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At the edge of the great Dandaka forest, where even the shade under the trees seemed to burn with the heat of austerity, the steady and self-mastered Rama passed into the dense woodland and, from a long way off, saw a ring of hermitages. Sacred kusha grass and lengths of tree-bark lay scattered all around them, and the whole circle stood wrapped in the grandeur of Brahman like the dazzling disk of the sun in the sky, hard to look at head-on. It was a refuge for every living thing. Its courtyards were always freshly swept; deer wandered through it without fear, and flocks of birds settled everywhere around it, and troops of celestial nymphs honored it daily with their dancing. Great fire-halls stood there, and the vessels of sacrifice, the ladles and the spoons, the deerskins, the kusha, the split faggots for the fire, the water-jars, the fruits and roots. Tall and holy forest trees bearing sweet fruit hedged it in. It was rich with offerings and oblations, loud with the chanting of the Vedas, bright with lotus ponds and with flowers strewn across the ground. Old sages lived there who ate only fruit and root, who wore bark and the hide of the black antelope, and who shone like the sun and the fire. Graced by these greatest of seers, restrained in every meal, the place looked like the dwelling of Brahma himself.
Welcome in the hermitages, and a plea to the king for protection
Seeing that ring of hermitages, adorned by highly blessed brahmins who knew Brahman, the lustrous Rama unstrung his great bow and stepped in among the huts. The sages were rich in divine sight, and they came forward gladly to him and to the renowned Sita, princess of Videha. They watched Rama, lovely as the rising moon and settled in the practice of virtue, and they watched Sita and Lakshmana too, and being firm keepers of their vows they welcomed the three with rites of blessing. The forest-dwellers gazed in wonder at the build of Rama’s body, at his grandeur and tenderness, at the ascetic’s garb he wore. Every one of them looked and looked at Sita, at Lakshmana, and at Rama, their eyes never blinking, as at some marvel set before them.
Those great-hearted sages, who lived only for the good of all beings, lodged the son of Raghu in a leaf hut as their guest. Then, glowing like fire, the righteous seers honored Rama in the proper way and offered him water. Full of gladness, performing rites of good omen, they brought him roots and flowers and fruit and offered him the run of the whole hermitage, and with joined palms they said: “The king is the guardian of righteousness for all this people, their refuge, glorious, worthy of worship and of honor, the bearer of the rod of justice, and a teacher to them. He is a fourth part of Indra himself, O son of Raghu, and holding the rod of rule he protects his subjects. It is for this that the king, saluted by all, enjoys the finest and most delightful pleasures. We are dwellers in your realm, and so we deserve to be protected by you. Whether you live in the city or in the forest, lord of the people, you are our king. We have laid down all punishment, we have conquered anger, we have subdued our senses. We are ascetics whose only wealth is our penance, and you should guard us always, as a mother guards the child in her womb.”
So saying, they satisfied the son of Raghu and Lakshmana with fruit and root and flower and every kind of wild fare. And in the same way other accomplished ascetics, each of them bright as fire, honored Rama according to their just and settled custom.
A key to reading (the king’s fourth share): “The king is a fourth part of Indra,” and “a fourth of the merit a sage earns by his penance goes to the king who protects him,” is Valmiki’s doctrine of royal duty. A king who takes his sixth share in taxes and then fails to shield his people is charged with a great wrong. Inside this frame the sages count even the exiled Rama as their king and their shield, in the city or in the forest alike.
The gist: The moment Rama enters the Dandaka forest, the ascetics of the woodland receive him with honor. They treat him as king and protector, and they remind him of the law that binds a ruler: the guarding of his people is his highest duty.
Viradha’s attack and the seizing of Sita
Having received their welcome, Rama took his leave of all the sages at sunrise and plunged into the deep of the forest. With Lakshmana at his back he came into the heart of the wood, a place thick with herds of many kinds of deer, haunted by bears and by tigers, its trees and creepers and thickets broken down, its pools nowhere to be seen, where the birds did not sing and only swarms of crickets kept up a shrill din.
In that dread wood full of beasts, Rama of the line of Kakutstha, Sita beside him, saw a man-eating ogre huge as a mountain peak, roaring in a great voice. His eyes were sunk deep, his mouth was enormous, his belly monstrous; he was foul, misshapen, tall, warped, terrible to look upon. He wore a tiger’s skin still wet with fat and smeared with blood. Like Death with his jaws flung wide he spread terror through every living thing. Onto a single iron spike he had strung three lions, four tigers, two wolves, ten spotted deer, and the great tusked head of an elephant, all dripping with fat, and with this raised aloft he was bellowing in a fearful voice.
When he saw Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita of Mithila, he flew at them in a fury, the way Death itself falls upon the world. With a roar that seemed to shake the earth he swept Sita up in his arms, drew back a distance, and said: “You two wear matted hair and bark, you drag a woman along with you, and your lives are almost spent, yet you have marched into the Dandaka forest carrying arrows and bow and sword in your hands! You call yourselves ascetics, so how do you keep a woman among you? Who are you, sinners who work unrighteousness and defile the sages? I am the ogre named Viradha, and armed I roam this trackless wood forever, eating the flesh of seers. This lovely woman will be my wife, and on the field of battle I shall drink the blood of you two sinners.”
Hearing the proud and evil words of that vile Viradha, Sita, the daughter of Janaka, shook with terror like a plantain tree in a gale. Seeing her caught in the ogre’s grip, Rama’s mouth went dry, and he said to Lakshmana: “Look, gentle brother. The daughter of King Janaka, a princess of renown raised in the softest comfort, my wife of pure conduct, has fallen into the lap of Viradha. Everything that far-seeing Kaikeyi wished on us has come to pass. She was not content with the kingdom she won for her son; she sent me into the forest though every living thing loved me; and today, this very moment, both her boons have borne their fruit. Know, Lakshmana, that my second mother Kaikeyi has this day had her desire. Nothing wounds me more than the touch of another upon Sita, O son of Sumitra. It cuts deeper than the loss of my father, deeper than the loss of my kingdom.”
While the son of Kakutstha spoke so, drowned in grief and tears, Lakshmana broke out, hissing like a cornered serpent: “You are the lord of all beings, the equal of Indra, and you have a servant like me at your side, and still you grieve like an orphan? Why? Today the earth will drink the lifeless blood of this ogre Viradha, struck down by my angry arrow. The rage I once carried against Bharata, who coveted the throne, I will now loose upon Viradha, the way the wielder of the thunderbolt hurls his bolt against a mountain. Let this great arrow, driven by the strength of my arms, fall on his broad chest, tear the life from his body, and send him spinning to the ground.”
The gist: Deep in the Dandaka forest the man-eater Viradha snatches up Sita. Rama sinks into grief and thinks again of Kaikeyi’s boons and their harvest, but Lakshmana flares into anger and swears to kill the ogre.
Words with Viradha and the first strike
Then Viradha, filling the forest with his voice, spoke again: “I am asking you, so tell me: who are you two, and where are you bound?” The radiant Rama named his own house of Ikshvaku to the ogre with the flaming mouth, who stood questioning him: “Know us for warriors of good character, come into the forest. And we wish to know you in turn. Who are you, who roam the Dandaka woods?”
Viradha answered Rama of unfailing valor: “Very well, O king. Hear me, son of Raghu. I am the son of Java, and my mother is Satahrada; all the ogres on earth call me Viradha. By my penance I have won a boon from Brahma, that no weapon in the world can kill me, that I cannot be cut or pierced. So let go of this woman, both of you, and flee at once the way you came, asking nothing more; I will not take your lives.”
Rama, his eyes red with anger, replied to the deformed and evil-minded Viradha: “You petty creature, shame on you and your foul purpose. You are surely hunting for your death. Stand, and you will find it on the battlefield; I will not let you go alive.” Then Rama strung his bow and let fly the sharpest of arrows at the ogre. From the strung bow he loosed seven shafts feathered with gold, swift as Garuda and the wind. Dressed with peacock feathers, they drove through Viradha’s body and fell to the earth blood-drenched and glowing like fire.
Wounded, the ogre set Sita down, snatched up his spike, and in a rage rushed at Rama and Lakshmana. Roaring aloud, holding the spike high like the banner of Indra, he looked like Death with his mouth flung open. Then the two brothers poured a shining rain of arrows on Viradha, who stood there like the Time-Spirit, like Death, like Yama. But the terrible ogre laughed, halted, and stretched himself with a yawn, and as he yawned the arrows dropped away from his body. By the power of his boon he held his life inside him, lifted the spike, and charged the two sons of Raghu again. Rama, first among warriors, cut that spike in two while it was still in the air, that spike bright as the thunderbolt and blazing like fire, splitting it with a pair of arrows. Cut through by Rama’s shafts, it crashed to the ground like a slab of Mount Meru sheared away by a bolt.
Then the two brothers whipped out their swords, quick as two black cobras rearing up, and fell upon him with force and cut at him hard. But the fearsome ogre, savagely wounded though he was, seized both those unshakable tigers among men in his arms and made to carry them off. Reading his mind, Rama said to Lakshmana: “Let this ogre carry us along this very path, gladly, however he likes, O son of Sumitra. This road the night-wanderer is taking is the very road we are meant to walk.” Drunk on his own might and daring, the ogre lifted them both like two small children, set them on his shoulders, and, roaring hideously, strode off toward the forest. He plunged into the wood that loomed like a huge dark cloud, thick with tall trees of many kinds, alive with all manner of birds, with jackals, and with beasts of prey.
A key to reading (the count of arrows): Rama looses seven arrows into Viradha, and severs the ogre’s spike with only two. Yet the boon means no weapon can kill Viradha, which is why the shafts wound him and leave him alive. This fact decides, later, the strange manner of his death.
The gist: Viradha names himself and reveals Brahma’s boon of invulnerability. The arrows of Rama and Lakshmana wound him but cannot kill him, and he lifts the two brothers onto his shoulders and carries them off into the forest.
The killing of Viradha, and his deliverance
Seeing the sons of Kakutstha, mightiest of Raghu’s line and strong of arm, being carried off by force, Sita cried out in a loud voice: “This is Rama, son of Dasharatha, truthful, gentle, and pure, being dragged away with Lakshmana by an ogre of dreadful shape. O prince among ogres, I bow to you, take me away instead. Let bears and tigers and leopards devour me; only set these sons of Kakutstha free.”
Hearing Sita’s cry, the brave Rama and Lakshmana made haste to kill the wretch. The son of Sumitra broke the ogre’s left arm, and Rama at once broke his right. His arms shattered, gripped by terror, he dropped in a faint to the ground like a cloud or a mountain split by lightning. Then the two beat him with their fists, their arms, their heels, and lifted him and dashed him down on the earth again and again. Yet pierced with many arrows, wounded by two swords, flung to the ground over and over, the ogre still would not die.
Seeing him past killing, mountain-like, immovable, Rama, who gives safety to the frightened, said to Lakshmana: “By the power of his penance this ogre cannot be beaten in battle with any weapon. We will bury him in a pit. Dig a great pit here in the forest, Lakshmana, for this ogre of fierce, terrible strength, huge as an elephant.”
Hearing the son of Raghu give this order, Viradha spoke humbly to the best among men: “You have killed me, prince, you whose strength is Indra’s own. Before, in my confusion, I did not know you. But now I know you for Rama, son of Kausalya, who is blessed in such a son, and I know the greatly fortunate Sita and the renowned Lakshmana as well. In truth I am a gandharva named Tumburu, and Kubera laid a curse on me; through that curse I took on this hideous ogre’s body. When I begged his grace, the glorious Kubera said to me: ‘When Rama, son of Dasharatha, kills you in battle, you will regain your own form and go to heaven.’ He said this in his anger, because I had failed to serve him. Through your grace, Rama, I am freed of that most cruel curse. I will go to my own realm; may all be well with you, tamer of your foes.
“A yojana and a half from here, dear one, lives the righteous, sun-bright sage Sharabhanga, mighty in his penance. Go to him quickly; he will bring you good. Cast me into a pit, Rama, and go your way in peace. For ogres who have given up their lives this is the ancient law: everlasting worlds await those who are laid in a pit.” So saying, Viradha, worn out by the arrows, gave up his body.
Hearing his words, Rama gave the order to Lakshmana: “Dig the pit.” Then the strong Rama set his foot on Viradha’s neck and stood over him, while Lakshmana took up a spade and dug a fine deep pit at the side of the great ogre. They lifted Viradha, who had ears like spikes and a booming voice, and cast him down into the pit while he cried out in a fearful voice. Their fear gone, glad at heart, Rama and Lakshmana threw Viradha into the pit in the earth and rejoiced in that vast forest, and they heaped rocks over the ogre.
In truth Viradha had himself begged Rama for a forced death at his hands, and that was why the forest-dweller had said, “My death cannot come by any weapon.” It was on hearing this that Rama resolved to bury him in the pit, and as the mighty ogre was flung down he made the forest ring with his cry. Having killed the ogre and recovered Sita, the two princes, carrying their lovely golden bows, roamed the great forest in delight, like the moon and the sun set in the sky.
A sub-tale: Viradha was in origin the gandharva Tumburu. Because he had grown besotted with the nymph Rambha, Kubera cursed him into an ogre’s body. Kubera also spoke the words of his deliverance: that dying in battle at Rama’s hands he would regain his divine form and return to heaven. So the killing itself became his deliverance, the door by which he returned to the light.
The gist: Since no weapon can kill Viradha, Rama and Lakshmana break his arms and put him to death by burying him in a pit. As he dies he reveals his cursed gandharva form, counsels Rama to seek the sage Sharabhanga, and passes freed to heaven.
The sage Sharabhanga, and his passage to Brahma’s world
Having killed the fearsomely strong ogre Viradha in the forest, the valiant Rama embraced Sita, calmed her, and said to his brother Lakshmana of shining lustre: “This trackless forest is hard going, and we are not used to living in the wild. Let us go quickly to the ascetic Sharabhanga.” Then the sons of Raghu turned toward Sharabhanga’s hermitage.
Near Sharabhanga, whose inner being was purified by penance and rich with divine power, Rama saw a great marvel. He saw Indra, lord of the gods, his body blazing like the sun and the fire, seated in a splendid chariot in the sky that did not touch the earth, attended by gods, wearing bright ornaments and spotless robes, worshipped by many exalted beings of his own kind. Not far from Indra, Rama saw a chariot in the sky drawn by green horses, gleaming like the noonday sun. He saw an immaculate canopy like a white cloud, bright as the disk of the moon, hung with rich garlands. Two beautiful women held whisks of gold-mounted handles, waving them over Indra’s head. Gandharvas, gods, siddhas, and many great seers were praising him with exquisite hymns while he spoke with Sharabhanga.
Seeing Indra there, Rama pointed to the chariot and showed the wonder to his brother: “Look at that chariot in the sky, Lakshmana, bright as the sun, clothed in splendor. These are surely those divine horses of Indra we have heard so much about. And, tiger among men, those young men standing in their hundreds in every quarter, wearing earrings, holding swords, with broad chests and arms like iron clubs and red garments, all of them are as unassailable as tigers. On every breast hang garlands bright as fire, and each of them looks to be twenty-five years of age. This, they say, is the changeless age of the gods. Stay here a moment with Sita, Lakshmana, until I find out clearly who this lustrous being in the chariot is.”
Telling Lakshmana to wait there, Rama of the line of Kakutstha walked on toward Sharabhanga’s hermitage. Seeing Rama draw near, Indra, husband of Shachi, took his leave of Sharabhanga and said to the gods: “Here comes Rama. Let us go before he speaks to me; let him not see me now. When he has conquered Ravana and finished his task, then I will see him quickly, for he has a great work to do that is too hard for any other.” And so, having honored the ascetic, Indra the thunderbolt-bearer, subduer of foes, rose to heaven in his horse-drawn chariot.
When the thousand-eyed god had gone, Rama came with his family to Sharabhanga, who was tending the sacred fire. Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana touched his feet and, at his word, sat down; the sage bade them be his guests and gave them a place to stay. Rama asked the reason for Indra’s visit, and Sharabhanga told him everything: “This giver of boons, Rama, wished to carry me to the world of Brahma, which I have won by fierce penance and which the unrestrained cannot reach. But knowing you near, tiger among men, I would not go to Brahma’s world without seeing you, my beloved guest. Now that I have met you, a high-souled prince of righteous nature, I will go to the lower heaven and then to the highest. Take from me, best of men, the imperishable, blessed worlds I have won, the heavenly ones and those of Brahma.”
To this Rama, who knew every scripture, answered: “Great sage, I will myself bring all the worlds to me. What I ask of you is only this: point me to a dwelling place in this forest.” Then the deeply wise Sharabhanga said again: “Rama, here in the forest lives a righteous, self-restrained sage named Sutikshna, of great lustre; he will do you good. Go to him in that holy region, and he will arrange for you to dwell in a lovely part of the wood. Follow this Mandakini upstream, Rama, this river that carries little boats of flowers on its current, and you will reach him. This is your road, dear one. Now watch me a moment, while I cast off these worn-out limbs the way a serpent sheds its old skin.”
Then Sharabhanga kindled the fire, poured oblations of clarified butter into it with the proper chants, and stepped into the flame. The fire burned away the hair of his body and head, his skin worn thin, his bones, his flesh and blood, everything. And he rose up as a youth glowing like fire. Radiant with divine light, Sharabhanga rose from that heap of flame, crossed the worlds of the fire-worshippers, of the great seers, and of the gods, and entered the world of Brahma. There the meritorious sage, a jewel among the twice-born, saw the grandfather Brahma with his attendants, and Brahma too, seeing that brahmin, was pleased and said: “You are truly welcome.”
A key to reading (why Indra withdraws): Indra’s leaving before Rama can speak to him signals that the work of the avatar is still unfinished, with the killing of Ravana yet to come. The gods hold back from open dealing with Rama until that great deed is done. And Sharabhanga’s passing, casting off his body in the fire of yoga, shows the ascetic’s chosen manner of leaving the world at his own will.
The gist: Rama witnesses the divine meeting of Indra and Sharabhanga. Sharabhanga offers Rama the worlds he has won, but Rama asks only for a place to live. Sharabhanga sends him on to Sutikshna and then gives up his body in the sacred fire, rising to the world of Brahma.
The sages’ cry, and Rama’s pledge of protection
Sharabhanga gone to heaven, the hosts of sages who had gathered there came to Rama of the line of Kakutstha, whose lustre burned like flame. There were Vaikhanasas, born of Brahma’s nails, and Valakhilyas, born of his hair; sages who washed their bowls after eating and kept nothing back; some who lived only on the rays of the sun or the moon; some who ground their grain between stones, others who ate leaves alone, others who used their own teeth for mortar and pestle; some who did penance standing neck-deep in water, some who made their own limbs their only bed, some with no bed at all; some who dwelt in high places, some who wore wet cloth, some sunk in the murmur of prayer, and some who sat inside a ring of four fires with the sun burning overhead as the fifth. All of them shone with the light of Brahman, all of them steady in yoga, and these ascetics came to Rama in Sharabhanga’s hermitage.
Those knowers of righteousness, gathered together, said to Rama, best among the upholders of righteousness: “You are the great chariot-warrior and the chief and lord of this house of Ikshvaku and of the whole earth, as Indra is lord of the gods. You are famous in the three worlds for your glory and your valor; in you live devotion to your father, truth, and abundant righteousness. Having met you, a high-souled knower of what is right, a lover of righteousness, we come to you like petitioners, and we beg you to forgive our boldness, O lord. A great wrong falls on the king who takes his sixth share in taxes and yet does not guard his people as his own children. The king who always protects all who live in his realm as he protects his own life, as he protects his own dear sons, wins fame that lasts for many years and is honored even in the world of Brahma. Of whatever high righteousness a sage who lives on root and fruit performs, a fourth share goes to the king who protects the people by righteousness.
“This great company of forest-dwellers, Rama, most of them brahmins, of whom you are the master, is being slaughtered by the ogres like the helpless and the forlorn. Come and see the bodies of the pure-hearted sages killed in so many ways by the terrible ogres in the wood. A great massacre is being worked upon the sages who live along the Pampa river, along the Mandakini, and in the hermitages of Chitrakuta. We cannot bear this savage persecution of ascetics by ogres of dreadful deeds. So we have come to you, our fit refuge, for refuge. Protect us, Rama, from the night-wanderers who are killing us. Nowhere on earth is there any help better than you, O hero. Guard us all, son of the king, from the ogres.”
Hearing this from the ascetic sages, the righteous son of Kakutstha said to them all: “You should not speak to me so; I am at the command of the ascetics. I have come into this forest for more than my own sake; in keeping with my father’s command, I came also to lift this violence of the ogres from you. By good chance I have come here to serve your purpose, and so this exile of mine will bear great fruit. I mean to kill on the field of battle these ogres who prey upon ascetics. Let the sages see the valor of me and my brother.” Having given the ascetics his pledge of safety, the righteous hero Rama, that giver of noble gifts, went on toward Sutikshna with Lakshmana and the ascetics.
The gist: Ascetics of every kind come to Rama and cry out for protection from the ogres’ cruelty. On the double ground of a king’s duty and his father’s command, Rama grants them safety, vows to destroy the ogres, and moves on toward Sutikshna.
Dwelling at Sutikshna’s hermitage
Rama, the tormentor of his foes, went with his brother Lakshmana, with Sita, and with those brahmins toward the site of Sutikshna’s hermitage. After a long march, crossing rivers full of deep water, they saw a bright mountain rising high as the great Meru. Then the two sons of Raghu, best of the Ikshvakus, entered with Sita a forest thick with trees of many kinds. Passing into that fearsome wood, where the trees hung heavy with flowers and fruit, they saw in a corner a hermitage decked with garlands of bark. There sat Sutikshna, an ascetic whose whole wealth was his penance, in the lotus posture, wearing dirt and clay upon him for his purification, and Rama said to him with fitting courtesy: “Holy one, I am Rama, come to see you. Speak to me, great sage who knows what is right, whose spiritual might is truth.”
Seeing that fierce ascetic of true vows, the steady Rama spoke as Indra speaks to Brahma. The steadfast sage looked upon Rama, best of the upholders of righteousness, folded him in his arms, and said: “Welcome, Rama, best of Raghu’s line, best of the keepers of truth. With your coming this hermitage has found its master. I have been waiting only for you, hero, before I give up this body and go to the world of the gods. Indra, king of the gods, the god of a hundred rites, came to me here, Kakutstha; I heard that you had left your kingdom and come to Chitrakuta. The great god, lord of the gods, came to me and said that by my meritorious deeds I had won all the worlds, and that in those won worlds, frequented by divine sages, I should dwell by his grace with my wife and Lakshmana.”
The self-possessed Rama answered him as Indra answers Brahma: “Great sage, I will myself bring all the worlds to you. For now what I ask is this: point me to a dwelling place in this forest. You are skilled in all things and devoted to the good of every being, and Sharabhanga of the Gautama line told me that you know every scripture.”
At these words of Rama, Sutikshna, filled with great joy, spoke sweet words: “This very hermitage has its virtues, Rama; dwell here happily. Frequented by hosts of sages, always rich with root and fruit, it is a pleasant place; live here in comfort. Great herds of deer come into this hermitage and wander everywhere; they charm all who see them with their beauty and go away again without doing any harm. There is no trouble here except these deer.”
Hearing the sage’s words, the steady Rama took up his bow and arrows and said: “Most fortunate one, if I ever kill these gathered herds of deer with a sharp-edged arrow, you will be dishonored, and what could grieve me more than that? So I think it wrong to make a long stay in this hermitage.” And with that Rama fell silent and went off to the evening prayer. When the prayer was done, Rama settled to pass that one night in Sutikshna’s lovely hermitage with Sita and Lakshmana. As the prayer ended and night came on, the high-souled Sutikshna himself received those best of men with all honor and gave them pure food fit for ascetics.
The gist: Rama reaches Sutikshna’s hermitage, and the sage had been holding back his own death only to wait for Rama. Fearing that he might kill the tame deer, Rama declines to settle there for long, yet stays the night in the hermitage.
Farewell to Sutikshna, and on toward the hermitages of Dandaka
Honored by Sutikshna, Rama passed the night there with Lakshmana and woke at dawn. Rising at the proper hour, Rama and Sita bathed in cool water fragrant with the scent of lotuses. Then the sinless Sita, Rama, and Lakshmana worshipped the fire and the gods in due form in that grove of ascetics, watched the rising sun, and, coming to Sutikshna, spoke sweetly: “Holy one, honored by one so worthy of honor as you, we have lived in comfort. Now we ask your leave and would set out; the sages are urging us on. We long to see the whole ring of hermitages of the holy sages who dwell in the Dandaka forest. We wish your leave to go with these best of sages, steadfast in righteousness, mastered by penance, glowing like smokeless fire. We would go before the sun climbs to its cruel, unbearable heat, the way a low-born man, come suddenly into wealth by a crooked road, becomes unbearable.” And with that Rama, with Lakshmana and Sita, bowed at the sage’s feet.
The great sage raised the two princes as they touched his feet, folded them in a close embrace, and said with affection: “Go on a safe road, Rama, with the son of Sumitra and with this Sita, who follows you like your shadow. See, hero, the lovely sites of these ascetics of the Dandaka forest, their inner beings purified by penance, their groves rich with root and fruit, in flower, with fine herds of deer and gentle flocks of birds; the ponds and lakes with their beds of open lotuses and clear water, thronged with waterbirds; the mountain streams, a delight to the eye; and the pleasant forests loud with the cries of peacocks. Go, dear son of Sumitra; you too, go. See all this, and then come back again to this hermitage.”
Saying “So be it,” Rama of the line of Kakutstha, with Lakshmana, walked around the sage in reverence and set about departing. Then wide-eyed Sita gave the two brothers their fine quivers, their bows, and their gleaming swords. The two brothers fastened on the handsome quivers, took up their bows with a twang of the string, and left the hermitage to begin their journey. Given leave by the great sage, the two handsome sons of Raghu, bearing bow and sword, set out with Sita.
The gist: Rama takes leave of Sutikshna to see the whole ring of hermitages in the Dandaka forest. The sage tells them of the beauty along their road, asks them to return, and sends them off with affection.
Sita’s counsel on nonviolence
As Rama set out with Sutikshna’s leave, Sita spoke to him in a tender voice that reached his heart: “In the subtlest of ways, Rama, a man is drawn into a great wrong. He can turn from it by turning from the cravings that spring out of desire. Three such cravings there are, born of desire. False speech is the worst; and two are heavier still, the seeking of another man’s wife, and cruelty without cause. False speech you have never spoken, Rama, nor ever will. As for longing after other women, which destroys righteousness, how could it be in you, ruler of men? It is not in you, it was never in you, it does not so much as touch your mind. You have always kept to your own wife alone, prince. In you, fair one, righteousness and truth stand firm; you are wholly devoted to righteousness, true to your word, obedient to your father. Only those who have conquered their senses can hold all this, and I know your mastery of your senses.
“But that third grave fault, the harming of living things without cause, out of heedlessness, this is the one that now stands before you. You have vowed, hero, to kill the ogres for the protection of the sages of the Dandaka forest, and for this reason you and your brother have set out toward that famous wood of Dandaka, bow and arrows in hand. Seeing you go so, my heart is uneasy; I think of your conduct and of your truest good. I do not like this going to Dandaka; hear the reason I will give you. When you go into the forest with bow and arrows, your brother beside you, and see all the creatures of the wild, you may perhaps loose a shaft for no cause. The bow of a warrior and the fuel beside a fire, once they are near at hand, greatly swell the strength and the heat of both.
“Long ago, mighty one, in some holy forest where beasts and birds lived in joy, there dwelt a truthful, pure ascetic. To break his penance, Indra, husband of Shachi, came to his hermitage in the guise of a soldier, a sword in his hand. He set that fine sword down in the hermitage and gave it to the sage, deep in his holy penance, as a thing left in trust. Charged with keeping the trust, the sage carried the sword with him even as he wandered the wood. When he went to gather roots and fruit, mindful of his charge, he would not go without it. Carrying the weapon always, in time he let slip his resolve for penance, and his mind slowly turned cruel. Then, given to cruelty, careless, dragged along by unrighteousness, that sage went to hell through the mere company of the weapon. This old story shows what the touch of a weapon can do; as fire, brought near, sets alight, so the touch of a weapon warps the mind.
“Out of love and deep regard I remind you of this and teach you: even holding the bow, never once set your mind on killing the ogres of Dandaka without cause. The world does not praise killing without fault, hero. In the forests, for self-restrained and valiant warriors, this alone is the work of the bow: the protection of those in distress. What has a weapon to do with a forest, or the duty of a warrior with the life of penance? They pull against each other; so let us honor the law of the place we are in. From the handling of weapons the mind grows stained, as it does with unworthy men. Once you return to Ayodhya you will again follow a warrior’s duty. And if you should give up the kingdom and become a devoted sage, it would bring endless joy to my mother-in-law and father-in-law. From righteousness comes wealth, from righteousness comes happiness, from righteousness one gains everything; this world has righteousness for its very core. The wise wear themselves thin with strict rules and win righteousness by effort; happiness does not come from ease. So, gentle one, keep your mind ever pure and follow righteousness in the grove of penance. You know the whole truth of the three worlds; who am I to teach you your duty? I have said all this only from a woman’s lightness of nature. Weigh it with reason, you and your brother, and do whatever pleases you; let there be no delay.”
A sub-tale: The old story Sita recalls tells of Indra coming in a soldier’s disguise and leaving his sword with an ascetic as a thing held in trust. Guarding the trust, the sage keeps the sword always by him; from the constant company of the weapon his mind grows cruel, and he abandons his penance and goes down to hell. By this Sita argues that the mere company of a weapon can warp the mind, and that harming without cause should be shunned.
The gist: Out of love, Sita reminds Rama of nonviolence, urging him to avoid harming without cause and to beware the cruelty that the company of weapons can breed in the grove of penance. She adds, humbly, that Rama knows righteousness and that the decision is finally his own.
Rama’s firm answer
Hearing these words that Sita spoke out of devotion to her husband, Rama, standing firm in righteousness, answered Janaka’s daughter: “O queen, daughter of Janaka, knower of righteousness, out of love you have spoken words that are wholesome, fitting, and worthy of the duty of my house. What am I to say, when it was you yourself who said that a warrior bears the bow so that no cry of the suffering may rise? Sita, in the Dandaka forest those suffering sages, keepers of austere vows, came to me of their own accord and took refuge in me, whom they knew able to protect them. They dwell in the forest through age after age, eating root and fruit, and they find no peace because of the cruel-handed ogres. Those best of brahmins said to me: ‘Rama, ogres past number, who change their shape at will, torment us cruelly in the Dandaka forest; protect us. When the hour of oblation comes, when the sacred days come round, these flesh-eating, invincible ogres fall upon us. To us ascetics, harried by the ogres and seeking a way out, you are the highest refuge. By the power of our penance we are able to kill the night-wanderers, but we do not wish to spend the merit we have gathered over so long, for penance is hard and full of hindrances. That is why, though the ogres devour us, we will not utter a curse. Protect us, you and your brother; in the forest you alone are our lord.’
“Hearing this, daughter of Janaka, I promised the sages of the Dandaka forest my full protection. Having made the promise, while I live I cannot make my word to those sages false, for truth is always dear to me. I could give up you, Sita, and Lakshmana too, and even my own life, before I would give up my promise, and above all a promise given to brahmins. Even unasked, Sita, it is surely my duty to protect the sages; how much more so now that I have taken a vow. You have spoken these words to me out of love and goodwill, and I am well pleased, for no one instructs one who is not dear. You are my companion in righteousness, fair one, dearer to me than life itself, and this counsel is worthy of you and of your house alike.” Having said this to his beloved wife, Sita of Mithila, the high-souled Rama, bow in hand, went on with Lakshmana toward the lovely groves of the ascetics.
The gist: Rama explains to Sita why he holds to his vow: the promise given to the sages he will not break even at the cost of his life. Honoring her love, he stays firm in his resolve to destroy the ogres.
The tale of Mandakarni and the Panchapsara lake
Rama walked in front, the lovely Sita in the middle, and behind them came Lakshmana, bow in hand. The three of them passed many kinds of mountain peaks and forests and many charming rivers. They saw cranes and ruddy geese along the riverbanks, lakes full of lotuses and waterbirds, spotted deer grazing in herds, horned buffaloes in rut, boars, and elephants that tear down trees. After a long march, as the sun was going down, they came together upon a lovely lake a full yojana across, thick with red and white lotuses, graced with herds of elephants, crowded with cranes, geese, ruddy waterfowl, and other creatures of the water. From that beautiful lake of clear water rose the sound of song and of instruments, yet no one at all could be seen.
Then, out of curiosity, Rama and the great chariot-warrior Lakshmana set about asking the sage named Dharmabhrit, who walked with them: “Great sage, we are all seized with wonder to hear this most marvelous sound. What is it? Tell us in full.” At these words of Rama, the righteous sage began at once to speak of the greatness of the lake: “This is the lake named Panchapsara, ever full of water, made by the sage Mandakarni through the power of his penance, Rama. That great sage Mandakarni performed a fierce penance in the lake, living on air alone for ten thousand years. At this all the gods, with the god of fire at their head, grew troubled and gathered together and said to one another, ‘This sage is seeking the place of one of us.’ So every one of the dwellers in heaven grew anxious in his heart.
“Then, to break his penance, all the gods appointed five chief nymphs whose bodies flashed like lightning. That sage, who knew good and ill in this world and the next, was brought under the sway of love by those nymphs, to accomplish the work of the gods. And those same five nymphs became the sage’s wives; a hidden house was built for them in the lake. There the five of them dwell as they please, delighting the sage, who by the power of his penance had regained his youth. The lovely song mixed with the tinkling of their ornaments, sung while they play, is the sound you hear.” “This is a marvel indeed,” said the renowned Rama, taking in the pure-souled sage’s words with his brother in wonder.
As he spoke on, the sage saw a ring of hermitages ringed with kusha grass and bark, wrapped in the grandeur of Brahman. Rama entered that beautiful ring of hermitages with Sita and Lakshmana, and staying there in comfort, honored by the great sages, that son of Kakutstha visited one after another the hermitages of the sages with whom that master of great weapons had lived before. He stayed happily here for ten months, there for a year, elsewhere for four months, in another place for five or six or more, in yet another for a month and a half more, and in others for eight months and for three. And while he was dwelling so in the hermitages of the sages, passing the time in ease, ten years went by. Having wandered so far, the righteous son of Raghu came again with Sita to the site of Sutikshna’s hermitage. Reaching it, honored by the sages, Rama, the vanquisher of foes, stayed there too for a while. Then, sitting one day in the hermitage close by the great sage, Rama said to Sutikshna: “Holy one, I have heard from those talking among themselves that Agastya, foremost of sages, lives forever in this forest. But because the forest is so vast, I do not know where. Where is the lovely site of the wise and eminent sage’s hermitage? A great longing turns over and over in my heart, that with my brother and with Sita I might bow before Agastya, win his grace, and do some service to that best of sages.” Pleased at this, Sutikshna answered the son of Dasharatha: “I too meant to tell you and Lakshmana this very thing, that you should go to Agastya with Sita, Rama. By good fortune you now speak of it to me yourself.
“I will tell you, Rama, where the great sage Agastya lives. Go south four yojanas from this hermitage, dear son, and there, in a nearly level tract of forest, stands the great and splendid hermitage of Agastya’s brother, graced with a grove of long-pepper trees, rich with flowers and fruit, lovely, ringing with the calls of many birds. There are many lotus ponds and lakes of clear water, crowded with swans and ruddy geese and graced with waterfowl. Pass one night there, Rama, and in the morning go on southward along the edge of the woodland. Eight miles on you will reach the site of Agastya’s own hermitage in a delightful part of the forest, adorned with many trees. There Sita and Lakshmana will dwell happily with you, for that stretch of forest is full of trees and lovely. If you have made up your mind, most intelligent prince, to see the great sage Agastya, then resolve to set out this very day.”
Hearing the sage’s words, Rama saluted him with his brother and set out with Sita and Lakshmana toward Agastya.
A key to reading (the ten years): Here, for the first time, the length of the stay in the Dandaka forest is made plain. Moving from hermitage to hermitage, Rama passes ten whole years among the sages in peace. The greater part of the fourteen years of exile is spent here, quietly, among ascetics; the later events, Shurpanakha, Khara and Dushana, the carrying off of Sita, all come after this long calm.
The gist: The sage Dharmabhrit tells the tale of Mandakarni and the Panchapsara lake. Rama spends ten years in the hermitages of Dandaka, returns to Sutikshna, and speaks his wish to see the great sage Agastya; Sutikshna tells him the way.
Agastya’s brother’s hermitage and the tale of Vatapi
Seeing wondrous forests, cloud-like mountains, and lakes and rivers along the way, Rama went on comfortably by the road Sutikshna had described and, greatly pleased, said to Lakshmana: “This must be the hermitage of Agastya’s brother, gentle one, just as Sutikshna told it. Surely this is the site of the hermitage of that meritorious high-souled brother of Agastya. As Sutikshna described, the thousands of trees of this forest are bent along the way under their weight of fruit and flower. This scent of ripe long-pepper, carried by the breeze from the wood, comes with a sudden sharp taste. Here and there are gathered heaps of wood, and blades of darbha grass with the sheen of the cat’s-eye gem lie cut. In the middle of the forest a column of smoke from the hermitage fire is seen, like the crest of a dark cloud. On the lonely holy fords the brahmins have bathed and are offering the gods flowers gathered by their own hands. So, gentle Lakshmana, by Sutikshna’s account this must surely be the hermitage of Agastya’s brother, whose brother Agastya, that meritorious sage, by his own might held back the death that was Vatapi and Ilvala and, wishing the good of the world, made this southern quarter fit to live in.
“They say that once two cruel brothers, brahmin-slaying great demons, Vatapi and Ilvala, dwelt here together. The pitiless Ilvala would take the form of a brahmin, and speaking Sanskrit, invite brahmins under the pretext of a rite for the dead. Then he would cook his own brother, who took the form of a ram, and feed him to those brahmins in the manner of the rite. When the brahmins had eaten, Ilvala would call out in a loud voice: ‘Vatapi, come out!’ Hearing his brother’s voice, Vatapi would come bursting out, tearing the bodies of the brahmins, bleating like a ram. So, joining together, these flesh-eating demons who changed shape at will destroyed thousands of brahmins.
“Then, at the gods’ prayer, the sage Agastya sat down at such a rite and ate that great demon with relish. When the meal was over, Ilvala offered water for the washing of hands, said ‘It is finished,’ and called to his brother: ‘Come out!’ Then, to Ilvala, that brahmin-slayer speaking to his brother, the wise Agastya, best of sages, said with a laugh: ‘Where is the power to come out left in that ram-shaped brother of yours, who has been digested by me and gone to the abode of Yama?’ Hearing that his brother was destroyed, the night-wanderer flew at the sage in a rage. But he was burned by the fire-like glance of that sage of blazing lustre and met his end. This is the hermitage, graced with its lake and grove, of the brother of that Agastya who out of pity for the brahmins performed this hard deed.”
As Rama spoke thus with the son of Sumitra, the sun set and the hour of evening worship came on. Having performed the evening devotions in due form with his brother, Rama entered the hermitage and saluted the sage. Warmly received by that sage, the son of Raghu stayed there that one night on roots and fruit alone. When the night had passed, at sunrise the son of Raghu took his leave of Agastya’s brother: “Holy one, I bow to you; the night passed happily. I take my leave; I am going to see your revered elder brother.” Told “Go,” Rama set off by the road pointed out to him, taking in the forest as he went.
He saw there hundreds of forest trees, nivara and jack and sal and vanjula, tinisha, ciribilva, madhuka, bilva, and tinduka too, in flower and beautified by blossoming creepers, scarred by the trunks of elephants, graced with monkeys, and loud with the cries of flocks of birds in their heat. Then the lotus-eyed Rama said to Lakshmana, the brave one who followed close behind and added to his glory: “The leaves of the trees are glossy, the beasts and birds are gentle, so the hermitage of the pure-souled great sage cannot be far. This is the hermitage of that long-lived Agastya whose deeds are famous in the world, the forest filled with the smoke of oblations, adorned with garlands of bark, its herds of deer utterly at peace, ringing with the calls of many birds, a place to lift the weariness of the tired. His is this hermitage, who by his might held back the death that was Vatapi and Ilvala and, wishing the good of the world, made this southern quarter a holy place fit for refuge, so that through his power this quarter became a thing of dread to the cruel-handed ogres, and no place of pleasure.
“From the day this meritorious sage set foot on this quarter, the night-wanderers grew peaceful and free of enmity. By the name of the lord Agastya this southern quarter became safe, unassailable to the cruel-handed, famous in the three worlds. Obeying his command, Vindhya, best of mountains, no longer grows to block the path of the sun. This is the lovely hermitage of that long-lived Agastya of famous deeds, the refuge of gentle, tamed creatures. He is a saint the world adores, ever devoted to the good of the virtuous; he will bind such suppliants as us to our welfare. Here, gentle lord, I will worship the great sage Agastya and pass the rest of my exile. Here gods, gandharvas, siddhas, and the greatest of sages worship Agastya forever, restrained in their diet. No liar, no cruel or crafty or savage or sinful man can live here; the sage is such. Here gods, yakshas, nagas, and birds live on a restricted diet, longing to worship righteousness. Here high-souled siddhas and great sages have cast off their worn-out bodies, taken new ones, and gone to heaven in cars bright as the sun. Here the gods, worshipped by good beings, grant their worshippers the state of a yaksha, immortality, and kingdoms of every kind. Son of Sumitra, we have reached the site of the hermitage. Go ahead and tell the sage that I have come with Sita.”
A sub-tale: Vatapi and Ilvala were two brahmin-slaying demon brothers. In brahmin guise and speaking Sanskrit, Ilvala would invite brahmins to a rite for the dead, cook his brother Vatapi, who took the form of a ram, feed him to them, and then call out; Vatapi would burst out of their bellies. Agastya digested Vatapi as soon as he had eaten him, so that when Ilvala called, Vatapi could not come out; Ilvala too was burned to ash by the sage’s fiery glance. By this the southern quarter was made safe.
The gist: Rama comes first to the hermitage of Agastya’s brother, where the tale of the killing of Vatapi and Ilvala is told, the very deed by which Agastya cleared the southern quarter of demons. He stays one night, then reaches Agastya’s own hermitage and sends Lakshmana ahead to announce his coming.
Agastya’s welcome, and the divine weapons
Lakshmana, the younger brother of Rama, entered the site of the hermitage and, coming to a disciple of Agastya, said: “There was a king named Dasharatha; his mighty eldest son Rama has come with his wife Sita to see the sage. I am his younger brother, Lakshmana, his devoted servant, if my name has ever reached your ears. By our father’s command we have entered this most terrible forest, and we all wish to see the holy one. Let this be reported to him.”
Hearing Lakshmana’s words, the ascetic disciple said “Very well,” and entered the fire-hall. Coming before Agastya, best of sages, unassailable through his penance, he joined his palms and reported Rama’s arrival exactly: “The two sons of Dasharatha, Rama and Lakshmana, have come to the site of the hermitage with Sita. Those subduers of foes have come to serve you and to see you. Command what is fitting.” Hearing from his disciple of the arrival of Rama and the greatly fortunate Sita, Agastya said: “By good fortune Rama has come today, after so long, to see me. I too had longed in my heart for his coming. Bring Rama in with honor, with his wife and Lakshmana, into my presence. Why has he not already been shown in?” Told this by the high-souled sage, the disciple bowed with joined palms, said “So be it,” and hurried out to Lakshmana: “Where is Rama? Let him come in himself to see the sage.”
Then Lakshmana went with the disciple to the entrance of the hermitage and showed him Rama and Sita, the daughter of Janaka. Repeating Agastya’s words, the disciple respectfully ushered Rama in, worthy of honor as he was, with all fitting ceremony. Then Rama entered the fire-hall with Sita and Lakshmana, taking in the hermitage crowded with peaceful deer. He saw there the place of Brahma, the place of the fire-god, the place of Vishnu, the place of the great Indra, the place of Vivasvan the sun, the place of Soma the moon, the place of Bhaga, the place of Kubera, the place of Dhata and Vidhata, the place of Vayu, the place of the high-souled Varuna with the noose in his hand, the place of Gayatri, the place of the Vasus, the place of Vasuki, king of the nagas, the place of Garuda, the place of Kartikeya, and the place of Dharma. Then the sage, surrounded by his disciples, came out.
Seeing Agastya come out at the head of the bright-lustred sages, Rama said to Lakshmana, who added to his glory: “Lakshmana, the holy sage Agastya is coming out; by his greatness of spirit I know him for a treasure-house of penance.” Then the righteous Rama saluted him and touched his feet, and stood with joined palms beside Sita and Lakshmana. The sage welcomed the son of Kakutstha, gave him a seat and water, asked after his welfare, and bade him sit. He poured oblations into the fire, offered water to his guests, honored them by the law laid down for forest hermits, and gave them food.
Sitting down himself first, the sage, best of the knowers of righteousness, said to Rama, who now sat with joined palms, well-versed in right conduct: “An ascetic must pour oblations into the fire and honor his guest with an offering of water. Otherwise, Rama, the ascetic who acts amiss eats his own flesh in the next world, like a false witness. You have come as king of all the world, a follower of righteousness, a great chariot-warrior, worthy of worship and of honor, a dear guest.” So saying, and honoring the son of Raghu to his heart’s content with fruit, root, and flower, Agastya said to him: “Here, tiger among men, is the great divine bow of Vishnu, adorned with gold and diamond, made by Vishvakarma. This best of arrows, unfailing, bright as the sun, was given by Brahma. The great Indra gave me two inexhaustible quivers full of sharp arrows that blaze like fire. Here is a sword adorned with gold and kept in a sheath of gold. With this bow, Rama, Vishnu of old killed great demons in battle and gave back to the gods of heaven their bright splendor. Bestower of honor, accept for your victory this bow, these two quivers, this arrow, and this sword, as Indra once accepted the thunderbolt.” So saying, the glorious Agastya of great lustre gave Rama that whole array of finest weapons, and spoke again,
A key to reading (the divine weapons): Agastya’s hermitage is a meeting-ground of the gods; Rama sees there the set places of Brahma, Shiva, Vishnu, Indra, the sun, the moon, Varuna, the Vasus, Garuda, Kartikeya, and even Dharma. It marks the utter holiness of the place. And here Rama receives the bow of Vishnu, the unfailing arrow of Brahma, and Indra’s inexhaustible quivers, the arms that prepare the ground for the wars against the ogres and the killing of Ravana to come.
The gist: Agastya honors Rama as a god would be honored and grants him, for his victory, the divine bow of Vishnu, the unfailing arrow of Brahma, Indra’s inexhaustible quivers, and a fine sword.
Agastya’s counsel to go to Panchavati
“Rama, I am pleased; may all be well with you. Lakshmana, I am glad that you two came with Sita to greet me. The weariness of the road and the strain of much sweating trouble you both, and it is plain that the princess of Mithila, daughter of Janaka, longs for rest. She is tender and has never before been worn by fatigue; only out of love for her husband she has come to a forest full of dangers. Do such things, Rama, as will keep Sita happy here; she has done a hard thing in coming with you to the wood. From the very dawn of creation, son of Raghu, it has been the nature of women to love a man while he prospers and to give him up in adversity; women take on the fickleness of lightning, the sharpness of weapons, the speed of the eagle and the wind. But this wife of yours is wholly free of these faults, praiseworthy and famous, like Arundhati among the divine ladies. Wherever you dwell with the son of Sumitra and this Sita, subduer of foes, that place will this day be graced.”
At the sage’s words, the son of Raghu spoke humbly to the seer, who looked like a blazing fire: “Blessed and favored am I, whose virtues, and those of my brother and wife, have pleased you, best of sages, our teacher. But show me a region with water and many forests, where I may build a hermitage and live in comfort.”
Hearing this, the righteous best of sages meditated a while and spoke these good words: “Two yojanas, some sixteen miles, from here, dear one, is a splendid region rich in root and fruit and water and many deer, known all round by the name of Panchavati. Go there, build a hermitage with the son of Sumitra, and dwell in comfort, keeping your father’s word to the letter. Sinless one, all this story of yours and of Dasharatha is known to me through the power of my penance and my love for you. And though you agreed to stay in this grove with me, I have known through my penance the wish that was in your heart when you asked me for a dwelling place. That is why I say: go to Panchavati. That stretch of forest is charming, and the princess of Mithila will be happy there. That region is praiseworthy, Raghava, and not far from here; it lies near the Godavari, and the princess of Mithila will delight there. Rich in root and fruit and many flocks of birds, mighty one, it is secluded, holy, and lovely. You are of good conduct and able to protect; dwelling there, Rama, you will guard the ascetics. Here is seen the great forest of madhuka trees; from it you go by the northern road toward a banyan. Then, climbing a plateau, not far from a mountain, you will reach the region called Panchavati, its woods ever in flower.”
At Agastya’s words Rama, with the son of Sumitra, honored the truthful sage and asked his leave. Given it, and bowing at his feet, the two brothers set off with Sita toward the hermitage at Panchavati. Their quivers fastened at their backs, bearing their bows, fearless in battle, the two princes went with a steady mind by the road the great sage had shown, toward Panchavati.
The gist: Agastya praises Sita as the equal of Arundhati and counsels Rama to dwell at lovely Panchavati by the Godavari. Rama takes his leave and sets out for Panchavati.
The meeting with Jatayu
On the way to Panchavati the son of Raghu met a vulture of huge body and terrible strength. Seeing him in the forest, the two blessed princes, Rama and Lakshmana, took the bird for an ogre and said to him, “Who are you?” Then, in a gentle and sweet voice, as if to please them, he said: “Know me, dear son, for a friend of your father.” Taking him for his father’s friend, the son of Raghu honored him and gently asked his race and name. Hearing Rama’s words, the bird told him of himself and his descent and the origin of all beings.
“Listen, mighty son of Raghu, while I name from the beginning all the lords of creation who were of old. Kardama was the first of them, and after him Vikrita, Shesha, Samshraya, and the mighty Bahuputra, then Sthanu, Marichi, Atri, the powerful Kratu, Pulastya, Angira, Praceta, and Pulaha. Then came Daksha, Vivasvan, Arishtanemi, and the last of them, the great-lustred Kashyapa. Prajapati Daksha had sixty famous, illustrious daughters, Rama. Of these Kashyapa married eight fair ones: Aditi and Diti, Danu and Kalaka, Tamra and Krodhavasa, Manu and Anala. Pleased, Kashyapa said to those girls: ‘You will bear sons like me, masters of the three worlds.’ Aditi, Diti, Danu, and Kalaka took his words to heart; the rest were indifferent.
“Of Aditi were born thirty-three gods: the twelve Adityas, the eight Vasus, the eleven Rudras, and the two Ashvins. Diti bore the famous Daityas; long ago this earth with its forests and seas was theirs. Danu bore a son, Ashvagriva. Kalaka bore Naraka and Kalaka. Tamra bore five daughters famous in the world: Kraunchi, Bhasi, Shyeni, Dhritarashtri, and Shuki. Kraunchi bore the owls, Bhasi the bhasas, Shyeni the hawks and the bright-lustred vultures, and Dhritarashtri swans and geese of every kind. Shuki bore a daughter named Nata, and of Nata was born Vinata.
“Krodhavasa too, Rama, bore ten daughters: Mrigi, Mrigamanda, Hari, Bhadramada, Matangi, Sharduli, Shveta, Surabhi, Surasa, and Kadru. Of Mrigi came all the deer, of Mrigamanda the bears and the antelopes called srimara and camara. Of Bhadramada was born a daughter, Iravati, whose son is the great elephant of the world, Airavata. Sharduli bore lions, monkeys, langurs, and tigers. Of Matangi came the elephants, and of Shveta the elephant that guards the quarters. Surabhi bore two daughters, Rohini and Gandharvi, may all be well with you; of Rohini came the cattle, and of Gandharvi the horses. Of Surasa came the nagas, and of Kadru the serpents. Manu, wife of the high-souled Kashyapa, gave birth to men: brahmins, warriors, farmers, and servants. The sacred word says the brahmins came from the mouth, the warriors from the breast, the farmers from the thighs, and the servants from the feet. Anala bore all the trees of holy fruit. Vinata was the granddaughter of Shuki, and Kadru the sister of Surasa. Kadru bore a thousand nagas who bear up the earth, and Vinata bore two sons, Garuda and Aruna.
“From that Aruna I was born, and my elder brother Sampati; know me, subduer of foes, for Jatayu, son of Shyeni. If you wish it, I will be a help to you at your dwelling, for this trackless forest is full of beasts and ogres. When you go out with Lakshmana, dear one, I will guard Sita.” The son of Raghu honored Jatayu, embraced him with joy, and bowed low to him, for the self-possessed Rama had heard from Jatayu himself, again and again, of this vulture’s friendship with his father Dasharatha. Leaving Sita in Jatayu’s keeping, Rama went on with that mighty bird and with Lakshmana toward famous Panchavati, eager, as fire is eager to burn moths, to burn away his foes.
A key to reading (the family of creation): Here Jatayu recites the whole genealogy of creation, the lords of the world, the eight wives of Kashyapa, and from them the gods, demons, beasts, birds, nagas, and men. This is Valmiki’s account of the order of creation. Within it Jatayu names himself, son of Aruna, son of Vinata, kin to the family of Garuda, which sets the ground for his greatness and for his friendship with Dasharatha.
The gist: A great vulture met on the road, Jatayu, names himself a friend of Dasharatha, recites the full genealogy of creation, and takes up the charge of guarding Sita. Rama honors him, entrusts Sita to his care, and goes on to Panchavati.
The leaf hut at Panchavati, and a happy dwelling
Coming to Panchavati, thick with beasts of prey and deer, Rama said to his brother Lakshmana of shining lustre: “Gentle one, this is the region of Panchavati, its woods in flower. We have come, just as we planned, to the region the sage spoke of. You are skilled in the wild and can look on every side; see where our hermitage would best stand. Find such a place as Sita, you, and I may delight in, with water nearby, where the forest is lovely and the water is lovely, and firewood, flowers, kusha grass, and water are close at hand.”
At Rama’s words Lakshmana folded his palms and said to the son of Kakutstha, in Sita’s presence: “Kakutstha, though you live a hundred years I am but your servant, bound to your will. Choose yourself some pleasing place and tell me, ‘Build here.’” Greatly pleased at these words, the radiant Rama considered and settled on a place blessed with every good quality. Going to that lovely spot, taking Lakshmana’s hand in his own, Rama said to the son of Sumitra: “This ground is level and splendid, ringed with trees in flower; build here a fair hermitage as it should be built. Nearby is seen a lovely lotus pool graced with fragrant, sun-bright lotuses and with blue lotuses. As the meditative sage Agastya said, here is the lovely Godavari, hedged with trees in flower, crowded with swans and geese, graced with ruddy waterfowl, stirred by herds of deer, neither too far nor too near.
“Gentle one, here are seen high and lovely mountains loud with the cries of peacocks, full of caves, covered with trees in flower. Speckled here and there with the bright metals of gold and silver and copper, they shine like elephants painted with colored latticework. They are graced with sal, palmyra, tamala, date, jack, nivara, tinisha, and punnaga, and covered with mango, ashoka, tilaka, ketaka, champaka, syandana, sandal, nipa, parnasa, lakuca, dhava, ashvakarna, khadira, shami, kimshuka, and patala trees, ringed about with flowering shrubs and creepers. This place is holy, Sumitra’s son, and lovely, rich in deer and birds; here we will dwell with this bird Jatayu.”
At Rama’s words the very strong Lakshmana, slayer of hostile warriors, quickly built a hermitage for his brother. He raised a great leaf hut with walls of packed clay set on good pillars, framed with long bamboo poles, very beautiful, thatched with boughs of the shami tree, bound with strong cords, well covered with kusha, kasha, reeds, and leaves, its floor made level and lovely. Having built that fine and altogether delightful cottage for Rama’s dwelling, the splendid Lakshmana went to the river Godavari, bathed, and returned with lotuses and fruit. Then, making a flower-offering and performing a rite of peace in due form, he showed Rama the hermitage he had made.
Seeing the gentle hermitage built for him, Rama with Sita found the greatest joy in the leaf hut. Overjoyed, Rama folded Lakshmana in his arms and spoke to him with deep affection: “I am glad, lord; you have done this great work, and for it I have given you this embrace. Lakshmana, while I have a brother like you, knowing of feeling, grateful, a knower of righteousness, my righteous father has not died; he lives on in you.” Having said this, Rama, who added to others’ glory, lived happily in that region of abundant fruit. For some while that righteous prince, served by Sita and Lakshmana, dwelt there like a god in heaven.
The gist: On the lovely bank of the Godavari, Lakshmana builds a sturdy leaf hut. Rama, delighted, praises Lakshmana, and the three begin to live there in a happiness like heaven’s.
The early winter, and the bath in the Godavari
While the high-souled son of Raghu was living happily, autumn passed and the welcome season of early winter set in. One day at dawn Rama went to the lovely river Godavari for a bath. Following at his heels, the brave son of Sumitra, a water-vessel in his hand, walked behind with Sita and said: “Now has come that season dear to you, gentle brother, by which the blessed year seems adorned. People feel dry with the cold, the earth is rich with crops, the waters are no longer good to use, and the fire is welcome. Having honored the manes and the gods with offerings of the first fruits of the harvest and eaten of them themselves, good folk are cleansed of sin at this time. The people of the countryside have their longings for grain fully met and their store of milk grown richer, and the kings ride out on their campaigns, hungry for conquest.
“As the sun clings firmly to the quarter of Death in the south, the northern quarter shines no more than a woman without the mark on her brow. Rich by nature in its hoard of snow and now heaped with snow, the sun being far away, the Himalaya mountain more plainly lives up to its name of the seat of snow. The noons are pleasant for walking, delightful to the touch of the sun’s rays; the sun is welcome, while shade and water are not. Now the sun is mild, the fogs thick, the cold sharp, the wind keen; the days look still and quiet, the woodlands empty and blighted by frost. Now the nights forbid sleep in the open, marked by the star Pushya, dusty with frost, colder and longer. Having given her charm over to the sun, her disk reddened by snow, the moon shines no brighter than a mirror clouded by breath. Even at the full the moonlight is dimmed by frost and loses its beauty, as Sita, a little darkened by the sun, no longer looks as she looked before.
“Cool to the touch by its nature and now heavy with snow, the west wind blows at dawn twice as cold. The woodlands, shrouded in mist and rich with barley and wheat, shine at sunrise with the noise of herons and cranes. The paddy crops, wearing a golden sheen and bent a little with their weight of corn, their ears full and like date-flowers to look at, are lovely to see. With its climbing rays wrapped in frost and fog, the risen sun, though high, looks like the moon. Faint of strength in the forenoon and gentle to the touch at noon, the sunshine, a little red and a little pale, spreads its charm over the earth. The land of the woods, its grass a little drenched with dew and steeped in the morning sun, looks fair. Though it touches the wide, cold water for its comfort, the wild elephant, parched with thirst, draws back its trunk at the chill. The waterbirds standing close by do not go down into the water, as cowards keep near the field of battle and do not plunge in. Wrapped in the dark of dew and the gloom of fog by night, the rows of forest trees, stripped of their blossom, seem to sleep. The rivers, their water shrouded in mist, their cranes known only by their cries, are known now only by their banks with sand wet with frost. From the fall of frost and the mildness of the sun, even the water on the mountaintops turns nearly tasteless. Their lotuses worn out with decay, their filaments and pods withered, the lotus-beds, blasted by snow, are reduced to bare stalks and no longer look fair.
“At this hard season, tiger among men, the righteous Bharata, full of longing for you, is doing penance in the city out of devotion to you. Giving up sovereignty and honor and every kind of pleasure, that ascetic sleeps on the cold ground and lives on a restricted diet. He too at this hour surely rises for his bath and, ringed by his ministers, goes daily to the river Sarayu. Raised in the highest comfort, tender as he is, how does he take his dip in the Sarayu, tormented by cold, in the last watch of the night? Dark of complexion, with eyes like lotus petals, majestic, tall, righteous, truthful, modest, master of his senses, gentle of speech, sweet, long-armed, subduer of foes, Bharata has given up every kind of comfort and given himself wholly to you, his elder brother. Even living in the forest, high-souled one, you have won heaven for him, for he follows you in your ascetic life. The well-known saying that men take after their mother and not their father, Bharata has proved false. How is it that mother Kaikeyi, whose husband was Dasharatha and whose son is the good Bharata, wears so cruel a face?”
As the devout Lakshmana spoke so out of affection, the son of Raghu, unable to bear the blame laid on his mother, said: “Dear one, never speak ill of our second mother Kaikeyi. Speak only of Bharata, lord of the Ikshvakus. My mind is firmly set on my vow of forest life; yet, burned by love for Bharata, it grows soft again and again like a child’s. I remember well his dear, sweet, affectionate words, nectar-like, gladdening the heart. When shall I be joined again, son of Raghu, with the high-souled Bharata, with the brave Shatrughna, and with you?”
Lamenting so upon this theme, Rama reached the river Godavari and bathed with his brother and Sita. The sinless three offered water to the manes and the gods and praised the rising sun and the other gods. His bath done, Rama shone with Sita and Lakshmana as Lord Shiva shines with Nandi and Parvati when he has bathed in the Ganga.
The gist: Lakshmana paints the early winter at length and remembers Bharata doing penance in the city, and he falls to blaming Kaikeyi. Rama stops the blame of his second mother and praises Bharata’s love; then the three bathe and make offerings in the Godavari, shining like Shiva with Nandi and Parvati.
Source: Srimad Valmiki Ramayana, Aranyakanda, Cantos 1-16 (Gita Press, Gorakhpur).
Basis: Valmiki Ramayana (Gita Press, Gorakhpur)