The sage embraced the princes and blessed them, saying: "Visit the good rishis in the Dandaka forest. They have all gone through great austerities and obtained divine powers. The forest is indeed beautiful with deer and birds and lotus-filled tanks, and the hills with cascades and peacocks. Lakshmana, go now with your brother and with Sita. Come to this ashrama whenever you feel like it."
The three walked round the sage according to custom and took leave of him. Sita handed to them their swords, bows and quivers and the princes set out, more radiant than before because of the great sage's blessings.
30) TEN YEARS PASS :
Now begins the Aranya Kanda. The poet begins with an episode that prepares us for the misfortunes of Sita. A new responsibility has been cast on the prince. He is to destroy rakshasas who molest the rishis in the Dandaka forest. A fear arose in Sita's heart like a shadow cast by events to come.
"Why should you and Lakshmana who are properly to be merely ascetics in the forest" asked Sita of her beloved husband, "take on yourselves this task of protection? You have come here to fulfil a promise of the late King. The duty of protecting the rishis belongs to the ruler who is actually reigning. It is not for you, engaged in penance, to protect rishis. To kill anyone, except in self-defence, is opposed to the vow of ascetic life. But you have rashly promised protection to the rishis. I wonder where this will lead us?"
Thus Sita argued in soft and affectionate words while they were going from Sage Sutikshna's ashrama towards some other ashrama in the Dandaka forest.
"Bear with me, my Lord," she said, "for seeming to counsel you. I speak but as a weak woman out of my infinite love for you. You know what dharma is. But, men, it is said, are driven by desire into three kinds of sin: falsehood, lust and violence. Falsehood is unthinkable in one who for truth's sake has renounced a kingdom and is here in the forest. And as for lust do I know that you will not allow even the thought of another woman to enter your mind. But I am afraid of the third kind of sin. Should we kill one who does not attack us? Whether it is a rakshasa or anyone else, why should we kill anyone who leaves us alone? You were in a hurry, I feel, to give your word to the rishis. To destroy the wicked is no doubt the duty of a kshatriya but can that duty still cling to you when you have renounced the privileges that go with it, and elected the life of a recluse in the forest? The duties of kingship go with actual status. Dressed in garments of bark and with hair matted, you are now an ascetic, pure and simple. Of course, you know best. I am only asking you to think well before undertaking anything."
Rama's love and admiration of Sita rose all the more for her is misgivings. "Indeed, my love," he said, "you speak like a true daughter of Janaka. But, Sita, did you not once say yourself that the weapons borne by kshatriyas are for protecting others? When helpless people suffer persecution, how could a kshatriya sit still? When we came here the sages complained of their sufferings and entreated our protection. They could not endure the cruelties of the Rakshasas who looked on them as so much meat and made shambles of the hermitages. Did they not show us a great heap of bones to show what had been done? 'You are the king's son,' they said. 'Our troubles will now end as darkness before the rising sun. You are our only refuge.' Could we princes hear their piteous appeal and refrain from helping them? Every kshatriya, everyone has to do his duty, not the king alone. You are, of course, solicitous for my safety. Even granting that what you say is right, I have given my word and I cannot go back. They said, 'You are our refuge,' and I have given my word to protect them. A pledge thus given cannot be withdrawn. What I have spoken cannot now be unsaid. You and I must tread together the path of dharma. How can we differ?" Talking thus, they went along the forest path.
This conversation occurs in the poem like the cloud that precedes the storm. It is the artistic creation of a changing atmosphere and not a random casting up of facile verses.
For ten years, Rama, Lakshmana and Sita lived quietly among the rishis. In the great Dandaka forest, there were a number of ashramas where the rishis lived practising their austerities and living their lives of abnegation. The princes spent a month in one ashrama, three months in a second and perhaps a year in a third as welcome and happy visitors.
The forest was indescribably beautiful, with deer and bison, boars and elephants. The birds, the trees, the creepers, the blue waterlilies, all live again in the beauty of Valmiki's poetry.
Rama was very happy these ten years, the joy of association with great and holy men being added to his joy in the quiet companionship of Lakshmana and Sita. These ten years are disposed of in a small chapter. Time happily spent seems short and needs no length in recording.
When after ten years had thus passed, the end of their forest life was approaching, Rama wished to have darshan of the sage Agastya who lived in the south. The sage was, like Vishwamitra, famous through the three worlds. It used to be said that if all the wisdom and spiritual merit between the Himalayas and the Vindhyas were put on one scale and Agastya sat on the other, the southern scale would go down by his weight.
There is also the story of Agastya's service during the wedding of Siva and Parvati. All the rishis had gone to Mount Kailas for the great event. Agastya alone, staying in the south, maintained the balance of the earth. Once the Vindhya Mountain steadily grew towards the heavens and threatened to obstruct the sun's passage between the northern and southern hemispheres.
The gods grew frightened and approached Agastya for help. The Sage stood before the mountain which bent low in reverence before him. Then he blessed it saving: "May you ever remain thus", and so the mountain stretches low and long even now. So goes the story.
Two Rakshasas, Vatapi and Ilvala, gave much trouble to the rishis. The former had obtained a boon that no matter into how many pieces his body was cut up, they would all reunite and his body would be whole and strong as before. IIvala, disguised as a brahmana, would go to the ashrama of one rishi after another and say, "O Learned One! Go over to my humble home and oblige me by accepting the consecrated food prepared for my manes."
On no account, according to ancient rule, could one refuse such an invitation. The rishis therefore had to accept the invitation. To them Ilvala served as food his brother Vatapi cut up and cooked lusciously and after the unsuspecting guests had eaten the meat, the host would, according to custom, ask the guests, "Are you satisfied?" The answer would be "Yes. We are content." Then, Ilvala would shout, "Vatapi Come out!" And at the call of Ilvala, Vatapi reunited into life would come out tearing the bowels of the guests. Many rishis had to die in this way.
One day, Ilvala tried to play this trick on Agastya. As usual, Vatapi entered Agastya's entrails as meat. Agastya of course knew this, but he was a devotee of Ganapati and had obtained the power to digest the Rakshasa.
"Are you satisfied?" asked Ilvala. "Yes, I am satisfied," answered Agastya. IIvala shouted, "Vatapi, come out." Agastya, laughing, said, "Vatapi has been digested, my host!" "What?" cried Ilvala. "Have you killed my brother?" And he rushed against Agastya. The Sage opened his eyes in indignation and the rakshasa was reduced to ashes. No rakshasas would thereafter come near Agastya and he protected the other sages also. Rama first went to the ashrama of Agastya's younger brother and obtained his blessings before visiting Agastya himself. Proceeding south and approaching Agastya's place, Rama noticed the brightness of the whole region, the birds and animals playing about without fear and brahmanas gathering flowers for worship.
He told Lakshmana to go in advance and announce him to the sage. Lakshmana met one of the disciples of the sage and sent word through him: "Ramachandra, son of Dasaratha, has come with his brother and wife to seek the great sage's blessings.
Agastya warmly welcomed the princes. He said: "I heard of your having come to dwell in Chitrakuta, and I was looking forward to your visit. The end of your exile is approaching. Stay here during what remains of it in peace. This place is free from the fear of rakshasas."
Rama answered: "I am happy to receive your blessing and I thank you for your gracious welcome. But I have promised protection to the rishis in
Dandaka and now that I have received your blessings, I must return to that forest."
And Agastya answered: "What you say is right." Then the Sage gave to Rama the bow made by Viswakarma for Vishnu and an inexhaustible quiver, as well as a sword. He blessed him saying, "Rama, destroy the rakshasas with these weapons which of yore Vishnu gave me."
Agastya advised the prince to spend the rest of his exile at Panchavati.
"May God bless you, O, Prince," said Agastya, "take good care of Sita who for love of you cheerfully submits to hardships to which she was not born or accustomed. Women are by nature fond of comfort and averse to hardship but no such weakness is found in Sita. She is like Arundhati. Wherever you are, Ramachandra, with Lakshmana and Sita by your side, the place will be filled with beauty. But Panchavati is itself a beautiful spot and Sita will love to live there, secure in the protection of you both. Fruit and roots are there in abundance. Stay there on the bank of the Godavari. The period of your exile is coming to an end. You will soon fulfil your father's plighted word. Like Yayati, Dasaratha is served by his eldest son."
"Why should you and Lakshmana who are properly to be merely ascetics in the forest" asked Sita of her beloved husband, "take on yourselves this task of protection? You have come here to fulfil a promise of the late King. The duty of protecting the rishis belongs to the ruler who is actually reigning. It is not for you, engaged in penance, to protect rishis. To kill anyone, except in self-defence, is opposed to the vow of ascetic life. But you have rashly promised protection to the rishis. I wonder where this will lead us?"
Thus Sita argued in soft and affectionate words while they were going from Sage Sutikshna's ashrama towards some other ashrama in the Dandaka forest.
"Bear with me, my Lord," she said, "for seeming to counsel you. I speak but as a weak woman out of my infinite love for you. You know what dharma is. But, men, it is said, are driven by desire into three kinds of sin: falsehood, lust and violence. Falsehood is unthinkable in one who for truth's sake has renounced a kingdom and is here in the forest. And as for lust do I know that you will not allow even the thought of another woman to enter your mind. But I am afraid of the third kind of sin. Should we kill one who does not attack us? Whether it is a rakshasa or anyone else, why should we kill anyone who leaves us alone? You were in a hurry, I feel, to give your word to the rishis. To destroy the wicked is no doubt the duty of a kshatriya but can that duty still cling to you when you have renounced the privileges that go with it, and elected the life of a recluse in the forest? The duties of kingship go with actual status. Dressed in garments of bark and with hair matted, you are now an ascetic, pure and simple. Of course, you know best. I am only asking you to think well before undertaking anything."
Rama's love and admiration of Sita rose all the more for her is misgivings. "Indeed, my love," he said, "you speak like a true daughter of Janaka. But, Sita, did you not once say yourself that the weapons borne by kshatriyas are for protecting others? When helpless people suffer persecution, how could a kshatriya sit still? When we came here the sages complained of their sufferings and entreated our protection. They could not endure the cruelties of the Rakshasas who looked on them as so much meat and made shambles of the hermitages. Did they not show us a great heap of bones to show what had been done? 'You are the king's son,' they said. 'Our troubles will now end as darkness before the rising sun. You are our only refuge.' Could we princes hear their piteous appeal and refrain from helping them? Every kshatriya, everyone has to do his duty, not the king alone. You are, of course, solicitous for my safety. Even granting that what you say is right, I have given my word and I cannot go back. They said, 'You are our refuge,' and I have given my word to protect them. A pledge thus given cannot be withdrawn. What I have spoken cannot now be unsaid. You and I must tread together the path of dharma. How can we differ?" Talking thus, they went along the forest path.
This conversation occurs in the poem like the cloud that precedes the storm. It is the artistic creation of a changing atmosphere and not a random casting up of facile verses.
For ten years, Rama, Lakshmana and Sita lived quietly among the rishis. In the great Dandaka forest, there were a number of ashramas where the rishis lived practising their austerities and living their lives of abnegation. The princes spent a month in one ashrama, three months in a second and perhaps a year in a third as welcome and happy visitors.
The forest was indescribably beautiful, with deer and bison, boars and elephants. The birds, the trees, the creepers, the blue waterlilies, all live again in the beauty of Valmiki's poetry.
Rama was very happy these ten years, the joy of association with great and holy men being added to his joy in the quiet companionship of Lakshmana and Sita. These ten years are disposed of in a small chapter. Time happily spent seems short and needs no length in recording.
When after ten years had thus passed, the end of their forest life was approaching, Rama wished to have darshan of the sage Agastya who lived in the south. The sage was, like Vishwamitra, famous through the three worlds. It used to be said that if all the wisdom and spiritual merit between the Himalayas and the Vindhyas were put on one scale and Agastya sat on the other, the southern scale would go down by his weight.
There is also the story of Agastya's service during the wedding of Siva and Parvati. All the rishis had gone to Mount Kailas for the great event. Agastya alone, staying in the south, maintained the balance of the earth. Once the Vindhya Mountain steadily grew towards the heavens and threatened to obstruct the sun's passage between the northern and southern hemispheres.
The gods grew frightened and approached Agastya for help. The Sage stood before the mountain which bent low in reverence before him. Then he blessed it saving: "May you ever remain thus", and so the mountain stretches low and long even now. So goes the story.
Two Rakshasas, Vatapi and Ilvala, gave much trouble to the rishis. The former had obtained a boon that no matter into how many pieces his body was cut up, they would all reunite and his body would be whole and strong as before. IIvala, disguised as a brahmana, would go to the ashrama of one rishi after another and say, "O Learned One! Go over to my humble home and oblige me by accepting the consecrated food prepared for my manes."
On no account, according to ancient rule, could one refuse such an invitation. The rishis therefore had to accept the invitation. To them Ilvala served as food his brother Vatapi cut up and cooked lusciously and after the unsuspecting guests had eaten the meat, the host would, according to custom, ask the guests, "Are you satisfied?" The answer would be "Yes. We are content." Then, Ilvala would shout, "Vatapi Come out!" And at the call of Ilvala, Vatapi reunited into life would come out tearing the bowels of the guests. Many rishis had to die in this way.
One day, Ilvala tried to play this trick on Agastya. As usual, Vatapi entered Agastya's entrails as meat. Agastya of course knew this, but he was a devotee of Ganapati and had obtained the power to digest the Rakshasa.
"Are you satisfied?" asked Ilvala. "Yes, I am satisfied," answered Agastya. IIvala shouted, "Vatapi, come out." Agastya, laughing, said, "Vatapi has been digested, my host!" "What?" cried Ilvala. "Have you killed my brother?" And he rushed against Agastya. The Sage opened his eyes in indignation and the rakshasa was reduced to ashes. No rakshasas would thereafter come near Agastya and he protected the other sages also. Rama first went to the ashrama of Agastya's younger brother and obtained his blessings before visiting Agastya himself. Proceeding south and approaching Agastya's place, Rama noticed the brightness of the whole region, the birds and animals playing about without fear and brahmanas gathering flowers for worship.
He told Lakshmana to go in advance and announce him to the sage. Lakshmana met one of the disciples of the sage and sent word through him: "Ramachandra, son of Dasaratha, has come with his brother and wife to seek the great sage's blessings.
Agastya warmly welcomed the princes. He said: "I heard of your having come to dwell in Chitrakuta, and I was looking forward to your visit. The end of your exile is approaching. Stay here during what remains of it in peace. This place is free from the fear of rakshasas."
Rama answered: "I am happy to receive your blessing and I thank you for your gracious welcome. But I have promised protection to the rishis in
Dandaka and now that I have received your blessings, I must return to that forest."
And Agastya answered: "What you say is right." Then the Sage gave to Rama the bow made by Viswakarma for Vishnu and an inexhaustible quiver, as well as a sword. He blessed him saying, "Rama, destroy the rakshasas with these weapons which of yore Vishnu gave me."
Agastya advised the prince to spend the rest of his exile at Panchavati.
"May God bless you, O, Prince," said Agastya, "take good care of Sita who for love of you cheerfully submits to hardships to which she was not born or accustomed. Women are by nature fond of comfort and averse to hardship but no such weakness is found in Sita. She is like Arundhati. Wherever you are, Ramachandra, with Lakshmana and Sita by your side, the place will be filled with beauty. But Panchavati is itself a beautiful spot and Sita will love to live there, secure in the protection of you both. Fruit and roots are there in abundance. Stay there on the bank of the Godavari. The period of your exile is coming to an end. You will soon fulfil your father's plighted word. Like Yayati, Dasaratha is served by his eldest son."
31) THE SURPANAKHA EPISODE :
THE Princes and Sita, following Agastya's instruction, took the way to Panchavati. On the way they met a huge figure perched on a big tree. They took it to be a Rakshasa.
"Who are you?" asked Rama in an angry tone. The vulture however answered in a voice full of mildness and affection: "My child, I am your father's aged friend." Then he proceeded to tell his story.
Jatayu was the brother of Sampati, the son of Aruna the dawn-god, who was brother to Garuda the great eagle-vehicle of Vishnu.
He said: "When you leave Sita alone and go hunting in the forest, I shall be looking after her safety."
The prince was pleased and accepted the offer of the bird with gratitude. They then proceeded on their journey.
Rama was thrilled by the beauty of Panchavati and gratefully offered praise in his thoughts to Agastya for recommending the spot to them. He told Lakshmana: "We can build our ashrama and enjoy our stay here for any length of time. Those hills are near and yet not too near. Look at those herds of deer. The trees with their flowers and the sweetly singing birds, the river, the clean sand, everything is beautiful. Choose for us a good site and build a cottage."
Lakshmana did as he was told. He constructed an ashrama.
Valmiki pauses here to explain the skill and swiftness of Lakshmana's workmanship. He describes in detail how the mud walls were raised and the thatched roof was made. Rama admires Lakshmana enthusiastically.
"You are more than a father to me," said the prince shedding tears of love and joy.
We, too, may pause to think how the noble prince Lakshmana acquired this skill. We may infer that in those days education even of princes included a knowledge of the realities of life and development of manual skill such as could enable one to collect materials in a forest and put a neat cottage for oneself.
In the ashrama at Panchavati, Rama and Sita lived happily, lovingly served by Lakshmana.
One morning in early winter the three went as usual to the Godavari for their bath and to offer their morning prayers and fetch water for the day's needs. They walked conversing about the beauty of the season. Lakshmana thought of Bharata and how he would then be busy performing the ceremonies appropriate to the month.
He said: "Bharata is entitled to live in ease but he has taken on himself a life of hardship because we live a life of hardship in the forest. My heart is full of sorrow for him. Even in this cold weather poor Bharata no doubt eats sparingly and sleeps on the bare floor. This cold morning he too is probably walking towards the Sarayu. How fortunate we are to have such a noble brother! Pure in mind and speech and conduct, renouncing all pleasures, he lives a life of austerity for our sake. He is exactly like our dear father and quite the opposite of his mother. How could so cruel a woman as Kaikeyi bear so good a son?"
Rama stopped him, saying: "Talk as much as you like of Bharata and our father, but stop condemning Kaikeyi. All that you say of Bharata is true and my thoughts too today go to him in love. How long yet to see him again? When shall we have that pleasure, Lakshmana? When shall we four brothers live together again? Bharata's loving words are still sweetly ringing in my ears."
Thus thinking longingly of home and Bharata they bathed in the Godavari on that early winter morning.
After offering oblations to their ancestors and prayers to the sun, Rama rose transfigured like the Lord Siva and returned to the ashrama with Sita and Lakshmana.
Their morning duties over, they sat whiling the hours with wistful talk of old days and tales of long ago.
While they were thus recapturing the past in sweet companionship suddenly there came a Rakshasa woman who saw them. She was Surpanakha, Ravana's sister who was roaming the forest full of the idle thoughts of well-fed ill-taught youth. She was horribly ugly, but had the magic power to assume any lovely form at will. When she saw the godlike beauty of Rama, she was filled with uncontrollable desire for him and accosted him.
"Who are you, dressed like an ascetic but accompanied by a woman and carrying warlike weapons and arrows? Why are you here in the forest that belongs to the Rakshasas? Speak the truth."
On such occasions it was the courtesy of those days for the person accosted to announce himself and recite his name, city and history and inquire of the newcomer concerning his or her family and the purpose of the visit.
Rama began, "I am the eldest son of the great King Dasaratha. My name is Rama. This is my brother Lakshmana. And this is my wife Sita. Obeying the behests of my father and mother and in fulfilment of dharma, I am now in the forest. And now please announce who you are. What is your family? You look like a woman of the Rakshasa race. What is your purpose in coming here?"
She answered, "Have you heard of Ravana, the heroic son of Visravas and the king of the Rakshasas? I am his sister. My name is Surpanakha. My brothers Kumbhakarna and Vibhishana are also renowned warriors. The lords of this region, Khara and Dushana, are also my brothers. They too are mighty men at arms and wield great authority in these regions. But I am not subject to their control, but am a free person, free to do what I like and please myself. Everybody in this forest is, as a matter of fact, afraid of me." She said this to strengthen her wooing position.
"The moment I set eyes on you," she continued, "I fell in love with you. You are now my husband. Why do you wander around with this midget of a woman! I am the mate worthy of you. Come with me. Let us wander at will through the forest. I can take what shape I please. Do not mind this girl of yours. I shall cut her up in a trice and dispose of her. Do not hesitate."
Under the influence of lust, she thought in the manner of her race and prated thus. All this amazed and amused Rama. He smiled and said: "Oh beautiful one! Your desire for me will end in trouble for you. My wife is here with me. I do not care to live the life of a man with two wives. But my hefty brother here is untrammelled with a wife, and is as good-looking as myself. He is the proper husband for you. Offer your hand to him and leave me alone."
Rama said this, being confident that Lakshmana would deal with Surpanakha suitably.
The Rakshasi took Rama's advice seriously and approached Lakshmana saying, "Oh, my hero, come with me. Let us together wander at will in joy through this Dandaka forest."
Lakshmana entered into the humor of the situation and said, "Do not be foolish. He is trying to cheat you. What is your status and what is mine? I am here a slave to my brother, while you are a princess. How could you become my wife and accept the position of a slave's slave? Insist on Rama's taking you as his second wife. Do not mind Sita. Soon Rama will prefer you to her and you will be happy with him."
Some critic might ask whether it was proper thus to torment a woman, especially a woman in love. But if we exercise our imagination and have before us a monster of ugliness we can understand the situation. It is true that she could assume any charming form she chose, but in the intoxication of lust, she seems to have omitted even this allurement.
"This ugly, corpulent and paunchy Rakshasi, with leering eyes blood-shot with lust, her red hair all dishevelled and her voice hoarse with passion, accosted the handsome, beautifully built and smiling Rama", says Valmiki. The Tamil poet Kamban varies the situation by making Surpanakha assume a lovely shape from the outset.
Impelled by brute passion, the Rakshasi did as she was told by Lakshmana and went again to Rama. She thought and acted like a Rakshasi for she knew no other way of life.
The sight of Sita enraged her. "It is this wretched little insect that stands between you and me. How could you love this girl without a waist? Look. I shall finish her off this instant. I cannot live without you. Once I have put her out of the way, you and I shall live together happily." Saying this, she sprang on Sita.
Rama intervened just in time to save Sita. The farce had gone too far and threatened to become a tragedy. Rama shouted to Lakshmana, "Look, I have just been able to save Sita. Attend to this monster and teach her a lesson."
Lakshmana at once took up his sword and maimed Surpanakha and drove her out. Disgraced and mutilated, Surpanakha uttered a loud wail and disappeared into the forest.
Bleeding and mad with pain and rage, she flung herself on the ground before Khara, as he sat in state with his colleagues. Yelling with anguish, she related the story of her wrongs. The scorn and mutilation she had suffered was an insult to the Rakshasa race which only blood could efface.
She said: "Look at me. Rama and Lakshmana have done this and they are still alive and roaming in your domain. And you sit here doing nothing."
Khara stood up and said: "My dear sister, what is all this? I understand nothing. Calm yourself and tell me what has happened. Who dared to do this thing to you and is he in this forest? Who is he that wants to become food for crows and vultures? Who has stirred up the black cobra? Who is that fool? Where is he? Tell me, and he shall die at once. The earth is thirsty for his blood. Stand up and tell me everything as it happened."
"Two handsome young men," said Surpanakha, "have come into the forest, dressed like ascetics and accompanied by a girl. They say they are the sons of Dasaratha. These two together, making an excuse of the girl attacked me and have hurt me thus shamefully. I am thirsting for the blood of these villains. Slay them first. Everything else can wait."
Khara ordered his generals: "Go at once, slay these men and bring their lifeless bodies. Drag hither the woman also. Delay not."
Fourteen generals set out to do his bidding.
In Kamban's Ramayana, Surpanakha is delineated as having come in the shape of a beautiful young woman, entirely human, who tried to tempt Rama. Kamban departs widely from Valmiki in this episode and he makes a beautiful episode of it as will be seen in the next chapter.
There are some people who pose as critics of our holy books and traditions saying, "This hero killed a woman. He insulted and injured a woman who offered him her love. He killed Vali from behind, rather than face him and accept honorable defeat. He unjustly banished Sita to the forest at the end of all the adventures. If the banishment of Sita was not unjust and if he rightly suspected Sita's fidelity, why then, we too, must suspect her fidelity."
All such criticism is based on a mentality of hatred. We have unfortunately plenty of barren, heartless cleverness, devoid of true understanding. Let those who find faults in Rama see faults, and if these critics faultlessly pursue dharma and avoid in their own lives the flaws they discover in Rama, the bhaktas of Sri Rama will indeed welcome it with joy. If they exhibit the virtues of Rama and add to these more virtues and greater flawlessness, who can complain?
"Who are you?" asked Rama in an angry tone. The vulture however answered in a voice full of mildness and affection: "My child, I am your father's aged friend." Then he proceeded to tell his story.
Jatayu was the brother of Sampati, the son of Aruna the dawn-god, who was brother to Garuda the great eagle-vehicle of Vishnu.
He said: "When you leave Sita alone and go hunting in the forest, I shall be looking after her safety."
The prince was pleased and accepted the offer of the bird with gratitude. They then proceeded on their journey.
Rama was thrilled by the beauty of Panchavati and gratefully offered praise in his thoughts to Agastya for recommending the spot to them. He told Lakshmana: "We can build our ashrama and enjoy our stay here for any length of time. Those hills are near and yet not too near. Look at those herds of deer. The trees with their flowers and the sweetly singing birds, the river, the clean sand, everything is beautiful. Choose for us a good site and build a cottage."
Lakshmana did as he was told. He constructed an ashrama.
Valmiki pauses here to explain the skill and swiftness of Lakshmana's workmanship. He describes in detail how the mud walls were raised and the thatched roof was made. Rama admires Lakshmana enthusiastically.
"You are more than a father to me," said the prince shedding tears of love and joy.
We, too, may pause to think how the noble prince Lakshmana acquired this skill. We may infer that in those days education even of princes included a knowledge of the realities of life and development of manual skill such as could enable one to collect materials in a forest and put a neat cottage for oneself.
In the ashrama at Panchavati, Rama and Sita lived happily, lovingly served by Lakshmana.
One morning in early winter the three went as usual to the Godavari for their bath and to offer their morning prayers and fetch water for the day's needs. They walked conversing about the beauty of the season. Lakshmana thought of Bharata and how he would then be busy performing the ceremonies appropriate to the month.
He said: "Bharata is entitled to live in ease but he has taken on himself a life of hardship because we live a life of hardship in the forest. My heart is full of sorrow for him. Even in this cold weather poor Bharata no doubt eats sparingly and sleeps on the bare floor. This cold morning he too is probably walking towards the Sarayu. How fortunate we are to have such a noble brother! Pure in mind and speech and conduct, renouncing all pleasures, he lives a life of austerity for our sake. He is exactly like our dear father and quite the opposite of his mother. How could so cruel a woman as Kaikeyi bear so good a son?"
Rama stopped him, saying: "Talk as much as you like of Bharata and our father, but stop condemning Kaikeyi. All that you say of Bharata is true and my thoughts too today go to him in love. How long yet to see him again? When shall we have that pleasure, Lakshmana? When shall we four brothers live together again? Bharata's loving words are still sweetly ringing in my ears."
Thus thinking longingly of home and Bharata they bathed in the Godavari on that early winter morning.
After offering oblations to their ancestors and prayers to the sun, Rama rose transfigured like the Lord Siva and returned to the ashrama with Sita and Lakshmana.
Their morning duties over, they sat whiling the hours with wistful talk of old days and tales of long ago.
While they were thus recapturing the past in sweet companionship suddenly there came a Rakshasa woman who saw them. She was Surpanakha, Ravana's sister who was roaming the forest full of the idle thoughts of well-fed ill-taught youth. She was horribly ugly, but had the magic power to assume any lovely form at will. When she saw the godlike beauty of Rama, she was filled with uncontrollable desire for him and accosted him.
"Who are you, dressed like an ascetic but accompanied by a woman and carrying warlike weapons and arrows? Why are you here in the forest that belongs to the Rakshasas? Speak the truth."
On such occasions it was the courtesy of those days for the person accosted to announce himself and recite his name, city and history and inquire of the newcomer concerning his or her family and the purpose of the visit.
Rama began, "I am the eldest son of the great King Dasaratha. My name is Rama. This is my brother Lakshmana. And this is my wife Sita. Obeying the behests of my father and mother and in fulfilment of dharma, I am now in the forest. And now please announce who you are. What is your family? You look like a woman of the Rakshasa race. What is your purpose in coming here?"
She answered, "Have you heard of Ravana, the heroic son of Visravas and the king of the Rakshasas? I am his sister. My name is Surpanakha. My brothers Kumbhakarna and Vibhishana are also renowned warriors. The lords of this region, Khara and Dushana, are also my brothers. They too are mighty men at arms and wield great authority in these regions. But I am not subject to their control, but am a free person, free to do what I like and please myself. Everybody in this forest is, as a matter of fact, afraid of me." She said this to strengthen her wooing position.
"The moment I set eyes on you," she continued, "I fell in love with you. You are now my husband. Why do you wander around with this midget of a woman! I am the mate worthy of you. Come with me. Let us wander at will through the forest. I can take what shape I please. Do not mind this girl of yours. I shall cut her up in a trice and dispose of her. Do not hesitate."
Under the influence of lust, she thought in the manner of her race and prated thus. All this amazed and amused Rama. He smiled and said: "Oh beautiful one! Your desire for me will end in trouble for you. My wife is here with me. I do not care to live the life of a man with two wives. But my hefty brother here is untrammelled with a wife, and is as good-looking as myself. He is the proper husband for you. Offer your hand to him and leave me alone."
Rama said this, being confident that Lakshmana would deal with Surpanakha suitably.
The Rakshasi took Rama's advice seriously and approached Lakshmana saying, "Oh, my hero, come with me. Let us together wander at will in joy through this Dandaka forest."
Lakshmana entered into the humor of the situation and said, "Do not be foolish. He is trying to cheat you. What is your status and what is mine? I am here a slave to my brother, while you are a princess. How could you become my wife and accept the position of a slave's slave? Insist on Rama's taking you as his second wife. Do not mind Sita. Soon Rama will prefer you to her and you will be happy with him."
Some critic might ask whether it was proper thus to torment a woman, especially a woman in love. But if we exercise our imagination and have before us a monster of ugliness we can understand the situation. It is true that she could assume any charming form she chose, but in the intoxication of lust, she seems to have omitted even this allurement.
"This ugly, corpulent and paunchy Rakshasi, with leering eyes blood-shot with lust, her red hair all dishevelled and her voice hoarse with passion, accosted the handsome, beautifully built and smiling Rama", says Valmiki. The Tamil poet Kamban varies the situation by making Surpanakha assume a lovely shape from the outset.
Impelled by brute passion, the Rakshasi did as she was told by Lakshmana and went again to Rama. She thought and acted like a Rakshasi for she knew no other way of life.
The sight of Sita enraged her. "It is this wretched little insect that stands between you and me. How could you love this girl without a waist? Look. I shall finish her off this instant. I cannot live without you. Once I have put her out of the way, you and I shall live together happily." Saying this, she sprang on Sita.
Rama intervened just in time to save Sita. The farce had gone too far and threatened to become a tragedy. Rama shouted to Lakshmana, "Look, I have just been able to save Sita. Attend to this monster and teach her a lesson."
Lakshmana at once took up his sword and maimed Surpanakha and drove her out. Disgraced and mutilated, Surpanakha uttered a loud wail and disappeared into the forest.
Bleeding and mad with pain and rage, she flung herself on the ground before Khara, as he sat in state with his colleagues. Yelling with anguish, she related the story of her wrongs. The scorn and mutilation she had suffered was an insult to the Rakshasa race which only blood could efface.
She said: "Look at me. Rama and Lakshmana have done this and they are still alive and roaming in your domain. And you sit here doing nothing."
Khara stood up and said: "My dear sister, what is all this? I understand nothing. Calm yourself and tell me what has happened. Who dared to do this thing to you and is he in this forest? Who is he that wants to become food for crows and vultures? Who has stirred up the black cobra? Who is that fool? Where is he? Tell me, and he shall die at once. The earth is thirsty for his blood. Stand up and tell me everything as it happened."
"Two handsome young men," said Surpanakha, "have come into the forest, dressed like ascetics and accompanied by a girl. They say they are the sons of Dasaratha. These two together, making an excuse of the girl attacked me and have hurt me thus shamefully. I am thirsting for the blood of these villains. Slay them first. Everything else can wait."
Khara ordered his generals: "Go at once, slay these men and bring their lifeless bodies. Drag hither the woman also. Delay not."
Fourteen generals set out to do his bidding.
In Kamban's Ramayana, Surpanakha is delineated as having come in the shape of a beautiful young woman, entirely human, who tried to tempt Rama. Kamban departs widely from Valmiki in this episode and he makes a beautiful episode of it as will be seen in the next chapter.
There are some people who pose as critics of our holy books and traditions saying, "This hero killed a woman. He insulted and injured a woman who offered him her love. He killed Vali from behind, rather than face him and accept honorable defeat. He unjustly banished Sita to the forest at the end of all the adventures. If the banishment of Sita was not unjust and if he rightly suspected Sita's fidelity, why then, we too, must suspect her fidelity."
All such criticism is based on a mentality of hatred. We have unfortunately plenty of barren, heartless cleverness, devoid of true understanding. Let those who find faults in Rama see faults, and if these critics faultlessly pursue dharma and avoid in their own lives the flaws they discover in Rama, the bhaktas of Sri Rama will indeed welcome it with joy. If they exhibit the virtues of Rama and add to these more virtues and greater flawlessness, who can complain?
32) KAMBAN'S SURPANAKHA :
RAMA and Lakshmana drove out Surpanakha, as one takes a stick and drives out a donkey straying into a garden. Such is the brief and simple treatment of this incident by Valmiki.
Kamban, the Tamil poet, however, deals with it more elaborately and has made a number of changes in the story.
Sitting on the riverbank, Rama watched a swan walking and then looked at Sita, also walking. Noting the similarity in the gait, Rama was pleased and smiled. Sita, for her part, observed an elephant returning from the river and, reminded of Rama's gait, smiled. Thus in Panchavati, beside the river Godavari, love flowed smoothly between the banks of dharma. Just then fate conspired with lust to drag Surpanakha to the presence of Rama. The Lord Vishnu had left the Ocean of Milk and taken birth as Dasaratha's son, to rid the earth of the enemies of the gods. But how was Surpanakha to know this?
Beholding the beauty of his person, she wondered: "Is this Manmatha or Indra or Siva or Vishnu? But Manmatha has no body. Indra has a thousand eyes and Siva has third eye in the forehead, and Vishnu has four arms; so he cannot be Indra, Siva or Vishnu. Perhaps, after all, this is Manmatha who has recovered his body through penance, after it had been reduced to ashes by Siva's wrath. If it be
Manmatha, why should this handsome hero still perform penance? Why should this lotus-eyed youth waste his time in tapas?"
So she stood there wondering, watching, unable to turn her eyes away. She thought, "My own form would fill him with disgust. I shall change my appearance and then approach him."
She transformed herself into a beautiful young woman and appeared before him like the full moon. Her slender frame was like a golden creeper climbing up the Kalpaka tree in Heaven. Her lovely lips and teeth were matched by her fawn-like eyes.
Her gait was that of a peacock. Her anklets made music as she came near. Rama looked up and his eyes beheld this creature of ravishing beauty. She bowed low and touched his feet. Then she withdrew a little with modesty shading her eyes.
Rama welcomed her, imagining that she was a visitor from some distant place and inquired: "Which is your place? What is your name? Who are your kinsfolk?"
She answered: "I am the daughter of the grandson of Brahma. Kubera is a brother of mine. Another is Ravana, conqueror of Kailasa. I am a maiden and my name is Kamavalli. And what is your purpose in coming here? It is not proper for a woman to speak out the trouble in her mind. And yet I suppose I must speak it out. The God of Love has invaded my heart. You can and should save me."
She paused. Rama remained silent. And she went on.
"You may wed me with Gandharva rites. You know it is permitted for lovers to come together in this manner. Once we are joined in this way, not only will happiness be ours, but friendship between you and my brother, the great Ravana, will follow. You are alone in this forest and the Rakshasas will molest you. Even if you do not provoke them, they will give you trouble because you are dressed as an ascetic. If you marry me, you will be free from all this danger. Not only that, my powerful people will be ready to serve you in all ways. Consider this well."
Thus she pleaded for the fulfilment of her desire, citing authority and appealing to Rama's self-interest also.
Rama laughed revealing his beautiful pearly teeth. Just then, Sita was coming towards them through the plants and creepers, herself looking like another creeper. Surpanakha saw and marvelled at her loveliness.
Not knowing whom she was, Surpanakha angered by lust, told Rama: "This girl is a Rakshasi in human form. She has come to deceive you. Beware of her. Demonic is not her real form. She is a Rakshasi that eats raw meat. Throw her out. Have nothing to do with her."
Rama laughed again. "You are indeed wise," said he. "You have found out the truth about her."
Meanwhile, Sita had come and stood by Rama. Surpanakha could not understand what Rama was laughing for. In her lust, she had quite lost her wits. She hissed at Sita: "Why do you approach this hero of mine, oh Rakshasi? Go away from here."
Sita, bewildered and afraid, hung on the prince's shoulder, and she then seemed like a lightning flash hugging a rain- bearing cloud.
Rama now saw that the joke had gone too far and said: "Dear lady, please stop, lest my brother should hear you. He is quick-tempered and terrible when angry. I advise you to go back quickly the way you came." Saying this, Rama took Sita with him and went into the hermitage.
The fire of her desire unquenched, the Rakshasi spent the night somewhere, somehow. In the morning, she thought: "I shall die if I do not get this man. So long as this girl is with him, he will never come near me. I must contrive to carry her off and put her away somewhere and then I may secure his love." Thus resolved, she came again to the ashrama.
Rama had gone to the river for his morning ablutions and prayer and Sita was alone in the ashrama. Surpanakha reckoned this was her chance to carry her off. She did not notice that Lakshmana was in the wood nearby. She rushed towards Sita. Lakshmana shouted and sprang on the Rakshasi. Catching hold of her hair, he kicked her and drew his sword. Surpanakha when attacked resumed her own shape and at tacked Lakshmana. Lakshmana easily caught hold of her and mutilated her and drove her off.
Surpanakha ran into the forest, bleeding and loudly appealing to her kinsfolk: "Oh, brother Khara! Oh, brother Ravana! Oh, Indrajit! Oh, kings of the Rakshasa race! Are you all asleep? A mere man has insulted me and cut off my nose. Do you not hear my lamentations?"
This is Kamban's version of the episode. Surpanakha approaches and tries to attract Rama, hiding her true form and appearing like a beautiful human girl. This variation is supported in a way by Valmiki's description of Surpanakha as Kamarupini, that is, one able to assume what form she liked.
The Tamil poet appears to have felt something wrong or wanting in Valmiki's story and has woven an episode showing how bestial passion works.
Kamban, the Tamil poet, however, deals with it more elaborately and has made a number of changes in the story.
Sitting on the riverbank, Rama watched a swan walking and then looked at Sita, also walking. Noting the similarity in the gait, Rama was pleased and smiled. Sita, for her part, observed an elephant returning from the river and, reminded of Rama's gait, smiled. Thus in Panchavati, beside the river Godavari, love flowed smoothly between the banks of dharma. Just then fate conspired with lust to drag Surpanakha to the presence of Rama. The Lord Vishnu had left the Ocean of Milk and taken birth as Dasaratha's son, to rid the earth of the enemies of the gods. But how was Surpanakha to know this?
Beholding the beauty of his person, she wondered: "Is this Manmatha or Indra or Siva or Vishnu? But Manmatha has no body. Indra has a thousand eyes and Siva has third eye in the forehead, and Vishnu has four arms; so he cannot be Indra, Siva or Vishnu. Perhaps, after all, this is Manmatha who has recovered his body through penance, after it had been reduced to ashes by Siva's wrath. If it be
Manmatha, why should this handsome hero still perform penance? Why should this lotus-eyed youth waste his time in tapas?"
So she stood there wondering, watching, unable to turn her eyes away. She thought, "My own form would fill him with disgust. I shall change my appearance and then approach him."
She transformed herself into a beautiful young woman and appeared before him like the full moon. Her slender frame was like a golden creeper climbing up the Kalpaka tree in Heaven. Her lovely lips and teeth were matched by her fawn-like eyes.
Her gait was that of a peacock. Her anklets made music as she came near. Rama looked up and his eyes beheld this creature of ravishing beauty. She bowed low and touched his feet. Then she withdrew a little with modesty shading her eyes.
Rama welcomed her, imagining that she was a visitor from some distant place and inquired: "Which is your place? What is your name? Who are your kinsfolk?"
She answered: "I am the daughter of the grandson of Brahma. Kubera is a brother of mine. Another is Ravana, conqueror of Kailasa. I am a maiden and my name is Kamavalli. And what is your purpose in coming here? It is not proper for a woman to speak out the trouble in her mind. And yet I suppose I must speak it out. The God of Love has invaded my heart. You can and should save me."
She paused. Rama remained silent. And she went on.
"You may wed me with Gandharva rites. You know it is permitted for lovers to come together in this manner. Once we are joined in this way, not only will happiness be ours, but friendship between you and my brother, the great Ravana, will follow. You are alone in this forest and the Rakshasas will molest you. Even if you do not provoke them, they will give you trouble because you are dressed as an ascetic. If you marry me, you will be free from all this danger. Not only that, my powerful people will be ready to serve you in all ways. Consider this well."
Thus she pleaded for the fulfilment of her desire, citing authority and appealing to Rama's self-interest also.
Rama laughed revealing his beautiful pearly teeth. Just then, Sita was coming towards them through the plants and creepers, herself looking like another creeper. Surpanakha saw and marvelled at her loveliness.
Not knowing whom she was, Surpanakha angered by lust, told Rama: "This girl is a Rakshasi in human form. She has come to deceive you. Beware of her. Demonic is not her real form. She is a Rakshasi that eats raw meat. Throw her out. Have nothing to do with her."
Rama laughed again. "You are indeed wise," said he. "You have found out the truth about her."
Meanwhile, Sita had come and stood by Rama. Surpanakha could not understand what Rama was laughing for. In her lust, she had quite lost her wits. She hissed at Sita: "Why do you approach this hero of mine, oh Rakshasi? Go away from here."
Sita, bewildered and afraid, hung on the prince's shoulder, and she then seemed like a lightning flash hugging a rain- bearing cloud.
Rama now saw that the joke had gone too far and said: "Dear lady, please stop, lest my brother should hear you. He is quick-tempered and terrible when angry. I advise you to go back quickly the way you came." Saying this, Rama took Sita with him and went into the hermitage.
The fire of her desire unquenched, the Rakshasi spent the night somewhere, somehow. In the morning, she thought: "I shall die if I do not get this man. So long as this girl is with him, he will never come near me. I must contrive to carry her off and put her away somewhere and then I may secure his love." Thus resolved, she came again to the ashrama.
Rama had gone to the river for his morning ablutions and prayer and Sita was alone in the ashrama. Surpanakha reckoned this was her chance to carry her off. She did not notice that Lakshmana was in the wood nearby. She rushed towards Sita. Lakshmana shouted and sprang on the Rakshasi. Catching hold of her hair, he kicked her and drew his sword. Surpanakha when attacked resumed her own shape and at tacked Lakshmana. Lakshmana easily caught hold of her and mutilated her and drove her off.
Surpanakha ran into the forest, bleeding and loudly appealing to her kinsfolk: "Oh, brother Khara! Oh, brother Ravana! Oh, Indrajit! Oh, kings of the Rakshasa race! Are you all asleep? A mere man has insulted me and cut off my nose. Do you not hear my lamentations?"
This is Kamban's version of the episode. Surpanakha approaches and tries to attract Rama, hiding her true form and appearing like a beautiful human girl. This variation is supported in a way by Valmiki's description of Surpanakha as Kamarupini, that is, one able to assume what form she liked.
The Tamil poet appears to have felt something wrong or wanting in Valmiki's story and has woven an episode showing how bestial passion works.
33) THE PATH OF RUIN :
AKAMPANA, one of the few Rakshasas who survived the great slaughter at Panchavati, fled to Lanka and seeking audience of Ravana, said: "Almost all our people who occupied Janasthana are dead and Janasthana is now an empty ruin. I alone have managed to escape with life."
Ravana was furious with anger. He stared and violently shouted: "Who destroyed my lovely Janasthana? Was it Yama or Agni or Vishnu? I shall deal death to the god of death. I shall burn up both the god of fire and the sun. I shall strangle and suffocate the god of wind. Tell me, who was it that destroyed Janasthana and killed my men heedless that I am here to avenge? Speak out at once."
It was ever dangerous to carry unpleasant news to tyrants. Akampana was frightened by the king's rage and said, "I shall speak, if you give me protection." He then told his tale. "Rama, son of Dasaratha, a young warrior, lion-like in fierce valor, a hero who has already acquired fame among men, fought with Khara and Dushana at Panchavati and destroyed them."
The Rakshasa king hissed like a cobra and said: "What are you talking? How did this happen? Did Indra and the divine hosts come down to earth and fight on Rama's side?" Akampana answered: "No such thing happened, great king. Alone did Rama stand against our whole army and its commanders and destroyed them all. And Khara and Dushana too were slain. The deadly arrows issuing from Rama's bow like five-headed serpents pursued the Rakshasas wherever they went and destroyed them." And he went on to describe at length Rama's skill and speed in the use of his weapons.
And so Ravana learnt that Dasaratha's son, Rama, with his younger brother Lakshmana was at Panchavati and that he, alone without even his brother's aid, had done it all and that no gods had come to their aid.
"Well," said Ravana, "I do not understand this but I shall start at once. I shall destroy these little worms of men and return." And he rose. "Hear me, great king, before you go," said Akampana, and explained once again Rama's strength and courage.
"Listen to me. No one can fight with Rama and conquer him. When I say 'No one,' I mean 'No one.' Not even you can do it. Because you have promised me protection, I dare thus to tell you the plain truth. There is only one way of killing him. His wife is with him. The whole earth holds not her equal in beauty. If you contrive to carry her off, separation from her will kill Rama; so great is his love for her. Consider how you can do this. Do not think of battle with him."
When he heard of Sita's beauty, the Rakshasa's desire was kindled. He began to think that the defeat of Khara and his hosts was indeed a fortunate event that brought him an opportunity for gaining one more beautiful queen and wife. He welcomed Akampana's advice and said: "Tomorrow morning I shall go. I think your plan is good."
Accordingly Ravana set out in his mule-yoked flying chariot which gleamed like the moon among the clouds as it sped fast in the air. He went straight to Maricha's dwelling.
Maricha duly welcomed his king and inquired what urgent necessity brought him there. Ravana answered: "Hear me, Maricha. You and you alone can help me. Janasthana has been destroyed and so too the whole army I had stationed there. All this is the work of Rama, son of Dasaratha. Isn't it amazing? To avenge myself, I am resolved to carry off his wife. In this I need your advice and help."
Maricha ,whose experience of Rama's prowess had seared into his soul, was horrified and tried to dissuade Ravana from his mad enterprise.
"What plan is this? Some enemy determined to destroy you, but pretending to be your friend, has given you this plan of carrying off Sita. Whoever gave you this advice wishes the end of the Rakshasa race. It is like advising you to put your hand into the mouth of a sleeping cobra and pull out its fang. Haven't you a happy home and devoted wives? Return to them, and enjoy your life and prosperity. To hanker after Rama's wife is the highway to disgrace and destruction and the annihilation of the Rakshasa race."
Ten-headed Ravana went back to Lanka, for Maricha's counsel appeared right to him. Ravana must have then remembered the omission in the series of boons he had secured. He had obtained immunity from the attacks of all beings except men. Rama's shafts had conquered and killed the whole army with Khara, Trisiras, Dushana and other mighty warriors. Thinking of all this, Ravana accepted Maricha's advice.
But fate would not let him be. Ravana was seated on his throne with his counsellors around him. Majesty shone on
his face like a sacrificial flame fed with ghee and his mighty body showed the scars of many wounds received in victorious battle against gods, asuras and others.
His strength and courage were limitless, so was his adharma. He had no equal in persecuting Devas, spoiling sacrifices and carrying away women. The hosts of Devas and asuras were mortally afraid of him. He was a terror to all creatures. Enjoying wealth and varied pleasures, freed from the fear of death, the ruler of Lanka knew no master or rival and feared neither God nor sin.
With his ten heads, large eyes and huge limbs, his figure was terrible, but it also possessed the marks of royalty. Gorgeously dressed and bejeweled as he sat on his throne, surrounded by his ministers in the midst of the splendor of the despoiled world, there suddenly appeared before him like the vision of the doom to be, his sister Surpanakha, bleeding and mutilated, a shape of pain and sorrow and shame. While all looked at her with horror struck eyes in stunned silence, her anguish broke out in burning words.
"What a fool are you that, sunk in sensual pleasures and arrogantly secure of sovereignty.You are not awake to the deadly danger that threatens your existence at your very doors! Surely that king who is drunk with self-importance and dead to all portents that threaten his state is doomed to shame and destruction! No object is of less account or more contemptible than a ruler who falls through his own remissness. Know you not that your brothers, Khara, Dushana and Trisiras and your gallant army of fourteen thousand fierce Rakshasas have been exterminated by Rama, a mere man, and that your outpost at Janasthana has been destroyed? One moment I saw a single warrior stand proud in the glittering pageantry of war and the next, they lay dead slain by that man's arrows, strewing the ground like ripe crops devastated by a terrible hail-storm. And you see me, your own sister, disgraced, mutilated and heartbroken! Have you no thoughts of vengeance, you, a hero, a brother, king?"
Stung by her contempt and heart-struck by her suffering and sorrow, Ravana said: "Be sure you shall have vengeance. But this Rama, who is he? What sort of man is he? What are his weapons? How does he fight? What seeks he in Dandaka forest? And how happened it that you were so cruelly mutilated?"
She gave a description of the brothers and Sita, dwelling on the virile beauty and powers of the brothers, probably with a view to provoke the envious jealousy of the Rakshasa. And growing enthusiastically eloquent about the superlative loveliness of Sita, she said: "I have no words to describe her perfections. I have never seen such sublime beauty in any created thing, be it Gandharva or Kinnara or a daughter of man. And now, I will tell you why this ghastly outrage was perpetrated on me. On seeing this Sita, I felt that none but you deserved her and that she was fully worthy to share your bed and out of my love for you I tried to carry her off for you. Lakshmana, who was standing by, prevented it and, springing on me, disfigured and disgraced me thus. For your sake, all this I have suffered. If you wish to avenge this insult and protect the honor of the race, rise and go at once. Apart from revenge for the insult I have suffered, secure for yourself a wife worthy of you. If you capture her and disgrace Rama, the spirits of the warriors who were slain in Dandaka would be satisfied. I too shall feel that some amends have been made for the dishonor done to me. You do not know your own strength. You can easily secure Sita, and make her your own. And can you remain indifferent to the insult to your race? Khara and Dushana lie dead in Janasthana because they dared oppose Rama. Think of all this and do what is right. Save, oh, save, the honor of our race."
Listening to these words of his sister and her praise of Sita's beauty, Ravana dissolved the council and retired to muse alone. He had to think and think again, because he remembered what Maricha had told him. He turned in his mind the pros and cons and finally coming to a decision ordered a chariot to be kept ready in secrecy.
It was ready, his golden chariot, drawn by mules bearing demon faces. Mounting it, he passed over sea and land and cities. As he looked from his magic chariot at the sights of the summer season down below, his passion grew stronger.
He reached Maricha's ashrama and met Maricha who, with matted hair and bark garments, lived the life of an ascetic. Seeing his king and kinsman, Maricha welcomed Ravana duly and said: "Why have you come all this way a second time and unannounced?"
Ravana, skillful in speech began: "I am in great trouble from which only you can save me. I beg you for help. Do you know how my brothers, under my orders, ruled Janasthana and how they and their warriors knew no opposition all these years? But now this man Rama has killed them and their whole army. Without a chariot, and standing on the ground, his arrows have pierced to death all our kinsmen. Today, in the Dandaka forest, rid of Rakshasas, the rishis live fearless lives. This Rama is a worthless prince banished by his father, no doubt for some crime. He has been wandering in the forest alone with his wife, Sita. This fellow dressed like an ascetic but enjoying sense-pleasures, this renegade from dharma, proud of his strength and for no other reason, has mutilated the face of my sister and insulted our race. My sister who has suffered this pain and shame had come and complained to me. If, with all this, I sit still and do nothing, would I still be a king? To avenge myself I have decided to carry off Rama's wife from the Dandaka forest. To disgrace and punish this Rama is a duty I owe to my race. And for this I need your help. With you to help me, I have no fear. In courage, strength, skill and magic powers, none on earth can equal you. That is why I have come to you. You cannot refuse me. I will tell you how you can help me. You should turn yourself into a golden deer, a golden deer with silver spots, casting a spell on all eyes. In that shape romp in front of Sita near Rama's ashrama. True to the character of women, she will insist on Rama and Lakshmana pursuing and capturing you for her. When they are thus engaged and she is left alone, I shall easily carry her off. Sita is a most beautiful woman. Rama losing such a wife is sure to languish in sorrow and lose his manly spirit. It will then be easy to kill him and avenge ourselves."
Maricha stared at Ravana. His face became pale and his mouth grew parched. He was frightened by Ravana's plan. With his experience of Rama's prowess and his own wisdom born of penance, Maricha saw what was going to happen.
He knew that Ravana's sinful purpose had not the ghost of a chance of success. It was clear to him that the noose of fate was round Ravana's neck dragging him to inevitable ruin. He had spoken no doubt of the honor of the Rakshasas, of the duties of kingship and of the insult to Surpanakha. But he was really impelled by a lustful desire to possess Sita. All this Maricha saw.
We should analyse Surpanakha's motives too. She had suffered because of her own uncontrollable carnal desire. Though it was Lakshmana who mutilated her she was not so angry with him as with Sita who stood between her and her desire and whose beauty and virtue she hated as darkness hates light.
The one desire that now burned in her heart was to avenge herself by bringing disgrace on Sita. In order to use Ravana for this purpose, she described Sita in such glowing terms to him and kindled his lawless passion. The rest of her talk was ancillary to her main purpose. Reference to the honor of the race, the security of his empire, the slaying of his kinsmen and so on was only to serve her main purpose which was to rouse Ravana's lust and make him desire Sita and he was caught in the snare.
Ravana was furious with anger. He stared and violently shouted: "Who destroyed my lovely Janasthana? Was it Yama or Agni or Vishnu? I shall deal death to the god of death. I shall burn up both the god of fire and the sun. I shall strangle and suffocate the god of wind. Tell me, who was it that destroyed Janasthana and killed my men heedless that I am here to avenge? Speak out at once."
It was ever dangerous to carry unpleasant news to tyrants. Akampana was frightened by the king's rage and said, "I shall speak, if you give me protection." He then told his tale. "Rama, son of Dasaratha, a young warrior, lion-like in fierce valor, a hero who has already acquired fame among men, fought with Khara and Dushana at Panchavati and destroyed them."
The Rakshasa king hissed like a cobra and said: "What are you talking? How did this happen? Did Indra and the divine hosts come down to earth and fight on Rama's side?" Akampana answered: "No such thing happened, great king. Alone did Rama stand against our whole army and its commanders and destroyed them all. And Khara and Dushana too were slain. The deadly arrows issuing from Rama's bow like five-headed serpents pursued the Rakshasas wherever they went and destroyed them." And he went on to describe at length Rama's skill and speed in the use of his weapons.
And so Ravana learnt that Dasaratha's son, Rama, with his younger brother Lakshmana was at Panchavati and that he, alone without even his brother's aid, had done it all and that no gods had come to their aid.
"Well," said Ravana, "I do not understand this but I shall start at once. I shall destroy these little worms of men and return." And he rose. "Hear me, great king, before you go," said Akampana, and explained once again Rama's strength and courage.
"Listen to me. No one can fight with Rama and conquer him. When I say 'No one,' I mean 'No one.' Not even you can do it. Because you have promised me protection, I dare thus to tell you the plain truth. There is only one way of killing him. His wife is with him. The whole earth holds not her equal in beauty. If you contrive to carry her off, separation from her will kill Rama; so great is his love for her. Consider how you can do this. Do not think of battle with him."
When he heard of Sita's beauty, the Rakshasa's desire was kindled. He began to think that the defeat of Khara and his hosts was indeed a fortunate event that brought him an opportunity for gaining one more beautiful queen and wife. He welcomed Akampana's advice and said: "Tomorrow morning I shall go. I think your plan is good."
Accordingly Ravana set out in his mule-yoked flying chariot which gleamed like the moon among the clouds as it sped fast in the air. He went straight to Maricha's dwelling.
Maricha duly welcomed his king and inquired what urgent necessity brought him there. Ravana answered: "Hear me, Maricha. You and you alone can help me. Janasthana has been destroyed and so too the whole army I had stationed there. All this is the work of Rama, son of Dasaratha. Isn't it amazing? To avenge myself, I am resolved to carry off his wife. In this I need your advice and help."
Maricha ,whose experience of Rama's prowess had seared into his soul, was horrified and tried to dissuade Ravana from his mad enterprise.
"What plan is this? Some enemy determined to destroy you, but pretending to be your friend, has given you this plan of carrying off Sita. Whoever gave you this advice wishes the end of the Rakshasa race. It is like advising you to put your hand into the mouth of a sleeping cobra and pull out its fang. Haven't you a happy home and devoted wives? Return to them, and enjoy your life and prosperity. To hanker after Rama's wife is the highway to disgrace and destruction and the annihilation of the Rakshasa race."
Ten-headed Ravana went back to Lanka, for Maricha's counsel appeared right to him. Ravana must have then remembered the omission in the series of boons he had secured. He had obtained immunity from the attacks of all beings except men. Rama's shafts had conquered and killed the whole army with Khara, Trisiras, Dushana and other mighty warriors. Thinking of all this, Ravana accepted Maricha's advice.
But fate would not let him be. Ravana was seated on his throne with his counsellors around him. Majesty shone on
his face like a sacrificial flame fed with ghee and his mighty body showed the scars of many wounds received in victorious battle against gods, asuras and others.
His strength and courage were limitless, so was his adharma. He had no equal in persecuting Devas, spoiling sacrifices and carrying away women. The hosts of Devas and asuras were mortally afraid of him. He was a terror to all creatures. Enjoying wealth and varied pleasures, freed from the fear of death, the ruler of Lanka knew no master or rival and feared neither God nor sin.
With his ten heads, large eyes and huge limbs, his figure was terrible, but it also possessed the marks of royalty. Gorgeously dressed and bejeweled as he sat on his throne, surrounded by his ministers in the midst of the splendor of the despoiled world, there suddenly appeared before him like the vision of the doom to be, his sister Surpanakha, bleeding and mutilated, a shape of pain and sorrow and shame. While all looked at her with horror struck eyes in stunned silence, her anguish broke out in burning words.
"What a fool are you that, sunk in sensual pleasures and arrogantly secure of sovereignty.You are not awake to the deadly danger that threatens your existence at your very doors! Surely that king who is drunk with self-importance and dead to all portents that threaten his state is doomed to shame and destruction! No object is of less account or more contemptible than a ruler who falls through his own remissness. Know you not that your brothers, Khara, Dushana and Trisiras and your gallant army of fourteen thousand fierce Rakshasas have been exterminated by Rama, a mere man, and that your outpost at Janasthana has been destroyed? One moment I saw a single warrior stand proud in the glittering pageantry of war and the next, they lay dead slain by that man's arrows, strewing the ground like ripe crops devastated by a terrible hail-storm. And you see me, your own sister, disgraced, mutilated and heartbroken! Have you no thoughts of vengeance, you, a hero, a brother, king?"
Stung by her contempt and heart-struck by her suffering and sorrow, Ravana said: "Be sure you shall have vengeance. But this Rama, who is he? What sort of man is he? What are his weapons? How does he fight? What seeks he in Dandaka forest? And how happened it that you were so cruelly mutilated?"
She gave a description of the brothers and Sita, dwelling on the virile beauty and powers of the brothers, probably with a view to provoke the envious jealousy of the Rakshasa. And growing enthusiastically eloquent about the superlative loveliness of Sita, she said: "I have no words to describe her perfections. I have never seen such sublime beauty in any created thing, be it Gandharva or Kinnara or a daughter of man. And now, I will tell you why this ghastly outrage was perpetrated on me. On seeing this Sita, I felt that none but you deserved her and that she was fully worthy to share your bed and out of my love for you I tried to carry her off for you. Lakshmana, who was standing by, prevented it and, springing on me, disfigured and disgraced me thus. For your sake, all this I have suffered. If you wish to avenge this insult and protect the honor of the race, rise and go at once. Apart from revenge for the insult I have suffered, secure for yourself a wife worthy of you. If you capture her and disgrace Rama, the spirits of the warriors who were slain in Dandaka would be satisfied. I too shall feel that some amends have been made for the dishonor done to me. You do not know your own strength. You can easily secure Sita, and make her your own. And can you remain indifferent to the insult to your race? Khara and Dushana lie dead in Janasthana because they dared oppose Rama. Think of all this and do what is right. Save, oh, save, the honor of our race."
Listening to these words of his sister and her praise of Sita's beauty, Ravana dissolved the council and retired to muse alone. He had to think and think again, because he remembered what Maricha had told him. He turned in his mind the pros and cons and finally coming to a decision ordered a chariot to be kept ready in secrecy.
It was ready, his golden chariot, drawn by mules bearing demon faces. Mounting it, he passed over sea and land and cities. As he looked from his magic chariot at the sights of the summer season down below, his passion grew stronger.
He reached Maricha's ashrama and met Maricha who, with matted hair and bark garments, lived the life of an ascetic. Seeing his king and kinsman, Maricha welcomed Ravana duly and said: "Why have you come all this way a second time and unannounced?"
Ravana, skillful in speech began: "I am in great trouble from which only you can save me. I beg you for help. Do you know how my brothers, under my orders, ruled Janasthana and how they and their warriors knew no opposition all these years? But now this man Rama has killed them and their whole army. Without a chariot, and standing on the ground, his arrows have pierced to death all our kinsmen. Today, in the Dandaka forest, rid of Rakshasas, the rishis live fearless lives. This Rama is a worthless prince banished by his father, no doubt for some crime. He has been wandering in the forest alone with his wife, Sita. This fellow dressed like an ascetic but enjoying sense-pleasures, this renegade from dharma, proud of his strength and for no other reason, has mutilated the face of my sister and insulted our race. My sister who has suffered this pain and shame had come and complained to me. If, with all this, I sit still and do nothing, would I still be a king? To avenge myself I have decided to carry off Rama's wife from the Dandaka forest. To disgrace and punish this Rama is a duty I owe to my race. And for this I need your help. With you to help me, I have no fear. In courage, strength, skill and magic powers, none on earth can equal you. That is why I have come to you. You cannot refuse me. I will tell you how you can help me. You should turn yourself into a golden deer, a golden deer with silver spots, casting a spell on all eyes. In that shape romp in front of Sita near Rama's ashrama. True to the character of women, she will insist on Rama and Lakshmana pursuing and capturing you for her. When they are thus engaged and she is left alone, I shall easily carry her off. Sita is a most beautiful woman. Rama losing such a wife is sure to languish in sorrow and lose his manly spirit. It will then be easy to kill him and avenge ourselves."
Maricha stared at Ravana. His face became pale and his mouth grew parched. He was frightened by Ravana's plan. With his experience of Rama's prowess and his own wisdom born of penance, Maricha saw what was going to happen.
He knew that Ravana's sinful purpose had not the ghost of a chance of success. It was clear to him that the noose of fate was round Ravana's neck dragging him to inevitable ruin. He had spoken no doubt of the honor of the Rakshasas, of the duties of kingship and of the insult to Surpanakha. But he was really impelled by a lustful desire to possess Sita. All this Maricha saw.
We should analyse Surpanakha's motives too. She had suffered because of her own uncontrollable carnal desire. Though it was Lakshmana who mutilated her she was not so angry with him as with Sita who stood between her and her desire and whose beauty and virtue she hated as darkness hates light.
The one desire that now burned in her heart was to avenge herself by bringing disgrace on Sita. In order to use Ravana for this purpose, she described Sita in such glowing terms to him and kindled his lawless passion. The rest of her talk was ancillary to her main purpose. Reference to the honor of the race, the security of his empire, the slaying of his kinsmen and so on was only to serve her main purpose which was to rouse Ravana's lust and make him desire Sita and he was caught in the snare.
34)THE GOLDEN STAG:
MARICHA told Ravana, "I have listened, my king, to all that you have said and I am filled with boundless sorrow. It is easy to flatter. Flattery is ever pleasant to the ears. Those who utter good though unpalatable advice are few; and fewer still are those who welcome it when given. Yet it is my duty to speak to you the harsh truth. Sweet words might please you now, but will surely lead you to danger and ruin. Your informants have not told you the truth about Rama. Do not be deceived by what you have heard from others about this Rama. He is neither a renegade nor a criminal, but a dutiful son who is in the forest to honor his father's word. Far from being a weakling or coward, he is a mighty warrior, whose equal in arms does not exist. Do not make him your implacable enemy and bring ruin on your people and your kingdom. From what you are bent upon, it looks as though Sita was born only to compass your ruin. The race of Rakshasas and Lanka itself will soon be destroyed on your account. Who is the enemy that has put this disastrous thought into your head? Who has given you this bad advice to take you, your kingdom and your race to danger and destruction? Who told you that he was a lover of pleasure and falsehood? Rama is the embodiment of dharma. He employs his strength and courage in the service of dharma. As Indra is surely the first among the gods, Rama is first among mortal men. How dare you, how could you, cast longing eyes on Sita? Will Sita ever yield to you? Take her from Rama indeed! Can one deceive the sun and steal from him his light? You will be reduced to ashes if you approach the blazing fire of Janaka's daughter. Do not fall a prey to Rama's shafts. Do not seek your own death. Do not approach the fire guarded by Rama. One should not launch on a course of action without full thought. You can never vanquish Rama in battle. O, Ruler of the Rakshasas, do not turn a deaf ear to my words. Do you remember how, in olden days, proud of my strength, I disturbed the rites and sacrifice of the sage Viswamitra. In those days Rama was but a boy; yet Viswamitra had, with Dasaratha's permission, taken young Rama to protect his sacrifice. That sage knew Rama's prowess. I approached the place to put out the sacrificial fire with contaminating blood and flesh and then I came up against the boy Rama. What do you think happened? He let loose an arrow which killed Subahu on the spot and with another he swept me off my feet and hurled me into the sea. Rama the boy is now a man, immeasurably stronger and more skillful in arms! Do not incur his wrath. Do not bring ruin on your people who are now enjoying wealth and pleasure. Do not harbor thoughts about Sita and bring down destruction on your rich and beautiful city and certain death on yourself. If your persist in your foolish project, O Ravana, I see before my eyes the ruin that awaits you. I see Lanka in flames and her streets littered with death, and her widows and orphans loud in lamentation. Avoid this great sin. If you are angry with Rama fight him face to face and meet your death like a hero. Do not follow a fraudulent path and drag me into it. Go back and be happy with your numerous wives. Do not invite Yama to your land and race!"
Thus Maricha earnestly pleaded for the good of Ravana who, however, was far from pleased or convinced. How could good advice prevail on a victim of lust? Like a sick man rejecting medicine, Ravana refused to listen to Maricha's counsel.
"If a king" said Ravana, "wants to know whether a thing should or should not be done, it is open to his adviser to examine its advantages and disadvantages, but I have not come to you for such advice. I am king and I have come to tell you that I have decided to do this. I expect and want your help to carry it out. You forget the loyalty due from you and dare tell me that what I contemplate is wrong. On this matter, I have considered everything and reached a decision. This insignificant creature whom you extol is unworthy of the honor of a formal challenge to battle from me. What more is he than a man driven out of his own country, a fool who has allowed himself to be cheated by a woman and has been deprived of his rights? The proper treatment or such a fellow is to disgrace him by carrying off his wife. This is a matter determined and concluded. Your remarks are therefore irrelevant. You should do what I want you to do and that is not much. Transform yourself into a strange and beautiful stag and appear before Sita and attract her attention. Sita will send Rama to pursue and capture you. You should draw Rama away to a distance and simulate Rama's voice and cry 'Ah, Sita, Ah, Lakshmana!' Hearing this Sita will conclude that Rama is in danger and she will force Lakshmana to go to his help. When thus she is alone, I shall carry her off to Lanka. Once you have rendered me this help, you will be at liberty to do what you like. But if you will not help me now, understand, your life shall be forfeit."
Maricha thought within himself. "My frenzied Ravana who is already under the shadow of doom will not listen to advice. Sinful desire is driving him to Yama. It is better for me to be killed by Rama than by Ravana. At least then I would yield my life to a foe."
And so be agreed to the proposal.
He said: "I have given you good advice, but you will not listen. If I carry out your wishes, I am sure to die. But not more sure than that you will also perish, not long after with all that is yours. So will our race. Some enemy of ours wishing our destruction has set you on this course, someone who envies you. I would rather be killed by a foe whom I respect than by you. Come, let us go to Dandaka."
Ravana was overjoyed and embraced Maricha saying: "Now you are again my dear old Maricha."
The two ascended the chariot and proceeded towards the Dandaka forest. They flew over cities, mountains, rivers and kingdoms. Reaching Dandaka, they espied Rama's ashrama in a banana garden.
They alighted at a distance and Ravana took Maricha by the hand and, pointing to the ashrama, told him to do his part according to their plan.
At once Maricha transformed himself into a wonderful deer. Every part of the animal had its own different hue and exquisite beauty. Like a rainbow in the sky, it charmed the eye of the beholder. Gold, silver, diamonds, gems and flowers seemed to appear in succession on its beautiful skin. It was like a living stream of jewels flowing on a beautiful golden body.
With such surpassing beauty the magic deer wandered here and there, now resting for a while and now pursuing its graceful gambols. It would sometimes bend and nibble the grass on the ground, again lift its head up to eat the tender leaves of plants. Sometimes walk slowly near the ashrama and again jump away and disappear and reappear at a distance. Sometimes it would join a herd of deer; then it would part from it and walk alone. The other deer would smell him and move away in sudden terror.
Sita, who was then gathering flowers in the forest, looked at the stag and stared spell-bound at its wondrous beauty. The deer, too, stared back at her and ran here and there in front of her, shedding a new beauty on the landscape.
"Do come and look! Do come and look!" cried Sita, eager that Rama and Lakshmana too should see that wonderful stag.
"Come quickly, quickly!" she cried. Rama and Lakshmana came out of the cottage and saw the exquisite creature and marvelled at its beauty.
Lakshmana grew suspicious. It seemed to him it was no ordinary deer, but a Rakshasa in disguise. Both Rama and Lakshmana had heard about Maricha and had been told how, assuming the form of a deer, he would often beguile and destroy those who came for hunting deer in the forest.
Lakshmana said, "This is no ordinary animal. This is a trick of the Rakshasas."
But Sita said: "Do catch this deer for me. We shall bring it up as a pet in the ashrama. This is the most beautiful creature I have so far seen in this forest. Look! Do look at it. What color! What playfulness!"
And so she went on, talking of the deer and desiring to possess it. And she pleaded: "Do somehow catch it for me."
She begged Rama: "Soon we shall have to return to the city. Should we not take some rare thing from the forest to Ayodhya? How beautiful it will be, this exquisite creature moving in the inner apartments of our palace? Bharata would be so pleased. I should love to give it to him. Do my beloved, catch it for me. Somehow catch it for me."
Sita saw that Lakshmana did not seem to like her importunity. This only made her more determined to persuade Rama to get it for her. If a strong desire creeps into our heart and someone stands in the way of it, we are angry with him no matter how dear he may be to us.
This unfortunate truth about the way that desire works in the human mind is explained clearly by the Lord in the Gita. It was demonstrated by what happened in Sita's heart now.
"Look!" she exclaimed, "it is all gold! Look now! It is all silver! If you cannot capture the creature alive, at least bring it down with an arrow and let us take the skin home. We shall never again see such a beautiful skin. It would be a lovely thing to sit on. Look. It is going away. Do go and catch it alive. Or else, let me have at least the skin."
Again she said, "Look, look again. All these long years, I never saw such a beautiful thing in these forests. It is like a cluster of shining stars!"
Rama could no longer resist her entreaties.
He said to himself: "Even if Lakshmana be right and the creature is a Rakshasa so much the better reason for killing it. What is there to be afraid of? If I cannot catch it alive, I can bring it down with an arrow and give the skin to Sita. When she is so keen on having it, is it not my duty to get it for her?"
And he told Lakshmana to bring him his bow and arrows. Lakshmana's heart was not in it, but he obeyed.
And Rama set out saying: "Mind, Lakshmana, remain by Sita's side and guard her vigilantly. I shall come back soon with this stag alive or killed. Do not be anxious. Even if this is a Rakshasa, what does it matter? It will share the fate of Vatapi. If this has come here to cheat me, as Vatapi tried to cheat Agastya, why then, it will be the victim of its own deceit. What can this animal do to me? Stag or Rakshasa, it is all the same."
Again he said, "Be careful. Mind Sita. Anything might happen at any time. Be vigilant."
Destiny had set the stage for misfortune. Strangely enough Lakshmana, who was by nature hasty and quick to act, was suspicious on this occasion and Rama, who was usually circumspect now yielded to Sita's foolish wish, and disregarding Lakshmana's warning, went in pursuit of the Maricha-stag.
In order to give Ravana plenty of time and opportunity, Maricha kept within sight of Rama, but beyond his reach, and drew him on and on like fate. The deer would take a few steps, then stop and turn and stare at the pursuer. Then suddenly it would start as if in fear. Pricking its ears, it would spring drawing up its hooves to its breast. It would disappear for a while among the trees. Emerging soon on some tall mound, it would display its lovely outline framed against a passing cloud. Sometimes it allowed near approach as though tired and so easy of capture but presently it would spring up and bound far away.
This went on until Maricha took Rama far out. Then the Rakshasa realised this game would not go on forever and that his end was near. Rama, tired of the pursuit, bent his bow and sent forth an arrow. It pierced the stag. Maricha resumed his natural form and simulating Rama's voice called out, "Ah Sita, Ah Lakshmana!" and fell dead.
"Lakshmana was right," said Rama to himself. "This deer was indeed a Rakshasa."
He thought further: "Hearing his last cry, maybe, Sita will be deceived. She is likely to be overwhelmed by fear."
He then said to himself again: "What if Sita entertains false fears? Lakshmana is there by her side."
His heart then swelled with pride and joy, that he had a brother like Lakshmana, so loving and so steadfast. How could Rama guess what was happening at that very instant in the ashrama, and what painful words Lakshmana had to bear from Sita? Truly, the way of destiny is cruel.
Thus Maricha earnestly pleaded for the good of Ravana who, however, was far from pleased or convinced. How could good advice prevail on a victim of lust? Like a sick man rejecting medicine, Ravana refused to listen to Maricha's counsel.
"If a king" said Ravana, "wants to know whether a thing should or should not be done, it is open to his adviser to examine its advantages and disadvantages, but I have not come to you for such advice. I am king and I have come to tell you that I have decided to do this. I expect and want your help to carry it out. You forget the loyalty due from you and dare tell me that what I contemplate is wrong. On this matter, I have considered everything and reached a decision. This insignificant creature whom you extol is unworthy of the honor of a formal challenge to battle from me. What more is he than a man driven out of his own country, a fool who has allowed himself to be cheated by a woman and has been deprived of his rights? The proper treatment or such a fellow is to disgrace him by carrying off his wife. This is a matter determined and concluded. Your remarks are therefore irrelevant. You should do what I want you to do and that is not much. Transform yourself into a strange and beautiful stag and appear before Sita and attract her attention. Sita will send Rama to pursue and capture you. You should draw Rama away to a distance and simulate Rama's voice and cry 'Ah, Sita, Ah, Lakshmana!' Hearing this Sita will conclude that Rama is in danger and she will force Lakshmana to go to his help. When thus she is alone, I shall carry her off to Lanka. Once you have rendered me this help, you will be at liberty to do what you like. But if you will not help me now, understand, your life shall be forfeit."
Maricha thought within himself. "My frenzied Ravana who is already under the shadow of doom will not listen to advice. Sinful desire is driving him to Yama. It is better for me to be killed by Rama than by Ravana. At least then I would yield my life to a foe."
And so be agreed to the proposal.
He said: "I have given you good advice, but you will not listen. If I carry out your wishes, I am sure to die. But not more sure than that you will also perish, not long after with all that is yours. So will our race. Some enemy of ours wishing our destruction has set you on this course, someone who envies you. I would rather be killed by a foe whom I respect than by you. Come, let us go to Dandaka."
Ravana was overjoyed and embraced Maricha saying: "Now you are again my dear old Maricha."
The two ascended the chariot and proceeded towards the Dandaka forest. They flew over cities, mountains, rivers and kingdoms. Reaching Dandaka, they espied Rama's ashrama in a banana garden.
They alighted at a distance and Ravana took Maricha by the hand and, pointing to the ashrama, told him to do his part according to their plan.
At once Maricha transformed himself into a wonderful deer. Every part of the animal had its own different hue and exquisite beauty. Like a rainbow in the sky, it charmed the eye of the beholder. Gold, silver, diamonds, gems and flowers seemed to appear in succession on its beautiful skin. It was like a living stream of jewels flowing on a beautiful golden body.
With such surpassing beauty the magic deer wandered here and there, now resting for a while and now pursuing its graceful gambols. It would sometimes bend and nibble the grass on the ground, again lift its head up to eat the tender leaves of plants. Sometimes walk slowly near the ashrama and again jump away and disappear and reappear at a distance. Sometimes it would join a herd of deer; then it would part from it and walk alone. The other deer would smell him and move away in sudden terror.
Sita, who was then gathering flowers in the forest, looked at the stag and stared spell-bound at its wondrous beauty. The deer, too, stared back at her and ran here and there in front of her, shedding a new beauty on the landscape.
"Do come and look! Do come and look!" cried Sita, eager that Rama and Lakshmana too should see that wonderful stag.
"Come quickly, quickly!" she cried. Rama and Lakshmana came out of the cottage and saw the exquisite creature and marvelled at its beauty.
Lakshmana grew suspicious. It seemed to him it was no ordinary deer, but a Rakshasa in disguise. Both Rama and Lakshmana had heard about Maricha and had been told how, assuming the form of a deer, he would often beguile and destroy those who came for hunting deer in the forest.
Lakshmana said, "This is no ordinary animal. This is a trick of the Rakshasas."
But Sita said: "Do catch this deer for me. We shall bring it up as a pet in the ashrama. This is the most beautiful creature I have so far seen in this forest. Look! Do look at it. What color! What playfulness!"
And so she went on, talking of the deer and desiring to possess it. And she pleaded: "Do somehow catch it for me."
She begged Rama: "Soon we shall have to return to the city. Should we not take some rare thing from the forest to Ayodhya? How beautiful it will be, this exquisite creature moving in the inner apartments of our palace? Bharata would be so pleased. I should love to give it to him. Do my beloved, catch it for me. Somehow catch it for me."
Sita saw that Lakshmana did not seem to like her importunity. This only made her more determined to persuade Rama to get it for her. If a strong desire creeps into our heart and someone stands in the way of it, we are angry with him no matter how dear he may be to us.
This unfortunate truth about the way that desire works in the human mind is explained clearly by the Lord in the Gita. It was demonstrated by what happened in Sita's heart now.
"Look!" she exclaimed, "it is all gold! Look now! It is all silver! If you cannot capture the creature alive, at least bring it down with an arrow and let us take the skin home. We shall never again see such a beautiful skin. It would be a lovely thing to sit on. Look. It is going away. Do go and catch it alive. Or else, let me have at least the skin."
Again she said, "Look, look again. All these long years, I never saw such a beautiful thing in these forests. It is like a cluster of shining stars!"
Rama could no longer resist her entreaties.
He said to himself: "Even if Lakshmana be right and the creature is a Rakshasa so much the better reason for killing it. What is there to be afraid of? If I cannot catch it alive, I can bring it down with an arrow and give the skin to Sita. When she is so keen on having it, is it not my duty to get it for her?"
And he told Lakshmana to bring him his bow and arrows. Lakshmana's heart was not in it, but he obeyed.
And Rama set out saying: "Mind, Lakshmana, remain by Sita's side and guard her vigilantly. I shall come back soon with this stag alive or killed. Do not be anxious. Even if this is a Rakshasa, what does it matter? It will share the fate of Vatapi. If this has come here to cheat me, as Vatapi tried to cheat Agastya, why then, it will be the victim of its own deceit. What can this animal do to me? Stag or Rakshasa, it is all the same."
Again he said, "Be careful. Mind Sita. Anything might happen at any time. Be vigilant."
Destiny had set the stage for misfortune. Strangely enough Lakshmana, who was by nature hasty and quick to act, was suspicious on this occasion and Rama, who was usually circumspect now yielded to Sita's foolish wish, and disregarding Lakshmana's warning, went in pursuit of the Maricha-stag.
In order to give Ravana plenty of time and opportunity, Maricha kept within sight of Rama, but beyond his reach, and drew him on and on like fate. The deer would take a few steps, then stop and turn and stare at the pursuer. Then suddenly it would start as if in fear. Pricking its ears, it would spring drawing up its hooves to its breast. It would disappear for a while among the trees. Emerging soon on some tall mound, it would display its lovely outline framed against a passing cloud. Sometimes it allowed near approach as though tired and so easy of capture but presently it would spring up and bound far away.
This went on until Maricha took Rama far out. Then the Rakshasa realised this game would not go on forever and that his end was near. Rama, tired of the pursuit, bent his bow and sent forth an arrow. It pierced the stag. Maricha resumed his natural form and simulating Rama's voice called out, "Ah Sita, Ah Lakshmana!" and fell dead.
"Lakshmana was right," said Rama to himself. "This deer was indeed a Rakshasa."
He thought further: "Hearing his last cry, maybe, Sita will be deceived. She is likely to be overwhelmed by fear."
He then said to himself again: "What if Sita entertains false fears? Lakshmana is there by her side."
His heart then swelled with pride and joy, that he had a brother like Lakshmana, so loving and so steadfast. How could Rama guess what was happening at that very instant in the ashrama, and what painful words Lakshmana had to bear from Sita? Truly, the way of destiny is cruel.
35) THE GOOD BIRD JATAYU:
"ALAS, alas! Ah Sita! Ah Lakshmana!" So cried Maricha simulating Rama's voice. And Sita was deceived. Trembling like a plantain tree in a storm, she cried: "There, Lakshmana, do you not hear your brother's voice? Run, run at once to his help!"
Overwhelmed by fear and seeing Lakshmana unwilling to move, she appealed to Lakshmana again and again in an agony of anxiety: "I hear my Lord's voice in distress. Go, go at once! Do not delay!" she cried. "He is in some great danger. Did you not hear his cry for help? Why do you still stand here? Your brother is no doubt surrounded by Rakshasas and cries for help. Instead of rushing to his rescue, you stand still here!"
Lakshmana knew the wiles of the Rakshasas and remembered his brother's command. He would not move.
Sita grew furious in her agony of fear and doubt. She beat her breast with both hands and shouted in uncontrollable fury: "Son of Sumitra! Have you too turned foe? Have you been an imposter all these years? Have you been with us waiting only for Rama to die? Pretending to be his friend, were you hoping all the time for his death to secure me thereafter? Why else do you stand here, wicked wretch, and refuse to go to his rescue when he cries for help? Traitor! Imposter!"
These cruel words pierced Lakshmana's heart like poisoned arrows. He closed his ears with his hands. He spoke gently to Sita, who was in tears of wrath: "Vaidehi, Rama can encounter and vanquish any foe in the world. There is no need to fear, O more than mother! Calm yourself. None in the universe is strong enough to touch our Rama or do him harm. What you have uttered is unworthy of you, my mother. Do not fear or grieve. You will surely see Rama return with the body of the stag you wanted. The voice we heard was not his. It is a Rakshasa's trick. Do not be deceived and grieve for nothing. My brother has posted me here to watch over you. Do not ask me to leave you alone and go. I cannot disobey my brother. Since we slew the Rakshasas of Janasthana, their people are trying to avenge themselves in various ways. We should not be misled by their false forms and voices. It was not Rama's cry for help. You need not be afraid in the least."
But Sita's fear grew to a frenzy and with eyes red with anger she uttered terrible words: "Taking advantage of what you call your brother's command, you stand unmoved by his cry of anguish and are prepared to let him perish! Oh, how completely have you been deceiving us, Rama and me, all these years! Base, wicked, selfish wretch calling yourself brother! O, you false friend, do you rejoice that Rama is in dire peril? I now see why you followed us into the forest. Have you been set on by Bharata? Have you all become my lord's enemies? Have you all joined together in a wicked conspiracy? I, who have lived with Rama, shall I ever look at you or another? When Rama dies, I die with him. Know this for certain."
Sita burst into a rage which completely overwhelmed Lakshmana. Her cruel words pierced and burnt into him like poisoned arrows. His hairs stood on end. He clasped his hands in worship and said: "O Mother! O Goddess! How can such words issue from your mouth? Like red- hot iron they burn my ears. Cruel and unjust are these thoughts of yours. With all the gods for witness, I swear, your suspicion is wrong. I see now that after all you are a woman like other women quick to think evil of others. I fear a great tragedy is about to befall you. Otherwise you could not have thought and spoken evil of me."
And innocent Lakshmana trembled in fear of some dire calamity that was to come over them.
But Sita said: "Look here, here is plenty of dry fuel. I shall light a fire and fall into it. Or I shall drown myself in the Godavari. Or I shall hang myself dead, unless you run immediately to the help of Rama. Now, once again, I ask, will you not go? Or shall I perish?"
She beat her breast and cried. Lakshmana could bear this no longer. He raised his hands in solemn worship and said:
"Very well, sister. I shall obey you and disobey my brother. I shall leave you alone. May you be safe and well! May the gods of the forest protect you! I shall do your bidding. I see bad omens. I fear greatly. I wonder if I shall ever see you with Rama again. Yet I shall go!"
And he went, unwillingly and looking back every now and then.
Lakshmana walked with his heart troubled and heavy with anger and sorrow. How could he bear to hear the cruel words of Sita? How could he forget them? Sorely wounded was the heart of the prince who had renounced everything to be with his brother.
Lakshmana went in the direction that Rama had taken. Ravana, who had been waiting for this, now approached Rama's ashrama. He transformed himself into a mendicant ascetic, clad in clean saffron clothes and his lips uttered beautiful Vedic hymns while in his heart was ugliest evil.
Sita was standing at the entrance of the cottage, her eyes fixed on the forest, eagerly looking for Rama. Ravana beheld Sita.
At sight of her, the desire planted in his heart by Surpanakha took good root and grew rapidly irresistible. He was more determined than ever to possess Sita.
Seeing this wandering ascetic, clad in saffron clothes, carrying his water-pot and staff, Sita greeted him respectfully, according to the courtesy due to holy men. He desired hospitality. As in duty bound, she offered him a seat and placed before him some fruits and roots as was the custom.
The ascetic sat and looked again at Sita. His desire grew stronger. Sinner and Rakshasa though he was, he had an instinct that made him wish to win her heart; he wished not to ravish but to secure Sita's willing consent and make her his wife.
The King of Lanka wanted and hoped to persuade Sita. He thought she would yield to him for his wealth and power, turning her back on poverty-stricken Rama. He thought also that this would be the best way of disgracing and punishing Rama. He expected Sita to behave like other women he had known.
Seated in front of the fruits and roots offered by Sita, the ascetic began to praise Sita's beauty in terms too warm for a genuine ascetic. He dwelt on the charms of her person and asked: "Who are you? Why are you here alone in the forest haunted by Rakshasas and wild beasts?"
She was astonished but answered his questions. She hoped the prince would return at once and kept her eyes fixed on the doorway.
Little by little the visitor revealed who he was and described the greatness of his origin and family, his power and wealth. After exalting himself, he proceeded to run down Rama and concluded.
"Be my wife and live a glorious life with me in Lanka. Come, let us go!"
In this unexpected situation, Sita's purity gave her courage to defy the powerful monster whom she now knew for what he was.
"Base and wicked fellow! Your destruction is near. Leave this ashrama if you would escape with life" she said, hissing like an angry cobra.
The Rakshasa was furious. He completely threw off all pretence of disguise and gentleness and assumed his real imperious wickedness. With one hand he caught hold of her hair and with the other lifted her up and carried her to the chariot which waited for him behind the trees. Forcing her into it, Ravana rose with her into the air.
Sita cried aloud: "O my lord! Where are you, my Rama? Oh Lakshmana, most faithful of friends, why did I. with obstinate folly, drive you away?"
The Rakshasa held her firmly down and drove on in the aerial car. Sita addressed the trees and plants down below and begged them to tell Rama of her fate.
It happened that old Jatayu, half-asleep upon a tree, saw the chariot flying past. Startled by a woman's cry of distress he was wide awake in a moment and recognised Sita by her voice. She also saw him and appealed to him for rescue.
Jatayu's blood was fired by the sight of her piteous plight and he threw himself in the way of the aerial car crying: "Hold, hold! What is all this?"
"The King of Lanka is carrying me away by force," wailed Sita, "but what can you do to prevent it, my poor old friend? O fly to Rama and Lakshmana and tell them my helpless plight!"
But Jatayu's fighting blood, the blood of generations of lordly ancestors who ruled the air and knew not fear, was on fire. He cared not for Ravana and his might. He only saw a princess in distress. He thought of his friend Dasaratha and his promise to Rama and he was resolved that this outrage should not occur while he lived to prevent it.
Jatayu now addressed Ravana directly: "Oh king, I am Jatayu, king of the eagles, a king like you. Listen to me, brother king! Forbear from this wicked act. How can you call yourself a king and do this shameful wrong? Is it not the rule of kings to protect the honor of women? And Sita is a princess. I warn you, you shall surely perish unless you leave her and go. Her very look will reduce you to ashes. You are carrying a venomous cobra in your bosom. The noose of Yama is round your neck and dragging you to perdition. I am old and unarmed and you are young, fully armed and seated in a chariot. Yet I cannot look on, while you carry off Sita.
Why do you do this cowardly act behind Rama's back? If you have any grievance against him, meet him face to face. O, you would fly away from me, would you? You shall not escape while I am alive! I care not for your chariot or your ten heads, or your glittering arms! Your heads shall roll on the ground that you have polluted with your presence. Get down from your car, and fight if you are not a coward as well as a thief!"
Ravana flared up in a rage. He attacked Jatayu. It was like a clash between a mighty wind and a massive rain-cloud. The battle raged in the sky above the forest. Jatayu fought like a winged mountain.
Ravana aimed deadly darts at him. But the eagle intercepted them all and with his talons tore Ravana's flesh. The enraged Rakshasa despatched sharp, serpent-like missiles against the bird.
The bird-hero was desparately wounded, but fought on undauntedly while Sita watched the unequal combat with beating heart and tearful eyes. The sight of her made Jatayu all the fiercer in his attacks on Ravana. But his years were telling on him and he felt he must gather all his strength for a supreme attempt to conquer. Regardless of the wounds, he attacked Ravana fiercely and with his wings broke off and threw down his jewelled crown and deprived him of his bow. He attacked the chariot and killed the demon-faced mules and the charioteer and smashed the vehicle into a thousand pieces. Ravana fell on the ground, still clutching Sita. The elements rejoiced to see Ravana fall.
The gallant old bird swooped down on Ravana's back and tore great chunks of flesh off it, and tried to wrench off the arms which held Sita. But Ravana had twenty arms, and no sooner was one pulled off than another took its place and Sita was held in writhing helplessness.
At last Ravana let go Sita and unsheathing his sword cut off the bird's wings and talons. The old bird was now helpless and fell on the ground unable to move.
Janaki ran and embraced Jatayu and cried: "O my father! You have given away your life for my sake. You are a second father to my Lord! And now you are no more. O our devoted brave friend!"
Then Ravana turned towards her to take her up again. Helplessly she ran hither and thither, crying. She clung to the trees and cried. "O my Rama, where are you? O Lakshmana, where are you? Won't you, come to my rescue?" The Rakshasa at last caught her and rose in the air.
As the dark and massive Ravana flew in the sky with her, Sita struggling in his grasp looked like a flash of lightning across a great black cloud. The Rakshasa carrying her appeared like a mountain covered by a forest-fire. The body of Ravana, lit up by Sita, coursed through the sky like a calamitous comet.
Thus was Sita carried away by the Rakshasa. The sun grew dim and untimely darkness descended on the earth. All beings lamented: "Dharma is destroyed. Righteousness has disappeared. Virtue and pity are no more."
The dumb creatures of the earth, looking upwards, shed tears. Ravana, cruelly clutching the princess, flew as towards his ruin. As she was carried away, the petals fell down from the flowers she was wearing at that time and as they were strewn along the path below, they seemed to announce the scattering of Ravana's fortune and affluence.
Overwhelmed by fear and seeing Lakshmana unwilling to move, she appealed to Lakshmana again and again in an agony of anxiety: "I hear my Lord's voice in distress. Go, go at once! Do not delay!" she cried. "He is in some great danger. Did you not hear his cry for help? Why do you still stand here? Your brother is no doubt surrounded by Rakshasas and cries for help. Instead of rushing to his rescue, you stand still here!"
Lakshmana knew the wiles of the Rakshasas and remembered his brother's command. He would not move.
Sita grew furious in her agony of fear and doubt. She beat her breast with both hands and shouted in uncontrollable fury: "Son of Sumitra! Have you too turned foe? Have you been an imposter all these years? Have you been with us waiting only for Rama to die? Pretending to be his friend, were you hoping all the time for his death to secure me thereafter? Why else do you stand here, wicked wretch, and refuse to go to his rescue when he cries for help? Traitor! Imposter!"
These cruel words pierced Lakshmana's heart like poisoned arrows. He closed his ears with his hands. He spoke gently to Sita, who was in tears of wrath: "Vaidehi, Rama can encounter and vanquish any foe in the world. There is no need to fear, O more than mother! Calm yourself. None in the universe is strong enough to touch our Rama or do him harm. What you have uttered is unworthy of you, my mother. Do not fear or grieve. You will surely see Rama return with the body of the stag you wanted. The voice we heard was not his. It is a Rakshasa's trick. Do not be deceived and grieve for nothing. My brother has posted me here to watch over you. Do not ask me to leave you alone and go. I cannot disobey my brother. Since we slew the Rakshasas of Janasthana, their people are trying to avenge themselves in various ways. We should not be misled by their false forms and voices. It was not Rama's cry for help. You need not be afraid in the least."
But Sita's fear grew to a frenzy and with eyes red with anger she uttered terrible words: "Taking advantage of what you call your brother's command, you stand unmoved by his cry of anguish and are prepared to let him perish! Oh, how completely have you been deceiving us, Rama and me, all these years! Base, wicked, selfish wretch calling yourself brother! O, you false friend, do you rejoice that Rama is in dire peril? I now see why you followed us into the forest. Have you been set on by Bharata? Have you all become my lord's enemies? Have you all joined together in a wicked conspiracy? I, who have lived with Rama, shall I ever look at you or another? When Rama dies, I die with him. Know this for certain."
Sita burst into a rage which completely overwhelmed Lakshmana. Her cruel words pierced and burnt into him like poisoned arrows. His hairs stood on end. He clasped his hands in worship and said: "O Mother! O Goddess! How can such words issue from your mouth? Like red- hot iron they burn my ears. Cruel and unjust are these thoughts of yours. With all the gods for witness, I swear, your suspicion is wrong. I see now that after all you are a woman like other women quick to think evil of others. I fear a great tragedy is about to befall you. Otherwise you could not have thought and spoken evil of me."
And innocent Lakshmana trembled in fear of some dire calamity that was to come over them.
But Sita said: "Look here, here is plenty of dry fuel. I shall light a fire and fall into it. Or I shall drown myself in the Godavari. Or I shall hang myself dead, unless you run immediately to the help of Rama. Now, once again, I ask, will you not go? Or shall I perish?"
She beat her breast and cried. Lakshmana could bear this no longer. He raised his hands in solemn worship and said:
"Very well, sister. I shall obey you and disobey my brother. I shall leave you alone. May you be safe and well! May the gods of the forest protect you! I shall do your bidding. I see bad omens. I fear greatly. I wonder if I shall ever see you with Rama again. Yet I shall go!"
And he went, unwillingly and looking back every now and then.
Lakshmana walked with his heart troubled and heavy with anger and sorrow. How could he bear to hear the cruel words of Sita? How could he forget them? Sorely wounded was the heart of the prince who had renounced everything to be with his brother.
Lakshmana went in the direction that Rama had taken. Ravana, who had been waiting for this, now approached Rama's ashrama. He transformed himself into a mendicant ascetic, clad in clean saffron clothes and his lips uttered beautiful Vedic hymns while in his heart was ugliest evil.
Sita was standing at the entrance of the cottage, her eyes fixed on the forest, eagerly looking for Rama. Ravana beheld Sita.
At sight of her, the desire planted in his heart by Surpanakha took good root and grew rapidly irresistible. He was more determined than ever to possess Sita.
Seeing this wandering ascetic, clad in saffron clothes, carrying his water-pot and staff, Sita greeted him respectfully, according to the courtesy due to holy men. He desired hospitality. As in duty bound, she offered him a seat and placed before him some fruits and roots as was the custom.
The ascetic sat and looked again at Sita. His desire grew stronger. Sinner and Rakshasa though he was, he had an instinct that made him wish to win her heart; he wished not to ravish but to secure Sita's willing consent and make her his wife.
The King of Lanka wanted and hoped to persuade Sita. He thought she would yield to him for his wealth and power, turning her back on poverty-stricken Rama. He thought also that this would be the best way of disgracing and punishing Rama. He expected Sita to behave like other women he had known.
Seated in front of the fruits and roots offered by Sita, the ascetic began to praise Sita's beauty in terms too warm for a genuine ascetic. He dwelt on the charms of her person and asked: "Who are you? Why are you here alone in the forest haunted by Rakshasas and wild beasts?"
She was astonished but answered his questions. She hoped the prince would return at once and kept her eyes fixed on the doorway.
Little by little the visitor revealed who he was and described the greatness of his origin and family, his power and wealth. After exalting himself, he proceeded to run down Rama and concluded.
"Be my wife and live a glorious life with me in Lanka. Come, let us go!"
In this unexpected situation, Sita's purity gave her courage to defy the powerful monster whom she now knew for what he was.
"Base and wicked fellow! Your destruction is near. Leave this ashrama if you would escape with life" she said, hissing like an angry cobra.
The Rakshasa was furious. He completely threw off all pretence of disguise and gentleness and assumed his real imperious wickedness. With one hand he caught hold of her hair and with the other lifted her up and carried her to the chariot which waited for him behind the trees. Forcing her into it, Ravana rose with her into the air.
Sita cried aloud: "O my lord! Where are you, my Rama? Oh Lakshmana, most faithful of friends, why did I. with obstinate folly, drive you away?"
The Rakshasa held her firmly down and drove on in the aerial car. Sita addressed the trees and plants down below and begged them to tell Rama of her fate.
It happened that old Jatayu, half-asleep upon a tree, saw the chariot flying past. Startled by a woman's cry of distress he was wide awake in a moment and recognised Sita by her voice. She also saw him and appealed to him for rescue.
Jatayu's blood was fired by the sight of her piteous plight and he threw himself in the way of the aerial car crying: "Hold, hold! What is all this?"
"The King of Lanka is carrying me away by force," wailed Sita, "but what can you do to prevent it, my poor old friend? O fly to Rama and Lakshmana and tell them my helpless plight!"
But Jatayu's fighting blood, the blood of generations of lordly ancestors who ruled the air and knew not fear, was on fire. He cared not for Ravana and his might. He only saw a princess in distress. He thought of his friend Dasaratha and his promise to Rama and he was resolved that this outrage should not occur while he lived to prevent it.
Jatayu now addressed Ravana directly: "Oh king, I am Jatayu, king of the eagles, a king like you. Listen to me, brother king! Forbear from this wicked act. How can you call yourself a king and do this shameful wrong? Is it not the rule of kings to protect the honor of women? And Sita is a princess. I warn you, you shall surely perish unless you leave her and go. Her very look will reduce you to ashes. You are carrying a venomous cobra in your bosom. The noose of Yama is round your neck and dragging you to perdition. I am old and unarmed and you are young, fully armed and seated in a chariot. Yet I cannot look on, while you carry off Sita.
Why do you do this cowardly act behind Rama's back? If you have any grievance against him, meet him face to face. O, you would fly away from me, would you? You shall not escape while I am alive! I care not for your chariot or your ten heads, or your glittering arms! Your heads shall roll on the ground that you have polluted with your presence. Get down from your car, and fight if you are not a coward as well as a thief!"
Ravana flared up in a rage. He attacked Jatayu. It was like a clash between a mighty wind and a massive rain-cloud. The battle raged in the sky above the forest. Jatayu fought like a winged mountain.
Ravana aimed deadly darts at him. But the eagle intercepted them all and with his talons tore Ravana's flesh. The enraged Rakshasa despatched sharp, serpent-like missiles against the bird.
The bird-hero was desparately wounded, but fought on undauntedly while Sita watched the unequal combat with beating heart and tearful eyes. The sight of her made Jatayu all the fiercer in his attacks on Ravana. But his years were telling on him and he felt he must gather all his strength for a supreme attempt to conquer. Regardless of the wounds, he attacked Ravana fiercely and with his wings broke off and threw down his jewelled crown and deprived him of his bow. He attacked the chariot and killed the demon-faced mules and the charioteer and smashed the vehicle into a thousand pieces. Ravana fell on the ground, still clutching Sita. The elements rejoiced to see Ravana fall.
The gallant old bird swooped down on Ravana's back and tore great chunks of flesh off it, and tried to wrench off the arms which held Sita. But Ravana had twenty arms, and no sooner was one pulled off than another took its place and Sita was held in writhing helplessness.
At last Ravana let go Sita and unsheathing his sword cut off the bird's wings and talons. The old bird was now helpless and fell on the ground unable to move.
Janaki ran and embraced Jatayu and cried: "O my father! You have given away your life for my sake. You are a second father to my Lord! And now you are no more. O our devoted brave friend!"
Then Ravana turned towards her to take her up again. Helplessly she ran hither and thither, crying. She clung to the trees and cried. "O my Rama, where are you? O Lakshmana, where are you? Won't you, come to my rescue?" The Rakshasa at last caught her and rose in the air.
As the dark and massive Ravana flew in the sky with her, Sita struggling in his grasp looked like a flash of lightning across a great black cloud. The Rakshasa carrying her appeared like a mountain covered by a forest-fire. The body of Ravana, lit up by Sita, coursed through the sky like a calamitous comet.
Thus was Sita carried away by the Rakshasa. The sun grew dim and untimely darkness descended on the earth. All beings lamented: "Dharma is destroyed. Righteousness has disappeared. Virtue and pity are no more."
The dumb creatures of the earth, looking upwards, shed tears. Ravana, cruelly clutching the princess, flew as towards his ruin. As she was carried away, the petals fell down from the flowers she was wearing at that time and as they were strewn along the path below, they seemed to announce the scattering of Ravana's fortune and affluence.
36) CLOSELY GUARDED :
SITA opened her eyes red with anger and grief, and facing Ravana cried: "Base fellow! You boasted of your fame and your great origin and your warlike qualities, but have you behaved like a brave warrior? Are you not ashamed of yourself? What sort of warrior is he who waits for the husband's absence to steal his wife and carries off a lonely helpless woman when no one is nearer to prevent it? What heroic deed to kill the old bird that tried to save me! How brave was your talk in the ashrama! The world will no doubt remember and praise this great hero who dares not fight but is prepared to steal! If indeed you come of a noble family, what a shame you have brought upon it! And what do you hope by thus carrying me off? How long do you hope to live? Very soon Rama's arrows will seek you out and end your life. Know that the moment Rama sets eyes on you, you are dead. Do not hope to escape. Your death is certain at his hands. What then do you gain by this cheating? I will never be yours. I shall die before I yield to you and you cannot escape my lord, having incurred his wrath. Very soon you will see the river Vaitarani in hell. The red-hot image is awaiting you there for your embrace. So is the tree with iron spikes. Rama within an hour slew your army of myriad Rakshasas in Janasthana. Will he let you escape? Soon will he send you to Yama."
While Sita was speaking words of contempt and warning, Ravana, chariotless, sped like an arrow across the sky towards Lanka. They went over many mountains and rivers and Sita saw some people below standing on a hilltop. She took off her sash and tying up her jewels in it threw the bundle down.
She did this hoping that the ornaments thus dropped may be seen by Rama and give him a clue of the direction in which she was carried away.
Crossing the Pampa and then the sea, Ravana entered the city of Lanka. He went to his apartments with the grief- stricken Sita. The fool thought that he had secured the prize, but he was taking home his own death in a woman's form. Then, summoning some demon-like Rakshasis, he ordered them to keep watch over Sita, specially commanding them to let none approach her without his permission.
"Give her whatever she wants, clothes or gold or jewels. Serve her and do her honor as you would serve and honor me," he enjoined them.
And he added the warning: "Anyone who utters a word which might offend her will be punished with death. No one, knowingly or unknowingly, should cause her anger or grief."
Having thus installed Sita in the inner apartment, he considered what should be done next. He sent for some clever spies and gave them this mandate:
"Go at once to Janasthana where Khara lived. Watch carefully and bring me word what Rama is doing. So long as that Rama is alive I cannot sleep. He is my greatest foe. Somehow, he should be killed. Go boldly now and do your job and return."
Imprisoned within a fortress in a sea- girt island, Sita did not know where she was or how far from Rama. She expected that her lord would somehow arrive, kill Ravana and redeem her.
Though full of grief, thinking of the strength and prowess of her lord she was bold and steady in mind. It was also some consolation that the Rakshasa king did not behave like a beast with her.
Having despatched his men to Janasthana, Ravana returned to Sita's presence. He saw her overwhelmed by grief and shedding tears. The Rakshasis were watching her with care.
He thought that if she saw his wealth and power she would yield to him. She was therefore taken round in the great palace and shown the wealth and grandeur there displayed. No king on earth had ever possessed such wealth and means of enjoyment.
Sita was shown gold and jewels and silks in plenty; curiously wrought platforms, vehicles and towers; thousands of maid servants and every symbol of wealth and royal power. But her thoughts were elsewhere.
Ravana tried to convince her also of the vastness of his army. But then she had already formed her opinion of his prowess and had described it to him in scathing terms.
Yet, Ravana argued: "All this you can count and enjoy as your own. You shall be my queen, dearer to me than life itself. I have many wives but you shall be mistress of them all. Hereafter my love shall be for you and you alone. Listen to me. Do my desire. For hundreds of miles the sea surrounds this island which is guarded by thousands of mighty soldiers. No one can enter this city. No one among the gods or asuras can match me in might; and they know it. What pleasure or honor is it for you to stick to a poor human creature banished from his kingdom, a destitute wandering in the forest? To match your beauty, you need my wealth. Do not waste the years of our youth. You are never again going to set eyes on Rama. Be certain of that. Rama cannot approach this city. Treat this kingdom as yours. Treat me and all the obedient gods as slaves. Till now, because of your sins in some previous birth, you have suffered hardship. Here after you will enjoy with me the fruits of your former merits. You will be the queen of Lanka and the wife of the Lord of Lanka, the conqueror of Kubera. Let us take our pleasure floating about the world in the Pushpaka vimana. Let the cloud of sorrow disappear from your face and let the moon of joy appear."
As Ravana went on speaking thus, tears flowed from Sita's eyes. She covered her face with the end of her sari as she did not want her enemies too think that she was afraid.
Ravana begged and importuned her: "Do not be shy. There is nothing wrong in accepting me, nothing to be ashamed of. It is laid down that one should accept the gifts of God. O beautiful one! I bow my head at your feet and beg you for your grace. I am your slave. Forgetting my greatness and power, I thus beg for your favor. Never in my life have I bowed in this way before anyone."
He really thought he could persuade her and gain her affection.
If one's mind is clear, one can courageously face any situation. In spite of her grief, therefore, Sita spoke boldly to the Rakshasa. She placed a little bit of grass between Ravana and herself before answering him.
Boastful words were uttered by Ravana in sanyasi garb, sitting in front of the fruit served by her in Panchavati. Imprisoned Sita now spoke as if in echo of those words.
"Know who I am. Dasaratha was famed in all the three worlds and reigned long years and stood as a bulwark of dharma and defender of truth. His son Rama, of godlike presence and lion-like valor, is my husband. He and his brother Lakshmana will surely take your life. You know how Khara and his army were destroyed in Janasthana by my lord. As easily as an eagle carries a venomous serpent, he destroyed your huge army in Janasthana. Because you have secured a boon that no god or Asura can kill you, you have dared to make Rama your enemy. You think your boon will save you. But I tell you, you cannot escape. You will surely meet your death at his hands. You are, like the goat tied to the altar-post for sacrifice, doomed to death. The moment Rama sets his angry eyes on you, you will meet your fate. My lord will dry up the sea or bring down the moon, if necessary, to kill you and redeem me. It is certain. Your evil deed will bring destruction on yourself and your kingdom. My noble lord lived unafraid in the midst of the Rakshasas in the forest. Like a hero, he fought and killed the Rakshasas who encountered him. Like a thief, you stole me in his absence. But you cannot escape. Your fate impelled you to this sin because the hour of your ruin and the destruction of your race are near. You ask me to accept you. How foolish! Can the craw approach the swan? Can a heinous sinner be allowed near the sacrificial fire? I do not value life or body. Do you imagine I would wish to live despised by the world? Do not dream that out of fear or for saving my life I shall yield to you."
Having spoken those words, she was silent.
"Is that so?" said Ravana. "Very well then, I shall give you twelve months' time. If you agree to accept me, well and good. If at the end of that period, you refuse, my cooks will make meat of your body for my breakfast."
After warning Sita thus, he gave orders to the attendant Rakshasis: "You should break her pride and obstinacy by some means or other. Put her alone in the Asoka garden and skillfully use fear and temptation to bring her to her senses. As we tame a wild she elephant, you should train her to submission." And angrily he went to his palace.
The Rakshasis took Sita to the Asoka garden. It was a beautiful park attached to the women's apartments. The trees were full of flowers and fruits, and beautiful birds played among them. Here, surrounded and guarded by terribly ugly Rakshasis, Sita was kept prisoner.
Though overwhelmed by grief, she had the faith that Rama and Lakshmana would somehow discover where she was and rescue her, that her lord would destroy Ravana and take her back to a happy life with him.
Sustained by this faith, she was neither frightened by threats nor deceived by temptations. Not for one day, or two, but for months, Sita suffered thus a close prisoner in the Asoka garden.
The day was yet far off when the mighty Hanuman, crossing the sea, would visit Sita in her sorrow and bring her the message of hope and love and the assurance of relief: "Rama loves you infinitely. He will be here soon. Be not afraid."
All the women in our land who suffer sorrow in any way are so many replicas of Sita. May all the men be like Hanuman, pure and heroic helpers of such suffering women! We shall now go to Rama and Lakshmana.
While Sita was speaking words of contempt and warning, Ravana, chariotless, sped like an arrow across the sky towards Lanka. They went over many mountains and rivers and Sita saw some people below standing on a hilltop. She took off her sash and tying up her jewels in it threw the bundle down.
She did this hoping that the ornaments thus dropped may be seen by Rama and give him a clue of the direction in which she was carried away.
Crossing the Pampa and then the sea, Ravana entered the city of Lanka. He went to his apartments with the grief- stricken Sita. The fool thought that he had secured the prize, but he was taking home his own death in a woman's form. Then, summoning some demon-like Rakshasis, he ordered them to keep watch over Sita, specially commanding them to let none approach her without his permission.
"Give her whatever she wants, clothes or gold or jewels. Serve her and do her honor as you would serve and honor me," he enjoined them.
And he added the warning: "Anyone who utters a word which might offend her will be punished with death. No one, knowingly or unknowingly, should cause her anger or grief."
Having thus installed Sita in the inner apartment, he considered what should be done next. He sent for some clever spies and gave them this mandate:
"Go at once to Janasthana where Khara lived. Watch carefully and bring me word what Rama is doing. So long as that Rama is alive I cannot sleep. He is my greatest foe. Somehow, he should be killed. Go boldly now and do your job and return."
Imprisoned within a fortress in a sea- girt island, Sita did not know where she was or how far from Rama. She expected that her lord would somehow arrive, kill Ravana and redeem her.
Though full of grief, thinking of the strength and prowess of her lord she was bold and steady in mind. It was also some consolation that the Rakshasa king did not behave like a beast with her.
Having despatched his men to Janasthana, Ravana returned to Sita's presence. He saw her overwhelmed by grief and shedding tears. The Rakshasis were watching her with care.
He thought that if she saw his wealth and power she would yield to him. She was therefore taken round in the great palace and shown the wealth and grandeur there displayed. No king on earth had ever possessed such wealth and means of enjoyment.
Sita was shown gold and jewels and silks in plenty; curiously wrought platforms, vehicles and towers; thousands of maid servants and every symbol of wealth and royal power. But her thoughts were elsewhere.
Ravana tried to convince her also of the vastness of his army. But then she had already formed her opinion of his prowess and had described it to him in scathing terms.
Yet, Ravana argued: "All this you can count and enjoy as your own. You shall be my queen, dearer to me than life itself. I have many wives but you shall be mistress of them all. Hereafter my love shall be for you and you alone. Listen to me. Do my desire. For hundreds of miles the sea surrounds this island which is guarded by thousands of mighty soldiers. No one can enter this city. No one among the gods or asuras can match me in might; and they know it. What pleasure or honor is it for you to stick to a poor human creature banished from his kingdom, a destitute wandering in the forest? To match your beauty, you need my wealth. Do not waste the years of our youth. You are never again going to set eyes on Rama. Be certain of that. Rama cannot approach this city. Treat this kingdom as yours. Treat me and all the obedient gods as slaves. Till now, because of your sins in some previous birth, you have suffered hardship. Here after you will enjoy with me the fruits of your former merits. You will be the queen of Lanka and the wife of the Lord of Lanka, the conqueror of Kubera. Let us take our pleasure floating about the world in the Pushpaka vimana. Let the cloud of sorrow disappear from your face and let the moon of joy appear."
As Ravana went on speaking thus, tears flowed from Sita's eyes. She covered her face with the end of her sari as she did not want her enemies too think that she was afraid.
Ravana begged and importuned her: "Do not be shy. There is nothing wrong in accepting me, nothing to be ashamed of. It is laid down that one should accept the gifts of God. O beautiful one! I bow my head at your feet and beg you for your grace. I am your slave. Forgetting my greatness and power, I thus beg for your favor. Never in my life have I bowed in this way before anyone."
He really thought he could persuade her and gain her affection.
If one's mind is clear, one can courageously face any situation. In spite of her grief, therefore, Sita spoke boldly to the Rakshasa. She placed a little bit of grass between Ravana and herself before answering him.
Boastful words were uttered by Ravana in sanyasi garb, sitting in front of the fruit served by her in Panchavati. Imprisoned Sita now spoke as if in echo of those words.
"Know who I am. Dasaratha was famed in all the three worlds and reigned long years and stood as a bulwark of dharma and defender of truth. His son Rama, of godlike presence and lion-like valor, is my husband. He and his brother Lakshmana will surely take your life. You know how Khara and his army were destroyed in Janasthana by my lord. As easily as an eagle carries a venomous serpent, he destroyed your huge army in Janasthana. Because you have secured a boon that no god or Asura can kill you, you have dared to make Rama your enemy. You think your boon will save you. But I tell you, you cannot escape. You will surely meet your death at his hands. You are, like the goat tied to the altar-post for sacrifice, doomed to death. The moment Rama sets his angry eyes on you, you will meet your fate. My lord will dry up the sea or bring down the moon, if necessary, to kill you and redeem me. It is certain. Your evil deed will bring destruction on yourself and your kingdom. My noble lord lived unafraid in the midst of the Rakshasas in the forest. Like a hero, he fought and killed the Rakshasas who encountered him. Like a thief, you stole me in his absence. But you cannot escape. Your fate impelled you to this sin because the hour of your ruin and the destruction of your race are near. You ask me to accept you. How foolish! Can the craw approach the swan? Can a heinous sinner be allowed near the sacrificial fire? I do not value life or body. Do you imagine I would wish to live despised by the world? Do not dream that out of fear or for saving my life I shall yield to you."
Having spoken those words, she was silent.
"Is that so?" said Ravana. "Very well then, I shall give you twelve months' time. If you agree to accept me, well and good. If at the end of that period, you refuse, my cooks will make meat of your body for my breakfast."
After warning Sita thus, he gave orders to the attendant Rakshasis: "You should break her pride and obstinacy by some means or other. Put her alone in the Asoka garden and skillfully use fear and temptation to bring her to her senses. As we tame a wild she elephant, you should train her to submission." And angrily he went to his palace.
The Rakshasis took Sita to the Asoka garden. It was a beautiful park attached to the women's apartments. The trees were full of flowers and fruits, and beautiful birds played among them. Here, surrounded and guarded by terribly ugly Rakshasis, Sita was kept prisoner.
Though overwhelmed by grief, she had the faith that Rama and Lakshmana would somehow discover where she was and rescue her, that her lord would destroy Ravana and take her back to a happy life with him.
Sustained by this faith, she was neither frightened by threats nor deceived by temptations. Not for one day, or two, but for months, Sita suffered thus a close prisoner in the Asoka garden.
The day was yet far off when the mighty Hanuman, crossing the sea, would visit Sita in her sorrow and bring her the message of hope and love and the assurance of relief: "Rama loves you infinitely. He will be here soon. Be not afraid."
All the women in our land who suffer sorrow in any way are so many replicas of Sita. May all the men be like Hanuman, pure and heroic helpers of such suffering women! We shall now go to Rama and Lakshmana.
37)RAMA DISCONSOLATE :
WHEN Maricha was struck by Rama's arrow and was about to die, he resumed his own Rakshasa shape and cried aloud in a voice which was an exact imitation of Rama's: "Ah Lakshmana. Ah Sita!"
Rama now realised how the Rakshasa had beguiled them and how be had been drawn away a long distance by the crafty Maricha and he was full of anxiety as to what it all could mean.
"Alas, we have been badly deceived. It would be terrible if Lakshmana is also deceived by this cry and leaves Sita alone to come to my succour. It looks as though the Rakshasas have planned this ruse to carry off Sita and eat her. When Sita hears what she will take as my cry of distress she is sure to insist on Lakshmana leaving her and rushing to my help. The howling of jackals and the behavior of birds do portend disaster. There is trepidation in my heart and it is a portent in itself of some danger close at hand."
Saying thus to himself, Rama hurried back to the ashrama. On the way, he saw Lakshmana running towards him. "Alas, the worst I fear has happened," exclaimed Rama.
He held Lakshmana's hands and cried in sorrow: "Why did you leave Sita alone in the forest, Lakshmana? You may be sure the Rakshasas have killed and eaten her. It was not right for you to leave her and come away. It is now all over with Sita!"
Fatigued and thirsty with the futile chase, and now overwhelmed with anger and unbearable anxiety, Rama cried again: "If I do not see Sita in the ashrama when we return, I shall surely die, Lakshmana. You will return to Ayodhya, the survivor of us three, and tell them what has happened. O, how will Kausalya bear her grief? Lakshmana, you have more than fulfilled Kaikeyi's wishes. The Rakshasas will by now have visited on Sita, poor unprotected Sita, all their pent-up hatred against us. They must have killed and eaten her up by now. How could you leave her alone and come away? How could you be deceived by Maricha's false cry? What shall I do now? I shall see Sita no more. The Rakshasas' plan has succeeded. My trust in you was misplaced and I shall never see Sita. How could you leave her and come away, how could you, Lakshmana?"
Lakshmana answered with tears in his eyes: "What else, brother, could I do? When Sita heard the cry, 'Alas Sita! Alas Lakshmana!' she was frightened. Quivering with fear she urged me to go to you at once and would tolerate no delay. She persisted, whatever I said to the contrary. I told her again and again not to be afraid and assured her that no foe was strong enough to do you harm, and that the cry of distress was not yours, but she would not listen. She charged me with having turned traitor to you and with having come to the forest with treasonable intentions. And, O brother, she found it possible in her anguish to say I would be glad of your death out of sinful intentions towards herself! I was half-dead with horror on hearing those words of hers and then she announced that she would kill herself if I did not go on the instant. Mad herself, she maddened me with her words of reproach and I ran towards you not knowing what else to do."
But Rama was not satisfied. "Whatever a foolish woman might have said in her fright, you should have stayed and not left her unprotected. How could you do such a foolish thing? You have brought calamity on me. I shall never see Sita again."
The two hurried to the ashrama. Many bad omens appeared on their way. And Rama repeated, as he saw them one by one: "I fear, I fear we shall never see Sita again!"
Reaching the ashrama, they found it, as they had feared, empty. Sita was not there. The deerskin, the kusa grass, the mat spread as a seat, all lay scattered on the ground.
Rama wept and ran hither and thither in the grove round the cottage. The leaves and flowers on the trees had faded. Sita was nowhere to be seen.
He wandered about like one mad. His eyes were bloodshot. He cried, "Alas, have they eaten her up? Have they carried her away? O, bow she must have trembled in terror! I cannot bear the thought of it. Could it be that she has gone to the river to fetch water? Could it be that she has gone out to cull flowers? Let us see."
And he went searching among the trees, hoping that perhaps she was hiding and playing a practical joke on him. His sorrow swelled like the sea and seemed to have drowned his reason. He called the trees one by one by their names and beseeched them for help.
"Oh Asoka tree! Be true to your name, remove my sorrow you must know the truth. Tell me where Sita is now. Oh tall palm tree! You must be able to see where Sita is. Tell me where she is."
He talked to the animals too. "Oh tiger!" he said, "the elephant and the deer are afraid to tell me the truth. But you know no fear. You can tell me what has happened. You know everything. Tell me then the truth."
He cried: "Oh Sita, you are biding somewhere. There! There! I see you there! Stop this fooling. I can stand it no longer."
After wandering and weeping in vain for a long time he fell on the ground, moaning, "Ha Lakshmana! Ha Sita!" He cried like an elephant trapped in a pit.
"Lakshmana, Sita is nowhere. The Rakshasas have captured her and torn her to pieces and eaten her up. How can I live any more? My end is near. But when my father sees me in the other world, he will say, 'Why have you come here, my son, before fulfilling my command?' I have failed. In everything, I have failed."
Lakshmana could bear this sight no longer. "Brother, it is not right that you should cry like this," he said. "Let us search through the forest. You know how fond Sita is of entering caves and thickets. She may be bathing in the river or playing somewhere or culling flowers. Let us search again. She is only testing us. Come let us search again. Do not cry."
The two searched again all over the place on hills, by pools and on the river bank. But they did not find her. "Sita is not to be seen, Lakshmana," said Rama. "What shall I do now?"
Lakshmana tried to encourage him with words of hope, but Rama was inconsolable. "No, no, my brother. There is no hope," he said, "Sita is nowhere. I have lost her forever. I shall live no more."
He lay unconscious for a time. Then he came to himself and lifted his voice and wept. Nothing that Lakshmana said could comfort him.
"Lakshmana, how can I go back to Ayodhya?" he cried. "Won't they laugh at me for returning alone after allowing Sita to be killed and eaten by Rakshasas? Having brought her to the forest and having failed to protect her, what shall I tell Janaka? No, you should go alone to Ayodhya. Go and look after our mothers. Greet Bharata from me and tell him it was my dying wish that he should continue to rule as king."
All Lakshmana's efforts to console him were in vain. He was convinced that the Rakshasas had carried away Sita and torn her to pieces and eaten her up. He pictured to himself in detail the horror of her suffering and cried in his grief: "I must have committed terrible sins. How else could such suffering come to me? Sita who accompanied me, thinking I could protect her, has been eaten by the Rakshasas and I can do nothing about it. Is there another sinner like me in the world?"
Lakshmana said: "Do not lose heart. You must be bold and energetic. A resolute mind can conquer fate. But you must first conquer your weakness. Let us make a more thorough search of the forest. Instead of yielding to unavailing sorrow, let us be manly and active." But Rama would not listen.
Rama behaved as a human being, not an avatar of Vishnu. Though elsewhere his words and actions give room for a different view, here Valmiki describes Rama as a mere man enveloped in the gloom of a supreme misfortune.
His feeling and behavior are exactly those of any noble and virtuous man who has lost his beloved wife, dearer to him than life itself, and that in a forest infested with Rakshasas. We see that all the efforts of Lakshmana to console him had no effect.
Our common human dharma is illustrated by the sorrow of Rama. We see here the picture of true and equal love between a virtuous man and woman and the anguish of loss.
The episode may also be interpreted allegorically. Rama's sense of privation, when he misses Sita, is a measure and image of the mind of God when a single human soul is lost through sin.
One may ask whether God can lose, or can suffer pain of mind. If one realises that all life is divine leela, the play of God, no further exegesis is needed. Sin, merit, devotion, all are aspects of that sport.
Each one of us is beloved of the Lord. If for any reason we are swept away from the right path, He suffers like a lover who has lost his love. And His sorrow too is a part of His great play.
Rama now realised how the Rakshasa had beguiled them and how be had been drawn away a long distance by the crafty Maricha and he was full of anxiety as to what it all could mean.
"Alas, we have been badly deceived. It would be terrible if Lakshmana is also deceived by this cry and leaves Sita alone to come to my succour. It looks as though the Rakshasas have planned this ruse to carry off Sita and eat her. When Sita hears what she will take as my cry of distress she is sure to insist on Lakshmana leaving her and rushing to my help. The howling of jackals and the behavior of birds do portend disaster. There is trepidation in my heart and it is a portent in itself of some danger close at hand."
Saying thus to himself, Rama hurried back to the ashrama. On the way, he saw Lakshmana running towards him. "Alas, the worst I fear has happened," exclaimed Rama.
He held Lakshmana's hands and cried in sorrow: "Why did you leave Sita alone in the forest, Lakshmana? You may be sure the Rakshasas have killed and eaten her. It was not right for you to leave her and come away. It is now all over with Sita!"
Fatigued and thirsty with the futile chase, and now overwhelmed with anger and unbearable anxiety, Rama cried again: "If I do not see Sita in the ashrama when we return, I shall surely die, Lakshmana. You will return to Ayodhya, the survivor of us three, and tell them what has happened. O, how will Kausalya bear her grief? Lakshmana, you have more than fulfilled Kaikeyi's wishes. The Rakshasas will by now have visited on Sita, poor unprotected Sita, all their pent-up hatred against us. They must have killed and eaten her up by now. How could you leave her alone and come away? How could you be deceived by Maricha's false cry? What shall I do now? I shall see Sita no more. The Rakshasas' plan has succeeded. My trust in you was misplaced and I shall never see Sita. How could you leave her and come away, how could you, Lakshmana?"
Lakshmana answered with tears in his eyes: "What else, brother, could I do? When Sita heard the cry, 'Alas Sita! Alas Lakshmana!' she was frightened. Quivering with fear she urged me to go to you at once and would tolerate no delay. She persisted, whatever I said to the contrary. I told her again and again not to be afraid and assured her that no foe was strong enough to do you harm, and that the cry of distress was not yours, but she would not listen. She charged me with having turned traitor to you and with having come to the forest with treasonable intentions. And, O brother, she found it possible in her anguish to say I would be glad of your death out of sinful intentions towards herself! I was half-dead with horror on hearing those words of hers and then she announced that she would kill herself if I did not go on the instant. Mad herself, she maddened me with her words of reproach and I ran towards you not knowing what else to do."
But Rama was not satisfied. "Whatever a foolish woman might have said in her fright, you should have stayed and not left her unprotected. How could you do such a foolish thing? You have brought calamity on me. I shall never see Sita again."
The two hurried to the ashrama. Many bad omens appeared on their way. And Rama repeated, as he saw them one by one: "I fear, I fear we shall never see Sita again!"
Reaching the ashrama, they found it, as they had feared, empty. Sita was not there. The deerskin, the kusa grass, the mat spread as a seat, all lay scattered on the ground.
Rama wept and ran hither and thither in the grove round the cottage. The leaves and flowers on the trees had faded. Sita was nowhere to be seen.
He wandered about like one mad. His eyes were bloodshot. He cried, "Alas, have they eaten her up? Have they carried her away? O, bow she must have trembled in terror! I cannot bear the thought of it. Could it be that she has gone to the river to fetch water? Could it be that she has gone out to cull flowers? Let us see."
And he went searching among the trees, hoping that perhaps she was hiding and playing a practical joke on him. His sorrow swelled like the sea and seemed to have drowned his reason. He called the trees one by one by their names and beseeched them for help.
"Oh Asoka tree! Be true to your name, remove my sorrow you must know the truth. Tell me where Sita is now. Oh tall palm tree! You must be able to see where Sita is. Tell me where she is."
He talked to the animals too. "Oh tiger!" he said, "the elephant and the deer are afraid to tell me the truth. But you know no fear. You can tell me what has happened. You know everything. Tell me then the truth."
He cried: "Oh Sita, you are biding somewhere. There! There! I see you there! Stop this fooling. I can stand it no longer."
After wandering and weeping in vain for a long time he fell on the ground, moaning, "Ha Lakshmana! Ha Sita!" He cried like an elephant trapped in a pit.
"Lakshmana, Sita is nowhere. The Rakshasas have captured her and torn her to pieces and eaten her up. How can I live any more? My end is near. But when my father sees me in the other world, he will say, 'Why have you come here, my son, before fulfilling my command?' I have failed. In everything, I have failed."
Lakshmana could bear this sight no longer. "Brother, it is not right that you should cry like this," he said. "Let us search through the forest. You know how fond Sita is of entering caves and thickets. She may be bathing in the river or playing somewhere or culling flowers. Let us search again. She is only testing us. Come let us search again. Do not cry."
The two searched again all over the place on hills, by pools and on the river bank. But they did not find her. "Sita is not to be seen, Lakshmana," said Rama. "What shall I do now?"
Lakshmana tried to encourage him with words of hope, but Rama was inconsolable. "No, no, my brother. There is no hope," he said, "Sita is nowhere. I have lost her forever. I shall live no more."
He lay unconscious for a time. Then he came to himself and lifted his voice and wept. Nothing that Lakshmana said could comfort him.
"Lakshmana, how can I go back to Ayodhya?" he cried. "Won't they laugh at me for returning alone after allowing Sita to be killed and eaten by Rakshasas? Having brought her to the forest and having failed to protect her, what shall I tell Janaka? No, you should go alone to Ayodhya. Go and look after our mothers. Greet Bharata from me and tell him it was my dying wish that he should continue to rule as king."
All Lakshmana's efforts to console him were in vain. He was convinced that the Rakshasas had carried away Sita and torn her to pieces and eaten her up. He pictured to himself in detail the horror of her suffering and cried in his grief: "I must have committed terrible sins. How else could such suffering come to me? Sita who accompanied me, thinking I could protect her, has been eaten by the Rakshasas and I can do nothing about it. Is there another sinner like me in the world?"
Lakshmana said: "Do not lose heart. You must be bold and energetic. A resolute mind can conquer fate. But you must first conquer your weakness. Let us make a more thorough search of the forest. Instead of yielding to unavailing sorrow, let us be manly and active." But Rama would not listen.
Rama behaved as a human being, not an avatar of Vishnu. Though elsewhere his words and actions give room for a different view, here Valmiki describes Rama as a mere man enveloped in the gloom of a supreme misfortune.
His feeling and behavior are exactly those of any noble and virtuous man who has lost his beloved wife, dearer to him than life itself, and that in a forest infested with Rakshasas. We see that all the efforts of Lakshmana to console him had no effect.
Our common human dharma is illustrated by the sorrow of Rama. We see here the picture of true and equal love between a virtuous man and woman and the anguish of loss.
The episode may also be interpreted allegorically. Rama's sense of privation, when he misses Sita, is a measure and image of the mind of God when a single human soul is lost through sin.
One may ask whether God can lose, or can suffer pain of mind. If one realises that all life is divine leela, the play of God, no further exegesis is needed. Sin, merit, devotion, all are aspects of that sport.
Each one of us is beloved of the Lord. If for any reason we are swept away from the right path, He suffers like a lover who has lost his love. And His sorrow too is a part of His great play.
38)A SECOND FATHER DIES :
THE two brothers searched every mountain, forest and riverbank calling Sita's name aloud. But all in vain, and they did not so much as find a clue anywhere. Baffled and grief-stricken, Rama cried out against the river Godavari, against the gods and against the five elements.
The poet sage ascribes the silence of the rivers and the gods and elements to their fear of the powerful Rakshasa king. A herd of deer, however, moving southwards seemed to indicate to Rama and Lakshmana that they too should travel in the same direction. They did so and, after a time, found some flowers scattered on the way.
Rama at once recognised the flowers and cried excitedly: "These are the very flowers I gave her. They must have fallen from her hair."
His grief and anxiety grew greater and he sobbed aloud fearing the worst for Sita.
They searched the forest all around the spot where they found the flowers. They noticed the marks of a Rakshasa's big feet and little footprints that they knew were Sita's.
They found some gold beads spilt from Sita's jewels. Rama cried again: "Look! The Rakshasa has been chasing her like a beast of prey to tear her tender flesh!"
Then they saw several fragments of a chariot and great clots of blood, as also royal headgear and jewels scattered on the ground. They wondered what these things could mean.
Soon they came upon a large bow broken, flag torn and armor crushed. A little later they saw the dead bodies of a charioteer and of mules. It was clear that a vehement battle had been fought on that spot.
"Two powerful Rakshasas must have struggled here," groaned Rama, "each claiming the sole right to eat Sita."
Conjecturing and lamenting in this way, Rama went on: "Dharma could not save Sita! No god came to her rescue! It will be right to destroy this wicked world." Rama was beside himself and talked wildly.
Lakshmana did his best to calm the distracted Rama. "Great sorrow unbalances all minds, even the strongest," he said. "Else why should you thus lose self-control? Why should you hate and curse the whole world for the evil deed of one person? How often have you, my brother, calmed my anger and led me on the right path! But now a great grief has upset your mind and it is the turn of the younger brother to give courage and counsel patience to the elder and restore him to his natural heroism. Let us find out who our enemy is and deal with him."
With such loving words Lakshmana sought to give courage and consolation and both walked on. They had not proceeded far when they came on Jatayu, bloody and mutilated, unrecognisable, lying on the ground.
At first Rama thought it was some Rakshasa disguising himself to deceive them and, wild with anger, cried: "Look! Here is a Rakshasa who has eaten Sita!" and rushed towards him, bow in hand.
Then raising his ruffled and gory head with great pain, Jatayu spoke in a feeble voice that seemed struggling with death. "Do not kill me, dear Rama, who has but a few moments more to live! The dear princess you are searching for has been carried off by Ravana and he could do so only by first robbing me of my life! Seeing Sita in his flying chariot in the air, I intercepted it and gave him battle. I struck down his bow and smashed his chariot. His charioteer I slew. The marks of my last great fight you can see all round this place. I did my best. How I wish it were better for your sake! At last as, weary with toil, I was still waging a hopeless combat. Age against youth, beak and talons against keen weapons and panoply of steel, he cut off my wings and legs. And as I fell wounded to death, he lifted Sita and flew with her into the sky in a southern direction. Though racked with the pangs of death, I have clung to life for love of you to tell you what I know. Now that I have done this, bless me and let me die." Tears flowed from Rama's eyes as he listened to Jatayu's tale. He flung aside his bow and embraced the bird. The princes' sorrow knew no bounds. They lamented loudly, rolling on the ground.
"I am the most unhappy man alive, Lakshmana," said Rama. "Giving up the kingdom, I came to the forest, and here I have lost my Sita. This Jatayu, who was a second father to us, has, laid down his life for my sake. Why, if I fell into the fire, I fear my bad luck will put even the fire out. If I fell into the sea, I fear it would dry up. What a terrible sinner I am, Lakshmana! Who knows, one day I might lose you too, Lakshmana."
Embracing Jatayu, he said: "O, my father! Really, did you see Sita?" But Jatayu lay speechless on the ground.
After a few moments Jatayu spoke again in a low voice: "Be not afraid, Rama. You will surely find Sita. No harm will come to her. Regaining the treasure you have lost, you will greatly rejoice." With these words, he spat out blood and gave up life.
They were foolish and committed errors of omission and commission and lost Sita. Trying to save Sita from the calamity that their carelessness had brought upon her, Jatayu, old, unarmed, had fought with wing and beak and talon and given up his life. When their father died in Ayodhya, his obsequies were performed by Bharata and Satrughna.
Rama and Lakshmana. were denied this privilege because they were away in the forest. They regarded Jatayu as their own father and in performing his obsequies derived some consolation for not being by Dasaratha's side and performing the last offices to him. What other help or honor could they accord to heroic Jatayu?
The bhaktas worship Jatayu as the best of bhaktas. Exercising our imagination, we should behold with Sita's eyes the poor old bird's hard struggle against the Rakshasa king. Then we would realise the love and gratitude and sorrow that must have surged in her heart as she watched his sufferings. Thus we shall be purified by the grace of the Mother. What wonder is there in the rank assigned to Jatayu among the bhaktas?
Later, when Rama fights and is victorious in Lanka, Sita does not see it; she is a prisoner in the Asoka forest. She has to be content with listening to reports of the battle and of the prowess of her lord. But Jatayu's devotion and heroism Sita saw with her own eyes in the Dandaka forest. Unarmed, he opposed the Rakshasa who had all his weapons and armor, and humbled his pride at the cost of his own life.
Jatayu's battle with Ravana is more important than the battles in Lanka. Hence the pious revere Jatayu along with Bharata and look upon him as an Alvar, a guide in the spritual path.
"Lakshmana," said Rama, "gather dry faggots. I shall churn the fire. We failed to perform our father's obsequies, let us do it for the eagle-father who gave up his life for us."
The princes chanted holy invocations as they poured libations to the departed spirit: "O king of birds, may you enjoy all the bliss of the virtuous who perform great sacrifices! May you enjoy the bliss of Vanaprasthas who have performed great penance! May you enjoy the bliss of those who have made great gifts of land! May you enjoy the bliss of those who fight heroically in the field of battle! May the bliss of all good people be yours!" After the ceremony Rama became steadier and stronger in mind.
To millions of men, women and children in India, the Ramayana is not a mere tale. It has more truth and meaning than the events in one's own life. Just as plants grow under the influence of sunlight, the people of India grow in mental strength and culture by absorbing the glowing inspiration of the Ramayana.
When we see any helpless person in danger or difficulty, let us think of Jatayu and with firm mind try to help regardless of circumstance.
Rama's losing health and lamenting in sorrow may be compared to the behavior of another incarnation honored by another faith. It is said in the Bible that Jesus, nailed to the cross and about to give up his ghost, cried with a loud voice: "Eloi! Eloi! lama sabachthani!" which is Hebrew for "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"
The mystery of incarnations is ever the same. They are weighed with the dust and tears of the body they have taken and suffer and grieve like mortals.
The poet sage ascribes the silence of the rivers and the gods and elements to their fear of the powerful Rakshasa king. A herd of deer, however, moving southwards seemed to indicate to Rama and Lakshmana that they too should travel in the same direction. They did so and, after a time, found some flowers scattered on the way.
Rama at once recognised the flowers and cried excitedly: "These are the very flowers I gave her. They must have fallen from her hair."
His grief and anxiety grew greater and he sobbed aloud fearing the worst for Sita.
They searched the forest all around the spot where they found the flowers. They noticed the marks of a Rakshasa's big feet and little footprints that they knew were Sita's.
They found some gold beads spilt from Sita's jewels. Rama cried again: "Look! The Rakshasa has been chasing her like a beast of prey to tear her tender flesh!"
Then they saw several fragments of a chariot and great clots of blood, as also royal headgear and jewels scattered on the ground. They wondered what these things could mean.
Soon they came upon a large bow broken, flag torn and armor crushed. A little later they saw the dead bodies of a charioteer and of mules. It was clear that a vehement battle had been fought on that spot.
"Two powerful Rakshasas must have struggled here," groaned Rama, "each claiming the sole right to eat Sita."
Conjecturing and lamenting in this way, Rama went on: "Dharma could not save Sita! No god came to her rescue! It will be right to destroy this wicked world." Rama was beside himself and talked wildly.
Lakshmana did his best to calm the distracted Rama. "Great sorrow unbalances all minds, even the strongest," he said. "Else why should you thus lose self-control? Why should you hate and curse the whole world for the evil deed of one person? How often have you, my brother, calmed my anger and led me on the right path! But now a great grief has upset your mind and it is the turn of the younger brother to give courage and counsel patience to the elder and restore him to his natural heroism. Let us find out who our enemy is and deal with him."
With such loving words Lakshmana sought to give courage and consolation and both walked on. They had not proceeded far when they came on Jatayu, bloody and mutilated, unrecognisable, lying on the ground.
At first Rama thought it was some Rakshasa disguising himself to deceive them and, wild with anger, cried: "Look! Here is a Rakshasa who has eaten Sita!" and rushed towards him, bow in hand.
Then raising his ruffled and gory head with great pain, Jatayu spoke in a feeble voice that seemed struggling with death. "Do not kill me, dear Rama, who has but a few moments more to live! The dear princess you are searching for has been carried off by Ravana and he could do so only by first robbing me of my life! Seeing Sita in his flying chariot in the air, I intercepted it and gave him battle. I struck down his bow and smashed his chariot. His charioteer I slew. The marks of my last great fight you can see all round this place. I did my best. How I wish it were better for your sake! At last as, weary with toil, I was still waging a hopeless combat. Age against youth, beak and talons against keen weapons and panoply of steel, he cut off my wings and legs. And as I fell wounded to death, he lifted Sita and flew with her into the sky in a southern direction. Though racked with the pangs of death, I have clung to life for love of you to tell you what I know. Now that I have done this, bless me and let me die." Tears flowed from Rama's eyes as he listened to Jatayu's tale. He flung aside his bow and embraced the bird. The princes' sorrow knew no bounds. They lamented loudly, rolling on the ground.
"I am the most unhappy man alive, Lakshmana," said Rama. "Giving up the kingdom, I came to the forest, and here I have lost my Sita. This Jatayu, who was a second father to us, has, laid down his life for my sake. Why, if I fell into the fire, I fear my bad luck will put even the fire out. If I fell into the sea, I fear it would dry up. What a terrible sinner I am, Lakshmana! Who knows, one day I might lose you too, Lakshmana."
Embracing Jatayu, he said: "O, my father! Really, did you see Sita?" But Jatayu lay speechless on the ground.
After a few moments Jatayu spoke again in a low voice: "Be not afraid, Rama. You will surely find Sita. No harm will come to her. Regaining the treasure you have lost, you will greatly rejoice." With these words, he spat out blood and gave up life.
They were foolish and committed errors of omission and commission and lost Sita. Trying to save Sita from the calamity that their carelessness had brought upon her, Jatayu, old, unarmed, had fought with wing and beak and talon and given up his life. When their father died in Ayodhya, his obsequies were performed by Bharata and Satrughna.
Rama and Lakshmana. were denied this privilege because they were away in the forest. They regarded Jatayu as their own father and in performing his obsequies derived some consolation for not being by Dasaratha's side and performing the last offices to him. What other help or honor could they accord to heroic Jatayu?
The bhaktas worship Jatayu as the best of bhaktas. Exercising our imagination, we should behold with Sita's eyes the poor old bird's hard struggle against the Rakshasa king. Then we would realise the love and gratitude and sorrow that must have surged in her heart as she watched his sufferings. Thus we shall be purified by the grace of the Mother. What wonder is there in the rank assigned to Jatayu among the bhaktas?
Later, when Rama fights and is victorious in Lanka, Sita does not see it; she is a prisoner in the Asoka forest. She has to be content with listening to reports of the battle and of the prowess of her lord. But Jatayu's devotion and heroism Sita saw with her own eyes in the Dandaka forest. Unarmed, he opposed the Rakshasa who had all his weapons and armor, and humbled his pride at the cost of his own life.
Jatayu's battle with Ravana is more important than the battles in Lanka. Hence the pious revere Jatayu along with Bharata and look upon him as an Alvar, a guide in the spritual path.
"Lakshmana," said Rama, "gather dry faggots. I shall churn the fire. We failed to perform our father's obsequies, let us do it for the eagle-father who gave up his life for us."
The princes chanted holy invocations as they poured libations to the departed spirit: "O king of birds, may you enjoy all the bliss of the virtuous who perform great sacrifices! May you enjoy the bliss of Vanaprasthas who have performed great penance! May you enjoy the bliss of those who have made great gifts of land! May you enjoy the bliss of those who fight heroically in the field of battle! May the bliss of all good people be yours!" After the ceremony Rama became steadier and stronger in mind.
To millions of men, women and children in India, the Ramayana is not a mere tale. It has more truth and meaning than the events in one's own life. Just as plants grow under the influence of sunlight, the people of India grow in mental strength and culture by absorbing the glowing inspiration of the Ramayana.
When we see any helpless person in danger or difficulty, let us think of Jatayu and with firm mind try to help regardless of circumstance.
Rama's losing health and lamenting in sorrow may be compared to the behavior of another incarnation honored by another faith. It is said in the Bible that Jesus, nailed to the cross and about to give up his ghost, cried with a loud voice: "Eloi! Eloi! lama sabachthani!" which is Hebrew for "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"
The mystery of incarnations is ever the same. They are weighed with the dust and tears of the body they have taken and suffer and grieve like mortals.
(My humble salutations to Sreeman Chakravarti Rajagopalachari for the collection )
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