Faced with the prospect of breaking his word and disgracing the age-old tradition of his race, King Dasharatha slumped in his chair. He could not possibly live without Rāma, even for an hour. How could he send his cherished son to his death? Why was the sage holding him to his unlucky promise? All the happiness of the past sixteen years seemed to be slipping away as a dream dissolves into a nightmare. The good king, paralyzed by indecision, fell into a faint, unable to break his promise and unable to give his cherished son to Vishvāmitra.
In the heavens the gods trembled, for they knew that in his wrath, Vishvāmitra could wreak havoc on the hapless king.
Separated from Rāma I cannot live even for an hour.
—Bāla Kānda 20.8
CHAPTER 3
Rāma Conquers the Rākshasas and Receives Celestial Weapons
NO ONE DARED speak in the court of King Dasharatha. Vishvāmitra, who was once a famous warrior, was as renowned for his wrath as for his immense spiritual power. The gods in heaven shuddered, for even they would not be able to stop him from reducing the good King Dasharatha to ashes.
Only Vasishtha, who possessed equanimity acquired through long meditations, was not afraid. In the silence that followed Vishvāmitra’s angry words, the atmosphere tense as the sky between bursts of lightning, Vasishtha roused Dasharatha from his swoon with nourishing words.
“Dear King,” he said, “remember who you are. Never in the long line of Ikshvākus has a monarch broken his word. You have promised Vishvāmitra to fulfill any desire; it is only fitting that you keep your word. Brahmarishi Vishvāmitra is asceticism incarnate; he is supreme virtue personified. He is not asking you to do anything that will harm you or your son Rāma. On the contrary, the holy Vishvāmitra could destroy the rākshasas all by himself. It is for Rāma’s sake alone that he is asking this. He knows Rāma’s strength, and he knows that Rāma will be in no danger. This will only bring greater glory to Rāma. Rise up, O king of kings! Do not fear. All will be well.”
These encouraging words revived King Dasharatha as the gentle rain revives the parched desert. Braced by Vasishtha’s clear discourse, he remembered his duty. Confident that his trusted preceptor, the blameless Vasishtha, foresaw no harm for Rāma, King Dasharatha called Rāma to his side, along with Lakshmana, for the two were inseparable.
“O Rāma,” said King Dasharatha, gazing at his sons tenderly. “Brahmarishi Vishvāmitra wishes you and your brother Lakshmana to accompany him on a journey. Obey him as you would your own father, and serve him as you would your own preceptor, Vasishtha. Please him in every way, and bring glory to yourself and the entire line of the Ikshvākus.”
“Yes, Father,” said Rāma. “As you wish.”
With the blessings of their father, mother, and guru, Rāma and his brother Lakshmana, only sixteen years old, gathered their bows and arrows and set off with the great sage Vishvāmitra on a journey to his āshram. As they left, the wind wafted sweet breezes, full with the scent of vanilla blossoms, and the gods showered flower petals on their path. Drums and conches hailed their auspicious departure.
After walking south of the capital, the three came to the banks of the River Sarayu.
“Beloved child,” said the warrior-sage Vishvāmitra to Rāma, “purify yourself in the waters and then I will teach you the Science of Bala and Atibala (strength and that which surpasses strength).”
The brilliant and pure Rāma and the faithful Lakshmana purified themselves by bathing in the river. When they were ready to receive the teaching of warfare, Vishvāmitra said to Rāma,
Neither hunger nor thirst will be known to you,
nor fever, fatigue, old age.
Wedded to grace, beauty, skill,
learning, intelligence, and eloquence,
you will grow in imperishable glory
in all fields of life.
Know bala and atibala,
nourish them with deep meditation.
Enjoy the fruits of your virtue,
O immortal hero.
Imbued with the supreme energy of this ancient knowledge, shining like the sun in autumn, the radiant Rāma shed even greater brilliance all around.
After resting in the āshram of the sage Kama, Vishvāmitra, followed by the pure and radiant Rāma and his loyal brother Lakshmana, crossed the River Sarayu and faced a desolate forest.
“Great Sage,” said Rāma with his compassionate smile, “this wood is dark and sinister. Rather than the happy call of mating birds, the frightening roar of beasts echoes through it. What caused this forest to be overgrown with thorns and twisted, leafless trees?”
“Beloved Rāma,” said Vishvāmitra, “long ago two prosperous cities were built here by the Devas. But then an evil demoness was born nearby. Her name is Tātakā. Possessed of the strength of a thousand elephants, she allows no one to pass through here unharmed. She has made uninhabitable this place, once a garden of the gods.
“Tātakā lives only five miles from here,” he continued. “To pass through these Tātakā Woods alive, you must slay her. You will incur no sin by ridding the world of this oppressive and monstrous evil.”
Rāma listened carefully, and with a free heart he bowed to Vishvāmitra. “O most compassionate Rishi, as my father has instructed me to follow your command, I will kill the evil Tātakā and bring happiness to the people of this forest.”
Then the all-powerful Rāma lifted his bow and plucked its string. Like a clap of thunder, the sound of Rāma’s bow reverberated through the forest and struck the ears of Tātakā, who stood at the far end of the forest. Enraged, she ran toward them.
Gigantic and monstrously ugly, as wide as five elephants, she towered over the giant wild jack trees of the forest. Her mouth was as big as a cave, her teeth cracked and broken. Her eyes were slits of blind fury.
Most young men would have taken one look and fled in fear. But the steadfast Rāma was filled with righteous anger. “See how she strikes terror in the hearts of good people,” Rāma said to Lakshmana. “She is a master of the evil arts. Still, she is a woman, so I will not kill her.”
As Rāma spoke, the terrifying monster of cavernous mouth and red tongue rushed at the boys, howling.
“Jai Rāma!” Vishvāmitra shouted. “Victory to Rāma of the illustrious house of Raghu!”
Bearing down on them like a tornado, the demoness Tātakā churned clouds of dust that blinded Rāma and Lakshmana. Showers of rocks rained on the brothers. But these only increased the wrath of Rāma and glanced off his strong body as the rain glides off a rock.
Seeing that her weapons were useless, the demoness used her powers of black magic to disappear. Yet her invisibility didn’t prevent her from hurling bigger and bigger boulders on Rāma and Lakshmana.
“Enough,” called out Vishvāmitra. “O compassionate Rāma, if you spare her life, she will continue to rain down evil on my sacred yagyas. For the sake of the sages of the forest, now is the time to kill her. Night is creeping upon us, and her powers will increase with the onset of darkness.” He pointed to the spot where the invisible creature was hiding, as he could see her with his divine sight.
The obedient Rāma shot a barrage of lightning-quick arrows at the spot where Vishvāmitra pointed. Pierced by Rāma’s arrows, the terrible Tātakā became visible again and rushed at the boys with a roar. Rāma shot a single, swift arrow through her heart.
Like clouds giving way to thunder, the evil monster’s body crashed to the earth. From the heavens, the voices of Indra and the other Devas cried out, “Well done, O Rāma!”
And to Vishvāmitra they cried, “May prosperity shower upon thee, O fortunate sage. Honor these youths for freeing the forest of evil. Offer Rāma and his brother celestial weapons of all kinds, for these two are destined for great things.”
Overflowing with happiness, Vishvāmitra clasped the head of the youthful warrior and blessed him.
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br /> And as they rejoiced in victory, the dreadful Tātakā Woods suddenly sighed with the soft breath of spring. A moment later the trees burst into delicate blossoms, birds caroled cheerful songs, and young deer leapt playfully on forest paths.
There the three spent the night, resting under the canopy of the blossoming magnolia tree. As the sun set, the two princes massaged the feet of their teacher. Then they, too, lay down, the starry night enfolding them like a blanket. There they slept, lulled by the lapping of the river, nourished by the praise of Vishvāmitra.
—
DAWN WASHED THE new sky with delicate hues when Vishvāmitra awakened Rāma.
The two young men bathed in the holy river and sat at Vishvāmitra’s feet.
“O Rāma of fearless heart, I am pleased with your valor,” said Vishvāmitra. “Now I will bestow upon you the celestial weapons.” He gestured for Rāma to sit beside him.
“Know this,” said Vishvāmitra. “Divine weapons are made powerful by the silence of your mind, the purity of your heart, and the strength of your spirit. Only by virtue of sacred mantras (Vedic sounds) will these weapons hit their mark. Go deep within your mind and receive from me the celestial disc of Vishnu, the spear of Shiva and the thunderbolt of Indra.”
Facing east, seated on kusha grass, the holy sage closed his eyes and whispered the mantras to Rāma, who repeated them with eyes closed. A different missile appeared each time Rāma repeated another mantra. In this way, Vishvāmitra bestowed on Rāma hundreds of weapons of all the Devas, which he himself had received from Lord Shiva as a reward for his great purity of heart and mind, earned through years of meditation. After Rāma received the weapons, Sage Vishvāmitra bestowed them on Lakshmana in the same way.
Later that day, his quiver bursting with powerful weapons unknown on earth, the illustrious Rāma followed the great sage Vishvāmitra on the path through the forest, with Lakshmana close behind him. From afar, the sensitive Rāma spotted a peaceful place ahead, which emanated a profound silence.
“O revered Rishi,” asked Rāma respectfully, “is this your quiet refuge, which you wish us to protect? I feel the breath of serenity emanating from it like perfume, but I also see the dark cloud hanging over it. Please show us the ceremonial place where you conduct the yagyas, and we will destroy the evil obstructions to your holy acts today!”
Pleased by Rāma’s eagerness to fulfill his duties, the sage wasted no time in preparing for the yagya. After a night’s rest, and the morning ablutions and prayers, he and his disciples seated themselves by the ceremonial fire at the auspicious moment.
Rāma asked quietly, “At what time during the yagya will the rākshasas attack? We must be prepared.”
The disciples were cheered in their hearts that the intelligent Rāma wished to help them. The eldest disciple answered, “O esteemed prince, the rākshasas could attack at any moment during the six days and nights of the sacrifice. During this time, the holy sage Vishvāmitra will be bound by a vow of silence.”
Soon Vishvāmitra began the yagya with offerings of ghee and rice. His disciples joined him in chanting sacred mantras and pouring ghee on the yagya fire.
The brave princes kept watch for five days and nights without closing their eyes even for a moment. They scanned the sky repeatedly, looking for any intrusion. Finally, on the dawn of the sixth day, Rāma said to Lakshmana, “Today they will come!”
At that moment the ceremonial fire blazed higher, as if in agreement, illuminating heaps of orange marigolds, golden bowls of liquid ghee, and the glowing faces of the holy men gathered around.
Suddenly the sky turned dark and threatening, and a thunderous chaos of shouting, screaming, and laughing filled the air. Showers of bones and blood rained on the golden altar and nearly extinguished the fire.
Rāma and Lakshmana, filled with righteous anger, drew their formidable weapons. “I will scatter these evil creatures like the wind,” said Rāma. After invoking the sacred mantra, he let loose the celestial weapon of Manu. It struck Mārīcha, the most powerful of the demons present, and hurled him one hundred yojanas into the sea.
“Mārīcha has only been stunned, but the others I will not spare,” said Rāma. His eyes blazing with power, he seized the Agni weapon and, after invoking the mantra, hurled it at the other rākshasas. Without flinching, Rāma and Lakshmana expertly fired the celestial weapons bestowed upon them by Vishvāmitra and destroyed the entire army of murderous demons.
Then just as suddenly as the tumult had started, all was silent. The happy song of birds once again filled the forest. Peace pervaded the āshram and washed away the darkness as the sages completed their yagya. They chanted the Veda and ladled ghee on the fire, uttering “svāhā” (hail).
After the yagya, the sages gathered around the youthful brothers. “Glory to Rāma!” they cried. “Glory to Lakshmana! May happiness be yours!”
At last the holy men were freed from the evil cloud of destruction. No more would creatures of darkness spoil their sacred acts. No more would rākshasas extinguish their sacred fires. No longer would they be hindered in bringing peace to all.
“O Rāma,” said Vishvāmitra, “you have brought glory to your father and the entire Ikshvāku line. Tomorrow I will take you on another journey, to the fabled kingdom of Janaka, the philosopher-king, who is conducting a special contest. There you will find the rare and magical bow of Shiva, bestowed upon the worthy King Janaka by the Devas. No one has been able to lift this colossal bow—neither Deva, nor asura, nor rākshasa, nor man. A great competition among monarchs is going on as we speak, to see who will raise the great bow above his head in victory. I believe you are worthy to try.”
The obedient Rāma, his heart filled with joyful anticipation, bowed to Vishvāmitra. That night, as they rested in the peaceful hermitage, the brave Rāma and Lakshmana smiled, having accomplished their purpose, and dreamed of the journey to come.
That night, as they rested in the peaceful hermitage,
the brave Rāma and Lakshmana smiled, having accomplished
their purpose, and dreamed of the journey to come.
—Bāla Kānda 31.1
CHAPTER 4
Rāma Frees Ahalyā
THE NEXT MORNING, the two princes, the sage, and his disciples set out on their journey. While before the two brothers had walked silently through the forest with the great Rishi Vishvāmitra, now they were part of a long train of a hundred bullock carts. As the wagons lumbered past tall trees and cool streams, the āshram’s birds, cows, deer, and antelope followed them. After a few leagues, the compassionate Vishvāmitra implored the gentle animals to return home, where they would be safe.
The travelers continued on their pleasant journey, stopping to bathe in the River Shona when the sun sank near the horizon. There the sage and his disciples performed their evening meditations and sacred rites as darkness gathered round. Later, after the two resplendent princes massaged the feet of the perfected sage, he told them stories of their illustrious ancestors.
The second day, as they approached King Janaka’s city of Mithilā, the holy men cried “Wonderful! Wonderful!” for they could see the graceful outline of the city, her buildings artfully painted in radiant colors.
The party camped for the evening in a woods outside the city. Rāma and Lakshmana went exploring. They came upon an abandoned āshram, its crumbling walls overgrown with vines. There was something eerie about this silent place where the chants of pandits once filled the air, and without entering they returned to their camp.
Later that evening, after he and Lakshmana massaged the feet of Vishvāmitra, Rāma asked, “O revered sage, tell us the story of that deserted hermitage. Who lived there? Why did they leave?”
“The great ascetic Gautama lived there with his wife, Ahalyā, who was famed for her beauty,” said Vishvāmitra. “She was so radiant that Indra came down from heaven to see her.”
&nbs
p; Rāma listened with wonder as the sage Vishvāmitra told the following story.
One morning, while the holy Gautama was bathing in the river, Indra disguised himself as Gautama and approached the lovely Ahalyā as if he were her husband. Ahalyā knew that he was Indra in disguise, but out of curiosity, she yielded to his embrace. Afterward, she panicked and urged him to leave. “O God of a thousand eyes, go now quickly. Do not reveal yourself to Gautama!” she cried.
But as fate would have it, just as Indra hurried away, he nearly collided with the powerful sage Gautama, who was returning home after bathing in the river. Seeing Indra trembling with fear, disguised in Gautama’s own body, that bull among sages swelled with rage. “O perverse one,” he cursed. “To repay you for this forbidden act, may you never have children!”
To Ahalyā, he said, “O betrayer of truth! You have not used your beauty to enhance your spirit. May you turn invisible, so none can enjoy your beauty, and exist here alone for thousands of years.”
No longer desiring to remain in his tainted āshram, Gautama prepared to retire to the pure air of the Himālayas. As he was leaving, Gautama took pity on his wife, who was dear to his heart, and softened his curse. “When the compassionate Rāma walks these grounds, you will return to your beautiful form and offer him hospitality. Then your sin will be absolved.”
“And so, dear son,” concluded Vishvāmitra, “go to the āshram tomorrow and liberate the virtuous Ahalyā.”
The next morning, Rāma, Lakshmana, and Vishvāmitra rose early and quietly entered the hermitage that had been abandoned by Gautama so long ago. There they were greeted by the shining Ahalyā, who became visible the moment she set eyes on Rāma. She had grown even more brilliant from her many years of silence.
Falling at the feet of Rāma, her eyes brimming with tears of gratitude, Ahalyā paid homage to her liberator with hands folded in respect. True to Gautama’s prophecy, she offered Rāma and Lakshmana hospitality, water to drink and fruit to eat. She met them with the traditional greeting, circling their heads with the light of a ghee lamp, paying them every reverence, as was traditional for guests at the āshram.
The Ramayana Page 4