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The third sopan of the Ramcharitmanas, the third step down into the lake, opens with a salute to Ganesha and a bow to Shiva. Then comes a worship of Rama walking the road with Sita and Lakshmana. Then Parvati is told that Rama’s virtues are hidden. The learned gain dispassion from them, and the deluded fall into delusion. The teller turns from the townsfolk’s love and Bharata’s to the deeds Rama does in the forest. Once Rama, seated on a crystal rock, puts ornaments of flowers, made with his own hands, on Sita. A beak strikes her foot, blood runs, and a reed goes onto his bow.
The Brahma arrow, driven by a mantra, runs, and the crow flees in fear. His father does not keep him, and in all the worlds no one asks him to sit. Narada sends him to Rama, who lets him go with one eye. Rama reckons a crowd will gather, and he leaves Chitrakuta. Atri runs to meet him, gives him roots and fruit, and praises him in twelve stanzas, with a plea after them. Anasuya seats Sita near her, dresses her, and on a pretext speaks of a woman’s dharma. Rama asks leave to go to another forest, and Atri asks how he can say go. The episode closes on Rama’s fame, a calmer of the Kali age’s dirt.
The crow, the sage, and the sage’s wife
The main figures in this episode
- Rama who makes ornaments of flowers with his own hands and puts them on Sita. When blood runs from her foot, he fits a reed to his bow. He hears Jayanta’s plea at his feet and lets him go with one eye. He reckons that a crowd will gather and leaves Chitrakuta. At Atri’s hermitage he prostrates himself, is taken to the sage’s heart, and is worshiped and given roots and fruit. He asks the sage’s leave to go to another forest.
- Sita whose foot the crow’s beak strikes, after Rama has dressed her in ornaments of flowers. At Atri’s hermitage she clasps Anasuya’s feet and is seated near her. She is dressed in divine clothes and ornaments, hears Anasuya’s words, and bows her head at Anasuya’s feet.
- Lakshmana who walks the road with Rama and Sita in the poet’s worship of Rama. He leaves Chitrakuta with Rama and Sita and comes with them to Atri’s hermitage. Atri’s hymn worships Rama together with his younger brother.
- Jayanta Indra’s son, who takes a crow’s guise and wants to see Rama’s strength. He strikes Sita’s foot with his beak and flees. In his own form he goes to his father, then through Brahma’s abode, Shiva’s city, and all the worlds, and no one asks him to sit. He clasps Rama’s feet and says he has reaped the fruit of his own deed, and Rama lets him go with one eye.
- Indra Jayanta’s father, who does not keep a son turned from Rama.
- Narada who sees Jayanta in distress, feels pity, and sends him at once to Rama.
- Atri the great sage, who rises and runs when he hears that Rama has come, takes him to his heart, worships him, and gives him roots and fruit. He praises Rama in twelve stanzas and asks for bhakti of his feet. Bowing his head, he asks again that his wit never leave those feet. Asked for leave, he asks how he can say go, and he gazes at Rama with tears flowing.
- Anasuya Atri’s wife, who blesses Sita, seats her near, and dresses her in divine clothes and ornaments, ever new. In a sweet, soft voice, on a pretext, she tells something of a woman’s dharma.
- Parvati to whom Shiva is telling the story. She is addressed at the opening, and again in the line where Jayanta is let go.
- Garuda who is addressed in the lines on what becomes of Rama’s enemy. The commentary gives that aside to Kakabhushundi.
- Durvasa the sage whose fear of the discus is the likeness for Jayanta’s terror.
Hidden virtues, and a word to Parvati
The third sopan begins with a salute to Ganesha and the words “Victory to Sita’s beloved.” Then the poet bows to Shiva. He is the root of the tree of dharma, the full moon that gladdens the sea of discernment, the sun to the lotus of dispassion. He drives off the dense darkness of sin and takes away pain. In the work of tearing apart the massed clouds of delusion he is the one born of the sky, the wind in the commentary’s reading. He is of Brahma’s line, the queller of stain, dear to King Rama.
Then the poet worships Rama, whose body, dense with bliss, is handsome as a rain cloud, who wears a yellow cloth, who is beautiful. The commentary reads the cloth as bark. Bow and arrow are in his hands, and the weight of a fine quiver gleams at his waist. His eyes are long like lotuses, and he is adorned with matted hair bound up. He walks the road with Sita and Lakshmana, and he is a delight.
Shiva, telling the story to Parvati, says, “Rama’s virtues are hidden. The learned and the sages gain dispassion from them. The deluded, who are turned from the Lord and have no love for dharma, fall into delusion.”
The teller goes on. “I have sung, to the measure of my wit, the matchless, handsome love of the townsfolk and of Bharata. Now hear the Lord’s most holy deeds, which he does in the forest, delighting gods, men, and sages.”
Ornaments of flowers, and the crystal rock
Once, picking handsome flowers, Rama made ornaments with his own hands. Seated on a beautiful crystal rock, he put them on Sita with respect.
Taking a crow’s guise, the fool Jayanta, Indra’s son, wanted to see Rama’s strength, as a most dull-witted ant would want to find the bottom of the sea.
Striking Sita’s foot with its beak, the crow fled, senseless and dull-witted, made for a purpose. The commentary gives the purpose as the testing of the Lord’s strength. When the blood ran, Rama knew, and he fitted a reed to his bow as the arrow.
A trick played on the most merciful
Rama is most merciful, and he has love always for the humble. To him the fool, a house of faults, came and played a trick.
All the worlds, and no one asks him to sit
Driven by the mantra, the Brahma arrow ran. The crow took fright and fled. Taking his own form, he went to his father. Indra did not keep one who was turned from Rama.
He despaired, and terror rose in his mind, as fear of the discus had risen in the sage Durvasa. He wandered Brahma’s abode, Shiva’s city, and all the worlds, weary, distraught with fear and grief.
No one asked him to sit. Who can keep Rama’s enemy? In the commentary’s reading Kakabhushundi here speaks to Garuda: “His mother becomes like death to him, his father like Yama, and nectar becomes poison. Listen, Garuda. A friend does the work of a hundred enemies. The river of the gods becomes the Vaitarani for him. The whole world becomes hotter than fire for one who is turned from Rama. Listen, brother.” The commentary names the river of the gods as the Ganga, and the Vaitarani as the river of Yama’s city.
Narada’s pity, and one eye
Narada saw Jayanta in distress, and pity came to him. The hearts of saints are soft. Narada sent him at once to Rama. Jayanta cried out, “Save me, you who do good to those who bow.”
Frantic and afraid, he went and clasped Rama’s feet. “Save me, save me, merciful Rama. Your unequaled strength and unequaled lordship I, dull-witted, did not know. I have reaped the fruit born of my own deed. Now save me, Lord. I have come looking to your refuge.”
Hearing those most piteous words and making him one-eyed, Rama in his mercy let him go, Parvati is told.
He had done harm in the power of delusion, and though his death was fitting, Rama let him go in kindness. Who is as merciful as Rama?
Chitrakuta is left behind
Living at Chitrakuta, Rama did many deeds, nectar to the ears. Afterwards he reckoned in his mind, “There will be a crowd. Everyone has come to know me.”
Taking leave of all the sages, the two brothers set out with Sita. When Rama came to Atri’s hermitage, hearing of it, the great sage was glad.
His body thrilling, Atri rose and ran. Seeing him come, Rama came on in haste. As Rama prostrated himself, the sage took him to his heart and bathed both in the water of love. The commentary takes the two to be the brothers.
At the sight of Rama’s beauty the sage’s eyes were cooled. Then he brought them to his own hermitage with respect. Worshiping them and speaking pleasing words, he gave roots and fruit, which delighted Rama.
Atri’s hymn, and the plea after it
Rama was seated. Filling his eyes and beholding Rama’s splendor, the chief sage, most skilled, joined his hands and began to praise him.
Atri bowed to Rama as the one who loves his devotees, merciful and gentle in nature. He worshiped the feet that give the desireless his own abode. He praised him as dark and most beautiful, the Mandara that churns the sea of becoming, with eyes like open lotuses, who frees from pride and the other faults. He named the might of his long arms, his glory beyond measure, the quiver, bow, and arrows he bears, and his lordship of the three worlds. He called him the ornament of the Sun’s line and the breaker of Shiva’s bow. He called him the joy of the lords of sages and of saints, and the crusher of the hosts of the gods’ foes.
Kama’s foe bows to him, Atri sang, and Brahma and the gods serve him. The commentary names Kama’s foe as Shiva. Rama, Atri sang, is pure knowledge in a body, the remover of every fault. Atri bowed to the lord of Lakshmi, the mine of happiness, the goal of the good. He worshiped him with his power and his younger brother, and called him the dear younger brother of Shachi’s lord. The commentary reads the power as Sita, and the younger brother of Shachi’s lord as Vamana.
Those who serve his feet free of envy, Atri sang, do not fall into the sea of becoming, crowded with the waves of doubt. Recluses who worship him gladly for release, withdrawing the senses, reach their own state. He is the one, Atri went on, the wondrous Lord, desireless, the ruler, all-pervading, the guru of the world, and eternal. He is turiya, beyond the three qualities in the commentary’s reading, and he is alone. Atri worshiped the one to whom feeling is dear, most hard for false yogis to reach. He is a wish-tree to his own devotees, impartial, and to be served well every day.
“I bow to the king of matchless form, Sita’s lord,” he said. “Be gracious to me. I bow to you. Give me bhakti of your lotus feet.” Those who read this hymn with respect, he said, reach his abode, joined with bhakti of him, and of that there is no doubt.
Making his entreaty and bowing his head, the sage said again with joined hands, “May my wit, master, never leave your lotus feet.”
Anasuya seats Sita beside her
Afterwards, clasping Anasuya’s feet, Sita, good in conduct and humble, met her. Great happiness rose in the mind of the sage’s wife. Blessing her, she seated her near. She dressed her in divine clothes and ornaments, ever new, pure, and handsome. In a sweet, soft voice, on a pretext, the sage’s wife told something of a woman’s dharma.
“Mother, father, and brother all do good, and all give in measure. Listen, princess. The husband gives beyond measure, Sita. Base is the woman who does not serve him. Patience, dharma, a friend, and a wife, these four are tested in a time of trouble. Old, sick, dull, poor, blind, deaf, angry, most wretched. Slighting even such a husband, a wife suffers many griefs in Yama’s city. There is one dharma, one vow, one rule, and it is love for the husband’s feet in body, word, and mind.”
She went on. “There are four kinds of faithful wife in the world. The Vedas, the Puranas, and the saints all say so. The highest has it fixed in her mind that no other man exists in the world, even in a dream. The middling sees another’s husband as she sees her own brother, father, or son. She who keeps herself back, considering dharma and thinking of her family, is the inferior woman. So the Veda says. She who keeps herself back for want of occasion or from fear, know her as the base woman in the world. She who deceives her husband and takes pleasure with another’s husband falls into the Raurava hell for a hundred kalpas.”
She went on. “Who is as wicked as the woman who, for a moment’s happiness, does not think of the grief of a thousand million births? Without toil a woman gains the highest state when, leaving deceit, she holds to the dharma of the faithful wife. One who goes against her husband becomes a widow in her youth, wherever she is born. A woman is impure by nature, and serving her husband she gains a good state. The four Vedas sing the fame of the tulsi plant, dear to the Lord even now. Listen, Sita. Women keep the vow of the faithful wife remembering your name. Rama is dear to you as your life. I have told this story for the world’s good.”
Leave-taking, and the Kali age
Hearing it, Sita found supreme happiness and bowed her head at Anasuya’s feet with respect. Then Rama said to the sage, “If there is leave, let me go to another forest. Keep your grace on me always. Knowing me your servant, do not give up your love.”
Hearing the words of Rama, who bears the yoke of dharma, the wise sage spoke with love. “Brahma, Shiva, Sanaka and his brothers, and all who speak of the highest good want your grace. You are that one, Rama, dear to the desireless, the friend of the humble, and you speak such soft words. Now I know the quick wit of the goddess of fortune, who worshiped you, leaving all the gods.” The commentary names the goddess as Lakshmi. Atri went on, “One whom no one at all exceeds, how should his good conduct not be such? How shall I say go now, master? Tell me, master. You know the heart.”
So saying, the steady sage gazed at Rama. Water flowed from his eyes, and his body thrilled. Full of love, his body thrilling, he kept his eyes on Rama’s face. In the commentary’s reading he thought, “I have seen the Lord, who is beyond mind, knowledge, the qualities, and the senses. What japa and tapas did I do?” By the host of japa, yoga, and dharma a man gains matchless bhakti. The servant Tulsi sings Rama’s holy deeds night and day.
Rama’s fair fame calms the dirt of the Kali age, tames the mind, and is the root of happiness. To those who hear it with respect Rama stays favorable. The hard age is a treasury of dirt, with no dharma, no knowledge, no yoga, and no japa. Those who, giving up every trust, worship Rama are the quick-witted.
The crow let go, and leave asked of Atri
Jayanta wandered all the worlds, and no one asked him to sit. At Rama’s feet he was let go with one eye. Rama left Chitrakuta, and Atri rose and ran to him and brought him to his own hermitage. The sage praised him, asked for bhakti of Rama’s feet, and asked again that his wit never leave them. Anasuya, on a pretext, told something of a woman’s dharma, for the world’s good. When Rama asked leave to go on, the sage asked how he could say go.
The Ramcharitmanas tells the crow here, in the story’s sequence. Valmiki’s Ramayana tells it later, as a memory Sita recounts to Hanuman in Lanka.
The same story, elsewhere: Valmiki’s Ramayana, chapter 10, part 2: Bharata meets Rama at Chitrakuta.
Source: the Gita Press edition of Tulsidas’s Ramcharitmanas, Aranyakand, the opening shlokas and sortha, and doha 1 to sortha 6 (b), read with Hanuman Prasad Poddar’s Hindi commentary.