Valmiki Rāmāyaṇa
Prologue
Coursing through the sky in his celestial chariot, Rāvaṇa appeared like a blazing comet. His dark body shone with a brilliant aura. From his ten heads his reddish eyes darted about, scouring the mountains below. His twenty powerful arms hanging from his huge frame looked like five-hooded serpents. Seated on a throne of gems he directed his golden chariot by thought alone and it moved swiftly over the Himālayan range.
The demon was out on his conquests. All around him flew thousands of Rākṣasas, clutching swords, barbed spears, spiked maces and iron bludgeons, all of those weapons smeared with blood. Some Rākṣasas had the heads of tigers, some of donkeys and some of fierce fiends. Others appeared in their natural forms: large blackish bodies, fearful faces with tall pointed ears and rows of sharp fangs, with a mass of red hair on their heads. They wore iron breastplates studded with gems and were adorned with bright gold earrings and other shining ornaments. Surrounding Rāvaṇa they looked like dark clouds with lightning covering the sun.
Rāvaṇa wished to defeat in battle even the gods themselves. Wanting to establish his supreme power in the universe, he had gone to the higher planets and conquered hosts of Gandharvas and Yakṣas, powerful celestial fighters. Now he was returning from his victorious fight with Kuvera, his own brother and the treasurer of the gods. That lordly deity had been made to retreat by Rāvaṇa, losing to the demon his wonderful chariot, known in all the worlds as the Pushpaka.
The fearless Rāvaṇa, overlord of all the demons, looked down from the Pushpaka at the forests below. It was a picture of tranquility. Amongst the trees were many verdant clearings covered with varieties of wild shrubs and forest flowers. Crystal waterfalls cascaded onto many colored rocks. Lakes filled with lotuses and swans shone from the mountain plateaus as the hordes of Rākṣasas soared overhead.
Sometimes the demons would see groups of ṛṣis, ascetic Brahmins who dwelt in those high mountain ranges, practising austerities and worshipping the gods. They would see the columns of smoke rising up amongst the trees from the sacrificial fires tended by the sages. Using their powers of sorcery the Rākṣasas dropped down volumes of blood, faeces and urine, defiling the sacrifices. They would then hurl huge boulders and blazing coals, crushing and burning the sages where they sat in meditation. Finally the demons would themselves descend, howling and roaring. They tore apart the bodies of the ṛṣis, drinking their blood and devouring their flesh.
Rāvaṇa admired the Pushpaka as it proceeded according to his will. His brother Kuvera would be sorry to lose such a splendid vehicle. It looked more like a city of the gods floating in the air than a chariot. Numerous cat’s-eye and crystal pillars ran along its sides, supporting golden mansions inlaid with coral. Large floors made entirely of gems stood upon gold statues of lions and tigers. Groves of artificial trees, shining with golden leaves and fruits, surrounded large ponds crowded with white lotuses. In those clear ponds stood ivory elephants and silver goddesses. Networks of pearls and wreaths of celestial flowers hung all over that car. It was encrusted with countless precious stones and emblazoned with gold carvings of wolves, sharks, and fierce bears. Sweeping through the skies it emitted the sounds of celestial music and the fragrance of the pārijāta flower, known only to the gods.
As Rāvaṇa sat idly aboard the chariot, gazing around at the magnificent scenery below, he suddenly noticed a lady sitting in meditation. This was most unusual. Women were rarely seen in those mountains. Sometimes the ṛṣis would have their wives with them, but this woman seemed to be entirely alone. Rāvaṇa slowed the chariot and moved down to look more closely. Perhaps there were more ascetics nearby. The Rākṣasas could use a little entertainment. And, if this woman was as beautiful as she seemed at first glance, so could he.
Ordering the Rākṣasas to wait in the sky, Rāvaṇa himself rose up from the chariot and descended to the ground. He saw the young ascetic girl sitting on a flat piece of soft grassland surrounded by wild flowers. She glowed with a golden beauty. Her limbs were exquisitely formed and her full breasts were covered by a black deerskin. Rāvaṇa could see the contours of her tapering thighs through the thin cloth covering her crossed legs. Dark locks of thickly matted hair hung down to her waist, framing her white-complexioned face. Her red lips moved slightly as she intoned the sacred syllable Om. Her smooth golden arms were bared in front of her as she sat with folded palms, her long curling lashes covering half closed eyes.
Rāvaṇa’s mind was overpowered by lust. Who was this youthful lady? What was she doing here in such a lonely place? Did she have a protector? Never mind. He would soon deal with that. The forest was no place for such a maiden. She would make an excellent addition to his other consorts.
By his mystic power Rāvaṇa assumed a human form and approached the girl. He spoke loudly, disturbing her reverie. “O most beautiful maiden, who are you? Why are you practising asceticism in this lonely region? To whom do you belong? What fortunate man has you for his wife?”
The demon was unable to resist the charms of women. As he gazed upon the alluring form of the girl he was possessed by increasing desire. He laughed and waited for her to reply.
The girl fully opened her black eyes and looked at Rāvaṇa. Seeing him as a guest in her hermitage she spoke respectfully, telling him her name. She was Vedavati, the daughter of a powerful sage, who was himself a son of the gods’ preceptor, Bṛhaspati. Looking down in shyness she said, “I was born as an incarnation of the holy Vedas. My father was sought by numerous gods and other celestial beings who wished to have my hand in marriage. However, none but Viṣṇu, the Lord of all the worlds, can be my spouse. Thus I am seated here, absorbed in thought of the Lord and awaiting His favour.”
Vedavati had meditated for thousands of years. Her body, like that of the gods, neither aged nor required any sustenance. She could understand by her own inner vision who Rāvaṇa was and what was his intention. In gentle tones she said that only Viṣṇu could be her husband. That inconceivable Lord was all powerful and all seeing and she had chosen Him alone. She could not belong to anyone else. Rāvaṇa should continue on his way as before.
Rāvaṇa laughed again. He was not going to leave behind this jewel of a woman. Hearing the name of Viṣṇu, his sworn enemy, only made him all the more determined. The demon’s voice boomed like thunder. “Your resolution to practice austerity befits only old women, O lady of shapely limbs. Why do you waste your fleeting youth in this way? I am Rāvaṇa, lord of the Rākṣasas, the very mighty race of demons. Become my wife and live with me in my capital, Lanka, the golden city I forcibly seized from the gods. Who is this Viṣṇu anyway?”
Rāvaṇa spoke derisively of Viṣṇu, whom he knew to be the Lord of all the gods. The arrogant demon cared nothing for any universal authority. He had been granted boons by Brahmā, the creator of the universe, who had so blessed the Rākṣasa that he could not be killed by practically any created being, neither god nor demon. Rāvaṇa could assume forms at will. Vedavati’s mention of Viṣṇu did not bother him in the least. He stood smiling before the maiden, his eyes full of lust.
Hearing Rāvaṇa deride Viṣṇu, Vedavati flared up with anger and rebuked the demon. She told him to leave immediately for his own good, lest he incite the powerful anger of that Supreme Deity.
Rāvaṇa smiled. This high-spirited woman would make a perfect consort for him. He stepped forward and grabbed hold of her long locks. Vedavati at once uttered a powerful Sanskrit mantra which momentarily checked the demon’s advance. She lifted a hand and by her mystic power cut through her hair. The Rākṣasa fell back in surprise as she spoke furiously.
“O evil one, I shall now quit this body defiled by your touch! As I have been insulted by you I shall take birth again only for your destruction. Appearing from the earth, I shall become the pious daughter of a virtuous man. You and your entire race will be destroyed as a result of that birth.”
Vedavati closed her eyes and meditated on Viṣṇu, seeing Him within her heart. Before Rāvaṇa’s eyes she invoked fire from within herself. Her body was immediately consumed by flames and in a few moments Rāvaṇa stood looking at her ashes. Baffled by her words, the disappointed demon rose again to his chariot and continued on his way.
The demon and his Rākṣasa followers spent some time in the Himālayan mountains, wreaking havoc amongst the many ascetics living there. Gradually they approached the far northern region where there lay Mount Kailāsa, the abode of Śiva. As the Pushpaka began crossing that mountain, it was suddenly brought to a halt. Rāvaṇa was surprised and he descended to the ground, surrounded by his ministers who accompanied him on the chariot. As he gazed around at the brilliant scenery on the mountainside, he saw a strange being with a monkey’s head.
The creature appeared dreadful, with a dark yellowish complexion and misshapen features. Although his body was large, he had a dwarfish stature. He was clean shaven and muscular and he stood holding a large glowing pike. As he gazed at Rāvaṇa, the demon called out to him. “Who are you and where is this region? Why have I been impeded?”
“I am Nandi, the servant of Śiva,” replied the unusual being. “You have arrived at Śiva’s abode, which is inaccessible to all created beings. You will not be able to pass this mountain. Therefore turn back and go the way you have come.”
Rāvaṇa looked at the strange body of Nandi and laughed out loud. He spoke in a derisory voice. “Why should I heed you, O monkey-faced one? Who is this Śiva anyway?”
Hearing his master insulted infuriated Nandi. Raising his pike, which shot forth tongues of fire, he exclaimed, “O Rākṣasa, I should kill you at once but I will not do so, as you already stand killed by your own sins. But I say this, as you disregard me in my monkey form, there shall be born on earth many monkeys of terrible strength who will annihilate your race.”
As Nandi spoke the sound of heavenly drums reverberated in the sky and a shower of flowers fell. Rāvaṇa’s eyes flamed in anger. Disregarding the curse, he roared, “I shall remove this hill from my path. What do I care for you and your master?”
The Rākṣasa immediately plunged his twenty massive arms deep into the side of the hill. He began tearing it up and it slowly rose above the earth, shaking violently. As the hill shook, Śiva’s consort, Parvati, slipped from her position and clung to her husband. Śiva reassured her, “Do not be afraid. This is the action of the vain demon Rāvaṇa. I shall deal with him shortly. He cannot harm you.”
Parvati’s eyes turned red as she replied to her powerful husband. “As this wretch has frightened a woman by his violence, his death shall be caused by a woman.”
Śiva stood up and pressed down upon the hill with his toe. Rāvaṇa at once felt an unbearable pressure. His arms, which resembled huge pillars holding the hill, were crushed. He let out a tremendous cry that resounded throughout the three worlds of heaven, earth and hell, terrifying all beings. He was trapped by the weight of the mountain and could not move.
The Rākṣasa’s ministers at once surrounded him and advised him to appease Śiva. “We have heard how that all-powerful one is easily pleased. Offer him prayers and seek his compassion at once. Surely he will be gracious to you.”
Rāvaṇa, who had made a study of all the scriptures, began reciting hymns from the Sāmaveda in glorification of Śiva. But even after a hundred years had passed the Rākṣasa still remained trapped. Although in great pain, he continued offering prayers to Śiva. Finally Śiva relented and relieved Rāvaṇa of the pressure. He appeared before the demon and spoke kindly. “O ten-headed one, your prayers have pleased me. Do not be so rash again. Leave now and go wherever you like.”
Rāvaṇa bowed to the god, who stood holding his famous trident. The crescent moon shone from his head and a large serpent was coiled around his blue neck. He gazed at Rāvaṇa with his three eyes as the demon folded his palms to address him. “My lord, if you are actually pleased with me then please give me your weapon.”
Śiva smiled. Rāvaṇa’s lust for battle would prove to be his destruction before long. Saying, “So be it”, Śiva raised his palm in benediction and immediately vanished from that spot. Rāvaṇa felt the mantras for invoking Śiva’s powerful Pāśupāta weapon appear within his mind. He smiled. Who could resist such power? Even he had been unable to overcome Śiva. The great deity was surely worthy of his worship.
Rāvaṇa mounted the Pushpaka, which had waited in the sky all the time he was trapped. Being unable to proceed further to the north he turned back southwards, still accompanied by his numerous Rākṣasa forces. As he moved across the Earth, seeking further martial engagements, he came upon the city of Ayodhya. This was the capital of the world of humans. The emperor of the earth dwelt there and Rāvaṇa considered him as fit for a fight. If he conquered this king then the whole earth would be subjugated.
Rāvaṇa had little interest in human affairs-the Rākṣasas were a superior race of beings more on a level with the gods-but the demon wanted to establish his supremacy over all beings. His army of Rākṣasas surrounded the city, challenging the emperor to battle.
A fierce fight ensued between the two armies of Rāvaṇa and the Ayodhya king, Anaranya. Tens of thousands of chariots and elephants came onto the battlefield, along with hundreds of thousands of foot soldiers. Showers of arrows, like swarms of black bees, fell upon the demons. Anaranya’s army threw lances, darts, steel bullets and iron maces by the million. They swept towards the enemy, shouting courageously with their weapons raised.
Rāvaṇa’s forces used sorcery to appear and disappear at will, flying in the sky and hurling down rocks and sharp weapons. The king’s army replied with showers of swift and deadly arrows. Using powerful catapults the warriors threw at the Rākṣasas large iron darts which whistled through the air. But Anaranya’s fighters could not easily engage with the elusive demons. Although they rushed forward, slashing at the enemy with their blue steel swords, the soldiers found themselves cleaving the air as the Rākṣasas rose into the sky. The Rākṣasas, who towered over their human foes, would then suddenly descend behind the soldiers, cutting them down with razor-sharp scimitars.
Gradually the demons overpowered the king’s army. The battlefield became strewn with the mangled bodies of Anaranya’s troops. Blood flowed in waves upon the ground. Heads rolled on the earth with their golden earrings flashing and their teeth clenched in fury. Large and well-muscled arms, still clutching broad swords and lances, lay severed amidst the entrails of slain warriors. The demons sent up great shouts as they hacked down the king’s army.
Anaranya himself exhibited great prowess. He knew the secrets of the celestial weapons and by invoking those divine missiles he killed innumerable Rākṣasas. When the demons hid using their sorcery, he released the Shabda weapon of sound, which found them wherever they were. As hordes of Rākṣasas rushed at the emperor, he let go the wind weapon which lifted the demons and hurled them far away. Anaranya was difficult to look upon as he stood in his chariot releasing his weapons. They fell upon the Rākṣasa forces like blazing meteors. But the demons far outnumbered the humans. Although hard pressed by the king, the Rākṣasas responded with more and more sorcery, vanishing into the sky and entering the earth. Eventually Rāvaṇa’s hordes completely annihilated their enemies and Anaranya stood alone against the demons.
Seeing all his forces consumed like so many moths entering a fire, the emperor became infuriated. He went towards Rāvaṇa, who had stood by in a war chariot as his Rākṣasas fought with the soldiers. Anaranya took up his great bow and let loose eight hundred fierce arrows, which sped like flames of fire towards Rāvaṇa. By the incantations of Anaranya those arrows were imbued with the power of thunderbolts. The king fired them so swiftly that they flew in a long line, almost end to end. They struck Rāvaṇa furiously on his heads and chest, sounding like claps of thunder. But the demon did not flinch in the least.
Angered by the king’s sudden attack, Rāvaṇa took up a terrible looking mace. He whirled it above his head with such force that it glowed bright orange and threw off tongues of fire. He flew with the speed of a tempest towards the emperor and struck him a great blow on the forehead. The king fell from his chariot and lay bleeding on the ground. The Rākṣasa began laughing and deriding the fallen monarch.
“What is the use of fighting with Rāvaṇa? There is none who can face me in battle and remain alive. Clearly you are a foolish man, too much addicted to wine and women. Thus you have not heard of my unassailable power.”
Rāvaṇa continued insulting the dying king, mocking his ancestral line in which the earth’s emperors had appeared for thousands of years. Anaranya looked up at the demon with eyes red from anger. Gasping for breath as his life slipped away, he spoke with difficulty. “I have not been killed by you, O vile Rākṣasa. Death is certain and comes to all beings according to their destiny. None can be killed before their fate decrees, nor can any be saved when their time has arrived. I am thus killed by my own fate. Do not indulge in self-praise, Rāvaṇa, for your own death will soon come.”
The emperor possessed mystic power, gained by his long practise of austerity. He was loath to waste that accumulated power on Rāvaṇa, but the demon had to be checked. The dying king could at least do something before he departed. Anaranya fixed his fading gaze on the lord of Rākṣasas and, concentrating his mind, he uttered a curse. “In the very line you now deride, O Rāvaṇa, there will soon appear a king who will kill you and all your race!”
As Anaranya spoke the sound of kettledrums was heard resounding in the sky, and a shower of celestial flowers fell upon him. Heavenly voices were heard to say, “It shall be so.” Having delivered his curse the emperor slumped to the ground, his life spent. Before the eyes of the demon, Anaranya left his body and rose upwards to the heavens, his ethereal form glowing like fire.
Rāvaṇa snorted derisively. Who cared for the curse of some puny being? What human could ever kill him? He only bothered fighting with them by way of idle sport. Anaranya’s curse was simply the insane words of a dying man. It could never come to pass. If any kings dared challenge him they would meet the same end as this one here. As for the celestial voices, well, he would soon deal with those arrogant deities.
The demon again mounted the Pushpaka, which was stationed in the sky. Not being interested in pillaging the paltry wealth of a human city, he left and soared up into the heavens. Perhaps there were some gods around who could put up a better fight.
Rāvaṇa went up to the heavenly planets inhabited by the principal gods. But the gods swiftly ran away, unwilling to encounter him in battle. They knew of the inviolable boons of Brahmā. It was pointless fighting the demon. The gods prayed to Viṣṇu, hiding themselves in fear.
Rāvaṇa decided to rest for a while in heaven. He went to Amarāvatī, the city of Indra, king of the gods. As the Rākṣasa was seated in the celestial Nandana gardens, he saw an Apsarā, a heavenly nymph, named Rambha. The face of that celestial girl shone with incomparable beauty and she was adorned with bright garlands and jewels. Her soul-captivating eyes glanced here and there and her fleshy hips swayed as she moved. Rāvaṇa gazed upon her large round breasts and shapely thighs. Her hands, soft like rose petals, pulled her shining blue dress tight around her body as she saw the demon staring at her.
Rāvaṇa assumed a godly form of great splendor, concealing his terrible ten-headed body. He sprang to his feet and quickly went over to Rambha, immediately taking her by the hand. Completely overcome by lust, he smiled at the celestial girl. “Where do you go and whose are you, lovely lady?” he asked. “Who will today enjoy the nectar of your soft, red lips? Who will be blessed by the touch of your tender breasts? Which fortunate man will lie tightly embraced by you, his mind completely captured by carnal delights?”
Rāvaṇa was not at all concerned whether she was married or not. He had stolen the wives of gods, Gandharvas and demons everywhere, taking them to Lanka to join his harem. The Rākṣasa was accustomed to having his way and spoke only in an attempt to win over Rambha. He praised her divine beauty and told her of his own power and glory. What woman would refuse the opportunity to become the consort of the mighty Rāvaṇa?
But the beautiful girl did not reciprocate his advances. She pulled away from him, her bright bracelets falling to the ground as she wrested herself from Rāvaṇa’s grasp. Folding her palms and looking down, she addressed the Rākṣasa reproachfully. “Please do not speak in this way. I am as good as your daughter and I therefore deserve to be protected by you, O Rāvaṇa. Indeed I am the wedded wife of another.”
Rambha told him she was married to a god, Nalakuvara, who was the son of Kuvera, Rāvaṇa’s own brother. She was thus related to Rāvaṇa and he should not make amorous advances towards her.
Rāvaṇa laughed loudly. He had no regard whatsoever for any moral codes. He moved towards Rambha who ran behind a golden bush. Rāvaṇa pursued her, pulling off his red silk robes and revealing his immense, lustrous body. The maiden tried to evade him, dodging here and there with her garland and necklaces swinging, but it was useless. Taking hold of Rambha the Rākṣasa forcibly laid her across a nearby rock. He snatched off her garments and began ravishing her, his eyes expanded in delight. Rambha cried out for help, but seeing the fierce Rākṣasa no one dared intervene. The demon’s powerful hands pinned the white arms of the maiden against the rock. Her dark hair fell in disarray, its golden clasps and flowers dislodged. Rāvaṇa violently molested her in front of his demon followers. Although she begged him to desist, the Rākṣasa took that struggling heavenly girl against her desire.
After Rāvaṇa had sated his lust he stood up, fastening his waist cloth. Shedding tears, Rambha backed away from the demon and fled. Her clothes torn and her garlands crushed, she went before her husband. When he saw her in that condition Nalakuvara became infuriated. But when he heard it was Rāvaṇa who had raped her, he felt helpless. The demon had already defeated Nalakuvara’s powerful father, who was supported by innumerable Yakṣa warriors. There was no possibility of facing Rāvaṇa in a fight. Nalakuvara considered the situation carefully. Although he could not fight the demon, he could at least curse him as a result of his evil act. The righteous curses of the gods invoked the infallible power of Viṣṇu. Considering this the only means of punishing Rāvaṇa, Nalakuvara touched holy water and then uttered his imprecation.
“This evil Rākṣasa has violated a celestial lady. If he ever again rapes another maiden he will immediately fall dead.”
Rāvaṇa soon heard of that curse. He had seen such curses, made by gods and ṛṣis, come to pass many times. Once uttered they could not be retracted. Although he did not like to accept it, Rāvaṇa could understand that some powerful force maintained the universal order and laws. Thinking it possible that Nalakuvera’s words might just be effective, he decided not to again force himself upon another female. Better not to take any chances. After all, there were enough women who would willingly accept him.
Being disappointed that no gods would fight with him, Rāvaṇa left the heavenly planets. He began heading for the southern quarter of the universe, where lived the Dānavas and Daityas, the most powerful celestial demons. Surely they would afford him battle. Who else was there left for him to conquer?
As Rāvaṇa flew in the Pushpaka he suddenly saw ahead of him the celestial seer, Nārada, shining brightly and holding his tamboura. The seer plucked the strings gently, singing the praises of Viṣṇu. Rāvaṇa had met him many times before and was pleased to see him. The Rākṣasa usually had little time for sages, especially devotees of Viṣṇu. He preferred to kill and eat them rather than speak with them. The ṛṣis and seers generally favored the gods, but Nārada was different. He would often give Rāvaṇa good advice and seemed to be his well wisher. Rāvaṇa raised a hand in salute to the sage.
The seer came before Rāvaṇa and greeted him. Nārada could travel freely anywhere in the universe. It was even said that he could leave the material worlds and journey to Vaikuntha, the spiritual abode of the Lord himself, which knows no decay and is free of all suffering. Nārada smiled at Rāvaṇa. His large eyes were like two shining sapphires. On his head his coiled golden hair was held in place by a jeweled silver band. Clad in the soft skin of a black renku deer, Nārada stood in the air in front of Rāvaṇa, who invited him onto the chariot. Sitting cross-legged on a golden seat next to the demon, the seer began to address him in gentle and pleasing tones.
“Why are you harassing this world of humans, O valiant one? It is already in the grip of death. These people do not deserve to be attacked by you, Rāvaṇa, who cannot be overcome by even the entire heavenly host united together. Who would destroy people who are wracked by numerous anxieties, surrounded by endless calamities, and are subject to old age and hundreds of diseases?”
Nārada told Rāvaṇa that everyone in the material world would in time go to the abode of Yamarāja, the great lord of death. There was no need for Rāvaṇa to kill them. Death conquers all. Even the gods would eventually succumb to death. If Rāvaṇa should conquer Yamarāja the entire universe would be conquered.
The sage knew that Rāvaṇa could not overpower Yamarāja. But he wanted to distract the demon from his evil aim of killing more people and overthrowing the gods. He also wanted the Rākṣasa to greatly increase his sinful actions by assailing the god of Death. Rāvaṇa would thus create for himself a karmic destiny which would soon result in his own destruction.
The demon pondered Nārada’s suggestion. This sounded interesting. He liked the idea of fighting with the immensely powerful Yamarāja. Perhaps this would be a battle worthy of him. And if Death himself were slain then the whole universal order would be cast into utter chaos! That appealed to Rāvaṇa, who wanted to assert himself over any and all powers in the universe. He nodded slowly at Nārada, who sat smiling at him. Rāvaṇa told the sage he would leave immediately for Death’s abode. As Nārada rose up into the sky, playing upon his tamboura, Rāvaṇa began heading towards the domain of Yamarāja, the god of justice.
As Rāvaṇa approached the ethereal region known as Yamaloka, he saw everywhere living beings reaping the fruits of their actions. He also saw the millions of soldiers and servants of Yamarāja, known as the Yamadutas. They appeared fierce and unapproachable. Their bodies were powerful but hideously deformed, covered all over with black hairs that stood erect. In their hands they held nooses and terrible weapons. Their faces were contorted into frightful expressions and they yelled and shrieked in dissonant tones. Moving swiftly, they struck and tortured people who were running in all directions.
Fearful screams and cries resounded everywhere in that dark and desolate place. Rāvaṇa saw in hundreds and thousands people being eaten up by fierce dogs, consumed by fires, or being hurled into vats of boiling oil by the Yamadutas. Other unrighteous men and women were running here and there on burning sands, being pursued by Yamadutas holding lances and tridents. Some were being dragged through trees with leaves like steel razors that shredded their bodies. Howling in terrible pain they would fall to the ground, but their bodies would again become whole. They would then leap up and race off, only to be quickly caught by the Yamadutas and put through the same suffering again.
Rāvaṇa witnessed innumerable kinds of punishment being meted out to sinful souls. Searching for Yamarāja, he coursed on rapidly in the Pushpaka. In other parts of that mystical and indescribable region, Rāvaṇa saw people enjoying celestial delights by virtue of their own good deeds. It seemed as though they were situated in a separate dimension of space and time. Beautiful heavenly landscapes stretched out into the distance. Large shining mansions stood next to clear blue lakes. Young men and women with highly attractive forms were dressed in golden garments and ornaments, embracing one another and laughing. Excellent food and drink was laid out on gold and silver tables. Musicians played and young girls danced. Rāvaṇa saw countless people intoxicated with pleasure and entirely oblivious to the scenes of suffering elsewhere.
Leaving behind that glowing region of happiness, Rāvaṇa continued deeply into Yamaloka. He crossed over the broad Vaitarani river, which flowed with blood and excrement, and came to another dark terrain where countless Yamadutas were relentlessly pursuing wicked persons. The terrible cackles of the Yamadutas echoed there, along with the howls of jackals and wolves. Everywhere stood people who appeared emaciated and pale, seized with unbearable thirst and crying out for water.
Descending from his chariot, Rāvaṇa began to beat back the Yamadutas, freeing the people they were punishing. He felt no compassion for the pain of others, but he calculated that by oppressing the Yamadutas he would cause Yamarāja to appear. As the demon freed many thousands of wretched persons from their tormentors, he was suddenly attacked by a massed force of Yamadutas. They assailed Rāvaṇa with spears, iron bars, steel clubs, pikes, javelins and maces. They rose up and began demolishing the seats, daises, pillars and houses on the Pushpaka. But the indestructible chariot was immediately recreated by the power of Brahmā, by whom it had first been fashioned.
Rāvaṇa’s Rākṣasa forces fought back against the Yamadutas. Millions upon millions of servants of Yamarāja advanced in great waves. They rained down an unlimited number of arrows and other fierce weapons upon Rāvaṇa and his followers. The Rākṣasas engaged with the Yamadutas, sending up their terrible war cries. The clash of weapons and the shouts of the warriors sounded like the roaring ocean tossed by a storm.
Leaving off the other Rākṣasas, the Yamadutas concentrated upon Rāvaṇa. Covered all over with their arrows and bleeding profusely, the demon king appeared like a great mountain giving forth streams of red lava. Using his knowledge of mystical weapons, the Rākṣasa returned volleys of arrows, spears, maces, rocks and huge trees. This fearful and deadly shower fell upon the forces of Yamarāja who stood in front of Rāvaṇa.
By whirling their maces and lances the Yamadutas repelled all Rāvaṇa’s missiles and surrounded him in thousands. They appeared like a mass of carnivorous ants around a large black beetle. Rāvaṇa became completely covered by darts and lances piercing every part of his body. He roared in anger and pain, quickly rising upwards from out of the midst of his assailants.
Descending to the ground he held his bow and placed upon it a blazing arrow. The demon invoked the power of Śiva, imbuing the arrow with the divine force of that immortal god. As the weapon was released a sheet of fire rushed across the ground, consuming Yamarāja’s forces. Enormous orange and white flames leapt in all directions, burning the Yamadutas’ bodies to ashes. The ground itself became molten and the forces of Yamarāja fell back in a confused mass.
In the flames’ wake came innumerable ghostly followers of Śiva, filling the earth and sky with their terrifying forms. They rushed about the battlefield striking fear into the Yamadutas’ hearts. By the power of Śiva’s weapon, waves of fearsome carnivorous beasts sprang up from the ground, howling horribly and tearing at the Yamadutas.
Rāvaṇa sent up a victory cry, making the ground shake. Hearing that shout, Yamarāja, seated in his palace, could understand that Rāvaṇa was overpowering his forces. He ordered his chariot to be fetched and quickly mounted it. Yamarāja stood in his stupendous chariot with a lance and mace in his hands. Angered, the great god burned with a glaring radiance. By his side stood the personified form of Kaladanda, the infallible rod of Death, his body a brilliant black and his eyes blazing like two red fires. On the other side of Yamarāja stood the very Time Spirit himself, the destroyer of the worlds, fearful in appearance. Standing together those three deities could not be countenanced. On all four sides of the chariot, which looked like a dark mountain, hung the frightful nooses of Death.
Drawn by a thousand red and black steeds shining with a bright luster, and having a thousand great wheels, the celestial chariot advanced with a terrible noise. Seeing that god moving off in anger, all the denizens of heaven trembled.
In an instant Yamarāja ‘s chariot arrived at the spot where Rāvaṇa stood roaring. Rāvaṇa’s followers immediately fled in all directions simply upon seeing that awful chariot. Some of them fell unconscious on the spot. But Rāvaṇa himself was not afraid. Seeing his awful adversary he felt overjoyed, anticipating the fight. The demon stood firm as Yamarāja hurled at him many blazing javelins and iron clubs. They struck Rāvaṇa with tremendous force, piercing him and causing streams of blood to flow from his body.
Rāvaṇa raised his bow to counter Yamarāja’s attack. Using sorcery, he fired thousands of straight-flying arrows imbued with the force of a thunderbolt. Those arrows struck Yamarāja all over his body, but the god remained unmoved. Again and again Rāvaṇa fired off his arrows and darts, charging them with celestial power. He struck all three deities with his fiery weapons, but they stood firm. Yamarāja sent back at the demon countless barbed lances which struck him violently on the breast. Stunned by those irresistible weapons, Rāvaṇa fell unconscious to the ground. Yamarāja, observing the rules of fair combat, did not further attack his overpowered enemy.
After some time Rāvaṇa came back to his senses and saw Yamarāja still stationed before him. He contemplated his next move. This was indeed a formidable opponent. Rarely was the demon extended in a fight. Rāvaṇa rallied himself and stretched his bow to full length, releasing celestial arrows which filled the sky. They fell upon Yamarāja like fiery serpents. Being assailed by those arrows, and bleeding profusely, Yamarāja roared in anger. As he opened his mouth, fire covered by billows of smoke issued forth. The whole region was brilliantly illuminated by that fire, as if the sun itself had risen in that ever-dark place.
Witnessing the astonishing battle between Yamarāja and the Rākṣasa, the gods assembled above them. They feared that the dissolution of all the worlds was imminent. Yamarāja’s anger would surely annihilate the entire universe.
Rāvaṇa continuously sent his furious weapons towards the three gods. Death personified, highly enraged by Rāvaṇa, then spoke to Yamarāja. “My lord, do not exert yourself further. Let me remain alone here with this Rākṣasa. I shall make short work of him. None in the past, no matter how powerful, have been able to overcome me. Every god, ṛṣi and demon has succumbed to my power. Indeed, all created beings must surely submit to me. There is no doubt about this, therefore you need not bother yourself with this wretch any longer. Leave him to me.”
Yamarāja had become infuriated by Rāvaṇa’s insolence. He felt insulted and he told Death to stand back, for he personally would destroy the demon. The god lifted up his mace and gazed upon Rāvaṇa. As it was raised, that mace threw off a halo of blazing fire. Yamarāja held it in his hand like the globe of the sun and he fixed his red eyes on the demon. Just as he was about to release the mace to destroy Rāvaṇa, Brahmā appeared before him. He was seen and heard only by Yamarāja as he spoke to the angry god.
“O immeasurably powerful one, this Rākṣasa is not to be killed by you at this time. Indeed I have conferred upon him a boon that he cannot be slain except by a human. This cannot be falsified, lest the order of the universe be cast into chaos. Therefore hold back your mace. Rāvaṇa is not yet destined to die. If you release your infallible mace upon this demon, it will result in the death of all other created beings.”
Long ago Rāvaṇa had pleased Brahmā by performing difficult asceticism and had won from the god a boon. Brahmā had granted Rāvaṇa immunity from being slain by any beings, except for humans or animals, whom Rāvaṇa utterly disregarded.
Hearing that command of Brahmā, the chief of the gods, Yamarāja lowered his mace. Realising that nothing could be accomplished by him in that battle, he then and there disappeared from Rāvaṇa’s sight. When he saw Yamarāja depart, the Rākṣasa considered himself victorious and roared in joy. Now he was surely the most powerful being in the universe. What was there left to prove? Even the great lord of death had run away from him.
Rāvaṇa looked around and saw that the slain Yamadutas had been brought back to life by Yamarāja’s power. Ignoring Rāvaṇa they continued their grisly task of meting out punishment. Rāvaṇa felt he had no further purpose to achieve in Yamaloka. He had established his supremacy and that was all he desired. It was time to return to Lanka, his golden city. Getting aboard the Pushpaka he left that region, followed by his forces, and flew to the north, heading again for the earth planet where Lanka was situated.
Part I
1.1: King Daśaratha’s Longing
King Daśaratha paced his palace balcony. His handsome brow was furrowed. In a pensive mood, he surveyed the scene around him. People thronged the inner courtyard below. Feudal kings and princes came with their retinues to pay tribute. From his seventh-story terrace Daśaratha could see much of his city, which stretched to the horizon in all directions. Crowds of citizens moved along the well-planned roads, which were interspersed with mango groves and orchards. The broad central highway, built entirely of red stone, ran the full hundred-mile length of the city. Large white mansions lined that road, with many-colored pennants waving in the breeze on their roofs. The road was sprinkled with perfumed water and strewn with flowers. Above the city the king could see the golden airplanes of Apsarās, the consorts of the gods.
Looking out over his capital, Ayodhya, Daśaratha was plunged in an ocean of anguish. He entered the palace and walked slowly towards his inner chambers. As he descended the wide marble stairways, he heard his priests chanting sacred Sanskrit texts. The sound of mantras mingled with that of drums and lutes being beautifully played by royal musicians. Even that sound, which normally gave him so much joy, could not placate him.
The king entered his rooms, leaving his personal guards at the door. Declining the food and drinks offered to him by his maidservants, he went over to the large latticed window. He moved aside the silk drapes and continued gazing out at his city. Ayodhya had been constructed by Manu, a son of Sūrya, the all-powerful sun-god. Manu had been the first of the kings in Daśaratha’s line, all of them emperors of the globe. As he thought of his long ancestry, the king only felt more pain. He sighed and turned back into his rooms.
Seeing the anxious king, his three queens tried gently to console him. They sat him on a large golden couch covered with silk pillows and studded with gems. His senior wife, Kaushalya, gently massaged his feet, while Sumitra and Kaikeyi fanned him with snow-white chamara whisks.
The king sat lost in thought. He looked at the exquisite carvings of the gods lining his walls. All his life he had done so much to please those deities. Once he had even gone into battle against the celestial demons on their behalf. Surely they would help him now. Daśaratha silently prayed to them.
While the king sat absorbed in his thoughts and prayers, a messenger came telling him that his chief priest Vasiṣṭha was now present in the assembly hall. Daśaratha had been waiting for this news. He rose up, and with the gait of a powerful lion went along the wide palace passageways, his large sword swinging at his side and his gold ornaments jangling as he walked.
Near to the hall he was joined by his chief ministers. All of them were heroes who had been tried in battle, and all were learned and wise. The state ran smoothly under their expert administration. There were no citizens without employment and no criminals left unchecked. The ministers were devoted to Daśaratha’s service, and as they walked they considered the problem facing the king.
Flanked by his bodyguards and ministers, Daśaratha entered his great hall. It vied in splendor with the assembly hall of Indra, the king of the gods. Massive marble pillars rose up to a roof which seemed to reach the sky. Balconies of alabaster and coral, worked with gold filigree, were gradually tiered all around the hall. Along the balconies were gold seats spread with white cushions. Large silk tapestries depicting the pastimes of the gods hung from the walls, which were lined with lapis lazuli and encrusted with jewels. The air was filled with the scent of incense. In the center of the hall sat numerous priests who continuously chanted prayers from the ancient scriptures, invoking the presence of deities. The great megha drum resounded deeply as Daśaratha strode towards his seat. Everyone stood and there was a cry of “Victory! All glories to Emperor Daśaratha!” The king, appearing like a god, took his seat on a large throne of refined gold bedecked with brilliant celestial gems.
A hush descended on the assembly as Daśaratha prepared to speak. Everyone sat in expectation. The citizens knew of the king’s worry; they loved him like a father and shared his anxiety. They were grouped in the hall according to their class. At the front were the Brahmins, wearing simple cloth and holding their waterpots and prayer beads. On one side sat the warriors, their powerful bodies clad in silks and gold ornaments, with long swords hanging from their belts. Near to them were the tradespeople in their colorful dress, and behind them were the servants and workers, also beautifully adorned. All social classes were represented in that assembly.
Daśaratha looked around the hall, smiling affectionately at everyone. Although the king was preoccupied with his worry, no one could detect in him any negligence or laxity in his duties. Seeing him smiling at them, the people felt reassured that Daśaratha would find a solution to his problem. They sat awaiting his speech.
Placing his hand on his golden scepter, the king turned to his chief priest Vasiṣṭha, who sat on a raised seat near the throne. With a powerful voice that boomed around the hall, Daśaratha addressed the priest. “I have called this assembly to settle a great worry of mine. As you know, this wide earth has for a long time been held under the sway of victorious kings in my line. O jewel among sages, is that glorious history about to end? What can I do to ensure that our proud lineage will continue?”
Daśaratha was perturbed that he had no son. Having ruled as the undisputed emperor of the earth for thousands of years, his retirement was now approaching; but there was no one to succeed him. Somehow, none of his wives had given birth to a son. The king had called for a full assembly to propose an idea he was considering. He needed the approval of the Brahmins and he wanted the consent of his people. Daśaratha looked anxiously at Vasiṣṭha, who was both his priest and preceptor. “O learned one, you know well the perils that attend a kingdom bereft of a monarch. How can I retire to the forest leaving this world without a protector?”
Vasiṣṭha sat surrounded by many other Brahmin sages. His hand rested upon his staff as he listened to Daśaratha. The sun shone through the carved lattice windows of the hall, covering the king with golden light. Vasiṣṭha, shining with his own mystic power, appeared like a second sun as he replied to the king. “O emperor, I have no doubt that you will soon be blessed with a powerful son who can succeed you. Not long ago I heard this told by Sanat Kumar, the immortal sage who roams the universe. A divine arrangement is being worked by the gods for your everlasting benefit.”
Vasiṣṭha lived in a hermitage outside the city. He was frequently visited by wandering sages and mystics. Some days previously the famous seer Sanat Kumar, who always appeared like a young boy, had spoken with Vasiṣṭha. He told him that soon four powerful sons would be born to the emperor. These sons would be divine incarnations, appearing to fulfill the purpose of the gods. Vasiṣṭha continued, “The Brahmins have all been praying to the Lord for your sake, O monarch. We have seen auspicious signs in the heavens. It is clear that some great plan of the Supreme will be achieved through you.”
The king felt joy to hear his priest’s words. Like his forebears before him, Daśaratha had religiously pursued his duties as emperor. Under his benevolent rule, the world enjoyed prosperity and peace. The king desired not only the immediate material enjoyment of his people but their spiritual well-being as well. He kept everyone on the path of piety and truth, leading them towards freedom from the cycle of birth and death. Seeing all the people as his own children, he was concerned that their happiness would continue after his retirement. He spoke again. “I have been considering the performance of a horse sacrifice for the pleasure of the gods and Viṣṇu. O noble sages, will this be successful? Can I satisfy the Lord in this way and thereby attain my desired end?”
Daśaratha knew that nothing could be achieved unless Viṣṇu, the Supreme Lord, was pleased. Although they controlled the universe, the other gods were but Viṣṇu’s agents. Many times in the past the king’s ancestors had performed great sacrifices for satisfying the Lord and achieving their purposes. The king now considered this to be his only means of deliverance. He looked hopefully at Vasiṣṭha, who had been speaking with the other sages at his side. Turning towards the king Vasiṣṭha said, “We are in agreement, O tiger among men. Let the sacrifice proceed! We shall immediately prepare a ground on the banks of the Sarayu. You will certainly get a son by this method.”
The assembly erupted with joyful shouts. Everywhere were cries of “Let it be so! Let the sacrifice proceed!”
The king, his eyes grown wide with delight as he anticipated the fulfillment of his desire, said to Vasiṣṭha, “Let the preparations begin today. Protected by four hundred of my best warriors, the sacrificial horse will roam the globe before returning for the sacrifice.”
After Daśaratha had issued all necessary instructions the assembly was dismissed and the king retired to his inner chambers. Together with his wives, he worshipped Viṣṇu and the gods, praying that his sacrifice would succeed.
* * *
The whole city of Ayodhya was filled with excitement as the news of the king’s sacrifice spread. In the large public squares minstrels sang songs recounting the exploits of heroes in Daśaratha’s line, while troupes of female dancers depicted the tales with precise and beautiful gestures. The temples became crowded with joyful people praying for the success of Daśaratha’s sacrifice. From the balconies of
houses lining the wide avenues, wealthy people threw down gems for the Brahmins and the jewels sparkled brightly on the clean, paved roads. The city resonated with the sound of lutes, trumpets and kettledrums. Augmenting the music was the chanting of Brahmins reciting the holy scriptures. With flags and pennants flying, festoons hanging between the houses and flowers strewn everywhere, Ayodhya had the appearance of a festival held by the gods in heaven.
The priests of Ayodhya set about preparing for the sacrifice. Selecting and consecrating a purebred horse which was free from any blemish, they released it to range freely across the country. As it traveled, it was followed and protected by four hundred powerful generals from the king’s army. According to the ritual, wherever the horse went, the residing rulers were called upon to attend the sacrifice and pay homage to Daśaratha. Anyone refusing would be immediately challenged to a fight. If they were not subjugated, then the sacrifice could not proceed. None, however, wished the emperor any ill. The horse came back to Ayodhya without incident at the end of one year.
Seeing the horse returned, Daśaratha called Vasiṣṭha. He touched his guru’s feet and asked him with all humility, “O holy one, if you deem it fit, please now commence the sacrifice. You are my dearest friend as well as my guru. Indeed, you are a highly exalted soul. Fully depending on you, I am confident of the sacrifice’s outcome.”
After assuring the king, Vasiṣṭha spoke with the priests, instructing them to have the sacrificial arena built. Chief among them was Rishwashringa, a powerful Brahmin who had come from the kingdom of Aṅga. It had long ago been prophesied that Rishwashringa would help Daśaratha obtain progeny. Along with Vasiṣṭa, he took charge of the arrangements for the sacrifice.
Vasiṣṭa ordered that many white marble palaces be constructed for the monarchs who would attend. The very best food and drink was made available, and actors and dancers came to entertain the guests. Horse stables, elephant stalls and vast dormitories to accommodate thousands of people were built. Vasiṣṭha instructed the king’s ministers, “Everyone should have whatever they desire. Take care that no one is disrespected at any time, even under the impulse of passion or anger.”
Vasiṣṭha spoke to the king’s charioteer and minister, Sumantra, who was especially close to Daśaratha. “We have invited kings from all over the globe. On behalf of the emperor you should personally ensure that they are all properly received. Take particular care of the celebrated king Janaka, the heroic and truthful ruler of Mithila. With my inner vision I can see that he will in the future become intimately related to our house.”
Soon many kings came to Ayodhya bearing valuable gifts of jewels, pearls, clothing and golden ornaments. Upon their arrival they in turn were offered gifts at Vasiṣṭha’s command, who had instructed his assistants, “Give freely to all. No gift should ever be made with disrespect or irreverence, for such begrudging gifts will doubtlessly bring ruin to the giver.”
The royal astrologers ascertained the most favorable day for the commencement of the sacrifice. Daśaratha, headed by Vasiṣṭha and Rishwashringa, and accompanied by his three wives, then came to the sacrificial compound, which resembled an assembly of the gods. Many fires blazed, each dedicated to a different deity and attended by numerous Brahmins. The great compound was crowded with sages absorbed in prayer and meditation. On all sides stood warriors equipped with every kind of weapon, fully alert to any danger. The king sat surrounded by Brahmins, who consecrated him for the sacrifice. He and his wives made offerings into the fires and joined in the chanting of prayers.
After some days the horse was brought before the sacrificial fire dedicated to Viṣṇu. Learned priests constantly poured into it oblations of clarified butter along with handfuls of grains. Taking the horse by its reins, Vasiṣṭa uttered a powerful mantra and the animal fell unconscious. It was immediately placed upon the fire. As the horse was consumed by the blazing fire, those with divine vision saw the soul of the creature rise from the fire, glowing brilliantly, and ascend towards heaven.
As the sacrifice concluded, Daśaratha was delighted. He said to the priests, “According to the ordinance it is fitting that I now bestow upon you proper charity. Therefore, O holy ones, take this entire earth as a gift. This is the only appropriate offering for great souls like yourselves.”
The priests replied, “You alone are able to protect this earth with its countless people. As ascetics we having nothing to do with the world, nor are we able to maintain it; therefore we leave it with you, O monarch.”
The Brahmins had no interest in wealth but wished only to live simply, unencumbered by material possessions. However, Daśaratha understood that unless charity were given to the priests the sacrifice was not complete. Falling at the Brahmins’ feet, he implored, “If you refuse my gift, then the success of my endeavor is most uncertain.”
The priests quickly raised up the king. They understood the scriptural injunction to which the king alluded. “If it so pleases you, then you may give to us a little wealth. We have no use for the earth.”
The king distributed to the Brahmins hundreds of millions of gold and silver coins, as well as millions of milk-bearing cows. He supplied tens of thousands of Brahmins present at that sacrifice with enough wealth to last their entire lives.
Vasiṣṭha and Rishwashringa then arranged for one final ritual to be performed. They called the gods by name to come and accept the sacrificial offerings made to them. The celestial smoke from the offerings, sanctified by Vedic mantras, rose upwards to the skies and was received by the gods. With the universal creator Brahmā at their head, they personally assembled in sky above Daśaratha’s sacrificial compound. Unseen by everyone, the gods began to address Brahmā:
“Because of a boon granted by you, O lord, the king of the Rākṣasas Rāvaṇa is constantly harassing us and is extremely difficult to overpower. Having begged from you that he be made invincible to us as well as to practically all other created beings, that evil-minded one now seeks to overthrow us. He profanes even great saints and has no regard for anyone at all.”
Brahmā, was concerned that his boon to Rāvaṇa had created such problems, listened as Indra, on behalf of the gods, continued: “Rāvaṇa sought invincibility but did not ask for immunity against humans, whom he considered of no consequence. Thus his death must come at the hands of a human. Please, therefore, beseech the Lord to appear as Daśaratha’s son.”
Although Rāvaṇa could still be killed by a human, the gods knew that no ordinary man could slay him. It could only be done by the all-powerful Viṣṇu himself, if he came to the earth as a man. And here was the ideal opportunity. The emperor of the earth was praying to Viṣṇu for a powerful son. Surely the Lord would consent to appear in Daśaratha’s family, especially if Brahmā, Viṣṇu’s devoted servant, also prayed to him to appear.
Brahmā assented to the gods’ request. He knew that the time for the Lord’s appearance had come. Seated in meditation, Brahmā thought of the Lord within his heart. At that moment Viṣṇu appeared in the sky. Only the gods saw Him as He descended upon the back of His eagle carrier, Garuḍa. His beautiful body was blackish and He shone with a brilliant luster. He was dressed in yellow silk with a garland of blue lotuses. A necklace of bright celestial gems hung around His neck. Adorned with numerous gold ornaments and jewels, He held in His four hands a conch shell, a mace, a discus weapon and a lotus flower. Gracefully descending, He sat amid the gods as they worshipped Him with hymns and prayers.
Brahmā addressed Viṣṇu in a reverential tone. “O Lord, here is the worthy Daśaratha praying for a son. All the worlds are sorely afflicted by the evil Rākṣasa Rāvaṇa, who must be slain by a man. Be pleased, therefore, to take birth as Daśaratha’s son. Appearing in a human form, please dispatch Rāvaṇa in an encounter and save the worlds from their suffering.”
Viṣṇu smiled at the gods. He spoke reassuringly in a voice deep like the rumbling of thunderclouds. “O gods, give up all fear. Along with My own expansions I shall soon be born as four sons of Daśaratha. I Myself shall appear as his eldest son, and My personal weapons will incarnate as My brothers. After annihilating Rāvaṇa and his demon hordes, I will remain on the mortal plane, ruling the globe for eleven thousand years.”
The inconceivable Viṣṇu then disappeared even as he was being worshipped. The gods felt their purpose was accomplished and, after accepting Daśaratha’s offerings, they returned to the heavens.
In the sacrificial compound the rituals were almost over. Daśaratha sat expectantly, hoping for some sign of success. He was apprehensive. If he could not obtain a son by this method, then he would surely be lost. He looked at the blazing fire as the last offerings were being made.
Suddenly there arose from the sacrificial fire a shining and beautiful personality form. Everyone watched in wonder as he descended near the king, remaining slightly above the ground. In his hands he held a golden bowl filled with celestial ambrosia. He spoke to Daśaratha in a voice resounding like a kettledrum. “O king, know me to be a messenger of the Lord of all created beings, Viṣṇu.”
“Please accept my heartfelt welcome, O divine one,” replied the king with his palms joined. “What shall I do for you?”
“By worshipping the gods in sacrifice you have received this reward,” said the messenger. “Take now this ambrosia prepared by the gods which will bestow upon you the offspring you desire. Give it to your wives and through them you will soon secure four celebrated sons.”
Accepting the ambrosia with his head bent low and saying, “So be it,” the king felt a surge of joy as he took the golden vessel, even as a pauper would feel happiness upon suddenly gaining great wealth.
As a mark of respect, the king walked with folded hands around the messenger, who, having discharged his duty, immediately vanished into the fire from which he had appeared. The king stood in amazement holding the bowl. All around him the Brahmins cried out, “Victory! Victory!” After offering his prostrate obeisances to Vasiṣṭha, Daśaratha left the sacrifice along with his wives and returned to his palace.
The king gave half of the ambrosia to Kaushalya. He gave the other half to Kaikeyi, the youngest wife, who was especially dear to him. Both of these wives each gave a part of their share to the king’s third wife, Sumitra.
All those noble wives of the emperor felt honored and immediately ate the ambrosia. In a short time they felt within themselves the presence of powerful offspring. Their minds were enlivened by the divine energy of the children inside their wombs, and they felt elated. Daśaratha, who had at last attained his desired object, felt as delighted as Indra, the king of the gods in heaven.
* * *
Having decided to incarnate in Daśaratha’s family, Viṣṇu summoned the gods and commanded them, “Soon my advent upon earth will occur. Assisted by all of you, I will crush the despicable Rāvaṇa. Foolishly, that evil one did not ask immunity from humans or animals, considering both to be entirely powerless in the face of his strength. As promised, I will descend as a human. O gods, without leaving your posts as universal controllers, you are capable of expanding yourselves onto earth. You should therefore appear in the world as powerful monkeys.”
Viṣṇu’s plan for the protection of the worlds was unfolding. The gods took birth as monkeys who had strength equal to their godly power. They could assume various forms at will, they were gallant, as swift as the wind, highly intelligent and practically invulnerable in battle.
The earth became populated with millions of huge monkeys who, in the way of the gods, grew up as soon as they were born. As haughty and strong as lions and tigers, they roared loudly and sprang about fearlessly. They were headed by Vāli, the expansion of Indra, and by Sugrīva, the expansion of Sūrya. Fearful in appearance, they thronged the peaks of mountains and resided in great forests. When they came together they appeared like masses of clouds moving about on the surface of the globe.
1.2: The Birth of Rāma
Daśaratha, his desire fulfilled, dwelt happily in Ayodhya awaiting the birth of his sons. The Brahmins and kings who had assembled for the sacrifice left for their various abodes, sent on their way with kind words and gifts by the emperor. Four seasons passed. Then, at a time when favorable stars were visible in the heavens, Kaushalya gave birth to a son named Rāma.
Though Rāma was the Lord of creation, Kaushalya saw Him simply as her own dear child. She held Him tight to her bosom, overwhelmed with motherly affection and unable to recognize His divinity. Coming out of the delivery room, Kaushalya shone brilliantly with that baby boy, who had eyes like lotus petals.
Next, a son named Bharat was born from Kaikeyi; and from Sumitra, who had received two portions of ambrosia, were born twin sons, Lakṣman and Shatrughna. All three boys resembled celestials and they seemed to blaze with their splendor.
In the heavens Gandharvas, heavenly musicians, began to sing melodiously while bevies of Apsarās danced. Kettledrums resounded in the sky and showers of flowers fell upon the earth. In Ayodhya, the streets quickly became crowded with rejoicing citizens. Minstrels, bards and chanters of sacred hymns gathered in every quarter, glorifying the birth of Rāma and His brothers. The city, decorated all over with colorful flags and garlands, looked beautiful.
King Daśaratha, overwhelmed with happiness, gave a large heap of shining jewels to the Brahmins and arranged for a feast to be distributed to his entire kingdom. Vasiṣṭha joyfully performed the name-giving ceremony and all the other rites of passage for the brothers.
Of all the brothers Rāma was especially glorious. His attractive body had the hue of a celestial emerald. Dressed in the finest silk and adorned with golden ornaments, he captured the mind of all who saw him. Rāma was devoted to his father’s service. He took delight in the science of archery and quickly mastered the arts of horseback and elephant riding, as well as the various methods of driving a chariot.
Lakṣman was deeply attached to His elder brother Rāma from His infancy. He was like a second self to Rāma, and He pleased Him in every way. Unless Lakṣman was present, Rāma would neither sleep nor eat. Whenever Rāma went out to the forest to hunt, Lakṣman would follow at His heels, guarding Him on all sides.
Shatrughna was just as dear to Bharata, and These two brothers were also inseparable.
Daśaratha felt as pleased with his four sons as Brahmā feels with the four gods presiding over the four quarters of the universe. Those princes were tigers among men yet they were modest, wise, far-sighted and glorious in every way. They were attached to Their studies and soon became well versed in all aspects of kingship.
As the princes’ studies neared completion the king began to think about Their marriages. One day, while lost in such thoughts, the powerful mystic Viśvāmitra arrived at his palace. The sage instructed the gatekeepers, “Tell the king that Viśvāmitra, the son of Gadhi, is at his door.”
Upon seeing the lustrous ṛṣi, the gatekeepers were struck with awe. They ran to Daśaratha’s quarters to inform him.
Daśaratha quickly went with his ministers to greet the sage, even as Indra might greet Brahmā. As soon as he saw Viśvāmitra standing at his door, the king respectfully brought him in, sat him down and personally washed his feet. Standing with folded palms before the sage, Daśaratha was thrilled with joy as he spoke. “I consider your arrival here to be as welcome as the obtaining of celestial nectar in one’s own hands, as rainfall arrived in a desert, as the birth of a child to a childless couple or as the recovery of a lost treasure. What can I do for you today?”
Daśaratha was aware of Viśvāmitra’s glory. The sage was famous all over the world for his performance of difficult austerities and his virtuous behavior. He was also well known for his almost limitless powers. Once, by his own ascetic power, he had created an entire constellation of planets which still shone in the southern sky. The king felt honored to see him and wondered what had brought him to Ayodhya. Sitting at Viśvāmitra’s feet, Daśaratha continued to address him.
“You are worthy of my service in every way and it is by great good fortune that you have called at my door. My night has ended in a splendid sunrise as I see here before me the best of the Brahmin sages. Simply by seeing you I have received a blessing equal to the results of visiting every place of pilgrimage. I wish now to perform some pleasing work for you, O noble sage, and you may consider it already completed. As a guest, you are as good as God to me, and I shall not hesitate to do anything you desire.”
Addressed in such a delightful way Viśvāmitra felt joy as he replied to Daśaratha. “Your speech has pleased me in every way, O tiger among kings. You are descended from proud ancestry and have been instructed by the god-like sage Vasiṣṭha. Make a firm resolve to satisfy my desire and prove true to your promise, O virtuous one.”
Viśvāmitra had walked for three days without eating or sleeping, his mind fixed on his purpose. His body was lean and powerful, golden colored and covered by a black deerskin. He held in his hands a staff and a waterpot, his only possessions. He had come to ask something from Daśaratha which he knew would be hard for the king to grant. The sage gazed steadfastly into Daśaratha’s eyes as he spoke.
“I stand here this very day consecrated for a sacrifice. However, two powerful Rākṣasa demons named Maricha and Subahu constantly impede its performance. These demons are avowed enemies of both gods and humans. They are capable of ranging the skies and assuming any form they like. Every time my sacrifice is close to completion, these Rākṣasas appear overhead and drop down volumes of flesh and blood, ruining it entirely. Thwarted in my attempts, I have left that sacrifice feeling dispirited, having accomplished nothing other than exertion.”
Daśaratha listened intently as the sage spoke. He knew that Viśvāmitra would not have come to him, the emperor of the earth, unless there was some difficult task at hand. The Rākṣasas were dangerous beings who hated sages. The king knew they had been increasingly disruptive, and this was now confirmed by Viśvāmitra.
“Although capable of destroying those Rākṣasas with a curse, O king, I will not do so, as a condition of my sacrifice is that I do not give way to anger. My mind must remain steady and controlled. Nor is it the sacred duty of Brahmins to attack an enemy. This is always the duty of kings and warriors. Please, therefore, give to me your eldest and most heroic son, Rāma. Although a youth, Rāma is possessed of true prowess and is more than a match for any Rākṣasa.”
The king’s mouth fell open. He gazed in horror at Viśvāmitra. Was he serious? Send Rāma? The prince was just a boy! He had never seen action on the battlefield. Of course, there was no doubting His bravery and prowess, but how could He face the Rākṣasas? Those vicious beings knew every kind of sorcery. They could contend with even the gods. What chance would a youth like Rāma stand against them?
Seeing the king’s reaction, Viśvāmitra tried to reassure him. “You need entertain no fear on Rāma’s account. Accompanied by me He will proceed safely to the sacrificial arena. Immediately upon encountering those Rākṣasas, who are overly proud of their strength, I am sure He will quickly dispatch them. Therefore, release Rāma and let Him remain with me for a period of but ten days. Do not allow your parental affection to prevail. I shall confer upon Rāma boons by which He will attain fame in all the worlds. I will then return Him unharmed. O king, you should not have any doubt.”
Viśvāmitra fell silent. He was aware of Rāma’s true identity. By his meditations the sage could see in his heart the Supreme Lord, and he knew Rāma to be that same person. Viśvāmitra understood that the annihilation of the demons was a part of Rāma’s plan on earth. The sage was acting only as an instrument of the Lord’s desire.
Daśaratha stood mortified, oblivious to the divinity of his young son, overpowered by grief at the prospect of losing his young son Rāma. Trembling all over, the king felt pained at heart and fell unconscious to the ground. Remaining senseless for some time, Daśaratha finally came round and said to the sage, “My lotus-eyed son is less than sixteen years old. How then can He fight with the Rākṣasas? I myself, marching at the head of hundreds of thousands of highly trained soldiers, shall personally come to wage war on the demons. Do not take Rāma!”
Daśaratha sought desperately to change Viśvāmitra’s mind. For as long as he breathed, he said, he would stand with bow in hand and beat back any Rākṣasas who came to attack Viśvāmitra’s sacrifice. The sage need have no doubt. Daśaratha wailed piteously, “The Rākṣasas are given to treacherous fighting. The inexperienced Rāma is still not fully trained. He is yet unable to estimate the strength or weakness of the enemy, nor is He familiar with the use of the celestial weapons necessary for dispatching such powerful enemies as Rākṣasas.”
Daśaratha knelt before the sage. He looked up at him with tears in his eyes. Seeing Viśvāmitra’s resolute expression he took hold of his feet and implored him to relent. He tried to think of life without Rāma. It was unimaginable. After such a long time and so much prayer he had finally obtained a son worthy to succeed him. And such a son! It seemed that with each passing day Rāma endeared Himself more to his elders with his virtuous behavior. Now He was just attaining maturity and could soon be installed as Prince Regent. How could he lose Rāma now? He continued his plea, “Separated from Rāma I doubt I shall survive for even an hour. Please do not take Him or, if you really must, then please also allow me to go with Him. Taking my entire army I shall station myself on the battlefield and ward off the demons. Tell me all that you know about those Rākṣasas, O sage, and I shall make every preparation.”
Viśvāmitra replied, “There is a Rākṣasa named Rāvaṇa to whom Brahmā has granted a boon of invulnerability. Possessed of extraordinary strength and followed by numerous other Rākṣasas, he has oppressed both heaven and earth to the utmost degree. When this mighty demon cannot himself be bothered to assail the sacrifices of sages, he sends out his two lieutenants, Maricha and Subahu.”
Hearing Rāvaṇa’s name, the king became alarmed. He stood up suddenly. “Even the gods and Gandharvas united with the entire heavenly host cannot defeat that demon. How then shall I, a mere mortal, stand before him? What then of Rāma? Brahmā has made Rāvaṇa unslayable. I with all my troops will prove incapable of overcoming Rāvaṇa, who deprives even the most powerful fighters of their prowess on the battlefield.”
The king had heard numerous accounts of Rāvaṇa’s exploits. Many years ago the demon had slain Anaranya, his ancestor. The demon had defeated the gods and had even once fought and overcome the mighty Yamarāja. To confront him in battle was more or less suicide. The king clasped his hands together. “How can I permit my gentle son to go out? Under no circumstances can I allow Rāma to risk his life against Rāvaṇa. Rather, I shall go out myself with my army to protect your sacrifice, even if it means my death. Rāma shall remain here.”
Hearing Daśaratha’s faltering speech, Viśvāmitra blazed up with anger. Did Daśaratha have no faith in him? How dare he refuse his request! Kings and warriors must always respect and obey Brahmins, for this was the sacred law. And Daśaratha had already promised to satisfy him. The sage’s eyes opened wide with fury as he spoke.
“After giving your solemn pledge to fulfill my desire, you now decline! This refusal shames your royal lineage and will bring ruin to your race. If you care not about this infamy, then I shall return the way I came. With your promise falsified you may remain peacefully among your relatives.”
Seeing Viśvāmitra seized with fury, the gods themselves became fearful and the earth shook. The wise Vasiṣṭha, perceiving the imminent danger from Viśvāmitra’s curse, spoke to the king. “Born in the line of the sun-god, you are like virtue personified. It does not befit you to abandon righteousness. You always remain firm in your vows and are famed as being fixed in truth. Summon strength from within yourself now. If you fail to redeem your promise, you will lose all the merit that has accrued to you from the performance of pious acts. Send Rāma with Viśvāmitra. Whether or not Rāma has mastered archery is of no consequence, as He will be protected by the sage.”
Vasiṣṭha, who also knew Rāma’s divine plan, looked at the agonized king. He told him how Viśvāmitra had inconceivable power and great learning. Formerly, while ruling over a kingdom, he had received from Śiva the knowledge of every celestial weapon. He would undoubtedly give this knowledge to Rāma. Although quite able to punish the Rākṣasas himself, Viśvāmitra had asked for Rāma only to do good to the prince.
Daśaratha still appeared doubtful. His hands shook as he folded them, imploring Viśvāmitra to relent. Tears streamed from his eyes.
Vasiṣṭha then took the king aside and spoke in confidence. He told him of Rāma’s identity. He also said that the arrival of Viśvāmitra had been arranged by Providence for the good of the world. The king should therefore have no fear in sending Rāma with the sage.
Daśaratha was astonished. To him, Rāma was his beloved child in need of protection. How could he possibly be the Supreme Lord? Daśaratha looked at Vasiṣṭha, who stood silently gazing into the king’s eyes. The sage could not possibly tell a lie. Accepting the words of his preceptor and feeling somewhat reassured, Daśaratha agreed to send his son with Viśvāmitra, who permitted the king to send Lakṣman as well, for Daśaratha knew that Lakṣman would never let Rāma go out alone for a fight. Daśaratha personally called for his two sons and embraced them both. As his tearful wives watched, the king committed the boys to Viśvāmitra’s care. “Render service to this sage as you would to myself. My dear sons, I shall pray for your safe return. Go now with my blessings.”
As they parted at the city gates, Vasiṣṭha uttered benedictory hymns and prayers. Flowers rained from the skies. Loud blasts of conches and the beating of kettledrums resounded everywhere. Led by the smiling Viśvāmitra, Rāma and Lakṣman went out from the kingdom, watched by Their parents and the citizens until They disappeared into the distance.
1.3: With the Sage Viśvāmitra
Viśvāmitra walked ahead of the two princes, who each carried a bow in hand and had swords strapped to Their waists. Wearing on Their shoulders two large quivers of arrows, the princes looked like a pair of three-headed serpents following behind the sage. Their brilliant jewels set off Their dark complexions. The two resplendent boys added luster even to the shining sage Viśvāmitra, as the two gods Skanda and Ganapati adorn the immortal Śiva.
After covering about twelve miles along the beautiful southern bank of the Sarayu, they arrived at a stretch of soft grass, sheltered by trees. Viśvāmitra stopped and turned towards Rāma and Lakṣman. “Sit here comfortably and sip a little sanctified water for purification. I will now tell you the mystical mantras known as Bala and Atibala. These hymns will confer upon You freedom from all fatigue and fever. Indeed they will release You from hunger and thirst and will even prevent decrepitude. While You mutter these sacred spells, none on earth will be Your equal in either battle, intellectual judgment or argument. Bala and Atibala are the sources of all wisdom, being the daughters of the self-born creator, Brahmā.”
Viśvāmitra looked upon the brothers’ faces and he felt a deep affection for Them. Although he knew They were not ordinary men, out of love he wanted to serve Them, acting as their teacher and guide. For Their part the princes felt an equal affection for the sage, and They gladly reciprocated his love, accepting him as Their guru. The sage positioned himself near the seated princes and, after sipping holy water for purification, held up his right palm and began chanting the mantras.
With a cheerful expression Rāma and Lakṣman received the two hymns from the sage. When the instruction was complete, They rested for the night on the bank of the river, enjoying the cool breeze that wafted gently across the water.
Shortly before dawn Viśvāmitra, who had remained awake in meditation all night, awoke the two princes, calling out to Them. “O Rāma and Lakṣman, O tigers among men, the sun approaches the eastern horizon! Rise up now and perform Your ablutions. We must proceed.”
The brothers immediately rose and bathed in the river. After Their prayers and meditations They approached Viśvāmitra and bowed at his feet. The sage, having bestowed blessings upon the boys, again led the way as the sun rose upon another cloudless day.
Soon they saw the river Ganges where it met the Sarayu. On the bank of the Ganges were many simple dwellings made from leaves and mud, in which there lived a community of ascetics. The princes asked Viśvāmitra about the hermitage. The sage, remembering the history of the site, laughed heartily and told them the story of how Cupid had once come to assail Śiva here.
A very long time ago the god of love had a human form. On one occasion he had been bold enough to fire his arrows of love at the unconquerable Śiva. The powerful Śiva, who had been absorbed in deep meditation at the hermitage, became infuriated and gazed at Cupid with his third eye. A searing flame shot out, reducing Cupid’s body to ashes. From then on Cupid became known as Ananga, the bodiless one, and the land there became known as Aṅga.
Finishing the tale Viśvāmitra said, “All these sages are disciples of the glorious Śiva. Let us halt for the night here and converse with these mystics, O princes.”
While Viśvāmitra spoke, the ascetics dwelling in the hermitage sensed from a distance the approach of the sage and the princes. Realizing who they were, those worshippers of Śiva, who himself always worships Viṣṇu, felt happy in heart and came out quickly to greet their exalted guests.
Having been graciously received, the three travelers performed their evening rituals and took a simple meal of forest fare. Viśvāmitra entertained the assembly with ancient tales of heroes and sages of the past.
The following morning, after crossing the Ganges in a boat provided by the ascetics, Viśvāmitra and the princes came to a vast, desolate region. On all sides were huge trees stripped of their foliage. The ground was laid waste and a wind gusted, carrying sand and debris which lashed their faces. The cries of wild animals and vultures resounded there and even the sky above was dark and overcast.
Rāma and Lakṣman looked around. What had happened? The land so far had been beautiful and verdant. Rāma asked Viśvāmitra, “This forest ahead appears inaccessible and foreboding. What is this land inhabited with fierce beasts of prey and presenting such a terrible aspect?”
Smiling even in the face of that fearful scene, Viśvāmitra replied, “My dearest Rāma, a long time ago this was the site of two prosperous kingdoms built by the gods. It came to pass one day that Indra became afflicted with the sin of killing a Brahmin. Overcome with impurity, Indra sought the powerful ṛṣis, the most exalted of the Brahmins, as his refuge. They performed rituals of purification and bathed his body with Ganges water which fell here on this tract of land. Pleased with this land for receiving his impurities, Indra blessed it saying, ‘Here will rise two great kingdoms which will flourish for many years and will be known as Malada and Karusa.’”
The party had stopped at the edge of a forest of bare trees as Viśvāmitra spoke. The way ahead was virtually enveloped by darkness. Terrible sounds emanated from the forest. The sage continued telling the brothers about the land. Some time after Indra had founded the cities, there came to that region a Yakṣa woman named Tataka, as powerful as a thousand elephants and able to assume any form she desired. She was the mother of Maricha, who now assailed Viśvāmitra’s hermitage. Fearsome and filled with malice towards all beings, Tataka constantly ravaged that land and thus no one lived there. Although it was once the site of flourishing cities, it was now almost impossible to even approach.
Turning towards the princes, Viśvāmitra said, “The time has now come for the demise of the evil Tataka. You two princes should follow me to the place where she resides. Search her out and end her life immediately.”
Rāma replied with a smile, “Being a woman, O sage, how can Tataka have such power?”
Viśvāmitra knew that the virtuous Rāma was hesitant to attack a woman, but Tataka was no ordinary woman. The sage described her background. She had been born as the beautiful daughter of a great and powerful Yakṣa named Suketu. As a youth she was given a boon by Brahmā that she would possess the strength of a thousand elephants. She married the famous Yakṣa, Sunda, who was eventually killed as a result of a curse made by the sage Agastya. When Tataka learned of her husband’s death, she became infuriated with Agastya and, along with her son Maricha, she rushed towards the sage desiring to kill him. The sage stood his ground. He said to the two advancing Yakṣas, “As you act so wickedly may you both become demons! O Tataka, you shall lose your attractive form and instead become an ugly man-eating Rākṣasī!” Agastya then vanished from the spot.
Viśvāmitra raised his hand and indicated the path ahead of them. Tataka had turned the entire region into a desolate forest by her malevolent presence. She was always angry and would attack anyone who approached the area.
Having told the brothers Tataka’s history, the sage reassured them: “Although the scriptures state that a woman should always be protected and never attacked, in this case You need not fear any sin. The killing of Tataka is necessary for the good of society. One wishing to protect the afflicted must sometimes perform even a seemingly sinful act. This is the eternal duty of kings. O Rāma, You should not hesitate.”
Citing other historical examples of kings and gods who had killed evil women, Viśvāmitra urged Rāma to quickly kill Tataka.
Rāma accepted the sage’s order and grasped His golden bow. Standing ready for combat, He said to Viśvāmitra, “My father instructed Me on leaving Ayodhya that your order should be followed without hesitation. In obedience then to both his and your command I shall now face the fierce Rākṣasī. I wish to do good to the Brahmins and cows in this region, as well as to satisfy your holy self. Please point out to me the whereabouts of that wicked demon.”
Viśvāmitra led Them a little further into the wilderness. Rāma twanged his bowstring, which produced a terrific sound, filling the four quarters. All the forest animals were terrified by the noise.
Tataka herself was stunned and overcome with anger. Who had dared to challenge her? Whoever it was, they would soon regret their foolishness. She came out from her cave and ran towards the source of the sound, screaming horribly.
Seeing her at a distance emerging from the forest in a terrible fury, monstrous in size and awful in appearance, Rāma said to Lakṣman. “Behold, My dear brother, this formidable and fearful Yakṣa woman. The very sight of this sinful wretch would break the hearts of the timid. Watch Me put her to flight with My sharp arrows. In truth, I do not really want to kill her, as she is a woman. I shall put an end to her strength by rendering her immobile and powerless, cutting from her body her hands and feet.”
As Rāma spoke, Tataka rushed towards him roaring, with her arms upraised. Uttering a powerful mantra, Viśvāmitra checked her progress, calling out, “May victory attend the Ayodhya princes!”
Creating a swirling cloud of dust, Tataka confounded the princes and disappeared. With her mystic powers of illusion she employed numerous conjuring tricks. She assumed many forms, one after another. Sometimes she appeared in front of the brothers. Then she would be above Them. Then again she would suddenly appear behind Them. One moment she appeared as a furious horned animal. In the next moment she became a terrible looking fiend. Then she swooped down upon Them as a great clawed bird. Hurling upon the brothers huge rocks and boulders, she screamed fearfully.
Rāma flew into a rage. He parried the rocks with a shower of shafts from His bow. He shot arrows with blinding speed. His bow appeared to be always bent into a circle. Taking razor-headed arrows He severed Tataka’s two arms, even as she came running towards him. Lakṣman also became furious. He released sharp arrows with deadly accuracy and sliced off her nose and ears.
The Yakṣa woman disappeared and rose up to the sky. Even though deprived of her arms, she used her sorcery to throw down more massive trees and boulders. Remaining invisible, she moved hither and thither, screaming all the while. Viśvāmitra saw the boys mystified by the Rākṣasī’s illusory powers. He realized They were holding back because Tataka was a woman. The sage called to the brothers. “Have done with Your tenderness! This woman should not be spared! Sinful and wicked, she thoroughly deserves death at your hands. Act swiftly to end her life before nightfall, as the demons are always more powerful after sunset!”
Rāma then showed His skill at archery. He released arrows capable of striking an invisible target by seeking out sound. Reciting mantras as He let them go, Rāma covered Tataka in a network of arrows. Those arrows reduced the falling stones to powder. They pierced the Rākṣasī and she screamed in pain. She quickly came down to earth again. Tataka then assumed a vast form and rushed with the force of a tempest towards the two brothers. Rāma decided that she should be killed. He quickly fired an arrow imbued with the energy of a thunderbolt. It hit the Rākṣasī full in the chest. Tataka’s heart was ripped apart and with a hideous cry she fell down dead.
Having watched Rāma slay the demoness, the gods, headed by Indra, assembled in the skies and applauded. Celestial flowers rained down on the two princes. Acknowledging the gods’ pleasure, Rāma and Lakṣman modestly bowed Their heads. The thousand-eyed Indra said to Viśvāmitra, “All the gods are gratified with Rāma’s feat. O holy Brahmin, show Rāma your affection by giving to Him your knowledge of the celestial missiles. A great objective of the gods will soon be accomplished by Rāma with the use of these weapons.”
Indra was considering Viṣṇu’s desire that Rāvaṇa and his Rākṣasa hordes be annihilated. As he looked upon the mighty Rāma he knew that the time for the destruction of the Rākṣasas was imminent.
After Indra had spoken, the gods returned to the heavens and twilight fell. Embracing Rāma and Lakṣman, Viśvāmitra said, “Let us remain for the night in this forest. Freed from the curse of Tataka, it is now rendered so very peaceful and attractive. In the morning we shall continue on to my hermitage.”
The three of them rested for the night, praised by heavenly bards and singers who had assembled in the canopy of the sky.
The next morning Viśvāmitra remembered Indra’s words. He sat the two princes down and faced them. “Steady Your minds, O heroes, for I shall now tell You the knowledge of the gods’ mystic weapons, including even those presided over by the invincible Brahmā, Śiva and Viṣṇu. Equipped with this knowledge You will be able to forcibly bring under Your control even the hosts of gods and demons, including the Gandharvas and Nāgas, the powerful celestial serpents.”
Viśvāmitra sat facing the rising sun and, after purifying himself by sipping water and intoning sacred hymns, he began to repeat to Rāma a string of mantras capable of invoking the celestial weapons. Calling each weapon by the name of its presiding deity, Viśvāmitra delivered to Rāma all those divine missiles, thousands in number and difficult for even the gods to remember in their entirety. As they were called they came before Rāma in their shining ethereal forms. Some appeared like glowing coal, others were smoky while others were brilliant like the sun or moon. Filled with joy at being called to Rāma’s service, they stood before Him with folded hands and asked for His command.
Rāma accepted them with affection and asked them to personally appear within His mind whenever He thought of them. The personified missiles replied, “It shall be as You say.” Taking leave of Rāma, the weapons circumambulated Him with respect and returned to their own heavenly abodes.
After teaching the brothers the full knowledge of firing and recalling the weapons, Viśvāmitra finally said, “The instruction is complete. O glorious princes, we should now continue towards our destination.”
They moved on from that spot and soon saw in the distance a great cluster of trees, appearing like a mass of dark clouds on the horizon. As they came closer they saw it was a beautiful copse containing varieties of flowering and fruit-bearing trees. Sweetly singing birds filled the air and graceful deer moved about next to rivulets of clear water. Looking at Viśvāmitra, Rāma inquired, “What is the name of this place so pleasing to the mind? It seems we have arrived at the site of some holy hermitage. Can it be that we have now reached your own abode, O learned Brahmin?”
Although possessed of infinite knowledge, Rāma had fully assumed the role of Viśvāmitra’s student. He listened attentively as the sage smiled and told Him the ancient story of Bali and Indra. Once the immensely powerful King Bali, lord of the demons and enemy of the gods, seized the seat of Indra and began to rule over the universe. Becoming famous throughout all the three worlds of heaven, earth and hell, he remained in that position for a long time.
The gods had become perturbed and with Indra at their head they sought out Viṣṇu. The Lord then appeared as Vāmana, accepting the form of a Brahmin boy. On the plea of charity, He took from Bali the three worlds, restoring them again to the gods. Vāmana then remained for some time at this hermitage, known as the Siddha-ashrama, sanctifying it by His presence. Viśvāmitra concluded, “It is here that I have my dwelling, O Rāma. Let us go there now.”
Taking the two princes by the hand, the sage entered his hermitage. As he walked into the large compound he resembled a full and cloudless moon accompanied by two brilliant stars. There were numerous hermits moving about in that grassy enclosure. Some tended sacred fires, while some of the younger ones chopped wood or worked on constructing the large central altar meant for the main sacrifice. In some places groups of sages sat reciting the Sanskrit hymns of the Vedas, while elsewhere other sages cleaned and prepared sacrificial paraphernalia. Rāma and Lakṣman looked with interest upon the busy scene that greeted Them. Despite the bustle, an atmosphere of tranquility prevailed and the hermits glowed with ascetic power.
Seeing that Viśvāmitra and the princes had arrived, the hermits sprang up and paid their respects. They offered water and forest fruits to the two princes. It was late in the evening and long shadows stretched across the ground. The sacrifice would begin the next day. On Viśvāmitra’s order the hermits showed the two boys to a secluded cottage. One of the sages said, “Rest now for the night, and tomorrow, led by Viśvāmitra, we will go through the ceremony to consecrate our sacrifice. Surely our success is now certain because we see you two princes before us, equipped with every weapon and shining like the sun.”
The sages gazed with gratitude at Rāma and Lakṣman. They had been afflicted by the Rākṣasas for a long time and had prayed for deliverance. In his prayers and meditations, Viśvāmitra had understood the Lord’s plan. The sage had thus gone to Ayodhya, looking for Rāma. Now the divine prince had actually come to personally deliver the ascetics from their suffering. As they watched the two boys lie down to sleep, the sages were struck with wonder. In their hearts they offered worship and praise to Viṣṇu.
Before dawn the next morning the princes rose and went through Their daily rituals. After offering obeisances to Viśvāmitra, They sat down by the side of the sacrificial altar. Facing the sage with folded hands, Rāma asked, “O venerable sir, please tell Us when and where We can expect the evil Rākṣasas to appear?”
Viśvāmitra remained impassive, but the other hermits applauded the boys, seeing their readiness to tackle the demons. One of them replied, “Viśvāmitra is now observing a vow of silence, which he will keep for the next six days and nights, remaining awake throughout. At the end of that period, close to the completion of the sacrifice, the two demons will assail this area with all their force. But be ready, for the treacherous Rākṣasas could appear at any time!”
The princes were eager for a fight. They stood vigilantly by Viśvāmitra’s side as he sat silently meditating upon the sacrificial hymns. Rāma leaned on his great bow, which stood almost as tall as Him. Lakṣman held in His hand a shining blue sword, its golden handle impressed with bright gems.
As the sixth night approached and the final rituals were being performed, the sacrificial fire suddenly blazed forth furiously. A loud clamor came from the sky, which was covered over by clouds. Swooping down upon that sacrifice, the two Rākṣasa demons Maricha and Subahu, appeared from the sky. They were accompanied by their fierce and terrible looking followers. As they spread their sorcery, torrents of blood and pus, as well as large pieces of flesh, fell upon the altar. Blazing fires sprang from the earth and hot coals flew everywhere.
Shrieking horribly, the Rākṣasas danced about, wreaking havoc. The hermits fell back, but this time they were not fearful. Viśvāmitra quickly stood up. It was time for these evil beings to receive their just deserts. They had defiled his sacrifice once too often. They would not do so again. Gathering the other ascetics, Viśvāmitra moved aside and ordered Rāma to attack the Rākṣasas.
Rāma became infuriated upon seeing the scene of devastation. He rushed forward toward the Rākṣasas, calling to His brother, “Watch now as I scatter these wicked demons who feed on raw flesh.”
Even as he spoke, Rāma continuously worked His bow. He sent swift arrows in all directions. The Rākṣasas were stunned; they had not expected any resistance. Some of them closed quickly on Rāma, covering Him on all sides. Rāma released arrows with deadly accuracy and speed. The Rākṣasas were cut to pieces. Rāma looked for Maricha. Seeing his huge form nearby, tearing at the sacrificial altar, Rāma invoked a celestial weapon. He placed it on His bow and, although still feeling furious, he calmly said to Lakṣman. “I shall release the Manava weapon, presided over by the father of the gods, Manu.”
Rāma angrily fired His weapon at the fearsome, roaring Maricha. The demon was struck by the mighty missile and he was lifted and flung a distance of eight hundred miles, landing in the ocean. Although reeling and struck senseless by Rāma’s arrow, Maricha was not killed. Rāma looked at Lakṣman. “See the force of that weapon, My brother. It easily hurled the demon to a vast distance.”
Rāma and Lakṣman continuously discharged flaming arrows at the other Rākṣasas. Imbued with mystic power one arrow expanded into thousands. It appeared as if a continuous line of shafts was leaving Rāma’s bow, so fast was His movement. The Rākṣasas screamed in pain. Some of them vanished and others fell dead on the ground. Some entered the earth while others flew into the sky.
Regrouping, a large number of the demons rushed down from the sky towards the princes. They hurled lances, iron maces, massive rocks and blazing coals. Rāma and Lakṣman stood firm, parrying that shower of weapons with Their arrows. Tightly grasping His golden bow, Rāma said to His brother, “Fear not Lakṣman, for I shall now swiftly deal with these blood-sucking demons. They are wicked and merciless and always given to sinful acts. This indeed shall be the last sacrifice they defile.”
Having said this to His brother, Rāma moved with agility, evading the rocks thrown by the demons. He invoked the weapon presided over by the god of fire, Agni. Fired from Rāma’s fully extended bow, the weapon hit the Rākṣasa Subahu full upon the chest. His heart torn apart, he fell dead on the ground like an uprooted tree. Rāma then invoked the Vāyu-astra, the powerful wind weapon. He fired it and a roaring gale went towards the Rākṣasas. They were blown away like so many pieces of dust and debris. Those who were not killed by that weapon fled for their lives.
As the clamor of the battle died down, Rāma and Lakṣman felt their anger subside. They stood holding Their bows and looking at Viśvāmitra. The sage was delighted. He approached the princes. “I have accomplished my purpose, O mighty-armed heroes. You have perfectly followed your preceptor’s order. We can now continue the sacrifice for the good of the people.”
With tears in his eyes Viśvāmitra gazed for some time at the two handsome brothers. He thought of Viṣṇu’s cosmic arrangement. The Lord always protected his worshippers and, for the well-being of the world, ensured that sacrifices could proceed. Overwhelmed with love the sage finally said to the boys, “Rest peacefully now, for tomorrow we shall leave this place.”
The many ascetics in the hermitage gathered around to congratulate the brothers. They led Them to a spacious cottage near the river. After showing the princes Their accommodation, the hermits offered Them forest fruits and cooked wild vegetables. Rāma and Lakṣman graciously accepted their offerings and then laid down for sleep, exhausted by the day’s events.
The next morning the princes came before Viśvāmitra and respectfully asked, “What other order of yours should we now carry out, O best among the Brahmins?”
The sage told them of a sacrifice about to be performed by Janaka, the king of Mithila. He wanted to take the princes there, where they would see a magnificent bow owned by Janaka. The strength of that bow was inestimable. It was formerly held by Śiva himself and it could not be bent by either gods, Gandharvas or demons-what to speak of humans. Janaka kept it enshrined in a hall where it was worshipped daily by his priests.
“Indeed,” said the sage, “the bow can hardly even be gazed upon except by the mighty. The king has declared that any man who bends this bow will win the hand of his daughter Sītā, a veritable jewel among women who was born from the earth itself. Let us leave for that place immediately.”
Viśvāmitra gave orders to the sages to make ready for the journey. A hundred carts were filled, largely with sacrificial paraphernalia, and yoked to strong asses. At the head of a thousand ṛṣis, who were all reciting auspicious texts from the scriptures, Viśvāmitra and the two princes set off towards Mithila, traveling in a northerly direction along the bank of the Ganges.
As they left, herds of beasts and flocks of birds dwelling around the hermitage began to follow them out of affection. Viśvāmitra and other sages addressed the creatures in their own speech and persuaded them to return.
They walked for some days. Having covered a long distance and arriving at the bank of the Sone river, the sages stopped to rest just before nightfall. The lowing of cattle and the cries of cowherds could be heard all around. As they settled down the travelers looked across the smooth waters of the river, which glowed orange under the setting sun. During the day they had passed many flourishing villages and settlements and seen that the land was farmed and well managed. Rāma, seated comfortably among the ascetics, asked Viśvāmitra where they were.
Viśvāmitra, who had lived thousands of years and knew the history of the entire earth, smilingly began to narrate the story of that land. It was called Kushanabha after an ancient king of the same name who was a son of a ṛṣi named Kusha. Kushanabha was Viśvāmitra’s grandfather. Having descended in the line of Kusha, Viśvāmitra was also known as Kauśika and he had an elder sister named Kaushiki. After unfailingly serving her ṛṣi husband, she had ascended bodily to heaven and later become the holy river Koshi. Viśvāmitra had for a long time led a life of asceticism on the bank of that river, by the side of the Himālayas. Because of his desire to perform a sacrifice, he came down to the plains and it was soon after that he had secured Rāma’s assistance.
The evening passed as Viśvāmitra told this and other tales. Seeing the onset of night the sage at last said, “The beasts and birds are buried in sleep and all the quarters stand enveloped in darkness. The firmament shines brightly with stars as though covered with innumerable eyes. Here rises the moon, dispelling the darkness of the world and spreading his soothing rays all around. Fearful hosts of nocturnal fiends are freely roaming here and there. Let us rest, ready for our renewed journey tomorrow.”
Glorifying Viśvāmitra, the brothers lay down and courted sleep, awed at the sage’s stories.
1.4: The Trial of Strength
A beautiful sunrise over the Sone heralded the dawn. The sounds of birds and forest animals filled the air as the sages and the princes bathed in the river. After performing their morning rituals and prayers, the boys came before Viśvāmitra. The sage pointed to the river and said, “Here we should cross this river and make our way northwards to the Ganges.”
The boys looked around and saw nearby a line of sages, holding their waterpots and staffs, wading through the water at some shallow point. Rāma and Lakṣman fastened Their silk garments up around Their waists and placed Their bows across Their shoulders. Then, with Viśvāmitra going immediately before Them, they followed the sages through the clear, cool waters of the Sone.
After some time they sighted the Ganges shining in the late afternoon sun, appearing in the distance like a line of gold running across the landscape. Upon reaching the riverbank, they broke their journey and prepared to rest for the night. After worshipping the river with libations of water and lighting the sacred fire, the boys sat before Viśvāmitra and inquired, “O holy sage, we wish to hear of the origin of this great river, which arrives at the Himālayas from the heavens, flows across the earth and, it is heard, courses even through hell itself. How has this river become so holy and why does she spread her influence through all the three worlds?”
Moved by this question Viśvāmitra called to mind the glories of the Ganges and began to speak. [See Appendix One, The Story of the River Ganges.] In flowing and beautiful Sanskrit verse, Viśvāmitra narrated at length the history of the sacred river. When he was finished, the princes were wonderstruck. Asking the sage again and again to continue speaking, the brothers listened all night as Viśvāmitra recounted various other stories of the gods and demons.
The following morning they went towards the northeast, heading for Mithila. Gradually the forest paths gave way to roads laid with stone that led to the city. The forest opened to fields of crops. As they came closer to Mithila they saw well-planned gardens and groves with seats and fountains. The sounds of wild animals were replaced with the clamor of people in the city.
Shouts of children and the rumbling of horse-drawn chariots greeted them as they entered the gates of Mithila. Huge elephants swayed along majestically, with smiling people waving from the howdahs on their backs. Gazing about them, the travelers saw the golden domes of innumerable temples along with many mansions of brilliant white stone. Along the roadside were shops displaying countless varieties of fruits, vegetables and all kinds of sweetmeats. Other vendors displayed rows of shining gems looking like numbers of rainbows. Everyone called out respectful greetings as the party moved slowly past. As they went along the wide, smooth road they were met by the king’s ministers, who had already been informed of their arrival.
Headed by Viśvāmitra and the princes, the party was led along the main highway to Janaka’s palace. People thronged the sides of the road to gaze upon the famous sage and his two illustrious charges. As they looked upon the powerful princes, some of them guessed that they might be the sons of Emperor Daśaratha. The people wondered what had brought the princes to Mithila. Were they going to attempt to string the king’s great bow? As Rāma smiled at the people they were filled with a desire to see this handsome, powerful prince win Sītā’s hand.
Janaka personally came out to greet them, accompanied by his priests and counselors. He immediately fell at Viśvāmitra’s feet and had him brought into the palace, where he offered him and the two princes golden seats. The king had water fetched for washing their feet and personally performed the ceremony.
Once the formalities were complete, a meal was offered to the sage and the princes. As they sat on the floor on silk rugs, ivory tables were placed in front of them. Gold and silver dishes were fetched containing choice foods of every description. They ate heartily and when they were finished, Janaka said to Viśvāmitra, “Great indeed is my good fortune today for I see before me your holy self. I am blessed by your presence. Tell me who are these two boys accompanying you? They appear like two powerful tigers and They rival the gods in beauty and grace. What brings you here to my house, along with these boys equipped with weapons?”
The king had waited until the travelers were rested and refreshed before making his inquiries. Viśvāmitra told him all about the boys and how They had disposed of the Rākṣasas in the forest. They had come now to see the famous bow. Janaka was thrilled to hear that They were princes from Ayodhya. Nothing could be better than an alliance with Daśaratha’s line. If only Rāma could pass the test of the bow.
At that point Satananda, Janaka’s head priest, spoke to the princes. After welcoming them he began to narrate the history of Viśvāmitra. Satananda was himself a great ascetic. He knew Viśvāmitra well, having previously spent time with him in his hermitage. Seeing the famous sage again, Satananda felt inspired by affection to speak of his glories. Looking upon the beautiful faces of Rāma and Lakṣman, who sat enraptured by his speech, the priest told the story of Viśvāmitra, who had performed difficult asceticism for thousands of years. [See Appendix Two, The History of Viśvāmitra.]
He told them how the sage had once been a great king and, after practicing tremendous austerities, had been blessed by Brahmā to become a powerful ṛṣi. When Satananda finished his astonishing tale, everyone gazed with awe at Viśvāmitra, who sat flanked by the princes, his mind absorbed in thoughts of the Supreme Lord. Janaka approached the effulgent ṛṣi and spoke to him with joined palms. “I stand blessed by your appearance, O holy sage. This account of your many glories has filled my mind with wonder. Indeed, I could go on hearing it again and again. But dusk has now fallen and I beg your leave. Let us meet again in the morning and it will be my very great delight to satisfy your every desire.”
Janaka, along with his ministers and priest, circumambulated Viśvāmitra in respect and then departed. After performing their evening rituals and prayers, Viśvāmitra and the princes rested for the night in the king’s palace.
The following morning Janaka again came before Viśvāmitra. He bowed low before the sage and touched his feet, asking in a pleasing voice, “Please instruct me what I should do for you today, O sinless one. You are worthy in every way of receiving my service.”
Hearing these words from the virtuous and gentle king, Viśvāmitra asked that they now be shown the bow. Janaka assented, but before taking them to see the bow he described its history.
Long past, in a former age the bow had belonged to Śiva. That deity had become angry with the other gods when they had denied him a share of the sacrificial offerings made by the sages. Śiva had threatened them with the bow saying, “I shall now sever your worshipable heads from your bodies. Stand ready on the battlefield if you have any valor.”
But the gods relented and quickly worshipped the infuriated Śiva. They had managed to appease him, whereupon he gave the bow to them. The famous bow was then given by the gods to Janaka’s ancestor, Devarata, after he had fought for them in a battle against the demons. It had since been kept in the king’s family, being worshipped as if it were Śiva himself.
Janaka continued speaking to the sage and the princes, who listened with great curiosity. “Once I was performing a sacrifice to please the gods in order to get a worthy successor in my line. As the sacrificial ground was being prepared with a golden ploughshare, a wonderful child appeared from out of the earth itself. This female child, who became known by the name of Sītā, grew up in my palace as my daughter. Her beauty is matchless. I have raised Her with love and will give Her in marriage to whoever can show exceptional prowess. Various rulers and princes have approached me and sued for Her hand. Seeing these kings, I set a standard for winning Sītā, saying, ‘Whosoever can hold and string the mighty bow of Śiva will win this princess.’
“Many proud kings thought they would easily bend the bow. However, coming before that bow they were soon shorn of their valor and pride. They were hardly able to move the bow even slightly, far less lift and string it. Angry at their failure, numerous kings together besieged Mithila for one full year. When my resources were exhausted I prayed to the gods for support. I then received from them a vast army equipped with every kind of weapon. That celestial army quickly dispersed those bellicose kings in all directions. Thus this bow remains here, unconquered and awaiting some truly powerful king.”
Janaka looked at the two royal brothers. Rāma’s fame had reached him and he felt sure that the prince would win his daughter’s hand. As the king beheld Rāma’s beautiful features, His powerful physique and noble bearing, he longed for the prince to pass the test and become his son-in-law. He stood before Viśvāmitra with folded palms. “Come now, O sage, and bring these boys with you. If any can string the bow, then the hand of the divinely born Sītā will be won.”
Janaka led them to the part of his great palace where the bow was kept. It was stored in an iron chest which was adorned with gold engravings and covered over with numerous flower garlands. Three hundred powerfully built men somehow managed to move the chest to the center of the hall where it lay. Janaka turned towards Rāma. “Here is the wonderful celestial bow. It has been kept and worshipped by the Janakas for many generations. Not even the gods, demons, Yakṣas, Gandharvas or Kinnaras can string it; how then could any ordinary man? Gaze now upon this bow, O Rāma.”
Janaka ordered that the chest be opened. As the lid was lifted the brilliant bow was revealed. It spread a golden glow all around. Constructed of pure horn, it was skillfully worked with gold and silver images of the pastimes of the gods. Hundreds of golden bells and ornaments hung from the bow, which was studded with diamonds and other gems.
Seeing the bow the two princes gasped in appreciation. Rāma bowed down in respect and then walked slowly around it. He looked towards Viśvāmitra who nodded slightly. Understanding Viśvāmitra’s indication, Rāma stood with joined palms at the bow’s center. He turned to Janaka. “I wish to attempt your test. I shall now try to lift this heavenly bow to gauge its weight and strength.”
While being extolled by Viśvāmitra and other sages, who uttered “Victory! Victory!” Rāma placed his hand upon the bow. There was complete silence in the hall. Janaka held his breath as Rāma stood motionless. Viśvāmitra, knowing the extent of Rāma’s power, smiled slightly.
In the balcony of the hall stood Sītā. She looked at Rāma, feeling a natural attraction for the prince. Until then She had never been interested in any of Her suitors, although the most powerful kings from all around the world had come there. To the gentle Sītā they were all arrogant and overly proud of themselves. Sītā was deeply religious. All Her life She had prayed that Viṣṇu might become Her husband. As She watched Rāma approach the bow She felt Her love for the Lord being awakened. Was this Viṣṇu himself? Becoming absorbed in Her loving sentiment, Sītā felt anxiety. Would Rāma string the bow and become Her husband? She held the matrimonial garland with trembling hands.
Suddenly Rāma seized the bow by its middle part and raised it high above His head. A gasp of astonishment filled the hall. It was inconceivable. Rāma tossed the bow slightly to gauge its weight. Placing one end of the colossal bow on the ground, Rāma then moved to the other end and strung it. He pulled the string and bent the bow round into a semi-circle. It broke suddenly and a sound like the crash of thunder reverberated around the hall. The earth shook as if there were an earthquake. Everyone was stunned and rendered senseless for some moments.
Janaka was amazed. He turned to Viśvāmitra. “I have now witnessed Rāma’s strength. His achievement is incredible. Having secured Rāma as Her husband, Sītā will bring undying fame to my family.”
Janaka’s eyes were filled with tears. Surely Rāma was a divine personality. There could be no doubt. Till then no king had been able to move the bow even slightly; some could hardly even look upon it. But Rāma had handled it as if it were a piece of bamboo. The king looked up to Sītā in the balcony. She was filled with delight upon seeing Rāma’s feat and Her breast heaved with excitement. Awaiting Her father’s indication to come down, She stood surrounded by Her many female attendants. Janaka turned to speak to Rāma, who stood peacefully, having replaced the broken bow in its chest. “I shall now fulfill my pledge to give Sītā’s hand to whoever could string this bow. Sītā is dearer to me than my own life, but I gladly offer Her to You.”
Sītā came down from the balcony with a garland of golden flowers in Her hands and stood by Her father. She was resplendent in a silk sari of deep maroon, a necklace of pearls shining on Her breast. As She walked Her golden anklets tinkled and her diamond earrings swung to and fro. Smiling gently, she shyly lifted her eyes a little and looked at Rāma, who caught Her glance. Both felt Their hearts moved by love. In that moment Their union was forged. Sītā’s father signaled and She went before Rāma. She placed the garland around His neck, indicating Her acceptance of Him as Her husband. She blushed slightly and kept Her eyes down. Walking slowly, She went back to her father, who felt as if his heart might burst with happiness.
The king wanted to perform the marriage ceremony as soon as possible. He asked for Viśvāmitra’s permission, and when the sage agreed, the king arranged for swift messengers to go to Ayodhya to inform Daśaratha.
The ministers of Janaka left immediately and arrived at Ayodhya after three days. They quickly went to the palace and were ushered into the presence of Daśaratha, who appeared to them like a powerful god. Put at ease by the emperor’s benign expression and gentle words of welcome, the ministers politely told him of the events in Mithila. The emperor was delighted to hear the submission of Janaka’s envoys. Rāma and Lakṣman were well! They had conquered over the demons, and more than that, Rāma had now won the beautiful Sītā for His bride.
Daśaratha recalled how he had been contemplating the marriage of his son even as Viśvāmitra had arrived at his palace. The sage must have been sent by Providence, by whose arrangement this union had surely been made. After consulting with his counselors, Daśaratha made up his mind to leave the next day for Mithila.
Taking with him his ministers and preceded by a party of priests, Daśaratha went the next morning towards Mithila, with his army marching close behind. They arrived after five days. Daśaratha approached Janaka, who graciously received the abundant riches brought as gifts. Janaka embraced the emperor, and the two old friends sat together discussing the wedding. Janaka told Daśaratha how Sītā had appeared from the earth. He also told him of a prophesy he had heard.
“Once the celestial seer Nārada informed me that Sītā is Viṣṇu’s eternal consort and that he would one day become Her husband in this world. I thus devised a test which would only be possible for Viṣṇu to pass. Your son has now passed that difficult test and must therefore be Sītā’s eternal husband.” Daśaratha was again astonished to hear of Rāma’s divinity. He still found it hard to believe, having raised Rāma as his child. He looked at the son who stood before him modestly with bowed head and folded palms. Daśaratha was overpowered by love. His loving sentiments overcame any thoughts of Rāma’s divinity. The emperor looked again at Janaka and said, “I approve this marriage in every way. Perform the ceremony under the guidance of learned Brahmins. O king, the success of a gift depends upon the way it is given. Therefore be sure that all the necessary rites are properly observed without loss of time.”
Daśaratha wanted to ensure that the marriage ceremony was performed carefully according to scriptural codes. He did not want any ill fortune created by neglect of sacred rituals. Such errors would blight the marriage and create future difficulties for the couple.
Janaka issued instructions to his ministers and then sat with Daśaratha in his great palace hall. Both of them listened as Vasiṣṭha recited Rāma’s family lineage. After hearing of Rāma’s ancestry, beginning with the sun-god, Janaka recited Sītā’s genealogy, describing his own ancestry, which began with Brahmā.
When Janaka finished, Viśvāmitra spoke. He suggested that Sītā’s sister, Urmila, wed Rāma’s brother Lakṣman. The sage also advised that Janaka’s brother Kushadhvaja allow his two daughters to marry Bharata and Shatrughna. Then there could be one ceremony for all four marriages.
Rising from his seat with joy, Janaka said, “Let it be so!” again and again. He fell prostrate before Viśvāmitra and said, “I am ever your servant. Your words are worthy of my worship and I stand commanded by you. Let the wedding take place tomorrow, a day marked by favorable stars.”
As the two kings sat talking together, the sun gradually set. Janaka took his leave from Daśaratha and departed for his personal quarters, flanked by his ministers and a hundred warriors. Thousands of golden oil lamps lit up the hall as the crowds of Brahmins made their way out, all of them constantly uttering auspicious Vedic hymns.
* * *
The following morning Daśaratha rose early and performed the first ritual for invoking good fortune. He had his four sons brought before him and then gave to the Brahmin priests a hundred thousand cows on behalf of each of them. The emperor also distributed gold and gems to the thousands of ṛṣis assembled in Mithila to witness the wedding. The four princes shaved their heads and dressed in silk robes, putting on brilliant jeweled ornaments. Surrounded by the four handsome and effulgent youths, Daśaratha shone like Brahmā surrounded by the celestial guardians of the four quarters.
A great pavilion had been erected for the ceremony. Its walls were constructed of marble and it was supported on numerous pillars studded with sparkling gems. Fragrant and brightly colored flower garlands were draped everywhere and the air was filled with the scent of black aloe incense. Large stands constructed of mahogany inlaid with coral and pearl, holding rows of golden seats, surrounded the sacrificial area. Kings from all around the world along with their ministers filled the stands, eager to see the wedding.
The entire pavilion was crowded with jubilant people who cried out, “All glories to Rāma and Sītā!” Hundreds of elderly Brahmins wearing simple loin cloths, with clean white threads hanging from their left shoulders, were seated around the sacrificial arena. They recited Vedic hymns continuously and the melodic rise and fall of their metrical chanting filled the pavilion. Musical instruments played while expert singers sang the praises of Rāma and Sītā. The whole assembly appeared like an exuberant festival held in the heavens by the gods.
Daśaratha and his four sons approached the sacrificial fire, which was tended by Vasiṣṭha. When they were seated, the princes saw Sītā and the other three princesses enter the arena. The princes’ minds were captivated by the beauty of their wives-to-be. Adorned with shining silk garments, jewels and gold ornaments, the princesses appeared like four goddesses descended from the celestial realm. They sat down opposite their intended spouses, glancing down shyly, and Vasiṣṭha immediately began the wedding ceremony.
Janaka stepped forward, speaking in a voice choked with emotion. “My dear Rāma, I now give to You Sītā, my own beloved daughter, to be Your assistant in all Your religious duties. She will always remain exclusively devoted to You and will follow You like Your own shadow. Take Her hand in Yours and accept Her. I bless You both.”
Janaka took Rāma’s hand and placed it over Sītā’s. Vasiṣṭha sprinkled sanctified water over Their clasped hands, signifying the confirmation of the gift of Sītā. Holding Sītā’s hand, Rāma led Her slowly around the sacred fire.
From the upper reaches of the pavilion the gods were heard to exclaim, “Excellent! Bravo!” Celestial flowers rained down upon Rāma and Sītā. The entire assembly of onlookers erupted with a shout of joy. Both Daśaratha and Janaka looked with tearful eyes at the newlywed couple. Rāma’s complexion, resembling a celestial emerald, contrasted the pure white features of Sītā. They were both covered with golden flower petals and Their many jewels shone brilliantly. As They walked hand in hand around the fire, Sītā looked down in shyness while Rāma smiled at the loudly cheering crowds in the pavilion.
Each of Rāma’s three brothers, one after another in order of their seniority, took the hand of one of the other three princesses. Lakṣman was united with Urmila, Bharata with Mandavi and Shatrughna with Srutakirti. The three effulgent princes, holding Their brides’ hands, went around the sacred fire along with Janaka and the many sages.
Cries of happiness filled the pavilion. While the gods played their celestial drums, bevies of Apsarās danced and Gandharvas sang. The sages recited Vedic texts and the blast of conch shells was heard everywhere. All those present in the assembly were lost in ecstasy.
The ceremony ended at midday and the kings and princes gradually retired to their tents, headed by Daśaratha, Janaka and the four newly married couples.
The following day, Viśvāmitra, after taking permission from both Daśaratha and Janaka, left for the northern Himālayan ranges, his mind intent on the performance of asceticism. Janaka bestowed upon his daughters a dowry consisting of hundreds of thousands of cows and an equal number of elephants, horses, chariots and foot soldiers. The king, whose wealth was virtually unlimited, gave away millions of pieces of silken and cotton textiles, tens of thousands of handwoven carpets, heaps of gold, silver and jewels, and hundreds of richly adorned maids for each of the brides.
* * *
After a few days Daśaratha left for Ayodhya, proceeding at the head of a large army. As the king, surrounded by his sons and the host of sages, was traveling along the broad road that led to Ayodhya, he suddenly saw a strange omen. Birds began to cry out fearfully and swoop low over their heads. Witnessing this foreboding sign, Daśaratha’s heart quivered and his mind became fearful. The king asked Vasiṣṭha if he knew the cause of those omens.
“These signs portend some grave danger,” replied the ṛṣi, “but here are groups of deer crossing our path from left to right. This indicates our deliverance from that danger. You should not fear.”
A fierce tempest blew up. The sun was enveloped in darkness and the sky became black. Trees crashed to the ground and the earth shook. A dreadful dust storm swirled around the travelers, confounding their senses. They were rendered virtually unconscious. Suddenly, from out of the darkness, appeared the terrible sage Paraśurāma. He was dressed in tiger skins and had matted locks coiled at the crown of his head.
Daśaratha and his followers immediately recognized him. Although a Brahmin, Paraśurāma was famous for his prowess as a fighter. In former ages he had single-handedly overcome the world’s warriors, annihilating them by the millions. The sage had become enraged when his father was killed by warrior kings, and he wreaked an awful vengeance. He had ranged the globe massacring the entire warrior class. He now stood before Daśaratha holding a battle-ax in one hand and in the other a fierce arrow which resembled a streak of lightning. He was as tall as two men and he had upon his shoulder a great bow. Appearing as irresistible as the fire of universal destruction, he blocked the path like an impassable mountain.
The sages in Daśaratha’s party quickly gathered together. They took water to wash Paraśurāma’s feet and hands and offered him gentle words of welcome.
Accepting the honor offered by the sages, Paraśurāma looked at Rāma and said in a grave voice, “O Rāma, I have heard of Your strength. By breaking Śiva’s bow You have performed an incredible feat. How can I, who has formed a great enmity with all warriors, tolerate hearing of such prowess existing in a king? I have here another sacred bow, that of Viṣṇu. Let us see Your power now. Fit this celestial arrow upon this bow and simply draw it to its full length. If You are able to accomplish this task, then I shall challenge You to single combat. When You stand on the battlefield and are swept away by the force of my weapons, You shall earn undying fame.”
Daśaratha threw up his hands in horror. Knowing well of Paraśurāma’s power, he feared for Rāma’s life. He approached the sage with joined palms and entreated him to spare Rāma. Paying no heed at all to the king, Paraśurāma continued to speak only to Rāma: “Both the bow broken by You and this one here were constructed by the architect of the gods, Viśvakarmā. The one you sundered formerly belonged to Śiva. However, this one here was Viṣṇu’s property. It is thus more powerful than the one you broke, for Viṣṇu is always Śiva’s superior.”
Paraśurāma took the bow from his shoulder. With furrowed brows, he gazed at Rāma with bloodshot eyes, not immediately recognizing the prince’s divine identity. “The bow has been passed down from Viṣṇu to my ancestors and finally to me. I now offer it to You, O Rāma. Considering Your sacred duty as a warrior to always accept a challenge, exhibit now the strength of Your arms!”
Paraśurāma held out the enormous bow. Rāma, smiling slightly, stepped forward. “I have heard of your tremendous feat in fighting and killing all the world’s warriors twenty-one times. You have fully avenged your father with this commendable action.”
Even as a child Rāma had been told the story of Paraśurāma. The many kings killed by that sage had become debauched, and it was by divine arrangement that they had been annihilated. As a sage Paraśurāma had performed much asceticism and had finally been personally empowered by Viṣṇu himself. By dint of Viṣṇu’s own desire and power Paraśurāma had been able to exterminate the warrior class. Now Viṣṇu, appearing as Rāma, again stood before the sage. He continued to speak: “You are a Brahmin sage and are therefore worthy of My worship. However, since you despise Me, seeing Me to belong to the warrior class, I shall now display to you My personal prowess.”
Rāma seized the bow along with the blazing arrow from Paraśurāma’s hand. He strung the bow in an instant and drew the arrow back to His ear. Looking angrily at Paraśurāma, He asked, “Where shall I discharge this deadly shaft, O sage? As you are My superior I dare not aim it at you.”
Hosts of gods had assembled in the sky. Seeing the celestial bow drawn in anger by Rāma, and fearing that He may destroy the heavens, they cried out, “Viṣṇu! Save us, save us!”
Rāma, standing with the bow, blazed as brilliant as the sun and Paraśurāma fell back in astonishment. He felt his own power completely eclipsed by Rāma. Suddenly realizing Rāma’s identity, the sage spoke in faltering tones. “You appear invincible and I can understand that You must surely be the imperishable Viṣṇu himself. I accept defeat but I am not shamed, as You are indeed the Lord of all the worlds.”
Paraśurāma recalled how Viṣṇu had long ago said He would come again to take back the divine energy He had given to the sage. The warrior-sage folded his palms and said, “O Rāma, O all-powerful one, You have already divested me of my power and my pride. Please release this arrow upon my desires for heavenly pleasures and thereby burn them all to ashes. I wish only to serve You. With all my material aspirations destroyed by You, I shall be fit to become Your eternal servant. This is my deepest desire.”
Paraśurāma bowed low before Rāma, who then fired the fearful shaft. The sage immediately vanished along with the arrow. Then Varuṇa, the god of the waters, appeared and Rāma gave him the celestial bow to keep on behalf of the gods.
The exchange between Rāma and the sage was heard and understood only by Vasiṣṭha and a few other spiritually powerful Brahmins. The king and the others present had been wholly confounded by the events that had occurred. They were amazed and relieved to see that Rāma had somehow appeased the sage. Everything again became calm and the party resumed their journey, soon approaching Ayodhya.
Word had already reached Ayodhya of the approach of Daśaratha’s party. Thousands of Brahmins and citizens had come some miles out of the city to greet them. They stood along the wide roads throwing rice grains and fresh green leaves in front of Daśaratha. Seated aboard his chariot, the emperor and his sons waved at the people. They moved slowly through the crowds and entered the city in state. It was decorated with flags and festoons and strewn all over with flowers. Trumpet fanfares sounded and joyous people thronged around the king’s party as it went slowly along the main thoroughfare.
Daśaratha entered his own white marble palace, which resembled Mount Himavat. He was greeted by his wives, who had organized a ceremonious reception for their sons and new daughters-in-law. After the greeting the princes and princesses went to their respective palaces and began to enjoy life in Ayodhya exactly like the gods in heaven.
After a few weeks, Daśaratha asked Bharata and Shatrughna to go to the kingdom of their father-in-law, Kushadhvaja, who himself had no sons. The emperor instructed the princes to assist Kushadhvaja in the affairs of state. Along with Their wives and a large army, Bharata and Shatrughna therefore soon left the capital and went to Rajagriha, where Kushadhvaja lived.
1.5: Crooked Advice for Queen Kaikeyi
The aging Daśaratha, thinking of his retirement, gradually entrusted more and more of the state affairs to Rāma and Lakṣman. Those two princes, along with Their wives, served the king in every way. They always thought of the welfare of the people. Everyone became pleased with Their disposition and conduct. They were gentle and kind, but firm when necessary. They demonstrated complete mastery of the military arts and, having slain the powerful Rākṣasas even while boys, were respected as great heroes.
Rāma was especially dear to the king and the people. He was always tranquil and soft-spoken, not retorting even when someone spoke harshly to Him. He recognized the smallest of services rendered and did not take to heart any wrongs against Him. Rāma had conquered anger and was full of compassion. Making all arrangements to protect the people, he surrounded Himself with intelligent advisors and never made a decision without due consultation. Despite His power and ability, He always remained humble, mild and self-controlled. He was not influenced by envy or hatred, did not engage in frivolous talks and always sought the good in others. Free from sloth, He was ever vigilant to carry out His duty.
Rāma gave delight to even the gods, who would frequently grace Ayodhya with their presence. He was as tolerant as Mother Earth, as wise as Bṛhaspati, and as valorous as Indra. His personal beauty was as resplendent as the brilliant sun-god.
Daśaratha, seeing his son endowed with so many virtues, longed to see Him installed as the Prince Regent. The king discussed his desire with his ministers and priests. They all unanimously agreed that Rāma, as the eldest son, was the rightful heir to the throne and that He would be the most popular choice of the people. However, when the royal astrologers were calculating a favorable time for the coronation, they discovered dreadful signs in the heavens, portents that indicated that some calamity would soon occur.
Daśaratha became concerned. The omens must surely foretell of his own impending death. He decided to perform the ceremony quickly at the earliest opportune moment. Having set a date for Rāma’s installation, he summoned to Ayodhya rulers and important men from around the globe. But the gods so arranged that Daśaratha, in his haste, neglected to invite King Kushadhvaja. Thus neither Bharata nor Shatrughna came for the ceremony. Daśaratha realized too late his omission, for it was a journey of some days to Rajagriha. Nevertheless, he considered that his two absent sons would soon receive the delightful news of Their elder brother’s installation. He felt sure They would be overjoyed and would not take offense.
Soon a large gathering of kings and Brahmins appeared in Ayodhya and Daśaratha had them assembled in the royal court. Sitting in state in the assembly, the emperor blazed forth like Indra in the midst of the gods. He spoke in a pleasing and melodious voice, which was at the same time sonorous and grave.
“All of you know how the earth has long been protected by me and the kings who previously appeared before me in my line. To the best of my ability I have ruled the people, giving protection even at the expense of personal comforts. My body has become worn out in the shade of the royal umbrella. Carrying on my shoulders the burden of governing the globe, I have become old. I wish now to bestow this kingdom upon one well suited to take my place. Here is my beloved and eldest son Rāma, who vies with the king of the gods in all virtues. With the agreement of my closest advisors and in accordance with custom and law, I desire to place Rāma at the head of the state. With your permission, therefore, the ceremony will take place tomorrow morning.”
Daśaratha looked around the vast assembly of kings and sages. All of them gazed at him intently as he spoke. The kings saw Daśaratha as the leader of the entire earth. They all had affection for the old emperor, who always administered the law with justice and compassion. They willingly paid him tributes and sought his guidance in the affairs of state management. Daśaratha oversaw the world situation, ensuring that the different kings and leaders all ruled according to the codes of religion. All the assembled kings felt that Rāma was the perfect choice to succeed Daśaratha. As the emperor looked at his obedient and gentle son, he was moved by love. He continued to speak with tears running from his eyes.
“Rāma, who possesses every desirable quality, will be your worthy protector and even the universe will be better ruled with Him as emperor. If my plan finds favor with you, then be pleased to give your consent. Otherwise, if you consider that some other course should be taken, then speak out. Perhaps you may find me overly attached to Rāma, choosing Him when a better choice could be found. The views of the dispassionate are always to be sought when deciding a difficult issue.”
The whole assembly was filled with delight upon hearing Daśaratha speak. They erupted with loud acclamations of joy, even as a crowd of peacocks would acclaim the appearance of a large rain cloud. The sound echoed all around Ayodhya, seeming to shake the earth. “Let it be so! Let it be so!” was heard everywhere, and every man was in agreement.
Stepping forward, a leader of the Brahmins said, “You have long protected us with love, O king. Now you have a worthy son and can retire peacefully. Pray install Rāma as the Prince Regent, for He alone deserves to be your successor. We long to see Rāma riding upon the great royal elephant, His head shielded by the white umbrella.”
Upon hearing the assembly voice their unanimous agreement to Rāma’s installation, Daśaratha stood up, his eyes flooded with tears of joy. “It is fortunate for me and indeed the world that you all wish to see Rāma succeed me as king. This confirms my decision. I shall begin the arrangements for Rāma’s installation immediately.”
Daśaratha came down from his throne and approached Vasiṣṭha, touching his feet. “With your permission, O holy Brahmin, we shall proceed with the ceremony tomorrow. If you are agreeable, then please make all preparations.”
“So be it,” Vasiṣṭha replied, and he immediately commanded the king’s ministers to set about making ready all of the items required for the installation the following day. The assembly then dispersed with a loud clamor, and shouts of “Victory to Rāma!” were heard everywhere.
That night, however, Daśaratha remembered the astrological predictions. He became fearful and called for Rāma. Speaking with Him in private, Daśaratha said, “I have enjoyed a long life and have always protected the people to the best of my ability. In thousands of religious ceremonies, I have bestowed abundant charity. By sacrifice, worship and charity I have repaid my debt to the gods, the Brahmins and the forefathers. I have also fully satisfied myself through the enjoyment of numerous pleasures. All that remains for me to do is to install You as my successor.”
Daśaratha clasped Rāma close to his bosom. The king’s body trembled and his eyes shed tears. He desperately longed for his son to succeed him. At last it was imminent. Surely no evil destiny could prevent it now. Would not even the gods desire to see this magnificent prince become the king? Daśaratha revealed his concerns to Rāma, telling Him of the malefic stars. He also told his son of the many bad dreams he had recently experienced.
“My dear Rāma, due to seeing all these omens, Your installation has been sought swiftly by me before any problems arise. With Your good wife, Sītā, make offerings into the sacrificial fire tonight. At sunrise tomorrow we shall commence the installation ceremony.”
Rāma nodded in agreement and then bowed and took His leave from the king. He went back to His palace and, along with Sītā, sat before the sacrificial fire making offerings to Viṣṇu.
* * *
The news of Rāma’s installation quickly spread around the city, delighting everyone. The temples were thronged with people offering gifts and worshipping the gods. As evening fell the city streets were filled with a flurry of joyous citizens. The large crowds of men moving about Ayodhya resembled the tossing waves of the ocean. Everyone spoke only of the installation. Poets and bards composed songs about the occasion. Flags were hoisted high on the housetops and garlands of forest flowers were draped everywhere. Colorful festoons hung across the streets, which were swept and sprinkled with perfumed water. Shining lamps hung from every tree lining the streets. The city echoed everywhere with the loud chanting of Vedic hymns. Elephants and bulls roared on all sides and the whole atmosphere throbbed with excitement. No one could wait for sunrise, when the ceremony would commence.
In the palace of Kaikeyi, the king’s youngest queen, there was a hunchbacked maidservant called Manthara. Upon seeing the celebrations, Manthara approached Rāma’s former nurse and inquired, “What occasion gives rise to this display of delight on every side? Is the emperor going to perform some great sacrifice?”
The nurse, her face blooming with happiness, told Manthara about the king’s decision to install Rāma as the heir-apparent. “Tomorrow, under favorable stars, our lord Daśaratha will give to the sinless Rāma the office of Prince Regent. What greater occasion for joy could there be?”
Manthara’s mind recoiled at this news. She was immediately seized with anger. Surely this was a disaster! With Rāma installed as king her mistress Kaikeyi would soon fall out of favor, her own son Bharata being left as nothing more than Rāma’s servant. Manthara raged within herself. She had long enjoyed special privileges as Kaikeyi’s senior maidservant. The emperor particularly liked her mistress, who had given Manthara the esteem she desired. As a hunchback she had always been the butt of jokes and abuse among the other servants. But as her mistress became more influential, the other servants, even those of the senior queen Kaushalya, had been obliged to pay her respect.
Sighing with anxiety, Manthara ran to Kaikeyi’s room where she found the queen lying upon a couch. With her face flushed she began addressing her bemused mistress in harsh tones. “Get up, foolish woman! How can you lay there when calamity stares you in the face? You languish here at ease even as a flood of misery sweeps towards you. Thoroughly neglected by your husband, you are threatened now with utter ruin.”
Kaikeyi looked affectionately at her servant. Manthara had been her childhood nurse and Kaikeyi saw her like her own mother. The queen had not heard the news about Rāma and she inquired from Manthara, “Pray tell me what causes you sorrow at this time? You seem sorely afflicted.”
Manthara became even more incensed upon hearing Kaikeyi’s question. She replied in a low voice trembling with anger. “There is no doubt that disaster now threatens us both. With your destruction will come mine, as much as with your good fortune rests mine. I am therefore saying this only for your benefit.”
She grasped Kaikeyi’s hand, trying to impress upon her mistress what appeared to her to be the obvious facts. “Although born in a royal line, you seem ignorant of the ways of kings. A king will speak sweet words to a person while at the same time planning their destruction. The emperor has acted as your beloved spouse while performing deeds which will ruin you to the very roots.”
Kaikeyi sat up and looked at her servant curiously. Manthara’s eyes blazed as she continued. “Having sent your own son Bharata away to a distant kingdom, this wicked king now plans to install Rāma as Prince Regent. What greater misfortune could there be for you?”
Kaikeyi smiled. She loved Rāma as much as her own dear son, while Rāma for His part looked upon Kaikeyi as being equal to His own mother Kaushalya. She felt a surge of joy upon hearing Manthara’s report. She could not understand why Manthara was disturbed. Why was she so vehement? If anyone else had spoken about Daśaratha and Rāma in such a way, she would have had them punished, but Kaikeyi was accustomed to her servant’s sullen temperament. She felt there was no malice in Manthara, despite her often angry expressions.
Taking from her bosom a necklace of brilliant diamonds set in gold, Kaikeyi handed it to her servant and said, “My dear Dhātrī, this is surely the best news you have ever brought me. My heart swells with pleasure at hearing your words, which seem to me like nectar. I wish to reward you. Take this gift and tell me if there is anything else I can do for you.”
Manthara threw down the necklace and began rebuking Kaikeyi. “This is no occasion for joy, foolish lady! What strange frame of mind has seized you? An ocean of grief threatens to overwhelm you and yet you stand here smiling. Your stepson Rāma will become king while your own son Bharata is left aside. Bharata’s claim to the throne is the same as Rāma’s and thus Rāma will see Him as an enemy. Lakṣman serves only Rāma, and Shatrughna serves your son. Therefore it is only Rāma or Bharata who may be crowned as the sovereign of this world. My mind quakes with fear to think of the danger to your son from the powerful Rāma once He is king.”
Manthara’s eyes grew bloodshot with fury and her face whitened as she spoke. Why was Kaikeyi not understanding? Kaushalya had long been snubbed by the king in favor of Kaikeyi. When Rāma became the king that would all change. Kaushalya would be exalted to the highest level, while Kaikeyi would lose her special position as the king’s most favored consort. Kaushalya would certainly exact her revenge for her long suffering. Kaikeyi would become Kaushalya’s maidservant and Bharata would at best be Rāma’s servant-more likely he would be exiled. Where would that leave Kaikeyi’s servants? Praying to the gods to help her, the hunchbacked maid became more ardent in her plea.
“You must do something! This is a great disaster. Once the crown has passed to the other side of your family, you will in time see your own side sink into oblivion, bereft of all royal fortune.”
Hearing this strong submission from her servant, the beautiful Kaikeyi thought of Rāma. She could not imagine him bearing any ill will toward Bharata. Manthara’s fears were quite groundless. Rāma always acted in perfect accord with religious principles. He was devoted to truth, disciplined and always kind. He doubtlessly deserved to be king. After He was crowned He would surely look after His younger brothers like a father. Manthara had no reason to feel such distress. Kaikeyi chided her gently.
“When such an occasion for rejoicing has come, you should by no means give way to grief, my dear maidservant. Nor should you think ill of Rāma. My son Bharata will be in no danger from Rāma, and in the future He may well succeed Him to the throne. There is no need for lamentation.”
Manthara would not be placated. In order to improve her own position she wanted her mistress to be the mother of the king. Blinded by her own greed and envy, Manthara considered the emperor to be acting from similar motivations. She continued to beseech Kaikeyi in increasingly rancorous tones.
“Surely it is due only to stupidity that you fail to see your impending doom, O deluded one. Rāma will be crowned king and after Him will come His son. Where then will Bharata be left? Not all the sons of a king can assume the throne; it falls only to one among them. Having taken hold of the throne, Rāma will ensure that it goes to His own son, if necessary by banishing Bharata, or perhaps even by sending Him to the next world. You and your line will be lost and forsaken. I am here to awaken you to a great peril now arrived at your door. Do not disregard me.”
Manthara’s lofty position in the palace had gone to her head. She was furious at the prospect of losing her status and she continued to present many arguments to her mistress. She played upon the natural rivalry existing between the king’s co-wives. Kaikeyi’s affection for Rāma was deep and the discussion went back and forth for some time, but gradually Manthara began to change her mistress’s mind. By the gods’ arrangement, her arguments swayed Kaikeyi’s mind and the queen’s intelligence became confused. Although she loved Rāma, she began to consider that His installation was an injustice.
Manthara saw in Kaikeyi’s face that her mind was wavering. She grasped the queen’s hands. “There is a way by which we may not be ruined. If Rāma can be sent to the forest and Bharata installed in His place, then the sovereignty may be secured in your line.”
This idea had entered Manthara’s mind by the sudden inspiration of the gods. Kaikeyi, intrigued, looked at her servant. “How can this be accomplished?”
Manthara recalled a story she had heard from her mistress many years earlier. “Some time ago you told me how you once went with your husband when he was assisting Indra in a battle against the demons. Having fought hard one day, your husband lay unconscious on the battlefield, his body severely wounded. A grave danger beset him then from a demon who would come at night to devour the bodies of the warriors still on the field.”
Kaikeyi remembered the incident. Many years back the emperor had gone to the heavens, taking Kaikeyi with him. He was famed as an invincible warrior and the gods had asked his assistance in a fight. At that time he had fought so powerfully that his chariot appeared to be facing ten directions simultaneously and the gods had therefore named him Daśaratha, or “ten chariots.”
Manthara continued, “At that time, seeing the danger to Daśaratha, you rode out in a chariot and rescued your lord. Upon recovering he offered you a couple of boons, but you deferred them to a time when you might need them most. Surely that time has now come. Go to Daśaratha and ask that he banish Rāma and install Bharata in His place as the Prince Regent. In this way we shall both be saved.”
Despite her love for her husband and her attachment for Rāma, Kaikeyi became convinced by Manthara’s arguments. She was upset. How could the king have treated her in such a way? He was always so kind and loving. Was all that just a show to win her favor? She began to feel angry. The king might have spoken so many sweet words to her, but by his behavior it was obvious that he favored Kaushalya. They had probably even conspired together to have Bharata sent away. Why had she not realized it before? It was obvious! Now the whole situation was revealed. Daśaratha had shown his real feelings by completely neglecting her and favoring Kaushalya’s son instead.
Kaikeyi heaved a doleful sigh. “Your suggestion finds favor with me, Manthara. I shall this very moment go before the king and ask of him these boons.”
Manthara’s mind was full of cunning. Her eyes narrowed. “You should ask that Rāma be banished for no less than fourteen years. Within that time your son Bharata will become dear to the people and He will be firmly established on the throne.”
Manthara intelligently knew that Bharata could never become the king in Rāma’s presence. The people would not allow it to happen. Even the humble Bharata Himself would almost surely not accede to such an arrangement. Rāma had to be banished. The maidservant continued, “Do not allow Rāma to remain in the kingdom. By his power and influence He will seize the throne, even if Bharata is crowned. Your son has long been away while Rāma has been here, winning the hearts of the people. It is imperative that Rāma be sent away for a long time.”
Kaikeyi listened with full attention as her maidservant revealed her insidious plan. “Listen as I tell you the means of approaching the king. Putting on soiled garments, you should go to the sulking chamber and lie down on the bare floor. With your ornaments cast about and your hair in disarray, lay there weeping.”
Manthara knew that her mistress was guileless by nature. The queen would not have acted politically, even though angered, but her servant led her along. She spoke of Daśaratha’s special affection for his youngest and most beautiful wife. “The king will never be able to tolerate your sullen mood. He cannot ignore your order. For your sake he would enter fire and even lay down his very life. Using the power of your charms you will easily achieve your ends, O beautiful lady.”
Clenching her fists, Kaikeyi sat on her bed, spread with a pure white silk sheet. Manthara was right. The king obviously liked her for something, if only her beauty and charms. Every evening he spent time with her. Tonight he would be in for a surprise! Kaikeyi came fully under the sway of anger as Manthara continued.
“When the king sees you distraught, he will take you up and offer you anything. He will present priceless gems and pearls in order to pacify you. Do not be distracted from your goal of banishing Rāma. Insist upon the two boons long ago given by your lord. Take those boons now, O queen. Demand the exile of Rāma and the coronation of Bharata.”
Although Manthara showed her mistress an evil course disguised as good, Kaikeyi accepted her advice. Kind, gentle and wise by nature, Kaikeyi nevertheless lost her good sense under the influence of her envious maid. Considering her husband and Rāma as enemies, she spoke with hot, heavy breaths. “You have given me good counsel, O wise woman. I have been cheated by the king. You have acted as my well-wisher by pointing this out. When my son is installed on the throne, I shall confer upon you numerous boons and much wealth.”
Manthara smiled and urged Kaikeyi to make haste. “Let us go quickly to the inner rooms, for the king will shortly come for his evening visit with you. You should by no means stand by as Rāma is made Prince Regent. Act swiftly for the interests of your son and your own self.”
Kaikeyi was pierced again and again by Manthara’s sharp words. The servant repeatedly spoke against the king and Rāma, stoking Kaikeyi’s anger more. Arriving at the sulking chamber, the queen threw herself on the floor and said to Manthara, “Either Rāma is exiled and Bharata made king, or I shall remain here in this state, taking neither food nor water. If my desire is not fulfilled, then you shall see me depart from this spot for the region of the dead.”
With her ornaments scattered and her garland crushed, Kaikeyi lay on the beautiful mosaic floor, appearing like a goddess fallen from the heavens. Her face dark with rage, she tossed about and sobbed.
(Continued ...)
(My humble salutations to the lotus feet of Brahmasree Krishna Dharma and I am most grateful to Swamyjis, Philosophic Scholars and Ascetic Org. for the collection of this great and wornderful Epic of the world. )
Post a Comment