The Ramayana

by Valmiki

  ‘Who are you and where are you going?’ asked Virādha in a voice that filled the entire forest. ‘Tell me, I must know!’ Rāma replied that they were from the Ikṣvāku clan. ‘We are virtuous kṣatriyas who have come to spend some time in the forest. Who are you and why do you wander through this forest?’ he asked the rākṣasa who blazed like a fire.

  ‘Is that what you want to know?’ said Virādha. ‘Listen, then, and I will tell you! I am the son of Jaya and my mother is Śatahṛdā. I am known to all the rākṣasas on earth as Virādha. Brahmā gave me a boon because of all the austerities I performed. There is no weapon on earth that can maim, cut or pierce me! Leave this woman with me and go from this place with no further expectations. Return to where you came from. I shall not kill you!’

  Rāma’s eyes blazed with anger as he shouted back at the rākṣasa who had bloodshot eyes and wicked intentions. ‘Shame on you for your base motives! You are obviously seeking death. Stand and fight with me and you shall certainly find it!’ Rāma fitted his straightest and sharpest arrows into his bow. Seven gold-tipped arrows blazed like tongues of flame as they flew with the speed of the wind, resounding through the air. They pierced the rākṣasa’s body and he fell to the earth. Virādha let out a deafening roar. He seemed like death with his mouth wide open and his spear that was as huge as Indra’s flagstaff. Rāma, the best among all those who fight with weapons, split Virādha’s spear with two arrows as it came through the air like a thunderbolt. Then, Lakṣmaṇa quickly cut off his right arm and Rāma his left one.

  The rākṣasa, who was as dark as a cloud, fell to the earth with his arms hacked off, like a mountain felled by a thunderbolt. ‘I knew that you were Rāma, the illustrious son of Kausalyā, and that this was the virtuous Sītā and that the famous Lakṣmaṇa,’ said Virādha to the brothers. ‘I am actually the gandharva Tumburu. I have this hideous rākṣasa body because I was cursed by Kubera. When I begged his forgiveness, he generously said I would be liberated when Rāma, son of Daśaratha, killed me in combat, and I would recover my natural state and return to heaven.

  ‘Now I have been freed from this awful curse by you. I shall return to my own home. May all go well with you! The great sage Śarabhanga lives close by, less than one and a half yojanās from here. He is as effulgent as the sun. Go to him quickly, for he shall ensure your welfare. As for me, throw me into a pit. That is the primordial ritual for a dying rākṣasa. Those who are buried in pits shall attain worlds of everlasting happiness.’ Virādha was overcome with pain from his wounds as he spoke. He was ready to go to heaven, waiting only to be released from his body. Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa hurled him into a deep pit and the rākṣasa with ears like conch shells howled as he fell.

  Now that they had recovered Sītā and the incident with the rākṣasa was behind them, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa went deeper into the forest with their golden arrows, shining like the sun and the moon in the sky.

  Rāma, Lakṣmaṇa and Sītā visited the settlements of many sages in the forest, including the hermitages of Śarabhanga and Sutīkṣṇa. Wherever he went, the sages pleaded with Rāma to protect them from the harassment of the rākṣasas. Rāma promised that he would kill any and all the rākṣasas who bothered the sages.

  When Rāma had said farewell to Sutīkṣṇa and they were proceeding on their way, Sītā spoke gently to her husband. ‘You are a man of great deeds and when you consider the matter carefully, I am sure you will see that dharma is very subtle.

  ‘There are three major weaknesses that arise from desire. One is telling lies. The other two are much worse: one is lusting after another man’s wife and the other is cruelty without a justified cause for hostility. You have never lied, Rāma, nor will you ever do so. You do not covet the wives of others and you have not acted in violation of dharma. These things would only be done by a man who has no control over his senses. I know you are perfectly disciplined.

  ‘But the third weakness which men succumb to because of their passions, the inflicting of violence and cruelty upon other beings without reason or enmity, that weakness appears to be present in you now. You have promised to kill the rākṣasas in combat in order to protect the sages who live in the Daṇḍaka forest. This has brought you and your brother to this forest, armed with your bows and arrows.

  ‘It disturbs me a great deal when I see you like this. I know you well and I am concerned about your welfare now and in the future. Our journey into the Daṇḍaka forest makes me anxious and I am not comfortable. Listen and I will tell you why.

  ‘Now that you are here with your brother and both of you are armed, you shall see many forest creatures. Inevitably, you will be tempted to use your arrows. Like dry fuel bursts into flame when it is near a fire, so too, a kṣatriya’s passions are ignited when he has a bow at hand.

  ‘Long ago, there was an ascetic who lived somewhere in a forest which was filled with birds and animals who dwelt together in peace. But Indra wanted to place obstacles in the path of the ascetic’s practise of austerities. So one day he took the form of a soldier and carrying a sword, he went to see the ascetic. He left the sword with the ascetic for safe-keeping and went away. Once he had the weapon, the ascetic guarded it zealously. He even took it with him when he wandered through the forest searching for roots and fruits, determined to guard what had been entrusted to him. That man who had been known for his ascetic merit renounced his ascetic vows and his mind turned to cruelty. He began to relish brutality and he fell into unrighteous ways. Eventually, that holy man went to hell, all because of his proximity to a weapon.

  ‘I am reminding you of this tale not because I presume to instruct you but because I love and respect you. May it never happen that you attack the rākṣasas of the forest without reason, simply because you carry a weapon. I cannot bear the thought of innocents being killed, O hero! A kṣatriya should use his bow in the forest only to protect the oppressed. What a difference there is between the life of weapons and that of the forest, between the vows of a kṣatriya and those of an ascetic! We must learn to respect the code of behaviour of the world we now inhabit. Here, the mind is perverted by extreme proximity to weapons. You can return to the code of the kṣatriyas when we go back to Ayodhyā!

  ‘But if you were to give up the kingdom entirely and embrace the life of an ascetic, I am sure that my parents-in-law would be very happy. Everything in this world, including wealth and happiness, come from dharma. There is nothing greater than dharma. Great men strive for dharma by subjecting themselves to severe physical mortifications, since true happiness cannot come from the pursuit of pleasure.

  ‘Enjoy the beauties of the forest with a pure mind, my love. You already know all there is to be known in the three worlds about these things. I have spoken from the foolishness of being a woman. Who is capable of teaching you anything about dharma? Discuss what I have said with your brother and then do whatever you think best.’

  ‘My dear, you have spoken sweetly for my benefit because you love me,’ said Rāma who always stood firm in dharma. ‘Your words show that you are truly worthy of your noble family. But I must remind you of what you yourself said, that kṣatriyas are armed so that the cries of the oppressed may never be heard. Those resolute sages who live in the forest are being tormented. They are the refuge of other beings, and yet they are the ones who approached me for protection. They live quietly in the forest, eating only roots and fruits, intent on practising their dharma. But they can no longer live in peace because of the rākṣasas’ wicked deeds.

  ‘The sages live in the forest all through the year, practising austerities, but they are preyed upon by man-eating rākṣasas. The sages approached me of their own accord. The best among them spoke to me and I was deeply embarrassed. “Forgive me,” I said. “I am truly ashamed that people like yourselves, whom I should be serving, have had to come to me.” I asked them what they wanted me to do. In one voice they replied, “Rāma, we are being horribly harassed by the rākṣasas who live in the Daṇḍaka fore
st and who can change their shapes at will. You must protect us from their attacks. They descend upon us when we are performing sacrifices. These wretched carrion-eaters assault us during the time of the new moon and the full moon. You are the only refuge for these tormented sages! Of course, we could easily destroy them with the power of our austerities. But we would be nullifying our long years of penance by doing so. Austerities are so difficult and there are so many obstacles in our way in any case! So even though the rākṣasas harass us, we do not curse them. You and your brother must help us. We have no other protector in the forest!”

  ‘I promised the sages of the Daṇḍaka forest that I would protect them, Sītā. And now that I have given them my word, I cannot go back on it as long as there is a single breath left in my body. You know that truth is dear to me! I could more easily give up my life or renounce you or Lakṣmaṇa than break a promise, especially one that I have made to brahmins! It is my duty to protect holy men under any circumstances. Now it is even more so because they have asked for my protection.

  ‘I am glad you said what you did, for you spoke out of love. We never give advice to those we do not care for. Dear girl, your words were typical of your noble character and your family background!’

  Rāma, Lakṣmaṇa and Sītā wandered through the forest pleasantly, spending time with the many sages there, and finally arrived at the settlement of the great ṛṣi Agastya. Lakṣmaṇa went up to one of Agastya’s students. ‘The eldest son of King Daśaratha, mighty Rāma, has arrived here with his wife Sītā and wishes to meet the great sage. I am his younger brother Lakṣmaṇa. You may have heard about us. I am devoted to Rāma and committed to doing what will make him happy. We are here in this terrible forest because of our father’s wishes. Tell the sage we would like to see him.’

  The student went into the ritual chamber to announce Rāma’s arrival to the sage whose power from austerities was truly awesome. ‘The sons of Daśaratha, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, have come here along with Rāma’s wife Sītā,’ said the student, repeating Lakṣmaṇa’s words. ‘They wish to see you and serve you. What shall I tell them?’

  ‘How wonderful that Rāma has come to see me!’ exclaimed the resplendent sage. ‘I have waited a long time for him to come here. Why did you not let them enter immediately? Go quickly and bring him in! Show all due respect to him, his brother and his wife.’ The student bowed and went out to do the sage’s bidding. ‘Where is Rāma?’ he asked Lakṣmaṇa eagerly. ‘He must go in at once and meet the sage!’

  Lakṣmaṇa led the student to the settlement gates and pointed Rāma and Sītā out to him. With great respect, the student repeated Agastya’s words to Rāma and escorted him and Sītā in with full honours. Rāma walked through the settlement and saw that it was filled with tame deer. He also noticed that there were shrines dedicated to the worship of Brahmā, Viṣṇu, Indra, the Sun, the Moon, Bhaga, Kubera, Dhatṛ, Vidhatṛ and Vāyu.

  Rāma looked up and saw the great sage, blazing with splendour, surrounded by his students and disciples, coming forward to greet him. ‘Look, Lakṣmaṇa! That must be Agastya coming towards us. I assume that it is he because of the shining aura that surrounds him.’ Filled with joy, Rāma prostrated himself at the feet of the sage who shone like the sun, and honoured him. Then he stood to one side with Lakṣmaṇa and Sītā, his palms joined in reverence. Agastya accepted Rāma’s homage and welcomed him with the traditional arghya ritual. He asked after his welfare and offered him a seat. The sage made offerings to the fire and treated Rāma, Lakṣmaṇa and Sītā as honoured guests, plying them with food that was appropriate for ascetics.

  ‘Rāma, this bow decorated with gold and jewels belonged to Viṣṇu and was made for him by Viśvakarmā. This arrow, best of all arrows, was given to me by Brahmā. It shines like the sun and never misses its mark. And these inexhaustible quivers were given to me by Indra along with this mighty gold-hilted sword in this exquisite sheath. Long ago, Viṣṇu used this bow to kill the asuras and recapture power for the gods. Take these weapons from me and use them to vanquish your enemies as Indra uses the thunderbolt!’ said Agastya as he handed the weapons to Rāma.

  ‘May good fortune attend you always, Rāma,’ continued the sage. ‘I am very pleased that you came to see me with Lakṣmaṇa and Sītā. You must be tired from your long, arduous journey. I can see that Sītā is completely exhausted. This poor woman has never experienced hardships like those of the forest. She has come to this troubled place out of love for her husband. Make sure that she has a pleasant life here, Rāma, for she has braved a great deal to follow you. It is in the nature of women to stay with a husband while he is prosperous and comfortable and to leave him in times of adversity. Women have the impetuosity of lightning, the sharpness of a weapon and the whimsy of the wind. But your wife, Rāma, is free from all these faults. She is praiseworthy and as fine an example as the steadfast Arundhatī herself. Her presence will adorn any place you choose to live in with Lakṣmaṇa.’

  ‘It is our good fortune, blessed one and giver of boons, that you are pleased with us because of our virtues,’ replied Rāma humbly. ‘Tell me of a place where we can settle down and live in peace, a place that is gently wooded and has abundant water.’

  Agastya thought for a while and then spoke with deliberation. ‘About two yojanās from here, there is a place abundant in roots and fruits and water, filled with different kinds of animals. It is called Pañcavaṭī. Go and establish a settlement there with Lakṣmaṇa so that you can fulfil your father’s wishes with relative ease. I know all that happened to you and Daśaratha, blameless Rāma, through the power of my austerities and because of my affection for you. When you said you wanted to live here in the forest, I thought about your motives and now I understand what you have in mind. That is why I have asked you to live in Pañcavaṭī. It is a pleasant place and it is close to the river Godāvarī. Sītā will like it there. It is quiet and deserted and is a place of great sanctity.

  ‘Rāma, your wife is with you and I know you are capable of looking after her. But, by living there, you will also be able to protect the sages. Do you see that grove of mahua trees? Walk left from there and you will come to another grove of banyans. Go up the mountain and you will see Pañcavaṭī with its perennially flowering trees.’

  Rāma, Lakṣmaṇa and Sītā said their farewells to the sage who was devoted to truth and prostrated themselves at his feet. He blessed them and the three set off. Armed with their bows and arrows, the two princes who were so courageous in battle went along the path the sage had indicated, heading for Pañcavaṭī.

  Soon, they came to an area that was full of terrifying serpents and many kinds of deer. ‘This must be the place to which Agastya meant to send us,’ said Rāma to his brother Lakṣmaṇa who blazed like the fire. ‘This must be Pañcavaṭī, since it is so pleasant with its flowering trees. You know so much about forests. Look around and find a spot that will please us, where we can build our settlement. Find a place with water close by, from where we can enjoy the beautiful view, where sacrificial materials and flowers will be close at hand.’

  ‘Rāma, I am your servant, even if you live for a hundred years!’ said Lakṣmaṇa with his palms joined. ‘You pick the spot and show it to me.’ Rāma was pleased with Lakṣmaṇa’s words and soon found a spot that met all his requirements. Taking Lakṣmaṇa’s hands in his own, he said, ‘This is the perfect spot, surrounded as it is by flowering trees. Build the hut here, dear brother! Look, there is a pond close by that shines like the sun and is filled with fragrant lotuses! And there is the river Godāvarī, just as the sage described it, lined with trees, visited by swans and all kinds of song birds. The mountains dotted with caves are neither too close nor too far. Deer wander there amidst the trees laden with flowers and we can hear the cries of the peacocks! This spot has great spiritual merit—we shall live here, Lakṣmaṇa!’

  Mighty Lakṣmaṇa, destroyer of his enemies, quickly built a hut for his brother. The hu
t was spacious, with a thatched roof supported by pillars, rafters of bamboo and a level floor. Lakṣmaṇa went down to the Godāvarī to bathe and came back with lotuses and fruit. He offered the flowers to the gods and after completing the prescribed rituals, he brought Rāma to show him the finished hut.

  Sītā and Rāma were thrilled with their pleasant little dwelling. Rāma hugged Lakṣmaṇa and said, ‘I am delighted with your wonderful work. All I can give you in return is this loving embrace. You are compassionate, gracious and righteous and so I feel that my father is not dead, he lives on in you!’

  Rāma settled down happily in that bounteous region. Served by Lakṣmaṇa and Sītā, he lived there for some time, like a god in heaven.

  Chapter Two

  One day, Rāma, Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa returned to their hut as usual after bathing in the Godāvarī. Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa completed the morning worship and sat down under the thatched area in front of the hut. With Sītā by his side, Rāma looked as beautiful as the moon in the Caitra constellation. The brothers chatted about this and that, telling each other stories and tales. As Rāma sat there, absorbed in conversation, a rākṣasī happened to pass by. She was Śūrpanakhā, the sister of the rākṣasa Rāvaṇa. When she saw Rāma sitting there, glorious as a heavenly being, she fell in love with him.

  Rāma was young and handsome and radiant. His chest was as broad as a lion’s, his arms were mighty and strong and his eyes were shaped like the petals of a lotus. He was dark as a blue lotus, as handsome as the god of love, equal to Indra in strength. The rākṣasī gazed at this man in wonder and was overcome with desire. Rāma presented a contrast to her in every possible way. He was handsome, she was ugly. He was slim-waisted, she was pot-bellied. His eyes were large and set wide in his face, she was cross-eyed. His hair was smooth and dark, hers was coppery and dried out. His voice was sweet and gentle, hers was raucous and harsh. He was young, handsome and honourable, she was old, cruel and deceitful. He walked the path of virtue, she was wicked. He was charming and refined, she was crude.