by Vanamali
Suddenly when Sita looked down she saw five monkeys sitting on top of a mountain. Though she did not know it, this was her first glimpse of Hanuman, who was destined to play a vital role in her life. Suddenly struck by an idea, she removed a few of her ornaments, tied them in a little piece of cloth torn from her upper garment, and threw it toward the monkeys, hoping that some day Rama would pass by and recognize her jewels. Ravana, who was sailing along happily, did not notice what she was doing. The monkeys looked up to see a beautiful woman being carried in the arms of the rakshasa. She was crying out, “O Rama, O Lakshmana!” in a desperate voice.
Very soon they came to the southern straits that separated Ravana’s capital from the mainland. It was her first sight of the sea but she was in no mood to enjoy anything. Ravana tightened his hold, for he felt her struggling to free herself and feared she would jump into the foaming waters below.
Soon they reached the fabulous city of Lanka, where he took her to his private quarters and told a number of women to guard her. He gave strict orders to the women that no one should be allowed to approach her without his knowledge. He also told them to give her anything she requested, whether jewels, clothing, or delicious food. “Whatever she asks for should be provided immediately,” he said.
He then ordered eight of his vassals to go straightaway to Janasthana to spy on Rama’s movements and report back to him periodically. If the opportunity arose, they were asked to try to kill him. Ravana heaved a sigh of relief and pleasure. He had punished Rama and obtained for himself the most beautiful woman in all the three worlds. He lay on his silken couch and pictured all the delights that were in store for him once Sita agreed to be his wife.
Ravana could not rest for long. Sita’s charming face kept flashing in his mind and he decided to go and speak with her once again. He had known many women, and though some of them had objected in the beginning, not one had had the courage to refuse him for long, and he was sure that Sita would be no exception. Though the idea of capturing Sita had initially been a means to punish Rama, he realized that once he had met her he had fallen prey to her charms and could not concentrate on anything else. His passion was like a burning fire. He strode to the room in which she was imprisoned. She was sitting on the ground with rakshasis all around her, looking like a stricken deer surrounded by jackals. Her tear-stained, woebegone face was cast down and her lovely eyes veiled by her long lashes. She disdained even to look up as he strode into the room.
He was determined to impress her somehow, so he began telling her of the beauties of his palace. “Look, O beautiful one, at the glories of this city of Lanka. The palaces are made of gold with ornamental pillars. There are terraces and gardens filled with flowers, and lakes in which swans glide about among the lotuses. There is no comparison between my wealth and Rama’s. Who is he but a miserable wretch, clad in bark, living the life of an exile? He will never be able to come here and take you away, for Lanka is impenetrable, surrounded as it is by the sea. Do not waste your youth pining for him. Accept my love and I can take you wherever you wish, give you whatever you want. We will traverse the skies, and I’ll show you the sights of all the three worlds. There is no one equal to me in valor in all these worlds and none dare stop me. Be my queen and I’ll lay the world at your feet.”
Sita covered her face with a cloth and cried as if her heart would break. Ravana looked at her with compassion and said, “Do not cry like this. What have you to cry for? Have I not said that I’d give the whole world to you? Not only that, I am ready to lay all my ten heads at your feet. Do you realize what that means? Has anyone ever heard me say that? Ravana has never laid his head at anyone’s feet before, and certainly not at the feet of a woman. But your beauty has charmed me. I am your slave. Come, my little dove, accept me and agree to my wishes.”
At the end of this declaration of love, Sita looked up with flashing eyes and said scornfully, “You do not know my Rama and that is why you dare to say such things. He is the image of dharma. He is truth incarnate. I love him with my whole life. You have dared to touch me, his wife, and he will never forgive you for that. He will never spare you. He and his noble brother, Lakshmana, will come here and slay you. Have no doubts about that. You call yourself brave, yet to me you are a coward. You stole me from my husband by luring him into the forest. You were too frightened to come face to face with him. You are not only a coward but also a thief. But beware, your end is nearing or else you would never have done such a dastardly act.”
Ravana was furious at these words. His lips were throbbing with anger and humiliation. “Enough of your prattle,” he shouted. “I give you twelve months to change your mind. If within that time you agree to my proposal, you will become queen of the world; otherwise your delicate flesh shall be carved and dressed for my morning meal.” With this ultimatum he stormed out of the room giving orders that Sita should be kept in the grove of ashoka trees under strict guard, night and day.
Hari Aum Tat Sat
Seethapathaye Namaha!
CANTO VII
Rama Bereft
Sugriva mitram, paramam pavitram!
Sitakalatram, navameghagatram!
Karunya patram shathapatranetram!
Sri Ramachandram sathatam namami!
I bow to the compassionate, lotus-eyed, Sri Ramachandra,
The supreme immaculate,
Whose body has the color of new rain clouds,
Who is the friend of Sugriva and the husband of Sita.
Back in the forest Rama was filled with misgivings. Their love for each other was so great that even though they were parted, he and Sita were still in communication with each other and he could sense her terror. He walked as fast as he could. He knew that Maricha would never have deliberately risked his life had not something stupendous been at stake. He saw ill omens all along the way. A jackal was howling, and his left eye was throbbing, which was considered to be a bad omen for men.
As he came to Panchavati, he saw Lakshmana hurrying toward him with a troubled look. Rama held out his hand and asked worriedly, “My dear child, why did you leave Sita alone and come here? Did I not tell you to stay with her? You were right. That deer was indeed Maricha, sent as a decoy to lure me away in order to fulfill some evil design. And now you have followed me, even though I told you to stay with her. I am beginning to fear that we may never see her alive. The moment I heard Maricha calling out in my voice, I knew some mischief was afoot.”
Lakshmana could not speak a word. He allowed Rama to go on.
Rama continued, “I was a beggar without a kingdom, yet she preferred to come with me rather than stay in the comfort of the palace. She could not live without me and neither can I live without her. Will my Sita be alive? If she dies, so will I. Has my exile been fruitless, finally? Kaikeyi will be happy if she hears of our death, but my poor mother will die of a broken heart.”
Thus lamenting, they reached the vicinity of the ashrama. Rama was already tired, hungry, and thirsty when they arrived, for he had been chasing the deer for a long time. As soon as they reached the hut, he went inside calling Sita to come out, but there was no answer. Only the wind rustled through the leaves. He ran out and rushed to all her favorite haunts, calling out “Janaki! O Janaki! Where are you, my beloved? Why are you hiding from me? Can’t you see that I am tired and hungry? Have not you prepared a meal for me? Why do you play with me like this? I am in no mood for games. Come to me, my darling. I cannot bear this any longer.”
At last his limbs refused to carry him and he sank to the ground and murmured, “What I dreaded has happened. She has been either abducted or eaten alive.” Lakshmana stood by his side and said not a word. Tears were flowing down his cheeks.
Turning to him Rama asked, “I left her only because I had entrusted her to you. Why did you leave her and come?”
His voice choked with sobs, Lakshmana said, “When she heard Maricha’s dying voice emulating yours, she went into a panic and begged me to go to your aid. When I refused she s
poke so harshly to me that I could not bear it. She accused me of being your enemy and lusting after her. Even then I refused to move, though my heart was bursting. Then she threatened to kill herself, jump into the river or hang herself. I could bear it no longer and I ran out of the ashrama, leaving her alone. But before I left I drew a magic circle around her and told her to stay within it. Had she done so she would have been safe.”
Rama heard Lakshmana and said, “You did wrong, my child, to have left her alone. She was out of her wits with anxiety over me and that is why she must have spoken as she did, but you, who know me so well, must have realized that no harm could have befallen me and yet you left her. Why did you do this?”
In his extreme grief Rama kept on reiterating the same thing over and over again. The ashrama looked like a lotus pond in winter, desolate and forlorn. The trees appeared to be weeping, the flowers had faded, and the deer stood listlessly, uninterested even in eating grass. The birds sat on twigs and gazed with dull eyes at Rama. Their voices appeared to have been lost.
Rama said in despair, “O my love! Where have all the flowers gone, since you went away, and where have all the song birds gone who used to sing to us so sweetly every day?”
He was inconsolable in his grief. He ran from tree to tree asking all if they had seen her. “Didn’t my darling Sita bid you farewell when she went away? Will you not tell me where she went?”
A deer came close and nuzzled him with her nose. He looked at her and his eyes filled with tears and he said, “My darling had eyes just like yours, so soft and kind they were. Are you trying to comfort me? Will you not tell me where she has gone?”
He ran all around again and again crying out, “O Lakshmana, I cannot live without Sita. I cannot return to Ayodhya without her. What is a kingdom to me without her to share it? Go back, brother, and tell them that Rama is dead. She put her entire trust in me and I failed to protect her. She was my dear wife and I could not save her. What is the use of living?” Thus lamenting, his whole body on fire and his mind consumed with grief, Rama could neither sit nor stand.
Lakshmana had never seen him like this and he spoke gently to him, “O my dear brother! Please do not give way to grief like this. The forest is large and there are many places where she could have been hidden by someone. Perhaps in some cave or another. Let us go and search for her in a methodical manner. She used to love to wander along the riverbanks and sit under the trees. Let us go and see if she’s there. Rouse yourself from this despondency and let’s go.”
Thus saying, he tried to rouse Rama from the lethargy into which he appeared to have fallen in his deep sorrow. Rama tried to control himself and, with a superhuman effort, began a methodical search with Lakshmana. His brother comforted him by saying that she could not have gone far, since he had just left her at the ashrama. Of course, he could not know that she had been abducted in an aerial vehicle. They searched all the accessible places but could not find her. Rama was spent with sorrow and fatigue. His limbs felt weak and useless, and he sank speechless to the ground for an hour. His face had lost its luster and habitual look of serenity and peace. Lakshmana did not know what to do. His best efforts to revive his brother had failed.
“O Lakshmana! I do not think there is a greater sinner than I on this Earth. That is why misfortune after misfortune has been heaped on me, but this is the greatest calamity of all. I think I am losing my mind. I lost my kingdom, I lost my father, and I am wandering around like a mendicant in this forest infested with rakshasas and wild beasts, but all this was bearable because of the sweet company of my beloved wife. But now my queen has been captured by some cruel rakshasa who might be torturing her even now. Look at this stone. We used to sit here in the afternoons and discuss so many things. I cannot bear this grief anymore. It is tearing up my vitals and depriving me of all reason. How cruel the sun is! He must surely know where she has been taken, yet he will not tell me. And this wind he goes everywhere and even now he must be fanning my darling’s face and drying her tears, yet he will not tell me her hiding place.” Thus lamenting again and again, Rama cried out, “O Janaki! O Vaidehi! O Maithili! Will you not come back?”
Lakshmana had never seen him like this. He pleaded with him, just as Krishna pleaded with Arjuna on the battlefield of Kurukshetra, begging him to shake off his unmanly and ignoble grief, but it was all in vain.
“Come, my dear brother. Abandon this grief and arise. Victory belongs only to the brave. Only those who keep trying will achieve their goal. Arise, and let us go and search again.”
But his words fell on deaf ears. Rama was sunk in gloom and did not even hear him. Lakshmana felt doubly guilty, for he had been the unwitting cause of her abduction.
Again and again Rama lamented, “When I lost my kingdom, Sita was there to comfort me, but now who is there to give me solace? O Lakshmana! How can I endure this wretched life without her?” Turning to the deer he asked, “She was your friend. She loved you so. Will you not tell me where she has gone?”
Then Lakshmana noticed that the deer appeared to be putting on some sort of pantomime by running toward the south and running back again.
“Look, Rama,” he said, “These deer are trying to tell us something. I think she must have been taken away in a southerly direction. Let us also go that way.”
Thus saying, he encouraged his brother and the two slowly walked toward the south, examining the ground as they went. Rama spied the faded lotus flowers and petals and exclaimed, “Look, Lakshmana! I recognize these flowers. I had plucked them from the river and decorated her hair just this morning. O Sita! My lovely wife! Where are you?” So saying, he took the petals in his hands and kissed them, while tears streamed from his eyes. Then suddenly his sorrow turned to rage.
With eyes wild with anger, he shouted at the mountain, “I will crush you to powder. I will burn up the waters of this river with my wrath. I will destroy the entire world if you do not tell me where my princess is.”
Lakshmana feared for his brother’s reason, and going forward a little, he pointed out to Rama the large furrows made on the soft ground by Ravana’s huge feet and the dainty footprints of Sita as she ran here and there trying to elude his grasp. Rama could not contain himself at these sights, but Lakshmana went further and showed him the broken bow and quiver and the crushed chariot.
Rama cried out her name again and again and said, “O Lakshmana! Look! These are some of her jewels and these are her flowers that have been stamped into the ground. Who could be the owner of such a magnificent bow? Here is the white umbrella, the insignia of a king. Which king would have dared to commit such a crime? Here are two donkeys lying dead. The charioteer must have been a rakshasa. If his intention was to avenge the annihilation of his army, he has more than succeeded, for I can never live without her. Lakshmana, you were right. Do you remember what you told me when Kaikeyi ordered me to go to the forest? You said that I was too soft and that my kindness and devotion to dharma would be mistaken for cowardice. You were perfectly right. Keeping my sense under strict control, I have accepted this role of a mendicant for the good of humanity—to set an example of unflinching adherence to dharma—but even the gods seem to have misunderstood me. But beware, Lakshmana! From today I will be a changed man. My kindliness and compassion will be cast aside and I will be a most unforgiving and terrible opponent. I will make the three worlds empty of all creatures. Even fire and air will be burned up in the holocaust of my anger and the gods will have to stand by and watch helplessly.”
Thus saying he took an arrow from his quiver and fixed it on the bow. Lakshmana fell at his feet and begged him to desist from universal destruction.
“Rama, my beloved brother, you have always had only the good of the world in your mind. How can you give way to anger like this? The charm of the moon, the radiance of the sun, and the patience of Mother Earth have all combined in the perfection of your personality. How can you allow your anger to get the better of you? Sita and you are both images of dharma. Evil can ne
ver befall you. Dharma must triumph in the end. Obviously, there was some sort of scuffle here. It is your duty to find out who the miscreant was and punish him for it and not punish the whole of creation, which is guiltless. Let us try to find out where Sita has been taken. Let us search the three worlds, and if she cannot be found, then you can go about destroying the worlds, but not till then. O tiger among men! You bore the trials and tribulations of banishment on the eve of your coronation without a single word. How can you give way to your emotions now? You are to set an example to others. If you give in to grief like this, how can an ordinary man control himself? What person has never had any troubles? Even the history of our race shows that many of the kings had difficulties they overcame with fortitude. No one can escape his karma. You have always been a god to me; now the god in you seems to be sleeping, due to sorrow. But you should not allow sorrow to gain supremacy over your mind. Control your emotions and let your intellect rule. Search for the one who has done you this grievous wrong and punish him. That is the duty of a Kshatriya.”
Rama heard him out in silence and, unstringing his bow, returned the arrow to its quiver, “You are right, O Lakshmana! You must tell me what to do. I will follow your advice. My mind refuses to function. You should think for both of us.”
They went forward and soon came to the fallen figure of mighty Jatayu. At first they thought he must be the rakshasa, but on going closer they discovered it was their dear friend, Jatayu, who was hanging on to his life in the hope of seeing Rama before drawing his last breath.
Jatayu was dying and spitting blood. Making a tremendous effort he said, “Rama, do not waste your time here. My life and your wife have been taken by the rakshasa king, Ravana. I tried to stop him and almost succeeded but he cut me with his sword and sped away to the south with Sita in his arms. Go to his kingdom and you will surely find her.”
Rama was overcome with sorrow to know that he was the unwitting cause of his friend’s death. The eagle had fought valiantly but had to succumb to Ravana’s superior strength. Rama knelt on the ground beside Jatayu and hugged him, weeping.
