Valmiki Rāmāyaṇa
2.3: Bharata’s Return
The following morning large numbers of singers and bards assembled at the palace with the intention of waking the king. They stood near his quarters and began their recitations, praising the emperor and telling of his ancestors’ glorious deeds. Holy Brahmins chanted sacred texts while expert musicians played on various instruments. Those chants and songs mixed with the singing of the birds on the palace trees and created an exquisitely beautiful sound.
The palace attendants, unaware of the king’s demise, gathered together the items required for his morning ablutions. Gold pots filled with scented water, along with many soaps and unguents were fetched. In accord with the Vedic tradition, young virgin girls, along with milk cows and other pure items like gold and silver, were brought before the king so that he would see these immediately upon waking, thereby creating an auspicious start to the day.
When everything was made ready just before sunrise, the royal ladies went into the king’s chamber to wake him. As they approached his bed they saw him lying motionless and showing no symptoms of life. Nearby Kaushalya and Sumitra were lying asleep, exhausted from grief. Their faces were tear-streaked and withered like lotuses scorched by the sun. The palace ladies fell back in alarm and began to shake like reeds in a stream. They touched the king’s body and, finding him cold and lifeless, realized he had died from grief. All those beautiful women began to wail loudly, like a herd of female elephants who have lost their lord in the forest.
Kaushalya and Sumitra were roused by the sound. Looking at the emperor and touching him, they cried out, “My lord!” and dropped to the ground. Kaikeyi ran into the room and she too became afflicted by pain and sorrow, falling down unconscious. The three queens tossed about on the ground lamenting loudly. They appeared like three goddesses fallen from heaven, deprived of their splendor. The whole chamber became crowded with men and women, all alarmed, bustling about excitedly. With the sudden death of the king everyone became perplexed and confused. Loud cries filled the air. The king’s three hundred maidservants surrounded him on all sides, weeping piteously.
Kaushalya looked at her husband’s face, which seemed like the sun shorn of its luster. Kneeling by his side she held his head and began to loudly reprimand Kaikeyi.
“O cruel Kaikeyi, are you now satisfied? Having killed the king you may now enjoy the throne without fear. Rāma has forsaken me and gone to the forest and now my husband has ascended to heaven. I cannot live any longer. Only Kaikeyi, casting all propriety to the winds, could live happily after seeing her husband die in agony. O cruel lady, you have destroyed our noble race!”
Kaushalya embraced her dead husband. She thought of Rāma, Sītā and Lakṣman. How would They learn of Their father’s death? What will They do when They hear of it? Even now poor Sītā must be clinging fearfully to Rāma, terrified by the sights and sounds of the forest. If this painful news should reach Her, surely She will die.
Kaushalya could not tolerate any more grief. Tearfully she cried out to Kaikeyi, “You have killed me as surely as you have killed the king. I shall enter the fire clinging to my lord’s body.”
With difficulty the king’s ministers separated Kaushalya from Daśaratha. They gently removed her from his chamber and began to perform the necessary rituals for the death of a king. As none of Daśaratha’s sons were present, They could not perform his funeral. Therefore, in order to preserve the body until Bharata arrived, they immersed it in a vat of fragrant oil.
The city of Ayodhya, already plunged in sorrow, became even more desolate. The people cried out their distress and everything remained still, no one going out for any business. The great city looked like a dark night bereft of the moon and stars. Loudly reproaching Kaikeyi in choked voices, the citizens grieved throughout the day and night, finding no rest.
The following day the king’s Brahmin counselors assembled together. Looking toward Vasiṣṭha, who was temporarily carrying out the king’s duties, the wise sages made different speeches pointing to the need for a prince to be quickly coronated. The sages described how, without a ruler, the kingdom would soon meet with ruin. In a land without a king even the rain would not fall in proper time and the crops would fail. Sons would disobey their fathers and wives their husbands. There could be no personal property without a protector and men could not sleep in peace. Everything would become chaotic and anarchy would soon prevail. Like fishes, men would devour one another. Atheism would become prominent and godless and misbehaved men would become leaders.
One of the chief Brahmins concluded, “Even as the eyes protect the body, so the king is ever vigilant to protect the people. The king is truthfulness and virtue incarnate. He is the mother and the father and the best benefactor of all men. All the principal gods reside in the body of the king; indeed he is the powerful representative of the Supreme Lord Viṣṇu. Therefore, O Vasiṣṭha, have Bharata and Shatrughna brought home. Quickly crown a qualified man as king, before this ancient and prosperous kingdom is thrown into utter confusion and darkness!”
When the Brahmin sages had finished speaking they sat awaiting Vasiṣṭha’s opinion. Vasiṣṭha looked around the assembly and replied, “We should immediately send swift messengers to the Kekaya capital, Girivraja. Since the emperor has bestowed this kingdom upon Bharata, He must be brought here as quickly as possible and installed as king. No other course of action can be considered.”
Vasiṣṭha wanted Bharata to be brought home before the news of His father’s death and Rāma’s exile reached Him. Bharata should be informed of the heartbreaking news while surrounded by His intimate family. Vasiṣṭha said to the messengers, “Tell the prince that all is well, but that He is required for some urgent business. Take with you excellent gifts for the Kekaya king and leave at once.”
The messengers mounted upon the best of the king’s horses, which were capable of covering hundreds of miles a day, and sped westwards toward Girivraja. They took the shortest possible route, at times leaving the road and traversing open countryside and woods. They crossed the Mālinī River, which flowed between the Aparatala and Pralamba Mountains, and also the Ganges where it flowed through Hastināpura. Moving quickly through the Pañchāla and Kurujangala provinces, the messengers reached the Saradanda River at the end of the second day. After crossing that river they entered the city of Kulinga, hardly pausing for a moment. Galloping together they passed through the city and soon crossed the Ikshumati River, then the Beas and Salmali Rivers, finally arriving at the Kekaya district at the end of the third day. With their horses all but exhausted, they entered the city of Girivraja and went straight toward the king’s palace just as dawn approached.
* * *
In His palace Bharata had just risen and was feeling disturbed. He had awoken from a dream filled with inauspicious omens. He sat alone, sunk in thought. Some of His friends approached Him and inquired why He looked so sad. Bharata replied, “In a dream I saw My father looking dejected, falling from the peak of a mountain into a filthy pool. He seemed to be laughing and he swam around in that pool. I then saw the ocean dry, the moon fallen upon the earth and the entire world assailed by demons. My father, dressed in black, wearing a crimson garland and smeared with red sandal-paste, got upon a chariot drawn by donkeys and rode southwards.”
Bharata knew the science of omens and dreams. He understood that these visions clearly indicated His father’s death, or perhaps the death of one of His brothers. Sighing heavily, the prince continued. “My throat feels parched and I am gripped by anxiety. Suddenly I hate Myself for no reason. Surely some great calamity is imminent.”
As Bharata spoke, a messenger entered His room to announce the arrival of envoys from Ayodhya. They came before Bharata and bowed low, touching His feet and saying, “We have been sent by the sage Vasiṣṭha. He sends word that all is well, but he requires Your immediate presence in Ayodhya for some urgent business.”
On behalf of Daśaratha, the envoys presented their gifts to the Kekaya king and his son. The messengers were feeling fatigued from their journey, so Bharata had them seated and served with the best of food and drink. He tried to find out from them the exact nature of the business for which Vasiṣṭha was summoning Him. Thinking of His dream, he asked about His father and other dear relatives. The messengers answered His questions politely, carefully avoiding telling Him about His father’s death or Rāma’s exile. Bharata could nevertheless sense that something was terribly wrong. He wanted to depart immediately and He went to King Aswapati, requesting his permission to leave. The king embraced Him and said, “In you my daughter Kaikeyi is blessed with a noble son. Leave now with my blessings, but return again when Your business is complete.”
The king of Kekaya presented Bharata with many gifts to take to Ayodhya. Huge elephants, horses, costly cloth and much gold were given by King Aswapati. He also quickly arranged for a detachment of his best soldiers to accompany Bharata.
Bharata received the gifts with gratitude to the best of His ability, but His mind was distracted. He was anxious and could not wait to depart. Taking leave of His friends and relations, Bharata mounted His chariot along with Shatrughna and They hurriedly left. Followed by hundreds of other chariots, as well as by the thousands of elephants and horses gifted by the king, the prince of Ayodhya went out of the city looking like a god leaving the heavenly city of Indra.
* * *
For seven days Bharata and His party traveled to Ayodhya. The prince longed to race ahead, taking the shorter route through the woods as did the messengers from Ayodhya, but He was hampered by His large retinue. They went along the established roads and passed through many villages and towns, but they did not stop anywhere.
Bharata’s mind was filled with apprehension. What could possibly be wrong, especially in the presence of Rāma and Lakṣman? Had Their father died? Was some powerful enemy besieging the city? Perhaps it was simply that His father wished to install Rāma as the king. But why had the messengers not told Him?
As the party reached the territory of Kośala, Bharata urged on His charioteer. His chariot went quickly ahead, leaving the army, headed by Shatrughna, to follow slowly behind. He soon arrived at Ayodhya. Looking at the city from a distance, Bharata said to His charioteer, “Something is surely amiss in this great and glorious city. I do not hear the usual clamor of men, nor the sound of sacred recitations made by throngs of Brahmins as they perform sacrifices. Even the animals are silent. No one is moving about on the roads and no one has come out to greet Me.”
As they passed along the main road into the city Bharata became even more concerned. Where were the young couples who would always sport romantically in the gardens lining the road? The trees in those deserted gardens, with their leaves falling all around, seemed to Bharata to be weeping. As He rode quickly into the city He saw various ill omens. Crows and vultures cried on all sides. The sun was enveloped by dark clouds and a chill wind blew, raising up clouds of dust and leaves.
Bharata reached the city’s western gate. The guards, gladdened to see Him, welcomed Him with loud shouts. The prince moved on after politely greeting the sentries. He was tired and His mind was dejected and disturbed. He spoke again to His charioteer. “Why have I been suddenly brought here, O noble one? I wonder what terrible calamity has occurred. Even without any apparent cause My heart is sinking and My mind is consumed by fear.”
The prince looked around as the chariot sped toward Daśaratha’s palace. He saw signs which seemed to Him to indicate the king’s death. Houses were unswept, dirty-looking and bereft of splendor, their doors standing wide open. There was no smoke from sacrificial fires rising up, nor the usual sweet aroma of aloe and sandalwood drifting from the mansions along the road. Men and women were standing here and there, wearing soiled clothes and looking pale and emaciated, as if they had not eaten for days.
Bharata looked at the closed shop fronts and abandoned market places, the temples with their dusty courtyards and the deities without fresh dresses or garlands—everything seemed desolate. Filled with sorrow to see the unprecedented state of His beloved city, the prince arrived at Daśaratha’s palace.
Bharata went quickly into His father’s rooms and was alarmed to find the king not present. Everyone looked down to avert His gaze. The palace ladies were weeping and a sorrowful silence had replaced the normal sound of drums, lutes and Vedic recitations. Bharata felt His stomach sink and His limbs seemed to dissolve. Too afraid to ask about His father from the people present, He ran to His mother’s apartments. As He entered, Kaikeyi sprang up from her golden seat. Bharata bowed and touched His mother’s feet and she embraced Him. It had been a long time since she had seen Him.
Holding her son and seating Him on her lap, Kaikeyi inquired, “How was your journey, my son? You must be tired. Are Your grandfather and uncle both well? Have You fared well Yourself while living in their kingdom? I have missed You here.”
After hearing her endearing questions, Bharata told her everything about Himself. Still filled with apprehension, He asked, “How is it that I do not see the king seated here with you? Where indeed is My pious father? Why do I find everyone looking disconsolate and not speaking? I long to clasp My father’s feet. Tell Me, gentle mother, is he just now in Kaushalya’s apartments?”
Possessed by greed for the kingdom, Kaikeyi began to tell her son the terrible news as if it were agreeable and pleasant. “Your high-souled and glorious father, who was always the shelter of all living beings, has attained the state of the gods. This kingdom is now Yours.”
Bharata looked at His mother in disbelief. He fell to His knees. Crying out “Alas, I am ruined!” He struck His arms on the floor. His worst fear was confirmed. With His mind confused and agitated, Bharata lamented. “This golden couch would always appear beautiful being adorned with the king’s presence. Now it appears dark and lusterless like the night sky bereft of the moon. Oh, where is My noble father?”
Bharata covered His handsome face with a cloth and cried in anguish. Seeing her son, whose body shone like that of a god, laying on the floor in a wretched state, Kaikeyi raised Him and said, “Get up, O king! Why are you lying here like one unfortunate? Virtuous souls like You are never overwhelmed by grief. Steady Your mind, which is always fixed in piety and knows the truth. This wide earth now awaits Your rule, O sinless one.”
Bharata wept for some time, unable to speak. He remembered His father’s love and affection, how the king had personally trained Him in statecraft, how they had played and sported together, the times He had sat with His father as he related tales of their great ancestors. Now he was gone! How could it have happened? Bharata could not understand why no one had called Him earlier. Calming His mind He said, “Having speculated that the king was to install Rāma as the Prince Regent, I came here swiftly. It seems My calculation was wrong, as I do not see either My father or Rāma.”
The prince was confused. His mother sat calmly as He spoke out His grief. “Of what disease did My father die, O mother? How fortunate are Rāma and Lakṣman that they were able to perform the last rites of the great monarch. Or is My father still present? Surely he does not know I have arrived or else he would have come quickly to see Me, embracing Me and offering his blessings. Where is that gentle hand which would often brush Me off when I would fall in the dust as a child?”
Bharata looked up into His mother’s face, His eyes streaming. “Please announce My arrival to Rāma. For a man who knows what is right, the elder brother is as good as the father. I shall fall at Rāma’s feet and ask Him what final words were spoken by the righteous and ever-truthful king. I wish to hear My father’s last kind message to Me.”
Kaikeyi slowly replied to her son, telling Him the course of events exactly as they occurred. “The glorious king, the best among the wise, departed from this world calling out, ‘O Rāma! O Sītā! O Lakṣman!’ Bound by the laws of time, even as a powerful elephant is bound by ropes, the king submitted to death saying, ‘Only those men who will see Rāma returned with Sītā and Lakṣman will have their desires fulfilled and be happy.’”
Hearing this news Bharata became even more confused. What did the king mean? Where were His brothers and Sītā? He asked His mother.
Kaikeyi began to relate how They had left for the forest, speaking as if it were something Bharata would be pleased to hear. “Prince Rāma, with Sītā and Lakṣman, left the city clad in tree barks. They have gone to a distant forest and will remain there for fourteen years.”
Bharata was shocked. How could it be true? Surely Rāma could not have been exiled. What crime could He possibly have committed?
The prince spoke in amazement. “Did Rāma wrongly seize property from some elevated Brahmin? Did My brother somehow kill a sinless man? Surely He did not look longingly upon another’s wife. I cannot imagine Rāma ever doing anything even remotely sinful. Why then has He gone into exile accompanied by the delicate Sītā and His loyal brother?”
Kaikeyi completely misunderstood Bharata’s mood. Out of ignorance she imagined He would be pleased to hear that, thanks to her machinations, He had become the undisputed ruler. She smiled as she spoke to her son.
“Rāma has committed no sin. However, entirely neglecting Your noble self, the king was intent upon installing Him as the Prince Regent. As soon as this news reached me I asked Your father to send Rāma away and install You instead.”
Bharata’s face froze as His mother continued.
“Bound by truthfulness, the emperor did my bidding and granted me two boons which were owed from a former occasion. After exiling Rāma, who was followed by Sītā and Lakṣman, the king was sorely afflicted with an unbearable grief. Overwhelmed with pain and constantly calling Rāma’s name, the lord of Ayodhya left this world and ascended to heaven.”
Kaikeyi saw Bharata’s pained expression. “Do not yield to grief, dear son. This city and indeed this earth now depend upon You. Be firm and perform Your father’s funeral ceremony, O Bharata. Then assume the throne as the undisputed ruler of the globe.”
Bharata could not believe what He was hearing. Had His mother gone mad? Did she really think He envied Rāma and coveted the throne? Covering His face with His hands and slowly shaking His head, He replied to the shameless Kaikeyi, “What came into your mind, O cruel woman, that you could have perpetrated such an act? What possible gain is there for Me in having the sovereignty of the earth while I stand deprived of My dearest relations? By sending My father to the next world and Rāma to the forest you have heaped calamity upon calamity!”
The prince was infuriated. His mother’s actions were unforgiveable. Kaikeyi shrunk back as He roared, piercing her with volleys of words. “You have appeared in My family like the goddess Kalaratri, the night of universal dissolution! Having clasped you to his bosom My father has brought about his own death and the extermination of his race. O woman who sees evil where there is none, you have ended My family’s joy through greed alone. Tell Me the reason that impelled you to kill the king and exile the sinless Rāma.”
Aghast at her son’s vehement reaction, Kaikeyi tried to defend herself. She spoke candidly, telling Him about her conversation with Manthara. “O prince, I would surely have said nothing to Your father, but Manthara pointed out how You were being wronged. My dear son, I simply acted with Your interests in mind.”
This only angered Bharata all the more. In grief and anger He stood blazing like fire. With copper-red eyes He gazed at His mother who sat on a couch with her head cast downwards. “Alas,” He continued, His voice incredulous, “I am shamed by My own mother! Having got you for their co-wife, the godly Kaushalya and Sumitra have been tormented with agony. How did you not grieve, O hard-hearted one, when you saw those gentle ladies weeping as their heroic sons left for the forest? Are you happy to see your husband lying dead, Rāma with Sītā and Lakṣman banished, and your remaining family seized with unbearable pain?”
Bharata wept aloud while Kaikeyi sat silently. He was astonished at His mother’s deeds. What on earth had possessed her? She had never acted like this before. She had always loved Rāma as much as her own son. How could she possibly think it would please Him to gain the sovereignty in this terrible way?
Bharata went on fiercely. “Blinded by lust you have clearly not understood My devotion to Rāma. I will never take this kingdom in His absence! My strength and intelligence depend only upon My powerful brother. Rāma should certainly become the king while I become His humble servant. I can no more take the weight of the kingdom than a young calf can take the load borne easily by a bull. Even if I were able to rule without Rāma, I will never allow you to achieve your cherished end. I would sooner die!”
Bharata’s mind raged. Kaikeyi’s insane action had to be somehow reversed. He resolved to go immediately to the forest and find Rāma. He first had to establish to Rāma that Kaikeyi’s abhorrent acts had nothing to do with Him. What must Rāma be thinking? Surely He would not believe that His own devoted brother was in any way guilty! Did anyone think that? Bharata was horrified. He rounded on Kaikeyi again.
“I cannot stand by and watch the path of morality abandoned as a result of your sinful desires. The eternal moral code prescribes that the king’s eldest son should inherit the throne—especially when that son is the most highly qualified and beloved of all the people. I shall doubtlessly bring back Rāma from the forest. O evil-minded one, you will never see Me installed as the king!”
Bharata continued to reproach His mother with sharp words. Kaikeyi remained silent, her mind bewildered. Bharata’s reaction was quite unexpected and she did not know how to reply.
Bharata shook His head. “Since you have committed a hideous sin, you shall surely reside in hell. There you shall wail endlessly with none of your desired objects attained. Do not say anything to Me, evil lady. I hereby desert you! You are neither My mother nor the emperor’s wife. Without doubt you are a wicked Rākṣasī who entered My family in the guise of a relation.”
Bharata hissed like an enraged serpent. Immediate remedial action was required. He would bring Rāma back and then take His place in the forest to fulfill His vow! How could He possibly remain in Ayodhya among the grieving citizens while Rāma sat in some lonely wilderness?
The prince pointed angrily at His mother as He went on. “For your part, cruel woman, you had best either enter fire, swallow poison or go yourself to the forest. There is no other course left for you to free yourself from the stain of your sinful deed. I myself shall be freed of this sin only when Rāma has been brought back and installed upon the throne.”
Bharata fell to the floor almost senseless with grief. With His garments in dissaray and his jewels tossed about, the prince looked like a banner raised in honor of Indra and suddenly dropped down again.
While Bharata lay absorbed in sorrow, Daśaratha’s ministers, having heard the commotion in Kaikeyi’s rooms, gathered around. After some time Bharata regained His senses and saw the ministers surrounding Him. Rising up quickly, the prince again rebuked His mother, who sat, miserable, her eyes full of tears.
Bharata turned toward the king’s advisors and said in a loud voice, “At no time did this sinful woman consult with Me concerning Rāma’s exile. I have never coveted the kingdom. Indeed, I knew nothing of the intended installation of Rāma. I was far away from Ayodhya. Only today have I learned all the facts from My mother, whom I utterly reject.”
Kaushalya, whose rooms were nearby, heard Bharata’s voice. She got up, desiring to speak to the prince. Bharata was also thinking of Kaushalya. He ran out of Kaikeyi’s apartments accompanied by Shatrughna. As they went toward Kaushalya, they saw her in the passageway. She was dressed in white silks and appeared pale and emaciated. Her body was trembling and she seemed distracted. As she saw the two princes approaching she cried out and collapsed to the floor. Bharata and Shatrughna quickly lifted her up and she embraced the brothers, who were both weeping.
The distraught queen said to Bharata, “You may now enjoy this kingdom stripped of all its enemies. Surely You hankered for the sovereignty and now Your mother has fully secured it for You. The cruel Kaikeyi has sent away my son as an ascetic. She should now send me away as well. Otherwise I shall place at my head the sacrificial fire and, followed by Sumitra, proceed happily along the road taken by Rāma. In any event I cannot remain here any longer.”
Kaushalya sobbed as she spoke. “Your mother has served you well, O Bharata! Your plan has succeeded. Rule now this wide earth abounding in riches, but first, please take me to wherever my high-souled son is staying. I shall spend my days with Him in the forest.”
The queen bitterly reproached Bharata with many painful words. Hearing this the prince was stunned and He practically lost consciousness, His mind utterly confused. He fell at Kaushalya’s feet and cried out. Kneeling before her with joined palms, Bharata said, “Surely you know My love for Rāma, O noble lady. How could you even imagine that I am in any way guilty of conspiring with Kaikeyi? I found out only today of this terrible turn of events.”
Bharata clasped Kaushalya’s feet. Did she really believe He was a party to Rāma’s exile? The prince spoke from His heart. “Let the man who agrees to Rāma’s exile reap the sins that follow every kind of wicked act condemned in the scriptures! Let him roam about this world like a madman, clad in rags and begging for his food. Let him never take delight in piety and truth. Let all his wealth be looted by robbers. Let him fall victim to every kind of disease. Let him never attain the higher regions inhabited by the gods. Indeed, let that merciless and evil man fall down to the darkest hell and remain there forever!”
The prince expressed His anger to Kaushalya, pleading His innocence by making numerous difficult oaths. He was mortified to think that anyone could imagine Him in any way inimical to Rāma.
The queen was reassured by Bharata’s words. She had spoken only out of her own anguish. In her heart she knew the prince was innocent. Gently stroking His head she said, “My agony is aggravated by Your pain, dear son. Surely You are free of all sins. Your mind has not deviated from righteousness and You are true to Your word. You will doubtlessly reach the realms of the virtuous, my child.”
As Kaushalya and Bharata spoke together, remembering Rāma and the king, they both fell to the floor, overpowered by grief. The palace attendants then helped them to their rooms, where they lay in a fitful sleep.
2.4: ‘We Shall Bring Rāma Back’
The next day as twilight approached Vasiṣṭha came to Bharata and said, “Rise up now, O prince, and shake off this grief! The time has come to perform Your father’s funeral. Come quickly, O Bharata, for the ceremony is long overdue!”
Seeing the sage, Bharata fell prostrate at his feet, saying “So be it.” After quickly bathing and changing His clothes, He went with Vasiṣṭha to the place where His father’s body was lying in its tank of oil. Vasiṣṭha had Daśaratha’s body brought out and laid upon a golden bier studded with numerous bright jewels.
As he gazed at His father, Bharata lamented. “O great king, you always knew right from wrong! After sending Rāma and Lakṣman into exile, what did you intend to do? How shall I act now, my lord? Alas I am lost! Where have you gone, dear father, leaving this servant of yours distressed and forlorn? Where now is that glorious Rāma who performs great deeds with little exertion?”
Bharata stood at His father’s feet. Daśaratha lay covered with white silks and adorned with royal ornaments. Bharata cried to him piteously. “Now that you have left for the heavens, O king, who will protect the people? Deprived of you this earth no longer appears attractive. Indeed, this city of Ayodhya looks like a dark night bereft of the moon.”
Vasiṣṭha came up to Bharata and said, “Gather Yourself together, O prince. You should now carry out the last rites for the king with a cool mind.”
Bharata asked the priests to proceed with the ceremony. The Brahmins brought out from the king’s apartments his sacred fire, which he had maintained throughout his life. Placing the fire at their head they carried the king to the cremation ground, their throats choked with sorrow. As the procession made its way along the road, the citizens came out of their houses and walked ahead, scattering flowers and pieces of new cloth on the road.
At the cremation ground on the bank of the Sarayu, the priests prepared a pyre with various types of fragrant woods. They placed Daśaratha upon the pyre and began to chant the sacred hymns of the Sāma Veda to invoke good fortune. Bharata took a flame from the king’s sacrificial fire and lit the pyre. The king’s wives, along with the princes and priests, then circumambulated the fire, their hearts burning with grief.
The women wailed piteously. Kaushalya and Sumitra fell to the ground, crying like a pair of female cranes. Although they both longed to ascend the pyre and follow their husband, they longed even more to see Rāma and Lakṣman return. As the fire died down, all of the king’s relatives went to the riverbank and offered palmfuls of that holy water to his departed soul. They then returned to the city and spent the following ten days grieving, taking little food and lying upon the bare ground, their eyes filled with tears.
On the eleventh day the final obsequial rites were performed and on the twelfth day Bharata gave to the Brahmins much charity on His father’s behalf. On the following day Bharata and Shatrughna returned to the cremation ground to collect Their father’s ashes. Upon arriving at the funeral pyre, the two princes saw Their father’s remains and They cried out in pain. Remembering again the king’s various affectionate gestures toward Them, They fell to the ground and rolled about.
Shatrughna lamented angrily. “A fierce and formidable sea of grief has been unleashed by Manthara! Kaikeyi’s boons are its great waves and her words its fearful alligators. Alas, this violent ocean has swept over us all! Where have you gone, dear father, leaving behind poor Bharata, who is yet a tender boy?”
Shatrughna stood up with His arms outstretched. “How strange that this earth does not split in two, seeing you gone and Rāma retired to the forest! We two brothers shall also go to the woods for We cannot return to Ayodhya, rendered desolate without Our father and brother.”
All the attendants of Bharata and Shatrughna were distressed to see the princes’ agony. Comforting the royal brothers, the omniscient Vasiṣṭha said, “Your father has surely ascended to the highest regions of bliss. He was ever pious and never committed a sin, even in his mind. You grieve needlessly, for the soul of Your father is eternal and has gone to the Lord’s eternal abode.”
The two princes stood with folded hands, looking at the royal priest. Putting aside Their grief, They listened attentively as the sage continued.
“The body is always dead, being composed of nothing more than lifeless matter. It is born and remains for only a short while, with destruction being its inevitable end. Only a fool grieves for the unavoidable. The wise understand that this entire world will be destroyed along with all its living creatures. It is the soul alone that will survive.”
Vasiṣṭha pointed to the king’s remains as he spoke. The king had achieved the perfection of life and would not take another birth. Those devoted to God’s service leave this temporary world forever. For them there is no more suffering. The princes should shed their grief and perform Their duties. Their father now sat in the highest heaven, while the kingdom stood in need of Their protection.
After hearing the sage’s spiritual instructions the brothers gained strength. They took Their father’s ashes and placed them in the sacred Sarayu. Along with all Their attendants, They made Their way back to Ayodhya. As They walked, Shatrughna spoke to Bharata. “How strange it is that the mighty Rāma stands exiled by the words of a woman. I cannot understand why Lakṣman did not forcibly restrain the king, seeing him to be straying from the path of righteousness.”
Shatrughna was mystified that such an injustice could have taken place. How did Rāma allow Himself to be sent away, causing His father’s death? What sin had that powerful and virtuous prince ever committed? Had He been present, Shatrughna would surely have intervened. Kaikeyi and her evil maid would have been checked and severely rebuked for their unforgiveable behavior!
As Shatrughna thought in this way they arrived at the king’s palace and saw Manthara at the gate. She was wearing costly garments and adorned with jeweled ornaments. Seeing the two princes she gasped and shrank back. Immediately the doorkeeper seized her and dragged her to the princes, saying, “Here is the cruel wretch responsible for the exile of our beloved lord! Do with her what you will!”
Shatrughna became inflamed and took hold of Manthara. Pulling her into the palace, He spoke in front of the many other maidservants who were standing there. “This wicked one shall now reap the fruits of her evil deeds! She has brought acute and unbearable pain to all in this house, as well as to all the citizens of Ayodhya. Watch now as I punish her!”
Manthara shrieked loudly, being held tightly by Shatrughna. All her female companions ran away in different directions, fearful that the enraged Shatrughna would also turn on them. The prince dragged Manthara violently across the floor and her ornaments broke and scattered on the blue marble floor like so many stars in the sky.
Kaikeyi heard her servant screaming and came quickly to help her. Seeing her, Shatrughna began rebuking her with harsh words. Kaikeyi was pained by Shatrughna’s sharp words and ran to Bharata for protection. Bharata moved away from His mother and spoke to the furious Shatrughna.
“Even when sinful, women should never be slain. You should therefore forgive this maidservant. Indeed, I would have slain My own mother if the eternal moral law did not forbid it—and certainly such an act would never be pleasing to Rāma. Our pious brother would never speak with Us again if He heard that We killed this woman.”
Hearing Bharata’s admonition, Shatrughna released Manthara and she fell almost unconscious to the floor. Kaikeyi raised her up and she wailed piteously, her clothes and hair in disarray. Kaikeyi looked fearfully at Shatrughna and gently calmed her servant. Although Manthara had brought about a terrible calamity in Kaikeyi’s life, the queen felt no anger toward her. Her son’s severe reaction had made Kaikeyi thoughtful. She remembered her husband’s words when she asked for the boons. He had been right. She had always loved Rāma like her own son. What had possessed her so that she had desired His exile? She considered it the work of all-powerful Providence. Manthara could not be blamed. She was only an instrument in the hands of destiny. Thinking of Rāma and feeling she had done Him a great injustice, Kaikeyi watched in silence as Bharata and Shatrughna left.
* * *
On the fourteenth day after the funeral the king’s counselors conferred and then spoke with Bharata. Wanting to install Him as king, they said, “As Your elder brother has gone to the forest along with Lakṣman, there will be no sin in Your superseding Him and accepting the throne. Therefore, O jewel among men, be consecrated as our ruler and protect us with justice and compassion.”
The counselors showed Bharata the seat and coronation paraphernalia which had been prepared for Rāma’s installation. Exactly as Rāma had done, however, Bharata walked around the seat in respect and said, “I shall never accept the kingdom, passing over the pious Rāma. All of you know well the rule in our race. The kingship is always conferred upon the eldest brother. Therefore, Rāma will be the ruler of this earth. Let a large and powerful army be made ready, for we shall go to the forest to bring back Rāma.”
Bharata pointed to the paraphernalia. “Taking all these items, we shall perform Rāma’s coronation even in the forest. You may then bring Him back in honor as the king. I Myself shall remain there in His place for fourteen years. I shall never allow My mother to realize her wicked ambition!”
Bharata became enlivened as He contemplated the possibility of bringing Rāma home. He felt sure that Rāma could be convinced to return when He saw Bharata coming to get Him with all the people of Ayodhya. He ordered that expert architects and engineers construct a road to the forest. The work should begin immediately and they would leave as soon as possible.
All the Brahmin counselors applauded Bharata, saying, “Very good! It shall be done!” They blessed Bharata and He felt delighted in mind. His face lit up with joy and tears flowed from His eyes. Thinking of Rāma and His imminent return, everyone found their grief dispelled.
Thousands of skilled men were employed in the task of building the road. Absorbed in thoughts of Rāma they worked swiftly, leveling the land to lay out a broad road paved with great slabs of red stone. The work was carried out as quickly as possible. Wells were dug and large ponds excavated. Trees were planted along the edge of the road to provide shade, and fragrant gardens were laid out at intervals. The great highway was decorated with festoons and sprinkled with scented water mixed with sandalwood paste. Along the way tent encampments, enclosed by wide moats, were erected for the army. Temples were constructed and images of Viṣṇu and the gods were installed and worshipped. In some places wealthy men had mansions built and villages grew up around these houses. The road extended from Ayodhya all the way to the Ganges. Strewn with various forest flowers, it appeared like a pathway made by the gods and leading to the heavens.
Within less than a month the road was complete. Bharata summoned Sumantra and ordered him to have the army prepare to leave. In great eagerness the army chiefs prepared everything for the journey to the forest. Mounting upon His own golden car drawn by six pairs of horses, Bharata set out from the city. He was followed by nine thousand elephants, sixty thousand chariots and a hundred thousand infantry. All the royal counselors and priests accompanied Him, as well as Daśaratha’s three wives.
The procession from Ayodhya consisted of thousands of citizens of all classes. It made its way slowly toward the forest. Merchants set out shops and artisans and craftsmen of all kinds plied their trade along the road. Thousands of Brahmins, their minds absorbed in meditation, followed the procession on bullock carts, uttering benedictions and prayers.
After some days Bharata arrived near Sringavera, where Rāma’s friend Guha lived. Halting on the bank of the Ganges, the prince set up camp. Bharata descended from His chariot along with Shatrughna and went down to the riverbank, where He lay down in prostrated obeisance. Along with His brother and Daśaratha’s wives, He offered Ganges water to the king’s departed soul.
Guha had seen Bharata’s approach and said to his counselors, “This huge army appears like a sea without any shore. I see in the distance a towering banner bearing the emblem of Bharata. Surely He has come here wishing harm to Rāma.”
Guha thought Bharata intended to kill Rāma in order to establish His unchallenged right to the kingdom. Seeing the tremendous number of people accompanying Bharata, he felt fearful.
“I think this prince will either bind us with chains or kill us, finding us entirely devoted to Rāma,” Guha continued. “Have our men stand ready with weapons and clothed in mail. The boats should each be filled with one hundred warriors and should wait on the other side of the river. Rāma is our lord and master and we should do whatever is in our power to assist Him.”
Guha decided to go personally to Bharata and discover His purpose. Taking various sweetmeats and fruits as an offering, he went with his chief ministers toward the prince’s tent. As he approached nearby, Sumantra saw him and informed Bharata, “Here comes the Niṣadha king, Guha, accompanied by a thousand of his men. He is Rāma’s friend and he knows well everything about the forest. O noble prince, You should allow him to see You, for he will surely know Rāma’s whereabouts.”
Bharata immediately gave orders that Guha be shown into His tent. He came before Bharata and humbly bowed down saying, “This kingdom is Yours, O prince. As Rāma’s friend You are my friend and indeed my lord. Be pleased to accept these foodstuffs and please also stay in my house. Allow my men to entertain Your army tonight, and tomorrow You may leave refreshed to accomplish Your purpose.”
Bharata could understand Guha’s mind. He was pleased by his reception and by his devotion to Rāma. He spoke gently to the Niṣadha ruler. “It is a pleasure to meet you, dear friend of My brother. We are satisfied by your kind hospitality.”
Bharata pointed across the Ganges. “I heard Rāma went that way, O king, toward Bharadvāja’s hermitage. By which route should we proceed in order to find Him, O king? Should we cross this river or go along its bank?”
Guha was apprehensive. He looked down as he replied to Bharata. “Seeing Your vast army, my mind was filled with fear. I trust that You wish no harm to Rāma. If that is the case, then my ferrymen can take You across the river and show You the way.”
Bharata reassured Guha. “May the time never come when any wickedness toward Rāma enters My heart. Do not have any doubts about Me, O Guha. I am here to bring back Rāma to Ayodhya. My glorious brother is as good as My father, and I long to see Him again. Pray point out His whereabouts to Me and I shall go and press His feet to My head.”
Tears sprang to Guha’s eyes as he replied. “There can be none equal to You on this globe, O jewel among men! Who else could renounce the rulership of the world? Surely Your fame will be everlasting. Rest now for the night and tomorrow I shall make all arrangements.”
Guha took his leave from Bharata and the prince laid down to sleep. Thinking of Rāma, He was seized with sorrow. Perhaps He would not be able to find Him. Many months had passed since Rāma had left. Who knows where He might be now? Bharata was unable to sleep. He was oppressed with an agony which weighed upon Him like a heap of rocks. Heaving sighs Bharata tossed around, immersed in thoughts of Rāma. Gradually the dawn approached, and as the sun rose Guha returned.
The forest king spoke again to Bharata. He described how Rāma had spent a night there and then, after matting His hair, had left for the deep forest with Lakṣman and Sītā. Guha indicated the way They had gone.
Hearing how Rāma had matted His hair, Bharata became apprehensive. Surely Rāma would not now return. His resolve to remain as an ascetic for fourteen years must be firm. Seized with such thoughts Bharata all of a sudden fell to the ground, saddened at heart. Shatrughna raised His brother, who sat shedding tears. Kaushalya and Sumitra quickly approached Him and spoke comforting words. Bharata recovered His composure and said to Guha, “Tell me everything about Rāma. What foods did He eat? Where did He sleep? What did He say?”
Guha told Bharata how he had offered Rāma many excellent cooked foods, but Rāma had refused them, saying “It is never the duty of rulers to accept charity. Indeed, we should always give charity to others.”
Guha explained how Rāma had drunk only water and then had slept upon a bed of grass laid out by Lakṣman. Bharata asked to be shown the place where Rāma slept and Guha took Him to the foot of the tree where the bed still lay. Seeing it Bharata loudly exclaimed, “Alas, how could it be that one such as Rāma should lay down on a bed of grass? He was ever accustomed to sleep at the top of high palaces, in rooms with golden floors spread with the finest rugs. Having always been awoken by the sweet strains of music and song, how is He now roused by the roar of wild beasts?”
Bharata lamented at length as the reality of Rāma’s exile and ascetic life struck Him. The injustice was insufferable to Bharata and it was made even more excruciating by the thought that He was the cause. His voice was filled with pain. “This is truly incredible! It cannot be real. Surely I am dreaming. See here the strands of gold left by Sītā where She lay on these grasses, Her delicate limbs pressed to the hard ground. I am ruined indeed, for it is on My account that all this has happened!”
Images of Rāma and Sītā dressed in forest attire, emaciated due to eating only fruits and roots, filled Bharata’s mind. Beating His head He cried out. “From this day I shall wear matted locks and tree bark! I shall lay upon the bare earth to sleep and shall eat only simple forest fare.”
Bharata became even more determined to find Rāma and bring Him back to Ayodhya, staying Himself in the forest in Rāma’s place. After spending another night sleeping on the spot where Rāma had lain, Bharata had the army prepare to leave. Guha brought five hundred large boats equipped with oarsmen and sails. He offered his own personal boat to Bharata and His relatives. Some boats were filled with women, some with horses and others with chariots. As the boats plied across the river the elephants swam with the flags on their backs waving in the breeze. Many of the soldiers also swam while their equipment was carried in the boats.
Late in the afternoon the whole party assembled again on the other side of the river. Ordering them to camp at that spot, Bharata went with Vasiṣṭha and other Brahmins to look for Bharadvāja’s hermitage.
Out of deference to the great sage Bharadvāja, whose only wealth was asceticism, Bharata approached him wearing only simple cloth, leaving His armor and weapons behind. With Vasiṣṭha at their head, the prince and His counselors went on foot and soon arrived at the sage’s hermitage.
As soon as he saw them at his door, the sage hurriedly rose and had his disciples fetch water to wash their feet. He embraced Vasiṣṭha and offered blessings to Bharata, who had fallen prostrate at his feet.
Bharadvāja gazed at Bharata, whom he recognized as Rāma’s brother. The sage knew by his own mystic vision that Daśaratha was dead. After inquiring about the situation in Ayodhya the sage asked Bharata, “What brings You all this way, leaving aside the onerous business of managing the state? Because of Your mother’s words, You are ruling the world as its undisputed monarch. I trust that You have not come here with some dark intention toward the sinless and perfect Rāma?”
The sage’s words cut into Bharata. Tears flowed from His eyes as He replied in a hurt voice, “If even you impute such motives to Me, then I am truly ruined. I never approved My mother’s aims! I cannot even imagine doing harm to Rāma, nor will I ever accept the kingdom!”
Feeling that no one would believe His innocence, Bharata felt despair. He folded His hands and spoke imploringly. “The powerful Rāma is the true ruler of this earth. I have come here to bring Him back to Ayodhya. Falling at His feet I shall make Him return and then remain here in His place. O all-knowing sage, please be gracious to Me and show Me where Rāma is staying.”
Bharata’s sincerity was obvious. The all-knowing Bharadvāja smiled. He placed his hand upon Bharata’s head, who sat before him weeping, and said, “I surely knew of Your intention and spoke only to heighten Your resolve and indeed Your fame. You are a worthy member of Your royal line, O prince, and are always dedicated to the service of Your elders. Your devotion to Rāma is beyond doubt.”
The sage assured Bharata that he would point out Rāma’s whereabouts. He asked the prince to stay the night at his hermitage and leave the following morning. Bharata agreed and the sage then offered to feed the entire army. Astonished, Bharata said, “We have already received sufficient hospitality from you, kind sir. As a forest dweller you need only offer simple fruits and this you have done. My army is vast and occupies a huge area of land. If I brought them here, they would all but wreck this holy site.”
Bharadvāja laughed and replied, “Have Your army brought here forthwith. You should not doubt my ability to receive them, nor will they be any trouble at all.”
Commanded by the sage, Bharata assented. Sending back one of His men, He had the army approach the hermitage. As they moved slowly through the forest Bharadvāja sat in meditation. By uttering Vedic mantras he invoked the presence of the principal gods. He then requested them to provide hospitality for the divine prince and His army.
Seated in trance, the sage said within himself, “Let the sacred rivers bear to this region all kinds of celestial beverages. Let the moon-god bring every sort of excellent cooked food. May the heavenly architect Viśvakarmā create a suitable site for receiving the army. May Indra send all his Apsarās along with the Gandharva clans to entertain these troops.”
As Bharadvāja invoked various divine beings with perfectly pronounced Sanskrit hymns, they all appeared before him. A cool and delightfully fragrant breeze began to blow. Thick showers of flowers fell from the heavens and the sound of celestial music was heard. As the Gandharvas sang and played upon vīṇās, hosts of Apsarās danced. All of Bharata’s entourage, who had assembled at the hermitage, felt their hearts moved by the exquisite sights and sounds seen and heard everywhere.
Before everyone’s eyes the entire area around the hermitage changed wonderfully. For a radius of forty miles the ground became even, carpeted with soft blue grass. Numerous types of fruit trees sprang up, full of ripe fruits. Mangos, guavas, peaches, melons and innumerable other soft and hard fruits were seen. Alongside streams of crystal clear water stood large white mansions furnished with seats and couches. A great palace appeared that looked like a white cloud and had a large arched doorway. Delicious food and drink were laid out in these spacious buildings.
With Bharadvāja’s permission, Bharata entered the palace, which was adorned with countless flower garlands and sprinkled with scents. Seeing a golden throne, Bharata simply walked around it and sat on the seat next to it, surrounded by His chief ministers.
Streams of sweetened milk and cream flowed past the palace. By Bharadvāja’s mystic power, many trees in the hermitage came to life and began playing upon different musical instruments. Some of them assumed the form of dwarfs and began to move about in haste, serving Bharata and His army. All around there appeared thousands of golden vessels containing food of every description. Heaps of steaming white rice were seen, along with tanks filled with milk drinks and yogurt. Pots of honey and large jars filled with intoxicating drinks stood next to platters containing delicious sweetmeats.
Beautiful young maidens attended upon the soldiers, washing them and massaging their feet and bodies with fragrant oils. These celestial damsels, all adorned in pure silk garments, served the men food on golden plates. Being maddened with pleasure, the troops laughed loudly and ran about in all directions. They praised Bharata and Rāma again and again as they partook of every kind of enjoyable thing. Although they ate and drank huge amounts they found that they were still not sated. Their senses and minds became more and more enlivened and they felt renewed and refreshed. Even the army’s animals were carefully tended and given all kinds of food and drink by the celestial beings invoked by Bharadvāja.
As the night ended, the troops saw before them numerous items of toiletry. Pots of hot water along with soaps and unguents in silver and wooden cases appeared. Combs, brushes, talcs and shining mirrors were in abundance, as well as fresh clothes, shoes and all kinds of ornaments. As the men bathed and put on their clothes and armor, the gods and Apsarās left the hermitage and returned to the heavens. The army was astonished by the night’s events, which seemed like a dream. They looked around at the hermitage, which had returned to its normal appearance. Everything had disappeared except for the celestial garlands strewn about, which, although crushed, were as fresh then as they had been at the beginning of the night.
As the sun rose Bharata went to Bharadvāja after the sage’s morning prayers. The prince bowed before him and asked his permission to leave. Bharadvāja blessed Him and said, “I trust You and Your followers spent an enjoyable night. Please tell me if there is anything else I can do for You.”
Bharata thanked him for his hospitality and asked to be shown the way toward Rāma’s hut in the woods. The sage smiled and said, “There is a mountain some twenty miles from here named Chitrakuta, full of lovely caves and groves. On the northern side of that mountain, shaded by blossoming trees, flows the Mandakini River. There, by that river, You will find Your two brothers.”
As the sage spoke Kaushalya and Sumitra got down from their chariot and clasped his feet. They thanked him profusely as they anticipated seeing Rāma. Kaikeyi also came to the sage and shamefully bowed before him, feeling guilty at heart. Looking at her with compassion the sage asked Bharata, “Please tell me, who are these noble ladies?”
Bharata indicated Kaushalya saying, “This godly lady is the mother of the lion-like Rāma. Afflicted with grief, she is emaciated with fasting. Clinging to her arm is the celebrated Sumitra, the mother of Lakṣman and Shatrughna, those two great heroes.”
Becoming angry, hissing like a cobra as He spoke, Bharata indicated Kaikeyi. “This one here is My own mother, the wicked and vulgar Kaikeyi. It was by her intrigues that the great emperor Daśaratha died from anguish and the mighty Rāma now resides in a lonely mountain reach.”
Bharadvāja, who knew the plans of the gods and the divine arrangements of the Supreme Lord, said to Bharata, “You should not censure Your mother, O great prince. Do not think her guilty, for Rāma’s banishment will result in good to the entire universe. Indeed, it will bring happiness to the gods, demons and ṛṣis, along with the whole of the creation.”
Bharata blushed deeply. He had been piercing His mother with angry looks and He felt rebuked by the sage. Unable to immediately subdue His anger, He averted His gaze and tried to assimilate Bharadvāja’s instructions. He stood up and walked respectfully around the sage. Receiving his permission to leave, Bharata ordered the army to depart and mounted upon His chariot. Guha accompanied the two princes. As the huge mass of men moved off through the woods they made a great noise, terrifying the deer and birds dwelling there. Slowly approaching the Chitrakuta mountain they all thought only of Rāma, longing to see Him again.
2.5: Rāma Remains Firm
Three months had passed since Rāma had settled on the Chitrakuta mountain. Living peacefully in Their thatched cottage, Rāma, along with Lakṣman and Sītā, was happy. From their hut They could see the top of the mountain, some of which was yellow, some red as madder, some glittering silver and some blue-green like a shining emerald. Thousands of other subtle hues shone on the side of the great mountain, and it teemed with deer of every description and hosts of harmless tigers, leopards and bears. Trees laden with flowers and fruits were crowded with varieties of colorful and sweetly singing birds. Clear rivulets flowed from countless springs, and waterfalls sparkled in the sunshine.
Rāma felt gladdened at heart to see all this and, sitting at ease on the porch of His hut, He spoke with Sītā: “Look at the Kinnaras as they sport on these delightful slopes, having descended from their own planets. See also the Vidhyadharas and Gandharvas courting their womenfolk after hanging their swords and other weapons from the boughs of trees. This place is finer even than heaven. Surely We will easily spend fourteen summers here as if they were a month.”
Sītā smiled. She felt joyful to be living there with Rāma. Despite its simplicity She liked forest life, preferring it even to Her life of luxury in the city. She looked down at the Mandakini River where lines of ascetics, clad only in loin cloths, stood in the water with their arms upraised as they worshipped the sun. A cool breeze carried the aroma of tree blossoms, which cascaded on all sides of the mountain. On the sandy bank of the river heavenly Siddhas were appearing and disappearing, moving about in delight. Further down the river She saw a group of elephants standing amid the red and white lotuses as they drank the clear water.
Rāma continued, “Let Us take Our midday bath in the river, O princess. With You by My side I do not miss any of My relatives or even Ayodhya itself. Your beauty puts to shame the so-called beauty of these heavenly damsels, and it gives Me newer and newer pleasure.”
Rāma looked at His brother, who stood at a distance holding His bow. “The godly Lakṣman stands over there equipped with weapons and ready to carry out My every command. Living on the delicious forest fare He gathers, We reside here most happily, dear Sītā. What more could I desire even if I lived in Ayodhya?”
Rāma and Sītā descended to the river and found a secluded spot to take Their bath. After bathing and sporting for some time in the cool waters, They came out and sat in the sun on a large flat rock. As Rāma conversed with Sītā He noticed in the distance a cloud of dust rising to the sky. Looking around He saw frightened animals running in all directions and heard a terrific noise, which became progressively louder.
Rāma called out to His brother. “Lakṣman! What do You think is causing this disturbance? A sound like a terrible crash of thunder is coming from the north! Is some king or prince out hunting in the forest, followed by his army? Or is it some vast herd of beasts on the move? Please go and see.”
Lakṣman immediately climbed a tall tree and looked all around. Fixing his gaze on the north, He saw in the distance a large army crowded with elephants, horses and chariots, and joined with a mass of marching foot soldiers. He shouted to Rāma and informed Him.
“Let Sītā quickly find a cave,” Lakṣman advised Rāma. “Extinguish the fire so that the smoke will not be seen. We two shall stand here clothed in mail and holding upraised weapons, for a powerful army approaches!”
Rāma, who was not at all fearful, replied to Lakṣman, “Look carefully at the ensigns. Try to determine whose army You think it might be.”
Lakṣman stared at the head of the army and saw a tall ensign waving in the breeze, bearing the emblem of a kovidara tree. The prince became infuriated and looked at the army as if He might consume it with His gaze alone.
“Clearly this is Bharata’s army!” He exclaimed. “I see there the mark of the kovidara. Evidently He has secured the throne of Ayodhya and now desires to attain undisputed sovereignty by killing Us both. Even now I see swift horses going ahead to seek Us out.”
Lakṣman seethed with anger. “It is fortunate indeed that I shall now see Bharata’s face, for whose sake You are enduring this forest life deprived of Your sovereign rights. Surely He has come here as an enemy and as such deserves to be killed outright! I see no sin in this action, O Rāma, for Bharata has sorely wronged You.”
Lakṣman descended from the tree and picked up His weapons. He held His sword aloft. “Today Kaikeyi, who is so desirous of the kingdom, will be seized with sorrow when she sees her son slain by Me! I shall then kill her also! Let the earth drink the blood of all these warriors. Beasts of prey will drag about the corpses of elephants and horses, as well as of thousands of men pierced by My arrows. Killing Bharata along with His army, I will repay My debt to My weapons!”
Rāma replied gravely to the enraged Lakṣman. “These sentiments do not befit You, dear brother. The mighty Bharata has come here longing to see Us and You wish to greet Him with weapons. I have given My word of honor to remain in the forest. How then can I forcefully take the kingdom from Bharata, thereby gaining a sovereignty stained with infamy?”
Feeling admonished by His brother, Lakṣman looked down and sheathed His sword. Rāma continued, “I will never accept a royal fortune won at the cost of the death of My kinsmen. Indeed, I would only accept the kingdom for the pleasure and protection of My relatives, for I have no personal desire for sovereignty. If any joy should come to Me that is not enjoyed by Yourself, Bharata or Shatrughna, then let it be reduced to ashes.”
Rāma knew Bharata’s heart. Bharata was no less devoted to Him than Lakṣman. He could understand why His brother had come to see Him. He also longed to see Bharata. Comforting Lakṣman, Rāma said, “When Bharata heard of My exile I am sure He would have felt His heart overwhelmed with affection and His mind distracted by grief. After censuring Kaikeyi with harsh words, He no doubt left Ayodhya intent on bringing Me back. Of this I feel certain.”
Lakṣman felt ashamed to have spoken angrily about Bharata. He remembered the close and loving relationships the four brothers had enjoyed in childhood. Rāma was right. Bharata could not possibly have come in a martial spirit. Lakṣman blushed as Rāma continued.
“I cannot imagine Bharata harming us even in His mind,” Rāma said gently. “Has He somehow previously offended You, dear brother, so that You wax so wrathful toward Him now? If You are set upon the slaughter of Bharata, then I shall order Him to hand over the kingdom to You this very day. Certainly He will remain here in Your place, clad in tree barks, while You rule over this broad earth.”
Lakṣman shrank with shame. It had been wrong of Him to think so badly of Bharata. There was never a time when any malice or envy had been seen in that prince. Lakṣman tried to make amends for His previous outburst.
“It must be as You say, dear Rāma. I think the mighty-armed emperor himself has personally come here accompanied by Bharata. Our father will doubtlessly try to persuade Us to return, handing You the sovereignty refused by Bharata. Indeed, I saw father’s gigantic elephant, Shatrunjaya, rocking about at the head of the army as it marched.”
From Their vantage point on the mountainside Rāma could see the army coming into view. Spotting the king’s elephant He felt a sudden apprehension. Why was there no white umbrella held over its back? Shatrunjaya would not have come out without the king. Unless, that is, there was no king. Rāma was fearful. Along with Lakṣman and Sītā, He waited near His hut for Bharata’s arrival.
* * *
When they reached the mountain, Bharata detailed a number of expert trackers to go in search of Rāma’s hermitage. He himself went ahead on horseback and began searching on foot when He reached the dense forest on the mountainside. Accompanied by Vasiṣṭha and other Brahmins, Bharata pressed ahead into the forest, anxious to see His brothers. He said to Vasiṣṭha, “Blessed is this mountain reach, O sage, where Rāma and Sītā now roam. How fortunate is Lakṣman who always beholds the moon-like face of Rāma. I long to hold Rāma’s feet on My head. There will be no peace for Me until I see Him duly consecrated and seated upon Ayodhya’s throne.”
Bharata climbed a tall tree and gazed all around. Upon seeing a column of smoke He surmised it to be coming from Rāma’s hermitage. Rejoicing, He descended quickly and went in that direction. Confident that they were now close to Rāma, He sent Vasiṣṭha back to bring the queens. Then, along with Shatrughna and Guha, He went as quickly as possible up the mountain slope.
As they arrived at a plateau they suddenly burst into a clearing and saw there, on a leveled piece of ground, Rāma’s hut. Rāma and Lakṣman were sitting in front of the leafy cottage. Bharata saw the sacrificial fire placed on an altar surrounded by blades of kusha grass. Hanging on the sides of the hut were two long bows, plated with gold and shining like rainbows. Large quivers filled with fearful looking arrows stood by the bows, along with two great shields adorned with gold engravings. A couple of swords hung by the bows, sheathed in silver and gold.
When Bharata saw Rāma dressed as an ascetic, His hair matted, He let out a cry and fell prostrate. Rising up again He gazed with tear-filled eyes at His beloved brother, who appeared like Brahmā seated in his celestial assembly hall. Rāma turned and smiled at Bharata, who along with Shatrughna was rushing toward Him. Stumbling even as He ran over level ground, Bharata swiftly approached Rāma and fell before Him. In a choked voice He began to lament.
“Alas, here is My elder brother, who deserves to sit in a royal assembly, seated now in the company of deer,” Bharata cried. “What a cruel destiny! Here is that exalted soul who should wear garments worth many thousands wearing the barks of trees. All this is on My account! Woe to Me, condemned by all the world.”
Sobs stifled Bharata’s voice as He lay near Rāma, His hands stretched toward His brother’s feet. His face was covered with perspiration and He called out, “Oh, My brother, My noble brother! Shatrughna also shed tears and bowed before Rāma. Rāma and Lakṣman quickly got up and closely embraced both of Their brothers. The four princes coming together appeared as if the sun and moon had conjoined with Venus and Jupiter in the heavens.
Rāma asked Bharata what had brought Him away from Ayodhya. Surprised to see Him with matted locks and wearing a deerskin, Rāma said, “Why have You come here without Our father, dearest brother? I hope all is well in Ayodhya. As long as father lives You should surely wait upon him with great attention. Still, I am glad to see You here, although You appear pale and emaciated. Why the ascetic dress, noble Bharata? I think your love for Me must be very deep.”
Rāma gently stroked Bharata’s head. Looking up He saw Guha standing at a distance with folded palms and He smiled at him. Rāma was fully absorbed in loving exchanges with His friends and relatives. Feeling pain and concern to see Bharata’s condition, He continued to speak. “I hope You have not lost the kingdom due to immaturity and inexperience. Surely You know all the facets of diplomacy and kingly science, O powerful prince.”
By way of loving instruction, Rāma asked after many aspects of the kingdom. He inquired if the people were properly protected, the animals cared for, the army well maintained and the Brahmins given sufficient charity. Bharata listened respectfully as His elder brother spoke.
“I see here all My mothers,” said Rāma. “Indeed it seems that the entire kingdom of Kośala has accompanied You, dear Bharata. This gives rise to grave doubts in My mind. Please tell Me why you have all arrived here today, for you have aroused My curiosity.”
Bharata knelt before Rāma, clasping His feet. “Dear Rāma, the act perpetrated by My mother was wicked and never approved by Me. Casting You into the forest and afflicting the whole of Ayodhya with unbearable pain, she hoped to see Me installed as the king. This will never happen! Please return now with us, O Raghava, and take Your rightful position as ruler of this world. Be kind to Me and to all these people, O tiger among men.”
Rāma felt compassion for Bharata. He questioned Him again. “What need is there for Your adopting this mode of ascetic life, dear Bharata? The order of Our father is that You become the king. I too stand enjoined by Our father to remain here in the forest. Our pious father’s order is supreme. Therefore, without censuring Your mother Kaikeyi, You should enjoy the kingdom. For myself, I am happier staying here in obedience to Our father than I would be in attaining to the imperishable abode of Brahmā.”
Bharata’s head sank. He knew His elder brother’s mind. It would be impossible to convince Rāma to transgress an order given by His elders. Still He felt impelled to try. He could not possibly take the throne in place of Rāma. With a heavy heart Bharata informed Rāma of what had happened in Ayodhya.
“While I was away in the Kekaya kingdom and You had already gone to the forest, our glorious father ascended to heaven. Thinking only of You and lost in grief at Your separation, the king left his mortal body. Now, by the time-honored rule, You, as the elder son, should inherit the kingdom. There cannot be any doubt on this point.”
As he heard for the first time the news of his father’s death, Rāma felt as if His heart had been pierced. Raising His arms and crying out, He sank to the ground like a tree filled with blossoms cut at its root. He lay motionless with the color drained from His face. Bharata quickly sprinkled Him with cool water. Rāma sat up and held His head, wailing piteously.
“With My father dead and gone what shall I do in Ayodhya? Alas, I am surely a wretched and useless son. My father died because of Me. Nor was I even able to cremate him. Even when the fourteen years expires I shall not have the courage to return to the city, seeing it desolate and bereft of its protector. Who will now speak those kind and loving words My father spoke when he saw Me well-behaved?”
Rāma went over to Sītā and Lakṣman who were seated nearby. “Dear Sītā, Your father-in-law is no more. O Lakṣman, You are now fatherless. Our brother brings the sorrowful news of the king’s ascent to heaven. This world now stands without a ruler.”
Sītā’s eyes filled with tears and She was unable to look at Her husband. Rāma and Lakṣman wept along with Sītā as Bharata and Shatrughna comforted Them.
Rāma controlled His feelings and said, “I must now perform the last sacred rites for the king. Let us go to the river.”
The four princes and Sītā, stumbling due to their grief, descended with difficulty to the riverbank. They were assisted by Sumantra and other ministers of the king, who stood watching as Rāma entered the water along with His brothers and Sītā.
Rāma faced the southern quarter, over which Yamarāja presides, and held water in His cupped palms. He let the water trickle through His fingers and said in a choked voice, “May this sacred water reach you, O great tiger among kings! Let this offering serve you, dear father, who have gone for-ever to the world of our forefathers.”
Rāma offered prayers for His father and then returned to His hermitage to prepare an offering of food for the departed king. After the offering was made, Rāma and His brothers clasped each others’ hands and began to wail loudly. The sound was like the roaring of lions and it reverberated all around the mountain passes.
Hearing that confused noise the soldiers in Bharata’s army were alarmed and they said to one another, “Surely Bharata and Shatrughna have met Rāma and Lakṣman. This sound must be the loud cry of those four brothers mourning for Their deceased father.”
The soldiers got up quickly and began running toward the sound. Crashing through the undergrowth on foot, horseback and in chariots, everyone in Bharata’s entourage rushed toward Rāma’s hermitage, eager to see Him again. The noise of all those thousands of people moving through the forest was tumultuous. Deer, buffaloes, boars, lions and elephants ran in all directions, terrified by the great commotion. Birds of every kind cried loudly and flew up into the air.
Daśaratha’s widowed queens got down from their chariot and went on foot into the woods, accompanied by Vasiṣṭha. Walking with difficulty along the narrow forest paths, they finally arrived at the spot where Rāma was standing with His brothers. Rāma saw them as they entered the clearing and He ran quickly toward them. He bowed down to Vasiṣṭha and each of the three queens, touching their feet. After Lakṣman and Sītā had also offered their respects, Rāma sat down with Vasiṣṭha on the wooden seats in front of His hut. The queens wept aloud upon seeing the ascetic dress of Rāma and Sītā.
Kaushalya went to Rāma and tenderly wiped the dust from His face. Turning to Sītā, she said, “How are You surviving in this lonely forest, dear Sītā? Your face appears pale and withered. Alas, my grief upon seeing You here blazes up like a fire fed with abundant fuel.”
Rāma consoled Kaushalya, while Lakṣman spoke with Sumitra, who was also deeply pained. Bharata then came and sat at Rāma’s feet. With His palms folded he said, “Kaikeyi is now satisfied and the kingdom has been offered to Me. If this kingdom is Mine, then I hereby give it to You, O Rāma. Please take it without any hesitation.”
As Bharata sat before Rāma and Lakṣman, the three brothers shone like three sacrificial fires. Bharata held Rāma’s feet as He spoke. “The power to rule this world rests only with You, O Rāma. I can no more emulate that power of Yours than a donkey can emulate the gait of a horse or a sparrow the flight of Garuḍa. Indeed I am dependent upon You. Let the world behold You shining with splendor on Ayodhya’s throne. We shall take You there in state this very day!”
All the people gathered there called out, “Well said!” upon hearing Bharata speak. With tears streaming from His eyes Bharata sat looking up at Rāma. He hoped desperately that Rāma might somehow be persuaded. He could not imagine going back to Ayodhya without Him.
Seeing His brother and other relatives weeping, Rāma felt compassion. Keeping His own grief in check, He replied, “No man is free to act as he pleases. In this world the embodied soul is dragged here and there by the all-powerful force of Providence. No one can control that force. All gains will end in loss, every meeting ends in separation and all life has its end in death. As there is no fear for a ripe fruit other than a fall, so there is no fear for any man other than death.”
Everyone listened attentively as Rāma spoke, their feelings of sorrow relieved by his instructions. “The passing of days and nights quickly exhaust the life span of all beings, even as the summer sun sucks up the water in a lake,” Rāma went on. “You should grieve only for yourself; why do you grieve for another? Death is our constant companion. He walks with us, sits with us and having gone a long distance with us when we travel, he duly returns with us.”
Rāma still had no desire to return to Ayodhya. He wanted to encourage Bharata and give Him strength. Stroking His brother’s head, He continued to instruct Him.
“Beloved brother, the power to prevent one’s own death does not exist in a person grieving for another. Our father departed after a long life of piety and We should by no means grieve. We ourselves have embarked on the very same path trodden by the emperor and will join him in due course. Let Us therefore throw off grief and dedicate Ourselves to the pursuit of piety by which We too shall attain the blessed regions reached by the king.”
Rāma looked around His hermitage. Thousands of people were crowding on the mountainside, all looking towards Him. There was complete silence as Rāma spoke. Even the animals seemed silent. Only the sound of the river and the rustling of leaves in the breeze could be heard. Dappled shadows moved over the ground in the late afternoon sun. With a mild smile Rāma continued to address Bharata, within the hearing of everyone there.
“Father has shed his old, worn-out body and, with an ethereal and undecaying form, he now sports in great happiness. Rather than grieve for him we should now carefully do his bidding. For Your part You should rule over the earth, dear Bharata, while I for mine should remain in the forest until fourteen years have expired. This will ensure Our welfare in both this world and the next. Under no circumstances should We disobey Our virtuous father.”
Rāma spoke for more than an hour and Bharata felt joy to hear His brother’s words of instruction. But He was also dispirited to see Rāma’s determination to stay in the forest.
When Rāma stopped speaking, Bharata grasped His feet and replied, “Your position is glorious, O mighty brother. You are never dejected at adversity nor exhilarated at finding joy. You are always able to distinguish truth from untruth. Therefore You know what is real and what is only temporary and thus ultimately unreal. It is certainly the soul and not the body that one should nurture in this world.”
Bharata realized that Rāma was only acting with philosophical understanding; He knew that Rāma could not possibly act outside the codes of religion or morality. Nonetheless, Bharata was Himself still doubtful about the justice of Rāma’s exile. He spoke to Rāma in order to clear His doubts. “Were it not for moral codes, I would have surely slain My sinful mother. How did the king allow himself to fall under her sway? Due to infatuation or foolishness Our father acted wrongly. As his sons is it not Our duty to correct his mistakes? Surely this is the proper religious path for an honest and worthy son.”
Bharata turned and indicated the people gathered around. “All these people need Your protection. This is the duty of rulers according to scripture. Nowhere is the duty of a ruler stated as being life in the forest. March back to Ayodhya at the head of this vast army. Let Your friends feel joy today and Your enemies run frightened in all directions. O Rāma, if You resolve to stay here, then You shall find Me by Your side. I can by no means find in Myself the strength to rule in Your absence.”
Bharata sat with His head bowed. Everyone was enthralled by the conversation between the two royal brothers, and they became simultaneously joyful to witness His firm resolve and disconsolate to realize He would not be returning to Ayodhya.
Rāma replied to Bharata in a solemn voice. “All his life our father followed the path of piety. This is widely known. Impiety would not have been possible for that truthful man. When Our father accepted Kaikeyi’s hand he promised her father, as the bride price, that her son would inherit the kingdom. Furthermore, sworn under solemn oath by Kaikeyi, the king promised You the kingdom and ordered Me to go to the forest. Whatever the reasons, this was the king’s promise. If that promise is broken Our father will be liable to sinful reactions. Our duty as his sons is to fulfill his promise and thereby save him. No other course is possible for Us.”
Rāma paused for a moment. He got down from His seat and lifted up Bharata and Shatrughna. “You two should return to Ayodhya and protect the people. O Bharata, get Yourself consecrated as king and rule the earth. I shall become the emperor of wild beasts. The white umbrella should be held over Your head as You ride on the royal elephant, while for My part I shall go on foot, shielded by a canopy of trees. Leave with joy for the city, My brothers, and I with Lakṣman will joyfully enter the woods. In this way We shall preserve Our father’s piety.”
Bharata said nothing. He felt reassured by Rāma’s reply, but was profoundly sorrowful at the prospect of leaving Him.
At that moment a Brahmin named Jabali spoke, trying to convince Rāma to return on the basis of atheistic doctrines. “Why are you attached to Your father, Rāma? He was nothing more than flesh and bones and has now merged again with the earth. People who consider that others are in some way related to them are simply mad. Alone we came to this world and alone we shall leave. As such we should only work toward our own interests. You need not suffer now for the interests of Your deceased father. Take the throne and enjoy it, O Rāma, for this will be in Your own best interests.”
Jabali did not himself believe the philosophy he was espousing. He was only trying somehow to change Rāma’s mind. Perhaps Rāma would accept the arguments as a pretext for going back to Ayodhya. Most likely, though, He would defeat Jabali’s position and thereby establish the path of religion. Either way Jabali would be satisfied and he continued to speak his atheistic philosophy.
“I lament for those who forsake sense pleasures for the austerities of a religious life,” said Jabali, rising to his feet. “Hoping for future happiness they meet only with extermination at death, having led a life of suffering. The scriptures have been written by intelligent Brahmins who wished to exalt sacrifice and charity. In this way these Brahmins have assured their own livelihood.”
Jabali smiled as he spoke his false philosophy. No one in the assembly accepted his words, but they too hoped that Rāma would yet be convinced to leave the forest. Everyone listened in silence as Jabali concluded his speech.
“Knowing this truth, O Rāma, You should renounce Your foolish asceticism. There is nothing beyond this visible universe. Do not depend for Your happiness on anything outside of that which You can see and immediately experience. Therefore, O great prince, accept the kingdom and enjoy it as the undisputed ruler.”
Rāma sat down again as Jabali stopped speaking. Looking at the Brahmin He said, “A man is known by his conduct alone. Although posing as a learned and cultured person, one who acts as you direct is to be accepted as sinful and debased. Those who are wise never praise a person who acts only to please his senses. Such a person is mean, selfish and greedy, driven only by lust for pleasure. His immediate happiness soon turns to distress and he sinks into a hellish condition.”
Rāma appeared angry as He refuted Jabali. His eyes were red and He spoke gravely. “If I were to follow the path espoused by you, O atheistic one, then this entire earth would be cast into ruin. All men follow the king’s example. Abandoning the religious path, the people would become licentious and uncontrolled. Chaos would prevail and everyone would suffer.”
Jabali sat down before Rāma with his palms joined and his head bowed. He said nothing as Rāma explained how the attempt to find happiness through sense enjoyment was futile. Both the senses and their enjoyments are soon destroyed. Only the soul and God are eternal, along with the spiritual realms where the Lord resides. Those who are actually learned therefore follow the path of truth which leads to those ever-existing realms of bliss.
Rāma paused and gradually His anger subsided. After some minutes He spoke again. “My father was wedded to truth. Following his instruction will lead only to happiness. I shall therefore remain in these woods and Bharata should rule the earth. This will be Our only assurance of happiness, both in this world and the next. O Jabali, you should not speak in this way again, for to mislead the people is a very great sin.”
Rāma, having spoken to instruct all people, fell silent. He knew Jabali’s heart and did not feel anger toward him, only toward his words. The people’s pain was Rāma’s pain and He knew that Jabali’s presentation of hedonism led only to pain.
Saying “It is exactly as you say,” Jabali prostrated himself before Rāma and returned to his place among the other Brahmins.
Vasiṣṭha stood up and spoke in the midst of the assembly. “This Jabali knows well of the soul and its actual happiness. He spoke only out of his desire to see You installed as the king. This is also my desire, O Raghava. As the emperor’s eldest son it behooves You to now accept the throne. You need entertain no doubt in this regard.”
Vasiṣṭha recounted the history of Rāma’s line. One by one he named the previous kings and explained how each had handed the kingdom to their eldest son. Finally he said, “O Rāma, this is my instruction to You. I am Your preceptor and as such I am even more worthy of your obedience than Your father. Indeed, I was also his preceptor. Therefore I command You to accept the throne of Ayodhya.”
The sage had spoken only out of love. He was aware that Rāma was enacting a divine plan by remaining in the forest, but still he longed for Him to return.
Rāma looked with affection at Vasiṣṭa and replied, “The debt owed to one’s parents cannot be easily repaid, O learned sage. They give everything they have for their children. Feeding them, nurturing them, putting them to bed and rubbing them with oil, the father and mother give their love at every moment. My worthy father’s word should not prove false due to My negligence, for I wish to render him some service in return for his love.”
It was obvious that Rāma was not going to be convinced by anyone to leave the forest. Bharata suddenly stood up and exclaimed, “Seated upon blades of kusha grass spread on the ground, I shall remain here in front of Rāma’s door. Without taking food or water I will not move until Rāma agrees to accept the throne.”
Quickly grabbing a bunch of grass from near Rāma’s hut, Bharata spread it out and sat down. Rāma said in surprise, “O Bharata, why do You take such a vow? Your duty is to rule the kingdom, not sit upon the ground like a destitute Brahmin.”
Bharata turned toward the people and implored, “Why do you not plead with My brother to return?”
A leader of the Brahmin community stepped forward. “It is clear that Rāma will not be swayed from His determination to follow His father’s command. What can we do? Our hearts are breaking with the thought of Rāma’s separation.”
Rāma glanced lovingly at the Brahmin and then said to Bharata, “Get up, O tiger among men. Return to Ayodhya. Become the king and rule with justice. In fourteen years You will see me returned.”
Bharata stood up and replied to Rāma, “If Our father’s order must be followed, then allow Me to stay here in Your place.”
Rāma gently admonished Bharata, telling Him that it was not possible for one’s promise to be fulfilled by another person. Rāma had given His word and it was He who had to keep that word. He promised that when He returned to Ayodhya He would accept the throne, but He would not under any condition return before the fourteen years had expired.
The many eminent sages who were present had listened intently to the conversation between the two divine brothers. They were thrilled and astonished, thinking of the deep import of Their discussion. Hosts of heavenly ṛṣis along with the gods, stood invisible in the sky. The divine beings then spoke so that only Rāma and His brothers could hear.
“Hearing this wondrous dialogue between Rāma and Bharata, we long to hear it again and again,” said one of the gods. “O Bharata, please allow Rāma to fulfill His promise to His father. By virtue of Rāma’s vow Daśaratha has ascended to the highest heaven, freed of his debt to Kaikeyi.”
The gods were anxious for Rāvaṇa’s death which they saw as imminent. They showered celestial flowers on Rāma and His brothers and then returned to their heavenly abodes. Encouraged by hearing the demigods, Bharata was prepared to accept the responsibility of ruling Ayodhya. Falling at Rāma’s feet He voiced His final doubts. “My lord, how does the power to rule our vast kingdom exist in Me? I am young and inexperienced. Nor am I possessed of any great ability. Surely the kingdom will meet with ruin under My incapable guidance.”
Rāma raised His younger brother and placed Him on His lap. Stroking His head He said, “Your humility is Your real qualification. By virtue of this wisdom You can protect the entire earth. Always seek the counsel of learned Brahmins and rule with confidence, O jewel among men.”
Bharata then brought before Rāma a pair of ornate wooden sandals embellished with gold. He put them on the ground and said, “Please place Your feet in these sandals, dear Rāma. Let these shoes be the rulers of the kingdom and I shall remain as their servant.”
Rāma immediately put on the sandals and then took them off again, handing them back to Bharata. Bharata placed the sandals on His head. “For the coming fourteen years I shall live in a hut outside Ayodhya,” He said, sighing. “I shall survive on only fruits and roots and My hair shall be matted. If at the end of this time I do not see You return, O Rāma, then I shall enter blazing fire.”
“So be it,” replied Rāma and He embraced each of His brothers. He again told Bharata that Kaikeyi should not be condemned and that she should be treated with kindness. Rāma paid His respects to all the people there according to their positions, speaking fond farewells to everyone. Kaushalya and the other queens stood in front of Rāma unable to say anything, their throats choked and their eyes flooded with tears. Rāma bowed to each of them in turn.
As the queens departed Kaikeyi turned and spoke privately to Rāma. She censured herself again and again, begging His forgiveness. The queen fell at Rāma’s feet. “I am entirely ignorant and have acted like a fool,” she said tearfully, “but now I understand that Y?ou are the eternal Supreme Person. Who would not be bewildered upon seeing Your human pastimes? O Lord, please forgive me and destroy my attachments to family and wealth.”
Rāma smiled at her with affection. “It was I who, for the sake of the gods, prompted you to act as you did,” he said. “You are not to blame, nor am I angry with you. Hardly anyone knows My real nature. I am never affected by desire in the same way as ordinary men. I act simply to reciprocate the service and love I am given. Gentle lady, return to Ayodhya and live peacefully. Think of Me day and night and you will soon be freed from all your attachments to this temporary world.”
Kaikeyi felt deeply relieved and gladdened. With folded hands she circumambulated Rāma and again joined the other queens.
Bharata had the golden sandals placed upon the royal elephant and shielded by the white umbrella. With the elephant at their head, the citizens of Ayodhya returned the way they had come.
As they entered Ayodhya some days later, they saw that it had become dark and desolate. The streets were unswept and rubbish was strewn all around. The doors and windows of the empty houses swung open. The city had become overrun by cats and owls, and mice ran everywhere. No offerings were being made in the temples and all the shops and pleasure houses were closed. The streets were deserted and the city, which had always been full of the life and joy of countless people, was now silent and still. The city resembled a vast army which has been defeated in battle, its armor shattered, its ensigns torn down, and its heroes killed.
Bharata made His way to Daśaratha’s palace, dejected to see the state of His beloved Ayodhya. After entering the palace, which was like a mountain cave abandoned by its lion, Bharata went into the assembly hall with Vasiṣṭha and His other counselors. He placed Rāma’s sandals on the throne, then sat next to them and said, “I shall not accept the throne of Ayodhya. These sandals should be consecrated as the king and I shall be their servant only. Indeed, I shall live in a hermitage outside the city. When Rāma returns I shall again place these sandals on His feet, as He alone is the king.”
The Brahmins applauded Bharata. “So be it!” they exclaimed. They then duly installed the sandals with the coronation ceremony.
Bharata then moved with Shatraghna into a small wooden hut, eating only forest fare and wearing ascetic dress. Each day He would submit the affairs of state before Rāma’s sandals. Only then would He carry out any necessary action. Any gifts He received He would also offer to Rāma’s sandals. In this way He ruled the kingdom.
2.6: The Forest Sages
After Bharata left, Rāma continued to live on Chitrakuta Mountain. As the months passed, Rāma began to notice that the ṛṣis living nearby were always fearful and anxious. He approached the leading ascetics and, bowing down humbly, asked, “O venerable ones, has something in My behavior given you cause for concern? Have either My brother or I been acting in a way not worthy of Our esteemed forefathers? Is Sītā behaving in a way unbecoming a young woman?”
Rāma had noticed on several occasions that the Brahmins spoke together while glancing at Him. He knew they were worried about something. Seated before them with folded palms, Rāma listened carefully as the leaders replied.
“How could there ever be any fault in the behavior of You or Your brother, O Rāma?” one ṛṣi said. “What unseemly conduct will ever be seen in the gentle and high-born Sītā? We know well Your true identity.”
The ṛṣis glowed with ascetic power. They constantly chanted various names of God, fingering their wooden beads as they intoned the mantras. With a desire to render service to Rāma, they addressed Him as if He were an ordinary man.
“There is a powerful Rākṣasa called Khara living near here,” the ṛṣi continued. “This demon is Rāvaṇa’s younger brother and he is brutal, haughty and sinful. Angered by Your presence, he has been afflicting us with more vehemence than usual.”
Rāma frowned as he heard about the Rākṣasa. He could not tolerate any aggression toward Brahmins.
The ṛṣi went on, “Khara and his hordes of Rākasas, constantly impede our sacrifices. The demons show themselves in hideous, savage and frightening forms. They throw flesh, bones, excrement and urine down from the sky, defiling our sacrificial arenas. They make strange and terrible noises and it is only a matter of time before they become violent toward us. We therefore desire to leave this place.”
Seeing sacrifice as their sacred duty, the ascetics wished to go to another forest where they would not be disturbed. As Brahmins, they would not themselves fight the Rākṣasas, although they were capable of checking them by their mystic power. They also understood that Rāma wanted to destroy the demons, especially their leader Rāvaṇa.
Rāma tried to reassure the ṛṣis, but they were determined to leave. Having stayed on Chitrakuta for some years, the renounced ascetics were also concerned that they may have become attached to their material situation. Normally they moved continuously from forest to forest, staying only one or two years in each place. After speaking a little more with Rāma, informing Him of where Khara lived, the Brahmins rose up in a body. With only their water pots and staffs they left the region. Rāma followed them for some distance in order to see them off with respect. He then returned to His hermitage, considering in His mind how to deal with the Rākṣasas.
When He reached His hut, Rāma said to Lakṣman, “I think the time has come for Us to leave Chitrakuta. The Brahmins have left, and I am afraid that We will again be visited by the people who now know of Our whereabouts. We should leave for some other more remote forest.”
Rāma decided to make His way to the Dandaka forest, which was inhabited by the Rākṣasas. He wanted to confront the demons. The two brothers donned Their weapons and, with Sītā walking between Them, immediately left.
After journeying for some days They entered the Dandaka forest and came upon a cluster of hermitages. The ṛṣis there greeted Them with respect. Those ascetics were endowed with divine vision, and they were astonished to see Rāma and His companions. The Lord of all the worlds was standing before them. Seeing Rāma and Sītā’s simple forest dress, the sages felt wonder and awe. They worshipped Rāma with various prayers and offered Him a hut for the night.
“Welcome indeed is Your arrival in these woods,” the ṛṣis said. “The king is the protector of righteousness and the only refuge of the people. He stands with his scepter and metes out justice as God’s powerful representative. O Rāma, we are Your subjects and Your servants. We are simple Brahmins who have renounced anger and controlled our senses. As such we deserve Your protection, even as a fetus is protected by its mother.”
Entertaining Rāma with forest produce, the ascetics described how the Rākṣasas had become increasingly violent. Under Rāvaṇa’s leadership the demons had become fearless and they attacked the Brahmins constantly. Fourteen thousand powerful Rākṣasas had taken up their residence in the Dandaka forest, headed by Rāvaṇa’s two brothers, Khara and Dushana. The situation was becoming unbearable for the sages.
Rāma and Lakṣman listened gravely. They resolved to deal with the Rākṣasas as soon as possible. While They were conversing with the ṛṣis, Sītā met Anasuya, the sage Atri’s wife. Anasuya gave Sītā a celestial garment, garland and ornaments, along with celestial cosmetics and unguents. Sītā accepted the gifts graciously and with Her husband’s permission adorned Herself with them. After decorating Herself with the heavenly apparel, She shone brilliantly, exactly like Lakṣmī, the eternal consort of Viṣṇu.
After spending the night with the ṛṣis, the princes left with Sītā and they penetrated deep into the Dandaka region. Lakṣman moved ahead and cleared a path with His sword, cutting through the thick creepers and bushes. Sītā, Her head covered with Her cloth to protect Herself from the swarms of insects that flew about, walked in the middle. Rāma brought up the rear, vigilantly watching on all sides and holding His bow at the ready. The cries of jackals and the shrieks of vultures and birds of prey could be heard all around. Here and there They saw uprooted, broken trees and the carcasses of slain beasts.
As They broke through into a clearing They suddenly saw a dreadful-looking Rākṣasa. Powerfully built and as tall as several men, he stood entirely blocking Their way. With high pointed ears, fierce teeth protruding from his cavernous mouth, and blood-red eyes staring out from an ugly misshapen face, the demon was terrible to behold. He held a long lance on which he had speared four lions, three tigers, a couple of wolves and about ten spotted deer. Around his blackish and hairy body were draped tiger skins, still dripping with blood and fat. He resembled the god of death standing with his staff of justice. When he saw Rāma and the others he let out a terrific roar that could be heard for many miles. He rushed furiously toward Them and quickly seized Sītā.
Taking the princess a little distance away, the Rākṣasa spoke to Rāma and Lakṣman in a voice resounding like claps of thunder. “Who are You two, looking like ascetics but carrying weapons? You shame the Brahmin class with this strange behavior. Why have You brought a woman into this dense forest? Sinful as You are, You shall meet death at my hands. This lady shall become my wife. Today I shall drink Your blood on the battlefield.”
Sītā trembled in the monster’s clutches, like a sapling trembling in a storm. Seeing Her carried away by the Rākṣasa, Rāma said to Lakṣman, “It seems that Kaikeyi’s cherished desire will today be fulfilled. This hideous demon has taken hold of My sinless wife. There is nothing more painful for Me than to see the princess of Videha touched by another. This is more painful even than the death of My father or the loss of the kingdom.”
Rāma cried tears of sorrow as He spoke. Lakṣman became infuriated with the demon and He hissed like an angry cobra. “Why are You, the Lord of all beings with Me as Your servant, grieving like an orphan?” He asked. “The earth will soon drink this beast’s blood. The anger which I wrongly directed toward Bharata will today be released upon that foul demon. Watch now as My arrow pierces his breast and he whirls around, falling lifeless to the ground.”
The Rākṣasa, still awaiting a reply to his question, again boomed out, “Who are You and where are You going?”
Rāma moved closer to the demon and replied, “We are two warriors of the royal order of Raghu who have come here in exile. Tell us who you are and why you roam this forest, O wicked one.”
“So, you are kings from Ayodhya!” the Rākṣasa replied. “Know me to be Viradha, a Rākṣasa who wanders this forest eating the flesh of sages. You should run away the way You came. I’ll not kill You. I have been granted boons by Brahmā and cannot be slain by any weapon, O Raghava. Leave quickly and abandon this princess to me. Assuming a human form I shall sport with Her as my wife.”
Rāma grew furious. With bloodshot eyes He spoke in a voice like Indra’s. “You pathetic fool! You are certainly seeking death. You will get it today on the battlefield. I shall not leave you with your life.”
Without uttering another word Rāma shot seven golden-feathered arrows at the demon. The arrows flew with the speed of Garuḍa and pierced right through Viradha, falling upon the earth drenched with his blood. The Rākṣasa roared in pain and released Sītā. With his lance upraised he rushed at Rāma and Lakṣman. The brothers immediately sent a shower of arrows at the demon.
Even though pierced all over, Viradha remained standing. Laughing aloud he yawned contemptuously. He then hurled his lance at Rāma with the force of a tempest. Rāma at once fired two arrows which cut the lance into three pieces as it coursed toward Him. As it fell to the ground the shattered lance resembled a rocky mountain ledge that had been struck by Indra’s thunderbolt. Rāma and Lakṣman took out Their swords, which resembled two black serpents preparing to attack. They rushed at the Rākṣasa and began striking him with great force. Viradha reached down and lifted both brothers, one on each arm. Placing Them on his shoulders he ran toward the woods.
As Viradha approached the dense forest Sītā cried out, “Alas, where goes My lord? O best of the Rākṣasas, please take Me also. How can I remain here alone?”
Hearing Sītā’s plaintive wail, Rāma raised His sword high and hacked off the demon’s right arm. Lakṣman lopped off his left arm, and Viradha fell upon the ground in a swoon. Although striking him with Their swords and with kicks and punches, the brothers saw that the Rākṣasa still did not die. Rāma said to Lakṣman, “It is clear that due to his boons this demon cannot be killed by force. We should bury him in a pit, for this is the traditional way of disposing of the Rākṣasas. Quickly dig a large pit, O tiger among men!”
Rāma stood with His foot pressing down upon the Rākṣasa’s neck. Viradha regained consciousness and said, “O Raghava, I am defeated by You. Your strength is not less than Indra’s. I now know You to be the all-powerful Rāma and Your wife the highly fortunate Sītā. I am the Gandharva named Tumburu. Due to not properly serving Kuvera, the lord of wealth, I was cursed by him.”
The fallen Rākṣasa explained how as Tumburu he had previously been Kuvera’s servant. One day Tumburu had been sporting with the Apsarās and had failed to properly attend upon his master. In anger Kuvera had cursed him to enter a demon’s fierce form. Tumburu had pleaded for mercy and Kuvera had replied, “When Rāma, the son of Daśaratha, defeats you in battle, then you will attain your own form and return to heaven.”
Viradha spoke with difficulty. “By your grace, O Rāma, I am freed from a terrible curse. I shall now go to my own abode. O Lord, ten miles from here lives the sage Sarabhanga, who longs to see You. Go to his hermitage, for he will give You good advice.”
Viradha begged Rāma to inter him in the pit so that he could die. Rāma and Lakṣman rolled the huge body of the Rākṣasa into the hole Lakṣman had dug. After covering him with earth and rocks, They comforted Sītā and then continued on Their way, looking for Sarabhanga’s hermitage.
In the sky the gods had witnessed the whole scene. Seeing Rāma, whom they knew to be the powerful Viṣṇu acting like a human, they were astonished. Nothing was beyond Rāma’s knowledge or power, yet He accepted the feelings and actions of an ordinary man. Pondering upon the import of Rāma’s deeds, the gods received Tumburu back to them.
Rāma searched for Sarabhanga, absorbed in a mood of affection for the sage. As the brothers came near the ascetic’s hermitage They saw in the sky a golden chariot. It shone like the midday sun and was drawn by a thousand greenish horses. A brilliant white canopy resembling a large cloud and decorated with magnificent garlands covered the chariot. Seated in the chariot was Indra, who was being fanned with white whisks by two beautiful young girls. In the sky many other gods surrounded Indra. Rāma and Lakṣman saw numerous Gandharvas and Siddhas, all dressed in resplendent silk garments and gold ornaments. All these high-souled beings were worshipping Indra with Vedic hymns.
Upon seeing this wondrous sight Rāma said to Lakṣman, “O Lakṣman, see here Indra’s wonderful chariot, full of grandeur. Those young men with broad chests and arms like iron clubs, wearing red garments and gold earrings and surrounding him in the hundreds, appear as unassailable as tigers.”
Lakṣman gazed up at the host of gods assembled in the sky. All of them appeared youthful and all had garlands as bright as fire on their chests. As the two princes looked on, the gods rose up into the sky and vanished. Amazed at this sight Rāma and Lakṣman walked on and entered Sarabhanga’s hermitage.
Sarabhanga was seated before the sacrificial fire. Having practiced asceticism for many years, he was able to fix his mind upon the Supreme Person within his heart. He had realized that Rāma was that same person. In meditation the sage prayed that he might be able to see God in His human form. Accordingly, Rāma approached the old ascetic and bowed low before him, touching his feet and saying, “I am Rāma, and this is My brother Lakṣman and My wife Sītā. At Viradha’s behest, We have sought your presence. Viradha has now risen to heaven with the gods. Pray tell Us what We should do, O jewel among sages.”
Sarabhanga rose immediately, his eyes flooded with tears. He showed the three travelers a seat. Offering Them water and fruits, he said, “O Rāma, there is no one more kind or merciful. After meditating for a very long time and reaching the end of my attachments to this world, I saw You in my heart. Now I see You here as the son of Daśaratha.”
After offering many prayers the sage fell silent. He sat for some time gazing with love upon Rāma’s face. Smiling, Rāma asked, “Why did I see here the lord of the gods, O sage?”
The sage said that Indra had come to take him to the higher planets, which he had earned as a result of his asceticism. Sarabhanga explained that, desiring to remain on earth to see Rāma, he had sent Indra away.
“Now that I have seen Your transcendental form I have no desire to go to the heavenly worlds, O Raghava,” Sarabhanga said. “Please take from me my ascetic merits.”
“You will doubtlessly rise beyond even the highest heaven and attain Viṣṇu’s immortal abode, O learned one,” Rāma replied. “But before leaving, pray tell Me where I should go now.”
Sarabhanga directed Rāma to the hermitage of another sage named Sutikshna. He then gazed at Rāma and entered a deep meditation. From within himself Sarabhanga invoked the fire element and immolated his mortal frame, which quickly burned to ashes. The sage appeared in a shining spiritual body and, after offering his respects to Rāma, rose up into the sky.
Rāma remained seated in Sarabhanga’s hermitage and many other ṛṣis came there and begged Him to dispose of the Rākṣasas. They told Him how the demons were killing thousands of Brahmins. Rāma assured the ṛṣis that He would annihilate the Rākṣasas in due course. He then left and went toward Sutikshna’s hermitage, following Sarabhanga’s directions.
Upon seeing Rāma, Sutikshna offered many prayers and then took Him to see the powerful Ṛṣi Agastya. On the way to Agastya They saw that the forest resembled the famous Nandana grove in the heavens. The ground was suddenly smooth, carpeted with soft grasses. Trees bent down on both sides under their heavy loads of ripe fruits. The clear lakes were filled with lotuses and crowded with swans, cranes and many other varieties of water birds. Flowers grew and trees blossomed everywhere. The animals were docile and approached the travelers without fear.
Rāma looked around at the wonderful scenery. “It seems We are near Agastya’s hermitage,” he said. “By his austerities the sage has transformed this forest into heaven. We will soon behold that shining ṛṣi.”
Requested by Lakṣman, Rāma told various stories about Agastya. He kept His brother and Sītā entertained as They walked throughout the day. Finally by evening They arrived at the hermitage. As They approached it Rāma said, “Let Us go see Agastya, for he will surely bless Us with all good fortune. I think that with his permission We should remain in this region for the rest of Our stay in the forest.”
Sutikshna went ahead and informed Agastya of their arrival. The sage quickly had them brought into his hermitage. As they entered the large compound they saw numerous sacrificial fires, each dedicated to a particular god and tended by Agastya’s disciples. All the principal deities, including the Supreme Lord, Viṣṇu, as well as Śiva, Brahmā and dozens of other gods were being worshipped. Sacrificial smoke and the sound of mantras filled the air.
Agastya, feeling ecstasy, rose up from his seat and came swiftly toward Rāma. Rāma saw the sage coming and along with Lakṣman He immediately prostrated Himself on the ground. Sītā stood close behind with Her hands folded and head bowed.
Agastya raised Rāma up and said, “I have been thinking of You for a long time, O Raghava. I am blessed by Your appearance here. You are always beyond the influence of the unsurpassable material energy. Simply by remembering You one can be carried beyond the great ocean of birth, death and suffering. What then can be said of one who sees You?”
Agastya sat the travelers down and after offering oblations into the sacred fire, he presented them with water and food. Seated in meditation the sage then caused a great golden bow to appear. There were also two quivers filled with sharp arrows which blazed like fire, and a long sword sheathed in a golden scabbard. Agastya presented the weapons to Rāma, telling Him how in a previous age Viṣṇu had used them to assist the gods in a war against the demons.
Rāma accepted the celestial weapons respectfully and then asked the sage to tell Him of a place where He could live. After again meditating for a while the sage replied, “By virtue of my austerities and meditation I have come to know You and understand Your purpose, O Rāma. I therefore suggest You go to a nearby forest called Panchavati. It is beautiful and sanctified. At that place all Your desires will be fulfilled.”
Agastya gave the brothers directions. After taking leave, Rāma, Lakṣman and Sītā began the twenty-mile walk to Panchavati, making Their way along the narrow forest paths.
After a few miles they came across a huge vulture lying in a clearing. Rāma and Lakṣman, assuming it to be a Rākṣasa, quickly prepared to fight. Rāma carefully approached the vulture, which resembled a hill.
“I am Rāma and this is My brother Lakṣman, two descendants of Raghu,” He declared. “Who are you and what is your race?”
In gentle speech the bird replied that he was an old friend of Daśaratha. His name was Jatayu and he was the king of the vultures. He recounted to Rāma his entire lineage, which began with the ancient sage Kardama. In the course of his narration Jatayu described how all the various species of birds and animals had descended. Jatayu was the nephew of Garuḍa, the invincible eagle carrier of Viṣṇu.
“This forest is infested with Rākṣasas and vicious beasts,” Jatayu said. “Allow me to accompany You in the forest. I shall protect Sītā when You two brothers go out to gather food.”
Rāma knew of Jatayu’s friendship with His father. He joyfully embraced the great bird and gave His permission for Jatayu to follow Him. Rāma then continued toward Panchavati, eager to encounter the demons.
After arriving at Panchavati, Rāma selected a spot near the sacred river Godavari. Lakṣman sanctified the spot with prayers and water from river. He constructed a large hut with mud walls, supported on strong wooden pillars, its roof thatched with kusha grass and reeds. Rāma was delighted to see the beautiful cottage and He embraced Lakṣman. “With You as His son, virtuous and always attentive to My needs and desires, surely the king still lives,” Rāma said affectionately. “O Lakṣman, You are to Me as good as My beloved father.”
Rāma and Sītā settled in the dwelling and lived peacefully, bathing in the Godavari and enjoying the sights and sounds of the forest.
2.7: The Rākṣasī Shurpanakha
The time passed quickly for Rāma and His companions. They lived in almost complete solitude, seeing only an occasional ascetic. Although Rāma wanted to face the Rākṣasas, no opportunity presented itself.
One day, just as Their tenth winter in exile was ending, a powerful Rākṣasī named Shurpanakha, a sister of Rāvaṇa, came to the Panchavati region. While she was roaming about looking for food, she saw Rāma’s footprints and followed them. Soon she arrived at Rāma’s cottage. As she came near the hermitage she saw Rāma seated outside His hut. She was immediately attracted to the handsome Rāma, with His powerful frame and majestic bearing. Her mind filled with lust, she assumed the form of a beautiful woman and walked slowly before Him.
“Who are You, dressed in ascetic garb yet wielding weapons?” the Rākṣasī asked. “Why have You come to this forest which is frequented by Rākṣasas? Be pleased to tell me.”
Rāma looked guilelessly at the Rākṣasī. “There was a powerful king named Daśaratha,” He replied. “I am his son Rāma and this is My brother Lakṣman. There is the princess of Videha, My wife Sītā. On My father’s command I am sojourning here in the forest. Now tell Me, who are you, O beautiful maiden? Who is your husband? You seem to Me to be a Rākṣasī capable of assuming various guises. Tell Me truly why you have approached Me.”
Shurpanakha moved her hips and glanced down coyly. “Know me to be Shurpanakha, sister of the unconquerable Rāvaṇa. Living here with my other brothers, Khara and Dushana, I range these woods devouring ascetics and causing fear to all. However, upon seeing You I long to embrace You as my husband.”
Shurpanakha hoped that, even if Rāma was not attracted to her, out of fear of her He might accede to her request. Hearing that she was a Rakshashi, Rāma and Lakṣman looked at her in surprise. In her fine silks and ornaments she appeared exactly like a celestial maiden. She moved closer to Rāma and smiled. “O Rāma, of what use to You is this skinny and deformed woman?” she asked, throwing a disdainful glance at Sītā. “Accept me as Your wife. I am possessed of great power. After devouring this wife and brother of Yours, I will carry You to high mountain reaches where we can sport together in joy.”
Rāma laughed heartily. He decided to joke with the infatuated Rākṣasī. “O beautiful woman, I am already married. For ladies like you it is always painful to have a co-wife. Here though is My younger brother. He is handsome and highly qualified and is as yet unmarried. Why not take Him as your worthy husband?”
Shurpanakha turned quickly toward Lakṣman, who stood smiling with His hand resting on His bow. The Rākṣasī moved toward Him. “See my alluring form,” she said. “I am certainly worthy of becoming Your wife, O handsome one. Let us range together happily through these woods.”
Lakṣman caught Rāma’s joking mood. “Why do you seek to become a maidservant, foolish woman?” He asked with a laugh. “I am dependent on My older brother. As My wife you will be Sītā’s servant. You should seek only Rāma as your husband. Who could actually refuse you in favor of a human lady? Surely Rāma will soon abandon the weak and worn-out Sītā once you are his wife.”
Shurpanakha was too simple to catch the joke. She took Lakṣman’s words to be true and turned again toward Rāma, who sat next to Sītā. “Why do you cling to this hideous wife of Yours?” she asked, growing impatient. “If it is her who stands between You and me, I shall now devour Her, even as You watch. We shall then roam together at ease.”
Shurpanakha rushed furiously toward Sītā, even as a large meteor would fall toward the earth. She assumed her natural form as a Rākṣasī, appearing like a black cloud. Rāma immediately roared and checked her by the sound alone. As she fell back Rāma said angrily to Lakṣman, “It is clear that jests should not be had with cruel, low-class people. See how We have placed Sītā in danger. O mighty brother! Take Your sword and quickly disable this ugly, vile and wanton being. Do not slay her, as she is a woman.”
Lakṣman drew His sword. He moved swiftly and sliced off the demon’s long nose and pointed ears. Shurpanakha screamed in pain. She realized the brothers were formidable and quickly ran off into the woods. Her dissonant and horrible cries could be heard disappearing into the distance as she retreated. She bled profusely and raised her arms as she ran, roaring like a monsoon cloud.
The Rākṣasī sought her brother Khara, who was the leader of the Rākṣasas in the forest. Going before him drenched in blood and crying
loudly, she dropped upon the ground like a bolt from the blue. Khara sat surrounded by numerous powerful Rākṣasas. He was holding a massive club. When he saw his sister’s state, he frowned.
“What fool has done this to you?” the Rākṣasa snarled. “Who has ignorantly goaded a poisonous serpent with his finger? Whoever has assailed you has fastened around his neck the noose of death. Tell me explicitly, O sister, who will today meet with his end at my hands?”
Khara stood up. He was proud and arrogant. He took the offense to his sister as a personal insult. “Who could possibly have been so bold as to provoke me?” he thundered. “Whose foaming blood will soak the earth today? Whose flesh will the vultures delightedly tear from his body when he lies slain by me on the battlefield? Quickly tell me the name and whereabouts of the wretch. I do not see a being in the three worlds of heaven, earth and hell who would dare challenge me, including Indra himself!”
Shurpanakha gathered her senses and answered her furious brother. She told him how she had seen Rāma and Lakṣman in the forest, appearing young and tender yet obviously possessed of terrific strength. “These two brothers look like Gandharva kings,” she said. “They are dressed like ascetics and seem to be in perfect control of Their senses. I could not ascertain if They were humans, gods or some other divine beings. In their midst I saw a young lady of faultless form and beauty who shone like the moon. On account of that lady I was reduced to this state by those two brothers.”
Shurpanakha asked Khara to kill them immediately. Holding a cloth to her wounded face she said, “I long to drink the blood of that slender woman as well as of those two brothers. Quickly accomplish my desire, dear brother. Go now to where they are staying and slay them in an encounter.”
Khara at once ordered fourteen powerful Rākṣasas to go and attack the two princes. He told his sister to accompany them. “Once these Rākṣasas have made short work of those three, you may drink Their gushing blood. Dragging Their corpses on the field of battle, pierce Their soft flesh with your long teeth.”
Like clouds driven in a storm, the fourteen Rākṣasas along with Shurpanakha sped toward Rāma’s hermitage. As they arrived they saw Rāma seated at ease with Sītā in front of Their hut. Lakṣman was nearby chopping firewood. Rāma saw the Rākṣasas entering the area of His hermitage and He said to Lakṣman, “Wait here by Sītā’s side, O son of Sumitra. I shall quickly dispatch these evil marauders of the forest. Indeed, I have long awaited just such an opportunity.”
Rāma stood up and strung His bow in an instant. He called out to the Rākṣasas, “Halt! Why do you seek to injure Us? We live here peacefully, harming no one. Armed with My bow I aim to make this forest free from the likes of you. If you have any love of life, then flee now and never return. Otherwise stand on the battlefield and witness My show of strength.”
The Rākṣasas looked at Rāma and laughed. Each of them was twice as tall as Rāma. Their bodies were hugely powerful and they were equipped with fierce weapons. They considered Rāma’s threat comical. It was a rare human who could face even one Rākṣasa in battle, and they were fourteen. Their leader replied harshly to Rāma.
“Foolish human! What power do You have to face us in battle?” he said, his voice resounding around Rāma’s hermitage like a great drum. “You have angered our master Khara and thereby brought death upon Your head. Hit by our iron clubs and swords, You will soon succumb to our might. Boast while You can, for in a moment You will give up Your valor and indeed Your life.”
All fourteen Rākṣasas rushed at Rāma. They roared loudly and hurled large iron darts. Rāma stood His ground. Releasing fourteen arrows He cut down the darts as they flew at Him. The Rākṣasas raised their swords and closed on Rāma, their mouths open and their eyes bloodshot. Rāma, moving more quickly than the eye could see, at once fired fourteen arrows one after another at each of the demons. His long, straight shafts were made wholly of iron with points sharpened on stone. They screamed through the air and hit each demon in the chest. Their hearts ripped apart, the Rākṣasas fell to the earth, soaked in blood, like fourteen great trees felled by a storm.
Shurpanakha was astonished to see Rāma’s prowess. Surely He was not an ordinary man, nor His weapons those of an ordinary warrior. She ran away in fear and disappointment and fell again before Khara.
Khara looked at her in surprise. “Why are you still crying?” he asked. “I have already sent fourteen brave fighters to oblige you. Those Rākṣasas are unassailable and devoted to pleasing me. Without doubt they will satisfy your desire. With me and my army as your protector why do you wail?”
Shurpanakha told her brother what had happened. She sat before him trembling, with blood encrusted on her face and clothes. Khara listened in amazement as she spoke.
“Although your fourteen fighters were angry and impetuous, they were quickly slain by Rāma. He exhibited fearsome energy and power. His arrows were like rods of death. All fourteen Rākṣasas are now prostrate upon the ground, killed easily by Rāma. O Khara, my mind is possessed by terror when I think of Rāma. Be my protector!”
Shurpanakha rolled about on the ground, beating her chest and shedding tears. She mocked her astonished brother, trying to goad him into battle with Rāma. “What is the use of your idle boasts? Go out and face Rāma in a fight. You will soon see your energy and pride humbled. Or if you actually do have any power, then let it be proved. Slay the two brothers today and avenge me and your fourteen servants.”
Khara rose up like a serpent that had just been kicked. He screamed in anger. In the midst of the other demons he roared, “My fury is immeasurable! It cannot be held in check any more than a mighty ocean wave. By virtue of my strength I hold this human Rāma of no account whatsoever. His life is already ended. Dry your tears, sister. Today you will see Rāma sent to Yamarāja’s abode. After I sever His head with my axe, you will drink His hot blood.”
Shurpanakha was delighted. She praised her brother as a giant among the Rākṣasas. Despite his boasts, however, Khara considered Rāma a formidable opponent. He gave instructions to his brother and general, Dushana. “O valiant one, prepare my chariot. Fill it with every kind of weapon. Order all of the fourteen thousand Rākṣasas under my command to prepare themselves for battle. I myself will march at the head of the high-souled Rākṣasas to destroy the arrogant Rāma.”
Dushana fetched Khara’s huge golden chariot, which shone like the sun and was drawn by a hundred spotted horses. It resembled a peak of the golden Mount Meru. In its center it had a large ensign pole made of cat’s-eye jewels. The chariot was bedecked with small gold bells and its sides were studded with red and blue gems and embellished with carvings of alligators, flowers, trees, mountains, lions, tigers and flocks of birds. Many flags flew from tall poles and it had eight golden wheels. Khara indignantly ascended the chariot and, raising his sword, ordered the army to advance. With a great clamor the vast army sallied forth from the Janasthana forest. Holding clubs, darts, razor-sharp axes, javelins, maces, swords, scimitars, bows and sharpened discuses, they moved off, all shouting their battle cries.
Khara urged his charioteer to spur on the horses. The sound of the swift moving chariot filled the four quarters. The army followed behind Khara, some running on foot, some coursing through the air, others riding horses and still others on the backs of elephants. They were all seized with a desire to kill the enemy.
As they drove forward, however, they saw various evil omens. The sky above them was covered with a huge grey cloud which poured down blood-red water. Khara’s horses stumbled and fell even on level ground. The sun appeared to be surrounded by a dark, red-edged halo. A gigantic, frightful vulture settled on Khara’s ensign pole. Carnivorous beasts and birds cried in discordant notes and jackals yelled. The wind blew violently and thick darkness covered the four quarters. Stars flashed in the sky and meteors descended with roaring sounds.
Khara felt his left arm throbbing violently. His voice grew faint and his eyes were filled with tears. A sharp pain filled his head and he heard a loud ringing in his ears. Even though he saw these omens, however, out of folly Khara did not return. He laughed loudly and said to his followers, “Disregard these evil portents, O Rākṣasas. They do not bother me in the least, although they are terrible and inauspicious. I am able to stand before Death himself. With my sharp arrows I can shoot the stars from the sky.”
Khara railed foolishly, considering the omens to be sent by the gods, for whom he cared little. He raised his battle-ax and bellowed, making the earth shake. “How can I return without slaying Rāma and Lakṣman, who are so proud of Their strength? Today my sister will be gratified with the blood of those humans. I have never been defeated in battle and am unafraid even of Indra when he stands with the whole heavenly host.”
The demons felt joy upon hearing Khara’s valiant speech. As if bound and dragged by the noose of death they raced toward Rāma’s hermitage.
In the sky many ṛṣis assembled to witness the encounter. Gods, Gandharvas, Siddhas and Cāraṇas came in their aerial cars. The celestial beings, who were friendly to all, spoke together. “May all be well with the Brahmins,” they said. “Even as Viṣṇu conquered the foremost demons with his discus weapon, may Rāma annihilate the Rākṣasas.”
While the gods looked on, Khara, surrounded by his powerful generals, rushed forward, eagerly seeking combat. The Rākṣasas suddenly approached the two princes, even as a group of planets might rush toward the sun and the moon.
From his hermitage Rāma had also seen the evil omens. “Behold these portents, O brother, foreboding the imminent destruction of the Rākṣasas. These grey clouds are raining blood, while My arrows are shaking in Their quivers. This undoubtedly means death will soon overtake the entire Rākṣasa horde.”
Rāma felt His right arm throb and His mind becoming enlivened. Such favorable omens indicated His victory, although all around Him He saw evil portents. He concluded that there would shortly be an encounter between Himself and the Rākṣasas, from which He would emerge victorious.
As Rāma contemplated in this way He heard the distant crash of Khara’s advancing army. The sound of beating drums and roaring Rākṣasas filled the air. Quickly taking Sītā by the hand, Rāma said to Lakṣman, “Take this delicate princess to some safe cave on the mountain. Please don’t hesitate.”
Rāma knew His brother was longing to confront the Rākṣasas, but Sītā had to be protected. Lakṣman obeyed Rāma’s order immediately and took Sītā to a concealed cave which was difficult to reach. After placing Her inside He stood at the entrance holding His bow.
Rāma put on the golden coat of mail Agastya had given Him. He strapped on the two inexhaustible quivers of arrows and tied His sword to His belt. Standing rooted to the spot Rāma looked like a brilliant flame suddenly appearing in darkness. He twanged His bow, which filled the quarters with its terrifying sound.
The gods looked on, eager for the Rākṣasas to be destroyed. They gazed at Rāma, who stood fearlessly before the charging Rākṣasas. He resembled the invincible Śiva seized with fury, but He was single-handedly facing fourteen thousand terrible demons. Curious to see the outcome, the gods watched in anticipation.
As the Rākṣasa army rushed toward Rāma they seemed like a mass of dark blue clouds. The forest animals fled, terrified by the sound of the approaching army. Rāma suddenly saw the Rākṣasas coming at Him from all sides. They screamed in fury and hurled their spears, darts and clubs. From his chariot Khara released a thousand flaming arrows and roared loudly.
Rāma stood firm. He was pierced with numerous arrows and His limbs were smeared with blood. With His own arrows He cut down the rain of weapons. Axes, swords, lances and spiked maces were thrown at Him with the force of a tempest. Rāma whirled around and parried the weapons with His straight-flying arrows. As the foremost Rākṣasas closed in on Him, mounted on elephants, Rāma seemed like Mount Sumeru assailed by thunderclouds. He did not feel afflicted even though struck again and again. Fully hemmed in on all sides, Rāma looked like the sun screened by evening clouds.
The gods felt dejected and fearful, beholding Rāma standing alone amid thousands of Rākṣasas. They cried out, “Victory to Rāma!” Understanding their fear, Rāma resolved to kill the Rākṣasas. He began shooting His gold-tipped arrows, three or four at a time, in all directions. With His bow drawn constantly into a circle, Rāma moved with the speed of a hawk. An unbroken line of deadly shafts left his bow. Those arrows passed right through the bodies of a dozen Rākṣasas before falling to the earth. Rāma’s arrows smashed the Rākṣasas’ weapons and chariots and tore apart their golden armors.
With their arms, legs and heads severed, countless Rākṣasas fell lifeless to the ground. Rāma was enraged. He shot innumerable shafts that could not be intercepted or endured and which killed the demons by the thousands. Horses, elephants and Rākṣasas lay mangled on the ground. Crushed by Rāma, the Rākṣasas sent up a piteous wail.
Some fierce and brave Rākṣasas, who were leaders of the army and possessed of terrible might, rushed at Rāma, hurling their barbed missiles and iron pikes. But Rāma smashed their weapons to pieces even as they flew at Him. With razor-headed arrows He cut off the Rākṣasas’ heads. They toppled over like trees knocked down by a blast from Garuḍa’s wings. The surviving Rākṣasas, wounded and dispirited, ran to Khara for protection. Khara consoled them and ordered Dushana to attack Rāma.
The mighty Dushana was capable of contending with ten thousand warriors at once. With a great roar he urged his chariot forward. The Rākṣasas were encouraged to see their leader advance. Uprooting trees and lifting massive stone slabs, they charged once more at Rāma.
The dreadful encounter between Rāma and the Rākṣasas was fearful to witness. Rāma alone appeared like hundreds of warriors. The demons could not tell when He took out His arrows or placed them on His bow. They only saw Him pulling His bowstring and an endless stream of arrows being fired. The demons rallied themselves and rushed at Rāma all at once from every side. They hurled trees and rocks with great force. A diverse shower of weapons fell upon Rāma, along with volleys of barbed arrows.
Smothered by weapons, Rāma invoked the celestial missile presided over by the Gandharvas. As He released the weapon, all directions became covered by blazing shafts. Under a canopy of arrows, darkness enveloped the battlefield and the demons fell back in fear. Hundreds dropped dead at once. The ground was strewn with heads wrapped in turbans adorned with bright jewels. Severed arms still clutching weapons lay everywhere. Headless trunks spouting forth blood ran about wildly before falling to the ground. Everywhere were bodies of Rākṣasas, horses and elephants, along with broken chariots, shattered weapons, rocks smashed into powder and trees torn to pieces.
The surviving Rākṣasas were unable to face Rāma. They stood frozen with fear. Dushana, seeing his army routed, sent up a great battle cry. He ordered his five thousand personal guards to attack. These Rākṣasas had never known defeat. They were energetic and never turned their backs on the battlefield. With terrible impetuosity they incessantly assailed Rāma on all sides. Fearful showers of scimitars, spiked maces, huge rocks and long swords fell upon Rāma. Rāma, becoming increasingly enraged, intercepted the volley of weapons with His arrows. Some weapons He struck down with His whirling sword as He slayed the Rākṣasas, who fell like so many great oak trees cut at their roots.
Dushana then rushed toward Rāma in his chariot, discharging innumerable arrows like thunderbolts. Rāma released a razor-like arrow which split apart Dushana’s bow. With four more shafts He killed the four horses drawing Dushana’s chariot. He then released a crescent-headed arrow which severed the head of Dushana’s charioteer. With three more arrows Rāma pierced Dushana’s chest.
The demon jumped down from his chariot holding a mace which resembled a mountain peak. The glowing club was studded with sharp iron pikes and belted with gold. It was capable of crushing the celestial army and smashing down the gates of their citadels. Dushana tightly grasped that weapon, which resembled a large serpent and was stained with his enemies’ blood. Raising it above his head, he rushed at Rāma with a huge roar.
As Dushana bore down on Him, Rāma lopped off his arms with a pair of arrows. Along with his bejeweled arms, Dushana’s club fell to the ground. With a third crescent-headed shaft Rāma cut off Dushana’s head. Seeing Dushana slain, the gods exclaimed, “Excellent! Well done!”
Rāma then swiftly dispatched all of Dushana’s five thousand warriors to Death’s abode.
Khara was practically stupefied with anger. Seeing his army all but annihilated he charged Rāma. He sent ahead of him his own guards, a dozen of the mightiest Rākṣasas. As one might greet guests, Rāma greeted each of those demons with His sharp arrows. Those mystical shafts, given by Agastya, were encrusted with gold and diamonds and they blazed like fire. They emitted smoke and sparks as they sped through the air. Tearing into the demons’ bodies, they split their hearts in two.
Khara looked on in astonishment. Who was this human? Besides his personal guard, the three-headed Trishira was the only other demon alive. Khara advanced toward Rāma but Trishira checked him. “Simply command me, O lord, and I shall vanquish this man,” Trishira said, raising his mace. “See him thrown down today by my might. This wicked one deserves death at the hands of all Rākṣasas. I shall kill Him now, or I will lay down my life on the battlefield. Then you may march against Rāma yourself. Therefore, order me to fight.”
Trishira, who was wishing only for death, received Khara’s permission. He mounted his glittering chariot and rushed against Rāma. The demon appeared like a moving three-peaked mountain. His volleys of arrows resembled a black cloud. As he charged at Rāma, he roared like the crash of a gigantic drum. Rāma met him with a profuse number of swift arrows. Although the arrows dug into Trishira’s body he simply laughed. He hurled a golden lance, tipped with steel and fastened all over with many small bells. The lance glowed like fire as it sped toward Rāma. Firing three arrows at once, Rāma cut the lance into four pieces. It fell at His feet like four shining stars dropped from the heavens.
Trishira immediately shot three barbed arrows which struck Rāma on the forehead. With blood gushing from His head, Rāma appeared beautiful, like a mountain tipped with red oxide. Provoked by Trishira’s attack, He laughingly shouted, “Just see this demon’s strength and valor. But what will it avail him? His arrows, although fired with all his power, strike Me like so many flowers. O demon, now see My prowess!”
Rāma became excited. He shot fourteen serpent-like arrows into Trishira’s chest. With four more shafts He killed the Rākṣasa’s four horses. Rāma severed the head of his charioteer with a broad-headed arrow. He then struck down the demon’s ensign and shattered his chariot. As Trishira leapt from his broken chariot, Rāma struck him on the chest with an arrow imbued with the force of a thunderbolt. The Rākṣasa stood stunned by that arrow. Rāma quickly fired three razor-headed arrows which lopped off the demon’s three heads, and the heads rolled on the ground with their golden earrings glittering. Trishira’s body fell like an uprooted tree and the ground shook.
Khara felt fear enter his heart. His entire army was slain. Fierce Rākṣasas who could face even the gods now lay dead on the battlefield. He looked at Rāma, who stood as immovable as the Himālayan mountains. Still Khara urged his charioteer forward. He drew his great bow to a full circle and fired innumerable arrows at Rāma. His blood-sucking shafts sped through the air like angry serpents. Khara then displayed his mystic power and filled the four quarters with arrows.
Rāma at once countered Khara’s shafts with His own. The sky was soon covered with arrows and not even the sun was visible. The two warriors fought furiously, the battle resembling a fight between a lion and an elephant. Like a driver striking a lordly elephant with a goad, Khara struck Rāma with a number of fierce arrows. The demon stood firmly rooted in his chariot like Death himself with noose in hand.
Thinking Rāma tired, the Rākṣasa felt the moment opportune for his victory. He stood tall in his chariot and raised his frightful-looking bow. Rāma, however, was no more concerned than a lion would be on seeing a small deer. Khara approached Rāma as a moth approaches a fire. Displaying his dexterity, he split Rāma’s bow in two with a razor-faced arrow. With seven more shafts each resembling Indra’s thunderbolt he pierced Rāma at His vital points. He then covered Rāma with another thousand arrows fired with blinding speed.
Hit hard by Khara’s shafts, Rāma’s bright armor fell in pieces to the ground. With arrows piercing Him all over his body, Rāma became enraged. He shone on the battlefield like a smokeless fire. Rāma raised Viṣṇu’s terrible bow and darted toward Khara. He cut down the demon’s ensign with a dozen gold-winged arrows. That gold ensign descended to earth like the setting sun. Khara continued to rain arrows on Rāma, aiming for the vulnerable parts of His body.
Rāma became more and more furious. Grasping His bow tightly, He fired six carefully aimed arrows. One struck the demon in the head, two in his arms and three in his chest. Rāma then shot thirteen more shafts as if they were one. With one He cut the chariot yoke; with four He killed the horses; with the sixth He cut off the head of Khara’s charioteer; the next four arrows shattered the chariot; the twelfth cut Khara’s bow; and the thirteenth pierced him deeply in the chest. All this happened in a matter of seconds. Screaming in fury Khara leapt clear of his smashed chariot, and he stood on the ground, mace in hand.
Collected together in the sky, the gods and ṛṣis applauded Rāma, encouraging Him to quickly slay Khara.
Rāma then said to the Rākṣasa, “You have pursued a ruthless and wicked course, O Rākṣasa. With your vast army you have inflicted pain on all created beings. Only those who are sinful and hard-hearted perpetrate such acts. Therefore, you deserve to die at the hands of all beings, even as a venomous serpent should be killed.”
Even though challenging the Rākṣasa, Rāma felt no malice toward the demon. As a ruler, He saw it as His duty to punish the wicked to correct them. Like a father correcting an errant son, He apprised Khara of his sins even as He meted out his punishment. He continued to castigate the Rākṣasa in a booming voice that echoed throughout the forest. “One who continuously commits sinful acts soon sees the terrible results, O night-ranger. Just as a man who eats poisoned food soon dies, so one who performs sinful acts is quickly dragged down by his sins. I am here to punish sinners like you, O Khara. Pierced through by My arrows, you will today follow the path of those ascetics whom you have killed. Fight to the best of your ability; I will strike down your head like a ripe fruit!”
Khara laughed. He was impervious to any good instructions. Beside himself with anger, the demon roared back, “Having killed only ordinary Rākṣasas, O human, why are You vainly ranting? Those who are truly brave speak nothing of their valor. Only the vulgar brag as You are doing, O disgrace to the royal class! Just as brass taken for gold reveals its baseness when placed in fire, so You have shown Your baseness now that the hour of Your death has arrived.”
Khara raised his heavy mace. “Obviously You do not see me standing here wielding my mace and holding the earth, with her heavy load of mountains, in balance,” he bellowed. “I am capable of killing You along with all the creatures in the three worlds. But enough talk! You have killed fourteen thousand Rākṣasas. Now I shall wipe away their relatives’ tears by slaying You.”
Khara whirled the mace and released it for Rāma’s destruction. As it coursed swiftly through the air it shot out searing flames which burned the surrounding trees to ashes.
With twenty steel-tipped arrows Rāma shattered Khara’s mace to pieces. It fell to the ground like an angry serpent checked by mantras. Rāma laughed at Khara. “Is that your best effort, O vile demon? It seems you are bold only in speech. Even as Garuḍa snatched nectar from the gods, so I shall snatch away your life. The earth will drink deeply your foaming blood. With your head severed you will lie closely embracing the earth, like a man embracing his lover.”
Rāma continued to taunt Khara, reminding him of the many sages he had killed. Closely watching the demon all the time, Rāma said, “When you are laid low by Me in protracted slumber, this forest will again become a happy abode for ascetics. Your wives and kinsmen will grieve today, as do the kinsmen of those you have slain. Try again, if you will, for your death is near.”
Khara’s anger was again incited by Rāma’s words. He foamed at the mouth. Looking around for another weapon he screamed, “Your mad talk is born of vanity alone. It is said that at the moment of death one cannot discern right from wrong. I see this to be true. Evidently your mind is thrown into confusion as your death approaches.”
Khara saw a large tree nearby. He tore it from the earth and hurled it at Rāma, exclaiming, “You are killed!”
Rāma was unmoved. He met the fast-flying tree with a volley of arrows. It fell in splinters and a shower of leaves. Determining to kill the Rākṣasa at once, Rāma became violently angry. He was covered in perspiration, and His face shone brightly. He pierced Khara with a thousand arrows. Torrents of foaming blood ran from the demon’s wounds like rivulets running down a mountainside. Khara was maddened and ran furiously at Rāma. Taking a few steps backwards, Rāma took out a shaft resembling Yamarāja’s mace. He placed it on His bow and imbued it with the celestial force of Indra’s thunderbolt. When the Rākṣasa was almost upon Him, Rāma released the arrow. It struck Khara full on the breast with a sound like thunder. The demon fell to the ground, a huge burning hole in his chest.
As Khara fell dead, the Cāraṇas sounded their celestial drums as a shower of flowers fell upon Rāma, while the gods applauded, saying, “These violent Rākṣasas, unslayable by any other, have been slain by Rāma in less than two hours. His resolve and power exactly resembles that of Viṣṇu!”
The sage Agastya, standing in the sky at the head of a large group of ṛṣis, also spoke to Rāma, “At Indra’s prompting and for this very purpose of killing the Rākṣasas, Sarabhanga had You sent here. The ṛṣis will now again inhabit this region to practice their austerities.”
Lakṣman then came out of the cave where He had hidden Sītā. Along with the gods and great sages, He praised Rāma’s achievements. Sītā ran to Her husband and embraced Him tightly. She ran Her cool hands over His many wounds, crying tears of joy to see Him victorious over the Rākṣasas. As night fell, thousands of carnivorous animals and birds descended on the battlefield. Rāma and Sītā retired into Their hut and Lakṣman sat nearby, keeping a lonely vigil.
2.8: Rāvaṇa’s Lust is Incited
There was one Rākṣasa named Akampana who escaped from Rāma. After seeing all his companions killed, Akampana fled to Lanka to inform Rāvaṇa of the news. Going before the lord of the Rākṣasas, who was the scourge of all created beings and who took pleasure in giving pain to others, Akampana fell at his feet and said, “O great king, your entire army which was stationed in the Janasthana forest is now no more. Even the mighty Khara and Dushana are dead. Only I have somehow survived.”
Rāvaṇa shook with anger when he heard this news. He gazed with his ten heads at the disheveled and fearful Rākṣasa lying at his feet. The demon king rose up quickly from his golden throne. He was pitiless and rough, and he felt no compassion for the trembling Akampana. As he spoke he appeared about to consume Akampana in his rage. “Who, with his life all but ended, is responsible for this rash act?” he demanded. “O weak Rākṣasa, what fool would dare antagonize Rāvaṇa? Even Indra, Kuvera or the great Yamarāja would not be safe if they offended me. I can burn fire and kill even Death himself!”
Under the protection of Brahmā’s boon Rāvaṇa had become utterly conceited and arrogant. He considered himself unconquerable. Even the principal gods had been forced to retreat in battle against him. None of them could contradict Brahmā’s order. They would therefore not kill Rāvaṇa, even if capable. He had thus ranged the universe creating havoc and fearing nothing. He grabbed hold of Akampana. “Tell me the name of the wicked wretch who has slain my followers. You need not fear, for whoever it is will certainly die at my hands today.”
Akampana was reassured by Rāvaṇa’s words. At least the demon king was not going to vent his anger on him. He replied, “It was a man who carried out this astonishing feat of killing the Rākṣasa army. He is a son of Daśaratha named Rāma. Tall and powerfully built, the prince possesses matchless strength. He alone annihilated the entire host of Rākṣasas.”
Rāvaṇa listened in disbelief. How was it possible? One Rākṣasa against a large number of men was easy to believe, but a single man killing fourteen thousand Rākṣasas was incredible. Rāvaṇa hissed like an angry snake. “Was this Rāma accompanied by Indra and all the gods?”
Seeing Rāvaṇa’s incredulity, Akampana went on describing Rāma’s power. “It is difficult to even look upon Rāma as He stands on the battlefield. His golden-winged arrows fall in thousands with the force of a tempest. He has mastered the celestial weapons and looks like Death incarnate while fighting. Whichever way the Rākṣasas ran, stricken with fear, they saw Rāma standing in their front. No gods assisted Him, O great one; He alone devastated your army.”
Rāvaṇa snorted derisively. He would not be humiliated by any mere man. He thought of his own power. Thousands of years ago he had gone to the Himālayas, intent on performing austerities in order to gain unmatched material opulence. It was then that he approached Brahmā. Surviving on air alone, he took only one breath a day. When he failed after a long time to propitiate Brahmā, he began a sacrifice. He cut off his twenty arms one by one and offered them into the fire to please Brahmā. When Brahmā still did not appear, the demon began to cut off each of his ten heads and place them in the fire. At last Brahmā appeared before him. Rāvaṇa then secured his boon, which he now recalled. He had not asked for immunity to humans, but how could any human even look at him, never mind fight with him? Even the gods fled in fear when he mounted his chariot for battle. This Rāma sounded most unusual but, nevertheless, Rāvaṇa was proud of his hard-won strength and felt sure he could kill Rāma without difficulty. Standing with his back to Akampana, he said, “I shall go immediately and finish this Rāma.”
Akampana was intelligent. He had already realized Rāma’s irresistible strength when he saw Him fighting. The Rākṣasa had thus stood back from the fight and made his escape. He considered that Rāvaṇa’s chances of defeating Rāma were slight. Therefore he advised his king. “When Rāma is enraged, He cannot be tamed by any warrior. In my opinion he could, by the force of His arrows, tear down the very heavens with the sun, moon and constellations. He could stem the current of a flooded river or break down the shores of the ocean and deluge the entire world. With His arrows Rāma could lift the earth itself. Indeed, that illustrious man could dissolve all the worlds and then create them again.”
Rāvaṇa turned and looked pensively at Akampana. Clearly Rāma was no ordinary man. Akampana was himself a powerful commander of the Rākṣasa forces. He knew how to estimate the strength of the enemy. The Rākṣasa king listened carefully as Akampana continued. “I do not think you will be able to defeat Rāma in battle, any more than a sinful man can attain the regions of heaven. However, there is a way by which you can probably overcome Him. Listen as I tell you.” Rāvaṇa sat on his throne and leaned forward attentively as Akampana went on.
“Rāma has come to the forest with His wife, Sītā. I have heard She is more beautiful than any goddess, female Gandharva or Apsarā. From all accounts She is a stunning jewel among women who cannot be compared to any other. Surely She is dearer to Rāma than His own life, as He has brought Her with Him even to the lonely forest. O king, by means of some trick kidnap Sītā. Rāma will be overcome by grief and either die or be weakened enough for you to defeat Him.”
Rāvaṇa pondered Akampana’s suggestion. He liked the idea. Thanking Akampana, he decided to go the next day to find Sītā. He first needed to seek the help of Maricha, the son of Tataka, who was well known for his magical powers. Rāvaṇa mounted his chariot, which shone like the sun and was drawn by great mules with the heads of fiends. As he sat in his golden chariot, which had a white canopy spread over it, he was fanned by attractive maidens. His strongly built body was the color of glossy black gems. With his ten heads and twenty arms he resembled a ten-peaked mountain. As his chariot rose up to the sky, he cast his splendor like a thundercloud with flashes of lightning.
The mighty Rākṣasa moved swiftly ahead, surveying the scene below. Heading north toward the Himālayas, he saw beneath him the beautiful coastline. It was crowded with hermitages and graced with numerous woods and lakes filled with lotuses. Many Siddhas, Cāraṇas, Gandharvas and other divine beings sported in great joy in and around those lakes. Thousands of Apsarās danced and played with the gods. Rāvaṇa saw in the sky wonderful aerial cars, like white mansions, adorned with celestial garlands and carrying the residents of heaven. From the cars came the sounds of delightful music, which enlivened the heart and mind.
Passing over great forests, Rāvaṇa came at last to the northern mountains. There he found Maricha’s hermitage. Defeated and punished by Rāma, Maricha had retired to the forest and dedicated himself to the practice of penance. He looked up in surprise as Rāvaṇa’s chariot descended from the sky. Maricha rose up quickly and greeted the overlord of all the Rākṣasas. “Welcome, great king,” he said reverentially. “I hope everything is well in Lanka. What has brought you to this lonely forest, inhabited only by ascetics?”
Maricha offered Rāvaṇa celestial foods unknown to humans. He sat him on a mat of kusha grass and served him personally. Rāvaṇa only looked at the food and said to Maricha, “My entire army of Rākṣasas led by the powerful Khara has been destroyed by Rāma, a son of king Daśaratha, contending single-handedly and on foot. I am here to seek your assistance in abducting Rāma’s wife Sītā. By this means only will I be able to overpower Rāma.”
Maricha stood up with a start. “By what enemy in the guise of a friend have you been tendered this advice?” he asked in horror. “Who have you offended so that they should suggest that you kidnap Rāma’s wife? That person clearly seeks to rid the world of the Rākṣasas’ lord. Using you as his tool, he desires to extract a fang from the jaws of a serpent. Who is it, O king, who has dealt you a powerful blow on the head, even as you slept peacefully?”
Maricha paced up and down, shaking his head. He had already been convinced of Rāma’s incomparable power. Hearing that He alone had killed Khara and his army only confirmed it all the more. He trembled as he continued to speak. “O Rāvaṇa, you should not even think of staring at Rāma. That lion among men, whose sharp teeth are His numberless arrows, easily kills small animals in the form of Rākṣasas skilled in battle. Do not hurl yourself into the vast and dreadful ocean of the angry Rāma, whose arms are its alligators and whose weapons are its tossing waves. Remain peacefully in Lanka, enjoying with your wives, and allow Rāma to sport in the woods with His wife Sītā.”
Maricha spoke passionately. He continued to argue against the wisdom of Rāvaṇa’s antagonizing Rāma. Rāvaṇa listened thoughtfully. He again recalled his omission to ask Brahmā for invincibility against humans. The Rākṣasa king asked Maricha why he considered Rāma so powerful. Telling him about the incident of Viśvāmitra’s sacrifice, Maricha replied, “I was ranging the earth, my body appearing like a mountain, with a huge iron club in my hand. My might exceeded that of a thousand elephants. I would roam about in the forest eating the flesh of ṛṣis. Considering me more powerful than even the gods, the sage Viśvāmitra sought only Rāma as his protector. Rāma was a mere boy at that time. When I saw Him in Viśvāmitra’s hermitage, I disregarded Him, thinking Him to be simply a child. However, with a single arrow Rāma hit and threw me eight hundred miles into the ocean, and He slaughtered all of my powerful companions.”
Maricha told Rāvaṇa how he returned to the forest again. He assumed the form of a sharabha, a fierce eight-legged carnivorous beast capable of killing even lions. In that form, accompanied by two other Rākṣasas in similar forms, he continued to terrorize the ṛṣis. One day he again came across Rāma seated in His hermitage. Rākṣasas in the form of sharabhas rushed at Rāma, remembering their previous enmity. In an instant Rāma had lifted and strung His bow, releasing three gold-tipped arrows which sped like thunderbolts. Maricha’s two companions were killed outright. Maricha himself had dodged the arrows and retreated in fear. He then decided to abandon his life of antagonizing ṛṣis and retire to the mountains.
Concluding his speech, Maricha said, “My fear of Rāma has made me adopt this life of asceticism. Indeed, I live in continuous dread of that prince. In every tree I see Rāma, clad in barks and wielding His bow, looking like Death personified standing with noose in hand. I actually see thousands of Rāmas all around me. Indeed this whole forest appears to have turned into Rāma. I see Him everywhere, even in dreams and meditations. If someone speaks out a word beginning with ‘R’, I shake with terror. O king, under no circumstances shall I be convinced to again stand before Rāma.”
Rāvaṇa sat silently after Maricha stopped speaking. Out of pride, the Rākṣasa king still felt capable of dealing with Rāma. He was not going to be afraid of a mere human. However, seeing Maricha’s reluctance to assist him, he decided to return to Lanka and await another opportunity. He felt sure that his path would soon cross with Rāma’s.
Soon after he arrived back at Lanka, Shurpanakha visited him. As he sat atop his seven-storied palace, surrounded by his ministers, his sister came and fell at his feet. Wailing piteously, she rolled about on the ground. She looked up at Rāvaṇa, who sat on his golden throne glowing like a fire fed with abundant fuel. His huge blackish body was covered by celestial robes, adorned with jeweled ornaments taken from the gods. His twenty arms, which could arrest the movement of the planets, looked like great tree trunks. They were marked by scars made by Indra’s thunderbolt and the other weapons of the gods. He stared down at Shurpanakha with his twenty reddish eyes.
Rāvaṇa told his sister to get up and asked her why she was lamenting. Shurpanakha, displaying her mutilated face, answered him harshly. “Do you not see my disfigured face? What kind of protector are you, O king? I am a helpless woman and your sister, but I have been humiliated at the hands of a man. Do you not care for this, O powerful Rākṣasa?”
The Rākṣasī shook with fear and anger as she continued to address the demon king. “Everyone reviles a monarch who is licentious and overly attached to sensual enjoyment. Such a king, who fails to properly attend to his state affairs, is soon ruined. O Rāvaṇa, are you not aware that you are losing control of your territories? Having formed enmity with the gods and the Brahmins, how can you expect to rest here in peace, enjoying the pleasures of life? You are childish and without any intelligence. You do not know what should be done and will therefore lose your kingdom before long.”
Hearing such a searing rebuke in the midst of his ministers enraged Rāvaṇa. Short-tempered and intolerant, he replied angrily, “Tell me who has attacked you, wretched woman? Why are you afraid?”
Shurpanakha told Rāvaṇa what had happened. She also described to him Rāma’s annihilation of the Rākṣasas exactly as Rāvaṇa had already heard it from Akampana. Rāvaṇa’s curiosity about Rāma was aroused. He said, “Tell me more about Rāma. Why is he living in the forest? What is his strength and his weakness? How has he overpowered the unassailable Khara, Dushana and Trishira?”
After telling Rāvaṇa that Rāma had been sent to the forest by His father, Shurpanakha described how she had personally witnessed Rāma’s power. “I could not see when Rāma took up His arrows or bent His bow, which shone brightly like a rainbow. I only saw the Rākṣasa army falling like hewn trees. The demons resembled a wheat field destroyed by a downpour of hailstones. I also saw by Rāma’s side His brother Lakṣman. He too seems exceptionally glorious and is clearly devoted to Rāma. Indeed, He appears like Rāma’s second self. I hold these two brothers to be practically unconquerable in battle.”
Shurpanakha, as a Rākṣasī, possessed celestial intelligence. Like Akampana, she was able to recognize Rāma’s power, although she did not understand His identity. She spoke cunningly, wanting to incite her brother to confront Rāma. “I saw by Rāma’s side His beloved wife Sītā, whose beauty is hard to describe. Her dark eyes and hair contrast vividly with the hue and luster of Her body, which resembles molten gold. Her breasts, hips and thighs are exquisitely shaped and She shines like another Goddess Lakṣmī.”
Shurpanakha knew that her brother was lusty. He had absolutely no regard for moral laws and took pleasure in enjoying other’s wives. The Rākṣasī went on describing Sītā. “Her countenance is like the full moon. With Her thin waist and delicate limbs, Sītā is beyond compare. I have seen no woman like Her on the face of the earth, be she a goddess, Gandharva or Yakṣa. Any man embraced with delight by Sītā will enjoy a happiness greater than that of Indra. Without doubt that peerless female, who is of a gentle disposition, would be a worthy consort for you, O king of demons.”
Rāvaṇa’s mind was captivated by Her description. He considered how he might win Her. Arrogantly he assumed that She would be attracted to him, the great and powerful king of the Rākṣasas. But how could She be taken from Rāma? Rāvaṇa was beginning to think that he needed to exercise caution in his approach to Rāma. He listened as his sister continued.
“I wanted to snatch away Sītā and bring Her to you, O brother. But I was viciously attacked by the wicked and cruel-minded Lakṣman. No one but you, O mighty king, will be capable of taking Sītā from Rāma. Surely She should be your wife. Why not go the forest and see Her wondrous beauty for yourself?”
Shurpanakha longed for revenge. Sītā was the cause of her being mutilated. The Rākṣasa woman wanted the princess to be taken from Rāma so that both Rāma and Sītā would feel intolerable pain. Perhaps then Rāvaṇa would be able to overpower the grief-stricken Rāma. Shurpanakha gazed imploringly at her brother. “Snatch away the incomparable Sītā from Rāma. Then, standing in the forefront of battle, defeat and kill that human along with His evil brother.”
Rāvaṇa was convinced. He was already angered by Rāma’s killing of the Rākṣasa army in Janasthana. Now here was his own sister, disfigured and humiliated by the human brothers. Rāvaṇa took that personally. He especially could not tolerate the sharp and taunting words Shurpanakha delivered in front of his ministers. He had to prove his power. And above all he wanted to have Sītā. Thinking again of Maricha, he called for his chariot. This time he would not be deterred from his purpose. Maricha’s refusal to help him was unacceptable. Rāvaṇa mounted his great chariot and rose up swiftly into the sky.
(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. )
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