BOOK SEVEN

UTTARA KANDA

{The book of the north}

 

1. In Rama’s sabha

When Rama was crowned king in Ayodhya, the rishis of the four quarters came to bless him. Kaushika, Yavakrita, Gargya, Gadava, Kanva, and Muni Medhatithi’s son: all these holy ones who dwelt in the east came to the sabha of the House of the Sun. From the west came Nrisangu, Kavasa, Dhaumya, and Kauseya. From the south came Swastayatreya, Namuchi, Pramuchi, Agastya, Sumukha, and Vimukha. From the north, and with their disciples, came Vasishta, Kashyapa, Viswamitra, Atri, Gautama, Jamadagni, and Bharadvaja: seven sages.

Led by Agastya, the rishis were announced and led into Rama’s sabha. They were radiant as the rising sun, and Rama offered them padya and arghya. Soon they were seated in his ancient court on darbhasanas covered in deerskin.

One of the wise said, “We have heard about your great exploit in Lanka, Rama; we are amazed that Lakshmana and you could kill Ravana’s son Indrajit.”

In mild surprise, Rama asked, “Munis, does it surprise you more that we killed Indrajit than that we killed his father Ravana and his uncle Kumbhakarna? Why, my lords?”

With a smile, Agastya said, “Indrajit was invincible. But Rama, perhaps you do not know very much about that rakshasa prince, or even his father. Let me tell you about their clan.

“It was in the krita yuga, an age ago, that the Muni Pulastya lived in the world. He was Brahma’s son, and resembled the Pitamaha in every quality. All the Gods blessed Pulastya and he came to Mount Meru, to an asrama that belonged to King Trinabindu upon the slopes of the golden mountain, and dwelt there in tapasya for an age.

“But the Rajarishi Trinabindu’s asrama was like a bit of heaven fallen into the world. Unearthly trees grew here, and there were lakes and pools whose water was like amrita. So it was that the daughters of rishis, and naginas, gandharvis, kinnaris, and apsaras came to bathe, sing, and frolic in the enchanted hermitage. The young women disturbed Pulastya’s dhyana, and he said in anger, ‘Let any woman whom my eyes see here become pregnant.’

“And in fear the apsaras, kinnaris, gandharvis, rishis’ daughters, and the other young women no longer visited that asrama. But King Trinabindu’s daughter did not hear about Pulastya’s curse. She arrived in her father’s sanctuary on a clear morning in spring, and she heard the Vedas being chanted sonorously in a voice more fine and reverberant than any she had ever heard. Innocently, the princess came and stood before the godlike rishi she saw sitting under an unworldly nyagrodha tree.

“Pulastya’s angry gaze fell upon Trinabindu’s exquisite daughter, and at once she felt the strangest sensation in her loins and her belly. She turned as pale as a lodhra flower and ran in fear from the sage under his tree. The princess came trembling before her father, and he asked her, ‘What happened to you, my child?’

“Tears in her eyes, she said, ‘I do not know what happened to me, father. But I wandered into Pulastya Muni’s asrama, and when he looked at me I felt my body change, even as if it was not my own any more.’

“Trinabindu lapsed into dhyana, and in his meditation he saw what had happened. He learned of Pulastya’s curse. Taking his daughter with him, he went to the rishi’s asrama. He said to Brahma’s son, ‘Lord, I have brought my daughter to you. She will serve you faithfully and look after your every need.’

“Pulastya, who saw clearly through time, knew it was destined that the princess should remain with him. He looked at her for just a moment before he said to Trinabindu, ‘Leave her with me.’

“Thus King Trinabindu’s daughter became the Muni Pulastya’s wife. She looked after him so lovingly that one day soon the rishi said to her, ‘You are a good wife and I am pleased with you. You shall be the mother of my son.’

“And in time she gave birth to a truly brilliant child. Since she had listened every day to her husband chanting the Veda when she was pregnant, their boy was named Visravas. He was a remarkable boy, knowing and gentle even when he was young, and compassionate to every living creature.

“Visravas learned the Veda from his father, and quickly he also became a master of tapasya. He was pure and restrained, above every temptation of the flesh, and the great Bharadvaja gave his daughter, Devavarnini, who was as lovely as any apsara, to be Visravas’s wife. Visravas fathered a splendid son on Devavarnini, and that boy resembled his father so much the rishis of Devaloka named him Vaisravana.

“Vaisravana went into a tapovana and sat in dhyana in that forest’s heart like a flame upon the earth. He grew like a sacred fire fed with ghee. For a thousand years he sat in unflinching penance. He began by living on just water, then on only the air he breathed; and finally he did not respire any more, but was perfectly quiescent. The thousand years passed like a single one.

“At the end of a thousand years, Brahma himself, and Indra and his Devas, appeared before Vaisravana. The Pitamaha asked his great-grandson, ‘My child, tell me what boon you want from me. You can have anything.’

“Vaisravana said, ‘Lord, make me a guardian of the world, a Lokapala. And let me be a protector of the earth, a Lokarakshaka.’

“Brahma said, ‘I was about to create the fourth Lokapala. So now, you be that guardian. Be the Lord of wealth; be an equal to Indra, Varuna, and Yama.’

“The Creator raised his hands in a mystic mudra, and suddenly the most wonderful ship of the sky appeared above him, quiet as flowers, bright as a sun, quick as light. Brahma said to Vaisravana, This is the pushpaka vimana. From now on, you shall travel in it, wherever you wish to go.’

“Raising their hands over the kneeling Vaisravana, Brahma and the Devas vanished from the forest of his tapasya. Just then, Visravas arrived there to bless his son.

“Vaisravana said to his father, ‘Brahma has made me a Lokapala. He has given me this marvelous vimana. But he has not told me where I will live. You tell me where I can dwell without harming any living creature.’

“Visravas said, ‘A hundred yojanas out on the southern ocean, and to the east of Bharatavarsha, there is a mountain called Trikuta. Upon its summit is a splendid city called Lanka. Viswakarman created Lanka for the race of rakshasas to live in, just as he made Amravati for the Devas. Lanka has battlements of gold and silver moats surround it. Its portals are encrusted with precious cat’s-eyes. Long ago, the rakshasas fled Lanka for fear of Vishnu, and the city lies empty. You can live in Lanka, my son, without harming any of the living.’

“And so, Vaisravana, the pious Lord of treasures, began living in the deserted city of Lanka, upon the jade island of that name. Such was his dharma that he shone like another sun on the earth. Soon, drawn by his grace, a race of unearthly beings, the nairritas, came to Lanka, and they became Vaisravana’s people. His fame, and his city’s, spread through the world like the scent of flowers upon the wind. Lanka was a focus of fortune on earth. Its master journeyed wherever he pleased, through the three realms, in his pushpaka vimana. Most of all, he went frequently to visit his mother and his father in their asrama in Bharatavarsha,” said Agastya Muni in Rama’s court.

 

2. The race of rakshasas

Rama seemed surprised by what Agastya said. He asked, “My lord, I had heard the race of rakshasas was descended from Pulastya. But now, you say the rakshasas lived in Lanka before Vaisravana went there. Were those rakshasas as powerful as Ravana and his clan? Who was their ancestor, Muni? Why did Vishnu drive them out from Lanka?”

Agastya replied, “In the beginning, Prajapati was born of the first waters of the origin, in the lotus sprung from Vishnu’s navel. He entered the sacred waters and created the first creatures in them. Those great creatures were savaged by hunger and thirst, and they came howling to their Creator. They cried, ‘We are in pain; what shall we do?’

“Laughing, Prajapati said to them, ‘You must protect the waters with your very lives.’

“Some of his creatures said, ‘We shall.’ Others cried, ‘We must eat!’

“Prajapati said to those who would be protectors, ‘You shall be called rakshasas.’ To those who would eat, he said, ‘You shall be called yakshas.’

“Among the leaders of the rakshasas were two mighty brothers, Heti and Paheti, who lived at the same time as the dreadful Madhu and Kaitabha. Paheti was a pious rakshasa, and he went into a tapovana and sat in tapasya. Heti wanted a wife. He was married to Yama’s sister, Bhaya, whose very name meant fear. Heti fathered a son called Vidyutkesa.

“Vidyutkesa grew like a lotus in the holy and original waters. When he was full-grown, Heti had him married to Sandhya Devi’s daughter, Salakatankata, and Vidyutkesa enjoyed his bride as Indra does Paulomi. She conceived, and climbed Mount Mandara to give birth. Just as Ganga brought forth the Lord Karttikeya when Agni left Siva’s seed in her water, Salakatankata delivered a powerful child on the mountain. But she was so eager to make love again with her husband, after her long pregnancy, that she abandoned the child and returned to Vidyutkesa.

“The child, bright as the autumn sun, put his hand into his mouth and cried softly. That sound was like the rumbling of the thunderheads of the dissolution. It happened that Siva and Parvati were passing in the sky at that moment, riding on Nandisvara. Parvati heard the abandoned rakshasa child, Sukesa, crying; she was so moved she made him full-grown in a moment and immortal as well. Uma also blessed all rakshasa women with a boon: that their children shall be born as soon as they are conceived, so they would not be deprived of even a day’s lovemaking, which they are so addicted to. Also, Parvati blessed the race of rakshasas, that all their children shall be full-grown as soon as they are born.

“Then Siva also blessed that demon Sukesa with untold wealth. And he gave him a luminous city to live in, a city that flew through the air and went anywhere at the rakshasa’s wish. Sukesa flew through all the worlds in his city, and he became arrogant because of the boons he had. Yet he was not without the dharma that flowed in his very blood from his pious sires.

“When Gramani, the gandharva, saw Sukesa with his wealth and his city of the air, he gave his daughter Devavati to that rakshasa to be his wife. The lovely gandharvi was as pleased as a pauper who finds a treasure and the rakshasa was as delighted as an elephant in musth that finds a mate.

“Sukesa sired three sons on Devavati: Malyavan, Sumali, and Mali. They were as brilliant as the three fires of sacrifice, as steadfast as the three worlds, as powerful as the three Vedas, and as dreadful as the three diseases that afflict the body. Those boys knew their father had his boons from the Lord Siva by his dhyana. Those three young rakshasas climbed Mount Meru and began a tapasya that terrified all the created.

“When their penance threatened to ignite the very earth, the Lord Brahma appeared before the rakshasas in a vimana and said, ‘I have come to bless you with the boons you want.’

“The rakshasas, whose bodies shook from their long privations, answered him, ‘Lord, let us be long-lived, invincible, and may we all love one another.’

“Brahma granted them those boons and vanished from the sky like wealth won in a dream. Delivered from fear now, the demon brothers went where they liked and did as they pleased. An immense army of rakshasas followed them through the three realms. They had their way with every kingdom they came upon; none could resist them, and all creation went in fear of them. Finally, when they grew tired of their conquests, they came to Viswakarman, the divine builder, and said, ‘Master of edifices, build us a home as magnificent as Indra’s or Siva’s.’

“Viswakarman said to them, ‘In the southern sea, upon the island of Lanka, there is a mountain called Trikuta. Beside Trikuta is another mountain, Suvela. On Trikuta’s central peak is a fortress city that seems to float on air. Once I built that city at Indra’s behest. Its walls are so smooth only the birds of the air can come into Lanka. Rakshasas, you are the masters of your race, even as Indra is the lord of the Devas. As Indra lives in Amravati with his people, you may dwell in Lanka from now. And no enemy will reach you in that impregnable city, for its deep moats and its walls like glass.’

“Thus, Malyavan, Sumali, and Mali went to Lanka with their people, and when they saw the unearthly city, its streets paved with precious vaidurya, its mansions built of solid gold, they did not hesitate to make it their home.

“In that same time there lived a gandharvi called Narmada, and she had three daughters. Narmada knew Malyavan, Sumali, and Mali had gandharva blood in them, through their own mother. She knew they were masters of the earth by the boons Brahma had granted them. On a day when the Uttara Phalguni nakshatra was plain in the sky, she gave her three daughters to the rakshasas to be their wives.

“As the gandharvas of the air do with the apsaras of Devaloka, the young demons made love with their enchanting brides. Malyavan’s wife was called Sundari, and she was as beautiful as her name proclaimed. He gave her a brood of fierce and handsome sons: Vajramushti, Virupaksha, Yajnakopa, Durmukha, Suptaghna, Matta, and Unmatta. He also gave her a beautiful daughter, Anala.

“Sumali’s wife, Ketumati, was lovely as a full moon and dearer to her husband than his life. Their sons were called Prahastha, Akampana, Vikata, Kalikamukha, Dhrumraksha, Danda, Suparshva, Praghasa, and Bhasakarna. Their daughters were Raka, Pushpokata, Kaikasi, and Kumbheenasi.

“Mali’s lotus-eyed wife, Vasudha, the gandharvi, bore him two daughters, Anala and Anila, and two sons, Hara and Sampati. The boys became Vibheeshana’s ministers.

“With Brahma’s boon, and sons as mighty as they had, Malyavan, Sumali, and Mali soon conquered the Devas, the rishis, the nagas, and the yakshas. They ranged the worlds like the wind, and they ruined every yagna they found and killed the rishis who performed them. Their hubris and savagery grew with their power, and the terrified Devas came to Siva, the Un-born, the God of Gods, and cried, ‘Mahadeva, Sukesa’s sons are the bane of the worlds. We have no sanctuary anywhere in creation. They come to Amravati when they please, drive us from our homes, and cry that they are Brahma, Vishnu, and Siva; that they are Indra, Soma, Surya, Vayu, Yama, Agni, and Varuna! We beg you, Lord, kill the rakshasas for our sake: there is no peace left in creation.’

“But Sukesa was Siva’s bhakta. Sankara said to the Devas, ‘The rakshasas’ death is not written at my hands. Go to Narayana; he will find a way to rid you of them.’

“The Devas flew to Vaikunta, to the home of the Blue God who lies upon the sea of eternity. Piteously, they said to him, ‘Vishnu, save us. Sukesa’s sons have Brahma’s boon and they torment us as they like. We beg you, cut open the rakshasas’ faces with your chakra; give them as a gift to Yama. Melt the fear from our hearts, Lord, even as the sun does the frost upon the mountain.’

“Slowly, Vishnu said, ‘Yes, I know Sukesa has Siva’s boons and I know his sons have Brahma’s blessing. I will kill them all for you, Devas. Be at peace.’

“When Malyavan heard what Vishnu had promised the Devas, he called his brothers and said, ‘The slayer of Hiranyaksha and Hiranyakashyapu, of Namuchi, Kalanemi, Samhrada, Radheya the mayyavi, the just Yamala, Arjuna, Hardikya, Sumbha, and Nisumbha, and a thousand other great Asuras and rakshasas, has said he will kill us, as well. How will we resist the terrible Vishnu?’

“Sumali and Mali said to their brother, their king, ‘We have imbibed the Vedas, we have been just rulers to our people. We have observed our rakshasa dharma and we have no enmity with Vishnu. It is the craven Devas who have poisoned Narayana’s mind against us. It is for their sake he has sworn to kill us. Let us kill the Devas and remove the very cause of Vishnu’s anger toward us.’

“A vast rakshasa army was mustered, with awesome commanders like Jambha and Vritra, and the demons prepared for war. Riding in vimanas and chariots, on elephants, horses big as elephants that trod air, sorcerous mules, bulls, camels, dolphins, serpents, crocodiles, tortoises, fish, swarms of great birds, vultures, eagles, and ravens big as Garuda, lions, tigers, panthers, boars, bears, and deer called srimara and chamara, the teeming demon army gathered in Lanka. Then, with legions of millions, the rakshasas set out to kill Indra’s Devas, by earth, sea, and air.

“Dreadful omens appeared everywhere. Clouds, formed suddenly in a clear sky, rained down pale bones and steaming blood. Jackal packs swarmed around the rakshasa legions and howled dismally. An uncanny ring of vultures wheeled above and breathed fire through their hooked beaks. All the creatures of the earth seemed disturbed, and the shrieks of a thousand races of birds rent the air, as did elephant herds’ terrified trumpeting; and jungles of great cats roared their anxiety above the sounds that every other living beast made. It seemed the very elements, the panchabhuta, would dissolve and the worlds would be undone. Scarlet-footed pigeons and vivid mynahs darted above the rakshasas in frenzy.

“But the rakshasas were the sovereigns of the three worlds. They were swollen with the pride of their conquests, their wealth, and their power. They paid no mind to the omens that would have moved a blind and deaf man to fear for his life. The demon army rode on, and Malyavan, Sumali, and Mali at its head were like the three flames of the apocalypse. And the rest relied on these three as the Devas do upon the Trimurti.

“The rakshasas streamed on toward the Devas’ city. Vishnu saw them and he filled his twin quivers with arrows, mounted Garuda, and flew down to fight. He was as bright as a hundred suns, his armor gleaming, the Panchajanya and the Sudarshana, the Saringa and the Kaumodaki glittering in his four dark hands. He wore a shining garment, like a wrap of lightning across his body blue as a thunderhead.

“Some legions of the rakshasa army were blown away by the wind stirred by Garuda’s wings. The golden eagle was like a flying mountain. Then, roaring, the rakshasas rallied. They surrounded Vishnu and assailed him with every manner of ayudha and astra. As locusts fly into a paddy field, bees into a jar of honey, moths into a great flame, crocodiles into the sea, and the worlds themselves into Mahavishnu at the dissolution, the demons’ arrow swarms flew into blue Narayana.

“They struck him, they even drew blood; but they did not harm the Blue One. Then he drew back his own bowstring and loosed a tide of arrows at the rakshasas. Narayana’s cloudbanks of arrows, his streams, his rillets, his rivers of arrows, cut down the demons in thousands, in hundreds of thousands, in an eyeflash, in a wink. Blood, too, flowed in waves, in frothing brooks, in rivulets, in a sea, at Purushottama’s cosmic archery.

“Vishnu raised his sea conch and blew a blast on it deep as the sky. The rakshasas’ mounts turned tail in absolute terror. The greatest demons were struck by his impossible volleys and fell like mountains riven by thunderbolts. Blood flowed from their wounds like the red cataracts of the monsoon flashing down the Himalaya. But the God did not tire; he reveled in his yagna of death: he severed their necks, smashed their banners, their chariot wheels, their bows, their limbs, stopped their screams. Like rays from the sun, waves from the sea, serpents from a mountain, rain from a cloud, his arrows flowed in torrents from his miraculous Saringa.

“The rakshasas fled from the dreadful Hari, like lions from the Sarabha, like elephants from a hunting lion, like leopards from a tiger, like dogs from a leopard, like cats from a dog, like rats from a snake. They fled down to earth, back to Lanka.

“Vishnu flew after them. Then Sumali covered Vishnu in a drifting mist of arrows. He rode up to the Blue God and roared at him, waving his arm above his head even as an elephant waves his trunk. With a smile, Janardhana severed the head of Sumali’s sarathy. The rakshasa’s horses bolted. Now Mali charged Vishnu. As the birds of dusk streaked with the last rays of the day fly into the caves of the krauncha hill, Mali’s gold-tipped arrows flew into the Blue One’s darkling body, thousands of shafts.

“Vishnu aimed his own volleys at Mali, and they drank the demon’s blood thirstily, as serpents drink nectar. Vishnu cut down Mali’s banner, smashed his bow in his hand, shattered his chariot, and killed his horses. Leaping down with a fulminant roar, the rakshasa struck Garuda on his golden head with his mace, even as Yama once struck Siva. The eagle quivered; he spun round in pain and turned his back on the battle. Thinking for a moment that Vishnu had turned to flee, the rakshasa army roared its delight, like a sea at night when the moon is full.

“Even with his back turned, Vishnu cast the Sudarshana chakra at Mali. Time’s wheel, blinding as the sun, the disk cut Mali’s head from his throat and it fell on the ground, spouting blood even as Rahu’s head did, when Mohini gave the Devas all the amrita to drink. Above, the sky erupted in peals of thunder, and petal rain fell down from Devaloka as Indra and his people were swept by joy.

“Roaring like ten prides of lions to see their brother killed, Malyavan and Sumali fled. They fled back into their city with what remained of their legions. Even as they went, Garuda recovered and began to flap his wings again, so thousands of rakshasas were blown into the sea. Some had their soft, handsome faces cut in two by the wheeling, ubiquitous chakra. Some had their chests crushed by a blow from the Kaumodaki. Some were dissected by arrows like bolts of lightning from the Saringa.

“Demon entrails floated like garlands upon the crimsoned waves. Like clouds driven by Vayu, the rakshasas fled before the terrible Vishnu. And he slaughtered them all around him and they lay in death’s final postures like blue mountains.

“Seeing the massacre of his people, Malyavan came back to fight, as waves do to the sea after briefly touching the shore. His eyes bloodshot, his great body shaking, the king of the rakshasas cried to Vishnu, ‘Padmanabha, is this dharma? That you continue to kill my people, when they have abandoned all thought of war? They flee before you and yet you hunt them like animals. You will not find heaven for yourself with this murdering. If you must fight, Narayana, here I am before you. Fight me, if you dare!’

“Vishnu said softly, and his voice drowned every other noise of land, sea, and air, ‘I must keep the word I have given the Devas that I will exterminate your race. I will sacrifice Swarga to keep my word.’

“With a growl, Malyavan cast a shakti at the Lord, striking him squarely in his deep blue chest. It glittered there like a streak of lightning across a cloud. Smiling, Vishnu drew out that shakti and flung it back at the rakshasa. It struck his jeweled chest as a thunderbolt might a mountain. Malyavan fell in a swoon; but he rose at once, and rushed at Vishnu and struck both him and Garuda blows like thunderclaps with a fist clenched around an iron band studded with long, sharp spikes.

“Garuda flapped his wings and blew the demon back into the city of Lanka, and his brother Sumali and his legions with him. With that, somehow, the rakshasas’ spirit was broken. They knew they could not stand before blue Narayana. The demons fled with all their people down below the earth, into deep, glimmering Patala, where their kind belong,” Agastya said in Rama’s sabha.

 

3. The birth of Ravana

Rama said to Agastya, “Muni, tell us how Ravana was born.”

The maharishi resumed: “Sumali wandered the Patalas for an age. When his terror of Vishnu receded, he rose to the surface of the earth again and ranged the sea-girt world of humans for another age.

“One day, he saw the splendid Vaisravana flying above him in the pushpaka vimana, on his way to see his father Visravas. Vaisravana had come to Lanka and lived there with his nairritas. Sumali said to his daughter Kaikasi, ‘My child, you are a young woman now and it is time you were given in marriage. Remember, the honor of three families rests in the hands of a daughter: that of her father’s clan, her mother’s, and her husband’s, as well. See that you preserve all three, my Kaikasi.’

“She asked, ‘Father, to whom do you mean to give me?’

“‘To the Muni Visravas, so you will have sons as splendid as Surya Deva.’

“Kaikasi bowed to her father, and she took herself to the tapovana where Visravas was performing agnihotra. The young rakshasi did not know that it was an inauspicious time to approach the rishi. She came and stood near him with folded hands while he was absorbed in the ritual. She stood staring down at her feet, bashfully, and scratched the ground with her toe to attract his attention.

“Visravas looked up from his puja and saw a young girl standing near him, her face like the full moon. He said slowly, ‘Who are you? Whose daughter? And why have you come to my asrama?’

“‘Brahmarishi, I am Kaikasi. I have come because my father Sumali told me to. I beg you, divine the rest for yourself.’

“Visravas sank into dhyana. Then, emerging from his trance, he said, ‘I see why you have come to me. You have come to have sons by me. But you have come at the wrong muhurta. So, O woman with the gait of a she-elephant in rut, you will have savage rakshasas for sons’

“‘Brahmavadi, I beg you, let not all my sons be like that.’

“The rishi paused a moment; his face softened, and he said, ‘Young woman, your last son shall be a man of dharma, like all the rakshasas of our clan.’

“Then the muni took Kaikasi unto himself and gave her children. Kaikasi was first delivered of a dreadful infant, with ten heads in a cone, with great fangs in them. His hair was like strands of fire; his lips were coppery like his eyes. When he was born, all the fell creatures of night gathered round that asrama and they circled his mother from left to right, in a bizarre and ominous ritual.

“Eerie clouds scudded into the sky and rained down showers of blood. Flaming meteors, thousands of them, fell onto the earth, making great craters and hissing into the sea, so the waves stood up like mountains and smashed against the shore. The very earth was agitated, as if with some terrible fear, and strayed from her true orbit.

“Kaikasi’s first child was born roaring fiercely from all his ten heads and his father named him Dasagriva. Soon after, Sumali’s daughter had another son, and he was the biggest baby ever born. His ears were like great jars, so he was called Kumbhakarna. Next, Kaikasi gave birth to a perfectly hideous daughter, and she was Surpanaka. Last of all, a serene and handsome infant was born to the rakshasi and he was called Vibheeshana. He was hardly like a rakshasa, by his appearance or his nature, and soft flowers fell out of Devaloka to bless his birth.

“Those children grew up in the forest where Visravas lived in dhyana. From the first, Dasagriva and Kumbhakarna had restless, lustful natures, and they spent their days in satisfying their every appetite. They hunted for sport and for food, and when they were a little older, they did not hesitate to slake themselves on any woman, of any race, whose path crossed theirs in the forest. Vibheeshana was a restrained, wise youth from the first; he spent his time at study and serving his father.

“Dasagriva, also, gave some of his time to studying the Vedas and other ancient revelations. And to his own father’s surprise, that wild and ferocious Rakshasa outstripped his brother Vibheeshana, easily, at learning. But while Vibheeshana lived by what he learned from the Shastras, Dasagriva did not.

“One day, Vaisravana, who is also called Kubera, the Lord of the nine treasures, arrived in his vimana to visit his father. Kaikasi called her eldest son and showed him how lustrous and fortunate his half-brother was. She said, ‘Look at his vimana, how it shines. He flies anywhere he likes in it. And he is a Lokapala: the master of all the wealth in the world. My son, I want you to be Vaisravana’s equal. That is what your mother wants for you.’

“Dasagriva was thoughtful for a moment. He stared long and hard at Kubera’s pushpaka vimana. He pursed his lips and said quietly, ‘I will be more powerful than Kubera. He is the Lord of but one-quarter of the earth. I will rule the three worlds’

“His mother embraced him fervidly. She kissed all his ten heads, which appeared and vanished, uncannily, around his central face. So it was that Dasagriva first decided to sit in tapasya. He went with his brothers to an asrama at sacred Gokarna and began his intense penance. And once he set his heart to it, that rakshasa’s tapasya was past compare. It was his ancestor Brahma whom Dasagriva worshipped.”

 

4. Dasagriva’s tapasya

Rama asked Agastya, “Tell me about Dasagriva’s tapasya, Muni, and his brothers’.”

The rishi said, “Their penance lasted an age and each of the brothers had his own method.

“Kumbhakarna stood amidst four fires in searing summer, and the fifth was the blazing sun above, until the skin peeled from his body. He never flinched. During the monsoon, he knelt on the ground, often in the middle of a river, while the rain and the floods swept over him ceaselessly, and he was truly wet to his bones. In winter, too, he stood on, never stirring, in icy water. For ten thousand years, Kumbhakarna performed tapasya.

“The gentle Vibheeshana stood on one leg for five thousand years, even like dharma in the kali yuga. At the end of his penance, apsaras danced on clouds and fine showers of unearthly petals fell on the good rakshasa. Vibheeshana spent another five thousand years imbibing the Vedas, until he knew them backward. He recited them while he stood with his face and his arms raised heavenward and stared at the sun, the stars, and the moon, never blinking, never looking down. And this rakshasa experienced only delight during all his ten thousand years of tapasya, as if he were in the Lord Indra’s Nandana.

“Dasagriva, the eldest, went without food for ten thousand years. And at the end of every thousand years, he offered one of his heads into one of the four fires he had lit around himself. Thus nine thousand years passed and finally the Rakshasa was about to offer his tenth head, and his life, to the flames, when Brahma appeared before him like a sea of grace, with all the Devas around him.

“‘Dasagriva’ said the Pitamaha, ‘a tapasya like yours must be fruitful. Never has this earth seen such a penance. Ask me for any boon, Rakshasa, and it shall be yours.’

“Dasagriva bowed solemnly before the four-faced Creator of the universe. He said, ‘Pitamaha, the root of all life’s fear is death. Make me immortal, so I shall never be afraid.’

“Brahma said, smiling, ‘Immortality is not mine to give. I am not immortal myself. Ask me for anything else, something I can give you.’ Dasagriva thought for no more than a moment, then said, ‘Let me not die at the hands of any of the greater races of heaven or earth. Let no suparna, naga, yaksha, Daitya, Danava, rakshasa, Deva, gandharva, kinnara, charana, siddha, rishi, muni, or predator of the wild kill me. As for mortal men, puny humans, I have no fear of them, they are like straw.’

“Brahma said thoughtfully, knowing where this boon would take the Rakshasa, ‘So be it, then. And I grant you another boon: that your nine heads, which you offered me in the fire, shall be restored to you. And Rakshasa, you will have the power to assume any form you choose.’

“There are some who say that the Rakshasa offered his heads not to Brahma, but to Siva. Both versions are true: for different kalpas.

“Brahma now turned to the good Vibheeshana. ‘I am pleased with your tapasya, as well, Vibheeshana. What boon would you have from me?’

“Vibheeshana said, ‘Lord, my life’s purpose is already fulfilled and I am a kritakritya, that I see you before me. But if you are pleased with me, grant me that my mind remains steadfast and virtuous in the midst of life’s greatest trials. Grant me that the knowledge of the brahmastra dawns on me of itself. May every thought that enters my mind, during every stage of my life, be of dharma. Let me fulfill my dharma, however hard it is. For if a man has dharma, he has everything.’

“And Brahma said to him, ‘Though you are born a rakshasa, your nature is like a maharishi’s. Noble Vibheeshana, I bless you that you will be a Chiranjivi. You will live as long as the earth.’

“Brahma turned to Kumbhakarna. But the Devas cried, ‘Lord, you must not grant him any boon. All the worlds already live in terror of him. You know he came to the Nandana, and devoured seven apsaras and three of Indra’s servitors. There is no count of the rishis and men he has eaten, Pitamaha. Instead of a boon, cast a spell over him, that the worlds may be safe.’

“But Kumbhakarna’s tapasya had been as compelling as his brothers’ and Brahma had to grant him a boon. With a thought, the Creator summoned the Devi Saraswati. When she stood, shimmering, before him, he said softly to her, ‘Goddess of the word, be the speech on Kumbhakarna’s tongue.’

“When she had subtly entered the giant rakshasa’s mouth, Brahma turned to him and said, ‘Kumbhakarna, I am pleased with your tapasya. Ask me for any boon you want.’

“Saraswati spoke from the demon’s mouth: ‘Lord, let me sleep for years and years’

“Smiling to see the startled look on the giant’s face, Brahma said, ‘So be it’ and vanished from there with the Devas.

*   *   *

“When Sumali heard of the boons that Dasagriva had from Brahma, he rose from the Patalas, with Maricha and Prahastha, Virupaksha and Mahodara, and a host of other rakshasas. Sumali embraced his grandson and cried, ‘Not even Vishnu can harm us any more! Vaisravana lives in Lanka, but Lanka rightfully belongs to you. Dasagriva, you shall be the Lord of all the rakshasas, and our race will be restored to glory under you.’

“Dasagriva said, ‘Kubera is my older brother. We should not speak of him like this.’

“But his dreadful eyes shone with very different thoughts. Reading his heart clearly, Prahastha said, ‘Among kings, there is no brotherly love. Listen to what I have to tell you, Dasagriva.

“‘The Devis Diti and Aditi are sisters, and they are both Kashyapa Prajapati’s wives. Aditi bore the great muni the Devas of day and light, the Lords of the worlds, and Diti bore him the Daityas of night and darkness. Indeed, the Daityas were Kashyapa’s first-born sons, and once all this earth, full of mountains, seas, rivers, and forests, belonged to the sons of Diti. They were the masters of the world.

“‘It was Vishnu who helped the Devas usurp the power of the Asuras and rakshasas. That was long ago, in another yuga. But now you are the first of our kind who has a boon like the one Brahma has given you: that you shall be invincible to all the immortal races of heaven and earth. Yours, Dasagriva, must be an unrivaled destiny in the history of our people. You must not forsake that destiny, but seize it with both hands’

“Dasagriva did not think long before he said simply, ‘I shall.’

“The same day, with a legion of rakshasas who had pledged allegiance to him, Dasagriva arrived on Lanka, and Mount Trikuta. From there he sent Prahastha as his messenger to Kubera, Lokapala, master of wealth. Prahastha brought a courteous message to Vaisravana from Dasagriva:

“‘Lord of treasures, O my half-brother, this city of Lanka belongs of old to the rakshasas of my clan. Malyavan, Mali, and Sumali ruled Lanka. I am Sumali’s grandson. I beg you, leave our city now, for I, Dasagriva, mean to be a king of our people here.’

“Prahastha brought his new sovereign’s message to Kubera’s court. Kubera welcomed the messenger with every courtesy, and when he had listened to the rakshasa’s message he sent a reply through him:

“‘Dasagriva, this Lanka was given to me by my father, and I have peopled her with my nairritas, whom I brought here with generous gifts of gold and homes. You are my brother, and you are welcome to come to live in Lanka and to share its bounty with me.’

“While Prahastha took this message back to Dasagriva, Vaisravana flew to his father Visravas in his pushpaka vimana. He said, ‘Father, Dasagriva sent me a message through Prahastha, asking me to leave Lanka, because he means to be a king in our city and a king of the rakshasas of the world. I replied asking him to live with me in Lanka, to share the wealth of Lanka with me. But I am not sure how he will receive my offer.’

“Visravas’s heart misgave him. He said, frowning, ‘Ah, he is an evil child, your half-brother, both by his birth and now by the boons he has from Brahma. He will never agree to share Lanka with you. My advice to you is, leave Lanka and go to Kailasa with your people. The Mandakini flows beside Kailasa. Golden lotuses that shine like the sun float upon her waters: lotuses as blue as Vishnu’s eyelids and those as white as moonbeams. Devas, apsaras, gandharvas, nagas, and kinnaras come to sing and dance and make love beside the Mandakini. I fear that with his boon, Dasagriva is so powerful that you must not make an enemy of him. Yes, my son, I am certain the best course is for you to leave Lanka with your nairritas and make yourself a home near Kailasa.’

“And so Kubera did. He founded the secret city of Alaka to the north of the Himalaya, and its marvelous pleasure garden, the Chaitra, which rivaled Indra’s Nandana in Amravati. And with the Lord Siva’s blessing, he was happy there.

“Meanwhile, Prahastha heard that Vaisravana had abandoned Lanka, and he came excitedly to Dasagriva, shouting, ‘He has left Lanka! Vaisravana has left Lanka for you to rule!’

“Dasagriva embraced him and roared, ‘You, my friend, shall be my chief minister in our city!’ And indeed, Dasagriva and Prahastha have been as close as brothers ever since.

“So the enemy of the Devas, Dasagriva, entered the magnificent city of his mother’s people. He was crowned king of Lanka, king of all the rakshasas, and his people flocked to him from across the earth and swarmed up to him from the deepest Patalas to the city of their fortune, to their invincible sovereign of night,” said Agastya Muni.

 

5. Dasagriva marries

Agastya continued: “When Dasagriva had been crowned king of the rakshasas, he decided it was now time to give his sister Surpanaka away in marriage. He gave her to a Danava chieftain, a great mayavi: Kalaka’s son Vidhujjiva.

“Shortly after this wedding was celebrated in Lanka, with pomp and ceremony, Dasagriva went off to hunt in a forest of Bharatavarsha. He had grown up in a jungle and was always drawn to the wilderness. Now, fatefully, in the darkling vana, he came across the Asura Mayaa, Diti’s son. Mayaa was passing through that forest with his daughter.

“Dasagriva saw the young Asuri, who was the most beautiful woman in creation in those days, and he was smitten. He asked Mayaa, ‘Who are you? Who is the young woman you lead through this dangerous forest?’

“Mayaa looked at the Rakshasa before him and felt a current of fate stir in his heart. He said, ‘Have you patience to listen to my story?’

“Dasagriva replied, ‘I have.’

“Mayaa launched into his tale. ‘There was an apsara called Hema, perhaps you have heard her name. Even as Puloma’s daughter, Paulomi, was given to Indra by the Devas to be his wife, so, too, Hema was given to me. I lived with her for a thousand years and she was like my very breath to me. I am Mayaa, good Rakshasa, and I am the builder of the Asuras, even as Viswakarman is of the Devas. With my siddhis, I built for Hema a secret city in a jungle’s heart. I made it with gold and paved its streets with cat’s-eyes, topaz, diamonds, sapphires, rubies, and emeralds. I lined them with trees with silver leaves and built many mansions in which just we two lived.

“‘She bore me two sons, Mayavi and Dundubhi, and one daughter: this child you see. But fourteen years ago, my Hema left me because the Devas wanted her back in Amravati with them. My daughter was just a child then. I lived in my hidden city, until she grew into a young woman; and now I am abroad with her, for I must find her a husband. As you can see, Rakshasa, she is uncommonly beautiful, like her mother, and it will be hard to find the man who can contain her. I fear for my honor, with my child being so beautiful.

“‘But, stranger, you seem to be an exceptionally noble and strong rakshasa. Tell me who you are. Whose son are you?’

“All the while he spoke, the Asura Mayaa’s dark and glowing eyes scrutinized Dasagriva with deep interest. When he finished speaking, he had no doubt the Rakshasa before him was an extraordinary young man: even a king, perhaps a king of destiny. Mayaa, also, had been a great king of his people once, in time out of mind. That was when three miraculous cities he built had circled the earth, and he and his two brothers had ruled from those fabled cities, the Tripura, which finally the Lord Siva torched from the sky. But that is another story.

“Dasagriva said humbly, ‘I am Pulastya’s grandson, Visravas’s son. My name is Dasagriva.’

“When Mayaa heard who the Rakshasa was and when he saw how this Demon gazed at his daughter, the Asura said to Dasagriva, ‘This is my daughter Mandodari. Will you have my child to be your wife, Dasagriva?’

“With no hesitation, Dasagriva said, ‘I will marry her now’ and his eyes blazed with love.

“There in that vana, Dasagriva kindled a sacred fire and he married the Asuri Mandodari by the wild rite of gandharva vivaha. Mayaa had heard of Dasagriva before; he even knew how Visravas had cursed his mother Kaikasi. He also knew Dasagriva was Brahma’s great-grandson, and he knew about the boons he had from the Pitamaha. Mayaa gave his son-in-law an occult shakti, which he himself had received from a God after a long tapasya. It was with Mayaa’s shakti that Dasagriva struck your brother Lakshmana down, Rama,” said Agastya.

Rama shivered to recall that moment. He asked the muni, “And what of Kumbhakarna and Vibheeshana? Did they not marry?”

“Indeed they did. Dasagriva had Kumbhakarna married to Vajrajwala, who was the granddaughter of great Bali, the son of Virochana. Vibheeshana was married to a gandharva king’s daughter. He married Sailusa’s pious child Sarama, a child of dharma, who had been born near the Manasa sarovara. It was when the lake was about to break her banks during the monsoon that the pregnant gandharvi cried, ‘Saro ma vardhayata!’ [Lake, don’t flood!] affectionately. And her child was named Sarama.

“Once they were married, the three rakshasa brothers came home to Lanka and were absorbed entirely for a time in their young, nubile wives. Then Mandodari, who was the most beautiful woman on earth by a long way, gave birth to a magnificent son, who would be Dasagriva’s heir. When he was born, this child made a noise like spring clouds rumbling in the sky, and they called him Meghanada. This is the rakshasa Lakshmana killed: this was Indrajit.

“Cosseted by a hundred women in his father’s harem, Indrajit grew in the palace of Lanka like fire hidden under a stack of wood.”

 

6. The crimes of Dasagriva

Agastya continued, and no one in his audience stirred. “One day soon, Brahma’s curse began to take effect on Kumbhakarna. He yawned for an hour and felt a fathomless slumber coming over him. He said to Dasagriva, ‘My brother, I feel a great sleep come over me. Have a palace built, in which I can lie undisturbed.’

“At once Dasagriva commissioned the finest builders in Lanka to raise a matchless edifice for Kumbhakarna. It was a yojana wide and two yojanas long. It was supported by columns of crystal on every side and pillars of gold and silver. Its stairways were encrusted lavishly with padmaraga. Its terraces were of ivory and its latticed windows were hung with little bells that sounded together in the breeze.

“Gently Dasagriva led his brother, whom he loved no less than his life, into the extraordinary palace and laid him down in its central chamber. There Kumbhakarna fell asleep on a bed of fragrant sandalwood, and he did not awaken for a thousand years.

“In rage, and missing his brother terribly, Dasagriva set about distracting himself from his sorrow by conquering the three worlds. He smashed Indra’s legions; he slaughtered rishis, gandharvas, and yakshas without favor. He anointed himself with their blood, because he blamed them for the endless slumber Kumbhakarna lay in.

“Dasagriva arrived with his demonic army in the Nandana, outside Amravati. He devastated the enchanted garden like a rogue elephant on the rampage. He sullied its clear pools and rivers; he cut down its trees and savaged its flower banks. Then he and his rakshasas stormed Indra’s city and pillaged it as they pleased. With wild yells they forced themselves upon the apsaras of heaven, in their homes, in the streets, as the nymphs of Devaloka tried to flee from the horrible invaders. Indra fled before the Rakshasa. He gave him an immense treasure as tribute, and Dasagriva returned to Lanka.

“Vaisravana sent a messenger from the Himalaya to his half-brother in Lanka. This yaksha first arrived in Vibheeshana’s presence and was welcomed by the good rakshasa. Vibheeshana brought that strange being into Dasagriva’s court. The messenger bowed and said to the Lord of Lanka, ‘Jaya vijayi bhava!’ Be ever victorious.

“Dasagriva received this with a resounding silence. In a moment, the yaksha continued, ‘My Lord Vaisravana, Kubera of the mountain, sends you a message, mighty Dasagriva. Your brother says to you, “Dasagriva, rule the worlds not with fear, but with dharma. Only the rule of dharma will bring you lasting fortune; only dharma will save you. I have seen what you did to the Nandana. It is a disgrace to our noble family. I have heard that you kill the rishis of the vana as if they were beasts made for hunting. I have heard your rakshasas drink their blood and eat their flesh.

“‘“Beware, my brother, their curses will fall on you. I warn you again, as an older brother must when he sees his younger brother fall into danger: turn back from this folly! Or terrible punishment will come to you.

“Dasagriva, you have also killed my nairritas and yakshas upon the mountain. Listen to what I have to say to you. When I sat recently in a tapasya to the Lord Sankara, on a tableland near Kailasa, I saw a Devi, who was the very embodiment of beauty, walking past the place where I sat. She lit up the mountain with her lambency and I gazed helplessly at her. Indeed, I could not turn my eyes away from her, though I saw she resented my regard. In a mere moment, my left eye burst in my face, and my right eye was turned the color of ashes.

“‘“As I jumped up with a cry, I saw the Lord Siva appear before me, at that perfect woman’s side. They seemed to be a single light, blinding, and they filled me with such peace that I hardly remembered my eye had burst.

“‘“Siva said kindly to me, ‘Suvrata, Dharmajna, I am pleased with your tapasya. Why, yours is the finest penance performed upon this mountain since my own, when I won Uma for myself. Be my friend, Kubera, you have conquered me with your worship. This is Parvati; she is like your mother from now. We bless you, Vaisravana, you shall live next to us forever.’

“‘“The Devi Uma also raised her hand over me in a blessing, and they vanished before me.

“‘“Siva himself swore friendship with me. I warn you, leave the earth in peace, or you will pay for your crimes.” So said my lord Kubera to you, O Dasagriva.’

“And the messenger fell silent. Dasagriva sat as if graven of stone. Not a muscle moved anywhere upon his person; only his eyes turned the color of ripe plums; that, and all his nine heads appeared and vanished, again and again, in their malignant cone around his central face.

“He scratched his cheek with a long talon, then said very softly, ‘I do not like the message you dare to bring to my sabha, yaksha. Your master sends word through you of his friendship with Mahadeva. Does he mean to threaten me? I have held Vaisravana in honor because I have thought of him as my older brother. But time and again he taunts me, he insists on provoking me. And now he dares to send you to my sabha with this haughty message. He is arrogant that he is a Dikpala, and that Siva once gave him some gold and a ship of the air. But I am Dasagriva, and I am invincible. And after hearing your master’s message, I have decided that I will conquer the three worlds’

“Now he rose, tall and ominous, his eyes like flames, and his ten heads were plain in their evil cluster. Only now did the yaksha realize how angry the Rakshasa was. Only now did he realize that he might be in danger. But too late. His breath aflame, Dasagriva drew his curved sword and cut his half-brother’s messenger down before his throne. He had the yaksha’s body dragged out into the street, and gave it to his scavenger rakshasas to devour.

“Dasagriva summoned the brahmanas of Lanka and had them perform an elaborate ritual for his well-being and the success of his next enterprise. Without further ado, he took a fierce legion of demons with him, mounted his chariot, and rode out of Lanka like a black wind, to attack Vaisravana, Lord of treasures, in his city in the north.”

 

7. In Kubera’s city

Agastya continued: “With six ferocious rakshasa commanders, Mahodara, Prahastha, Maricha, Suka, Sarana, and Dhrumraksha, in a ring around him, Dasagriva flew north through the air toward Mount Kailasa. He flitted over rivers laid like blue threads across the earth and plains like jade with brown hills jutting from them, flashed over unexplored jungles, and crossed the formidable Himalaya. In just a few hours that army arrived at Vaisravana’s gates and made camp.

“The yakshas of the mountain heard of Dasagriva’s advent and fled to their master’s city, Alaka. Meanwhile, news of what Dasagriva had done to his messenger also reached Kubera. The Lokapala stood before his teeming legions, raised his hands high above his head, and roared, ‘Kill the Rakshasa! Kill all the rakshasas, that they dare to murder our messenger and come to attack us here. No matter that Dasagriva is my brother; he must die.’

“Crying their strange cries, like a sea roused to break its shores, the army of nairritas streamed out from their white city fortress and charged the rakshasa legion camped below them. They outnumbered Dasagriva’s demons by a hundred to one, but the force from Lanka, especially its commanders, fought a spectacular battle. Each of the six who surrounded their ten-headed king killed a thousand yakshas, and Dasagriva killed ten times as many.

“Wave after wave of brave yakshas swept at the Rakshasa. He stopped them as a great cliff does the tide. He let flow a river of yakshas’ blood, staining the white mountain scarlet. They beset him with a veritable night of maces, clubs, javelins, arrows, and other, more mysterious missiles Kubera’s people are masters of. They cast sorceries at the Lord of Lanka, and drew blood on him like the wild roses of spring. For a time they arrested Dasagriva’s frenzy of slaughter. They managed to check the bloody careen of his chariot.

“With a roar that stopped the wind on the mountain, Dasagriva seized up a huge mace, like Yama’s danda, and leaped out of his chariot straight into the midst of the thronging yakshas. Like a volcano he erupted on them. His arms were a blur, the mountain air was a denseness of piteous shrieks: the yakshas fell all around him and their blood lapped around his feet.

“Mahodara, Prahastha, and the other rakshasa chieftains were hardly less dreadful than their ten-faced master was. Like snow on the Himalaya at the arrival of summer, Vaisravana’s army melted at their onslaught. Limbs hewn from their trunks flew through the sunlit air, borne by invisible hands, and fell far away from those to whom they belonged. Severed heads rolled giddily down the mountain slope.

“Some of the rakshasas struck off their enemies’ heads and then seized the headless trunks and swilled greedily from the open necks, their eyes as red as the blood that gushed into their wild mouths and flowed down their chests. Other rakshasas tore out the entrails of slain yakshas and wore them as macabre garlands. Soon the delicate nairritas could not bear the invaders’ brutality, and fled back to their master in his city of gold and ice.

“A magnificent yaksha chieftain, Samyodhakantaka, killed a thousand rakshasas. He felled Maricha with a keening chakra, and knocked him down a sheer gorge, where the demon lay senseless for an hour; and Samyodhakantaka thought he had killed that rakshasa. Then, even as the yaksha cut down a thousand common rakshasas with some breathtaking archery and their gore flowed, mingling with yakshas’ blood, Maricha flew up from the gorge he had fallen into. Roaring to shake the snow from the loftiest peaks, he hacked thrice at Samyodhakantaka with his curved scimitar, drawing three crescented fonts of blood from the yaksha. Howling, Kubera’s commander fled.

“Now no yaksha or nairrita barred Dasagriva’s way into his half-brother’s city. The Rakshasa entered the golden portals of Alaka, contemptuously cutting down the last line of resistance: a meager, frightened company of dwarapalakas. At the next, inner door, Vaisravana’s main dwarapalaka, the powerful Suryabhanu, stood in Dasagriva’s way. With a growl from ten faces, the Rakshasa hewed at him with his sword. But the yaksha pulled up a stone pillar next to the door and struck Dasagriva across all his faces, drawing ten geysers of blood.

“Now Dasagriva’s roar shook the white city down to its foundations of rock and up to its turrets of ice. He leaped at Suryabhanu like a tiger, snatched the pillar out of his hands, crushed his head with it like a mushroom, flattening the skull, and was sprayed with the yaksha’s brains. All the other yakshas who crouched within the doorway melted away into the inner labyrinth of caves and streams within Kubera’s secret city.

“Seated in his sabha, Vaisravana watched the rout of his army. He saw them run like children before the Rakshasa, who had breached his city like some plague. Beside him stood Manibhadra, his yaksha Senapati, his general of generals. Manibhadra stood quivering with rage, and Kubera, his master of the gray eye, said to him, ‘Go, my friend, kill this Rakshasa and become the sanctuary of your people.’

“Taking his palace guard, four thousand of them, Manibhadra went to battle. These yakshas were the finest of Kubera’s fighting men. They were all masters of maya, and fought with mysterious ayudhas, spewing banks of spectral flames. They killed a thousand rakshasas. But infused by their master’s power, the rakshasa maharathikas seemed invincible. Prahastha killed a thousand yakshas by himself, and Mahodara, another thousand. And Maricha was implacable: he killed two thousand nairritas.

“Manibhadra himself faced Dhrumraksha on the pale and crimson field. Dhrumraksha struck the yaksha squarely in his chest with a great pestle weapon. But like a mountain struck by lightning, the yaksha did not flinch. He swung his own mace at Dhrumraksha’s head, and the rakshasa fell spouting blood from a deep wound. Dasagriva rushed toward him. Manibhadra aimed three lightlike shaktis at the rakshasa king, but they fell off the Demon like the stems of flowers.

“Dasagriva knocked Manibhadra’s gleaming crown askew with a thought-swift arrow, and the stupendous yaksha was called Parswamauli since. Unable to withstand the ferocity of the fight Dasagriva offered, Manibhadra turned away from his adversary. Then a gasp went up from the advancing rakshasa legions. They stopped in their tracks, rooted, trembling. Dasagriva turned his head to where his soldiers gazed, where a dazzling light shone now, as if a bit of the sun had fallen to the earth.

“There, his mace in his hands, swathed in the refulgence of a Lokapala, stood Vaisravana himself, with two of his ministers, Sukra and Prausthapada, and two of the demigods who ruled two of Kubera’s nine treasures: Padma and Sankha. In a voice that shook the palace, Vaisravana said, ‘Dasagriva, you fool, what have you done? Don’t you know these crimes will lead you straight to hell? How often I have warned you, but you are blind with arrogance and you will not listen to me. I will say no more; come let us fight.’

“And the Lord of the yakshas, the Dikpala of the north, was at the rakshasas like a force of nature. Dasagriva’s warriors wilted before that assault of light. Maricha, Prahastha, Mahodara, and the others fled before Vaisravana; only Dasagriva stood his ground. Kubera fetched him a blow like the end of time on his central head, but his half-brother received it as a God might an offering. His ten heads now flashed into view and ten horrible laughs filled the courtyard where they fought.

“For a while they fought with maces and blows like earthquakes. Kubera loosed an agneyastra at Dasagriva. But the Rakshasa doused its fires with a varunastra; and now the Rakshasa began to fight with maya. He assumed a thousand different forms: some terrifying, others deceptively gentle; some human, some almost divine, and some bestial. Dasagriva hunted among the yakshas like a tiger, a boar, a cloud, a hill, a sea, a tree, a yaksha himself, a Daitya.

“Then suddenly he vanished altogether, all his thousand forms. But Vaisravana’s soldiers still died in waves around him. Dasagriva had made himself invisible; he still stalked the enemy, unseen, cut their heads from their necks, and drank their blood with all his ten mouths. Often you could see a headless corpse suspended in midair, and the blood gushing from its naked throat would vanish eerily.

“Finally, Dasagriva appeared again, in sinister splendor. He held a sleek iron club in his hand and, quick as light, he struck Kubera on his head with it. Flowing blood, the Lord of treasures, the Lokapala, Siva’s friend, the rishi who was equal to a Deva, fell unconscious. He fell like an asoka tree in scarlet bloom, which had been cut down at its roots.

“The Devas who were present, Padma, Sankha, and the others, spirited Vaisravana away to the Nandana in Amravati, where he was restored with magical herbs and poultices. But that was the end of the battle, and Dasagriva had vanquished his half-brother. Roaring his triumph, the Rakshasa entered Kubera’s palace and plundered whatever took his fancy. But the prize he cherished most was the pushpaka vimana.

“The fabled vimana had pillars of gold; its arched doorway was made of vaidurya and padmaraga. Nests of pearls covered its dome, and inside were trees of the most pristine strains, which bore ambrosial fruit in every season. The ship of the sky assumed any form its master chose, and it flew anywhere in the three worlds at his very wish. Viswakarman had created that vimana, and now Kubera’s conqueror, his brother Dasagriva, night-stalker, Lord of the night, flew down from Kailasa in the peerless pushpaka. And Dasagriva did not doubt any more that he would soon be master of the three worlds.”

 

8. Dasagriva gets a new name

Rama asked keenly, “And what did Dasagriva do next, Muni? We knew so little about the Rakshasa, and yet it was our destiny to face him in battle.”

Agastya resumed. “When he had vanquished Kubera, Dasagriva wanted to see the legendary thicket of sara reeds in which Siva’s son, the Lord Karttikeya, had been born. He flew to the banks of the Ganga in his newly taken treasure, the pushpaka vimana, and he saw the bed of reeds that shone as if pollen from the sun had been scattered over it. The vimana flew up to a hill above the sacred thicket and would not move even when the Rakshasa willed it to.

“Dasagriva cried, ‘What has happened? Someone on this hill has arrested our flight.’

“Maricha ventured to suggest, ‘Perhaps, my lord, the pushpaka vimana will not bear anyone save Vaisravana?’

“Just then they saw a hideous being approaching them. He was a Siva gana, sallow-complexioned, dwarfish, thickset, misshapen, his head shaven, his arms short and massive, and obviously strong. And from his face, it was plain that he was full of unearthly joy, always. It was Nandiswara, Siva’s mount, in his human form.

“Nandin said in a ringing voice, ‘Turn back, Dasagriva. My Lord Sankara is with Uma on this hill, and none of the created may come here, not the gandharvas, nagas, yakshas, Devas, suparnas, Asuras, or rakshasas.’

“Dasagriva climbed down from his vimana; his kundalas quivered for the wrath he felt, and his eyes were the color of dusk. His voice quivering, he breathed, ‘Who is this Sankara of yours?’ At that moment he saw Nandin grow as refulgent as Siva himself, and he saw the gana had a monkey’s face and held a flaming pike in his hands. Dasagriva threw back his head and roared with laughter that was like lightning exploding in the sky.

“Nandin grew very still, then said, ‘Dasanana, ten-headed Demon, you dare laugh at my vanara form today. I could kill you even now, little Rakshasa, for you have no boon to save you from me. But I curse you instead. I curse you that you and your arrogant rakshasas shall be razed by the wild race of monkeys. They shall have my strength; they shall be as radiant and full of faith as I am. Claws and fangs shall be their weapons. They will have the mind’s swiftness, and they will be like a legion of mountains come to your gates to crush your rakshasas. As for you, Dasagriva, your sins shall come hunting you as your death.’

“When Nandiswara pronounced his curse, a battery of drums sounded in Devaloka, as Indra’s people rejoiced. But Dasagriva was not moved. He said evenly, ‘Bull-like, what power does your master Siva wield that he sports like a king all the time? How does this hill arrest my vimana’s flight? Does Siva not know that I, Dasagriva, have come here? Doesn’t he know danger is near him?’

“With that, Dasagriva bent, thrust his hands under the hill, and drew it out of the ground by its roots. The hill shook violently. Siva’s ganas on its summit trembled; Parvati slipped, and clung to her lord. Siva laughed; playfully he pressed down on the hill with his toe. Dasagriva’s arms like columns were broken and thrust into their sockets. His roar of pain reverberated through creation, like the thunder of the pralaya. In Devaloka, Indra and his lambent people quaked to hear that sound. Oceans rose in mountainous waves and crashed against their shores. The earth wobbled in her orbit.

“Yakshas, gandharvas, and vidyadharas cried in alarm, ‘Hah! What sound is that? Is the world ending?’

“Dasagriva wailed on. Birds wheeled in panic and animals dashed through their jungles in a frenzy of fear. Dasagriva still did not stop his dreadful howling, and an asariri said to him, ‘Worship Siva, Rakshasa. He is kind, and he will bless you if you worship him.’

“It is told that, standing on one foot, Dasagriva then played on the vina, while he held that hill aloft with his broken arms and, for a thousand years, sang hymns from the Samaveda, which praise the blue-throated Nilakanta, Uma’s Lord. And all the while, he wept.

“Siva sat with Parvati on the crest of the hill and enjoyed the Rakshasa’s singing. When a thousand years had passed, the Lord said kindly to Dasagriva, ‘Rakshasa, I am pleased with your worship and your valor. I will grant you a boon. But first, I will give you a name. Since you terrified the creatures of all the worlds with your wailing, I name you Ravana. From now, let the beings of the three worlds know you by that name. Go where you will, Ravana, go without fear.’

“Ravana’s arms were healed. He set down the hill, gently, and prostrated himself before the God of Gods. He said, ‘Lord, if you are truly pleased, grant me a boon. O Siva, I already have a boon from Brahma. You grant me a long life, Lord, and give me a great weapon.’

“Siva granted Ravana the boon he wanted, and gave the Rakshasa a glittering sword called the Chandrahasa. Then Siva and his ganas vanished from before the Rakshasa’s eyes. Named anew by Siva himself, and with the Lord’s inexorable blade in his hands, Ravana climbed back into the pushpaka vimana and now it flew wherever he wanted it to.

“No one could resist the Rakshasa any more and he soon conquered most of creation. Those that dared oppose him, he dealt with mercilessly, and the others yielded, saying, ‘We are vanquished,’ and he lost further interest in them.

“The Devas and all the races of heaven and earth sent Ravana tribute, and he was, indeed, the undisputed sovereign of all he surveyed. A tide of evil, whose font was Ravana of Lanka, swept the earth.”

 

9. Vedavati’s curse

“Ravana was a restless spirit. He never tired of ranging through the world, his domain. Once he went into the heart of a deep jungle and saw a sight that riveted him. Under a nyagrodha tree sat a young woman at dhyana. She wore the hide of a black antelope; her hair was matted in jata, like any rishi’s, and she shone like a goddess in the dimness. She was in the sensuous bloom of her youth, and beautiful past describing.

“The Rakshasa stood staring helplessly at her for a while. Then he approached her and said softly, with a laugh, ‘What are you doing here, young woman? Your youth and beauty do not belong in this forest of hermits. Why, a rishi could go mad just to look at you. Who are you, my beauty? Who is your husband? Ah, he is a lucky man that lies with you. And, tell me, why do you sit here in dhyana? Tapasya is not for the likes of you, auspicious one.’

“As any sannyasi should, she welcomed Ravana and made him comfortable. When he sat at his ease, she said, ‘I am Kusadhvaja’s daughter, and my father was Brihaspati’s son and a brahmarishi himself. My father spent his life chanting the Vedas, and I, O Lord of the rakshasas, am called Vedavati. For I am the Vedas embodied in a woman’s form, and I was born out of my father’s bhakti.

“‘Many gandharvas, yakshas, pannagas, and rakshasas have begged my father for my hand. But he will never give me to any of them. Would you hear why, O Ravana?’

“And he was so enchanted with her that of course he would. Vedavati said, ‘My father said he would only give me to the Lord Vishnu. When the Daitya king Sambhu heard this, he was furious. He arrived in our asrama one moonless night, killed my father in his sleep, and melted back into the darkness of which he was born. When my mother saw my father dead, she made a pyre and burned herself on it with my father’s body.

“‘I have lived here in their asrama ever since, and I have kept the image of Narayana, the sleeper on the waters, in my heart. For my father’s sake, I am determined I will marry Vishnu and no one else. It is to bring him to me that I sit here in tapasya. So now you know about me; I beg you, leave me to my dhyana.’

“But Ravana already quivered from wanting her. He said, ‘You waste your youth for this foolishness! There is no woman in the three worlds as beautiful as you are. How can you do this to yourself? Anuttamaa, peerless one, only an old woman will sit like this in dhyana; not someone like you, blessed already with every gift a woman could want. Look, I am Ravana and I am the Emperor of the rakshasas. Why, I am Emperor of the three worlds because there is no one in any of them who can match my valor or my strength. Come, Vedavati, be my queen and enjoy every pleasure, as you were born to.

“‘And, tell me, who is this Vishnu for whose sake you desolate your youth?’

“Mortified, she said, ‘Vishnu is the Lord of the three worlds. Only you would ask who he is so contemptuously.’

“With a terrible growl, Ravana sprang toward her. He seized her by her hair, to slake himself at once on her sinuous body. But she cried out in grief and rage, and her very hand turned into a blade. She sheared her hair off with it, leaving him holding her tresses. Still, he came after her. He laid his coarse hands on her. He forced himself upon her virgin, exquisite body. When he had spent himself in a paroxysm of violence, she rose and stood over him like a fire.

“‘Rakshasa, you have violated me and my life is a ruined thing. I will not live another day. But I swear I will be born again, and I will be your death, Ravana of Lanka. Alas, that I may not curse you, even now. You have sinned on my body, and if I curse you I will lose my own tapasya shakti.’

“With the power of her yoga, she kindled a fire and walked into it. As the Rakshasa watched in mild curiosity, Vedavati became ashes before his eyes.”

Rama asked, “And was she born again?”

Agastya Muni said, with a smile, “Indeed she was, Rama. She was born in the next yuga, from a furrow in the earth, and her father who found her in a field named her Sita. And she did truly come as Ravana’s death, and she also had Vishnu for her husband even as her father Kusadhvaja had wanted.”

“What did Ravana do after Vedavati killed herself?”

“Ravana slept for a while, after he had enjoyed Vedavati, and also enjoyed watching her die. Then he climbed back into his pushpaka vimana and ranged the sky again, as he pleased, going wherever he chose to, as slowly or as quickly as he liked.

“One day, he came to Usirabija and the Rakshasa saw a great sacrifice under way below him. King Marutta of Ikshvaku was the sacrificer, and his ritvik was Brihaspati’s brother Samvarta. All the Devas attended the yagna upon the mountain. When Indra and his illustrious people saw Ravana in their midst, they were terrified. In a wink they transformed themselves into beasts and birds and tried to hide from him.

“Indra became a peacock, Yama was a crow, Kubera a chameleon, and Varuna a swan. So, too, all the others; Vayu, Agni, Surya, Soma, the Aswins, and the rest were all wild, and some exotic, creatures. Ravana walked into the yagnashala like an unclean dog.

“The Rakshasa stalked up to King Marutta and said with untold menace, ‘Either fight me or admit I am your master.’

“Marutta asked, ‘Who are you?’

“Ravana laughed. ‘So you don’t know me, even when the Devas slink away as beasts when I arrive? You don’t know the pushpaka vimana, which I took from my brother Kubera? I am Ravana of Lanka. I am the Lord of the three worlds’

“Marutta said calmly, ‘He who vanquishes his older brother in battle deserves to be praised, indeed. Why, he who rides in the pushpaka vimana is a matchless one. Tell me, Ravana of Lanka, what tapasya did you do that you are so powerful? Come, sit here beside me for a while and tell me everything about yourself. We have time, Rakshasa, for you will not leave here alive.’

“And Marutta picked up his bow and quiver and made ready to attack Ravana, but his priest Samvarta restrained him. ‘If you leave your yagna unfinished, Siva’s curse will consume your very race. He who has been consecrated for a sacrifice shall not let anger approach him.’ The knowing Samvarta lowered his voice: ‘Moreover, the Rakshasa before you is invincible, Marutta. It is far from certain that you will win a battle against him.’

“Marutta bowed to his guru and laid down his weapons. He turned back to his yagna, at which Suka gave a shrill shout, ‘Victory to Ravana!’

“Ravana, meanwhile, had devoured many of the august rishis and munis that had gathered at Marutta’s yagna. With all his ten faces leaking sages’ blood, he left the yagnashala and climbed into the pushpaka vimana once more.

“As soon as the Rakshasa left, the Devas, the gandharvas, and the other celestial folk resumed their true and brilliant forms. Indra, who had been a peacock, said to that bird, ‘You shall never have to fear serpents again, for a thousand eyes like mine will adorn your tail. And whenever you want to dance, just think of me and I will send you down a shower of fragrant rain.’

“The Lord Yama, who is death and justice, said to the crow that was perched on the pragvamsa of the house in which Marutta and his queen dwelt during the yagna, ‘I am pleased with you, dark bird. The diseases of the earth, which torment every other living creature, will have no sway over you. Besides, you will know no fear. Death is your friend from now, and the fear of death is the cause of every other fear. You will never die of old age or sickness, but only when you are killed. And, O crow, whenever you eat in this world, all the spirits in my realm who are hungry shall feel sated, they and their families.’

“Varuna said to the swan that glided upon the pool of the Ganga, ‘King of birds, your feathers will glow like the full moon. And no other creature shall be as beautiful as you. Whenever you are in water, you will feel unequaled bliss.’

“Rama, did you know that once swans were not purely white, but had brown wing tips and breasts? And the peacock was just blue and had no eyelets on his feathers.”

Rama smiled and shook his head, that he had not known this. Agastya went on, enjoying his tale, “Then Visravas’s son Kubera said to the chameleon sunning himself on a rock, ‘I am pleased with you, my friend. Let your dark head have a golden hue from now.’

“Marutta duly completed his yagna, and the Devas returned to their Swarga on high, with their king Indra,” Agastya concluded the tale of Ravana and the Devas at the ancient king Marutta’s famous sacrifice. And Marutta was, of course, an ancestor of Rama, born in the House of Ikshvaku, the royal House of the Sun, and he also cursed Ravana, when his yagna was complete.

 

10. The curse of Anaranya

“Ravana ranged the earth and went to the cities of all its kings. He would say to each one, ‘Give me battle, or say I am your master.’

“The kshatriyas who had heard of the boons the Rakshasa had from the Gods were wise enough not to fight him. Through the ages, awesome monarchs like Dushyanta, Suratha, Gadhi, Gaya, and Pururavas admitted: ‘You are my master.’

“Then, Ravana came to Ayodhya, where Anaranya now ruled, and demanded, ‘Give me battle, or say I am your master.’

“Anaranya replied, ‘I will fight you, night ranger.’

“Anaranya had gathered an immense army, with ten thousand elephant, a hundred thousand horse, many thousands of chariots, and countless foot soldiers. A pitched battle began between the forces of darkness and light. But with Ravana leading them, and Siva’s sword flashing like an arc of the sun in his hands, the rakshasa legions consumed the legions of Hastinapura, even as the fathomless sea does every stream and river that flows into him. Anaranya’s forces perished like a swarm of moths flying into a forest fire.

“Anaranya himself plunged at Ravana. On his way he put Maricha, Suka, and Sarana to flight, as a lion might some jackals. Anaranya shot eight hundred scorching arrows at Ravana. But they harmed the Rakshasa as much as raindrops do the crown of a mountain. Ravana rode at the king of men, and, with a growl, struck him with his hand across his face, and the kshatriya fell out of his chariot like a sala tree struck by lightning. He lay dying on the ground.

“Mocking him, Ravana said, ‘So, Kshatriya, what have you gained by fighting Ravana? Perhaps you were so steeped in the pleasures of your harem you never heard who I am? There is no one in the three worlds, puny human, who can vanquish Ravana of Lanka.’

“Anaranya breathed, ‘My life leaves me as a summer breeze does a forest at twilight. But you have not conquered my spirit, Rakshasa, as you did the other kings’. And I say to you, at this moment of my death, that even as I have been generous to anyone who came seeking my help, as I have poured oblations onto a sacred fire, as I have ruled my people justly, and as I have sat in dhyana every sandhya of each day of my life: Demon, a prince born into this same House of Ikshvaku shall kill you.’

“As he pronounced his curse, a drumroll of the Devas sounded in the sky and petal rain fell out of Swarga. Anaranya’s soul left his broken body and rose into Devaloka in a blaze of light. Ravana stood grimacing over the king’s corpse for a moment; what the dying man had said disturbed his savage heart. He planted his foot briefly on the dead king’s face and turned away from yet another conquest, bloodthirsty still,” said Agastya Muni in Ayodhya’s sabha.

The rishi paused briefly, then, because no one stirred in the court but waited raptly for him to continue, he resumed.

“Once, even as he terrorized the denizens of the earth, the Rakshasa met Narada Muni. He was crossing the sky in his vimana when he saw Narada sailing blithely along on a cloud.

“Ravana hailed the wanderer, ‘Narada! How have you come down to the earth today?’

“The brahmarishi said to the Demon, ‘O Son of Visravas, tarry a while with me; I would speak to you. I have followed your exploits and I am pleased with you. Why, I compare your conquests of the gandharvas and the nagas with Vishnu’s victories over the Daityas. But my son, I have some advice for you. The mortal beings of the earth hardly deserve your attentions, O Ravana whom even Indra and the Devas, the Danavas, and the yakshas cannot subdue! They are too puny. Why waste your time with these insignificant, weak, and transient creatures, who fly into death’s clasp anyway?

“‘I beg you, greatest of night stalkers, don’t prey on these petty, unfortunate beings, who are already victims of hunger, thirst, old age, fate, disease, and every kind of anxiety and grief. Look at this unjust, absurd world of men, Rakshasa. Here you find some men steeped in wine, song, and women, and hardly a stone’s throw away, others of the same race shed bitter tears of hunger, deprivation, and torment, unheeded by their brothers.

“‘These humans are slaves to every kind of delusion. And they are your subjects, Ravana, who can doubt it? Deceiving themselves that they are immortal, they plunge headlong toward Yama’s gates. They are blind creatures, of no wisdom and full of folly. I tell you, the only real Lord of all mortal men is Yama, the Lord of death. Ravana, subdue Yama and you will be master of all this dying world.’

“Dreadful smiles dawned on the Rakshasa’s ten faces. He did not pause to reflect for a moment before saying, ‘Narada, I will fly down into Rasatala and conquer the worlds of nether. I will quell the nagas, the Devas, and the other immortals, and rule the three realms. After which, Muni, I shall churn the ocean for the amrita which will make me immortal: Lord of all creation, forever!’

“Narada murmured, ‘Then why do you fly on another path through the sky? Set yourself on the path that leads to the city of the Lord of death. Your fame shall truly begin when you have vanquished Yama.’

“The ten-headed one laughed like the rumbling of an autumn cloud. He said, ‘Yama is as good as vanquished, Muni. I have already sworn I will crush not only Surya’s son, but also the Lords of the four quarters, the Lokapalas. But first let me fly south to Yama’s kingdom, and when I have conquered him, the living beings of the earth shall be free of their torment of the fear of death.’

“With a deep bow and a wave, the Rakshasa flitted away south, leaving Narada pensive on his cloud that shone like a full moon with the radiance of his body. Narada wondered, ‘How will the Rakshasa defeat Yama, who knows every creature, his gifts and deeds; who metes out justice to each one; who is the terror of the worlds? And if, indeed, he does conquer the son of Surya, what new order will the Rakshasa create for the earth?’

“Narada shook his head in some wonder at the thought. Then, he said to himself, ‘I must not miss the encounter between the Demon and the Lord Death.’

“He, too, flew quick as a ray of light toward Yama’s city.”

 

11. Ravana and Yama

“Narada arrived like an effulgent thought in Yama’s sabha, and saw Death on his throne. Yama welcomed the muni with every courtesy, and when Narada was comfortably ensconced in his court, he asked him, ‘Brahmarishi, to what do I owe this honor today?’

“‘Pitriraja, King of the manes, the Rakshasa Ravana is on his way here and he means to challenge you. If you are vanquished, O Yama, who will wield the dharma danda?’

“Even as he spoke, they saw the pushpaka vimana fill the sky like a sun. It scattered the natural darkness of the kingdom of death.

“Ravana saw the dead in Yama’s kingdom; he saw them reap the fruit of their karma, intricately, variously, good and bad. He saw Yama’s servitors torment the sinners who had come to him; he heard their cries. He saw thousands of evil men being devoured by worms and packs of slavering dogs; and of course they did not die because they were already dead, but only suffered endless agony.

“He saw other souls ceaselessly crossing the Vaitarani, the river of blood: back and forth, again and again. Others walked through interminable deserts whose sands were like burning dust. Yet others were being cleaved with gleaming swords from the crowns of their heads to the forks of their legs, and their screams filled the air. Others wept for quenchless thirst, and others for ravening hunger that fed on the starving souls.

“Elsewhere, the Rakshasa saw those that had done good enjoying the fruit of their punya. They lived in lavish houses, from whose windows delectable strains of music floated. They were attended by the most charming women and ate the finest food. They wore gold and jewels on their bodies, and were illumined by the light of their own purity.

“With a roar from ten heads, Ravana flew at the dead who suffered dreadful torture. He fell on Yama’s soldiers who tormented them, and let flow a river of their blood. Yama’s servants fled and Ravana liberated the sinners from their suffering. These shouted his name so the sky of that naked realm echoed with its three syllables. They rejoiced at the undreamed-of release the Rakshasa brought.

“Again, Yama’s dark legions swarmed at the invading Demon, now from every corner of the kingdom of death. In their millions, like hives of angry bees, they attacked the pushpaka vimana with all sorts of weapons. It would have fallen out of the sky; but Brahma’s power and the power of the Devas, who were embodied in amsa in the mystic craft, kept it aloft. The wounds it received from naracha and astra, shakti and every missile cast at it, cleared miraculously, as if great healing hands were laid on it, constantly.

“Ravana and his demons flowed blood from all their limbs. Yet they fought on as if they were unhurt, their roars fiercer than ever, the stream of arrows from their bows thicker and more livid with each moment. For their part, Yama’s soldiers fought as fiercely as the enemy. As storm clouds will a mountain, they encircled him. They cut Ravana’s armor from his dark, lean body and his blood sprayed out of it in geysers. For a moment he fell unconscious on the floor of his vimana.

“But Ravana’s boon protected him and he was soon on his feet again, truly roused now, and fighting more powerfully than ever. He leaped out of his flying ship and shot an infernal mahesvarastra at Yama’s legions. It swept at them like a flash fire in a dry forest in summer. Strange beasts of the astra came bounding after the flames at Yama’s soldiers. The legions of the Lord Death were consumed like a field of straw. Ravana threw back his ten heads and emitted a roar that convulsed the three worlds.

“Yama heard that roar, and his eyes turned the color of a setting sun. He knew his legions had been razed, and, in a low and terrible voice, he said, ‘Fetch my chariot.’

“His sarathy brought his golden ratha to his palace steps. With a lance that was alive with a hundred secret fires and a hammer of flames in his hands, the Master of death, into whom all the worlds and their creatures are absorbed when their time comes, climbed into his mysterious chariot. Beside him the staff of time, the kaaladanda, stood embodied: a great and terrible spirit, bright as sun flares. On his other side was a burning noose, a flawless and primeval paasa. When the three worlds saw him like that, silent and furious, he who is Time personified, they trembled.

“Blazing horses took to the sky, swift and smooth as wishes, and Yama flew at Ravana. When Ravana’s ministers saw Death flying at them, quicker than time, when they saw how entirely dreadful he was, they either fainted or fled. But Ravana himself was imperturbable. He did not flinch at the sight of Yama; indeed, ten savage smiles lit his dark faces.

“Yama loosed a burning fusillade of every sort of weapon at the Demon. Ravana replied with a storm of arrows that covered the son of Surya’s chariot in light and fire. A mythic battle ensued, a tumultuary battle, and it seemed the end of creation had come betimes. Brahma arrived there with the Devas and gandharvas to watch that battle of battles.

“Ravana’s bow gleamed in his hands like Indra’s vajra. He shot Yama with four smoking shafts through his vital organs, and his sarathy with seven. There issued from Yama’s chasmic mouth a roar as of the ages ending; from his jaws gaping as wide as the firmament there erupted a roar more reverberant than any of Ravana’s. From the jaws of Death sprang fires of wrath, with white flames for their peaks. They spumed out as if to consume the universe, and dark smoke with them.

“Those flames licked themselves into a sky-straddling black form, an embodiment of terror. In a voice of the storm clouds of the pralaya, that form, the Kaalatman, spoke to the refulgent Yama: ‘No creature that I mark shall live. Why, Hiranyakashyapu, Namuchi, Sambara, Nishandi, Dhumaketu, Virochana’s son Bali, Sambhu the titan, Vritrasura, Vaana, all the rishis, gandharvas, and great nagas, yakshas, all the hosts of Devaloka, this Bhumi with all its oceans, mountains, rivers, trees, and creatures: all these I devour, when their time comes. Yama, now leave me alone with this Rakshasa. He shall not live another hour; that is nature’s law.’

“Yama, who is the Lord of dharma, said, ‘Stand apart, Great Spirit, for I will kill the Rakshasa today.’

“And Yama Deva stood forth with the kaaladanda, with its circle of flames like a crown, and with the embodied hammer and a thunderbolt quivering with cosmic ire. When Yama took the staff of death in his hands and raised it to strike Ravana of Lanka down, it glowed with a horrible sheen and all the rakshasas fled that battlefield in panic. Even the Devas, watching unseen, felt a tremor of fear.

“Suddenly, Brahma materialized before the Lord Death and said to him, ‘Yama, you must not kill the Rakshasa with the kaaladanda. If you do, I will become a liar, because I have given him a boon that no immortal, no Deva, gandharva, rakshasa, Asura, or Daitya shall cause his death. If I am proved a liar, O Yama, the three worlds shall perish.

“‘I fashioned the danda you hold in your hand, O Lord of dharma. If you strike Ravana with it and he does not die, the three worlds shall fry to a crisp in the flames of your staff. I beg you, though your cause is just: desist. If you use the kaaladanda against the Rakshasa, my creation will be destroyed, regardless of whether Ravana dies or not.’

“And the pious Yama set aside his weapon. He said, ‘If I cannot kill this Rakshasa because of your boon to him, why should I fight him any more?’

“And Yama Deva vanished like a great cloud from the field of battle, with his chariot, his horses, and his legions. Ravana’s roar of triumph, that he had quelled Death, rocked the world. Like a sun from a tower of thunderheads, Ravana flew up from Yamaloka in his gleaming vimana. Yama, meanwhile, rose into Swarga with Brahma, Narada, who had watched all this avidly, and the other Devas.”

 

12. The Nivatakavachas and others

“When Yama left the field, Ravana’s ministers and commanders, who had fled in fear of the Lord Death, flocked back to their ten-headed king. They saw their master covered in his own blood. They saw the great gashes with which Yama had marked his body. They saw some broken bones protruding, ghastly, on his arms. Yet Ravana smiled at them, and they roared his name to the sky: that he was invincible and that he had conquered Death himself.

“Maricha, Prahastha, and the others fetched their king back into the pushpaka vimana and tended his wounds with rare and potent specifics. They sang his praises, and that was sweet music to his ears. Now Ravana said they would enter Rasatala, the deepest of the Patalas, and subdue the netherworlds, as well: so he would truly be sovereign of the three realms.

“The only way down into Rasatala was through the ocean’s bed, and Ravana set the pushpaka vimana on a course to plunge down into the blue waves, which are the domain of the marine titans and the nagas, who have both human and serpentine forms. Varuna is their Lord, and he protects them.

“Ravana erupted on Bhogavati, Vasuki’s city. Battle-hardened by now, it did not take the Rakshasa long to subdue the city of serpents. He plowed on through the deepest ocean and arrived in Manimayi, city of jewels and of giants. The mysterious changeling titans, the Nivatakavachas, lived in Manimayi. These strange and powerful sons of Diti had impenetrable armor for skins and Brahma’s boon that protected them.

“Undaunted, Ravana stormed their marvelous city. The Daityas were overjoyed: they are always ready for a battle. They fought back with every kind of weapon and with indomitable courage. The battle between the rakshasas and the Danavas churned the belly of the ocean. They fought for a year and neither prevailed, and the water around the jewel city was scarlet with blood.

“Finally, Brahma, who had blessed both Ravana and the Nivatakavachas, appeared in their midst, lighting up the ocean waves like a sun risen in the womb of the deeps. In an echoing voice he said, ‘Not if you fight until time finds its end will either of you conquer the other. Let there be friendship between you, instead.’

“And so Ravana and the Nivatakavachas made peace with each other. They swore friendship by a sacred fire, and the marine demons welcomed the ten-headed Rakshasa into their city like a brother. He remained with them for a year, enjoying pleasures that were hardly to be tasted upon the surface of the earth. And from his new friends he learned a hundred mayic sorceries each day.

“Finally, almost reluctantly, Ravana left the city of the gigantic ocean Danavas. He ranged Rasatala, the deepest Patala, hidden away in the navel of the earth. Now he sought the secret city of Varuna, Lord of the sea.

“On his quest he saw the glimmering city of Asmanagara, where the Kaalakeyas, sons of the golden witch Puloma, dwelt. He invaded them like a curse. The Kaalakeyas were arrogant of their strength and streamed out of their fastness to give the Rakshasa battle. He killed more than four hundred of the quicksilver demons in an hour, his sword that Siva gave him flashing like some sleek and silvery predator from another time.

“He smashed his way through the Kaalakeyas’ city, leaving a trail of blood that rose slowly to the surface of the smoky sea. Fourteen thousand Kaalakeyas perished; among them was the husband of Ravana’s sister Surpanaka. Past the city of the Kaalakeyas, Ravana saw another city that looked like a white cloud under the waves. It shone like an immense pearl, like another Kailasa. He saw Surabhi there, the mother of Siva’s bull Nandisvara, and milk flowed from her teats into the mystic white sea that is called Kshiroda, the ocean of milk. The moon rises from that sea, and the greatest munis of the universe live on the froth of the milk of Surabhi, the cow of wishes. The amrita, which is the food of the Devas, arises in that sea, as does the swadha, the food of the pitrs, the manes.

“Slowly, dazzled by her dappled beauty, Ravana alighted from his vimana and walked slowly round Surabhi, in pradakshina. Then he entered Varuna’s ineffable city. Varuna’s guardsmen challenged him. He struck many of them down, and roared at the others, ‘Go and tell your master that Ravana has arrived in his city. Tell him he must either kneel before me with folded hands and acknowledge my sovereignty, or come and fight me.’

“The guards flew to their king, the Deva. Some of Varuna’s sons and grandsons, powerful princes of the deep, issued from their gates and attacked Ravana. An intense battle broke out, but it hardly lasted some moments before Ravana and his rakshasas had razed the submarine legion, and the water turned softly crimson. Only Varuna’s sons escaped the demons’ virile onslaught.

“Those sons of the sea gathered themselves and fought back with stunning speed, strength, and occult siddhis. They rose above the pushpaka vimana and attacked Ravana all together, so fiercely that even he was forced to turn away from the encounter. The ocean princes’ roars of triumph rocked Rasatala to its depths.

“In fury, Mahodara flew at the celebrant young immortals. He took them by surprise and briefly beat them back, smashing the chariots they had come to fight in. Still, they trod water and air; they swam like great fish; and now they turned on Mahodara with such cohesion and force that he fell in a swoon, blood pouring down all his limbs. With a roar that raised tidal waves around him, Ravana covered Varuna’s sons with a tempest of astras. They could not stand the invincible Demon. They fell to his storm, and their merman warriors rushed to the watery field of battle and carried their unconscious princes back into their father’s city.

“Ravana cried again, ‘Announce me to Varuna, Lord of the ocean.’

“One of Varuna’s ministers, Prahasa, came to the gates of the wondrous marine city and said, ‘You have defeated Varuna’s sons. Our Lord himself is away in Brahmaloka. It is in vain that you call for him here.’

“Ravana shouted in ten voices, ‘The coward Varuna has fled before me! I am master of the Patalas, too.’

“And he rose again through six netherworlds and flew back to his Lanka. Now he had no doubt that he had subdued the three realms: Swarga, Bhumi, and Patala. He was master of all creation, or so he believed.”

 

13. Women

Agastya Muni said in the sabha of Rama of Ayodhya, “The pushpaka vimana was full of the spoils of war the Rakshasa took from those he conquered in battle and those who yielded to him in fear. He took gold and jewels past compare, the rarest treasures wrought in the three worlds. And then there was another kind of spoil of war that he filled his ship of the sky with, generously: women. The most beautiful women of every race he subdued, any woman who caught his eye—he tore them away from their people and their families, their fathers and mothers, their husbands and children.

“Serpentine, seductive naga wives he took; young virgins and mothers, too. He filled his ship with exquisite gandharvis and Deva women, with dark and incomparable Asuris and rakshasis. The daughters and wives of human kings and the holiest rishis he wrenched, screaming, from their natural lives. And they crouched in the capacious vimana, which the Rakshasa turned into an aerial antapura, his harem in the sky.

“Their faces shone like the moon, their bodies were voluptuous and fragrant, and their tears fell onto the jewels that studded the floor of the magic craft, which Siva once gave Vaisravana, the Lord of treasures.

“One slender gandharvi shook like a leaf, wondering, ‘Will the Rakshasa devour me?’

“Some sobbed more desperately than others did; they were mothers who had been torn from their small children, for the Demon’s pleasure. But already there were some women who cursed their husbands for being conquered so easily, and who, despite their shock, let themselves admire Ravana: his lean, battle-hardened face and body, his dark and reverberant presence. Despite themselves, despite their predicament, they thought, ‘Ah, he eclipsed a million great warriors, as the sun does the little stars at dawn.’

“And these would be the first to submit to the Demon, and they would taste a truly overwhelming and terrible love. But there were virtuous women among the thousands the Rakshasa abducted from across the three worlds, and these cursed him in their hearts, from the depths of fear and sorrow. They said, ‘Evil One, this is the sin that breeds every other; this is the mother of sins. And as a thousand women shed tears of despair at what you have done to them, a woman shall bring your death to you, Ravana, in your very Lanka.’

“Briefly Ravana felt an unaccustomed coldness clutch his heart at these women’s silent, potent curse. Briefly his face lost its radiance, and a shadow flitted across it. The pushpaka vimana landed in Lanka. Word of their king’s sweeping conquests filled the streets, and the rakshasas came out in singing and dancing crowds to celebrate his victories and their own new power as the master race of the worlds. Suddenly, forgotten, mysterious Lanka was the focus of creation.

“Ravana was being borne to his palace on a thousand rakshasas’ shoulders when he heard a keening sound, which echoed over every other in his noisy streets. It was the shrill ululation of a woman deranged with grief. Ravana saw his sister Surpanaka, her hair in disarray, her clothes torn, her face streaked with tears and dirt where she had rolled on the ground, unhinged that her brother Ravana had killed her husband Vidhujjiva, the Kaalakeya.

“When Ravana took her in his arms, he saw her eyes were the color of cherries, and he asked her, ‘What has happened, little one? Who has brought these tears to your eyes? Just tell me his name and he shall not live another hour.’

“When she could speak, Surpanaka said, ‘You killed my husband, O Rakshasa who call yourself my older brother. I loved him more than my life and you cut him down like any other enemy. What use is it my living any more, wretched Ravana, when you have made me a widow in my youth? Monster, I heard you killed him with your own hands. I am your younger sister and my husband is not just your brother-in-law, but meant to be like your own son. And you killed him.’

“He wiped her tears with his long fingers. He smoothed her hair and said gently, ‘My child, my child, in the heat of war every enemy seems alike and just a target for arrows. Every enemy is one who would kill me, if I did not kill him first. I shot my arrows without looking whom I aimed at, for the Kaalakeyas rushed at me in a wave and every Asura was an indomitable warrior. I did not know whom I killed when I fought, Surpanaka; believe me I would never have killed him if I had known. You know how much I love you: why, I gave you away to Vidhujjiva with my own hands. How could I have killed him, when I knew it would break your heart? I never knew he had returned to his city. I thought he was here in Lanka with you.’

“Gradually, her sobs subsided. When she had calmed down a little, she said, ‘I cannot live in Lanka any more. Everywhere I look, I see his face. I cannot bear it; what shall I do?’

“Ravana thought for just a moment, then said, ‘I have decided to send our cousin Khara to the Dandaka vana, to rule the wilderness in my name. I will send fourteen thousand of my best rakshasas with him, so he can establish a city in the jungle’s heart and spread my power through the land of Bharata. Khara’s rakshasas will all be mayavis and you shall be safe with them.

“‘Dushana will go with him, as his Senapati, and our cousin Trisiras as well. Khara is our mother’s sister’s son, and he has grown with us. Why don’t you go with him to the Dandaka vana? You will be distracted from your sorrow by the beauty of the jungle and all the wild marvels you will see there.’

“And so it was that Ravana himself set a distant chain of fate in motion. Khara went to the Dandaka vana with a legion of some of the fiercest rakshasas in Lanka. And there, in the depths of that impenetrable forest, he built a wooden city called Janasthana, from which he spread a reign of terror through that jungle where countless rishis lived, whose prayers were the very support of the world. The bloodthirsty Khara and the sinister Trisiras and Dushana, and, indeed, all their demons began to prey on the rishis, at first desecrating their yagnas, which brought grace down upon the earth, then killing and devouring the munis.

“Thus they sought to choke and in time to destroy the very roots of dharma in the world, and to establish the rule of hell in monstrous Ravana’s name. And surely, at first, they succeeded in good measure. The Dandaka vana became a home of evil upon the earth, and the evil spread subtly from the jungle, borne on the wind, into the hearts of men. And it seeped into the earth as the sacred blood of rishis which the rakshasas spilled and drank.”

 

14. The abduction of Kumbheenasi

“Hidden deep in a forest on Lanka there was a most auspicious tapovana called Nikumbhila. When Khara and his fourteen thousand had left for the Dandaka vana, taking Surpanaka with them, Ravana went to Nikumbhila. There he saw an altar of sacrifice, and standing before it he saw his son Meghanada, wearing the hide of a black deer, a tuft on his shaven head, and holding a kamandalu and a staff. A yagna fire blazed in its pit at Meghanada’s feet, and Usanas, the guru of the rakshasas, the Asuras, and all beings of darkness, sat beside it, feeding the fire with oblations, chanting arcane mantras, himself a flame.

“Ravana approached his prince, clasped him fervently in his arms, and asked, ‘Child, what are you doing?’

“But Meghanada had taken a vow of silence, mowna, and to break it would spoil his sacrifice. So it was Usanas who replied, ‘Your son has performed six great yagnas, Ravana. He has already performed the agnistoma, the aswamedha, the bahusuvarnaka, the rajasuya, and the vishnu yagna. He has just completed the maheswara yagna, and already Siva Pasupati, the Lord of embodied souls in bondage, who are like beasts, has blessed your son with a vimana and the tamasi maya, which makes the one who knows it invisible in battle. Not even the Danavas or Devas can see the warrior who is mantled in the tamasi maya.

“‘Sankara has also given Meghanada a bow, a pair of inexhaustible quivers, and a mighty astra. Your prince was waiting for you, Lord of the rakshasas, for a father’s blessing.’

“But Ravana was not entirely happy. He murmured, ‘Indra and the Devas are my enemies. They have been worshipped, and that hardly pleases me. But what is done cannot be undone; let us think of it as having been well done. Come, my child, let us return to our city.’

“Ravana blessed his son. He took the blessing of Usanas, who then vanished before their eyes. Arm in arm, father and son returned to Lanka and to their palace, where now the pushpaka vimana disgorged its cargo of the most beautiful women of all the races of the worlds, whom Ravana had brought here to grace his harem and warm his bed.

“But now, his pious brother Vibheeshana greeted Ravana, with shock and anger in his eyes. ‘What have you done, my lord? Already, your sin has brought nemesis to our clan.’

“‘What do you mean, Vibheeshana?’ Ravana was annoyed that his triumphal return was tainted by any imperfection.

“‘You have sealed all our fates by bringing these women here. Don’t you see them cry? Don’t you hear them curse you, my brother? How will their curses fail to bring punishment down on you?’

“Ravana growled, ‘It is the way of war; it is the way of the rakshasas. You are born a rakshasa, but you have never been like one of us, Vibheeshana.’ He smiled. ‘And the women shall be well cared for and they shall be well satisfied with their lives here.’

“But Vibheeshana said, Then perhaps you will be content to hear that our cousin Kumbheenasi has been abducted by Madhu, just as you have abducted these women?’

“Ravana seemed surprised. He asked mildly, ‘Who is Madhu?’

“Kumbheenasi, of course, was the daughter of Malyavan, who was the eldest brother of Sumali, their mother’s father. Also, Kumbheenasi’s mother, Anala, was their own mother’s younger sister. Kumbheenasi was hardly less than a sister to those royal rakshasas.

“Vibheeshana said, ‘While Meghanada was away performing his yagna, while I lay submerged in water, at tapasya, and Kumbhakarna slept, the rakshasa Madhu came to Lanka one moonless night. He killed many of our guards, entered the harem, and carried our cousin away. Even when we heard what had happened, we did not pursue Madhu or kill him. For once he has enjoyed her, Kumbheenasi will be his wife by rakshasa vivaha; and it would break her heart if we killed him.

“‘So, my brother, even as you took a thousand women from their homes and their men and children, we, also, have been punished here in Lanka.’

“Ravana’s ten heads flashed into view, snarling. His breath was hot; his eyes were the hue of kimsuka flowers. Through clenched fangs he said, ‘Let my chariot be fetched and my weapons be laid in it. Let my brother Kumbhakarna be roused. Let any others who would ride with me fetch their chariots and bows. I will go at once to kill Madhu, and then to crush Indra in Devaloka!’

“Four thousand aksauhinis rode with Ravana, every rakshasa of them hungry for battle. Meghanada rode at the head of that horrible force, Ravana at its heart, and Kumbhakarna at its rear. Vibheeshana, who had little taste for battle, though he was a great warrior and unafraid, remained in Lanka.

“Across land and through the air they went, on fair mounts and strange; and it is told that when the Daityas of the air saw Ravana flying to Madhu’s city, the Asuras, who are the enemies of the Devas, joined his host.

“Ravana arrived at Madhu’s city, entered violently, and found Kumbheenasi in the palace. She saw her cousin and began to cry. He took her in his arms with great gentleness and said, ‘Don’t be afraid. I am here now. Tell me where Madhu is; he shall not live another day.’

“At which she only sobbed more piteously and cried, ‘If you bear me any love, don’t kill my husband. The unhappiest woman on earth is a widow. I beg you, my brother, swear you will not hurt him.’

“Ravana paused in his anger. He wiped her tears. ‘I have told you not to be afraid. Take me to your husband. I will not kill him, but take him with me to Devaloka to fight beside me against Indra. Madhu will be like my own brother from now.’

“She led him deep into the palace, where her husband waited in some fear. Madhu sprang up when he saw Ravana, whose presence was like death’s. Kumbheenasi said, ‘This is my brother Ravana. He accepts you are my husband. He loves you like a son, my lord. He wants you to fly with him to Devaloka, with your legions, to take battle to Indra.’

“Madhu smiled in relief. He bowed to the Master of all rakshasas. He knelt before Ravana, kissed his hand, and said, ‘I will go with you, my lord.’

“Ravana embraced him and he stayed in Madhu’s splendid city that night, to celebrate his cousin’s marriage. The next morning, Ravana flew north again, with an even greater army now than the one with which he left Lanka. He arrived at the foot of Mount Kailasa and made camp there. Kailasa, as you know, verges on Indra’s realm.”

 

15. The violation of Rambha

Agastya continued, “The moon rose over Kailasa. Ravana’s army lay asleep, swathed in its light. But Ravana did not sleep. He climbed to the top of Kailasa, alone. As he went, he saw karnikara, kadamba, and bakula groves that seemed lit not just by the full moon but with luster of their own. Their flowers shone in the silver light like the phosphorescent blooms of Devaloka.

“The Rakshasa saw lotus pools that shimmered with the waters of the Mandakini, and were mantled with the flowers of the champaka, asoka, punnaga, patala, and lodhra trees that grew beside them. Here and there the brighter blossoms of priyangu, arjuna, and ketaka floated beside the others.

“Ravana heard the soft, breathtaking songs of kinnaras. He saw these wondrous folk in dreamlike snatches, appearing and disappearing not just in and out of his sight, but the dimension of this world. He saw knots of delicate vidyadharas, their eyes dyed with wine. He saw them at love, their naked limbs shining, their subliminal cries like music.

“From across the white tableland that lay around him, the Lord of night heard apsaras who sang across the valley in the city of Alaka, in his brother Kubera’s enchanted halls. As he climbed on, often a caressing wind shook free tender showers of petals that fell over him, and their fragrances clung briefly to the Demon, as if in strange yearning, then fell away onto the pale ground. Ravana felt a soft and mighty sweetness steal over him.

“He walked on, an evil presence through such loveliness and purity. Then, inexplicably, he felt his blood quicken. He smelled a new fragrance on the breeze, unlike every other he had known tonight. It eddied around him, wrapped in the scents of a hundred wildflowers and in the aroma of the sandalwood paste ground from the chandana trees of Devaloka. But this was no exotic flower’s perfume that made his heart go so fast. It was the scent of a woman’s body.

“Ravana advanced carefully. He did not want to alarm whoever it was who inflamed him by just the scent of her skin. At least not until he was near enough so she would not escape him. He crept forward toward a circular glade of kadamba trees from where the fragrance issued. He could see another pool of mirror water through the trees, laden with a soft frenzy of lotuses in echoing colors.

“Ravana arrived at the circle of trees. Peering around the bole of the one he was behind, he thought he might swoon from the sight that met his burning eyes. She was not of the earth; no, she was certainly no human woman. She was too tall, too slender, and far too beautiful. And the brightness that swathed her long, perfect limbs was not of the moon or the stars, but of heaven. She was so lovely, she was barely corporeal. Yet her breasts were full and high, her waist slender as a lotus stalk, and her hips flared away from it as he had never seen on any other woman, of any race. For all her obviously unworldly charms, she was unbearably seductive; why, she was seduction embodied and displayed before him upon Kailasa.

“Her skin was anointed with golden sandalwood paste; her hair was adorned with mandara flowers from Devaloka. Her face was as the full moon above. She wore supernal ornaments and garlands woven with blooms of the six seasons. Her eyebrows were like Kama’s sugarcane bow. The girdle around her flaring waist scintillated with gemstones cut in Indra’s realm. Her hands were as tender as fresh leaves on the trees of spring.

“Ravana could not resist that apsara, for so she was; how could he, a rakshasa, when the Devas themselves and the holiest rishis had yielded to the charms of Rambha, the most beautiful of all the nymphs of heaven, their queen?

“He watched her for a while as she sang softly and danced in that grove. Then he could not contain himself; he darted forward and took her hand. She quivered, she blushed, and he said to her, ‘Where are you going? What tryst are you going to keep tonight? Whose fortune smiles on him so brightly, that he will sip the amrita of your mouth? Who is he who will feel your breasts against his body tonight? Who will ride your hips, like a disk of gold that is heaven to enter?

“‘Tell me, who is more fortunate than I am tonight, that I have seen you here? No, not Indra, Vishnu, or the Aswins are. Ah, you draw your hand away; but stay, lovely one! Don’t you know who I am, that I am the master of the three worlds? Look, I fold my hands before you and beg you: stay!’

“But Rambha shuddered, and said to him, ‘How can you speak to me like this? You are like a father to me. You must protect me like your child, not say such things’

“Ravana gazed at her and he, also, trembled with a shock of desire. Smiling and keeping her hand in his, he murmured, ‘How am I like your father, perfectly beautiful one?’

“‘Why, you are Ravana, and I am Nalakubara’s wife. He is your brother Kubera’s son, and so I am like a daughter to you. It is he I have come to meet here, on this mountain, and I love him like my very life. Let me go to my husband, O greatest of rakshasas.’

“But he replied, ‘Truly, you would be like my daughter, if you had only Nalakubara for your husband. But you are Rambha, an apsara, and none of your kind in Indra’s realm is bound to just one man.’

“He said no more, but pushed her down on the velvet grasses that grew around the lotus pool, and Ravana ravished Rambha. Her garlands and ornaments lay broken around her; her lips were swollen with his savage kisses. Her breasts were covered with the marks of his fangs and her womanhood was a raw wound. Heedless of her cries of anguish, he had thrust himself brutally into her, again and again, as if he wielded a blade of war.

“When he had slaked himself, he rose and walked away into the night. She lay in a swoon for a while, her jewels scattered around her like the blooms of a delicate creeper that had been shaken by a storm. Then slowly, moaning, she rose and made her way through the trees to where Nalakubara waited for her. She came sobbing before him. He took her in his arms and asked, ‘Why are you crying, my love?’

“She said, ‘I was on my way to meet you when ten-headed Ravana accosted me. He asked, “To whom do you belong?”

“‘I told him, and I said you were his brother Kubera’s son, so he was like my father. But he stared at me with eyes like fire. He took me by force beside the lotus pool. He was so strong I could neither stop him nor escape. I beg you, forgive me, for my mind is pure.’

“Nalakubara shivered. He shut his eyes and sank into dhyana to discover if what she said was true. When he saw with inner vision what had happened to her, he opened his eyes again and they blazed in anger. He poured some holy water into his left palm and sprinkled it over himself, all his limbs. Then he cursed his uncle Ravana: ‘If you ever violate another woman against her will, all your heads will burst like ripe fruit.’

“When he had uttered his curse like a searing flame, a shower of petals of light fell out of the sky and the dumarus of the immortals sounded on high. Brahma and the Devas celebrated the curse, the rishis of the earth were full of joy: at least now the women of creation would have some protection from Ravana. As for the Rakshasa himself, when he heard of Nalakubara’s curse, he shook in every limb, and never again did he force himself on any woman who did not want him herself. And these were more than enough for him to enjoy a new woman every night of his life. He was Sovereign of the three worlds, his wealth and power were measureless, and few indeed were the women who could resist him.

“Why, not one of the thousand women he took as the spoils of war failed to come to his bedchamber, in time.

“Of course, the tale of Rambha is told differently by some, who say it was Brahma Pitamaha himself who cursed Ravana, when he ravished Rambha,” Agastya Muni said.

 

16. The invasion of Devaloka

“Flying up from Kailasa, the frontier of the earth, Ravana arrived with his seething host in Devaloka. The noise his legions made as they surrounded Indra’s city from every side was like the sound the Kshirasagara made when it was churned for the amrita.

“Indra heard that sound in his sabha, the Sudharma, and he rose from his ruby throne, which the worlds worshipped. All the Devas were gathered in the splendid court. The twelve sons of Aditi were there, the eleven Vasus, the Rudras and Sadhyas, the Lokapalas and the forty-nine Maruts. The gandharvas, kimpurushas, and kinnaras were there, the celestial nagas and countless other refulgent beings, all fabled Lords of the earth and the sky.

“‘Let us prepare for war,’ said their king Indra, as bravely as he could. But his voice quavered with fear, because he knew about the boons Ravana had.

“Indra flew quickly as a thought, as all immortals do whose bodies are made of light, to Vaikunta. He came before blue Vishnu, and said abjectly, ‘Lord, it was with your blessing I killed the Asuras Namuchi, Vritra, Bali, Naraka, and Sambara. Bless me again, Narayana, because the Rakshasa with ten heads is at my very gates; and you know Brahma’s boon protects Ravana from me and my Devas. Tell me how this Demon can be slain.’

“Mahavishnu said slowly, ‘No Deva or Asura can kill Ravana, because of Brahma’s boon. I see the Rakshasa will subdue the worlds, for he is truly an awesome spirit. I myself will not face him in battle, when I know I cannot vanquish him. Yet I will kill him when the time comes, because his death is written at my hands.

“‘As for you, Indra, the Demon is at your gates and you must fight him. Fight him and do not be afraid; I will protect you. But do not hope to quell Ravana in battle: that you cannot do.’

“Indra went back to his city, and soon the Deva host issued from the gates of Amravati like a glittering cloud and faced the legion of the night outside. At the head of the sinister force of demons were Prahastha and Maricha, Mahaparshva, Mahodara, Akampana, Nikumbha, Suka, Sarana, Samhrada, Dhumaketu, Mahadamshtra, Ghatodara, Jambumali, Mahahrada, Virupaksha, Suptaghna, Yagnakopa, Durmukha, Dusana, Khara, Trisiras, Karavirajsha, Suryasatru, Mahakaya, Atikaya, Devantaka, Narantaka, and a thousand others as ferocious. Their eyes glowed like torches in the twilight.

“Surrounded by these rakshasas, Ravana’s grandfather Sumali took the field and scattered Agni, Vayu, Surya, Soma, Varuna, the Rudras and Vasus, the Aswins, Dharma, and Indra himself and their blithe legions of gandharvas, kinnaras, and the other warriors of Devaloka. The Deva forces fled in every direction.

“Then the eighth Vasu, Savitra, the mightiest of them, took the field. He arrived like a legion of light himself to dispel the macabre darkness that had fallen over Amravati. At his side came two magnificent sons of Aditi called Tvashtar and Pusa. The air was a denseness of weapons, of wild yells and roars, and screams when some missile or other found its mark. Blood flowed in rivulets and lapped at the dark and bright warriors’ feet.

“For a while it seemed Tvashtar and Pusa were containing the rakshasas, and they killed thousands. Then Sumali returned to the field, mounted in his chariot drawn by winged serpents. He came armed with every astra and with maya. Like a black tempest he blew at the Deva host and routed them. Gandharva’s blood and kimpurusha’s precious blood flowed with rakshasa’s gore. Sweet, musical screams mingled with coarse yells and curses.

“Only Savitra stood unflinching before the terrible Sumali, and matched him shaft for shaft, spell for spell. The Vasu shone like a rising sun upon the dark field. He shattered Sumali’s eerie chariot with a volley of astras like a bank of lightning bolts. Before the chariot was consumed, and its serpents reduced to charred ropes, Sumali leaped down to the ground. As he stood panting, with no escape, Savitra advanced on him.

“Sumali had no weapon left, and raised his sorcerer’s hands to defend himself. Savitra seized up a great mace, whose flaming head made it seem like Yama’s danda. The gada blazed like a meteor as the vasu raised it high, then brought it down in a crackling arc squarely on Sumali’s head. It was like Indra’s adamantine vajra falling on a pale mountain. There was a blinding flash of light; then an echoing silence fell on the battle. Nothing remained of Sumali save a soft heap of gray ashes that the wind already bore away.

“The rakshasa army howled like some vast horde of wolves, in one dreadful voice, and they ran headlong from battle.”

 

17. The battle in Devaloka

“Roaring when he saw his great-grandfather Sumali die, Ravana’s son Meghanada took the field. Mounted in his gleaming chariot that rode as easily through the air as it did on the ground, he swept at Indra’s army like a summer fire in a dry forest. None of the Devas, gandharvas, or Vasus could stand against the invincible Indrajit. They soon ran from him any way they could.

“Indra cried after them, ‘Cowards! Come back and fight. Look, I am sending my own son to tame the Rakshasa’s boy. Come back, Devas, come back!’

“Indra’s son Jayanta flew at Meghanada like a sleek comet. Heartened, the other Devas rallied round him and came back to fight. They surrounded Ravana’s prince, whose bow streamed arrows as a star does light, and felled a thousand soldiers of the host of heaven, every moment.

“Jayanta’s sarathy was Matali’s son Gomukha. Meghanada struck him with a storm of a hundred gold-tipped arrows. Jayanta drew blooms of blood on the rakshasa prince’s charioteer. Roaring like thunderheads, the two princes attacked each other with every kind of astra and shakti. Devaloka was lit by their battle, as if by a score of new suns. But these weapons also brought an unnatural night in the wake of their incendiary paths.

“Darkness fell over the battle in Swarga: an utter darkness. Now shrill cries echoed on every side, for in that blind night Deva fell unwittingly on Deva, and rakshasa on rakshasa. Suddenly, an awesome and incandescent demon materialized on the panic-stricken field. He was a great Asura who lived below the sea: Sachi’s father Puloma. Quick as a thought, Puloma seized his grandson Jayanta in his arms and spirited him away from the battle. He plunged into the turquoise waves, below which he lived in a fabulous city.

“Some light broke again on the battle. And now, with the heroic Jayanta gone, Meghanada broke on the hapless army of Devaloka again, like a terrible calamity. He let flow streams of blood on every side and the Deva host soon fled again before Ravana’s indomitable prince.

“The next morning at dawn, within his palace, Indra, Lord of the clouds, rose from his throne that was carved from a single ruby. He said, ‘Let my chariot be fetched. I will go to war myself.’

“Matali brought the fabled ratha to the palace steps. As Indra prepared to ride, formidable thunderclouds scudded into the sky above him and were gashed with jagged streaks of lightning and deafening peals of thunder. Gandharvas sang and played on marvelous instruments and apsaras danced in his court when the king of Devaloka went to war.

“Indra came majestically to battle, and around him were the eleven Rudras, the eight Vasus, the twelve Adityas, the forty-nine Maruts, the Aswins, and the Lokapalas, who are the guardians of creation. A shrill wind began to moan across Devaloka, cold and fierce. The sun was shorn of his splendor and hundreds of meteors fell out of the sky in evil omen.

“Ravana also climbed into his vimana, fashioned by Viswakarman. Now immense serpents were coiled around that disk of the sky, to strike fear in the enemy’s heart. The vimana itself appeared to be in flames, for the fiery breath of those nagas. Ravana came to battle surrounded by dense swarms of winged rakshasas and some Asuras, too.

“Ravana advanced to the head of his army and faced Indra of the Devas. Meghanada gave way to his father, and fought behind him now. Battle was joined and Kumbhakarna, the leviathan, erupted on the legions of Devaloka. He hardly cared whom he fought, but slaughtered anyone who came in his way, drank their blood, and wore their entrails round his neck like horrible garlands; and his heaven-shaking roars silenced every other sound on the field.

“But with Indra leading them, the Devas were infused with new resolve. Despite Kumbhakarna’s dreadful advent, the first hour of the encounter swung surely the Devas’ way. The Gods cut down the demons’ front lines with fusillades of astras. Still clutching their common and strange mounts, rakshasa and Asura lay limb-severed and twitching their last on the ground. A river of gore swelled between the two armies, and vultures and crows drank from its scarlet flow.

“In a brief hour, a hundred thousand rakshasas perished. Then Ravana, with his ten heads in plain sight, all of them breathing fire, leaped down from his chariot and plunged at the Deva host. Hewing his way through those lines of shining warriors, the Demon rushed at Indra in a blast of crimson. Indra raised his bow and, shaking the ten directions with its potent twanging, shot a clutch of arrows with the power of Agni and Surya at Ravana’s roaring cone of heads.

“Ravana raised his own bow and replied with shafts of darkness and fear that were no less potent than the Lord of Devaloka’s were. Another unnatural night fell over the battle. Still, rakshasa and Deva fought on, as if they could not stop themselves; they fought blindly, scarcely knowing if they slew friend or foe. It was a sorcerous night that had fallen, and just three of the warriors who fought at its heart saw through its darkness.

“Indra, who consumed the legions of evil as he pleased with his astras, saw. Ravana was not blinded by the mayic dark, and neither was his son Meghanada. Ravana saw millions of his rakshasas burned alive by Indra’s prodigious missiles; he saw his army dwindle before his eyes. He screeched at his sarathy, ‘Ride at the Lokapalas! I will cut Indra’s head from his neck today, and Varuna’s, Yama’s, and Kubera’s. And I will rule from Amravati.’

“The host of heaven, it is told, Rama, stretched from the Nandana, which is just below Amravati, to the eastern mountain Udaya. The Lokapalas fought upon that mountain. Ravana’s sarathy flitted like a fiendish thought through the legions of rakshasas, gandharvas, charanas, and the rest. Indra saw the Rakshasa coming, and cried to his Devas, ‘Ravana cannot be killed. Let us take him captive and hold him instead!’

“From the north, the Demon plowed his way deep into the Deva army, as he would violate a woman. From the south, Indra thrust his way into the rakshasa army. After a hundred bloody yojanas, the two came face to face. Seeing his forces decimated by the Rakshasa, Indra attacked him with such ferocity Ravana was forced to retreat.

“A great cry went up from the other rakshasas and the Asuras: ‘We are undone!’

“Meghanada watched all this, quivering with ire. He jumped into his chariot and, using his tamasi maya, flew into the fray invisibly, sowing death all around him. The Deva army scattered like straws in a gale. Meghanada flew at Indra himself, and the Lord of the Devas could not see his adversary for the maya he was cloaked in, which was Siva’s boon to the rakshasa prince.

“Indra saw just the storm of arrows Meghanada loosed at him, the storm that smashed his chariot in shards and wounded Matali. Indra fled the field. He returned to battle, now mounted on his white elephant Airavata, who trod air.

“Still, Meghanada’s maya was beyond him. He could neither penetrate its opacity nor catch a glimpse of his assailant. Indra felt dizzy from the deluge of arrows that fell on him from the sky; the torrent of arrows that besieged him from every side; the geysers of arrows that rose from below him when he took to the air.

“Indra felt himself being bound by inexorable hoops of power. He felt himself being made fast by Meghanada, master of maya; and the king of the Devas, the Lord of the immortals of Devaloka, Master of the elements, was helpless to resist the rakshasa prince’s sorcery. In a daze, in disbelief, Indra allowed himself to be snatched from his elephant’s back by immaterial fingers, to a remote corner of the war.

“Meanwhile, Ravana fought like an aksauhini of demons, by himself, and faced the Adityas and the Vasus. But those Devas contained the Rakshasa effortlessly: they drove him back with shining valor. For the first time ever, Meghanada saw his proud father shamed on the field. He saw him uncertain and fumbling at his bow. That prince called across the field to Ravana, ‘Father, come away: the war is won! Indra is my captive. Rule the three worlds as you please, my lord. You are their only sovereign now.’

“When the Adityas and the Vasus heard Meghanada, they laid down their weapons and fought no more. Ravana rode up to his magnificent son and clasped him in his arms. He cried, ‘You are the savior of our race!’

“He cast a triumphant glance at Indra, held fast in the shimmering coils of Meghanada’s astra. Ravana said, ‘Meghanada, my heroic child, take your captive home to Lanka. I will follow you with Prahastha, Maricha, and the others’

“The victorious Meghanada came home to a delirious reception from his people. Women and children lined the streets, when they heard who it was that their prince had brought as his prisoner. Not a rakshasa or rakshasi stayed home. The old and infirm had themselves carried out to celebrate this impossible victory of their king and his son, their own incredible victory: the triumph of the race of the rakshasas, the firstborn race of creation.”

 

18. Brahma intervenes

“The Devas came in disarray to Brahma and told him how Meghanada had taken Indra captive. Brahma went with the Devas to Lanka. Like a four-faced sun he appeared in the sky over the city of the rakshasas, and, in a voice of ages, said to Ravana, ‘Your son has truly made you Lord of the three worlds. He is your equal, Rakshasa; perhaps he is even greater than you are. For what he has done today, I name him Indrajit and the worlds shall know him by that name from now.

“‘But Indrajit, you must not incur the sin of holding the king of Devaloka a prisoner. Look, the Devas have come here with me; they are willing to pay you whatever price you ask to release Indra.’

“Without a moment’s hesitation, Indrajit replied, ‘Give me immortality and I will release the Deva!’

“Brahma said, ‘There is no immortality for any of the living. Why, when my time comes, I myself will die.’

“Indrajit grew thoughtful. Slowly, he said, ‘I will accept another boon from you, Pitamaha. Whenever I go out to battle, I worship Agni. Let a chariot of power emerge from the flames, and as long as I sit in that chariot, let me not die. If, however, I fail to worship Agni before I go out to fight, then I may be killed, if there is a warrior who can kill me.’

“Brahma said, ‘So be it.’

“Indrajit spoke an ancient and secret mantra. The coils of the astra that held Indra vanished, and the king of the Devas was free. How miserable that splendid God was, how utterly vanquished in spirit: that a rakshasa stripling had conquered him, shamed him, marched him, the Lord of the Devas, through the streets of Lanka. Even death could hardly be worse than this. And now, their mission fulfilled, the other Devas flew up into heaven. But Indra could not ascend. He was leaden; his body had turned gross.

“He stood mute, with his head hung before his Father, Brahma the Creator, in a jungle in the world. Finally, the Deva said in a whisper, ‘Pitamaha, what happened today? How was I, Indra, king of the Devas, defeated in battle?’

“Brahma’s eyes were full of deep memories. He said gently, ‘My son, you have forgotten an old sin you once committed. You have forgotten Ahalya and the Rishi Gautama’s curse.’

“Indra shuddered to remember. He had lain with the rishi’s perfect wife, who was like a tongue of fire, and the sage had cursed him. Gautama had cursed Indra to show a thousand organs of lust upon his body, because this was the first time in creation that sin had been committed and Indra was its perpetrator. Thereafter men, too, would commit this mother of every other sin, and the worlds would decay in time, through the four yugas.

“After Indra had performed a searing penance, Brahma had mitigated the curse, so Indra had a thousand eyes upon his body instead of a thousand phalluses. But Gautama had also cursed Indra that half the sin of every adultery committed in the world would accrue to him, for being the first adulterer; the other half would be borne by those that committed the sin. And this would weaken his power, until, one day, he would fall into an enemy’s hands in battle. Gautama had also said the throne of Devaloka would never be secure from then: Indra would often be driven from heaven, and some Asura or other would rule in his place.

“Ahalya had been the first perfect, and perfectly beautiful, woman. But when she sinned, all the world shared her beauty and there were other women as lovely as she. And of course, you know, Rama, that Gautama cursed her to be a heap of dust in their asrama, until your blue feet touched her, and she was forgiven her sin and reunited with her husband.

“Brahma said again, ‘Indra, do you remember the sin you committed that turned all the ages dark? This is your punishment.’

“Indra whispered, ‘Pitamaha, how can I be rid of the curse? How can I rise into Devaloka again?’

“‘Perform a yagna in the name of Vishnu and you shall ascend from the very yagnashala.’

“Tears filled the Deva’s eyes. He said, ‘Pitamaha, my son Jayanta is dead.’

“Brahma said, ‘No, Puloma has hidden him under the sea. Jayanta will return to you when you have performed the yagna.’

“With that, Brahma vanished. Indra performed the Vishnu yagna, and as soon as the last mantra was chanted and the last oblation offered into the sacred fire, he felt a pulsing and ecstatic radiance enfold him. He felt the grossness he had acquired in defeat melt into that blue and loving illumination. His body purified into a form of light, once more Indra flew up into Devaloka. He ruled from the throne in Amravati again.

“And so it is, Rama, the wise say that Indrajit was greater than Ravana. For in battle it was not the father but the son who conquered the Deva king. But however that may be, after Indra himself was vanquished, who else in creation would dare stand against the might of Ravana of Lanka?

“And so, ever since, Ravana was Master of the three worlds: of Swarga, Bhumi, and Patala. All their denizens, all their greatest monarchs, paid the Evil One homage. They sent him tribute, lest he come again to their kingdoms with his dreadful legions.”

 

19. Ravana worships Siva

But now Rama asked the Muni Agastya in mild surprise, “O jewel among all the twice-born, were the kshatriyas of the earth all cowards, then, that they allowed Ravana to tame them and rule them so easily?”

Agastya smiled. “Once, during his endless campaigns, Ravana arrived at the gates of a splendid city of men called Mahishmati. Mahishmati in the world was said to be no less magnificent than Amravati in heaven. The king of Mahishmati was called Arjuna, and his clan was the Haihaya. Arjuna was a bhakta of Agni Deva, and with the Fire God’s blessing Mahishmati became a wonder upon the earth. In return, Arjuna always kept the sacred agni burning in a great pit and the agnikunda filled with kusa grass.

“The day Ravana came to Mahishmati, Arjuna of the Haihayas had gone with his women to the Narmada, to bathe and to sport.

“Ravana said to Arjuna’s ministers, ‘I have heard your king is the mightiest kshatriya in the world. I have come seeking battle with him. Where is he?’

“But the ministers, who were wise men, replied that they did not know where Arjuna was, nor when he would return. Ravana took himself to the Vindhya mountains of a thousand peaks, mantled with emerald forests and infested with lions and other beasts, of whom the tawny ones are the lords. When rivers fell here in cascades, from sheer summits, they seemed to utter a horse laugh!

“Devas, gandharvas, apsaras, and kinnaras came to the Vindhya to sport and to make love, and the mountain that stood rooted like Anantashesa with his thousand hoods—the peaks, and the mountain streams were his forked tongues—seemed truly like a piece of Swarga fallen into Bhumi below.

“Ravana sought the greatest river that flowed down the Vindhyachala, the blessed Narmada, which made its shimmering way into the western sea. It was a warm day, and he saw bison, elephants, herds of deer, bears, and lions quenching their thirst at different pools along the Narmada’s course. He saw the rippling currents laden with goose, duck, ibis, teal, and every sort of water bird, some that had flown across the earth to arrive here.

“The river was crowned with a crest of trees in full bloom. Her breasts were two flocks of chakravakas; sandbanks were her hips, floating swans her girdle; her limbs were anointed with brilliant pollens, as if with the paste of the sandalwood tree. Full-blown lotuses were the eyes of the Narmada.

“Ravana saw her from above and was seized by a compulsion to bathe in her; he felt it would be like being embraced by a Goddess. He flew down in his petal-quiet vimana, with his ministers, and sat on the banks of the holy and beautiful river. Sitting there on velvet moss, enchanted, he murmured in adoration, ‘Ah, she is the Ganga!’ Then he turned to Suka and Sarana, who sat closest to their king. ‘Look, the sun has dimmed himself in reverence to see me. He who sears the earth has turned mild as the moon to see Ravana.’

“He seemed to be carried away in this vein. ‘Can you feel how Vayu the wind blows gently around us, for fear of me? And, despite the birds, fish, and crocodiles she bears on her currents, even the river seems like a timid young girl before me. My friends, you bear upon your bodies the blood of a hundred kings of the earth, each of whom would vie with Indra in might. Even as the Diggajas do in the Akasaganga, bathe now in this lovely Narmada. She will take your sins from you, my rakshasas. I, too, shall offer worship to my Lord Siva in her waters’

“Prahastha, Mahodara, Suka, Sarana, Dhrumraksha, and all his other ministers entered the clear river, and she quivered with their virile presences even as the Ganga does when the elephants that bear creation upon their backs bathe in the golden river of the north. When they had finished their ablutions, the rakshasas fetched flowers for their king, for his worship. Soon there was another small mountain of resonant blossoms piled high on the sandbank, which shone like a white cloud lit by the noon sun.

“Then, Ravana himself waded into the lucid flow, just as the lord of the elephants enters the Ganga: majestically and last of all. He offered flowers on the water; he chanted the Gayatri mantra a thousand times; he dipped his head under the cool, clear flow. When he had finished this purifying ritual, he stepped out, set aside his wet clothes, and put on a white silk robe.

“Ravana offered more flowers to a golden Sivalinga he had brought with him and now installed in an altar of sand. He anointed it with the finest sandalwood paste. Then he raised his hands to heaven and sang and danced with abandon to Siva, who removes the suffering of the virtuous and bestows the greatest boons.

“As Ravana danced, so did his rakshasas, like swaying mountains. For all their girth and bulk, they were surprisingly graceful, and their worship was soulful and queerly elegant.

*   *   *

“Now it happened that quite near, and downstream from where the invincible Rakshasa offered his flowers on the water, great Arjuna of Mahishmati, the son of Kritavirya, sported in the Narmada with his women. He stood in the swirling current like a bull elephant among his cows.

“Arjuna was a thousand-armed kshatriya, and to show off his awesome strength to his women, he stretched all thousand arms out across the gushing river, bank to bank. Soon the water no longer flowed: Kartaviryarjuna’s arms arrested its tide like a dam. The river rose in one place and then flowed back upstream, laden with fish, tortoises, and crocodiles, and with copious armfuls of kusa grass and the flowers of Ravana’s worship.

“In that unnatural flood, the water swept back toward where Ravana was at his worship. Ravana’s eyes turned red as poppies. He glared at the river as if he were gazing at one of his wives being enjoyed by another man. The birds were calm enough in their trees; the elements seemed at peace. He could find no reason why the water flooded back to him.

“Ravana was forced to abandon his incomplete worship. He spoke no word, only pointed a long and imperious finger downstream; he looked at Suka and Sarana, that they should investigate what or who had dared interrupt him. The river flowed west, and Suka and Sarana set their faces in that direction and rose into the air.

“When they had flown just a few moments, and half a yojana, they saw a thousand-armed kshatriya playing in the water with his women. He was as great as a sala tree. The river swelled round him, tossed his hair on its transparent currents like moss, then flowed back from him, as if in fear of that warrior. Suka and Sarana hung invisibly in the air. They saw that the kshatriya in the river was formidable, his eyes red-rimmed, his body hard as rock, his every movement proclaiming that he was a great king, never to be trifled with.

“Suka and Sarana flashed away, still unseen, back to their master. They flew down before Ravana and said breathlessly, ‘Lord, there is a man we do not know in the river, half a yojana downstream. He is as tall as a sala tree and his arms are countless, even like the branches of a tree. He has a thousand women around him, and to amuse them he has spread his arms like a dam across the Narmada. And she cannot flow past him, but breaks her banks as if in terror and flows back toward us.’

“Ravana growled, ‘It is Kartaviryarjuna.’

“At once he set off down the flooding river, hungry for a fight. The wind rose and howled around the Lord of the rakshasas, blowing up a pall of dust. In moments, dark clouds filled the sky, shook with thunder and lightning, and poured down a drizzle of blood. Bright as antimony in the fallen gloom, Ravana arrived at the recalcitrant pool on the river, which Arjuna had created with his thousand arms.

“In a voice like ten peals of thunder, Ravana said to the kshatriya’s ministers, ‘Tell your king, Haihayas, that Ravana of Lanka has come to seek battle with him.’

“The ministers replied, ‘You are a shrewd judge of the time to fight, O Ravana, that you have come when our king is drunk and sporting with his women. You come like a cunning tiger, which chooses to attack a bull elephant when he is in rut, among his cows. We say to you, Rakshasa, if you are a man of honor remain here with us tonight, and tomorrow our king will fight you. But if you are impatient and must fight at once, you must face us first, because we will not let you pass to our king.’

“And they drew their swords and stood defiantly before Ravana and his rakshasas. That battle did not last more than a few moments before the Haihayas were all slain and most of them eaten by the demons from Lanka, who by now were hungry. More ministers and soldiers from Kartaviryarjuna’s camp came rushing to face Ravana. They poured in like an angry sea, from every side, loosing tides of fierce missiles at the marauders.

“The Haihayas drew first blood; but then, roaring to shake the mountain, Prahastha, Maricha, Suka, Sarana, and the other great rakshasas began to cut them down, so the flooding Narmada was tinted with their dark gore. The rakshasas still ate their adversaries, as they fought on.

“Some of Arjuna’s soldiers fled the battle in the forest and went flying to their king, at languorous love in the river. They babbled out their story and he came out slowly from the water. He said to his women, in perfect calm, ‘Do not be afraid.’

“Kartaviryarjuna’s eyes were slits of copper. His anger flared up like the fire at the end of the yugas, which consumes the world. He picked up a mace and set out to hunt the rakshasas. Arjuna of the Haihayas scattered the rakshasa front lines as the sun does the night’s darkness at dawn. He came among them like a twisting tempest, the mace in his hands striking out in every direction, felling a thousand demons each moment.

“Then Prahastha loomed in his path like another Vindhya, with what seemed to be a great pestle in his hand. Roaring like death, Prahastha cast the occult weapon at Arjuna; as it flew at him its tip burned with a mysterious red fire, formed like an asoka flower. But Arjuna flung his own mace at that weapon: he flung it with five hundred arms! The two ayudhas exploded against each other. Kartaviryarjuna still held a mace in his hands, and he rushed at the astonished Prahastha and struck him a blow like doom on his head. Like a bull struck by Indra’s vajra, Ravana’s Senapati crumpled.

“Seeing Prahastha overcome so quickly, so easily, Maricha, Suka, Sarana, Mahodara, and the rest slunk away from the field like dogs. Only Ravana remained to confront Arjuna. Like two stormy seas, two agitated mountains, two suns, two apocalyptic fires, two bulls fighting for a cow in heat, two thunderclouds, two lions, like Rudra and Kaala, Kartaviryarjuna and Ravana rushed at each other, maces in hand.

“Their blows were like erupting volcanoes, like earthquakes, like the world being cloven. When Arjuna swung his gada at his enemy’s chest, it was a gash of lightning that briefly turns a dark, ominous sky golden. And when Ravana swung his mace at the stupendous kshatriya, it resembled a meteor falling through the sky onto a mountain.

“Neither combatant seemed to tire, though they fought like two rivers in spate trying to drown each other. Why, they fought even as Indra and the Asura Bali did, of old. Suddenly, the Haihaya cast his mace at his opponent like a bolt of fate. That blow would have killed any other warrior in the three worlds; but the mace smashed to dust against Ravana’s chest, protected by Brahma’s boon. But Ravana staggered back a bow’s length and sank to the ground, crying out in pain.

“Seeing his chance, Arjuna darted forward and seized the Rakshasa in his thousand arms, as Garuda would a serpent. Kartaviryarjuna bound Ravana, even as Vishnu once did Bali. From above, there fell a delicate shower of fine petals from Indra’s garden, from the immaterial hands of the siddhas, charanas, and Devas.

“When he had Ravana firmly, as a tiger a deer or a lion an elephant, mighty Kartaviryarjuna flung back his head and roared again and again: echoing thunder! Meanwhile, Prahastha, whom Arjuna had felled earlier, had come to his senses. Seeing his precious lord held fast in a thousand arms, he sprang up and charged Arjuna. Following their Senapati, celebrating his recovery, Maricha, Suka, Mahodara, Sarana, and all the other rakshasas rushed at Arjuna from many sides.

“Prahastha, the main assailant, loosed every sort of weapon at the kshatriya who held his master helpless. But with his thousand hands Arjuna plucked them from the air as they flew at him. Then he, also, held countless bows in numberless hands and shot such an extravagance of missiles at the rakshasas that he scattered them as the wind does the fleecy clouds of summer.

“Victorious, the great Haihaya brought Ravana, immobile in the thongs of a thousand arms, back to his city: Mahishmati like a jewel upon the earth. Along his triumphal march through his streets, women and brahmanas showered seasons of flowers over their conquering king and harvests of rice-grains,” said the matchless Muni Agastya in the court of Ayodhya, in the perfect Rama’s sabha.

 

20. Ravana and Vali

“In lofty Brahmaloka, Pulastya Muni, Ravana’s grandfather, heard the Devas tell with relish how Kartaviryarjuna had taken Ravana prisoner, which they said was hardly easier than capturing the wind.

“Pulastya arrived in Mahishmati by rishi patha, the ethereal skyway of the sages of heaven. When Arjuna’s ministers saw the muni, who was as splendid as a sun and hard even to look at, they ran in to their king to tell him that Pulastya himself had come to their city. Kartaviryarjuna folded his palms above his head and came out to receive the holy one.

“The Haihaya king came with arghya, with his own brahmanas going ahead of him, as Brihaspati does when Indra comes to the gates of Amravati to greet Brahma. Arjuna offered Pulastya Muni madhurparka, a cow, and water to wash his feet with, then said to him in some rapture, ‘O Prince among rishis, today my Mahishmati is as blessed as Amravati. My life is fruitful today that Pulastya Muni has come to grace my city. My kingdom and my people are yours to command; all that I own is yours.’

“And he prostrated himself before the rishi. Pulastya laid a hand on the king’s head and raised him up. He asked after the welfare of his kingdom, his family, his children, and his people. Then Pulastya said, ‘You have no equal in strength and valor anywhere, O Kartaviryarjuna, that Ravana himself is your prisoner. Only you have ever vanquished my grandson, in awe of whom the sea and the wind stand still. You have consumed his glory, and I, Pulastya, have come to beg you to set my child free.’

“Arjuna did not say a word. He clapped his hands to have Ravana fetched from the dungeon where he held him, and set him free without condition. Why, that kshatriya gave Ravana lavish gifts of unearthly ornaments and clothes, and swore a covenant with him, before a sacred fire, that neither of them would attack the other.

“With this, Arjuna bowed low to Pulastya, took the padadhuli from his feet, and went back into his palace. The rishi, too, blessed his chastened grandson and vanished in a flare of light, back to Brahmaloka. Ravana returned to Lanka. Now that he had sworn friendship with Kartaviryarjuna, there was truly no king left in the three worlds who could pose a threat to the Rakshasa. He ruled as he pleased and extended his sinister sway as far as he ranged. He never hesitated to drink the blood of anyone who dared oppose him; and if he ever heard that any king or warrior, anywhere, of any race, was powerful, he made it a point to visit him and either kill him or have his abject surrender.

“Once, Ravana heard that there was a peerless hero in a jungle of Bharatavarsha. He was a vanara of untold valor and strength, a king of his people, and his name was Vali. Vali ruled the secret city of Kishkinda, and when Ravana heard about his prowess and his exploits, he went to Kishkinda and roared out a challenge to Vali.

“At this, Vali’s wife and chief minister, Tara, her father Sushena, who was Vali’s physician, and his brother Sugriva came and said, variously, to Ravana, ‘Lord of Lanka, Vali is not in Kishkinda and no one else in this city is even remotely a match for you. Our king has gone to the shores of the four seas to say his sandhya vandana. We beg you, wait, and he will return shortly.’

“Ravana gazed in some curiosity at a great pile of glistening bones heaped outside the hidden gates of Kishkinda. He saw some bones were intact, but others had been crushed almost to powder.

“Tara said to him, ‘These are the bones of those who sought to test their strength against Vali. Not even if you have drunk amrita, Rakshasa, will you escape death if you fight him. Ravana, if you are in a hurry to die, go to the shore of the southern ocean and you will find my husband there at his sandhya vandana, glowing like Agni Deva come down to the earth.’

“He growled at her, ‘We shall see how a monkey fights Ravana of Lanka.’

“Climbing back into the pushpaka vimana, he flew quickly as a thought to the southern shore. There he saw an immense figure seated on the sands, like a small golden mountain, entirely absorbed in his twilight worship. His face, which shone like a rising sun, was turned toward the scarlet sea into which the sun sank like treasure. Ravana, black as night, crept up behind the vanara to seize him. But Vali sensed him coming; he saw him out of the corner of his eye.

“Vali showed no anger; rather he smiled serenely when he glimpsed the ten-headed Demon creeping up on him like a thief. He was like a lion that spied a rabbit, or Garuda sensing a snake. He did not pause his chanting of the Vedic mantras, but he prepared himself for Ravana. He was also determined that he would complete his worship, at all the four seas, this very evening.

“Unaware that he was discovered, Ravana crept up close behind the vanara. But when he raised his arms to seize Vali, quicker than light the great monkey spun around and gripped Ravana’s neck in his armpit. The Rakshasa roared, he struggled; he flailed out at Vali, but he could not get free. The vanara held him fast; he held him as easily as he would a child.

“The other rakshasas now leaped out of the vimana and rushed at the vanara to rescue their king. But holding Ravana dangling from his armpit, Vali rose steeply into the sky, lit by the last shafts of the setting sun. The pursuing rakshasas flew up after him, but they could not match Vali’s thought-like speed.

“The mountains of the earth swayed out of Vali the vanara’s way as he sped toward the three remaining oceans, worshipping the Goddesses of dawn and dusk, being honored by the birds of the air. He alighted on the shore of the western sea, with Ravana dangling helplessly from his armpit like a rag doll.

“Vali immersed himself in the western ocean and chanted the sandhya mantra, standing waist-deep in the water. He flew up again, flitted away to the northern sea, and worshipped there, as well, immersing Ravana as if the Rakshasa were a strange limb of himself. He worshipped at the eastern sea, also, then flew home to Kishkinda and down into a sylvan garden just outside his city. Now Vali felt a trifle tired, having carried Ravana across the length and breadth of Bharatavarsha.

“He lifted his arm, scratched himself as monkeys do, and let the Rakshasa fall from his armpit; and, pretending to notice him only now, began laughing uproariously. ‘From where did you spring?’ he asked.

“Ravana said, humbly by now, ‘Vanarendra, I am Ravana, and I came seeking a duel with you, for I heard of your prowess. But I never dreamed there existed in this world anyone who could do to me what you have done today. And, ah, how swiftly you flew! I thought only the mind, Vayu Deva, and Garuda flew so fast.

“‘O jewel among monkeys, having seen you and felt your strength, I would not have you as my enemy. I beg you, let us be friends forever; let us swear friendship before a sacred agni. Let all our lands, our women, our soldiers, our food, all we own, belong to the both of us, jointly. Let us be allies, like brothers!’

“And, laughing, Vali agreed. They lit a fire, embraced, and the Lord of the monkey folk of the earth and the Emperor of the rakshasas swore to be friends unto death. Then Vali led Ravana into Kishkinda, like one lion leading another into his cave. For a month Ravana lived in Kishkinda and was treated even as Sugriva was in that wonderful, hidden city.”

Agastya glanced at Rama in some wonder, and said, “It was that invincible Vali whom you killed with just one arrow, Rama.”

Rama sighed, and Sugriva had tears in his golden eyes.

 

21. Speaking of Hanuman

Rama said brightly, “Truly, Muni, Vali and Ravana were powerful beyond all measure. But neither was as strong as our Hanuman! Neither of them could have accomplished what he did, in the most difficult circumstances: when Angada and the vanaras despaired on the shore of the southern sea; when, later, Hanuman leaped into Lanka and could not find Sita; and, of course, when he killed some of Ravana’s best warriors and his son Aksha, and set Lanka on fire, all by himself.

“And in the war, too, he was invincible. Why, not even Kaala, Indra, or Kubera have done what Hanuman did, and I am sure that but for him we could never have triumphed. But I realize, O Agastya, that I know precious little about this dearest friend of mine. He is so humble that he never speaks of himself, almost as if he is not even aware of how great he is. Not only I, but also many others here would like to hear about his valor. My lord, though Hanuman himself perhaps would not have it, I beg you: tell us all there is to know about him.”

Hanuman already squirmed shyly where he sat. Agastya smiled to see him, and said, “Rama, truly, there is no one on earth to match our good Hanuman in speed, intelligence, or even strength. But as you have observed, he himself is hardly aware of his greatness; which is why he did not consume Vali as a fire does a dry tree of summer, but instead watched Sugriva suffer in the wilderness. And there is a reason for this, besides his natural humility. You see, once the rishis of the forest cursed Hanuman that he would never be fully aware of his own powers. For even as a small child, he performed such feats that they were afraid of him, and what he might do when he grew up.

“You know, Rama, the mountain Sumeru has a golden hue because of Surya Deva’s blessing. Hanuman’s father, Kesari, ruled on Sumeru. His wife was the lovely Anjana, and upon her Vayu sired Hanuman, who was born with the color of the bristly heads of paddy sheaths. When he was just a mite, his mother left him sleeping and went into the forest to find some soft fruit for her child to eat. Hanuman woke up when she was away, and began to cry from finding her gone and from hunger, even as Karttikeya did in the thicket of sara grasses.

“Just then, he saw the sun rising on the rim of the world, like a mass of japaa flowers. He thought it was a great fruit and sprang up into the air to pluck it! Hanuman flew up like an arrow. The Devas, yakshas, and Danavas saw him flaring up like an effulgent thought, and were amazed.

“They said to one another, ‘If he flies like this when he is just a baby, what will he be like when he is a youth?’

“Vayu flew with his son, enfolding him in a cool wrap of air, so the sun would not burn him. With his father’s power, Hanuman shot up through the sky for a million yojanas and he drew near the blazing sun. Surya Deva knew this was a child of great destiny, who would one day be the messenger of Vishnu’s Avatara: he did not consume the young monkey.

“At that very time, Rahu tried to seize the sun and devour him. Little Hanuman saw the Asura and attacked the demon who was trying to steal his fruit. Rahu was terrified by the awesome child and fled to Indra. Simhika’s son, the Asura, complained to the king of the Devas, ‘O Indra, you have said that I can feed on the sun and the moon, to still my perpetual hunger. Today is the day after the new moon, but when I was about to seize Surya, another Asura attacked me suddenly and laid hold of the star.’

“Indra, tall as a peak of Kailasa, his golden necklace blinding, mounted the four-tusked Airavata, set the aggrieved Rahu before him, and flew to where Surya Deva was with Hanuman. When Rahu saw the sun, he leaped off Airavata’s back and flew at the blazing star. When Hanuman saw Rahu flying toward him like a great black cloud, he thought this was another velvet fruit, worthy of his attention. He sprang at Rahu to eat him.

“Rahu screamed, ‘Indra! Help me!’ and fled from the splendid monkey child.

“Indra cried, ‘Never fear, Rahu, I will kill him!’

“Hanuman heard Indra’s roar, and, turning his head, saw the Lord of the Devas. He saw white Airavata and thought that here, indeed, was the finest-looking fruit of all. He now flew at the Deva king and his mount. Roaring louder than ever, Indra cast his vajra at the infant vanara.

“The thunderbolt struck Hanuman squarely, and he fell unconscious through the chasms of the sky, down, down to the earth below. He fell onto a great mountain and broke his jaw. When Vayu saw what Indra had done to his son, he withdrew the precious prana that sustains every living creature; so they all choked and gasped for breath. Snatching up his wounded baby, the Wind God flew into a deep and secret cave.

“With every creature breathless and turning blue, it seemed creation would end. The worlds were plunged into panic, into hell. The Devas, gandharvas, and Asuras, those that could still move, came panting to Brahma. They cried, ‘What sin have we committed? Why does Vayu choke us today? Ah, Pitamaha, we will all perish if you don’t save us!’

“Brahma said to them, ‘It was Vayu’s son that Indra struck with the vajra.’

“‘What shall we do, Pitamaha?’ wailed the Devas.

“Brahma said, ‘We must seek Vayu out.’

“So, with all the created, the Devas, gandharvas, yakshas, nagas, siddhas, rishis, men, and all the rest, Brahma went to the cave where Vayu had hidden himself. They found him there with the infant Hanuman in his lap, radiant as the sun, but lifeless. And the Deva wept.

“Vayu saw Brahma, and he rose mutely, his eyes streaming, and stood before the Creator with his dead child in his arms. Vayu’s golden kundalas and his unearthly crown were dim with his grief. Still without a word, he prostrated himself at Brahma’s feet. Brahma reached out and stroked little Hanuman with his palm. At once, the vanara child awoke like a wilted plant that had been watered.

“When Vayu saw his son alive, he gave a mighty sigh of joy, and all the created breathed again: they gained back their life breath, their prana. Why, they were like lakes that were laden with lotuses, when the icy wind stops blowing across their waters. Brahma possesses three pairs of divine qualities: strength and glory, power and wealth, wisdom and dispassion. He appears in three forms: as Brahma, Vishnu, and Siva. He dwells in the three worlds: Swarga, Bhumi, and Patala. He is worshipped mainly by those who know but three stages in life: infancy, boyhood, and youth: the immortals. Now Brahma spoke to the Devas.

“He said, ‘O Indra, Agni, Varuna, Rudra, and Kubera, grant this child great boons; for one day your own purpose shall be served by him. Grant him boons, also, so his father will forgive you for what you did to his son.’

“Indra removed the garland of lotuses he wore and set it around Hanuman’s neck. He said, ‘Since my vajra broke your chin, O tiger among monkeys, you shall be called Hanuman from now. And from now you shall be invulnerable to every weapon lesser than my thunderbolt, and to my vajra as well.’

“Surya, the Sun, said, ‘You shall have a hundredth part of my radiance. And when you are old enough, little one, I myself will teach you the Shastras and no one in the world will know the scriptures, or live them, as perfectly as you will.’

“Varuna blessed him that he would never die in water, in a million years. Yama said Hanuman would not die from his danda, and no illness would ever touch him.

“Then Kubera, of the one tawny eye, said, ‘Not my mace, nor any weapon less than it, shall cause your death. I bless you that you will never know tiredness in battle.’

“Rudra, the greatest, laid his palm on Hanuman’s head and blessed him. ‘No weapon of mine, or any I have power over, will harm you.’

“Viswakarman, who creates every astra, said, ‘No weapon of heaven or earth shall kill you and you will be a Chiranjivi.’

“Brahma said, ‘You shall not be killed by the weapons of Brahma or the curses of any brahmana.’ He turned to Vayu, who by now was beaming. ‘Your son shall be a terror to his enemies. He shall be invincible, and anyone that remembers his name, through all the ages, will be free from fear. I bless your son that he will be able to change his form at will, to assume any guise he wants. He will be able to fly to any part of the worlds at his wish, and he shall be a thorn in the side of Ravana of Lanka.’

“And having variously blessed Hanuman Vayuputra, Brahma, Rudra, and the Devas returned to their supernal realms. Vayu, wafter of fragrances, brought Hanuman home to his anxious mother on Sumeru. He told her about all that had chanced with her marvelous child, when she went to pluck fruits in the forest. And Vayu left Hanuman with Anjana, dissolved into a breathy wind, and vanished into his ubiquitous airs.

“Replete with great boons from the Gods, Hanuman grew into a young vanara, bursting with vigor, strength, and often mischief. He was not always as humble and self-effacing as when you met him, Rama. He was even in the habit, as a youth, of disturbing the munis of the forest at their solemn yagnas. At first he would rip to shreds any valkala he found hung out to dry. Then, as he grew bolder, he would leap down out of a tree and snatch a ladle from a rishi about to pour oblation into a sacred fire, or break the sacrificial vessels, full of holy water or other offerings.

“The rishis knew the young vanara was proof against their direst curses because of Brahma’s boon to him. They came and complained to Anjana’s husband Kesari, Hanuman’s foster father, and to Anjana herself. But despite their admonishing Hanuman, he continued with his profligate ways. The rishis took their complaint to Vayu himself, invoking the Wind God with worship. But Hanuman was arrogant and tameless.

“The greatest rishis, born in the line of Bhrigu and Angiras, decided to curse Hanuman. They did not, however, curse him with death, but only to a long forgetfulness: of his own strength, of who his father was, and of the boons he had from the Gods.

“They said, ‘When you remember these things again, Hanuman, at a great juncture of destiny, when you are on a mission for Vishnu’s own Avatara, then your glory will return to you. But by then you will be a mature vanara, and your wisdom will have grown so you will never again abuse your powers as you have done in your youth.’

“From that day, a sea change came over the young monkey’s nature. He grew mild and placid, because he did not remember any more who he was or how strong he was. He would go to the very asramas he had ravaged in his wild days, sit at the rishis’ feet, and learn from them. He now became the embodiment of patience and gentleness. The sages who had known him in the past, as an irreverent whirlwind of a monkey, were astonished at the transformation, until they learned what had happened.

“Those were the days when Vali and Sugriva’s father, the magnificent Riksharajas, was the Lord of all the monkey people of the earth. He was as splendid as Surya Deva was; but then, inevitably, time conquered him and he passed on. Vali became king, and Sugriva the yuvaraja. You know of the enmity that developed between the brothers, and how Vali chased Sugriva from his kingdom and took his wife Ruma for himself.

“It was the rishis’ curse that kept Hanuman from avenging the wrong done to Sugriva, whom he loved as dearly as the wind does the fire. For in truth not even great Vali was Hanuman’s equal. Ah, who is there on earth who is Hanuman’s equal in strength, in vitality, in amiability, in wisdom, cleverness, virility, and discernment?

“Did you know that once he turned his face to the sun, when he wanted to learn the ancient wisdoms; and gazing thus at his blinding preceptor, he walked from the eastern mountain to the western one, where the sun sets? It is said that Hanuman knows as much as Brihaspati does, of both gyana and dhyana.

“And, Rama, what is perhaps not commonly known is that like Hanuman, the other great vanara chieftains, Sugriva, Mainda, Dwividha, Neela, Angada, Nala, Gaja, Gavaksha, Gavaya, Sudamshtra, Prabha, and Jyotimukha, were also Devas’ sons and born to help you achieve your purpose in the world. Without them, very likely, Ravana would still be alive, and his shadow would cover the earth in fear.”

Thus, in Rama’s sabha, Agastya revealed many things that had been kept hidden so far. At last the muni smiled and said, “Now, Rama, you must give us rishis leave: our tapasya is never complete and the earth is always in need of our prayers.”

Rama rose with tears in his eyes. He said, “My lords, your blessings must always be upon my kingdom and on me. I have another favor to ask you, holy ones. I mean to perform many yagnas, in time, to thank the Gods for my good fortune, and to have their grace upon my land and my people. I beg you all to come to my sacrifices and sit over them.”

One by one, the rishis blessed Rama and left Ayodhya, some walking away from the city of destiny, where Vishnu’s Avatara ruled, others flying into the air and vanishing by glimmering sky paths. Night had fallen, and Rama went in to Sita, waiting in his antapura.

 

22. In Rama’s sabha

The next morning, his second day as king, Rama was roused by the vabdhis and magadhis, with songs as sweet as the kinnaras sing. They woke him with fulsome praise.

“Awake, O King, who are the joy of your mother Kausalya; for, Lord, all the world remains in a stupor while you sleep. O you are as powerful as Narayana, handsome as the Aswins, wise as Brihaspati, and regal as Brahma. Your patience is like the earth’s, your glory is like the sun’s, your swiftness like the wind’s, and your heart is as deep as the ocean. In war you are as invincible as Siva, and yet your nature is as gentle as the moon’s.

“Arise, O Rama, and shine upon your kingdom and your people!”

And Rama awoke and rose from his bed, even like Vishnu from Ananta. As the three Vedas wait on a great yagna, Rama found Lakshmana, Bharata, and Shatrughna waiting for him in his chamber. A hundred muditas, servants, waited on his pleasure as well. The twenty vanara chieftains, and Sugriva their king, waited for him, too, as did Jambavan and his wild and noble reekshas. Like yakshas attending on Kubera, Vibheeshana and his four loyal rakshasas waited for Rama.

And many others, besides, were there, among them important ministers of his court. All these sat in his royal apartment, waiting for him to awaken. Some illustrious rishis also waited for Rama, and he rose and came to them even as Indra does to his Devas in Amravati.

And so it was every day; and Rama would go with these loving friends and counselors to his sabha, to minister to his people; and his grace spread through all the kingdom.

Then, one day, he folded his hands to King Janaka, the rajarishi, and said, “My lord, you are our greatest, immutable support. It was by the power of your tapasya that I was able to kill Ravana. I beg you, father, accept these humble tokens of my love. I know you want to return to Mithila; let Bharata and Shatrughna ride with you as your escort.”

A treasure of gifts was presented to the king of Mithila. A beaming Janaka blessed Rama and said, “I am too old to enjoy these precious things. If you allow me, I will leave them for Sita.”

Rama bowed to Janaka, and that august king embraced his daughter and then left for his own kingdom in great contentment. Having seen Janaka off at the palace gates, Rama now turned to Kaikeyi’s brother, the noble Yudhajit, who had come from the kingdom of Kekaya to represent his father, Asvapati, at Rama’s coronation.

Rama said gently to that kshatriya, “Uncle, you, too, must leave today. I am certain that at his age, your father misses you sorely. I will send Lakshmana with you and he will bring some gifts from us to your father.”

When Yudhajit saw the priceless gifts Rama meant to send to his father, he remembered how Rama had been banished to the forest. He said, “Rama, let these gifts remain here in Ayodhya with you. It is only just.”

Rama embraced him, and Yudhajit walked in a pradakshina around Rama and then set out with Lakshmana.

Now Rama went up to his friend Pratardana, the king of Kasi. He said, “My lord, I know you tried, with Bharata, to send me a legion of soldiers to Lanka. Alas, they did not arrive in time for the war, but I can never forget your intention. I must not keep you any more, my friend, from your wonderful city. I thank you with all my heart for having come for my abhisheka.”

They also embraced, and then Pratardana set out for home with the guard he had brought with him. Rama turned to the three hundred other kshatriyas who had come for his coronation and to declare their loyalty. To them he said, “My brothers, it is your prayers and your unflinching dharma that helped me prevail against the enemy. While I was away, you have all been of such support to Bharata that I can never forget your love and your generosity.”

They replied, “It is our greatest fortune that you killed the Rakshasa. It was not only for Sita that you fought, you and your jungle army; but for us all, for all our kingdoms: why, for the very earth herself, to set her free from Ravana’s dark bondage.

“From now on, our kingdoms are yours to rule. You are enshrined in our hearts, noble Rama, and all we ask from you is your love; because we know how incomparable a possession that is.”

And they, also, those noble three hundred, who had always resisted the yoke of Lanka, left for their kingdoms spread across Bharatavarsha. But before they went, they had the invaluable gifts they had brought for Rama’s coronation fetched into the sabha of Ayodhya.

When those kshatriyas left, the earth shook at their going, so immense were their legions, flowing like rivers across the earth. When they had seen Janaka and Yudhajit back to their kingdoms, Bharata, Shatrughna, and Lakshmana returned to Ayodhya laden with horses, chariots, precious stones, elephants, intricately carved sandalwood chests, servants, gold by the cartload, and other treasures those kings had given them. They brought these home to Rama.

Rama gave most of them away to the vanaras, who wore the jewels and ornaments with such delight, and to Vibheeshana’s rakshasas. Rama called Hanuman and Angada to sit beside him in his sabha. He unfastened his own ornaments from his person and tied them on the two vanaras, saying to Sugriva, “But for them I would never have won the war, my friend.”

He called Neela, Nala, Kesari, Kumuda, Gandhamadana, Sushena, Panasa, the great Mainda, Dwividha, Jambavan, Gavaksha, Vinata, Dhumra, Balimukha, Prajangha, Sannada, Darimukha, Dadhimukha, Indrajanu, and many others, and, his eyes moist, gave them more gifts such as they loved. Rama said, “You are all like my brothers, why, like parts of myself. Jungle dwellers, you are the greatest friends a man can have!”

And the monkey folk stayed on in Ayodhya for a month, drinking sweet honey and being fed royal delicacies. And Rama and his brothers spent many happy hours with the vanaras, who could, many of them, change their forms at will; and with the rakshasas, who were a truly magical people, blessed with all sorts of occult siddhis; and with Jambavan’s great bears, who were as loving and patient as they were strong.

But soon it was obvious that the vanaras and the rakshasas had begun to long for their own homes. The monkeys yearned for the forest and the primitive spaces of the wilds: for charmed pools and lakes, for sparkling rivers, for mystic mountains and star-crowded skies, under which their true and free lives lay in wait for them. The rakshasas also longed for the din of waves that was like the very rhythm of their days and nights, in the jewel that was Lanka.

So one day, when a month had passed, Rama said to Sugriva, “My friend, I see your people are growing restless in our city. I know you are loath to tell me you want to return to your forests, lest you hurt me. It is true I would love to keep you here with me forever, but I know you would soon be unhappy away from your home in the wild. So reluctantly, my brother, I give you leave to go. Take your noble, noble vanaras with you, Sugriva, and my undying love and gratitude. How can I thank you all, who risked your lives for me with no hesitation? No, I cannot, not in a hundred lifetimes.”

With tears in his gentle eyes again, Rama turned to Vibheeshana. “And you, my dearest Vibheeshana, who to me are one of the wisest of the earth: you must also leave for home, for I see in your face that you long for Lanka and your wives and your people. And they have need of you. Ah, my friends, I would keep you all here with me and never send you away, but I know you will hardly be happy away from your homes. So I will let you leave now, all of you. But you must promise me you will return soon to Ayodhya, for I will miss you all more than I can say.

“It is only perhaps once in a lifetime that fate forges such friendship as we have. We have walked together through death’s valley.”

And every vanara and rakshasa had tears in his eyes. Hanuman came and knelt before Rama. He said, “Rama, may my love for you last forever. May my bhakti for you never turn to anyone else. And may this body of mine continue to live as long as your story is told upon the earth. Let me hear your life again and again, from the lips of apsaras, so that I feel your presence near me and see you before my eyes whenever I long for you.”

Rama embraced Hanuman fervently and said, “So be it, O best among vanaras. Let your fame live in this world for as long as my story is told in it, and let there be life in your body for as long. And, Hanuman, this tale shall be told in this world for as long as the world lives. And so shall you live, as long as the earth turns round, O Chiranjivi.

“As for me, I would gladly give up my life for every favor you have done for me; and they are so many! Vanara, I am forever in your debt. But let me never have to repay any service you have rendered me, because it is only when one is in trouble that one needs to recall the debts one is owed.”

Rama untied a string of pearls that shone like small moons from his neck, with a mystic cat’s-eye in their midst, and fastened it around Hanuman’s throat. And the vanara was as splendid as golden Meru with the full moon risen over him.

The vanaras rose, one by one, and knelt before Rama, touching their heads to his holy feet. So, too, did the rakshasas and Jambavan’s reekshas quaintly kneel. Rama blessed them all and he clasped Sugriva and Vibheeshana to him. As they, his friends dear to him as his life, bid farewell to Rama, they seemed stupefied with grief. It is told that the vanaras, the four rakshasas, and the mighty black bears left Ayodhya and its king as reluctantly as a soul leaves a body that it has lived in for a lifetime.

 

23. The pushpaka vimana

By noon, the vanaras, reekshas, and rakshasas had all departed. Rama and his brothers sat out on an open terrace to take the soft afternoon sun, when suddenly an indescribably sweet voice spoke out of the sky.

“Rama,” it said, “look on me with love in your eyes of light. It is I, the pushpaka, returned from Kubera’s city where you sent me.”

They looked up in surprise and saw the disk hung in the clear azure above them. Rama asked, “What happened, O vimana?”

“I returned to my Lord Kubera, but he said to me, ‘Rama of Ayodhya killed Ravana in battle. You rightly belong to him from now. Go back to Rama, gentle friend; bear him wherever he wants to go. There is nothing that would please me more, because Rama is the protector of the worlds’ So I flew to you from Alaka. I beg you, Rama, let me bear you through all the realms for as long as you remain in this world.”

Rama said, “I thank you, sublime spirit, O best of all vimanas.”

He worshipped the crystal ship with fried rice grains, flowers, sandalwood paste, and incense. Rama said, “Go now to your subtle realms, and come to me whenever I call you.”

The vimana circled Rama thrice, in the sky, and vanished into the dimension of the siddhas. Now Bharata folded his palms to Rama and said in wonder, “Beings that are not born of Manu speak like men to you! It is just a month since you sat upon Ayodhya’s throne, and already disease and death have vanished from the kingdom. Even the eldest of men are full of health and vigor. Women feel no pain when they deliver children. The rains that fall are sweet as amrita. And I am told this uncanny grace exists not only in Kosala, but in every kingdom of Bharatavarsha. The people all say, ‘May Rama rule us forever!’”

And Rama stroked his brother’s head and smiled.

 

24. The terrible decision

When the pushpaka vimana had gone, Rama went to a private garden in Ayodhya, where a profusion of chandana, aguru, deodar, champaka, punnaga, madhuka, asana, and other trees grew: the finest of their kinds. Unearthly parijatas here were like a mass of smokeless flames, with the sap of their sires that grow in Devaloka.

Lodhra, nipa, arjuna, naga, saptaparna, atimuktaka, mandara bakula, kadamba, jambu, and kovidara grew here as well, covered with feasts of fruit and flowers and slender creepers clinging to their mighty trunks. Bees and sunbirds, shining miracles hanging in the air, sipped their honey. Other birds, kokilas and bhringarajas, were like flashing, many-colored jewels in the branches, some golden-leaved, others like scarlet fires, and still others like kohl, darkling.

The great garden was dotted with scented pools, which had flights of steps leading down to transparent water, stairs paved with rubies that ended in crystal platforms beneath their surface. Carnivals of lilies bloomed on these pools, and chakravakas swam among them, as did teal and ibis, moonwhite goose, duck, and royal swan. Cranes stooped over the pellucid water.

All that secluded garden seemed like an immense, indescribable jewel. Stone benches were laid under the spreading, interwoven trees, and these bore thick flower cushions in every color of the season. Why, this vanika was as lovely as Indra’s Nandana in Devaloka and the Chaitra that Brahma created for Kubera on the Alaka mountain.

Rama came into this garden and found Sita at its heart, waiting for him on a stone seat. Rama wrung some sweet nectar from a few flowers, a drink as heady as maireyaka wine, and gave this to Sita to drink: even as Indra makes Sachi drink.

Food and fruit were laid out for the king and his queen, and when they were alone, a troop of apsaras materialized before them and sinuous naga women, with gandharvas and kinnaras. They drank with Rama and Sita; they sang and danced for them. When the mood was set and the drink high in the royal couple’s veins, the unearthly minstrels and dancers vanished as they had come. Rama turned to his love and drew her tenderly to him.

Thus their time passed. Rama would spend half his day attending to the affairs of the kingdom; then he would come to Sita in their garden. She, for her part, would spend her mornings seeing to her domestic chores, and especially looking after the needs of her three mothers-in-law, without favor or distinction. Then she would keep her daily assignation with Rama in the charmed grove.

One day he said to her, “It is time you bore me a child, my love.”

And she turned her face shyly from him and whispered, “I want to go and spend a night in the forest in an asrama. I want to have the rishis’ blessings.”

He cried in joy, “You will go tomorrow!”

*   *   *

In Rama’s sabha, there were some of the most brilliant men in all Bharatavarsha: not merely wise munis, but scintillating raconteurs with a fund of profound and amusing tales for their king. Vijaya, Madhumatta, Kashyapa, Mangala, Kula, Suraji, Kaliya, Bhadra, Dantavakra, and Sumagadha were some of the finest among these.

Later the same evening of the day Sita said she wanted to spend a night in a muni’s asrama, Rama sat in his sabha with these bards. Today the sparkling Bhadra had everyone in splits of laughter.

Suddenly, unaccustomedly, Rama interrupted him, “Bhadra, tell me what our people say about me these days. Do they love me as they used to before I became king? And what about Sita, Lakshmana, Bharata, and Shatrughna? What do our subjects say about them? What do they say about mother Kaikeyi now? Tell me truthfully, Bhadra. A king must know what his people think of him. Don’t spare me anything they say, good or bad.”

Bhadra’s eyes flickered briefly, then he folded his hands and said, “My lord, it is mainly about the killing of Ravana that the people speak. They say what a mighty deed it was.”

But Rama said again, “Tell me everything they say, Bhadra. Don’t spare me anything unpleasant you have heard. How will I become a better king if I do not know what shortcomings I must overcome in myself?”

Bhadra’s seemed to collect himself for a moment. He drew a breath and said, “Then listen, Rama, to everything the people say, both good and bad. At the crossroads, in the markets, on the streets, and in the forests, they say, ‘Rama built a bridge across the southern sea to Lanka. Which other king, indeed, which Deva or Asura, has done such a thing?’

“‘That was nothing, when you compare it with the killing of Ravana and all his fiercest rakshasas.’

“‘Yes, and he brought Sita back with him and he loves her just as he always did.’

“‘But isn’t the pleasure he feels being with her a depraved joy? When he knows the Rakshasa carried her away and kept her with him for many months, and surely…’”

Bhadra glanced anxiously at Rama, but there was no hint of any surprise or grief on that noble face. Rama merely nodded, impassively, that he should continue.

Bhadra continued, “My lord, they say, ‘Why does Rama keep such a woman beside him? Doesn’t he realize that we, too, will have to endure our wives straying, because the people always follow what their king and queen do?’ Rama, this is what your subjects are saying, in the streets of Ayodhya and in every town and village in your kingdom.”

Now Rama’s lips quivered in anguish, and he looked around his sabha at his counselors, from one face to the next. They all turned their gazes from him. At last he asked them, “Is what Bhadra says true?”

As a man, all of them whispered, “It is, my lord.”

For a moment he seemed to have turned to stone. Then he said to them, “Leave me for a while, my friends.”

When they had gone, he said to his dwarapalaka, “Bring Lakshmana, Bharata, and Shatrughna to me.”

They came at once, and saw their brother’s face was like an eclipsed moon, a withered lotus; they saw his eyes were tear-laden. They bowed deeply to him, and he embraced them and made them sit in their thrones set close to his own.

He said to them, “You know how Sita entered the fire on Lanka, and Agni himself returned her to me; all the Gods appeared to attest to her purity. And I brought her home to Ayodhya, knowing she was perfectly untainted, in body and mind. But the people are not convinced. They judge her by their own lives, their own beliefs.”

He broke down now, and sobbed, “The people say how will their wives be faithful to them when the king has brought home a woman who was abducted by the Rakshasa and kept in his asokavana for so many months? They say surely Ravana enjoyed Sita. They are saying she has sinned, that she is not fit to be their queen or my wife.”

Lakshmana cried in anger, “You don’t mean to take what they say to heart? The people will talk, Rama; they are common. They cannot understand chastity like Sita’s.”

But his brother raised a hand that he should stop. Rama said, “I am the king. I cannot disregard what the people say. My first dharma is toward them, Lakshmana.”

Lakshmana and Shatrughna looked incredulously at Rama. Bharata was very quiet. He had ruled the kingdom for fourteen years; he alone seemed to understand the dilemma Rama faced. But it seemed Rama had already made up his mind about what should be done.

Very softly he said, “It is easy to slander anyone, and infamy is what casts one into hell. Dishonor in a king or a queen is intolerable. Why, I would sacrifice my life and even yours, my brothers who are like my very breath to me, for my reputation. If a king does not have honor, if he cannot hold his head high before his people, he cannot be a king.”

He fell quiet and his tears flowed. His brothers waited to hear what he would say next, for they saw that he had not called them to ask their advice. Finally, he wiped his eyes and said evenly, “Lakshmana, Sita said to me she wants to visit a great rishi’s asrama and to spend a night there to have his blessing.” His voice sank to a whisper. “She is with child.”

His brothers gasped. Rama went on, “Lakshmana, you must take Sita out in Sumantra’s chariot tomorrow. Cross the Ganga and ride beyond the frontiers of Kosala to the Rishi Valmiki’s asrama on the banks of the Tamasa.” He paused as if to say the next words would cost him his life. “And, Saumitra, leave her there and return to me.”

He looked at his brothers’ faces, which were aghast, and continued more softly than ever. “Do not say a word to me about what I have decided. He who speaks against what I have said shall be like one who betrays me to my death. I am your king, Lakshmana; if you do not obey me, you shall be guilty of treason. She said to me, ‘I want to visit an asrama on the banks of the Ganga.’ Her wish must be fulfilled. Yes, it must. As for me, I cannot bear to see her before she goes. Tell her I was called away urgently from the city.”

With that, Rama walked out of the sabha.

 

25. Lakshmana’s anguish

Late that night, Lakshmana called for Sumantra and said to the king’s sarathy, “Prepare the royal chariot, Sumantra. I must take Sita to visit Valmiki’s asrama tomorrow.”

When, at dawn, the chariot was fetched, Lakshmana went to Sita and said, “Rama has asked me to take you to the rishis’ asramas.”

She was as happy as a girl. She said, “Let me take some ornaments and silks for the rishis’ wives, Saumitra.”

And when she had everything she wanted, they worshipped at the temple in Rama’s palace and set out. They rode for two days and arrived on the banks of the golden Ganga. Sumantra unyoked the horses and led them to drink. Lakshmana had hardly spoken all through their journey, and Sita was so excited she barely noticed his unusual silence.

Now they sat together, sharing the meal she had brought for them; suddenly, she saw his eyes fill and he gave a sob, as if his heart was broken.

She looked at him reproachfully. “Why are you crying in this blessed place, Lakshmana? Just because you haven’t seen Rama for two nights! I have also not seen him for as long, but my heart feels no pang here, beside the Ganga.”

Then she felt sorry for him, and said kindly, “Come, let us cross the river. I will give away the gifts I have brought for the yoginis and we will go back to Ayodhya. Oh please, Lakshmana, don’t cry now. This is a joyful journey we have come on; for me, perhaps the happiest of my life. But then you don’t know why I have come here today.”

Lakshmana controlled himself with a great effort and called the nishada boatmen who waited to take them across the sacred river, she that once fell from the sky. Lakshmana helped Sita into the painted boat, climbed in himself, and they cast off. Sumantra would wait on this bank with the chariot and horses.

When they were in midstream, Sita folded her hands and prayed to Ganga, the Devi. However, when they reached the other bank and stepped ashore, Lakshmana broke down again and began to sob. Sita cried, “Again, Lakshmana! Whatever is the matter with you?”

He could not hold back any more. He cried, “Ah, that I were dead, rather than have to do this dreadful thing! Why me? O dear God, why me? I have done nothing so terrible that I deserve to have this vile task entrusted to me. O perfect Sita, I beg you, do not for a moment think that this is what I want, or that I am responsible for this monstrous crime. Oh, Yama, why don’t you come for me and save me from the sin I am being forced to commit?”

Sita frowned and said, “What are you saying, Lakshmana? Why don’t you speak plainly? Ah, you seem to be in agony. Has Rama been angry with you for something? Tell me what it is; I command you!”

He kept his face turned from her and his eyes streamed tears. Choking, he said, “Janaki, the people say that you are tainted and not fit to be Rama’s queen. When Rama heard, he said to me, ‘Lakshmana, a king’s first dharma is to his subjects. Take Sita to the Rishi Valmiki’s asrama and leave her there. She cannot be queen in Ayodhya any more.”

Sita fell, as if he had cut her down with a sword. He sprinkled river water on her face and her eyes fluttered open. Weakly, she sat up with his help. She said, “Ah, Lakshmana, God has created this body of mine only for it to suffer. Today I feel as if sorrow has incarnated himself in me. What have I done, Saumitra, that my husband has abandoned me? What sin have I committed? I followed Rama into exile in the forest, and I was happy there that he was with me.

“Lakshmana, tell me, when the rishis ask me for what sin Rama has banished me, what shall I tell them? Oh, except that I am pregnant, I would drown myself in this Ganga.”

Lakshmana stood before her, utterly miserable. He did not say a word, only wept.

Sita said, “I know you must leave me here, as your brother has commanded. But tell him from me that I will pray for him every day, as I have always done. For who else can save him from the curse that must fall on him, for what he has done to me today? Go, Lakshmana, go and tell Rama that even as his Sita is pure, she still loves him. Tell him to rule wisely, to love his subjects just as he does his brothers. Tell him not to grieve for me. Say that my spirit is always with him, and that his seed grows in me. Go, dear Lakshmana, go now before your heart also breaks.”

Lakshmana walked round her in pradakshina, sobbing helplessly. He lay at her feet for her blessing and whispered, “I cannot see you like this, Sita. Ah, let me go now, I cannot bear this.”

When she had blessed him, he rose quickly, and without looking at her climbed back into the boat and told the nishadas to row back to where Sumantra waited on the northern bank of the river. When he gained that shore of solid sorrow, he got into the chariot and said to the bewildered Sumantra, “Ride, Sumantra. This is Rama’s command, that we leave her here. Never look back at her, ride for Ayodhya as if death rides after us!”

Across the sad and knowing river, Sita strained for a glimpse of the royal chariot that flitted away from her like the last thread of her life. When the chariot vanished, all too quickly, she stood crying dementedly on the banks of the eternal river and her sobs mingled with the puzzled cries of peacocks in the woods around her. And it seemed the sky would shatter and time would end, for what had been done to that sinless woman.

 

26. Valmiki’s asrama

As some young disciples of Valmiki were going to the river to fetch water for the asrama, they heard heartbroken sobbing. Cautiously, they drew nearer and saw a woman as perfect as Lakshmi, who stood on the bank of the river, wringing her hands in some final despair.

They were not sure their guru would like them to talk to a young woman alone; so they ran back to the asrama and came breathlessly before their master.

“She is like a Goddess come down to the earth and she stands sobbing as if the world has ended!”

“It is not safe for her to be out alone.”

“You must give her sanctuary until we learn more about her.”

Valmiki gazed into his mystic heart, and he saw who it was that stood beside the Ganga and wept. He rose and, as his sishyas had never seen him do before, ran through the woods toward the river, as if his own life was at risk. Arriving, he saw Sita had collapsed on the ground and still heaved with sobs, as if she would die.

Gently Valmiki said to her, “I know who you are. In my dhyana I have seen why you are here. I know you are pure, and have been left here for no sin of yours. Janaki, from now you are in my care. Near my asrama is the asrama of the yoginis of this forest, the rishis’ wives. I will take you to them. They will look after you like their daughter. Their home will be like your own.”

Slowly, Sita’s crying abated. She raised her teary face up to the kind and powerful muni that stood before her. She folded her hands to him, then touched his feet, as she had always done whenever she met a rishi. Sita whispered, “So be it, my lord.”

She followed him to the asrama of the rishis’ wives. They crowded round that great sage in joy. “We are blessed that you have come to our asrama today! What can we do for you, Valmiki?”

Sita stepped out of the trees and the rishis’ wives gasped to see her, so luminous, so stricken. Valmiki said, “This is Rama’s wife. Sita is sinless, but her husband has abandoned her in the forest for what his people say about her. Look after her; she is more than what any of us realize. Care for her better than you do yourselves, and you shall have my blessing and a great reward of punya.”

The women said, “She is so exquisite, it will not be hard to do as you ask.”

They put their arms lovingly around Sita and led her into their hermitage. Valmiki stood for a moment, staring after them. Then he turned and walked back to his own asrama with his disciples.

 

27. Sumantra’s tale

As they drove back to Ayodhya in the chariot that seemed made of ashes, Lakshmana said to Sumantra, “No one suffers more than Rama does. He whose wrath could consume the Devas and gandharvas, the Asuras and rakshasas, is plunged in grief without a cure. Sumantra, how will my brother endure being apart from Sita? Tell me, which king has ever sacrificed so much for his people?”

Sumantra did not reply at once. Then, slowly, he murmured, “What Durvasa foretold long ago has come to pass, and what the astrologers in your father’s sabha read in Rama’s horoscope. I was there, and so was Vasishta; and Dasaratha made us swear we would not tell any of his sons about the prophecy.

“But today, fate has overtaken us all, and what the rishi saw in the stars has come to pass. If you want to hear what Durvasa said that day, I will tell you. But you must swear you will not breathe a word of it to Bharata or Shatrughna.”

Lakshmana whispered, “Tell me, Sumantra. Tell me the whole truth and I swear not a word of it shall pass my lips.”

Sumantra began, “When your father was king and you were small children, Atri’s son, Durvasa, who many say is an amsa of the Lord Siva himself, would spend the four months of the monsoon in Vasishta’s asrama. Once, your father came to visit Vasishta and saw Durvasa seated at his left, like a star. Dasaratha prostrated himself before the two great munis, and they offered him madhurparka and fruit and roots from the forest.

“There was a satsangha of holy men there, and the rishis and the king spent their time listening to some ancient lore. And Dasaratha folded his hands and asked Durvasa a question that was burning his heart.

“‘Muni, for how long will my sons rule Ayodhya? How many years will my Rama live, and his brothers? How long will Rama’s sons live and rule?’

“Durvasa gazed at Dasaratha for a long moment, as if considering whether he should tell the king a matter of some importance. Then, deciding, he said, ‘If you truly want to know, listen, O Dasaratha. Once, in time out of mind, the Devas vanquished the Daityas in a great war and scattered them everywhere like chaff in a storm. The Daityas’ women fled to the Maharishi Bhrigu’s wife for refuge. She gave them sanctuary; she protected them from the Devas. But when Vishnu, who is the enemy of the Asuras, saw this, he severed Bhrigu’s wife’s head with the Sudarshana chakra.

“‘Bhrigu cursed Narayana, “You, Vishnu, have fallen prey to anger, which is a mortal passion. And you have killed my wife. So be born as a mortal man, and you will also be separated from your wife and feel the same anguish that I do today.”

“‘And when the rishi had cursed the Blue God, he felt a searing agony in his soul, an indescribable torment. Then, through his pain, he heard a soft inner voice impelling him to worship Vishnu, whom he had cursed. When Bhrigu worshipped Narayana with a fervent tapasya, the Lord appeared before him and said, “I accept your curse, Mahamuni, it is just. I will be born into the world as a mortal man.”

“‘So it will happen, Dasaratha. Your eldest son Rama is Narayana himself, born to fulfill Bhrigu Muni’s curse. He will overcome evil on earth and rule for eleven thousand mortal years. But one day, he will be separated from his wife and suffer the anguish Bhrigu did.’

“Your father asked anxiously, ‘Will my son have sons of his own before he loses his queen? Will they rule after him?’

“Durvasa said, ‘Your son’s wife will bear him two sons and they will rule after him.’

“‘And their sons?’ asked Dasaratha.

“But the rishi would say no more.”

Lakshmana clasped Sumantra’s hand. He did not speak, but it seemed he found deep solace in the sarathy’s tale. The darkness had left his face; he did not cry any more. The sun sank below the shoulder of the western mountain, and they arrived on the banks of the river Kesini. They stopped for the night beside her velvet flow and slept under sad stars, locked into the night’s vast silence.

 

28. Lakshmana and Rama

It was noon of the next day when Sumantra’s chariot returned to Ayodhya, with a somber Lakshmana. They rode up to Rama’s palace and Lakshmana alighted at the steps. Wishing time would stop, he made his slow way into his brother’s presence. He entered Rama’s court, and tears sprang again in his eyes when he saw the king, who sat on his throne as if he were dead.

Lakshmana knelt at Rama’s feet. He said in a barely audible voice, “I left her on the banks of the Ganga, near Valmiki’s asrama.”

He looked up into Rama’s face, and his brother neither spoke nor stirred. He sat entirely absorbed by his grief. Lakshmana mumbled, “All this is fate, Rama. And you are no ordinary man, that sorrow should shake you. How often you have told me all things in this world are fleeting, and joy inevitably brings grief in its wake. No relationship in this world is permanent; not that of father and son, husband and wife, lover and beloved. But you are a great king. You are Rama; not even this final sorrow must leave its mark on you.”

Rama saw how distraught, how terribly sad his brother was. He remembered all the times in the forest when he had lost his own composure and Lakshmana had consoled him, snatched him back from the lip of the abyss. Now Rama saw how much Lakshmana needed to be consoled himself. He stirred. He smiled wanly, and ran his hand through his trembling brother’s hair.

Rama clasped Lakshmana to him and said, “Of course you are right. I am a king now; I must not let anything shake me. No, not even being parted from Sita. A king’s only dharma is the welfare of his people. They must rule whatever I do; my life belongs to them.”

Hearing his brother speak, Lakshmana gradually stopped trembling. Rama held him, for a long time.1

 

29. Stories in the night

The two brothers spent the night together in the empty sabha. Grief held them close, like the night’s darkness. When they were boys, and later during Rama’s exile, Lakshmana always loved to listen to ancient tales from his brother. And this night, seeing how distraught Lakshmana was, Rama said to him, “Child, it is four days since I performed my dharma as a king. Do you know how King Nriga was cursed, because he paid no heed to two brahmanas who came to his gates?”

Immediately, Lakshmana’s face brightened. Like a boy he said, “No, Rama. Tell me.”

“Once, an age ago, there was a king called Nriga, a God among men. He was pure, and always spoke the truth. His fame spread from the mountains to the sea, and he was a protector of the world and of his people. His generosity was a legend not only on earth, but also in heaven. Why, he once gave away a million caparisoned cows, draped in precious jewels, as charity at a yagna he performed at Pushkara.

“Among these cows was one he gave to the poor brahmana who lit the yagna fire. But as soon as the yagna was complete, the brahmana found his cow was missing. He set out in search of it, and roamed the length and breadth of Nriga’s kingdom, often ravaged by hunger and thirst; but he did not find any trace of the white cow the king had given him.

“Finally, he arrived in Haridwara and walked on wearily to Kanakahala. There, he saw his cow in the yard of another brahmana, and now she had a lean, ill-fed calf beside her. Tears springing in his eyes, the brahmana called out to the cow, ‘Shabale! My daughter, I have found you.’

“And she tossed her head in joy and ran out to him, with her calf at her heels. The brahmana stroked her face, her flanks, in absolute rapture. He set off for home, with his white cow and her calf. He was like a sacred flame, as he went, that brahmana. But then the other brahmana, in whose yard he had found his cow, came shouting after him, ‘Where are you taking my cow, you thief?’

“The first brahmana replied hotly, ‘She is mine! The king himself gave her to me.’

“But the second brahmana cried, ‘You are a liar! I found this cow abandoned on a roadside. I brought her home with me, and I have fed her and looked after her and her calf.’

“They almost came to blows. Then the first brahmana said, ‘There is only one person who can settle this dispute: the king himself. Let us take our quarrel to him and do as he tells us to.’

“The second brahmana agreed, ‘Let Nriga decide whose cow she is.’

“So the two brahmanas set out for the king’s capital and his palace. They came to his gates, but found them barred. The guards said to them, ‘You cannot see the king now. He is busy.’

“The brahmanas said, ‘We must see Nriga; we will wait for him. Please take word to him that we are here to see him on an urgent matter.’

“Though they waited some days and nights outside Nriga’s palace, the king did not see them. Finally, in anger the brahmanas cursed Nriga: ‘You have forsaken your dharma as a king, that you do not care to see your subjects who come to petition you. Be a lizard, cowering in a hole. Be a lizard for a hundred thousand years. And one day, at the end of the dwapara yuga, when Vishnu is born into the world in the House of Yadu, he will free you from our curse. But only when Nara and Narayana are both born into the world to deliver it from the bondage of sin.’

“With that, the two brahmanas presented their old and weak cow to a third brahmana, and walked away from that city, and, indeed, this world.”

Rama said in the living night, “So, Lakshmana, no king should neglect his dharma, for his people are his first and only dharma.”

Lakshmana said, “That was a harsh curse for so small a crime, Rama. What did Nriga do?”

“Nriga was aghast when he heard of the brahmanas’ curse. But he was a rajarishi, and controlled his grief. Calmly, he had his young son, Vasu, crowned king. Then he ordered his artisans to build him a marvelous pit below the earth, protected from the cold and the rain, and pave it with the brightest jewels. He had a secret garden fashioned above the ground, and the finest fruit and flowering trees planted in it, among which he could bask in summer.

“He blessed his son, and told him to be always attentive to the needs of his subjects. Then Nriga entered his secret hideaway, and at once he felt himself being transformed by the brahmanas’ curse. He felt himself becoming a great monitor lizard. And, my brother, Nriga of old still dwells in his secret hideaway, that no man knows, and he waits for a dark savior to be born into the world. But, Lakshmana, that time is still very far.”

Lakshmana laid his head in his brother’s lap and sighed. When Rama had finished his strange tale and fell silent, it seemed the night’s immense grief closed around them again, reaching for them with cold fingers. The breeze that stole in through an open window sobbed in the dark.

Lakshmana shivered. He rose and shut the window. He came back to his brother, and sat at his feet again. Rama was truly like a God now, so serene was he. Still, his sorrow filled the night like a sea. The brothers sat thus, in silence, for a long time. Then, Lakshmana whispered, “Rama, tell me another story.”

Rama smiled. “Have I told you about King Nimi of our line and how he cursed our kulaguru, Rishi Vasishta, and how Vasishta cursed him?”

“Perhaps you have. But tell me again, Rama.”

“Nimi was the twelfth son of Ikshvaku. He, too, was a rajarishi. He founded a city as splendid as Amravati, near Rishi Gautama’s asrama, and he called it Vaijayanta, city of victory. When he had finished building, Nimi thought he must perform a yagna to please his father. He went to Manu’s son, Ikshvaku, and asked if he could undertake the sacrifice. With his father’s consent, Nimi began to prepare for the yagna.

“First, he chose Brahma’s son Vasishta to be his chief priest. Then he asked Atri, Angiras, and Bhrigu, also, to sit over his yagna. But Vasishta said to Nimi, ‘Indra has already asked me to be his ritvik. I beg you, wait until I finish Indra’s yagna before you begin your sacrifice.’

“Nimi agreed. But when Vasishta went to Amravati, the impatient king asked Gautama to be his main ritvik, until Vasishta returned. King Nimi’s yagna was soon begun, outside Vaijayanta, in the lap of the Himalaya. Nimi was consecrated as the sacrificer and his yagna would last five thousand years.

“Meanwhile, as soon as Indra’s yagna was completed in Devaloka, Vasishta returned to the earth and to Vaijayanta. He found that Nimi’s yagna was already under way, with Gautama as the ritvik. Vasishta trembled with anger. He asked to meet the king, and sat for a muhurta before the yagnashala. But Nimi was exhausted that day and he had gone to sleep.

“Vasishta’s rage grew, and he cursed Nimi: ‘May you lose your body, vain and treacherous kshatriya!’

“When Nimi heard of Vasishta’s curse, he also cursed the brahmarishi, crying, ‘You defile yourself with anger, Vasishta. I curse you, that you will also lose your splendid body!’

“And so, Lakshmana, both the king and the rishi lost their bodies. They became forms of air. Vasishta flew up to his father, Brahma, and said, ‘Pitamaha, how can I fulfill my destiny in the world when I have lost my body, which was created from your immaculate thought? I beg you, O Hiranyagarbha, let me have a body again.’

“Brahma said, ‘There will soon be occasion for Mitra and Varuna to spill their seed. Enter that seed, my son, and you will have a body again. You shall not be born of a woman’s womb, so your life will still be mine to influence.’

“Vasishta bowed to the Creator, and he flew away in his spirit body to the Kshirasagara, where Varuna, Lord of all oceans, dwells, and is worshipped by the four Lokapalas. It happened that the Deva Mitra was there as well, sharing in his friend Varuna’s sovereignty. Vasishta arrived in Varuna’s submarine kingdom, and awaited his chance.

“Not a day had passed when the apsara Urvashi came to Varuna’s realm with her sakhis. She was seductive past reason, she was beautiful past imagining, and the good Lord Varuna was smitten! Varuna found her alone in a secluded grotto, where she had been bathing, naked, and he said hoarsely to her, ‘There is no one as lovely as you are in the three worlds, Urvashi. Ah, I must hold you in my arms, apsara, I must feel your body under mine.’

“She flushed, and said to the aroused Deva, ‘My lord, I have come here to meet your friend Mitra, for I have already promised myself to him. He is my lover now; I cannot betray him.’

“But Varuna was beside himself. The white sea swelled around them in mountainous tides at the desire he felt for her. He was past helping himself; he shook with lust. He must have some release, or he would drown the world in his despair.

“He said, ‘You see how I am, apsara. I beg you, if you cannot make love at least help me to some release. At least touch me, Urvashi, and I will spill my seed into this urn.’

“She was not so cruel that she would refuse him this. She laid her exquisite hands on him, and he ejaculated like a tide of flames into the golden urn. She vanished from there, a fragrant mist, to where Mitra, her lover, waited for her. But even as they made love, Mitra felt that the touch of another Deva had been upon her. Pulling away, the Deva Mitra, also, ejaculated outside Urvashi’s enchanting body, into the golden urn that appeared, fatefully, to receive his seed.”

By now the story absorbed them, and for the moment, grief seemed distanced. Rama said, “It was the same golden urn into which both Varuna and Mitra spilled their seed. There was a blaze of light from the urn, when Mitra’s seed fell onto Varuna’s, and a rishi of blinding splendor rose from that urn. He was Agastya; bowing to both Urvashi and the God Mitra, that already realized sage sought the Himalaya to sit in tapasya.

“No sooner had the peerless Agastya vanished than Vasishta, who had subtly entered the golden urn in his spirit body, rose, embodied and resplendent from the mingled seed of Mitra and Varuna. He stood with folded hands before Urvashi and her lover and said, ‘Mitra Deva, I am not only your son!’

“And he vanished from there. Mitra now saw clearly in his mind’s eye what had transpired between Urvashi and Varuna. He cried in despair, ‘Unfaithful woman, I curse you to live half a mortal life in the world of men! Go down to the earth and be the wife of Pururavas of Kasi.’

“Pururavas was Budha’s son, and by Mitra’s curse Urvashi became his queen for a time. In his city, Pratishtana, she bore him a son of great prowess, called Ayu. Ayu’s son was Nahusha, who was hardly less glorious than Indra; and, indeed, Nahusha ruled Devaloka for a hundred thousand years, when Indra was cursed after he killed Vritrasura treacherously.

“When she had lived with Pururavas for some years on earth, Mitra’s curse ended and Urvashi returned to Devaloka, to Indra’s realm, where she is a dancer in his court.”

Lakshmana wanted to know, “What happened to Nimi, Rama?”

“When Vasishta had his new body, Ikshvaku asked him to be the kulaguru of the royal House of the Sun, this ancient house of ours.

“As for Nimi, the rishis at his yagna saw the king had died. They embalmed his body in oils to preserve it. They clothed him in white silks and draped garlands made from unfading flowers over him. Then they completed the yagna he had begun, and Bhrigu spoke to the king’s spirit that hovered over the yagnashala as a shimmering vapor.

“‘The Devas are pleased with you, Kshatriya. If you like, I can fetch your soul back into your body. Otherwise, I can bless you so you will dwell anywhere you choose. Ask for any boon you want.’

“But having tasted the freedom of death, Nimi did not want to be imprisoned in a single body any more. He said from the air, ‘Holy ones, let me dwell in the eyelids of every living being. Let me see all the earth at once. But first, let me have a son to rule my kingdom.’

“The rishis and Devas blessed King Nimi of old that he would live as subtle air in the eyelids of all the living, and when he stirred in their eyes, they would blink. Lakshmana, before King Nimi of old lost his body, no living creature blinked.

“When the Devas had blessed Nimi, they vanished. And now, the holy rishis began to rub the king’s lifeless body with their hands, as if they were rubbing arani sticks to make fire. They chanted secret mantras as they did this. Soon, Nimi’s corpse was as hot as fire and suddenly a child sprang from it.

“The munis called that child Videha, since he had been born from a dead body. They also named him Mithi, since he had been born at their rubbing Nimi’s corpse. Since he had no mother, he was called Janaka, and his city was named Mithila, where Mithi ruled.”

Now Rama’s eyes filled; for, of course, he spoke of Sita’s father.

 

30. Sukra curses Yayati

Lakshmana said, “Why did Nimi and Vasishta curse each other, Rama? How is it such great men were not more forgiving?”

Rama said, “Forgiveness often deserts the greatest men, when they are tested with anger. Would you hear the story of Yayati?”

Lakshmana nodded eagerly.

Rama began yet another tale of ancient times. “Yayati was a king in the royal House of Soma. He was Nahusha’s son, and he was a sovereign without equal in his time. He had two wives, each one as beautiful, accomplished, and virtuous as the other. The first was Sarmishta and she was Diti’s own granddaughter, Vrishaparva’s child. Yayati loved Sarmishta dearly, like his very life.

“His second wife was Devayani, to whom the king was indifferent, though she was in no way inferior to Sarmishta. In time, two sons were born to Yayati, one to each of his wives. Sarmishta bore Puru, and Devayani, Yadu. Yayati, of course, openly preferred Puru, since he was Sarmishta’s son, and neglected Yadu.

“As Yadu grew up, he saw how unhappy his mother was. One day, he said to Devayani, ‘You are the great Sukra’s daughter. How do you tolerate being treated so wretchedly in your own husband’s house? The king does not care if you live or die, mother. He is my father, as much as he is Puru’s; but he has time only for my brother. I am treated like an unwelcome guest in this house, often like a servant. You may be able to bear this, but not I. I mean to put an end to myself.’

“In anguish, Devayani invoked her father, the awesome Sukracharya, the guru of the Asuras, who, being Bhrigu’s son, is also called Bhargava. Sukra appeared before his distraught daughter and asked the cause of her misery. However, she would only shake her lovely head, as tears flowed down her face, and say, ‘I mean to drink poison, or drown myself.’

“Repeatedly, Bhargava asked her, ‘But tell me what the matter is, my child. You have never complained before.’

“Finally, she broke down and cried, ‘You do not know how I am treated in this house. My husband humiliates my son and me. He always prefers Sarmishta and her Puru, and ignores Yadu and me.’

“Sukra Bhargava’s eyes turned red as blood. He went to Yayati and cursed him: ‘You have tormented my daughter. Be an old man from this moment. May your body lose its strength and may you be impotent!’

“And Sukracharya stormed out of Yayati’s city. The moment Usana pronounced his curse, the mighty Yayati felt his limbs grow weak. He felt vast age upon him. His hair turned white, his skin became wrinkled, and he felt many thousands of years old.

“Yayati called for his son Yadu and said, ‘I have become an old man by your grandfather’s curse. But I have not satisfied my desires; they burn like fire within me. My righteous son, lend me your youth so I can enjoy my life and grow old naturally.’

“But Yadu said to him, ‘How is it, father, that you have remembered me today? Puru is your son whom you love. Ask him to give you his youth.’

“Yayati called for Puru and asked him for his youth. Without a moment’s hesitation, Puru said, ‘I am honored that I can serve you. Take my youth and let me be old in your place.’

“So it was. Yayati shed his unnatural age, and Puru received it like a blessing, while he gave his virile youth to his father. Now the son was an old man and the father a young one. Yayati ruled the earth and lived a full life for many thousands of years. He performed a hundred aswamedhas and rajasuyas.

“One day, he called Puru and said, ‘My son, give me back the age I burdened you with so long ago. And receive your youth back from me. You, my faithful child, shall be king.’

“He turned to Yadu and cursed him: ‘You could have been king, if you had obeyed me. But you refused what I asked. You are a rakshasa born from my loins, and you shall father only rakshasas and yatudanas. Your sons shall not belong to the House of the Moon and they will be as evil as you are. I banish you from our city and our kingdom.’

“Yayati himself left Pratishtana and went away to the forest. He took vanaprastha. Puru ruled over the kingdom of Kasi from his throne. In time, after many years of tapasya, Yayati left this world and found heaven for himself.

“Yadu roamed the Krauncharanya: a wild and powerful beggar, a great kshatriya without a kingdom, wealth, or a family. He sired a thousand yatudanas on the demonesses of the accursed jungle. It was rage, my brother, which was the root of the tragedy of Yadu. He pitied himself too much and abandoned his noble nature from anger.”

Lakshmana smiled wanly, “So we must be brave, Rama?”

“We must not commit Nriga’s crime. A king’s first dharma is toward his people, and I have not behaved like a king for four days now. I have plunged myself in my own grief; I have forgotten that I am a king.”

The night was in its last yaama, the quietest hour. The brothers sat wrapped in a deep, living silence, which bore the grace of ages at this magical hour. It seemed to Rama that his loss had brought him closer to his own soul, and even that his love for Sita had been a subtle and powerful obstacle that stood between himself and his destiny. Now, at the heart of the night, he saw this clearly, and his way ahead as well.

But he also knew that in another sense, his own life had ended. What he had done was irretrievable: from now, Rama the man would hardly exist, only Rama the king.

 

31. The Asura Lavana

The next morning, with the sun, the princes opened the lofty doors of the sabha and came out onto the white marble terrace outside to give audience to the people.

Just then, Sumantra hurried in to them and said, “Rama, some munis have been waiting to see you. They have come from their asramas on the banks of the Yamuna. Bhrigu’s son Chyvana is with them and they want to meet you as early as they can.”

Rama said, “Bring them in at once, Sumantra.”

Soon, more than a hundred rishis, their bodies alight with tapasya, filed into Rama’s sabha. They brought sacred water in earthen vessels, which they had drawn from all the most blessed tirthas in Bharatavarsha. They brought fruit and rare roots from the forest for Rama of Ayodhya.

Rama received these gifts humbly and in joy. He offered them silken seats in his court, and then asked, “Holy ones, tell me what I can do for you, that you have blessed my city with your auspicious presence. My kingdom and my life are yours to command, O Munis who are the support of the world.”

Chyvana said, “Best among men, greatest of all kshatriyas, we know you will do as you say, unlike some other kings of the earth. Noble Rama, we live in terror and we have come to ask you to deliver us from the fear that stalks our lives.”

Rama said in concern, “What fear stalks your lives, Brahmanas? Surely, we must all fear whatever threatens you.”

Chyvana replied, “It is an Asura. Once, in the krita yuga, Diti, the mother of the Daityas, bore her first son, the awesome Madhu. Madhu was an Asura of flawless dharma, and a Sivabhakta. Rudra appeared before Madhu, who sat in tapasya, and from his own trident the Lord extracted another trisula that shone as if the fire of the sun were held captive within it.

“Siva gave this weapon to Madhu, saying, ‘This ayudha is yours, for your perfect dhyana, Asura. As long as you do not turn against dharma and the Devas who are the guardians of the world, this trisula will make you invincible. For the weapon will turn your enemies into ashes’

“Madhu prostrated himself before the God of Gods. He said humbly, ‘Lord, may this ayudha be with my race forever.’

“But Siva answered him, saying, ‘That cannot be, because the ayudha is too powerful. However, it shall belong to one of your sons and he shall also be invincible.’

“And the Lord vanished before his devotee’s eyes. In joy, Madhu returned to the world, and he built a splendid city and a shining palace at its heart. In time, Madhu married the legendary beauty Kumbheenasi, who was the daughter of Ravana’s sister Anala and the wise Malyavan.

“Madhu sired a mighty son on Kumbheenasi. He was called Lavana. As the child grew, his father saw he was entirely violent and evil. Heartbroken that his only son was a creature of darkness, Madhu left his city and his kingdom and sought refuge in death by walking into the ocean. Siva’s marvelous trisula he left, reluctantly, to his monstrous child.

“Ever since, Lavana has been a terror in the world, most of all to the rishis who live in prayer and are the holders of the earth. Rama, no other kshatriya can rid us of Lavana. He desecrates our yagnas; he kills our brother rishis and feasts on their flesh. He is like death himself, with jaws agape. We have no peace; you must save us from the Asura.”

Rama turned to his brothers and asked, “Which of you will kill Lavana?”

Bharata said eagerly, “I will, my lord.”

Then Shatrughna rose from his golden throne and knelt before Rama. He said, “Bharata has already fulfilled his life’s dharma. He ruled Ayodhya when you were away. With a broken heart, he ruled like a lion from Nandigrama. He slept on a bed of grass, ate only fruit and roots, wore his hair in jata, and ruled even as you would have.

“No, Bharata has endured enough for a lifetime. And as for Lakshmana, he went with you into exile. He fought the great war at your side. But I have done nothing yet of any note for you, my brother. I beg you, let me be sent to kill the Asura.”

And his brothers smiled when they saw how he had tears in his eyes. Rama glanced at Bharata, who nodded to say that Shatrughna might be sent to kill Lavana.

Rama said, “Shatrughna, I will make you king of Madhu’s sacred kingdom. Take an army with you, go to the banks of the Yamuna, kill Lavana, and establish a city there. And rule from that city, Shatrughna. Yes, you must also be a king.”

He saw Shatrughna hesitate momentarily, and said, “It is my command. I am your older brother and you must do as I say.”

Shatrughna flushed. He protested softly, “But it is not dharma that a younger brother be made a king while his older brothers live. Yet you say I must not disobey you. I should never have spoken when my brother Bharata had already said he would go to kill Lavana. Let this be my punishment: to be sent away from Ayodhya, away from all of you.”

Rama said to Bharata and Lakshmana, “Let everything we need to crown Shatrughna a king be fetched. Call Vasishta and the other brahmanas; they must perform the rituals.”

And so Shatrughna, the scourge of his enemies, was made a king in Rama’s sabha, in Rama’s name. And he shone even as Karttikeya had, in time out of mind, when he was made Senapati of the army of the Devas. Chyvana and the other rishis felt certain that Lavana was as good as slain.

Rama called Shatrughna to sit beside him, on his throne. Embracing his brother, kissing him as he used to when they were children, Rama gave him a glittering astra, like a band of sun. The sabha gasped when Rama materialized the blinding arrow in his hands out of thin air. Shatrughna shivered as he received the golden thing, and the moment it lay in his palms, it vanished from sight.

Shatrughna breathed, “What is it, Rama?”

Rama said, “You will kill Lavana with this astra. This is the astra with which Vishnu killed Madhu and Kaitabha of old, upon the primordial sea. It was after Vishnu killed those Asuras that he created the worlds and the creatures in them.

“But Lavana has Siva’s boon and his trisula. The demon keeps the trisula in his palace. Shatrughna, as long as Lavana wields Siva’s trident, he is invincible. So be sure you challenge him outside his city and kill him with this astra. Take an army with you; take our singers and dancers to entertain you. Take gold to pay all those who go with you, so they are never discontented; they must leave their families and homes to go with you to war. But when you go to kill Lavana, be sure you go alone. Go in stealth, Shatrughna, and ambush the Asura, because there is no other way in which he can be killed.”

Rama grew thoughtful, as if he looked deep into his spirit to see the future. He said, “Wait until summer passes before you attack Lavana; his time to die is during the rains. Take your army now to the banks of the Jahnavi. Cross the Ganga and wait in the good munis’ asramas for the rains to come. Only then, go alone to kill Lavana.”

Shatrughna gathered an army of four thousand horses, two thousand chariots, a hundred of the greatest elephants in Ayodhya, and countless foot soldiers. He collected the bravest kshatriya chieftains to lead his army, and sent them ahead with the rishis to the Ganga.

This done, he went to Kausalya, Sumitra, and Kaikeyi, and took their blessings. Tearfully, he prostrated himself before Rama, Lakshmana, Bharata, and Vasishta, also. Once more he fell at Rama’s feet, and Rama raised him up and embraced him. A month after his army had gone to make camp in the wilds, Shatrughna set out from Ayodhya to kill the Asura Lavana and to establish a kingdom for himself, so he could protect the holy country of the Ganga and the Yamuna, and the sages who lived in tapasya in those lands and were the support of all the world.

 

32. In Valmiki’s asrama

When he had ridden for two days, Shatrughna arrived at Valmiki’s asrama on the banks of the Tamasa. He prostrated himself before the muni and said, “I am Rama’s brother Shatrughna, my lord, and I would spend the night here with you, if you let me. Tomorrow I will ride west again. I have come on a dire mission.”

Valmiki said, smiling, “Welcome. This asrama is your own, O prince of Raghu.”

And the rishi’s disciples brought padya and arghya for Shatrughna. When his feet were washed and he had tasted the madhurparka they offered him, and eaten some of the fruit and roots, he sat on a darbhasana beside Valmiki.

Shatrughna asked the muni, “As I approached your asrama from the east, my lord, I saw a yagnashala for a great sacrifice. Whose is it, Swami?”

Valmiki did not reply for a moment, and his eyes were bright with the memory Shatrughna’s question had evoked. Then, slowly, the muni said, “Once, in the House of Ikshvaku there was an ancestor of yours called Sudasa. He had a son called Virasaha, a pious and bold kshatriya. One day, when he was hardly more than a boy, Virasaha went hunting in the forest and saw the strangest thing.

“Two rakshasas had assumed the forms of two lions, and they were devouring every living creature in the vana. Bones and half-eaten remains were strewn everywhere under the sorrowing trees, amidst splashes of blood. But the rakshasas were not satisfied; their carnage continued unabated.

“In rage, Virasaha stalked the demons and killed one of them with an astra of fire, so he became a pile of ashes. The young prince ran feverishly at the mound and scattered the ashes with his foot. Just then, he heard a dreadful, heartbroken howl behind him. Turning, he saw the second rakshasa: a lion no longer, but reverted to his own evil form.

“The creature’s jowls still dripped the blood of a hundred beasts he had killed; but also, his fierce eyes streamed tears for his dead companion. In agony the rakshasa screamed at the shocked Virasaha, ‘You have killed my brother, who never harmed you. I will have revenge on you one day, Kshatriya!’

“And before Virasaha could raise his bow, the demon vanished. Virasaha never forgot the absolute grief he heard in that rakshasa’s voice and saw in his terrible eyes.

“Virasaha went back to Ayodhya. The years passed and the prince’s father Sudasa died. Virasaha became king of the Ikshvakus. Like all the kshatriyas of your august line, Shatrughna, Virasaha, too, was a king of dharma. Like all his mighty sires before him, he also performed an aswamedha yagna, which lasted years and was as majestic as a yagna of the Devas.

“Vasishta was the ritvik at King Virasaha’s yagna, and it was as the sacrifice drew near its end that the rakshasa, whose brother a young prince had once killed in the forest, took his revenge. The rakshasa possessed Vasishta himself, and spoke in that muni’s voice to Virasaha.

“‘When the yagna is over, offer me some fine flesh to eat. Don’t hesitate, do as I tell you.’

“Virasaha said to his best cooks, ‘Prepare the best dishes you know, with freshly slaughtered, succulent meat. Offer them to Guru Vasishta.’

“But his chief cook hesitated. The rakshasa entered that cook’s spirit, and he prepared an aromatic dish of human flesh and brought it to the king. Virasaha and his queen, Madayanti, themselves brought that dish to Vasishta, who sat with his eyes shut, in dhyana, waiting for the ritual offering of food that would formally bring the yagna to its conclusion.

“Vasishta sniffed the air. He opened his eyes and saw the king and queen proffering the golden salver on which steaming human flesh was piled. The muni’s eyes turned red, and he said in deadly quiet, ‘Since this is the offering of food you have brought to me, O Virasaha, be sure you eat it yourselves, you and your queen. Let this be your daily meat from now.’

“He took the dish from the king’s hands and flung it on the ground. At which, Virasaha flew into a rage and was about to curse his kulaguru in return, when Queen Madayanti clutched at his hand in which he had scooped up some holy water to throw into Vasishta’s face. The king had chanted a potent mantra over the water.

“‘He is our guru!’ cried the queen. ‘He is like God to us; you cannot curse him.’

“With a moan, Virasaha sprinkled that cursed water over his own feet, and in a flash his feet turned every color under the sun! From then, he was called Kalmasapada: he whose feet were of many hues. Virasaha and Madayanti fell at Vasishta’s feet and told the rishi how he himself had asked to be served with flesh.

“Vasishta pondered this for a moment, and he saw a rakshasa had caused the mischief. The mahamuni said, ‘I cannot withdraw my curse. But it will last for just twelve years, and when the twelve years are over, you will remember nothing of them.’

“He laid his palm on the king’s head and his queen’s. And so it happened, Shatrughna. The yagnashala you see was Virasaha’s.”

Shatrughna spent the night in Valmiki’s asrama. It was on the same night that, in a nearby hermitage, Sita gave birth to brilliant twin sons: Rama’s sons. At midnight, some of Valmiki’s sishyas woke their master with the news.

With a rushlight, the muni hurried through the darkness to the yoginis’ asrama where Sita lived. The message the munis’ wives had sent to Valmiki was to come at once and chant mantras over the precious children, to keep them safe from bhutas and rakshasas, and every evil spirit that might be lurking in the forest. And to make the sign of the sacred yantras over them, so they would always be protected.

Valmiki arrived breathless at Sita’s hut of labor, and how his face lit up when he saw the two perfectly formed infants who lay beside her. He sensed unseen and ominous presences crowding that spare dwelling. Valmiki took up a handful of kusa grass and passed it over the children—the upper half of the blades, called Lava, over the child who had been born a few moments before his twin, and the lower, called Kusa, over the second child.

Chanting ancient and powerful mantras of protection, Valmiki said, “I name these princes, Rama’s sons, Lava and Kusa.”

The older yoginis of the asrama received the sacred grass from the rishi, and they too stroked the infants with them in blessing. Meanwhile, Shatrughna heard the news in Valmiki’s asrama and he arrived at the sannyasinis’ hermitage. He took the splendid children, his nephews, the heirs to the throne of Ayodhya, in his arms, and wept for joy and deep sorrow. He only gazed mutely at the tired, radiant Sita, and could not say a word to her.

Thus Rama’s sons were born in the wilderness, in an asrama of yoginis, and they would grow up in the care of the Rishi Valmiki. Shatrughna remained in Valmiki’s hermitage until the full moon of the month of Sravana, when the monsoon ended. The next day, at crack of dawn, he bathed in the Tamasa, still as a lake, took the dust from the rishi’s feet, and set out west for the banks of the Yamuna and the asramas of the munis who had come to Ayodhya to ask Rama to kill the Asura Lavana.

Seven days and nights Shatrughna journeyed, until he saw the Yamuna before him, wide as a small sea. Chyvana and the incomparable Bhargava welcomed him, they and their rishis of the sublime gifts of the spirit.

 

33. The killing of Mandhata

When Shatrughna had rested and eaten, after his long journey, he sat talking with Chyvana Muni, pure as agni. Shatrughna asked, “Brahmana, can you tell me about Lavana, his trisula and his strength? I must know as much as I can about him, before I go to kill him for you.”

Chyvana said, “Let me tell you a small story about an ancestor of yours. Mandhata was, like you, a scion of the House of Ikshvaku. He was Yuvanasva’s son, and there was no king on earth as mighty as Mandhata of old.

“He ruled all this world, and one day he decided he would like to conquer Devaloka and rule Indra’s kingdom as well. He gathered his army of kshatriyas, each of whom was hardly less than a Deva, and set out for Amravati. Such was Mandhata’s renown that Indra quailed to hear he was coming. Indra appeared before the awesome king and said, ‘Mandhata, your lordship of the earth is hardly secure, that you have come to take my kingdom from me.’

“The noble Mandhata was puzzled. ‘I am king of all the earth. Who disputes my sovereignty over the world of men?’

“The thousand-eyed Lord of the Devas replied, ‘Madhu’s son Lavana is not your subject, Mandhata. He does not obey you.’

“Mandhata’s face burned with shame. He hung his head and, without a word, turned back to the earth with his legions, now to conquer Lavana. Mandhata sent a messenger to the Asura. He sent a haughty kshatriya, with instructions to speak roughly to Madhu’s son, to frighten him.

“Lavana listened for a while to what the king’s messenger had to say, then calmly seized the warrior and ate him. Mandhata surrounded the Asura with his legions and attacked him from every side, covering him in a night of arrows. But the Asura raised the trisula, which Siva had given his father, and it shone like a sun in the darkness.

“The solid banks of arrows from Mandhata’s bowmen were made ashes by flames from the burning trident. Lavana cast his trisula at the encircling army, and it went among them like the fire in which the worlds are consumed, when time ends. In moments, just whispering mounds of ashes remained where the Ikshvaku king, Mandhata, lord of the earth, and his vast, invincible forces had stood.

“The trident flew back into Lavana’s hand, and his laughter filled the spaces of the earth and the sky.”

Shatrughna looked stricken. Chyvana smiled, and gently took the prince’s hand. “Shatrughna, Mandhata sought to kill Lavana for his own glory, for undisputed kingdom. You have come at our bidding, and not out of any ambition. Rama has blessed you; you will not fail. Only remember you must not fight him when he wields his trident, and tomorrow Lavana will die.”

That rishi spoke with such quiet conviction that Shatrughna smiled.

The night passed quickly, and Shatrughna rose with the sun. He bathed in the deep-flowing river, took the rishis’ blessings, and, with his bow in his hand and his quiver strapped firmly to his back, Rama’s brother crossed the Yamuna.

*   *   *

Meanwhile, in the marvelous city that the Asura Madhu had once built, his son Lavana rose with an unaccustomed hunger roiling him. The Asura wondered at this, for he had eaten well the previous night. He did not, of course, dream that this was the final pang of hunger of his very life, death’s greed.

His belly on fire, Lavana rose, took up a great cudgel, and strode out of his palace. He made for the forest in the heart of which his dark city was built. Every living creature in that jungle heard Lavana’s footfalls and fled from his approach. But not all of them escaped him. Soon, a small glade in the forest began to fill with corpses. Lavana hunted without favor for species; and a mound of leopard and tiger, peafowl, deer, rabbit, boar, bison, and even elephant, grew in that glade, and its grass was stained crimson.

As he hunted Lavana ate, and blood leaked down his huge body from the beasts he devoured, often hardly chewing on their varied flesh, but only swallowing them with a perfunctory bite or two. However, today’s raging hunger would not leave him; it burned his insides with irresistible compulsion.

Lavana slaughtered a thousand animals and birds. He stuffed their carcasses into a large net he had brought with him, and, by noon, dragged them along jungle trails toward his city. As he approached the gates he saw a lean, powerful kshatriya waiting for him. Lavana blinked; it seemed to him the young warrior was swathed in a pulsing light and the bow in his hand was like an arc of the sun.

Lavana felt a stab of fear when he saw Shatrughna; but he thought it was the strange hunger that possessed him today. He said in his rumbling voice, “Young fool, why have you come to my gates seeking death? Don’t you know I have killed a thousand young kshatriyas like you?” He laughed, pointing at the bow in Shatrughna’s hand, “And is it that puny thing you mean to fight me with? Ah, I am so hungry today, and it is some time since I ate sweet human flesh. But before I eat you, tell me who you are.”

Shatrughna quivered with anger, and light like flames spewed through the links of his armor, like rays from a red sun. He said evenly, “I am Shatrughna of the House of Ikshvaku. I am Dasaratha’s son and Rama’s brother, and I have come to kill you. Your vile life has lasted long enough. You are the bane of every living creature in the world, and you shall not escape me today.”

Lavana grew thoughtful. Then wild laughter erupted from him again, triumphant laughter. The Asura said, “Ravana of Lanka was my uncle and your brother Rama killed him for a woman’s sake. Rama killed so many of Ravana’s people, my kinsmen. And today you have made my revenge easy, Shatrughna. You have come to me yourself so I can drink your blood. I have sworn to kill Rama and all his clan; let my revenge begin today. Wait here for me while I fetch my trisula from my palace. Then we will fight, Kshatriya.”

But Shatrughna raised his bow, and replied, “You will not pass me. Look upon this mortal world a last time, Lavana. Fill your eyes with these green sights, before I shut them forever. And when you are as dead as your uncle Ravana, there shall indeed be peace on earth.”

Lavana clapped his hands together like thunder. He pulled up a tree from the ground and flung it like a bolt of lightning at Shatrughna. The prince cut it in a thousand slivers with godlike archery. But quicker than thinking, Lavana drew out another tree and, rushing at Shatrughna, struck him over the head with it.

Some rishis had gathered in the surrounding forest to watch the battle between the prince and the demon. They cried out in alarm when Shatrughna fell so quickly, and the Devas, gandharvas, and apsaras, who had gathered invisibly in the sky, shivered.

Lavana thought he had killed the human and turned back to his net of the carcasses of the beasts he had hunted. The terrible hunger ravaged him again, and he began to drag the dead creatures into his city to begin his noon meal. He gave a howl when he saw Shatrughna stir and then jump up, his bow still grasped in his hand. The long hairs on the Asura’s bloated body stood on end when the prince drew a glittering shaft from his quiver and fitted it to his bowstring in a blur.

That was the arrow Rama had given Shatrughna, and it shone as if the fires of the apocalypse were contained in it. Time seemed to give a lurch and stand still when Shatrughna fixed that astra to his bowstring. The kshatriya’s body was blinding now, and Lavana covered his baleful eyes.

The Devas in the sky cried to Brahma their father, “Hah! What is this, Pitamaha? Are the worlds coming to an end?”

Brahma said, “Shatrughna’s astra is the very form of Narayana. Vishnu killed Madhu and Kaitabha with it before the worlds began. Rama gave the ayudha to his brother, and Lavana shall die with it today.”

The Devas crowded the sky below which the prince and the monster faced each other. Shatrughna saw their shadows and glanced heavenward. He saw the Gods above and, turning back to Lavana, gave a roar like a pride of lions. Lavana roared back, so the earth shook and the sky. With claws outstretched, his red maw yawning wide, the Asura rushed at Shatrughna to devour him.

In a flash, Shatrughna drew his bowstring to his ear and shot Rama’s astra at the demon. With a report as if the sky had cracked open and the world had ended, the flaming missile flew into Lavana’s chest wide as a hill. It cut through gristle and bone like a dagger slicing through butter, and, leaving that mighty chest in scarlet shreds, bored down through the earth and into darkling Patala. Lavana swayed briefly on his feet like some thousand-year-old tree that had been cut down. Without a sound, but his ochre eyes full of surprise, the Asura fell onto the earth with a crash and was still.

Shatrughna stood shaking from awe of the astra that he had loosed. The sky filled with uncanny, blissful light; the world seemed swathed in it. Blooms of light fell from above on the victorious kshatriya. The Deva host appeared plainly on high, with refulgent Indra and Agni at their head.

The Gods said to Shatrughna, “O Lion among men! Ask for any boon you want and it will be yours.”

Shatrughna said, “Let these lands be called the kingdom of Surasena and let this city of Madhu’s, Madhura, be its capital. Bless my kingdom and my city, O Devas!”

And the Gods blessed Shatrughna. Soon he had a great army of men living with him in his city shaped like a crescent moon. No sickness entered Shatrughna’s city, and Indra sent the rains on time, so the harvest in that kingdom was always bountiful. Quickly, the fame of his city spread through the lands of Bharata, and men of all the four varnas arrived to live in Madhura and flourished under King Shatrughna of Surasena.

*   *   *

Twelve years passed thus, and truly, Madhura and the kingdom around it were like a bit of Devaloka fallen into the world of men. The dharma of Shatrughna of Madhura was immaculate, and his people were prosperous past imagining. Then, one day, as he sat in his sabha, where incense always burned for the Gods, an inexorable yearning came over Shatrughna. He longed to see his brother Rama and take the padadhuli from his feet.

The same day, the master of the city that the Asura Madhu once founded gave orders for a small force to gather at his gates, to accompany him to Ayodhya. He would ride at once; it seemed to him he heard Rama’s voice calling him clearly in his heart.

Shatrughna set out, and, after he had ridden seven days and nights, he arrived in Valmiki’s asrama. The muni received Rama’s brother with arghya and madhurparka; when Shatrughna sat comfortably with him, Valmiki took his hand and said feelingly, “The earth is free of darkness, that both Ravana and Lavana are dead.”

The sage embraced Shatrughna and kissed the top of his head affectionately, blessing him. Later, as dusk gathered, some young rishis, Valmiki’s sishyas who were musicians, came and sat around the muni and his guest. They brought their vinas and mridangas with them, and began to play. The singers among them began singing the Ramayana, while Shatrughna sat astonished and enchanted. It seemed to the prince that his brother’s young life was being played out before his eyes again, in all its glory.

It was past midnight when the singers brought their audience to Lanka, where Rama killed Ravana with the brahmastra. Shatrughna sat as if turned to stone by the magic of the Adi Kavya. All his soldiers who had come with him felt as if they were in the midst of a wonderful living dream and the rest of the world had ceased to exist around them. It truly seemed that Valmiki’s mystic song was, uncannily, realer than the world around them.

When the singers arrived at Rama’s pattabhisheka in Ayodhya, Shatrughna fainted away, so powerfully did the past return to him. After the Ramayana had been sung, Shatrughna’s soldiers begged their king to ask the Rishi Valmiki what the strange and powerful song was and who had composed it. But Shatrughna said it would not be proper to ask their host that question, unless he told them himself.

The king of Madhura said, “This asrama is full of all sorts of great secrets. It is beyond the likes of us to unravel any of them. Let us sleep now, for I long to see my brother and we must leave with first light.”

But he could hardly sleep at all, for the visions of Rama and the Ramayana that filled the night. With dawn, he came to Valmiki, and, with folded hands, said, “My lord, my heart is full of my brother. Give me leave, Muni, that I may go at once to see Rama.”

Valmiki blessed Shatrughna, and the kshatriya rode out again. He reached Ayodhya, his father’s city, built into a coil of the Sarayu, its golden towers reaching for the stars: Ayodhya of dharma, where perfect Rama ruled. After so many years, Shatrughna came into his brother’s presence and saw Rama again, who sat like Indra among his Devas, resplendent as a God.

With a cry, Shatrughna rushed to prostrate himself before his brother. As always, Rama raised him up tenderly, kissed him, and made him sit beside him on his throne.

Shatrughna said hoarsely, “Lavana is dead, my lord, and Madhura is renewed in dharma, just as you wanted. I rule that city in your name, Rama, and no evil passes its gates or comes anywhere into the kingdom around Madhu’s ancient city.”

Suddenly his eyes were full of tears, and Shatrughna said, “I have been away from you for twelve endless years and no punishment could be more cruel. I cannot stay away from you any more. I beg you, Rama, don’t send me back.”

Rama stroked his hair and said with a smile, “You are a king now, my little brother, a great kshatriya sovereign upon the earth. I have heard yours is one of the noblest cities in all Bharatavarsha. What will your people do if you desert them? A king’s first dharma is toward his subjects, Shatrughna: they are like his own children. Everything else is secondary, insignificant. A king has no life of his own. So, O King, I will keep you here with me for seven days; but after that you must return to your kingdom, to Madhura where your dharma and your destiny lie.”

Sadly, Shatrughna said, “So be it.”

And after seven days and nights with his brothers, Shatrughna set out once more for Madhura. Bharata and Lakshmana rode a long way out of Ayodhya with him, and then stood watching until their brother’s chariot disappeared in the distance.

 

34. A brahmana and his son

A few days after Shatrughna left Ayodhya, an extraordinary thing happened in the city of grace. It was known through all Bharatavarsha that since Rama sat on the Ikshvaku throne, no evil dared approach his people: no sorrow, no sickness, no misfortune of any kind. The kingdom was, truly, heaven on earth, that Vishnu’s Avatara ruled it.

But then, as if to remind the people, and the king himself, that this was not Swarga but Bhumi, one day soon after Shatrughna came and went, a terribly distraught brahmana arrived at Rama’s gates. He was sobbing, heartbroken, and in his arms he carried the dead body of his son, a child of fifteen summers. During Ramarajya, Rama’s rule, the death of a child of just five thousand days was unheard of.

Loudly the brahmana cried, “What dreadful sin did I commit in my past lives that my child is snatched from me like this? Surely, I have not sinned in this life to deserve such savage punishment. He was my only son, and look at him now. He was meant to light my funeral pyre when I died; instead, he has made me the son and died before me. Oh, I cannot bear this grief! I will die of it myself, in a day or two, and my wife as well.

“Rama, they say you are a perfect king and sinless; and so there is no sickness or untimely death in your kingdom. But I say Rama must have sinned, or why has my child been snatched from me like this? My wife and I will die at your very gates, O King, unless you bring my child back to life! And you will be guilty of brahmahatya.”

The brahmana was beside himself. “Damned is the House of Ikshvaku that a king like Rama rules it! Your subjects live in death’s shadow, sinner. Who can be happy in a kingdom of such darkness? The sins of the king kill the children of a kingdom. You have sinned, you have sinned terribly, Rama of Ayodhya. I demand redress from you for the death of my child.”

And the brahmana held his son’s lifeless body to him, and sobbed and sobbed. Rama heard the man weeping, and came out of his palace and saw the pitiful spectacle at his gate. Tears flowed down his noble face and a cold pang clutched his heart. Rama staggered back into the palace, shaking.

He called for a guardsman and said to him, “Bring Vasishta and Vamadeva to me at once, and the other munis. Send for Bharata and Lakshmana too. Hurry.”

Rama sat waiting, ashen-faced. He could still hear the brahmana’s thin wailing outside and his wife’s stifled sobs. The brahmana sat down in the middle of the path that led into Rama’s palace, blocking it squarely. He held his dead child in his lap and railed against the king.

Soon, Vasishta, Vamadeva, Bharata, Lakshmana, and some prominent citizens came hurrying into Rama’s sabha. Following them came Markandeya, Maudgalya, Kashyapa, Katyayana, Jabali, Gautama, and Narada, the greatest rishis in the world.

When they were seated, Rama said to them, “The brahmana’s son has died, holy ones, and he says I am to blame. He means to kill himself at my door, because he says it is my sin that has killed his child.”

The rishis saw the tears in his eyes and that his hands shook. Rama said, “Surely, some unspeakable sin has caused the child’s death. But am I to blame, Munis? Ah, if I am, it is I who must kill myself. Tell me, have I sinned? What is my crime?”

It was Narada, the wanderer, who answered Rama. In his blithe and deep way, he began, “Listen to why this child has died. In the krita yuga, only the brahmanas of earth performed tapasya, only they ever sat in dhyana. It was a blemishless age, and the brahmanas of the earth were the support of the world; they were like Gods. All of them were born from the bloodlines of Brahma himself, and so they were called brahmanas. They were men of vision who saw through time as clearly as the men of the later ages see the world around them.

“Rama, the krita yuga was ruled by the brahmanas, with the ways of peace, and it was a taintless time. There was no sin in the world. Then came the treta yuga, and adharma was born. The first sin was committed from pride; and violence, greed, and deceit entered the lives of men. The Gods created the kshatriyas, to rule other men and to establish dharma again in an earth that sought to turn its blessed face from the ways of truth and vision. Manu divided humankind into the four varnas.

“Annrita, agriculture, came into men’s lives, and this was the first step the rajoguna set upon the earth. Then came the dwapara yuga, and adharma, the beast Sin, now set his second foot upon the world, emerging further. In the krita, tapasya had belonged only to the brahmana. In the treta, both the brahmanas and kshatriyas were allowed dhyana. In the dwapara yuga, the traders, the vaisyas, also could sit in meditation and prayer, which was forbidden in the first three yugas.

“It is only in the kali yuga, when dharma survives only on one foot, and evil has sway over the earth, having set three monstrous feet upon it, shall the sudra perform tapasya. For there is no sin, say the wise, as heinous as for the sudra to sit in dhyana in our yuga.”

Narada paused, then said very quietly into the fallen silence, “Yet, Rama, a sudra sits in long and fervent tapasya on the very hem of your kingdom. And by his dhyana, the shadow of sin has fallen over us all, even you. His forbidden tapasya has killed the brahmana’s child. For you, O King, partake in a sixth portion of every pious deed and every crime committed in your kingdom. And because of this sudra’s dhyana, you have incurred sin.

“You must go to him and right this wrong.”

For a long moment, Rama gazed at the muni, Brahma’s son, born when the earth was made; and he knew exactly what Narada meant that he should do. A chill gripped his heart as he said, “I will right the wrong, my lord.”

Narada smiled grimly, “And the brahmana’s son shall live again.”

 

35. The death of a sudra

Rama said to Lakshmana, “My brother, go and comfort the brahmana. Have a tub of oil drawn and let his child’s body be preserved in it.”

Rama came out into the sun and stood briefly in prayer in his palace yard. With a silent mantra, he summoned the pushpaka vimana. At once the crystal ship appeared in the sky and alighted near the king.

The shining stairway was unfurled at Rama’s feet, and he climbed aboard. Rama carried his bow and quiver, and a sword. At his very thought, the vimana rose steeply away from the ground and flitted westward, above heavy emerald forests, and then turned north subtly, to fly toward the Himalaya laid like a pale necklace across Bhumi Devi’s throat.

It is told that, all the way he flew, Rama did not see a single sin being committed in his lands. West, north, and east he flew, and nowhere did he see any taint of adharma below him, but a pure world, with his grace permeating the sacred earth and the hearts of men.

At last he turned the pushpaka vimana to the south. Drawn surely by instinct, the enchanted ship came to the Saivala mountain, upon whose northern shoulder a great lake sparkled as if its waters were strewn with a million gemstones. Peering down, Rama saw a nyagrodha tree, a sire of its race that grew beside the water. And standing upon his head in sirasasana below that tree, in intense tapasya, he saw an emaciated ascetic, with jata and a long beard and his eyes shut fast.

Rama set the vimana down on the ground. He alighted from it and approached the strange hermit. Folding his hands to the yogin, Rama said, “I am Rama of Ayodhya. Tell me, Sannyasi, why do you perform such a trying tapasya? Is it for some boon? Or to attain Devaloka? You stand on your head, O Yogin; your tapasya is rare and stern. Tell me, are you a brahmana or a kshatriya? Or are you, perhaps, a vaisya? You could not be a sudra, Muni; for a sudra never sits in dhyana.”

The ascetic did not move from his asana. But he opened his deep black eyes briefly, and answered Rama in a level voice, “I am a sudra, Rama; my name is Sambuka. And I stand upon my head in dhyana because I want to conquer Devaloka and be Lord of the four quarters.”

Sambuka shut his eyes again and was lost in meditation. Rama stood numb before the hermit. Then he folded his hands once more to the absorbed Sambuka, drew his sword, and cleanly severed the sudra’s head from his body.

Suddenly the sky was full of lustrous presences. Indra, Agni, and the entire host of Devaloka appeared as bright shadows on high. Fragrant petal rain fell on the avenging Avatara. The Devas cried that he had done well to end Sambuka’s dreadful sin. But as he wiped his blade clean on some long grass, Rama had tears in his eyes.

Bowing to destiny, he said aloud, “If I have indeed done well, let the brahmana’s son have life again.”

Agni Deva said to Rama, “The moment the sudra was killed the brahmana’s son breathed again. But now, Rama, we want to visit Agastya Muni in his asrama. He has slept on water for twelve years, and today his tapasya is complete.”

Rama and the Devas arrived at Agastya’s asrama in their vimanas and he worshipped them all. The Devas blessed him, and then vanished from the sky. Agastya said to Rama, “Stay this night with me, Rama.”

The rishi went into his hut and came out with a small bundle of dark silk. When Rama unwrapped the silk, he saw a jewel that shone as if the light of a crimson star had been captured within it. Agastya said, “This was fashioned by Viswakarman, Rama. In all this world, only you are fit to wear it. It will bring great fortune to you and to all your kingdom.”

Rama bent his head and Agastya fastened the red gemstone around his neck by its golden chain. Rama asked, “What is this stone, Mahamuni? It fills me with such peace, such power!”

Agastya said, “Once, in the krita yuga, the men of the earth had no king. They went to Brahma and said, ‘Pitamaha, Indra rules Devaloka, but we have no sovereign to guide our destinies. Give us also a king, Brahma. We have decided we must have someone to rule over us, someone as great as Indra.’

“Brahma summoned the Lokapalas, the masters of the four quarters, Indra, Varuna, Kubera, and Yama, and said to those Devas, ‘Each of you give me a portion of your authority.’

“The guardians gave him a part of their power. As he received the majesty of the four Gods, Brahma sneezed. A splendid king appeared from his sneeze and he was called Kshupa. Brahma invested him with the power of the four Devas, and made him lord of the earth.

“Kshupa ruled with the power given him by Indra. He nurtured his people by the grace given him by Varuna. He shared with them the wealth and glory which he had from Kubera, and he punished them when they sinned, using the power of Yama.”

Agastya Muni said, “Rama, now you are king of this earth. All the power of Kshupa is vested in you. The power of Indra, Yama, Kubera, and Varuna is vested in you. This jewel is the power of Indra. Keep it from now, Kshatriya, and let my spirit find its final peace.”

The gem shone on Rama’s chest as the sun does in the sky. Rama asked, “Where did you get this stone from, Muni?”

Agastya’s eyes were full of light, the light of another age. He said, “It was in the treta yuga that I got this jewel, Rama. Then, there was a jungle here in Bharatavarsha, a hundred yojanas long and wide, and no living creature dwelt in it, no beasts and no birds. No men lived there either, only the trees. I sat in tapasya in that vana.

“How shall I describe to you how wonderful the trees of those times were, how brilliant their leaves were, or how ambrosial their fruit? They were the sires of the trees that live in the world today, and they were closer to heaven. In the very heart of that forest, there was a lake, one yojana wide on every side. Only on its waters would you find duck, teal, swan, ibis, and chakravakas.

“A feast of lotuses and water lilies mantled its surface, blooms in colors you no longer see in this darkening world, Rama. Beside this lake, there was an ancient asrama. No one knew when it had been wrought, for it had not been built by any human being and no one lived in that hermitage.

“One summer’s night, I found myself beside the lake and spent the night in that asrama. The next morning, I rose with the sun and went to the lake for my morning ablutions. I saw a corpse floating on the water, a plump, white, naked corpse. I stood rooted, staring at the body, when, all at once, the sky seemed to be lit by another sun, and a vimana flew down, yoked to the most incredible swans.

“In that open vimana, I saw an immortal, and with him were a hundred gandharvas and apsaras. They sang in unearthly voices; some danced by the first light of the sun, even as if this were the first day of creation. Perfect mridangas and vinas I heard, and from them unearthly music flowed.

“Rama, as I stood watching, unable to move, the lord of the vimana rose from his golden seat, even like the sun on the crest of the eastern mountain. He alighted from his ship of the sky and drew the corpse in the lake toward him with occult power. And then, I could not believe my eyes: he devoured that corpse, licking up its blood that leaked down his fine chin, crunching its bones, sucking out their marrow, chewing raptly on the flesh and plentiful white fat that decked them.

“When he had finished, and he discarded only a few shreds of skin, hair, and bone, he went down to the water and bathed, long and thoroughly, and all the while I saw that he wept. As he returned to his vimana, I emerged from where I had hidden myself to watch him, and said, ‘Who are you, O Godlike? How is it that someone as noble as yourself feeds on dead human flesh?’

“I spoke in great wonder, my heart churning within me, for never had I seen such a strange thing. He folded his hands respectfully to me, and said in chaste, high language, ‘Brahmana, I am the son of King Vaidarbha, whose name was known throughout the three worlds as Sudeva. He had two wives, and a son by each. I am Sweta, his eldest, and my younger brother was called Suratha.

“‘When my father died, our people crowned me king and I ruled to the best of my lights and ability. A thousand years passed, O Muni, in peace and plenty. For I remained within the bounds of dharma, as well as I possibly could. When the thousand years given me to be king passed, I came here into this forest to sit in dhyana, before death came for me. Before I took vanaprastha, I made my brother Suratha king.

“‘I lived here beside this lake—the asrama you slept in last night was mine—and for three thousand years I performed tapasya. By my long penance, I gained Brahmaloka, the highest of all the realms. But when I ascended into that lofty loka, leaving my body behind on earth, searing thirst and raging hunger afflicted me.

“‘I asked Brahma, “Pitamaha, your realm is free of hunger and thirst. Then why do I suffer like this? Tell me, Lord, what can I eat? For there is no food here.”

“‘Brahma said to me, “Son of Sudeva, you have nourished your own body with a long tapasya. Yet you have never given any charity these past three thousand years. So eat your own flesh, Sweta, drink your own blood: to quench your hunger and your thirst.”

“‘I stood startled before the Pitamaha’s throne. This was no less than a curse. Brahma continued, “One day, Agastya Muni will deliver you from your hunger and thirst. Till then, devour your own body, Sweta. Do not worry, your flesh will be inexhaustible. Again and again you shall eat it, and it will never perish.”’

“He pointed to the lake, and when I looked again at the clear water, the plump, white, and naked body floated there again, as if it had not been consumed, gristle and marrow, just a short while ago. Sweta said, ‘For many years now, I have been slaking my hunger and thirst on that body every day; but it reappears each time, and once more I devour it.’

“Then he took a bright ornament he wore around his neck, and pressed it into my hand. Sweta said, ‘Lord Agastya, greatest among brahmanas, I beg you, deliver me from this terrible curse. I offer you everything I own. I offer you all my wealth and my punya too. Release me from hunger and thirst. Set me free so I never have to return to this earth. I long to range through the realms of heaven, but I am cruelly bound, Muni.’

“In pity, I took the scarlet jewel from the suffering king, and at once, the white body vanished from the lake. An expression of untold relief suffused Sweta’s face. He bowed deeply to me, ascended his vimana again and flitted away like a thought into the sky, never to return.

“Rama, this jewel that has Indra’s power in it was given me by King Sweta, for releasing him from Brahma’s curse.”

 

36. Bhargava’s curse

Rama asked, “Muni, when I was in exile, long ago, you told me something about a cursed forest where no bird or beast came, and no rishis. Was this the vana where you met King Sweta? What was the curse, Agastya?”

The rishi, whom even the Devas worshipped, said, “I did not tell you the entire tale. But listen to it now, Rama, if you have a mind to. In the krita yuga, Manu was lord of the earth, its sovereign. His son was Ikshvaku, who was a joy to all his family.

“When a great deal of time passed—and in that yuga men lived much longer than the men of today—Manu sought Brahmaloka for himself. Before he attained samadhi, he set Ikshvaku on his throne, and said to him; ‘Be the sire of all the royal houses of the earth.’

“Ikshvaku said he would do as his father asked. Then Manu said, ‘Be just in judging your people and punishing them if they err. Consider every crime and its punishment well, consult the Shastras and think deeply. For this is a king’s first dharma, and only this can lead him to heaven.’

“Manu blessed his son, and left his mortal body. Ikshvaku fell to thinking, ‘How shall I father sons?’

“In diverse and magical ways, he created a hundred sons, all of them magnificent as Devas. But the hundredth prince, Danda, was full of ignorance and darkness. He did not serve his father or his elders. Indeed, he became known as Danda because everyone felt sure that some dreadful punishment would come to such a dull being, to enliven him.

“Ikshvaku was fearful for Danda and gave him a part of the earth to be his kingdom, so perhaps he would mend. He gave him all the lands that lay between the Vindhyas and Saivala mountains. Ikshvaku sent his finest builders to make a city for his son to rule from. Danda’s city was called Madhumanta, and he chose Usanas, Sukra Deva, to be his guru.

“The blessings and grace of the great Sukra seemed to guide Danda’s fortunes for a while, and Madhumanta was like a city of the Gods upon the earth. Its men and women were pious and beautiful; their spirits and bodies, their very lives were lit with dharma. Danda’s own nature seemed to have undergone a profound change, and it appeared that his father’s decision to make him a king had transformed that prince.

“For ten thousand years Danda ruled with immaculate restraint and growing wisdom, and there was no other king or kingdom in Bharatavarsha to match his. Then, one day, in the fullness of his glory, Danda decided to visit the asrama of his guru, Sukra Bhargava, in the heart of the jungle that surrounded Madhumanta. It was spring, the month of Chaitra.

“Danda arrived at the hermitage, built on a lake’s sylvan shore, which was like a bit of Brahmaloka fallen onto the earth. Under the glimmering trees, Danda saw a young woman, the very sight of whom made his heart stop still. She was another vision, she was utterly desirable; and he could see her naked body through the diaphanous garment she wore in this place where no man usually set foot.

“Danda accosted her, and said, ‘Lovely one, who are you? Whose daughter? Oh, I want you!’

“As he approached her, his arms outstretched, she shrank from him and replied with dignity, ‘I am Araja and I am Bhargava’s eldest daughter. My father is your guru. Don’t touch me, Kshatriya; I am my father’s ward. If what you feel for me is more than mere lust, then ask my father for my hand in marriage and I shall be yours.’

“But she saw the look in his eyes, and said again, in some panic now, ‘If you force me, Danda, Sukra Deva’s anger will burn you and your kingdom to a crisp.’

“Danda folded his hands and raised them above his head. He said, ‘If I cannot have you at once, I shall die anyway. I beg you, give yourself to me willingly. For no fear, of death or of any sin, will stop me from having you.’

“She stepped back from him. But he was on her in a flash, and forcing her down onto the soft grass with irresistible strength, he thrust himself into that virgin girl, like fire. She screamed in fear and pain. But he enjoyed her roughly, and even as she lay numb with shock, a crimson stain spreading under her, he rose and left that asrama.

“After a long time, Araja stumbled to her father’s kutila and stood sobbing at its door. She stood waiting for her father, who was like a God. Sukra Bhargava came back to his asrama with a knot of his disciples, and heard what had happened. He saw his daughter’s agony and her shame, as blood and the kshatriya’s violent seed between her fair thighs. Sukra’s eyes turned the color of the sunset.

“He cried, ‘In seven days this king, and all his sons and his army, shall die. For a hundred yojanas around his city, all life shall be consumed by a rain of fire and death shall rule this sinner’s kingdom. All of you must leave this asrama and go to the edge of these lands. No life will stir here in seven days’

“He turned to his daughter and said, ‘My child, you will live here beside this lake, and the birds and beasts who come to be near you in the night shall stay with you. The rain of flames will not fall for a yojana around this asrama, or on this lake.’

“Araja bowed her head, and murmured, ‘As you will.’

“Sukra Deva left that hermitage and his daughter, and went away to a secret place to perform tapasya for expiation from whatever sin it was that had brought down such terrible punishment on him and his child. In seven days the sky grew as dark as the end of time, and a hissing, spitting deluge of flames fell out of it and devoured Danda, his clan, all his people, his wonderful city, and the land around it, for a hundred yojanas in every direction. The earth was charred; no life of any kind stirred upon it any more. Everywhere there were only ashes to be seen, stretching away interminably.

“Later, a dark and fearsome forest grew up here and only the creatures of night inhabited it: pisachas, rakshasas, and other evil beings. And you know that when the time of the curse drew near its end, I wandered down into this vana with the seeds of the sacred trees of Himavan in my hands, and I sat here in dhyana until most of the curse was removed, and the sun and the wind and the natural rain came again to the cursed jungle named Dandaka after King Danda.

“Of course, Rama, it was only when your feet touched this ground, during your exile, that the curse vanished entirely and this earth was blessed again.”

Agastya said, “Rama, the waters of this lake are sacred. Bathe in our lake this evening, and then eat with us.”

Rama went down to the lake, which was touched with the dying colors of the setting sun. He first took up a palmful of the precious water and drank it reverently. He entered the lake and bathed in it. He emerged feeling a new vitality and purity course through his body and his spirit.

Rama came back to Agastya’s asrama and ate a frugal, tasty meal of fine, husked rice, and the most delicious vegetables, among them a redder radish than any he had ever seen, which he relished especially. Late into the night, under a sky full of fateful stars, the king and the hermit sat talking, until Agastya told Rama to sleep and retired himself.

In the morning, as the sun rose, Rama came and prostrated himself before the muni. “Give me leave, Mahamuni, I must return to Ayodhya. I will come to see you again and have your blessing once more, to make myself pure.”

Laying his ageless palms on the king’s head, Agastya said, “You are the purifier of this earth. Your presence in the world blesses her for a thousand generations of men. The Lord Indra worships you, Rama; you are the refuge and the savior of this world.”

*   *   *

Rama took the padadhuli from Agastya’s feet. He climbed into the pushpaka vimana and flashed away, back to Ayodhya. In his city, in his palace courtyard, he said to the magical ship, “Go back to Kubera now, my friend, and I will call you when I need you again.”

Rama went into his palace, his lonely royal apartment, and said to a guard there, “Go and fetch Lakshmana and Bharata to me.”

They came, and Rama hugged them. He said softly, his eyes shining with a new light, “I want to build the bridge of dharma in our land: the bridge that will never fall. My brothers, with both of you beside me, I want to perform the rajasuya yagna to purify me of the sin of killing the sudra. Tell me what you think.”

Bharata folded his hands, and said, “All this earth and all fame have their source in you; you are the highest dharma. Every king of the earth looks up to you as the Devas do to Brahma. They look up to you as sons to their father. Rama, if a king like you undertakes the rajasuya, if a king like you sheds the blood of other kshatriyas and brings grief to their families, will that be dharma?

“If Rama destroys the peace of the earth, a tide of wrath will rise and sweep us all away. All the kshatriyas of the earth are already loyal to you, Rama; you must not challenge them in war.”

Rama took Bharata’s hand and said, “How wisely you speak, my brother! What you say is dharma, indeed. No, I will not perform the rajasuya. I will not provoke the kings of the earth, demean them, or force them to protect their honor in war. The wise never do anything that brings grief to the world. What the young say must be followed if they speak wisely. You are right, Bharata, I will do as you say.”

Then Lakshmana said, “Perform the aswamedha instead, Rama. The yagna is the purifier of all the wise; let it be yours as well. You know how Indra himself was cleansed of the sin of Brahmahatya, when he performed the aswamedha yagna.”

Rama said with a smile, “Remind us of it again, Lakshmana.”

Lakshmana said keenly, “In the eldest days, Diti had a son called Vritra. Vritra was an Asura, a hundred yojanas tall. He ruled the earth, once, with dharma and compassion. And during his reign, Bhumi Devi yielded the most abundant flowers, fruit, and roots, ever. With dharma, Vritrasura’s kingdom flourished.

“Then, that great and pious demon thought to himself, ‘Only tapasya yields the highest joy. Every other pleasure is illusory.’

“He entrusted his kingdom to his eldest son, Madhureswara, and sat in a truly searing tapasya upon the mountain. While Vritra performed his penance, Indra grew afraid in Devaloka. Indra went to Vishnu and said, ‘Already, I cannot subdue Vritrasura. If his tapasya continues, he will become Lord of the three worlds and of every creature in them. Precious Hari, how do you allow this Asura to flourish? It is because he has your blessing that no one can curb him. I beg you, kill this demon; only you can any more.’”

Lakshmana paused, and he was flushed with happiness at narrating the timeless legend. Rama said indulgently, “And how did Vritra die?”

“All the Devas echoed Indra’s misery, and Vishnu said to them, ‘It is true that once Vritra had my blessing, and that was for your own welfare, O Devas, to make you humble. But now his time has come. I will make myself three, so Indra can kill the Asura. One part of me will enter Indra himself; another shall infuse his vajra; and the third, the very earth. Vritrasura, master of the worlds, shall die.’

“The Devas bowed low before Mahavishnu and they went to have a final reckoning with the demon. They found Vritra at his tapasya, which was so intense it seemed he would drink down all creation into his spirit. His body seemed like a golden mountain, on fire. The Devas looked at him and shivered. They whispered among themselves, ‘How will we kill this awesome one?’

“But, murmuring a prayer to Vishnu, Indra cast his vajra at the meditating Asura. The thunderbolt of a thousand joints, charged with Vishnu’s power, struck Vritrasura’s great head from its neck, and it fell upon the earth like the pralaya. Indra fled from there in terror, to the ends of the world, sobbing; for his sin of killing a brahmana pursued him in a dreadful form of flames. Indra transformed himself into a water snake and hid in the Manasarovara, in the stem of a lotus. He dared not emerge, he dared not stir, and Devaloka had no ruler.

“Now Agni and the other Devas sat in a fervid tapasya to Mahavishnu. They said again and again, ‘You are the Primal Person, the First One, Un-born, omnipotent, the father of us all, the savior of us all: save our king, O Vishnu; his Brahmahatya pursues him relentlessly and even we do not know where he has hidden himself.’

“Vishnu said to the Devas, ‘You must perform the aswamedha yagna. It is the only way to save the thousand-eyed one from his sin.’

“Vishnu himself performed the horse sacrifice along with the Devas. At the end of the solemn yagna, the Brahmahatya, who had been pursuing Indra so remorselessly, came before blue Vishnu, and pleaded, ‘I beg you, Lord of Gods, give me sanctuary. Your yagna scathes me and I fear for my life.’

“Vishnu said to the spirit of the Brahmahatya, ‘Divide yourself in four, O Spirit, and live in four places.’

“And one amsa of the hatya dwelt in the world, for four months of the year, the monsoon, to break the pride of sinners. Its second part dwelt in the earth. Its third possessed young women, who were arrogant of their beauty, for three nights. And its last and fourth part possessed and tormented murderers, especially the killers of brahmanas.

“Indra was rid of that scorching, ineluctable spirit, and returned to assume his throne that the worlds worship, in Amravati, the deathless city. Swarga, Bhumi, and Patala grew calm again; the spirit of chaos that had verged on creation disappeared.”

Lakshmana paused and slowly drew in a deep breath. He was a self-conscious storyteller, and, blushing slightly, concluded with some solemnity, “Rama, that is how powerful the aswamedha yagna is. It took his dreadful sin from Indra, who had killed Vritrasura when he sat in dhyana. It will certainly wash the sin of killing Sambuka from you. Perform the sacrifice of the horse, my lord: all our salvations depend on it.”

 

37. The tale of Ila

Rama laughed softly when Lakshmana finished his earnestly told tale. The king ruffled his brother’s hair like a boy’s, and said, “Have you heard the story of Ila?”

Lakshmana said eagerly, “No, Rama. Who was she?”

Rama began, “In the eldest days, the Prajapati Kardama was king of Bahlika. He had conquered all the earth and ruled his people as if they were his own children. Kardama had honor among both Devas and Daityas, and the nagas, rakshasas, gandharvas, and even the secretive yakshas revered that king of dharma.

“Once, Kardama went hunting in the forest. Drunk with bloodlust, he killed thousands of innocent creatures in the jungle he had entered, without favor for species, age, sex, or size. Their screams rang under the sorrowing trees. Spraying the jungle with blood, Kardama arrived in its heart, the very place where once Siva’s son Karttikeya had been born.

“It happened that Siva himself was in that jungle’s heart, making love to Parvati. To please her, Siva had assumed a woman’s form and had come with her sakhis. They now sat together beside a hill stream that chatted its way through the deep vana. Uma sat on Siva’s lap, and she wore not a stitch upon her perfect body. And by Siva’s power, so Uma would not be seen naked by any male creature, every beast, bird, and even the plants of that impenetrable forest had become female, even the trees.

“Blood on his hands, steamy from his hunt, Kardama staggered into the glade where Parvati sat in her lord’s lap, her arms twined around his neck like vines. Instantly, the king, all his soldiers, and the horses they rode were transformed: they became women and mares. Kardama felt the change come over him. He knew Siva had done this, and he trembled.

“Kardama and his men petitioned the Lord, the blue-throated, serpent-adorned Mahadeva. They came and fell at his feet. Siva said to the son of the Prajapati, ‘Arise, Rajarishi, and ask me for any boon, except your manhood.’

“Kardama remained mute; he asked for nothing. Then he remembered Uma always bestowed one half of every boon that Siva granted. Kardama came sobbing, as a woman, before the mountain’s daughter, and begged her, ‘Mother of worlds, bless me. Make me a man again.’

“Parvati laid her palm on Kardama’s head in blessing. The Devi said, ‘Only half of every boon is mine to bestow. So be a man for half your life.’

“Kardama cried in delight, ‘Anuttamaa, Peerless One, let me be a man for one month and a woman for the next.’

“Uma said, ‘So be it. And when you are a man, you shall not remember your womanhood; as, when you are a woman, you shall have no memory that you were a man. When you are a woman, Kardama, you will be known as Ila.’

“And Siva and Uma vanished from there.”

Lakshmana asked breathlessly, “And how did Kardama live, Rama? When he was a king, and then when he was a woman? How did he live his life?”

“One day, Ila, the beautiful, seductive woman, came to a mountain in the midst of the forest of femininity. She saw a clear pool there, sparkling like a diamond. As she approached it, she saw the water shone strangely, with some other light than that of the sun above. It seemed as if the lotuses and water birds on the pool were also lit with this inner lambency.

“As Ila came nearer, she saw there was someone submerged in the pool. She gasped when she saw it was a Deva, surely, who sat in the water, obviously at tapasya. His body shone like a full moon. She did not know this, but that was Budha, Soma Deva’s son by Brihaspati’s wife Tara.

“Ila felt a fluid warmth fill her body. She turned away in shyness; but already the God in the pool had sensed the presence of the women. Budha opened his eyes and they fell on Ila. The Deva quivered; he had never seen anyone so exquisite in all his life. He had been with apsaras and naginas, with ethereal gandharvis; but the woman he saw now on the banks of the pool in which he sat in dhyana touched him as no other had before. There was a certain quality about her that no woman he had ever seen possessed.

“Just one thought filled his mind: ‘If she isn’t already given, I must make her mine.’

“Like the moon rising from the sea, he climbed out from the pool and came up to Ila’s companions. He said in his irresistible Deva’s voice, ‘Who is your friend? I have never seen anyone so beautiful. What is she doing here, in the heart of this vana? What are you doing here?’

“They replied, tittering, ‘She is our mistress, brilliant one. And we all live in this vana and roam through it together.’

“Budha, the intelligent, was puzzled: something about their story seemed strange and incomplete. The Deva softly chanted the avartani vidya, in his mind, and the occult stotra informed him about Kardama and his soldiers, and how Siva’s power had turned them into women. When he learned the fate of Kardama’s men, who had turned into women forever, Budha Deva was moved to pity.

“Budha blessed those women, saying, ‘Let your lives be fruitful and full of joy. Become kimpurushis from now. Live on fruit, roots, and herbs, and let the kinnaras of the mountain be your mates’

“Instantly, the women were turned into female fauns and they vanished into the forest, to find the magical kimpurushas, who are masters of riddles. When the shimmering fauns had gone, Budha turned with a smile to Ila. ‘Lovely one, I am Soma’s son Budha. Look on me with love in your eyes. I know all about you and I am determined to make you mine.’

“She flushed, she quivered with wanting him, and said softly, ‘I am yours, my lord, do what you will with me.’

“Soma took her in his glowing arms. He peeled away her single garment, and they lay together on the thick satin moss that grew beside the pool. Great Budha made love to his strange beloved for a month, without pause, and the month passed like a few delirious hours. Then, suddenly, Kardama awoke one morning, in the bed in the asrama, as if from a long sleep. He went out and found himself beside a clear pool, and he saw Budha Deva at dhyana, seated in the posture of the lotus upon the water, with no other support.

“Kardama did not remember how he came to be here; he remembered nothing of the curse of Siva, or of Ila. He asked Budha, ‘My lord Brahmana, I came into this jungle with my army. But I do not see any of my men. Do you know what happened to them?’

“Budha replied serenely, ‘Your men were all killed by a shower of rocks from heaven. But you fled into the asrama and fell asleep within. Take courage, O King, live here in this hermitage. There are roots, fruit, and game aplenty for you to feed yourself.’

“Kardama grew thoughtful for a moment, then said, ‘I will do as you say. But ah, I hardly want to live any more, when all my soldiers have perished. I have a noble son called Sasabindu; he will rule my kingdom.’

“And so it was. Whenever he was a man for a month, Kardama performed rigorous tapasya beside the forest pool, and served the meditating Budha; and when he was Ila, he made love with Soma Deva’s son. Soon enough, Ila conceived and gave birth to a splendid boy, who resembled his unearthly father and whom they named Pururava. By Budha’s power and Siva’s, even at the end of a year Kardama knew nothing about Ila.

“When Pururava was a year old, Budha called some of the world’s holiest rishis to the asrama. He called Samvarta, Bhrigu’s son Chyvana, Arishtanemi, the blithe and merry Pramodana, Modakara, and the awesome Durvasa. Pulastya, Kratu, and Vasatkara arrived in that secret hermitage, as well. Budha told them all who Ila really was. He showed them their son, and said, ‘My lords, you decide what Kardama must do next.’

“The rishis spoke among themselves briefly, then they said, ‘We will undertake an aswamedha for the sake of Kardama; no yagna pleases the Lord Siva as the horse sacrifice does’

“Samvarta, who was Brihaspati’s brother, reminded them, ‘Once, when my sishya, the king Marutta, performed the aswamedha, all his sins were washed from him, and he and his kingdom prospered.’

“So those munis undertook an aswamedha yagna in Kardama’s name. They sent a white horse across the lands, and finally sacrificed it in the vana, in Siva’s name. Siva appeared in a mass of light before those rishis and Ila. Laying his hand on her head, he gave Ila her manhood back, for good, and vanished from there. The aswamedha yagna completed, the rishis also left.

“Now Kardama was himself again, always, and he founded the city of Pratishtana in the heart of that forest and ruled from there for many years. Meanwhile, his son Sasabindu ruled over the old kingdom of Bahlika. Soon, Budha’s son Pururava grew into manhood, and Kardama gave his kingdom to the wonderful youth. Kardama himself sat in tapasya for some years and then gained Brahmaloka.

“This, my brothers, is another story that tells how powerful the aswamedha yagna is. Indeed, it is said to be the most auspicious and potent sacrifice in the world,” said Rama, his eyes alight at the thought of performing the noble yagna himself.

“Lakshmana, we must gather the greatest rishis of the world here in this sabha: Vasishta, Vamadeva, Jabali, Kashyapa, and the rest, from all the Pravaras. And with their blessings and guidance, I mean to loose a horse of the noblest pedigree across the land of Bharata.”

Lakshmana’s face shone at the prospect. He would not wait a moment, and cried, “Shall I fetch the brahmanas immediately?”

Smiling, Rama nodded that he might.

*   *   *

Very soon, those holy men of the earth were gathered like a constellation of stars in the ancient sabha of Ayodhya. Rama received each of them, washing their feet himself and offering them madhurparka. When they were all seated at the head of the sabha, Rama said simply, “My lords, I mean to perform an aswamedha yagna. I need your blessings.”

Each of those profound munis spoke in that sabha, turn by turn, and they were all delighted at what Rama planned. When they had finished, Rama turned in joy to Lakshmana. “My brother, send word to Sugriva in Kishkinda. Tell him what we mean to do, and tell him he must come to Ayodhya for the yagna, with his vanaras.

“Send word to Lanka, also; the sacrifice cannot begin until Vibheeshana is here with me. Let word be taken across all the kingdoms and let every king who calls himself my friend be at my side. Let every brahmana be invited, and let this aswamedha be not just for us but for the whole world’s sanctity. Let singers and dancers from all over the earth come to us now, and take part in our yagna.”

Lakshmana asked, “Where will we perform the yagna, Rama?”

His brother had already decided. “In the Naimisa vana, so all this earth may be blessed. Let any man, woman, or child who wants to be there come to my aswamedha. Every one shall find honor at our yagna; let no effort or expense be spared.”

Rama asked for royal dwellings to be built at the site of the yagna, for the kings and their entourages who would attend the aswamedha. It is told a hundred thousand men carried the unbroken rice that would be used at the sacrifice. Another hundred thousand carried sesame seeds and beans, other grains, pulses, salt, oil, and spices.

Bharata led the party from Ayodhya that was dispatched to make the preparations. He took many millions of gold and silver coins from the treasury with him, by elephant, horse, and chariot, and in litters. Moving marketplaces, with their colorful stalls, went with Bharata, and throngs of cooks, actors, singers, dancers, and, inevitably, harems of lovely young women.

In time, all Ayodhya came streaming forth from the city gates, and flowed like a vivid river toward the Naimisa vana. Brahmanas walked in the interminable crowd and countless day laborers, carpenters, masons, tinkers, joiners, and men from every imaginable trade. Most went with their families. Kausalya, Sumitra, and Kaikeyi were borne to the sacred forest in golden litters. And in the most exquisite palanquin of all, another strange figure journeyed to Rama’s aswamedha: it was the kanchana Sita, the golden image of his wife fashioned for Rama by the world’s finest sculptors: the image he kept near him at all times and took with him wherever he went.

 

38. The aswamedha yagna

Rama, Lakshmana, Bharata, and Shatrughna entered the Naimisa vana. Sugriva’s vanaras arrived in their merry troops, and Vibheeshana and his rakshasas came with their legions and Jambavan with his great bears. They came with their women, exotic and striking. When the rishis who sat over the yagna had been worshipped, Rama sent a black horse of the finest bloodlines to run through the kingdoms of Bharatavarsha, challenging any king to stop its careen. Lakshmana rode behind that horse, with an army.

The kshatriyas of the earth heard about the aswamedha, and they began to arrive in the jungle with gifts and tribute, pledging their allegiance to Rama. He received them with honor, and their comfort was seen to by his brothers and ministers, and by the vanaras and rakshasas. The poor came in droves to Rama’s yagna, and his generosity was like a river in spate. Beggars who came to the Naimisa went away as rich men.

And, of course, the brahmanas who came to the sacrifice of sacrifices were rewarded with gold, silver, precious jewels, and fine silks that surpassed their every expectation. Some munis, old as the very earth, said approvingly that they had never seen such an aswamedha, since the time when Indra, Soma, Yama, and Varuna performed the auspicious sacrifice.

Into the midst of all that charity, there arrived a dark, tall rishi with two splendid sishyas at his side. Rama and the other munis at the aswamedha yagna received Valmiki with deep reverence. Valmiki did not enter the enclosures of the yagna.

He accepted the homage and the fruit and savory roots offered him at the entrance. Then he said to the strapping young men who had come with him, and who were obviously twins, “My sons, tomorrow you must go and sing the Ramayana I taught you: sing it in the streets of the yagnashala, sing it before the kings’ dwellings; most of all, sing it before Rama of Ayodhya. And if he asks whose sons you are, only say you are Valmiki’s sishyas.

“Sing the Ramayana for the great rishis who are performing the aswamedha; play on your vinas and sing twenty cantos every day. Have no care for the wealth the king may offer you; for you are hermits, my pupils living in an asrama, and what will the likes of us do with gold or jewels?”

Then with the queerest look on his face, he continued very softly, “But honor the king, my children, because it is said he is the father of all who dwell in his kingdom.”

So said the son of Prachetas, the great Valmiki, and the twins he spoke to were surprised that he repeated every detail many times, especially with regard to how soft or loud their vinas and their voices should be, and what taala they should keep, and where they should look as they sang.

Those pupils of his were Sita’s sons Lava and Kusa. Valmiki said to them, “Tomorrow is the most important day of your lives. Come now, we will return to our asrama. You must sleep well, because tomorrow you must be fresh and strong.” He laid his hands on their handsome heads, “Yes, tomorrow is the greatest day of your lives.”

But when they asked why, he would not say. Lava and Kusa slept that night as blissfully as the Aswini Kumaras did when they had Sukra Deva’s blessing. The night passed, and in its last yaama before the sun rose, the twins awoke, bathed, and offered worship to Agni. They arrived at the great hall of the aswamedha, and began singing the Adi Kavya.

Rama and his brothers, the visiting kings, and the holy rishis heard their inspired song, and they came and sat before the youths as handsome as two gandharvas; they were enraptured by their perfect playing and singing. In that audience were experts of the Puranas and others who knew music, every raga in the world. None of them had heard anything like the Ramayana before. They marveled at its resonance, its lyric beauty, its seamless construction and flow.

There were noted astrologers in the gathering, and they murmured among themselves that Valmiki had woven the threads of destiny into his poem, adroitly and without flaw. He knew exactly which planets had ruled Rama’s life, when he was born, when Viswamitra arrived in Ayodhya, when Rama broke Siva’s bow and married Sita, and when he was exiled.

There were famous poets in the sabha, who wondered at the perfection of the Ramayana. It was a poem, it was a song, and it was a treatise on dharma and tapasya. It was a Purana, it was a great epic; it was a love story and a story of war; it was a work of bhakti. Why, it was hardly mortal, and the most perceptive among them already whispered that only Brahma himself could have inspired such an immaculate kavya.

The rishis were in transport, the people were rapt, as were all the kings: absorbed in the Ramayana they heard and thrilled by the sight of the two singers, who were like beings of a higher world fallen to the earth.

Only some of the keen-eyed kshatriyas present said to each other, “Look, don’t these youths look familiar?”

“Don’t they resemble a king we know well?”

“Why, they are like images of Rama twenty years ago!”

But Lava and Kusa were clad in valkala and they wore their hair long, in matted jata. The twins sang without pause, and soon all the whispering in the yagnashala died down. The Ramayana was spellbinding. Lava and Kusa sang twenty cantos.

It was evening when they stopped, and a delighted Rama said to Lakshmana, “Give these two noble young men eighteen thousand gold coins. Give them anything else they need.”

Lakshmana called Lava and Kusa aside, and offered them the gold. But they refused in some alarm, laughing, “What will we do with all this gold? We live in the forest and eat only roots and fruit.”

Lakshmana brought the youths back into the yagnashala, and told Rama they had refused the gold. The gathering at the sacrifice fell hushed. Rama was surprised; he had never known a brahmana to refuse gold, wherever he lived.

Rama asked mildly, “How long is this poem? And where is Valmiki? Why did he compose it, if not for gold?”

Lava and Kusa replied, “The Ramayana is twenty-four thousand slokas long. It contains a hundred legends. It has six kandas, and it will be sung as long as there are men in the world.”

For twenty-five days, Lava and Kusa sang the Ramayana for Rama and all the others who had come to his aswamedha yagna. When the singing was over, Rama called for some messengers and said to them, “Go to the Muni Valmiki’s asrama, and if Sita is found to be pure, let her come here to our yagna. Let her take an oath in this yagnashala that she is untainted and that Lava and Kusa are my sons.”

The messengers came to the muni’s asrama and saw him there, a flame. When they delivered the amazing message from their king, Valmiki said to them quietly, “Rama is Sita’s God. She will come to the yagnashala tomorrow and swear her oath there.”

The messengers returned with Valmiki’s message. The night passed as slowly as an age, and Rama rose with the sun and entered the yagnashala with his brothers. The brahmanas who were conducting the aswamedha had already gathered around the agni-kunda, the pit where the sacred fire burned: Vasishta, Vamadeva, Jabali, Kashyapa, Viswamitra, Dirghatama, the awesome Durvasa, Pulastya, Shakti, Bhargava, Vamana, Markandeya, Maudgalya, Garga, Chyvana, Sadananda, Bharadvaja, Narada, the ancient Parvata, the peerless Gautama.

Also present were Sugriva and his vanaras, and Vibheeshana and his rakshasas. A hundred kshatriya kings from all over Bharatavarsha were there, as were thousands of vaisyas and sudras. Indeed, word had flown forth at night that Sita would come to the yagna, and the yagnashala was filled to bursting.

Finally, when they were seated, they saw the gaunt figure of Valmiki at the entrance to the yagnashala, and behind him was another slight, exquisite figure, and a murmur went up from those present. It was Sita, and she was as beautiful as ever: pure as a smokeless fire. She followed Valmiki even as Sruti does the Lord Brahma. Spontaneously, the sabha raised its voice and called her name, and then hers and Rama’s together, warmly.

Valmiki came to a halt facing the august crowd at Rama’s aswamedha yagna. A hush fell on the people when they saw he would speak to them. The rishi began, “Rama, you abandoned this Sita, who is purity itself, near my asrama. You were afraid of what the world thought of her and said of her. Why, it seems to me you doubt her yourself, that you ask her to come here and swear an oath.

“I am Prachetas’s tenth son and I have no memory of ever having told a lie. I say to you, these twins are your sons. I have done tapasya for thousands of years; if what I say now is a lie, may all my punya be taken from me. If Janaka’s daughter Maithili has sinned let my very soul perish within me.

“But why do I speak for her? Sita can speak for herself.”

Rama sat as still as stone and his eyes never left Sita’s face, not even to blink. He folded his hands to Valmiki and said, “Muni, I never doubted Sita’s purity. I beg you, do not accuse me of a sin I never committed, to add to the one that I did. Indeed, I did banish my queen for fear of what the people were saying about her. But then, my lord, I am a king, and my first and final dharma is toward my people. It would never have done for them to have doubted their king, for even a moment: that he was weak and took back a tainted woman.

“Valmiki, I have no doubt Lava and Kusa are my sons. I knew it as soon as I saw them. Let all those gathered here for the aswamedha have no doubt about my love not only for my sons, but for my wife as well, this precious Sita. I beg her to forgive me for the anguish I have caused her, and now, for the sake of our sons’ future, to swear her oath before this sabha of rishis and kings and also the people who doubted her.”

Sita wore a brown garment of valkala, and she stood before that sabha of the greatest men in the world with folded hands. She stood perfectly still and hers was a resonant stillness. Suddenly Vayu blew a towering gust through that place, a supernatural wind, such as he used to in the krita yuga. His airs were bright with flecks of light and he seemed to enfold Sita in his grace.

Never raising her face in the presence of all those kings and sages, Sita began to speak. She spoke softly, but her voice was as strong as the timeless wind.

“If I have never loved any man but Rama, even in my mind, if I have worshipped him as my only God, in my heart, my words, and my deeds, may my mother Bhumi Devi, who brought me into this world, now receive me back into herself. For all my life’s purposes are accomplished and I do not want to live in this world any more.”

A perfect silence had fallen; no one stirred. Even the wind had grown still. Then a crack of thunder erupted in that sabha. The earth at Sita’s feet parted and a golden, unearthly throne rose from it, borne on the heads of five awesome nagas with blinding jewels in their hoods. On that throne sat a Goddess, and she was Madhavi, Medha: incomparable Bhumi Devi, the Earth herself. The green of the world’s forests was in her hair and hands, the blue of the seven seas was upon her breasts. Her skin was the soft smooth brown of the sacred earth.

She, the mother, took her daughter’s hands and drew Sita up to sit beside her on her fabulous throne. A petal rain of flowers of light, bearing heaven’s scents, fell from the sky. Slowly, as the sabha watched, not a man moving, the wonderful throne sank into the earth again, and the ground closed over it, as if none of this had happened, as if the perfect Sita had never lived in this tainted world of men, ever.

Peal after peal of thunder echoed on high and it seemed the very sky would break in a thousand pieces. All the earth was still, dazed. Then silence, a complete silence, held the Naimisa vana. Just a single sound broke the deep silence, the sound of Rama sobbing.

At last he grew very still and his eyes turned red. The gentle Rama roared, “Bhumi Devi, give my Sita back to me, or I will break you open with my astras. Or open yourself to me, let me go down into Patala and live beside my love.”

The Earth made no reply. Rama was furious. “I will level your mountains and dry up your seas. Your forest shall burn and all your creatures perish!”

Rama reached for his bow, the Kodanda, and the Earth shuddered in fear. He was a God again, just as he had been in the Dandaka vana, when he found Sita missing from their asrama. Then Lakshmana had calmed his brother, but now he was implacable. Rama was about to summon a great astra in his rage, when suddenly light filled that yagnashala, dazzling, unearthly light.

Brahma spoke out of that light to Rama: “Calm yourself, Rama. Sita is in Nagaloka, with her mother. You will find her again, after this life. If you want to know the future, listen to the rest of the Ramayana, its Uttara Kanda. I gave the Adi Kavya to Valmiki. The Uttara Kanda is prescient, and no one but you must hear, yet, what it contains.”

The light vanished and Brahma with it. Rama sat like a great fire put out. Slowly, as if heavier age than he could bear was upon him, he rose, and said to Valmiki, “Tomorrow I will hear the rest of the Uttara Kanda of your kavya. Give me leave until then, Muni, I feel tired.”

He took Lava and Kusa by the hand and led them to his apartment. The father and his sons sat all that night in silence. Even the sacred forest around them seemed eerily quiet and absorbed in just one thought: of her who had left the world this day, she, the perfect one.

 

39. The Uttara Kanda

The next morning, at dawn, Rama broke his silence, and said to Lava and Kusa, “Now sing the Uttara Kanda to me. I want to know what the future holds.”

Plucking on their vinas, their voices matched perfectly, the twins sang the Uttara Kanda. They sang with the grief of losing their mother, and their song was more beautiful than ever. They sang the Northern Kanda, and they came to the part of the Ramayana where Sita went down into Nagaloka on her mother, Bhumi Devi’s, throne. As Rama listened absorbed, they sang on, now of the future.

Lava and Kusa sang that after Sita left the world, Rama completed the aswamedha yagna and gave lavish gifts to those who came to attend his horse sacrifice. Then he returned to Ayodhya. He kept his kanchana Sita, her golden image, with him. Never did he so much as look at another woman. In his time, to expiate what he saw as his unforgivable sin, he performed ten thousand aswamedha yagnas, one for every year of his kingship, and he felt these were too few. Always Sita’s golden image was beside him, on his throne, as if she sat in her rightful place again at those ten thousand sacrifices, and blessed the earth and her husband at every one.

The reign of Dasaratha’s son Rama was a perfect one. Truly, Vishnu Narayana, the Blue One himself, had come down into the world as a man, to sit upon the ancient throne of the Sun in Ayodhya. He was Lord of the earth, and all the races of men and beasts obeyed him. His grace flowed through the land of Bharatavarsha like a river, and the hearts of all creatures flowed pure.

Kaale varshatu parjannyam: the rains came on time, the harvest was always good, and the four quarters shone clear. The people in villages, in towns, and in cities had plenty and more to eat. No disease came among them and they never died before the ripeness of age was upon them. No war or other natural calamity, no flood, earthquake, or drought, visited the holy land.

When some blessed years had passed after the first aswamedha in the Naimisa vana, the queen Kausalya passed on from the world. After a very short lapse of time, even as if they could not live on without her, Sumitra and Kaikeyi followed. And all three were with Dasaratha again, in Swarga.

Rama, with his brothers and his sons at his side, ruled on, and dharma flowered in Bharatavarsha, as it never had before, at least in that yuga. One day, the king of Kekaya, old Asvapati’s son Yudhajit, sent his guru, Angiras’s son Gargya, to Rama’s court. Yudhajit sent ten thousand horses and many caskets of gold and jewels. Rama went out of his city to meet Gargya.

When the gifts had been received and the brahmana honored, they sat together in the sabha of the Ikshvakus. Rama asked Gargya, “Holy one, why has my uncle sent you now? Is there some special reason?”

Gargya said, “Rama, King Yudhajit, your uncle, sends you word of the most beautiful land that borders his own kingdom. But gandharvas rule the unequaled country and they will not let any man enter it. Yudhajit asks if you would care to take that land from the three million sons of Sailusa, and make the city at its heart your own.”

Rama said, “Brahmana, my brother Bharata will go and vanquish Sailusa and his sons. Bharata’s sons, Taksha and Pushkala, will found their own cities in that country, and rule as kings. Once his task is accomplished, Bharata will return to me.”

Soon, Rama had Taksha and Pushkala consecrated as kings in his sabha and drenched in the waters of abhisheka. Then, setting Angiras’s son Gargya at the head of his army, and with his own sons at his sides, Bharata set out for Kekaya. It is told that there were flesh eaters in that army, thirsty for gandharva blood, and rakshasas and bhutas, lions, tigers, great reekshas, and teeming flocks of birds of prey and carrion flying above these.

For a month and a half, Bharata marched with his dreadful aksauhinis and finally arrived in Yudhajit’s capital. Yudhajit joined his own legions to the forces of Ayodhya, and they marched together to the gandharva city hidden in the heart of the jungle. It was a peerless country, with great and ancient trees growing thickly, laden with incomparable flowers and luscious fruit.

Arriving at the city of the elves, Yudhajit and Bharata raised their war conches and blew a resounding blast of challenge. Like an army out of a dream, the gandharvas issued from their gates. They were taller than any men of the earth by a head, slender and altogether marvelous. They carried silver bows and were quicksilver archers. A pitched battle ensued and lasted seven days. Blood flowed in rivulets, floating bows and swords that had fallen from nerveless hands, and limbs and heads severed from their owners’ bodies, and corpses.

Finally, Bharata saw his soldiers die on every side, and in fury loosed the astra called the samvarta at the gandharva host. Three million gandharvas perished in a moment, burned to ashes by that missile. Asvapati’s son, Kaikeyi’s brother Yudhajit, founded two cities in that beautiful wilderness. He made Bharata’s son Taksha the king of Takshasila, and his other son, Pushkala, king of Pushkalavati.

When the cities had been built, with great avenues flanked by trees, with resplendent palaces and mansions and sprawling gardens, and when Bharata saw his sons had settled to the task of being rulers, he returned to Rama in Ayodhya.

Rama said to Lakshmana, “Saumitra, your sons Angada and Chandraketu are grown men now. Find them also kingdoms to rule, where they can live in peace and fulfill the four asramas.”

It was Bharata who answered him, “The land of Karupatha is an auspicious country. Let Angada found a city there. And for our wrestler, Chandraketu, let us found another city and call it Chandrakanta.”

So it came to pass; and those princes also had fine kingdoms to rule: Angada the archer in the north and Chandraketu in the west. Both were crowned in Ayodhya. Lakshmana went with Angada to help him establish his kingdom, and Bharata went with Chandraketu. In a year, Lakshmana returned to Ayodhya, and Bharata came home some months later.

*   *   *

Rama ruled the earth for ten thousand years and it was an age of plenty, an age of grace and perfection. But after Sita left the world, he himself was always lonely, and pined for her. One day, Yama arrived at his gates, in the guise of a rishi. The mendicant said to Lakshmana, who went out to receive him, “The Muni Atibala sent me to see your brother. Tell Rama I have come with a message from Atibala, to fulfill a great mission.”

Lakshmana came in haste to Rama, and said, “A muni who shines like the sun has come to see you. He says he is on a great mission and the Maharishi Atibala sent him.”

Rama said, “Show him in to me.”

The rishi entered, and cried in the sweetest voice, “Hail to thee, O God upon the earth!”

Rama received him with honor. He offered him arghya, madhurparka, and a golden chair to sit upon. The king said, “Tell me why you have come to Ayodhya, my lord. Is there anything we can do for you? What is the message you have brought for me?”

The muni glanced around him, then said, “Rama, the message I bring is only for you. You must swear that while I give you the message, if any man hears us or sees us, you will kill him yourself.”

He spoke almost casually, but it was plain he meant what he said. Rama said gravely, “So be it.” He turned to Lakshmana. “Stand guard outside the door, and if anyone enters, or sees the muni and me, or hears what we are saying, he shall die.”

The chamber was cleared, and Lakshmana shut the door and stood outside. Rama turned again to the hermit. “Now tell me what you have come for.”

That rishi said to Rama, “Listen, then, to the message I bring, for he who sends the message is the Lord Brahma. Brahma says to you, ‘Narayana, in the beginning of creation, I was born from the lotus that sprouted from your navel as you lay upon the ekarnava, the single and undivided sea.

“‘Rama, you are the God Vishnu; and you have said that you will come down into the world, from age to age, to protect it from evil. You came as Matsya, Kurma, Varaha, Narasimha, Vamana, and Parasurama, and established dharma. Now you have incarnated yourself as a kshatriya and broken the bonds of darkness again.

“‘But your mission is over and it is time for you to leave the earth. He who brings this message to you is Yama Deva, Death himself. But if you want to remain in the world for some more time, you may, with my blessing.’

“So says the Lord Brahma to you, Rama,” Death said.

Rama began to laugh, gently and in joy. He answered the messenger, “Why, I am delighted you have come, my lord. I am ready to return to where I came from. I came because the Devas asked me to, and all my tasks have been accomplished. There is nothing to keep me back on earth.”

Now it happened that while Rama sat speaking to Yama, the Rishi Durvasa, who is said to be an amsa of the Lord Siva, appeared in the palace of Ayodhya. He strode up to Lakshmana and said, “I must see Rama at once; I have come for a great purpose.”

Lakshmana bowed to the muni, and said with folded hands, “My lord, my brother is not to be disturbed. I beg you, wait for just a while and he will see you.”

But Durvasa’s temper was a legend across the three worlds, and his eyes turned red as wild roses, his face grew dark. He said in a tone that brooked no refusal, “Go and announce me to Rama, or I will curse you, your brothers, your sons, and all this land of Bharatavarsha.”

Poor Lakshmana thought quickly, “If I go in now, only I will die; the others will not be cursed.”

Lakshmana entered the chamber where Rama sat with Yama and mumbled, “My lord, the Rishi Durvasa is here and he insists on seeing you immediately.”

With that he retreated, in some fear. Rama jumped up, and, leaving Yama, he hurried out to see Atri’s son.

Rama folded his hands and said to Durvasa, “I am blessed that you have come to my city. Tell me, holy one, what I can do for you.”

His brows bristling, Durvasa replied, “Today I wish to end my fast of a thousand years and I have come to your home to eat my first meal. Give me food, Rama.”

Rama had the finest, most auspicious food fetched for Durvasa. He served the rishi with his own hands and watched him eat as if it were amrita he was having. Durvasa washed his hands; he blessed Rama and left Ayodhya. Rama saw him off at his gates and then stood as if he had been struck by lightning. Though he had shown nothing of what he felt, as long as Durvasa was with him, Rama knew what Death had said should be the fate of anyone who entered the chamber where they sat talking. Lakshmana’s life was forfeit, and he, Rama, must make sure his brother died.

Lakshmana said calmly, “Rama, as you love me, you must not break your word. You must take my life; that is your dharma.”

Yama had vanished from Ayodhya. Rama called his sabha, all his rishis and ministers, and told them what had happened. Silence fell in his court. Then Vasishta said sadly, “I fear you must keep your word to Yama. You are the perfect one, and if you break your word, dharma will perish on earth. And then everything will be lost, on all the worlds.”

Rama said softly, in anguish, “Lakshmana, leave me. I cannot bear to kill you, but go away from me this instant. Let me never see you again.”

Lakshmana stood before him with tears streaming, down his face. He touched his brother’s feet, folded his hands to him, and, without a word, turned and walked out of the sabha. Never looking back, Lakshmana walked out of the city of his fathers and walked on, blindly, until he came to the banks of the Sarayu.

He knew he could not live without seeing his brother, and when Rama had sent him away, Rama had killed Lakshmana as surely as if he had cut him down with a sword. Lakshmana bathed in the Sarayu; he chanted the mantras for dying. Then he stood in the water and held his breath, meaning to die thus.

It is then that Indra, Lord of the Devas, and the apsaras of Devaloka flung down a storm of unearthly petals on Lakshmana. Indra himself came down in a vimana, and, taking the kshatriya’s hand, drew him out of his body and took him back into Swarga. Thus he who is called the fourth amsa of Vishnu returned to his primeval home.

 

40. Rama prepares to leave the world

After he sent Lakshmana from him, Rama was like a man who had lost his own heart. He was more stricken, even, than when he had sent Sita away from Ayodhya. Gathering his last strength, Rama announced, “I will crown my brother Bharata king of the Kosalas today. I must leave as quickly as I can. I must tread the path my Lakshmana went on.”

A lament filled the sabha he had ruled from for ten thousand glorious years. Many of his ministers swooned. Bharata was numb for a while. But then, finding his voice, Kaikeyi’s son cried, “No, Rama, I will not be king in Ayodhya after you leave. I beg you, crown Kusa king of southern Kosala, and Lava lord of the northern territories. I mean to come to the vana with you, Rama. Let messengers ride at once to Shatrughna and tell him what we mean to do.”

Outside, a great wailing filled the city of Ayodhya, as the news spread like fire through the homes and the people came thronging into the streets. Finally, they all prostrated themselves, men, women, and children, before Rama’s palace, from a grief they could neither bear nor express in any other way.

Vasishta said to Rama, “The people have prostrated themselves in the streets. You must ask them what they intend. They, too, are your children, Rama.”

Rama came out and the people rose before him like a tide of love. They said to him, “Rama, we will follow you out of Ayodhya and out of the world, if that is where you mean to go. We will follow you with our women and children. This is what we want; you are our refuge.”

With tears in his eyes, Rama said to them, “So be it.”

The same day, Rama had Lava and Kusa crowned kings of northern and southern Kosala. He gave each son a thousand chariots and ten thousand elephants and horses. He gave them vast gold and jewels, and sent his own gurus to be their counselors.

Meanwhile, messengers had already ridden to Shatrughna in his Madhura. These men rode without pausing for three days and nights to arrive in that city. They told Shatrughna about all that had transpired. They told him how Yama had come to Ayodhya, and Durvasa; how Lakshmana had left the city, and how Lava and Kusa had been crowned. They told him that Lava had been given the northern city called Saraswati, and Kusa another city in the south, which had been named Kusavati.

The messengers told Shatrughna how the people of Ayodhya had decided they would leave the city of their fathers, and follow Rama and Bharata into the next world. They told Shatrughna all this, and he sat as if he had been turned to stone. Then those men cried, “Shatrughna, hurry. You have not a moment to lose.”

Shatrughna summoned his priest, Kanchana, and said, “We must have my sons crowned at once. I cannot live in this world after my brothers have gone.”

His son Subahu was made master of Madhura, and his other prince, Shatrughati, the lord of Vidisa, which is also called Bhelsa. Shatrughna divided his army and the contents of his treasury and granary, and gave each of his sons an equal portion. Then, riding alone in his chariot, he journeyed to Ayodhya.

Shatrughna found Rama, clad in white silk, sitting among the great rishis of the earth. Shatrughna folded his hands and said to his brother, “I mean to follow you out of Ayodhya and out of this world, if that is where you are going. I beg you, don’t say you will not take me with you. For your word must never be broken, especially by me.”

Rama smiled, “You may come with me, Shatrughna.”

Meanwhile, they heard a noise at the gates, and saw that an army of vanaras, rakshasas, and reekshas had arrived in the city of the Sun. Sugriva, like a flame, was at their head. Somehow they also had heard the news.

Sugriva said to Rama, “We, too, have come to follow you out of the world. I have made Angada king in Kishkinda. You know all these loyal vanaras, rakshasas, and reekshas, Rama. We will not live this life any more, when you are gone.”

Rama seemed mildly dazed. His eyes and heart were full. He said, in some helplessness, “So be it.” But then he turned to Vibheeshana and said, “But you, my friend, will not come with me. You must remain in the world and be king in Lanka for an age more. No, don’t protest, Vibheeshana, my brother. There is deep reason for what I am saying. You must continue to rule from Lanka and you must worship Vishnu in your city.”

Vibheeshana hung his head and replied sadly, “So be it, my lord. I will do as you say.”

Rama turned next to Hanuman. “You always told me you meant to live in the world for a long time. Let there be no change in that, for the world has dire need of the likes of Vibheeshana and yourself.”

The always serene Hanuman said, “You are alive in my heart, wherever you may be. I will live in this world for as long as the Ramayana is told in it.”

Rama said, “Five of you loyal ones shall live in the world at least until the end of the dwapara yuga. Vibheeshana, Hanuman, Jambavan, Mainda, and Dwividha. Some may remain longer, in subtle bodies and guises, to ensure that dharma never perishes entirely on earth.”

They sat together, those friends, through the long night. And when night’s final, darkest, most silent yaama ended, Rama said to Vasishta, “My lord, let the fire of agnihotra, which I lit myself, go before us all as we leave Ayodhya. Let the vajapeya serve as the royal parasol. Let every ritual be performed, my guru, so our departure is auspicious.”

Vasishta began to perform those rites for the final journey, as they are set down in the Shastras. Rama went into his apartment and bathed. He donned his finest silks, and, having prayed at his family altar, emerged like a soft dark sun. He took up the kusa grasses from near the agni, and walked out of his palace and the city he had ruled without blemish for ten thousand years.

Never had his people seen him so radiant. Without a backward glance, Rama walked toward the Sarayu, and it is told that the agnihotra, embodied, went before him in a form of flames. A hundred great astras, also in manlike forms, walked before Rama, as did his bow, the Kodanda. Lakshmana’s spirit walked beside his brother, on his right, and Bhumi Devi materialized to walk at his left.

The Vedas all followed Rama, embodied as pristine brahmanas, the Gayatri as a Goddess, the Omkara, and Vasatkara. The great rishis and the Devas of the earth walked behind Rama, and above and below the gates of heaven opened wide to receive them. The women of Ayodhya, the old men, the servants, and the eunuchs followed him. Bharata, Shatrughna, and their families walked with him. All the kshatriyas of Kosala went with him, with their wives, sons, and daughters. The ministers of Rama’s sabha followed him, in the crowd; even the cows and bulls of Ayodhya walked in that throng. Every man, woman, and child he had ruled went with Rama, as he came out under a cobalt sky and walked serenely toward the Sarayu.

The birds of Kosala, the deer, and every other creature, butterflies and fireflies, all followed Rama, knowing that he was leading them toward death. Rich and poor walked side by side, no difference between them, and a tide of bliss swept over that great and motley crowd of men and vanaras, rakshasas and reekshas. Why, even the dark bhutas of the land followed blessed Rama, in bhakti, and without a shred of doubt that he would lead them to salvation.

Rama walked for a yojana and a half due west, and saw the Sarayu sparkling before him like a river of blue jewels. All the world was hushed as Rama followed the river upstream. Today, a thousand whirlpools marked the currents of the Sarayu. The river knew what a day of moment this was. The immense crowd followed Rama in absolute silence.

The sky was brighter than it had ever been, since the sky was made above the earth. It was alive today; it pulsed with divine energy. Now the Devas of the air, Indra’s people, crowded the firmament in their vimanas. They and a million others, all immortal ones, were golden shadows above. The wind that blew across the world was full of light and bore the scents of Devaloka, richly.

Brahma was there, above the place along the Sarayu from where an invisible path led directly to his loftiest realm and beyond. The Devas let fall a sweet rain of flowers on Rama. The sky seemed to open and the music of gandharvas filled it. Apsaras danced on the air on immaterial feet. The earth welled in great springs of grace, gushing forth everywhere, filling Rama and those who followed him with bliss.

Rama arrived at the place by the river from where the pathway of light led up into the realms beyond. Now Brahma spoke in his voice deeper than the sky, deep as the ages: “Narayana, return to us. Come again into your immortal form, O Sleeper upon the waters of eternity. Refuge of the worlds, set aside your human body, incomprehensible, deathless, Unborn One. O Vishnu, be again as you have always been.”

Brahma stood four-faced above the river. Slowly, Rama approached the water. In the west, the setting sun had turned the color of blood. Brahma held his arms open. His body growing more brilliant with each moment, Rama waded into the Sarayu. The river seemed to erupt in fire. Great columns of light rose from it and pierced the sky. Towering flames rose from it, and Rama walked into these flames.

The others on the bank of the river could not look at the water or at him who had entered her currents. Both were blinding. Then there was light everywhere, a single light, a light of lights from which all this world had come. Rama melted into that light; he was that light.

Slowly, the light faded and a gasp went up from those who still stood ashore: Rama had four arms now, he was Someone Else, someone he had always been. He was Mahavishnu, the God of Gods. He bore the Kaumodaki, the dazzling Sudarshana chakra, the Panchajanya, and the Saringa, in four hands that were the hue of the deepest blue lotus. His presence was greater than Brahma’s above; his refulgence filled heaven and earth.

When Rama became Vishnu again, Bharata and Shatrughna also entered into the Blue God; they were also absorbed into the Infinite One. Then the Devas worshipped that Vision, as did the Sadhyas, the Marut hosts, with Indra and Agni at their head. All the munis of the three worlds worshipped Him, the gandharvas and apsaras, the suparnas, the nagas and yakshas, the Daityas and Danavas, and the great rakshasas.

Mahavishnu’s voice said to Brahma, “These men and their families have followed me in love. They have abandoned their very lives to be with me. They are like my own self. Let them be blessed. Let all the birds and beasts who have followed me be blessed.”

Brahma said, “They shall all come to Santanaka, where there is every joy, and no death. And those of them that were once born of the Devas shall be Devas again.”

The vanaras, who were Devas in amsa, whose sires were the ones of light, assumed their fathers’ illustrious, immortal forms again; the reekshas did as well. Sugriva entered the blazing disk of the sun; he was one with his father Surya. Great Vishnu stood at the mouth of the golden path that led out of this world, the Gopratara. He opened his arms wide to them.

In waves, like a river flowing into the sea, that throng of Ramabhaktas walked into the Sarayu. As soon as the holy water touched them, their mortal bodies dissolved and they rose up in resplendent forms of light. Man and beast were like Gods. Why, even the rocks in the Sarayu that day were saved, and rose with shining spirit-bodies.

When the last of his bhaktas had ascended, Rama himself rose out of this world. He left his grace upon the earth for an age, and the undying memory of a perfect life and a perfect reign: Ramarajya. Narayana was in Vaikunta again. And there, Sita, who is the Devi Lakshmi, waited for him.

AUM. SHANTI SHANTI SHANTIHI AUM.

 

Phalasruti

This is the Ramayana and its Uttara Kanda, which are worshipped by the brahmanas and the holiest rishis. When Rama returned to Vaikunta, the Ramayana of his life and his deeds on earth was sung in the transcendent realms as well, from the Patalas to the highest lokas of Brahma, Vishnu, and Siva.

It has been said that he who hears the Ramayana lives a long life; for this Adi Kavya is such a holy poem it dispels the sins that cling to a man. It is equal to the Vedas, and should be read at funerals for the peace of the soul of the departed.

The man who has no child and reads the Ramayana is blessed with sons and daughters. The poor man who listens to it with faith becomes wealthy. The man who reads even a fourth of this holiest of poems is freed from all his sins. Why, even a sloka of the Ramayana cleanses a man of his daily sins. The man who reads the Ramayana to others is a blessed one indeed; he has honor even in heaven.

He who reads the Ramayana regularly never becomes disheartened, but is always serene and cheerful. It must not be forgotten that Brahma inspired the Rishi Valmiki to compose the Ramayana. He who hears this sacred epic, with bhakti, receives the punya of one who performs a thousand aswamedhas and ten thousand vajapeyas. He who has heard the Ramayana has bathed at all the holy tirthas. He has purified himself in the Ganga, the Yamuna, and the other great rivers. He has worshipped at Prayaga and the Naimisaranya. He has offered two thousand palas of gold at Kurukshetra during the eclipse of the sun.

Surely, he who listens to the Ramayana has all his sins exorcised and attains Vishnuloka. This is the first and the greatest epic of all: the Adi Kavya, composed by the great Valmiki. He who listens to it every day attains the very form of Vishnu and prospers beyond all belief, in this world and in the world of the spirit. The Ramayana is the Gayatri; it heals the body and the soul.

Even the ancestors of a man who reads the Ramayana every day attain Vishnuloka, when that man leaves his body. The life of Rama bestows artha, kama, dharma, and moksha; let there never be any doubt about this. So read or listen to the Ramayana with a pure heart, with no mockery, as if your very life depended on it. Even Brahma reveres the man who knows this pristine legend.

For the sleeper on Ananta, who rests upon the sea of eternity, Blue Mahavishnu, pervades this ancestral poem of the earth, this epic of the perfect man.

AUM SHANTI SHANTI SHANTIHI

AUM SHANTIHI AUM.