Then Sītā modestly added, “You already know everything there is to be known about Dharma. How could anyone instruct you, O Rāma? But please think over what I have said and then do what you feel is best.”
Rāma, who loved his wife dearly, was filled with delight at Sītā’s words. “You have spoken these words in affection, my darling Sītā, and they are noble words, worthy of your birth. How can I answer you? As you said yourself, it is the Dharma of a warrior to carry a bow to save those in peril, and the sages of the Dandaka Forest are in peril. They begged me to protect them from the night-roving, man-eating rākshasas, who like to attack them at the fire offerings and when the moon is full.
“My heart broke to see those venerable sages kneeling before me, when I should be kneeling to them, for it is they who are the true refuge of the world. Loath to use their hard-won powers to curse the rākshasas, the sages asked me to destroy the evil demons with my bow and arrows. Responding to their plea for help, I made a promise, and thus I must honor it as long as I have breath in my body. It is my duty to defend them in any case—but now that I have given my word, I would yield up my life, and even yours or Lakshmana’s, my beloved, before I would dishonor my vow.
“So even though I cannot give up my arms, having made this vow to protect the saints of the Dandaka Forest, it makes me happy to hear your words, my lovely one, for we offer advice only to those we truly love. Your words befit your high-souled nature. It is by following the path of Dharma that you have become dearer to me than life itself.”
And so the two brothers and the princess wandered through the dense twilight of the Dandaka Forest. They roamed over hills, flowering groves, and lotus-covered pools, their only companions the families of bears, herds of elephants, horned buffaloes wallowing in riverbeds, and flocks of birds darkening the sky.
Whenever they came to a hermitage, they were welcomed by the sages there. Sometimes they stayed for a few months, sometimes a year. In this way, imbued with the peaceful rhythms of forest life, the three blissfully passed ten years of their exile honoring the Rishis.
At the end of ten years, having visited many āshrams of the Dandaka Forest, Rāma and his cherished wife Sītā, followed by the faithful Lakshmana, returned once more to the āshram of Sutīkshna. There they dwelled happily for some time in the company of the wise.
From Dharma flows wealth, from Dharma flows happiness.
Adhering to Dharma, one obtains everything.
The heart of this world is Dharma.
—Āranya Kānda 9.30
CHAPTER 19
Rishi Agastya Gives Rāma Celestial Weapons
“The season I love best is here,”
Lakshmana said to his brother Rāma
as he drew water from the river.
“Frost covers the earth,
making it sparkle like a jewel.
The ground is cold to sleep upon,
and fire dispels the chill.
The country folk enjoy their harvest
of ripened grains with milk and butter.
“Kings dream of conquest
and embark on ambitious quests.
The sun passes its equinox
and veers to the land of Yama,
leaving the northern sphere
as forlorn as a woman
without her tilaka mark.
The mountain peaks earn their name
‘Himālaya’—robed in snow.
“The midday sun kisses the skin softly
and is an agreeable friend.
Shade and water
are no longer one’s companions.
Dove-gray mists blot the sun,
and crisp winds play in calm forests.
“No one sleeps in the open
from the cold Pushya month on,
for the moon is shrouded in clouds,
and the west wind sprinkled
with snowflakes.
“Golden barley and wheat stalks rustle,
swaying gracefully as the date flower,
and the plaintive call of the heron
sounds through the woods at dawn.
“In the pale morning sun
elephants snap back their trunks
from the cold water,
and geese clutch the river banks,
afraid to dive in.
Grassy glades sleep under frost blankets,
and the sweet taste of snowmelt lingers in the mouth.
This is why I praise winter,”
said Lakshmana,
devoted brother of Rāma.
One day, while Rāma, Sītā, and Lakshmana sat in silence at the feet of Sutīkshna, Rāma said, “I wish to pay my respects to the high-souled sage Agastya. Where would I find him in this vast and mysterious forest?”
“I was just thinking myself,” said Sutīkshna, “that you should visit that esteemed Rishi of old. Why not start out today?” Then he told them how to find the āshram of Agastya’s brother, where they could spend the first night of their journey.
Rāma, Sītā, and Lakshmana walked quickly past clear mountain lakes and streams, elated to be meeting the great Agastya at last. As they walked, Rāma told Sītā and Lakshmana a story of the renowned saint. “Rishi Agastya made it safe to live in the South,” he said. “With the power of his radiance, he destroyed the two asura brothers named Ilvala and Vātāpi, who made a sport of killing thousands of Brahmins here. Neither rākshasa nor asura dare threaten this area now.”
After spending the night in the āshram of Agastya’s brother, the three set out again. As they walked in the direction he had indicated, Rāma said to Lakshmana, “The hermitage of Agastya must be nearby. See how various types of flowering trees are heavy with fruits and nuts, their fragrance sweetening the air. See how it is shady and cool here, and herds of tame deer walk without fear. Do you hear the sweet call of songbirds, and feel your fatigue lifting in this peaceful place? See the smoke of ghee-fed fires, like the crest of black clouds. The walks are lined with auspicious darbha grass, brilliant as blue sapphire.”
Enchanted by the beauty of this place, Rāma said, “The South is celebrated in all three worlds because the renowned sage Agastya lives here. At his request, the great Vindhya Mountains, which tried to block the sun and moon, stopped growing. Here the Gandharvas, perfected beings known as siddhas gather, attracted by his purity. In his radiant light, neither liar nor evildoer can live. From here enlightened sages, having earned the fruit of their tapas, ascend to heaven in celestial chariots and become immortal in other worlds. I will ask this celebrated sage where we should live, and he will guide us.”
They reached the āshram at the end of the day. After Lakshmana requested an audience, the radiant Agastya himself greeted them, shedding light all around like the sun. “I have been waiting for your visit,” he said to Rāma. “You are the king of all the world, and the upholder of Dharma. You deserve all honor.” Agastya and disciples offered the guests a seat, washed the dust from their feet, and circled their heads with light from a ghee lamp. Then they brought water and large trays of fruits to eat.
After the three travelers were refreshed, the sage Agastya gave Rāma auspicious gifts. He asked one of his disciples to bring a magnificent bow, studded with jewels and flashing with gold. Agastya handed the bow to Rāma. “This is the celestial bow, made by the divine artist Vishvakarman, that Vishnu wielded to vanquish the asuras in battle, bringing untold power and glory to the gods. Here is a golden arrow, brilliant like the sun, given to me by Lord Brahmā. None can ever escape it. These two quivers, for you and Lakshmana, can never be emptied of arrows. They were bestowed upon me by Lord Shiva. Here is a sword with a golden hilt and scabbard. Take the bow, arrow, quivers, and sword, endowed with the powers of the celestials, and use them to conquer your foes, as Indra conquers all with the thunderbolt.”
Rāma thanked the sage with his hands folded and his head bowed in respect.
Then Rishi Agastya said, “O mightiest of warriors, I am happy that you have come to visit me. Through my intuition and my affection for you, I know all that has happened to you and Dasharatha. Blessed is King Dasharatha to have his honor upheld by a son such as you. It pleases me also to see Lakshmana, who tirelessly serves you, and Sītā, who is so devoted to you. The journey has fatigued you, and it has also been a strain on Sītā, who has been delicately brought up in all comfort, yet left her royal home because of her love for you. By following you, she has faced tremendous hardships. Be careful, Rāma, to be certain that she is happy here. Unlike other women, who love their husbands only when they meet with prosperity, she is free from all sin and is a model to all others.”
Rāma smiled at the magnanimous sage, whose radiance blazed like an open fire. “You have blessed us many times over by your honors and wise counsel. I would be grateful if you could tell us of a place, secluded by trees and near pure water, where we could set up our hermitage.”
“There is a place nearby called Panchavatī, where flowers never stop blooming beside the crystal waters of the River Godāvarī,” said the magnanimous Agastya. “It is a pleasant and secluded spot, near five ancient fig trees, and dates and mangoes abound. Having completed most of the years of your exile, you can live there until you return to rule your kingdom. I think Sītā will be very happy in Panchavatī.”
Rāma, Lakshmana, and Sītā respectfully took leave of Rishi Agastya, thanking him again and again, and set out for Panchavatī that day.
As they strolled through the forest, Rāma and Lakshmana saw a giant vulture sitting on a branch of a tall evergreen tree. He was so enormous that at first they thought he must be a rākshasa.
Yet Rāma addressed him respectfully. “I am Rāma. May I know who you are, revered elder?”
“I am a friend of your father,” answered the great bird.
Rāma, delighted to meet his father’s friend, greeted him warmly. He asked the bird’s name and inquired about his family.
“I am Jatāyu, king of the vultures, son of Aruna,” answered the bird with dignity. Then he told them the story of the ancient ones, and how, in the milky dawn of creation, they gave birth to birds and all other creatures—cows, horses, lions, elephants, bears, and monkeys. Jatāyu himself was born at the beginning of time.
“I will live near you,” the venerable bird said to Rāma, “and watch over Sītā while you and Lakshmana are away hunting.”
Rāma, touched by Jatāyu’s kind offer, bowed to the ancient bird and embraced his feet. He thanked him for protecting Sītā. Taking leave of his father’s friend, Rāma led the way to Panchavatī. The woods appeared just as Agastya had described them.
“We have arrived at the place of five fig trees,” said Rāma, gesturing to the ancient trees, their branches spread wide to offer shade. “Lakshmana, you are the expert in building forest homes. Choose a place that will make Sītā happy, with a pool or spring nearby, a beautiful landscape to gaze upon, and plenty of branches and kusha grass to build a hut with.”
Folding his hands in reverence, Lakshmana said, “Even if you live to be a hundred, I will always be your servant. Therefore, you choose the spot that pleases you, and I will build the hermitage there.”
His heart flooded with love for his younger brother Lakshmana, Rāma selected the site. Then, clasping his brother’s hands in his, he said, “Here is a glorious place that is level, teeming with trees in flower and a pool wreathed in lotuses. The River Godāvarī flows nearby, with swans and geese flocking around. The cry of peacocks echoes through the hills, and herds of deer frequent the woods. Mango, jackfruit, and āmalaka trees offer abundant fruits, and hundreds of flowering trees and vines shower the banks of the river with blossoms. There is a holy and pure feeling in the air. We will live here happily with Jatāyu as our friend. Here you should build a pleasant hermitage.”
Lakshmana built the hut, and they entered it after performing the yagya for a happy dwelling. They lived there for several seasons.
One winter’s day, as he drew water from the river for Rāma and Sītā, Lakshmana said, “Winter makes me think of our brother Bharata, who must be suffering from the cold in this season. I cannot bear to think that at this very moment, in the darkness before dawn, he who was raised in luxury is bathing in the cold River Sarayu.
“Ever devoted to you, he has spurned the kingdom to spend his days fasting and his nights sleeping on the freezing ground. He speaks sweetly and lives his whole life for you. By serving you, the faithful Bharata has won his place in heaven. It has been said that men take after their mothers, but he has proven the opposite, for he is completely unlike his cruel-hearted mother.”
“We must never speak ill of our mother,” said Rāma. “But please, continue in your praises of Bharata. Although I am resolved to live fourteen years in the forest, my love for Bharata makes me wish it were over. I long to hear his loving words, which soothe my soul like the nectar of the gods. O Lakshmana, when will we four brothers be together again?”
Rāma and Lakshmana bathed in the cold River Godāvarī and performed Sūrya namaskāra, saluting the rising sun. After his morning prayers and meditation, Rāma shone like Shiva, accompanied by the bull Nandi and Pārvatī, the daughter of the Himālaya. In the company of Sītā and Lakshmana, Rāma lived in Panchavatī like a god in heaven.
Here is a glorious place that is level, surrounded by trees in flower.
Here you should build a pleasant hermitage.
—Āranya Kānda 15.10
CHAPTER 20
Rāma Defeats Shūrpanakhā, Khara, and Fourteen Thousand Demons
There is a youthful prince,
son of King Dasharatha—
his powerful arms
reach to his knees.
His broad muscular chest
angles to his waist
like a tight fist to the wrist.
They call him Rāma.
Never defeated in battle,
he equals Indra in prowess.
He battled an army of demons
alone, and won.
He multiplied himself
fourteen thousand times,
so each demon faced the
purifying fire called Rāma,
and attained liberation.
His eyes red,
his voice swelling like a kettledrum,
he destroyed all foes
with his golden-winged arrows.
Virtuous and brave,
he swallows oceans
in his wrath against wrongdoing.
He turns rivers in their courses,
shatters the ground,
shivers the planets and stars.
He lifts the earth
and spins it on his finger,
rolls seas over continents,
raises mountains
from the watery deep.
He conquers all evil
and directs the wind itself,
creating a new universe.
Rāma spent his days quietly in his humble āshram at Panchavatī. Often the sages of the area would gather around him under the arbor in front of his hut. With Sītā by his side, Rāma shone like the moon in spring. Rāma entertained the sages with legends of great men and women of long ago.
One day, as Rāma sat under the arbor, a rākshasī happened by. Stunned by Rāma’s radiant good looks, she stood staring at his broad, massive shoulders, and thin waist; his thick, shining locks; his dark, smooth, blue-tinted complexion; his delicately formed features; his confident air of authority; his winning and compassionate smile; his eyes like lotus petals; and his demeanor royal and majestic as an elephant.
She was the opposite of him in every way. His voice was clear and melodious, her ras
py voice croaked harshly; his eyes were open and trusting, hers squinted in malice; he radiated youth, she looked old and withered; he spoke truth, she spoke lies; he pursued the path of Dharma, she pursued the path of evil. In every way that she repulsed others, he filled them with charm. Yet this hideous rākshasī was struck with a burning passion for Rāma.
“Who are you?” she asked, her voice hoarse. “And why do you wear your hair matted like a hermit when you carry a bow and arrow and live with your wife?”
“I am Rāma, son of Dasharatha,” said Rāma in his calm and simple way. “I have come to this place to fulfill a vow to my father. This is my brother and my wife. And now would you tell us who you are and why you are here? By your charms, you appear to be a rākshasī.”
Her heart pounding with runaway infatuation, she said, “I am Shūrpanakhā, a rākshasī who can change into any form I desire. I terrorize these woods as I wander about. My eldest brother is the all-powerful Rāvana, who rules the world. My other brothers are the sleeping giant Kumbhakarna, the famous warriors Khara and Dūshana, and the virtuous Vibhīshana, who is not like the rest of us at all.”
Then she smiled lovingly at Rāma and said, “I have taken a liking to you. Why do you live with such a distasteful wife, who is so pale and thin, when you could live with one of equal beauty, like me? I am much more powerful, being able to manifest any thought at will. I will devour your ugly wife today, as well as your brother. Then you and I, who are suited for each other in every way, can roam these woods as our pleasure garden.”
Rāma suppressed a laugh, not wishing to hurt the rākshasī’s feelings. He gently teased her, saying, “I am attached to my wife, and you are not the sort to live with a co-wife. Take my brother instead. He is handsome and youthful, and he needs a spouse. Enjoy him without a rival, as Mount Meru enjoys the sunlight.”
Having no sense of humor, the rākshasī did not realize she was being teased. She stopped gazing raptly at Rāma and immediately focused on Lakshmana, who stood beside Rāma as handsome as the god of love. “I am a beautiful and worthy wife for you. Come with me and we will wander the Dandaka Forest together.”
The Ramayana Page 16