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The stories of the road were behind them now. Vishvamitra, the sage of Kushika’s line who had once worn a crown of his own, set Rama and Lakshmana ahead of him and turned toward the northeast, where Janaka, the king of Mithila, was midway through a great sacrifice. As the sacrificial grounds drew near, Rama spoke to the sage. What a fine thing this preparation is, he said, the sacrifice of the high-souled Janaka. Thousands of brahmins deep in the Vedas have come from every country, and the hermits’ quarters stand crowded with hundreds of carts, each loaded with the materials for the agnihotra, the daily offering poured into the sacred fire. Choose us a fit place to halt, holy one, somewhere clean and near water. Vishvamitra found a quiet, unspoiled spot with water close at hand, and there the party settled.
Janaka’s welcome, and his curiosity about the two princes
The moment word reached him that Vishvamitra had arrived, Janaka went out to meet him, humble and unhurried, placing at the head of his party his family priest Shatananda, the son of Gautama, along with the priests who officiated at his sacrifice. He carried water to wash the guest’s hands, and offered Vishvamitra the madhuparka, the welcoming drink of curds, ghee, water, honey, and sugar-candy, together with every other courtesy the scriptures prescribe. Accepting all this, Vishvamitra asked after the king’s welfare and the smooth progress of the sacrifice, after the hermits who had come with the king, the officiating priests, and Shatananda too, and then embraced all the sages in order of their seniority. With folded hands the king asked him to sit. Vishvamitra took his seat, and around him, on their own seats and in their proper order, sat Shatananda, the priests, the ministers, and the king.
By the grace of the gods, Janaka said, the wealth of my sacrifice has come to fruition today, for the mere sight of you has brought me its reward. My learned priests tell me that my sacrificial vow has twelve more days to run. At its close you will see, with that vision of yours, the gods who come in person to claim their share of the offerings. Then, his face bright, the king asked a question. May God bless you, he said. Who are these two valiant boys, whose prowess is a match for the gods, whose gait is an elephant’s, whose forms recall a tiger and a bull, whose eyes are as wide as lotus petals? They carry each a sword, a quiver, and a bow, and in their beauty they rival the Ashvins, the twin physician-gods of the sky, famed for their comeliness, and they stand at the very threshold of youth. They look like a pair of gods come down to earth of their own will. Whose sons are they, and for what purpose, and for whose sake, have they traveled here on foot?
Vishvamitra named them the sons of Dasharatha, and told the whole of it: their stay at Siddhashrama and the killing of the demons there, their journey to Vishala, the sight of Ahalya and the meeting with Gautama, and at the last their coming to Mithila out of a wish to see this great bow. Then he fell silent.
The gist: Rama and Lakshmana reach Mithila; Janaka, taken with their divine bearing, asks who they are, and Vishvamitra lays out their journey so far.
Shatananda’s question, and the start of the Vishvamitra story
When he heard this, Shatananda, the eldest son of Gautama and the son of Ahalya, his face bright with the light of long austerity, was thrilled and amazed at the sight of Rama. He asked, best of sages, did you show Rama to my glorious mother, who has been at her long penance? Did she honor Rama with the fruits of the forest? Did you tell Rama the old story of the wrong done to my mother? And through the sight of Rama, has my mother been reunited with my father?
All that needed doing, Vishvamitra answered, I have done, and nothing was left undone. As Renuka, the mother of Parashurama, was reunited with her husband Jamadagni, so Ahalya was reunited with her husband Gautama. At this Shatananda turned to Rama. Welcome to you, best of men, he said. It is our great fortune that you have come here with Vishvamitra at your head. This sage of unthinkable deeds is a brahmarshi of measureless splendor; I know him to be a refuge of the highest order. There is no one on earth more fortunate than you, whose protector is Vishvamitra. Hear me, then, while I tell you of his strength and of what he truly is.
A sub-tale: Vishvamitra’s line runs like this. Brahma’s son was King Kusha; Kusha’s son was the mighty and righteous Kushanabha; Kushanabha’s son was Gadhi; and Gadhi’s son of great fire was Vishvamitra. For this reason he is also called Kaushika, and the son of Gadhi.
For a long age Vishvamitra was a righteous king, a crusher of enemies and a friend to his people. One day he set out to make a circuit of the earth with an army of a full akshauhini at his back.
A key idea (a number): one akshauhini is 21,870 elephants, the same number of chariots, 65,610 horses, and 109,350 foot soldiers, a full and enormous army of all four arms.
Crossing cities and kingdoms, rivers and mountains and hermitages, King Vishvamitra came at last to the site of Vasishtha’s hermitage, rich in flowers and creepers and trees, served by Siddhas and Charanas, and thronged with brahmin-seers, celestial sages, and great souls made perfect by their penance. Sages of iron restraint lived there, some on water alone, some on air, some on nothing but the leaves that fell to the ground; and there were the Valakhilyas, the sages said to be born of Brahma’s hair, and the Vaikhanasas, said to be born of Brahma’s nails, all sunk in prayer and in the fire offering. The place was a second heaven of Brahma.
The gist: Shatananda, the son of Ahalya, begins to tell of Vishvamitra’s greatness, of the king who traveled the whole road from royal sage to brahmarshi.
Shabala, and the quarrel over the cow of plenty
At the sight of Vasishtha, Vishvamitra was overjoyed and bowed to him. Vasishtha welcomed him to the hermitage, gave him a seat, and set fruit and roots before him. Then Vasishtha, born of Brahma, asked the king after his welfare. Do you govern your people by the fourfold conduct laid down for a king? Are your servants well kept, your enemies subdued, your army, your treasury, your allies, your sons and grandsons all in good health? Vishvamitra answered that all was well on every side, and the two righteous men talked a long while and took pleasure in each other.
Then Vasishtha said, as though laughing for joy, mighty king, I wish to give you and your whole army the hospitality you deserve; accept it from me. Vishvamitra replied that the honor was already his in the very offer of it: your fruits and roots, the water for washing my feet and rinsing my mouth, and the sight of you, these have already done me honor; now I will take my leave. But Vasishtha pressed him again and again, until at last Vishvamitra said, let it be as you wish.
Delighted, Vasishtha summoned his cow of plenty, Shabala by name, so called for her dappled color. Come quickly, Shabala, he said. I mean to entertain this royal sage Vishvamitra and his army, so bring forth, each to his own liking, dishes of all six tastes, food and drink, things to lick and things to suck, every one of them.
A key idea (a concept): the six tastes are pungent, sour, sweet, salty, bitter, and astringent; the cow of plenty produced dishes of every one of them, each to the eater’s wish.
Shabala did as she was asked. Sugarcane and all its products, honeys of many kinds, parched grain, maireya wine made from jaggery and the rest, and fine spirits; mountains of steaming rice, sweet dishes cooked in milk, streams of curds, and silver vessels in their thousands brimful of fruit juices. Vishvamitra’s whole army, his inner court, the brahmins, the priest, the ministers, and the servants all ate their fill and were glad.
Overjoyed, Vishvamitra said, holy one, you have entertained me; now hear one request of mine. Give me Shabala in exchange for a hundred thousand cows, for she is a jewel, and a jewel by right belongs to a king. Vasishtha answered, I will not give Shabala for a hundred thousand cows, nor for a billion, nor for heaps of silver. She cannot be parted from me. On her rest the offerings to the gods and the offerings to the ancestors, the sustenance of my life, my fire worship, my oblations, the sacred cries of Swaha and Vashat, and my many kinds of learning. She is my everything, the wellspring of my joy; I say it in truth.
Vishvamitra pressed harder still. I will give you fourteen thousand elephants decked in chains and goads of gold, eight hundred golden chariots each yoked to four white horses, eleven thousand spirited horses of fine breeding, and ten million young cows of every color; only give me Shabala. Ask for jewels and gold in any amount, and it is yours. But Vasishtha stood firm. For no reason will I part with Shabala. She is my jewel, my wealth, my everything, my very life. My rites at the new moon and the full moon, all my sacrifices and observances, rest on her alone. What use is more talk? I will not give up this cow who yields all desires.
The gist: taken with Vasishtha’s cow of plenty, King Vishvamitra offers a hundred thousand cows, elephants, and chariots for her, but Vasishtha calls her the ground of all his rites and refuses to let her go.
Shabala raises an army
When Vasishtha would not give up the cow, Vishvamitra began to drag her off to his capital by force. Hauled away, Shabala wept in grief and pain, thinking, has the righteous Vasishtha cast me off, that these royal servants lead me away in this wretched state, though I am blameless and devoted to him? Sighing again and again, she shook off the hundreds of men and ran back with the speed of the wind to Vasishtha’s feet.
Weeping in a voice like a thundercloud, she said, son of Brahma, have you cast me off, that the king’s men lead me away from you? Vasishtha spoke to the grieving cow as one would to a sister in distress. I am not casting you off, and you have done me no wrong; it is this king, drunk on his power, who takes you away by force. My strength is not the equal of his, for as a guest today he holds a special power; he is a warrior and a lord of the earth, with a full akshauhini at his back, and so he is the stronger.
Shabala, who understood his words, answered gently. The strength of a warrior counts for nothing; a brahmin is the stronger. Holy one, the divine power of a brahmin’s spirit is greater than the might of any warrior. Your strength cannot be measured; Vishvamitra is not stronger than you. Give me leave, and, fed by your power of the spirit, I will break the pride and force and effort of this evil man. Vasishtha said, then bring forth a power that will destroy the enemy’s army.
At Shabala’s bellow, hundreds of Pahlava warriors sprang up, and they set about destroying Vishvamitra’s army. Enraged, Vishvamitra cut down the Pahlavas with his weapons. Then Shabala brought forth Shakas as fearsome as Yavanas, colored like the champak flower, carrying keen swords and pattishas, a kind of spear, and clad in yellow. Vishvamitra’s whole army seemed to burn as though in a blazing fire. Then Vishvamitra loosed weapon after weapon, and under them the Yavanas, the Kambojas, and the Barbaras, tribes reckoned outside the pale, were thrown into confusion.
The gist: at Vasishtha’s word, Shabala raises whole warrior tribes from her bellow and her body and destroys Vishvamitra’s army, a first victory of the spirit’s power over the warrior’s.
The hundred sons destroyed, and Vishvamitra’s vow of tapas
Seeing his warriors scattered and dazed by Vishvamitra’s weapons, Vasishtha told Shabala to bring forth more. From her bellow came Kambojas bright as the sun, and Barbaras armed from her udders; from her flanks came Yavanas, from below came Shakas, and from the roots of her hair came Mlechchhas, Haritas, and Kiratas. In a moment they wiped out the whole of Vishvamitra’s army.
Seeing his army destroyed, Vishvamitra’s hundred sons took up their weapons and rushed at Vasishtha, but the great sage, with a single bellow of his own, burned them to ash in an instant, horses and chariots and foot together. His sons and army gone, Vishvamitra filled with shame and dread. He grew as dull as a sea gone still, a snake with its fangs broken, a sun swallowed by eclipse. Wretched as a bird with its wings clipped, he set his one surviving son upon the throne and left for the forest.
On the slopes of the Himalaya, where the Kinnaras and the Nagas dwell, Vishvamitra did penance to please Mahadeva. After a time the giver of boons, Mahadeva of the bull banner, appeared and said, king, why do you do this penance? Ask what boon you will. Vishvamitra bowed and said, if you are pleased with me, great god, grant me the whole science of arms, with its branches and appendices and secret teachings. Let every weapon that belongs to the gods, the demons, the great sages, the Gandharvas, the Yakshas, and the Rakshasas rise clear in my mind. Mahadeva said, so be it, and departed.
With the weapons his, mighty Vishvamitra swelled with pride, and, rising like the sea at the turning of the tide, he reckoned Vasishtha as good as dead. He came to the hermitage and began to loose his weapons, and their fire set the grove ablaze. Terrified, the sages ran off in all directions, and Vasishtha’s pupils, the beasts and the birds, fled by the thousand. In a moment the hermitage stood empty and silent, though Vasishtha called out again and again, do not fear, I will destroy the son of Gadhi as the sun destroys the mist.
Enraged, Vasishtha said, you have destroyed a hermitage tended for ages; you are a fool and a doer of evil, and so you shall no longer be what you are. Saying this, Vasishtha in his fury raised the staff of the spirit, the brahma-danda, terrible as the rod of Yama, and stood there blazing like the smokeless fire of the world’s ending.
The gist: his army and his hundred sons lost, Vishvamitra goes to the forest, wins every weapon from Mahadeva, and turns them on Vasishtha’s hermitage, but Vasishtha only raises his staff of the spirit and stands his ground.
The weapons come to nothing, and the resolve to win brahminhood
Vishvamitra raised the fire weapon, the astra of Agni, and shouted, stand, stand. Vasishtha lifted his staff and said, base warrior, here I stand; show what strength you have. Today I will break your pride and your weapons both. Behold my divine power of the spirit. The son of Gadhi’s dreadful fire weapon was quenched by the staff of the spirit as fire is quenched by water.
In his rage Vishvamitra loosed the weapons of Varuna, of Rudra, of Indra, the Pashupata, and the Aishika. Then the human weapon, the deluding weapon, the Gandharva, the sleep weapon, the yawning weapon, the maddening weapon, the scorching weapon, the wailing weapon, the drying weapon, the splitting weapon, the thunderbolt, the noose of Brahma, the noose of Time, the noose of Varuna, the Pinaka, the dry and the wet lightning bolts, the rod weapon, the demon weapon, the crane weapon, the disc of righteousness, the disc of Time, the disc of Vishnu, the wind weapon, the churning weapon, the horse-head weapon, two spear weapons, the skeleton weapon, the mace, the great Vaidyadhara weapon, the weapon of Time, the trident, the skull weapon, and the bracelet weapon; he loosed them all, one after another. The wonder was that Vasishtha, born of Brahma, swallowed them every one with his single staff.
Then the son of Gadhi loosed the weapon of Brahma. Seeing it raised, Agni himself and the gods, the celestial sages, the Gandharvas, and the Nagas were thrown into panic, and the three worlds shook. But Vasishtha, with his staff and the fire of his spirit, swallowed even that terrible weapon of Brahma to its root. As he swallowed it his form grew fearsome enough to daze the three worlds; from the roots of his hair broke smoke-wreathed flames like rays, and the staff in his hand blazed like the fire of the world’s end.
Then the sages began to praise Vasishtha. Your power is unfailing, they said; with your own fire calm the fire of yourself and of your staff. Vishvamitra has been beaten; let the worlds be freed of their distress. Hearing the prayer, Vasishtha grew calm. The beaten Vishvamitra drew a deep breath and said, a curse on the strength of a warrior; the true strength is the strength that rises from a brahmin’s fire. All my weapons were undone by a single staff of the spirit. Now that I see this, I will still my senses and my mind and do that great penance which can win me brahminhood in this very life.
The gist: every weapon of Vishvamitra, even the weapon of Brahma, comes to nothing against Vasishtha’s single staff; beaten, Vishvamitra curses the warrior’s strength and resolves to win brahminhood.
Trishanku’s craving for heaven
Sighing again and again, sick at heart over his defeat by Vasishtha, Vishvamitra went to the south and, with his chief queen, gave himself to a fierce penance. Living on fruit and roots, restrained in all things, he had four sons during those years, Havishpanda, Madhushpanda, Dridhanetra, and Maharatha. When a thousand years were done, Brahma appeared and said, by your penance you have won the worlds that belong to royal sages; we hold you to be a royal sage. Saying this, Brahma returned with the gods.
Vishvamitra spoke in shame and grief. I have done so harsh a penance, and still the gods and sages count me only a royal sage, not a brahmin; so brahminhood is not the fruit of my penance. Thinking this, he began his penance again.
At this time a glorious king of the Ikshvaku line, Trishanku, truthful and master of his senses, conceived a wish to go to heaven in his own body. He called Vasishtha and told him his heart’s desire, but Vasishtha said the thing was impossible and refused. Trishanku went south, where Vasishtha’s hundred sons were at their penance. Bowing low, he said, my teacher has turned me away; I come to you all for refuge. I wish to perform a great sacrifice to go to heaven in my own body; give me your leave and conduct it for me. For the Ikshvakus the family priest is the highest refuge, and after him you are my gods.
The gist: Vishvamitra is granted the rank of royal sage but, unsatisfied, keeps up his penance; at the same time Trishanku, a king of Ayodhya’s line, longs to go to heaven bodily and turns first to Vasishtha and then to his sons.
Trishanku’s curse, and his refuge with Vishvamitra
Vasishtha’s hundred sons answered in anger. Best of men, you speak like a child; go back to your capital. The truthful Vasishtha, your teacher, has turned you away; how then do you overleap him to come to another priest? Vasishtha is able to conduct the sacrifice of all three worlds; what he has called impossible, how shall we do? Go home. Then Trishanku said, my teacher and my teacher’s sons have turned me away; I will seek another road; may it be well with you. In their fury the sons cursed him, you shall become a chandala, and each went off to his own hermitage.
By the time the night was over, the king had become a chandala, black-skinned, dressed in dark cloth, his hair fallen out, smeared with the ash and hung with the garlands of the cremation ground, his ornaments of iron. Seeing him in that shape, all his ministers and the townsmen who followed him fled and left him; only that steadfast king, burning day and night in his torment, went alone to the sage Vishvamitra. Seeing him thwarted and turned into a chandala, Vishvamitra was moved to pity. He asked, king of Ayodhya, for what purpose have you come, made a chandala by a curse?
Trishanku said with folded hands, my teacher and his sons have turned me away, and before I could win my wish the opposite fell on me. I sought to perform a hundred sacrifices to go to heaven in my own body, and neither did it succeed nor did any fruit come. I have never spoken a falsehood, and I never shall; I swear it by the code of a warrior. I have worshiped the gods with many sacrifices and ruled my people by the law; my elders were content with my conduct and my character; and still, for all my devotion to duty, my sacrifice came to nothing. And so I hold fate to be the highest thing and effort to be in vain. Gentle one, all is overtaken by fate; fate is the last resort. Have mercy on me, worn down and struck by fate. I will go to no other for refuge; turn my ill fortune around by your own effort.
A key idea (a concept): a chandala here means the lowest and most outcast class; the passage shows that a change of class comes not from a change of dress and work alone but from the will of some powerful soul or from one’s own deeds, and that even the body’s elements are changed with it.
The gist: the curse of Vasishtha’s sons turns Trishanku into a chandala, and all abandon him; alone, he goes to Vishvamitra and begs him to restore the effort that fate has beaten down.
Vishvamitra’s promise, and the curse on Mahodaya and Vasishtha’s sons
In gentle words Vishvamitra spoke to the king who had been made a chandala. Welcome, child of Ikshvaku; I know you for a wholly righteous man. Do not fear; I will give you refuge. I will summon all the great sages of holy deeds to conduct your sacrifice, and you will perform it with an easy mind. In this very form, which your teacher’s curse has laid on you, you will go to heaven in your own body. Because you have come to me for refuge, I count heaven already delivered into your hands.
Vishvamitra told his sons and pupils to call all the sages, Vasishtha’s sons among them, to the sacrifice, and to bring back word of anyone who spoke a slighting word. The pupils went out in every direction. Brahmins learned in the sacred word began to come from every land. When the pupils returned, they reported that all were coming save Mahodaya and Vasishtha’s hundred sons. Those, they said, had answered in anger, how shall the gods take the offerings at a sacrifice conducted by a warrior for such a patron, and the sacrifice of a chandala is even more to be shunned? How shall brahmins go to heaven who have eaten a chandala’s food?
Hearing this, Vishvamitra’s eyes went red with rage. These men slander me, a blameless ascetic, he said, and so these fools shall this very day be burned and carried by the noose of Time to the world of Yama. For seven hundred births they shall wander the earth as pitiless Mushtikas, an outcast subgroup that strips the shroud from the dead and eats the flesh of dogs, in shapes made hideous. And the fool Mahodaya too, who slandered me though I am blameless, shall be reviled in all the worlds, born into an outcast line of hunters, given to the killing of living things, made pitiless, and made to suffer a long and evil course. Having laid this curse, the great ascetic fell silent.
The gist: Vishvamitra takes Trishanku in and calls the sages to the sacrifice; when Vasishtha’s sons and Mahodaya scorn a chandala’s rite, he lays a fearful curse on them.
Trishanku’s ascent, Indra’s refusal, and the making of Trishanku’s heaven
Knowing by his power of penance that Vasishtha’s sons and Mahodaya were undone, Vishvamitra said among the sages, this Trishanku of the Ikshvaku line is righteous and generous, and he has come to me for refuge; let us all together perform the sacrifice that sends him bodily to the world of the gods. The sages, versed in the law, said, Vishvamitra is quick to anger; whatever he says must be done, or he will curse us. So let the sacrifice begin. Each sage took up his own priestly office. Vishvamitra himself became the chief officiant. The priests performed every rite in due order, and Vishvamitra called the gods to come and take their share, but not one god appeared.
Filled with rage, Vishvamitra took up the offering ladle and said to Trishanku, lord of men, behold the power of my self-won penance; I send you bodily to heaven. By the force of whatever fruit my penance holds, go up in your own body. As he spoke, Trishanku rose bodily into heaven before the eyes of the sages. Seeing him reach heaven, Indra spoke, with the gods around him, Trishanku, turn back; you have earned no place in heaven. Struck down by your teacher’s curse, you fool, fall headlong to the earth. At Indra’s word Trishanku began to fall, crying, save me, save me.
Hearing his cry, Vishvamitra, shouting stay, stay, blazed like a second Brahma and sat among the sages. In the southern quarter he made a second circle of seven seers and a second set of the twenty-seven lunar mansions. Then he made ready to create a second Indra as well, or a company of gods with no Indra at all. In alarm the gods and demons and the throng of sages said with humility, great soul, this king, drained of merit by his teacher’s curse, is not fit to go to heaven in his body.
Vishvamitra answered, I have sworn to raise Trishanku bodily to heaven; I cannot make my word false. Let Trishanku have an everlasting heaven in his own body, and let the stars I have made stand fixed. As long as the worlds endure, let all these remain; give me your leave. The gods said, so be it; let them remain. Beyond the path of the sun, many stars will shine in the sky, and Trishanku, hanging head downward, glad as a god, will shine among those stars; and the stars will circle him. Vishvamitra said, agreed. At the close of the sacrifice the gods and sages went their ways.
The gist: by his power of penance Vishvamitra sends Trishanku bodily to heaven; Indra flings him down, but Vishvamitra halts him in the sky and builds a whole new southern constellation and a heaven of his own, and the gods are forced to make terms.
Shunahshepa, the sacrificial victim of Ambarisha
Watching the sages depart, Vishvamitra said, through Trishanku a great obstacle has arisen in the south; let us go west, to the holy waters of Pushkara, and do our penance there. Reaching Pushkara, he took up a fierce, unassailable penance, living on fruit and roots.
At this time the great king Ambarisha of Ayodhya began a horse sacrifice. While the rite was under way, Indra stole the sacrificial animal. With the animal gone, the officiating priest said to the king, your carelessness has lost the animal, and the fault of an unguarded sacrifice destroys the king. So bring back at once the lost animal, or a human victim in its place, before the rite goes further; this is the chief atonement for the sin.
A key idea (ritual): prayaschitta means atonement, from prayah, meaning sin, and chitta, its cleansing; in a horse sacrifice the rite is held in abeyance until the horse returns, and if the animal is lost the scriptures name a human victim as the substitute.
Taking thousands of cows with him, the king wandered through many countries, cities, forests, and hermitages in search of a human victim. On Mount Bhrigutunga he found the sage Richika seated with his sons and his wife. Bowing and asking after his welfare, the king said, fortunate one, if for a hundred thousand cows you would give me one of your sons for the sacrificial victim, I would be made whole; I have combed every country and cannot find the sacrificial horse; take the price and give me one son.
Richika said, my eldest son I will not sell for anything. Then the mother of those high-born boys said, the venerable Richika calls the eldest not for sale; my youngest, Shunaka, is dear to me too, and so I will not give him up; for the eldest is most often the father’s darling and the youngest the mother’s. Then the middle son, Shunahshepa, spoke for himself. My father calls the eldest not for sale, and my mother the youngest; so it is I, the middle one, who may be sold; take me, prince.
At the end of the brahmin-born boy’s words, King Ambarisha handed over tens of millions of gold and silver coins, heaps of jewels, and a hundred thousand cows, and took Shunahshepa. Overjoyed, he set the boy on his chariot and turned in haste for his capital.
The gist: Indra steals Ambarisha’s sacrificial animal; in its place the king buys Shunahshepa, the middle son of the sage Richika, who offers himself, for a hundred thousand cows and a fortune.
The saving of Shunahshepa, and the curse on Vishvamitra’s sons
With Shunahshepa, Ambarisha stopped to rest at Pushkara in the midday. There Shunahshepa came upon his uncle Vishvamitra, at his penance among the sages by the elder Pushkara lake.
A sub-tale: Vishvamitra’s sister Satyavati was married to Richika, and it is of that same Satyavati that Shunahshepa is held to have been born, which made Vishvamitra his uncle. (In later tradition the commentator Govindaraja takes Ambarisha to be none other than King Harishchandra, of whom a like story is told in the Bahvrcha-Brahmana.)
Tired and thirsty and downcast, the boy fell into the sage’s lap and said, I have no mother and no father; where then are my kin? Righteous one, protect me for the sake of the law; you are the protector and the friend of all. Contrive it so that King Ambarisha’s sacrifice bears its fruit and I too escape death, so that I may live long, do penance, and go to heaven. Be the lord of one who has no lord; as a father protects his son, protect me from this ruin born of sin.
Comforting him, Vishvamitra turned to his sons. A father brings his sons into the world for this very purpose, that his welfare in the next world be secured; that hour has come. This son of a sage begs refuge of me; let one of you give his own life and do him this kindness, becoming the victim in Ambarisha’s sacrifice and satisfying the fire. By this Shunahshepa will find a protector, the sacrifice will go unhindered, the gods will be satisfied, and my word too will be kept. At this Madhucchanda and the others answered with a lofty scorn, half laughing, how do you save another’s son by casting off your own? To us this seems a thing not to be done, like putting the flesh of a dog into one’s food.
His eyes red with rage, Vishvamitra said, this answer is shameless, against the law, harsh, and hair-raising. Because you overstep my word, you shall all be born, like the sons of Vasishtha, in the lowest castes, eating the flesh of dogs, and shall wander the earth a full thousand years. Then, to the distressed Shunahshepa, he gave protection from harm with his sacred spells and said, when you are bound with the pure cords and adorned with red garlands and red sandal, and set at the post of Vishnu, sing the praise of Indra and of Vishnu through the fire. Sing these two divine hymns; by them you will find success at Ambarisha’s sacrifice.
Learning both hymns with a settled mind, Shunahshepa said to Ambarisha, king among lions, let us go quickly; take up your consecration and complete the sacrifice unhindered. The king came at once to the sacrificial grounds. With the assembly’s leave, the victim Shunahshepa, marked with the sacred signs and clad in red, was bound to the post. Bound there, the son of the sage praised Indra and his younger brother Vishnu, who is manifested as the Dwarf, with his fine hymns. Pleased, the thousand-eyed Indra granted Shunahshepa a long life on the spot, and King Ambarisha too gained the manifold fruit of the sacrifice. The righteous Vishvamitra did penance at Pushkara for another thousand years.
The gist: Vishvamitra saves Shunahshepa by teaching him the secret hymns to Indra and Vishnu, so that the boy lives and the sacrifice succeeds; the sons who defied him he curses.
Menaka, and the ranks of rishi and maharshi
When a thousand years were done, Brahma came with the gods and said, Vishvamitra, by your holy deeds you have now become a rishi. Saying this, Brahma returned, and Vishvamitra took up his fierce penance again. After a time the great apsara Menaka came to bathe at Pushkara. Seeing her matchless, like lightning in a cloud, the sage was gripped by the pride of desire and said, apsara, welcome; stay in my hermitage; I am dazed by love, so have mercy on me. And the beautiful woman stayed.
This was a great obstacle to his penance. Ten years passed in pleasure at her side. When they had passed, Vishvamitra sank into thought and grief as though ashamed, and understood with a rush of anger that it had all been a trick of the gods to steal away his penance. He thought, ten years of love’s daze have gone by me like a single day and night; this is an obstacle. Drawing a deep breath, he grieved in his remorse.
Seeing Menaka trembling before him with folded hands, afraid, the sage dismissed her in gentle words and went to the northern mountain, the Himalaya. Vowing a firm and lifelong celibacy, and setting himself to conquer desire, he began an unassailable penance on the bank of the Kaushiki river.
A sub-tale: Vishvamitra’s elder sister Satyavati followed her departed husband to heaven and then turned into a river; and that same river flows in Bihar to this day under the name Kaushiki, the modern Kosi.
The gods took fright. With the whole company of sages, they prayed to Brahma that the son of Kushika be given the title of maharshi. Brahma came and said to Vishvamitra, maharshi, pleased with your fierce penance, I grant you the first rank and greatness among rishis. Vishvamitra answered with folded hands, holy one, only if you address me by the peerless word brahmarshi will I count myself the master of my senses. Brahma said, you have not yet mastered your senses; strive further, and went off to heaven.
When the gods had gone, Vishvamitra raised his arms, took no support, fed on the air, and did fierce penance for a thousand years: in summer among five fires, four around him and the sun above; in the rains, out under the open sky; and in the cold, standing in the water day and night.
The gist: Vishvamitra is granted first the rank of rishi and then of maharshi, but after ten wasted years with Menaka he does the penance of the five fires on the Himalaya and the bank of the Kaushiki, for nothing short of brahmarshi will do.
Rambha’s curse, and the vow of silence
Indra called the apsara Rambha, with the host of the Maruts, and said, Rambha, there is a great work for the gods that you must do, to lure Vishvamitra into the daze of desire. Rambha said in fear, lord of the gods, this fierce sage will lay a terrible curse on me; have mercy. Indra said, do not fear; with Kandarpa, the god of love, at my side, I will become a cuckoo, singing in sweet strains that steal the mind, and stand near you in the springtime; you, in a form of great beauty, turn that ascetic’s mind astray. And Rambha, her smile scattered wide, set out to lure Vishvamitra.
Hearing the cuckoo’s sweet note, the sage looked with a glad heart upon Rambha. At that wondrous song and the sight of Rambha, a doubt rose in the sage, whether she had come of herself or Indra had sent her. Knowing it all for Indra’s work, the enraged Vishvamitra laid a curse. Rambha, he said, you lured me while I strove to conquer desire and anger; and so you shall stand ten thousand years as stone, ill-starred woman. A brahmin of great fire, meaning Vasishtha, born of Brahma, will free you from this doom of my anger.
At that terrible curse Rambha turned to stone on the instant; and hearing it, the god of love and Indra slipped away. His anger drained away the merit of his penance again, and Vishvamitra, still not master of his senses, found no peace. He thought, now I will neither give way to anger nor speak; for hundreds of years I will not so much as breathe; until my penance wins me brahminhood, I will stand many years without breath and without food; and my body, at its penance, will not waste away. Making this extraordinary vow, he sat down to a thousand years of it.
The gist: Vishvamitra curses Indra’s sent Rambha into stone, but when his anger drains his merit again, he gives up anger and speech and takes a thousand-year vow of silence, without breath or food.
The last austerity, and the rank of brahmarshi
Leaving the north, Vishvamitra went east and began a most terrible penance. Taking up the hardest of vows of silence for a thousand years, he stayed as still as wood; and through many trials, for a thousand years, anger did not touch him. When the vow was done and he made ready to eat, Indra came in the guise of a brahmin and begged for the cooked food. Without a moment’s hesitation Vishvamitra gave the whole of it to the brahmin, stayed hungry himself, and, holding to his vow of silence, spoke not a single word; then, silent as before, he held his breath as well.
When he had gone a thousand more years without breathing, smoke began to rise from his head, and the three worlds were seized and scorched by it. Dazed by his penance and his fire, the gods, the sages, the Gandharvas, the Nagas, and the Rakshasas went to Brahma and said, though he has been lured and provoked in every way, Vishvamitra rises higher and higher by his penance; not the least fault can be seen in him. If his wish is not granted, he will burn the three worlds to ash. The seas are troubled, the mountains are splitting, the earth shakes, the winds blow wild. The sun is dimmed by his fire. Before he sets his mind on ruin, satisfy him; even if he asks for the kingship of the gods, give it.
Then Brahma came with all the gods and said, brahmarshi, welcome; we are content with your penance. Son of Kushika, by your fierce penance you have won brahminhood; I grant you long life as well. Overjoyed, Vishvamitra bowed and said, if I have won brahminhood and long life, then let the sacred syllable Om, the cry of Vashat, and the Vedas choose me of their own accord; and let Vasishtha, born of Brahma, the master of both the warrior’s knowledge and the knowledge of the spirit, call me a brahmin; if this, my highest wish, is granted, then you may go.
Persuaded by the gods, Vasishtha came and made friends with Vishvamitra and said, so be it; you are beyond doubt a brahmarshi; every wish of yours is granted. Saying this, the gods returned. And the righteous Vishvamitra, having won that high brahminhood, honored Vasishtha. In this way, Rama, the great soul Vishvamitra won brahminhood in this very life, without changing his body. This is the best of sages, the very shape of penance, the abiding refuge of the highest law and prowess.
With this Shatananda fell silent. Hearing the tale, Janaka said to Vishvamitra with folded hands, I am blessed; you have made me whole by coming to my sacrifice with Rama and Lakshmana; the sight of you has purified me. Rama and I have heard the long story of your great penance and your virtues, and my thirst for it is not quenched. But the hour of the evening rite is near, and the sun is setting; grant me your presence again at dawn, and give me leave now. Vishvamitra praised Janaka and sent him off. Janaka circled him and left with his priest and kinsmen, and Vishvamitra, honored by the great souls around him, went to his lodging with Rama and Lakshmana.
The gist: Vishvamitra becomes a brahmarshi at last, in this very life and without changing his body, and Vasishtha himself accepts him as one; here Shatananda’s tale ends, and Janaka retires before the evening rite.
The story of the bow, and the birth of Sita
In the clear morning, his daily rites done, Janaka sent for Vishvamitra with Rama and Lakshmana. Honoring them by the ordained rites, Vishvamitra said, king, these two world-famous warrior princes, the sons of Dasharatha, wish to see the fine bow kept in your charge; show it to them. They will look on it, satisfy their wish, and return.
Hear, said Janaka, why this bow is here. The gods placed it as a trust in the hands of King Devarata, the eldest son of Nimi. In the old days, at the wrecking of Daksha’s sacrifice, the valiant Rudra angrily drew the string of this very bow and said to the gods, because you gave me no share of the sacrifice, I will cut off your finest limbs with this bow. In alarm the gods conciliated Shankara, and, pleased, Shiva gave the bow to the gods. The gods placed it as a trust with our forefather Devarata.
A sub-tale: in Sanskrit the word Sita originally means the line of a plow, the furrow cut by the blade. As the sacrificial ground was being plowed, a girl appeared from the line of the plow, and for that reason she became known by the name Sita.
Janaka went on. As I was plowing the field for a sacrifice, a girl appeared from the line of the plow, and she came to be known as Sita; that daughter of mine, sprung from the soil, grew at an extraordinary pace. This girl, born of no womb, I set aside as one whose price was valor, to be given to the man who won her by his prowess. Many kings came to sue for her, and I refused them all, saying she could be won by valor alone. Then the kings came to Mithila to ask the measure of that prowess, and the bow of Shiva was set before them. Lift it they could not; they could not so much as stir it enough to judge its weight.
Holding themselves insulted, those angry kings marched on Mithila and laid siege to the city for a full year, until all my resources were drained and I was in deep distress. Then I won the gods over by penance, and the pleased gods gave me an army of all four arms; and before that army those weak, prowess-doubted, wicked kings broke and scattered. Best of sages, this is the bow of the highest fire that I will show to Rama and Lakshmana; and if Rama should string it, I will give my womb-less daughter Sita to the son of Dasharatha.
The gist: Janaka tells the story of the bow (Shiva’s bow from Daksha’s sacrifice, the trust of Devarata) and of Sita, born of no womb from the furrow, and repeats his pledge: whoever strings the bow shall have Sita.
The breaking of Shiva’s bow
Hearing Janaka’s story, Vishvamitra said, show the bow to Rama. Janaka ordered his ministers to bring the heavenly bow, adorned with sandal and flowers. The ministers went into the city and brought it out set in a chest mounted on eight wheels, which five thousand tall and powerful men somehow managed to haul along.
Bringing the fine iron chest, the ministers said to Janaka, king of kings, if it is your wish, let this fine bow, worshiped by all the kings, be shown to these two princes. With folded hands Janaka said to Vishvamitra and the two princes, holy one, this fine bow, worshiped by the Janakas, could not be strung even by mighty kings. Not gods, demons, Rakshasas, Gandharvas, Yakshas, Kinnaras, or the great Nagas could string it; how then should mere men have the power to string it, set its cord, fit an arrow, or so much as lift it to judge its weight? Show this best of bows to the princes.
Vishvamitra said to Rama, child Rama, behold the bow. Rama opened the chest, looked at the bow, and said, I hold this fine divine bow with my hand; I will try to lift it and to string it. The king and the sage said, so be it. At the sage’s word Rama took the bow in play by the middle. Before the eyes of many thousands of men, the righteous Rama, as though at play, strung the bow, set the cord and drew it, and the bow broke in two at the middle.
A sound went up like a crash of thunder, and a violent earthquake came, as though a mountain had split. At that sound all the people fell down in a faint, save the great sage, the king, and the two scions of Raghu. When the people recovered, the unshaken Janaka said to Vishvamitra with folded hands, holy one, I have seen the prowess of Rama, the son of Dasharatha; it is a wonder beyond thought, beyond imagining. Winning Rama for her husband, my daughter Sita will lift the fame of the house of the Janakas. My pledge that her price is valor has come true today; Sita, dearer to me than life, is now to be given to Rama. With your leave, let my ministers go at once by chariot to Ayodhya and, with courteous words, bring the emperor here; let them tell him that Sita, won by valor, is to be wed to Rama, and that the two princes are safe under the sage’s care. Vishvamitra said, so be it, and Janaka, having told his ministers the whole story, sent them to bring the emperor.
The gist: as though at play, Rama strings the bow of Shiva and breaks it in two; a thunderclap and an earthquake follow; keeping his pledge, Janaka settles Sita’s wedding to Rama and sends his ministers to summon Dasharatha.
The invitation to Ayodhya
Janaka’s ministers, halting three nights on the road for their tired horses, reached Ayodhya and, by the king’s order, came before the aged and godlike Dasharatha in his court. Made bold by his gentle look, they spoke with folded hands in sweet words. Great king, with the sacred fire set before him and in a voice warm with affection, Janaka, the lord of Mithila, has asked again and again after the undecaying welfare of you, your family priest, and your servants; with Vishvamitra’s consent he has sent this message.
The message was this: my daughter, as you know, was set aside as one whose price is valor; the weaker kings who failed the test were turned away, though they took it ill. Great king, by good fortune your son Rama, coming here with Vishvamitra at his head, has won my daughter; before a great throng of people he broke the divine bow of Shiva in two. Sita, won by valor, is now to be given to Rama; grant me the fulfilling of this pledge. Come quickly, with your family priest and teacher at your head, and see your sons; you will see the joy of both of them. This Janaka has said, with Vishvamitra’s consent and Shatananda’s counsel.
Overjoyed at the envoys’ message, Dasharatha said to Vasishtha, Vamadeva, and his ministers, Rama and Lakshmana are in the kingdom of the Videhas under Vishvamitra’s care; Janaka, moved by Rama’s prowess, wishes to give him Sita. If Janaka’s line and conduct please you, let us set out for Mithila at once; let no time be lost. The ministers and the great sages said, so be it; and the pleased Dasharatha said, let the journey begin tomorrow at dawn. The honored envoys spent that night comfortably in Ayodhya.
The gist: Janaka’s ministers reach Ayodhya, tell Dasharatha of the breaking of the bow and the winning of Sita, and carry the wedding invitation; taking counsel with Vasishtha and Vamadeva, Dasharatha resolves to set out for Mithila the next morning.
Dasharatha’s journey to Mithila
When the night was over, the glad Dasharatha called Sumantra and said, let all the treasury officers go ahead today with abundant wealth and every kind of jewel, guarded by armed men. Let the army of all four arms set out the moment it has the order, and the palanquins and other fine conveyances too. Let these brahmins go ahead, Vasishtha, Vamadeva, Jabali, Kashyapa, the long-lived Markandeya, and Katyayana; and yoke my chariot, so there is no delay; the envoys are urging me to hurry.
By the king’s order the army of all four arms marched behind him as he rode on his chariot with the sages. After four days’ travel they reached the kingdom of the Videhas. The moment word came of Dasharatha’s arrival, the glorious Janaka set about preparing his welcome. Coming to the aged Dasharatha, Janaka was filled with joy. Welcome, best of men, he said; your coming is my great fortune. You will see the joy of your two sons, won by their prowess. By good fortune the glorious Vasishtha has come, like Indra, with all the finest brahmins. By good fortune my obstacles are undone and my line is honored; a bond is joined with the mighty Raghavas. Tomorrow at dawn, best of men, at the close of the sacrifice, solemnize the wedding with the help of the finest sages.
Dasharatha answered, knower of the law, I have heard that the giving of a gift is in the hands of the giver; whatever you say, that we will do. At these righteous, honor-bringing words Janaka was much amazed. All the sages, glad at meeting one another, passed that night in comfort. Rama and Lakshmana, with Vishvamitra at their head, went to touch their father’s feet; and Dasharatha, seeing his two sons and honored by Janaka, went to pass the night in great joy. Janaka too, having completed the rites of the sacrifice and the sacred rites for his two daughters, Sita and Urmila, retired for the night.
The gist: with his army, his treasury, and six sages, Dasharatha travels four days to Mithila; Janaka welcomes him with joy and speaks of the wedding at dawn, and Dasharatha agrees, saying the gift is in the giver’s hands.
Kushadhvaja’s arrival, and the song of the Ikshvaku line
In the morning, his sacrificial rites done, Janaka said to his family priest Shatananda, my younger brother Kushadhvaja, a man of great fire, valor, and deep righteousness, lives in the city of Sankashya, a city vast as heaven and as the aerial car Pushpaka, its bounds marked by an engine-mounted rampart, drinking the water of the Ikshumati river. He is the guardian of my sacrifice; I wish to see him; he too will share in this joy of the wedding. Swift envoys on fast horses rode to Sankashya, like the men of Indra sent to fetch Upendra, and, telling him all, brought Kushadhvaja back.
Kushadhvaja greeted the loving Janaka and Shatananda and took a divine seat worthy of a king. The two brothers sent their finest minister, Sudamana, to bring Dasharatha of the Ikshvaku line with his sons and ministers. Going to Dasharatha’s lodging, Sudamana bowed his head and said, king of Ayodhya, Janaka, the lord of Mithila, wishes to see you with your family priest and teacher. Dasharatha went to Janaka with the sages, the ministers, and his kinsmen.
Dasharatha said to Janaka, great king, the mighty Vasishtha, revered by the Ikshvakus, is our spokesman in all things; with Vishvamitra’s consent he will recite my line in order. When Dasharatha fell silent, Vasishtha recited the line to Janaka and Shatananda.
A sub-tale (the Ikshvaku line): from the eternal Brahma, born of unmanifest Prakriti, came Marichi; from Marichi, Kashyapa; from Kashyapa, Vivasvan, the sun; from Vivasvan, Manu; from Manu, the lord of created beings Ikshvaku, the first king of Ayodhya. Then Kukshi, Vikukshi, Bana, Anaranya, Prithu, Trishanku, Dhundhumara, Yuvanashva, Mandhata, Susandhi, Dhruvasandhi, Bharata, Asita, Sagara, Asamanja, Anshuman, Dilipa, Bhagiratha, Kakutstha, Raghu, Pravriddha (later Kalmashapada), Shankhana, Sudarshana, Agnivarna, Shighraga, Maru, Prashushruka, Ambarisha, Nahusha, Yayati, Nabhaga, Aja, and from Aja, Dasharatha; and from this Dasharatha were born Rama and Lakshmana, and Bharata and Shatrughna too.
A sub-tale (the birth of Sagara): King Asita, beaten by his enemies, went to the Himalaya with two pregnant queens and died there. One queen gave the other poison in her food to destroy the rival’s child. The lotus-eyed Kalindi, longing for a fine son, prayed to the sage Chyavana of Bhrigu’s line, and the sage blessed her. Because the boy was born together with that poison, gara, he was called Sagara.
A key idea (a number): Vasishtha calls Brahma a being of two parardhas of life, roughly 3,110,400,000,000,000 human years, a span past all imagining.
Having recited the line, Vasishtha said, king, for Rama and Lakshmana, born of the ever-pure house of Ikshvaku, truthful and valiant, I ask, on Dasharatha’s behalf, for your two daughters; give your worthy daughters to these worthy princes.
The gist: Janaka summons his brother Kushadhvaja, Dasharatha comes to him with the sages, and Vasishtha recites the Ikshvaku line from Brahma to Dasharatha and asks for Janaka’s two daughters for Rama and Lakshmana.
The song of the Videha line, and the pledge of the daughters
With folded hands Janaka said, wise best of sages, on the occasion of giving a daughter, a man of good family should recite his whole line to one of good family; hear mine.
A sub-tale (the Videha line): from the deeply righteous King Nimi came Mithi; from Mithi, Janaka, the first to bear the name; then Udavasu, Nandivardhana, Suketu, Devarata, Brihadratha, Mahavira, Sudhriti, Dhrishtaketu, Haryashva, Maru, Pratindhaka, Kirtiratha, Devamidha, Vibudha, Mahidhraka, Kirtirata, Maharoma, Swarnaroma, and Hrasvaroma. Hrasvaroma had two sons: the elder, I myself, Janaka, and the younger, the valiant Kushadhvaja.
Janaka said, my aged father set me on the throne, entrusted Kushadhvaja to my care, and went to the forest. When my father passed to heaven I took up the burden of the kingdom by the law and cared with love for my godlike brother Kushadhvaja. After a time the powerful King Sudhanva came from Sankashya and laid siege to Mithila. He sent word to hand over the fine bow of Shiva and my lotus-eyed daughter Sita. When I refused, there was a battle, and I killed Sudhanva in single combat. Then I consecrated my valiant brother Kushadhvaja as king of Sankashya.
Janaka said, best of sages, I am the elder and this is my younger brother; full of joy, I give you your daughters-in-law, Sita for Rama and Urmila for Lakshmana. I say it three times, without doubt: I give as your daughters-in-law Sita, godlike, won by Rama through valor, and Urmila, my second daughter. King, have the samavartana rite performed for Rama and Lakshmana, the ceremony of returning home after study, marked by the shaving of the hair, and perform the nandi-shraddha, the rite to please the ancestors before a wedding. Today is the mansion of Magha; on the third day, when the mansion of Uttara Phalguni comes, perform the wedding; make the happy gifts for the good of Rama and Lakshmana.
The gist: Janaka recites the Videha line from Nimi down to himself and tells of killing Sudhanva, then pledges Sita to Rama and Urmila to Lakshmana, naming the third day, under Uttara Phalguni, for the wedding.
Kushadhvaja’s daughters, for Bharata and Shatrughna
At Janaka’s words, Vishvamitra said, with Vasishtha beside him, best of men, the houses of Ikshvaku and Videha are beyond thought and beyond measure; none is their equal. The match of Sita and Urmila with Rama and Lakshmana is wholly fitting, in righteousness and in beauty. Now hear one thing more. Here is your righteous younger brother Kushadhvaja; we ask for his two daughters, matchless in beauty on earth, for Dasharatha’s other two sons, Bharata and the wise Shatrughna. All four of Dasharatha’s sons are full of beauty and youth, godlike in prowess, like the guardians of the worlds. Through the wedding of these two pairs let the house of Ikshvaku be bound in the bond of love; man of holy deeds, do not hold back from a fourfold bond all at once.
With folded hands Janaka said, this fitting bond of houses, which you yourselves command, has blessed my line. So be it; may it be well with you; let Shatrughna and Bharata, who ever stay together, take Kushadhvaja’s two daughters to wife. Great sage, let all four princes take the hands of the four princesses on one day. The wise commend the day of Uttara Phalguni, whose lord is Bhaga, the lord of created beings, as the finest for a wedding.
Saying this, Janaka rose from his seat and said to the two sages with folded hands, you have given me the highest law, the giving of daughters; I am your servant as Dasharatha is; take these fine seats. As this city is Dasharatha’s, so is Ayodhya mine; your authority here is beyond doubt; do what is fitting. Then Dasharatha said with joy to Janaka, you two brothers, the lords of Mithila, are men of countless virtues; many a time you have honored sages and kings. May it be well with you; we will go now to our lodging and perform the shraddha rites in due form.
Taking his leave of Janaka, Dasharatha went quickly to his lodging with the two great sages at his head. Performing the shraddha in due form, he rose in the morning and had the fine samavartana rite done for all four sons. Fond father that he was, Dasharatha gave the brahmins for each son a hundred thousand cows, four hundred thousand in all, with horns plated in gold, with their calves, each with a milking vessel of bell-metal, and abundant wealth besides. Ringed by his sons with their heads shaved and their gifts of cattle made, Dasharatha shone like Brahma ringed by the guardians of the worlds.
A key idea (a number): the gift of four hundred thousand cows, a hundred thousand for each son, measures the royal generosity of a sacrifice season; the word godana also means the shaving of the hair, so the gift belongs to the samavartana rite.
The gist: Vishvamitra and Vasishtha ask for Kushadhvaja’s two daughters for Bharata and Shatrughna; the four weddings are set for Uttara Phalguni, and Dasharatha performs the samavartana of his four sons and gives away four hundred thousand cows.
The four weddings
On the very day Dasharatha made his grand gift of cattle, Bharata’s maternal uncle, Yudhajit, the son of the king of Kekaya, arrived at Mithila. Asking after Dasharatha’s welfare, he said, my father, the king of Kekaya, has out of affection asked after your welfare and added that all is well with those whose good you desire. My father wishes to see my sister’s son Bharata; for that I went to Ayodhya, but there I heard that you had come with your sons to Mithila for Rama’s wedding, and so I came here in haste to see my nephew. Dasharatha received this dear guest with the highest honor. Passing the night with his sons and finishing his morning rites, the king reached the wedding pavilion with the sages at his head.
At the auspicious hour called Vijaya, Rama, adorned with every ornament and marked with the wedding tokens, came to the pavilion with his three brothers and with Vasishtha and the other great sages at their head. The holy Vasishtha said to Janaka, king, the noble Dasharatha waits with his sons in festive dress for the giver; a gift takes place only with the help of both giver and receiver. So perform the fine wedding rite and fulfill your duty. Janaka said, who is the doorkeeper who bars my entrance, and whose leave does the emperor wait for? What scruple can there be in one’s own house? This kingdom is as much yours as mine. My daughters, all their auspicious rites done, have come to the altar like blazing tongues of fire. I sit at this altar and wait for you; let all go unhindered, and why the delay?
Dasharatha came into the pavilion with his sons and the sages. Then Janaka said to Vasishtha, righteous sage, with the other sages perform the wedding rite of Rama, the delight of the world. Vasishtha said, so be it, and, placing Vishvamitra and the righteous Shatananda at his head, he built the altar in due form at the center of the pavilion and decked it on every side with sandal and flowers. On the altar he set plates of gold, colored jars with sprouts, shallow earthen cups full of sprouts, vessels for incense, conch vessels, the sruk and sruva ladles for the offerings, vessels of water for the guest, vessels full of parched grain, and vessels of unbroken rice dyed with turmeric. Strewing the altar evenly with kusha grass and setting the fire in place with the recitation of the sacred texts, Vasishtha poured the oblations into the fire with the proper rites.
Then Sita, adorned with every ornament, was brought and seated before the fire facing Rama, and Janaka said, this is my daughter Sita, who will share your duties with you. Accept her; take her hand in your own hand. May it be well with you; this most fortunate and faithful woman will follow you always like a shadow. Saying this, Janaka poured the mantra-hallowed water into Rama’s hand. In that moment the drums of the gods sounded, and the gods and sages, crying well done, well done, rained down flowers. Then, full of joy, Janaka said, come, Lakshmana; accept Urmila, whom I give; take her hand in your own, let there be no delay. Then to Bharata he said, delight of Raghu, take the hand of Mandavi in your own. And the righteous lord of Mithila said to Shatrughna, mighty-armed one, take the hand of Shrutakirti in your hand. You are all gentle and of good vows; be with your wives, sons of Kakutstha, and let there be no delay.
Hearing Janaka’s words, the four princes, following Vasishtha’s rite, took the hands of the four princesses in their own. Circling the fire, the altar, Janaka, and the sages, the great Raghavas, each with his bride, completed the wedding by the scriptural rite. From the sky, with the deep sound of drums and the notes of song and instruments, fell an abundant, shining rain of flowers. Companies of apsaras danced and Gandharvas sang sweetly; this was the wondrous sight seen at the wedding of the finest men of Raghu’s line. Amid that divine sound the men of great fire circled the fire three times and took each his bride. Then, with their brides, the Raghavas went to their lodgings, and the emperor too, with the sages and his kinsmen, followed after them, gazing with joy on the brides and grooms.
The gist: on the wedding day Bharata’s uncle Yudhajit arrives; Vasishtha builds the altar and makes the offerings, and the hands are joined, Rama and Sita, Lakshmana and Urmila, Bharata and Mandavi, Shatrughna and Shrutakirti, as the gods keep festival with drums and a rain of flowers.
Source: Srimad Valmiki Ramayana, Balakanda, Cantos 50-73 (Gita Press, Gorakhpur).
Based on: Valmiki Ramayana (Gita Press, Gorakhpur)