The Ramayana

by Valmiki

  ‘Your hair is matted like an ascetic’s but you carry a bow and arrow and you are in the company of a woman,’ she said to him, brimming with lust. ‘What are you doing in this region filled with rākṣasas?’

  Rāma replied by telling her all about himself. ‘There was a king named Daśaratha, as mighty as the gods themselves. I am his oldest son and I am known in the world as Rāma. This is my brother Lakṣmaṇa who is deeply devoted to me. This is my wife Sītā, the princess of Videha. I have come to live in the forest and reap the fruits of my actions because I am bound by the wishes of my father, the king, and my mother. Now I want to know about you. Tell me, who are you? Where do you come from? Why are you here?’

  The rākṣasī was entranced. ‘Listen, Rāma, and I will tell you all about myself,’ she said. ‘I am the rākṣasī Śūrpanakhā and I can change my form at will. I do as I please. I wander through this forest by myself and I strike terror into the hearts of all creatures. My brother is Rāvaṇa, the king of the rākṣasas, and I have another brother, the mighty Kumbhakarṇa, who sleeps all the time. My third brother is the honourable Vibhīṣaṇa and he is not like a rākṣasa at all. My other two brothers are Khara and Dūṣaṇa, famed for their prowess in battle. But none of them have any control over me.

  ‘I am in love with your good looks, Rāma. I think you must be the best of men. Be my husband and stay with me for a long time! What use is this Sītā? She is ugly and deformed and simply no match for you. But I am your equal, consider me for a wife! I will devour this ugly mortal woman whose belly hangs so low. I shall eat your brother as well! And then, my love, you and I can roam through Daṇḍaka forest and enjoy the mountains and grasslands!’

  Rāma laughed when he heard this speech from Śūrpanakhā whose eyes were drunk with lust. He spoke sincerely and gently to that poor creature who was a prisoner of passion. ‘I am a married man and Sītā is my dearly beloved wife! I know women like you do not want to share your man with another. But, there is my younger brother Lakṣmaṇa. He is strong and brave and handsome and he is single. He needs a wife, for he has not yet experienced the joys of marriage. He will suit you as a husband, for you, too, are so beautiful! Take my brother as your husband, lovely lady, and enjoy him exclusively, as the sun enjoys the peaks of Mount Meru.’

  Utterly confused and still overwhelmed by passion, Śūrpanakhā let go of Rāma and turned to Lakṣmaṇa. ‘You are as beautiful as I am and so you are a worthy match for me. Come with me and roam happily through the Daṇḍakas!’

  Lakṣmaṇa also had a way with words. He smiled and replied in the same light vein. ‘I am the servant of my noble brother. Why do you want to marry a slave like me, lady as lovely as a lotus, and become a slave yourself? You, with your glowing complexion, should become the second wife of my older brother who has everything. Then all your wishes will be fulfilled! He will grow attached to you and renounce this ugly mortal wife of his. She is deformed and old and her belly hangs so low! Who would remain attached to a mortal woman when he could have you with your lovely skin and dazzling beauty?’

  Pot-bellied Śūrpanakhā took Lakṣmaṇa seriously as she had no sense of humour. Even more bewildered, she addressed Rāma who was sitting under the thatch with Sītā. ‘You think nothing of me because you are so devoted to this ugly, old mortal with a hanging belly! I shall eat her up right now, in front of you! Then you and I can be together happily, without any interference.’

  Her eyes blazing like fire, Śūrpanakhā charged towards the gentle-eyed Sītā, like malignant planets circling the Rohiṇī constellation. But Rāma stopped her headlong rush. ‘Lakṣmaṇa, you should never joke with cruel and base creatures! Look how frightened Sītā is!’ he cried. Angrily, Lakṣmaṇa pulled out his dagger and cut off Śūrpanakhā’s ears and nose.

  Śūrpanakhā screamed in pain and bolted back into the forest from which she had come. Her cries were like thunder during the rains and with blood streaming from her face she looked even more terrifying than usual. She went straight to her brother Khara who lived in Janasthāna, surrounded by his rākṣasa forces. She threw herself in front of him, as a bolt of lightning would fall from the sky.

  Khara grew angry when he saw his sister lying on the ground, mutilated and dripping blood. ‘Who did this to you?’ he asked. ‘You are so strong, capable of going wherever you please, able to change your shape at will, like unto Death itself! Tell me who it was that mutilated you. Was it a god, a gandharva, a great-souled ṛṣi, a bhūta or some mighty human hero? I cannot think of anyone in this world other than the thousand-eyed Indra who would dare incur my wrath. Whoever it was, I shall take his life this very day with my deadly arrows! Who is this, whose blood shall be drunk by the earth as it surges, frothing, from his breast which has been pierced by my arrow? Who is this, whose flesh shall be pecked at by birds when he lies dead after I have killed him in battle? Not the gods nor the gandharvas, not the rākṣasas nor the piśācas shall be able to save him once I have laid my hands on him! Calm yourself, gather your wits about you and tell me who did this to you in the forest.’

  Drenched in blood and almost fainting from fear and confusion, Śūrpanakhā told Khara all about Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa and her mutilation. ‘There were these two handsome young men, brave and strong, with eyes shaped like lotus petals,’ wept Śūrpanakhā is response to her brother’s angry words. ‘They were wearing the skin of the black antelope but they looked like kings or gandharvas since they bore all the marks of royalty. I could not tell if they were gods or mortals. There was also this beautiful woman with them, slim-waisted and adorned with jewels. They used her as an excuse and did this to me, as if I were a loose woman without anyone to protect me! I want to drink their blood, fresh and frothing, when they have been killed in battle. Help me do this and you will have fulfilled my dearest wish!’

  Khara summoned fourteen mighty rākṣasas who were like Death incarnate when his sister had finished her tale. ‘Two men wearing the skin of the black antelope, fully armed and accompanied by a woman, have entered the Daṇḍaka forests. Kill the men and the woman, for my sister wishes to drink their blood! Then come back here. Go quickly, rākṣasas! Crush them with your might and grant my sister her wish!’ The fourteen rākṣasas left immediately, like clouds driven by the storm winds.

  Fierce Śūrpanakhā led the fourteen rākṣasas to Rāma’s settlement and pointed the two brothers and Sītā out to them as they sat under the leafy thatch in front of the hut. Rāma noticed that Śūrpanakhā had come back along with the rākṣasas. ‘Stay here with Sītā for a bit,’ he said to his valiant brother, ‘while I kill the rākṣasas who have come here with that woman!’ Rāma was aware of his own strength and so Lakṣmaṇa agreed.

  Rāma strung his mighty bow which was decorated with gold and addressed the rākṣasas. ‘We are the sons of Daśaratha, the brothers Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, and we have come into the dense and impenetrable Daṇḍaka forest with my wife Sītā! We live here quietly in the forest, eating only roots and fruits and following the code of righteous ascetics. Why do you wish to harm us?

  ‘I am ready to fight you, with my bow and arrow. I have been instructed to do so by the sages living in the forest whom you harass! Stand where you are! Do not turn back! But if you value your lives, rangers of the night, then you had better run!’

  The fourteen rākṣasas had all killed brahmins. Armed with their spears, their eyes red with anger, they replied, ‘You have incurred the wrath of our master, the mighty Khara. And for this, it is you who shall lose your life in battle today! How can you face us in battle when you are alone and we are so many? You couldn’t possibly stand up to us in any circumstances! Your bow and arrows shall fall from your hands when we attack you and then you shall die!’

  The fourteen rākṣasas fell upon Rāma eagerly with all their weapons. They hurled their spears at him but the invincible Rāma shattered the spears with fourteen arrows decorated with gold. Then he fitted another fourteen arrows into his
bow. They had been sharpened against the hardest stone and had iron tips that glittered like the sun. He released them as Indra looses his thunderbolt and they blazed through the air like lightning in the sky. In a flash, they had pierced the rākṣasas’ breasts. Drenched in blood, the rākṣasas sank to the ground, like snakes plunging into an anthill. Their hearts split open, their bodies bathed in blood, the ugly creatures hit the ground like trees felled by an axe.

  Śūrpanakhā screamed with fright and nearly swooned when she saw them fall. Bellowing with rage, she ran back to Khara and threw herself before him. The blood from her own wounds had dried up, except for a little trickle, like sap oozing from a cut vine.

  ‘It was only a little while ago that I asked those blood-thirsty rākṣasas to do what you asked,’ said Khara to that ill-omened creature when he saw her lying on the ground in a fit of temper. ‘What are you crying for now? They are loyal and devoted to me and will do whatever I ask. They cannot possibly be dead, for they are the ones that do the killing. Tell me, why are you writhing on the ground like a snake and wailing “Alas, my lord!” over and over again? Why are you weeping as if you had no one to protect you? I am here to take care of you! Don’t be frightened! Get up! There is no need to panic while I am around!’

  Somewhat reassured by her brother’s words, the wretched Śūrpanakhā wiped her tears. ‘It is true that you sent out fourteen heroic and fierce rākṣasas to kill Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa in order to please me. But Rāma killed all those mighty rākṣasas armed with all their great weapons with arrows that pierced their vitals! I was terribly frightened when I saw Rāma’s prowess and those mighty warriors dead on the ground. I have come to you for refuge again, great rākṣasa, for I am terrified and very disturbed. I feel threatened from all sides! I am plunged into an ocean of terror with waves of fright and sea monsters of despair. Help me!

  ‘Those mighty eaters of human flesh that you sent with me now lie dead, slain by Rāma’s arrows! If you have any compassion for me or those dead rākṣasas, if you have the strength and courage to face Rāma, then get rid of him. He is a thorn in the side of the rākṣasas now that he has come to live in the Daṇḍaka forest! If you do not kill Rāma, my enemy, this very day, then I shall kill myself right now, right here in front of you!

  ‘I know you cannot challenge Rāma in battle, even if you stood at the head of a huge army!’ she taunted. ‘You are known for your valour but it must be a lie! You have no courage! You cannot even kill these two mortals, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa! How can you live here without courage and strength? Take your followers and leave Janasthāna immediately! You will soon be destroyed by Rāma’s might. Daśaratha’s son is very powerful and his brother, who mutilated me, is also very strong!’

  ‘I am outraged by this insult to you,’ said heroic Khara in front of all the rākṣasas. ‘My anger cannot be contained, it rises like the ocean at high tide! I have no respect for Rāma! He is a mere mortal and is doomed to die. He will forfeit his life today for the terrible thing he has done! Stop this weeping and fretting. I shall send Rāma and his brother to meet the god of death! You shall drink Rāma’s warm blood on the battlefield today as it wells from his body which has been struck by my battle axe.’

  Śūrpanakhā was delighted to hear this and foolishly she began to praise her brother again. Alternately insulted and praised by his sister, Khara called for the commander of his forces, Dūṣaṇa. ‘There are fourteen thousand rākṣasas at my command,’ he said to Dūṣaṇa. ‘They are incredibly swift, but they never turn and flee in battle. Dark as rain clouds, frightening and cruel, these immensely strong and powerful rākṣasas delight in hurting others. Make sure these courageous fellows with the pride of tigers and huge mouths are prepared for battle. Bring me my battle chariot at once and also my bows and arrows, my beautifully decorated swords and my spears of all kinds! I want to be in the forefront of the descendants of Pulastya! I shall slay Rāma in battle!’

  Chapter Three

  When Khara’s army went forth, an enormous donkey-coloured cloud thundered and rained dirty water, the colour of blood, upon the troops. As Khara’s chariot proceeded along the main road which was strewn with flowers, his swift horses stumbled without reason. Even the sun was dark, circled by a blood red aureole that was like the arc described by a firebrand. A huge, vicious vulture flew over the battle banner which fluttered on its golden staff and hovered there for a little while.

  As the army approached Janasthāna, birds and beasts of prey cried out in their harsh voices. Jackals howled hideously at the sun, their open mouths blazing, presaging ill for the rākṣasa army. Khara stood in his chariot and let out his great battle cry, but his voice quavered and his right arm trembled and twitched. When he looked around him, his vision blurred and his head throbbed, but in his immense foolishness, he would not turn back. He laughed as he observed these ill omens that were enough to make the hair stand on end.

  ‘These omens do not worry me even though they are really frightening,’ he said to his army. ‘Unlike these weak mortals, I rely on my own strength and courage! I can bring the stars down from the sky with my arrows! When I am angry, I can kill Death himself! Rāma is arrogant in his prowess but I shall not return without killing him and his brother Lakṣmaṇa! I shall slay them with my sharp arrows for treating my sister so badly. She shall have her wish and drink their blood! I have never been defeated in battle. You have seen that for yourselves so you know that I am not lying. I can even kill Indra, the king of the gods, when he rides into battle on his rutting elephant Airāvata, flourishing his thunderbolt! What then of these ridiculous mortals!’ The army cheered with delight when they heard these mighty boasts even though they were firmly within the noose of death.

  Meanwhile, the gods, the ṛṣis, the gandharvas, siddhas and the cāraṇas gathered, eager to witness the great battle. As those meritorious and virtuous beings came together, they whispered among themselves, ‘May all go well with the cows and the brahmins and those who wish for the welfare of the worlds. May Rāma defeat the rākṣasas who are descended from Pulastya as Viṣṇu defeated the asuras!’

  Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa saw the same inauspicious signs as the rākṣasa army approached their settlement. The portents of evil, which boded ill for all creatures, made their hair stand on end. ‘Look at these signs, mighty Lakṣmaṇa, that spell disaster for all beings,’ said Rāma. ‘They rise today for the destruction of the rākṣasas! Donkey-coloured clouds scud across the sky, thundering and raining bloody water! But my arrows are smoking, so eager are they to do battle. And my gold-encrusted bows quiver with anticipation, Lakṣmaṇa! The cries of the birds and animals indicate to me that something truly terrifying is close by, something that puts all lives in danger. My left arm twitches all the time. I have no doubt that there is going to be a great battle, but these signs indicate that we are going to defeat our enemies.

  ‘Take your bow and arrows and go into that cave with Sītā. It is hidden by trees and hard to access. Take refuge there. Please don’t argue with me, just promise me that you will go!’ When Lakṣmaṇa started towards the cave, Rāma sighed with relief that his brother had obeyed his instructions.

  Rāma put on his armour that blazed like the fire and appeared like a smokeless flame shining in the dark. The great warrior lifted his bow, chose his arrows and filled the sky with the sound of his twanging bow string. Soon, the rākṣasa army could be seen. It approached from all directions, flying its battle banners and raising a tremendous din as it struck terror into the hearts of all beings. The rākṣasas roared and yelled, each one louder than the other. They twanged their bow strings and stamped their feet and beat their huge drums and the forest reverberated with the noise they made. Animals and birds ran from their shelters in panic without looking back as they made for a quieter place. The huge army with all its weapons moved inexorably towards Rāma like the surging ocean.

  Rāma watched the eager army approaching. He drew his bow and readied his arrows, d
etermined, in his anger, to kill all the rākṣasas. He blazed like the doomsday fire and his face was terrible to behold. He resembled Śiva, the wielder of the Pinaka bow, at the time when he destroyed Dakṣa’s sacrifice.

  Khara drew near the settlement and saw Rāma, the destroyer of his enemies, standing there with his bow. Khara armed himself and told his charioteer to go forward. The charioteer urged the horses on towards Rāma and when Khara’s ministers saw that he was ready to do battle, they gathered around, roaring out their battle cries.

  With shouts of anger, the rākṣasas assailed Rāma with all kinds of weapons. The troops rained arrows on Rāma like clouds rain water upon a mountain, but Rāma countered their weapons with his own arrows like the sea engulfs a river. Though he was attacked from all sides, Rāma was no more perturbed than a mighty mountain that is assailed by thunder and lightning. Pierced by arrows and bleeding from all over his body, Rāma was as red as the setting sun.

  Rāma pulled his bow back as far as it would go, turning it into a circle. He loosed hundreds of thousands of crescent-headed arrows which created havoc among the rākṣasas, placing them firmly within death’s noose. Some of the especially powerful and brave rākṣasas confronted Rāma and attacked him with their swords, maces and spears. Rāma warded off their weapons with his arrows and cut off their heads.

  The rākṣasas that survived ran to Khara in terror, seeking protection from Rāma’s arrows. Dūṣaṇa reassured and rallied them, sending them back to face Rāma. They attacked with renewed vigour, picking up trees and rocks and stones, raising a din that was absolutely terrifying.