The Ramayana (28 page)

“Vatapi the goat would come bursting out of the visitor's stomach, spilling his entrails. Laughing between themselves, the two brothers would tear at the brahmana and devour him. Not even the Devas could kill Vatapi and Ilvala, because their maya was so powerful. Finally, the rishis of the jungle went to Agastya and begged him to help them.

“One day, as Ilvala waited on the rishis' trail, he saw a bearded muni coming along. He thought what a succulent meal the good sage would make. He accosted Agastya worshipfully. In chaste language, he begged him to come to his father's srarddha. He said the dead man's soul would be thrice blessed by the presence of such an illustrious guest.

“Agastya went with Ilvala to his asrama, where Vatapi was tethered with a rope. Ilvala cut the goat's throat and cooked its flesh. And Agastya made an enormous meal of him. With a grin, Ilvala called, ‘Vatapi, come out!'

“But no goat tore its way out of Agastya's stomach. The rishi belched softly; he licked his fingers, smiling at his host. Ilvala called again, ‘Vatapi, come out now!'

“Nothing stirred. Agastya began to laugh. He said, ‘Your brother has been well digested. I don't think he will come out any more.'

“Ilvala howled, and before Agastya's eyes, he was a demon again: fanged and clawed, his eyes blazing. He flew roaring at the muni. But with just a look, Agastya made that rakshasa ashes.”

It was evening when they arrived at Agastya's brother's asrama. He welcomed them excitedly; he also knew who Rama was. Indeed he seemed to know all about the brothers and Sita, and everything that had happened to them. They spent the night with him, and the next day Rama said, “We want to seek Agastya's blessing. Will you show us the way to his asrama?”

“Follow the rishis' path,” said the slight sage. “My brother lives a yojana from here; you cannot miss his asrama if you stay on the trail.”

They bowed to him and went on. Though the forest was less dense along this southern branch of the rishis' trail, there was such a wealth of wild creatures here that they walked in some absorption. This was elephant country, and bison moved through the tall grass in herds. There were many more lush clearings here than in the eastern jungle, as well as long stretches of tall bamboo thickets. Dense flocks of birds, migrated from distant lands, roosted, various and colorful, among the spreading trees. There was a deeper feeling of ancience about this forest than any they had yet experienced.

Rama walked briskly in anticipation of meeting Agastya. When they had gone a yojana, they saw that the trees were tended to, the deer were tame, and even the birds flew fearlessly down to them, much to Sita's delight. Then Lakshmana cried, “Look!”

Ahead they saw an asrama. Its rishis were hanging out their valkala to dry in the sun. Rama said reverently, “Do you know the Vindhya mountain stopped growing at Agastya's command? Not just men but even the Devas worship Agastya Muni. Lakshmana, I will wait here with Sita. You go into the asrama and tell him we have come to seek his blessing.”

 

7. Agastya Muni

Lakshmana went into the asrama and found a young acolyte there. He said, “I am King Dasaratha's son; my name is Lakshmana. My brother Rama and his wife Sita are waiting outside. Please tell Agastya Muni we want to take the dust from his feet.”

The sishya went into the agnihotrashala, where the fire of worship burned. Agastya stood unmoving before it, his arms crossed over his chest, a flame himself. The disciple waited silently, until his master opened his eyes and asked, “What is it?”

“Two sons of Dasaratha have come to visit you, the older one with his wife. They seek your blessing.”

A smile breaking on his deep face, Agastya said, “For so long now, I have been wishing Rama here. At last he has come. Bring them to me with honor. You should not have made them wait; don't you know who Rama is?”

Never had that sishya seen his reclusive guru so excited to receive a visitor. He hurried back to Lakshmana, and cried with new respect in his voice, “Call your brother! Come quickly, the master is anxious to meet you.”

Rama entered the asrama with Sita, and Agastya came out to welcome him. Rama lay at the rishi's feet, then Sita and Lakshmana did. Blessing them, raising them up affectionately, the great sage led them into the agnihotrashala and made them sit round the fire. First of all, he insisted they should eat something. Then he said to Rama, “I have heard you are the very image of dharma. Stay with me for a while; you shall be more than welcome.”

He studied the prince's face intently, as if to satisfy himself that he was truly who they said. Rama met his gaze humbly, but unwaveringly, and at last the rishi rose and went into his kutila. He returned shortly, and his arms were full of resplendent weapons! He laid them before the brothers. “These are for you.”

A magnificent bow sparkled with diamonds, emeralds, and rubies. An uncanny sense of familiarity overcame Rama and he reached out to stroke that weapon.

Agastya said, “The Brahmadatta was made by Viswakarman and was Brahma's gift to Mahavishnu. Here are two quivers Indra gave me, and this sword in its silver sheath; and not even astras can pierce this armor.

“This is the bow Narayana used against the Asuras in the war that was fought in Devaloka. It is yours now, Rama. When the time comes, you will need a chariot to face the Lord of Evil; Indra's sarathy Matali will fly down to you from Devaloka, with Indra's own ratha.”

Bowing, Rama received the weapons. A thrill coursed through him and an urgent sense of destiny was upon him again—of some great task to be accomplished, and an implacable enemy who waited for him beyond the sunset.

They spent that day and night in Agastya's asrama. It was a moonless night and the silence was deep. Before they fell asleep, they sat around the fire watching the white owls like spirits in the trees.

*   *   *

The next morning, Agastya said, “Did you sleep well, Rama? Were you comfortable?”

Rama said warmly, “We felt we were back in our father's home in Ayodhya: so lovingly did your sishyas look after us.”

They sat before the awesome rishi, and he said, “Rama, your exile draws to an end. You will return to Ayodhya with glory. How fortunate Dasaratha is to have a son like you to bring him honor.”

Rama said softly, “My lord, I have been happy in the Dandaka vana. My exile has not been an ordeal, but a joy. How else would I have met all the holy men I have during these years, and learned what I have from them? But I don't think my father owes any honor he has to me. He earned his place in heaven with a virtuous life.”

As he thought of Dasaratha, Rama's face was briefly clouded by sorrow. But he put aside those sad reflections and said, “We seek a quiet place to live in, these last years we have left in the jungle. Can you help us, Muni?”

Agastya thought a moment, then said brightly, “Do you know the true story of this jungle called the Dandaka? In ancient times, Dandaka was your own ancestor; he was Ikshvaku's brother. He abandoned this land of his because Sukracharya, the Asura guru, cursed it. It was no forest then and such blight came to this kingdom that for five hundred yojanas, even down to the Vindhya mountains, it was a desolation.

“In the days when man and beast had fled the cursed land, a jungle sprang up here by dark sorcery: though no clouds would gather in the sky or even the wind blow through this place. No rishi dared build his asrama here because this forest was a home of evil, where only rakshasas lived. No Devas or gandharvas came here for fear.

“One day, I wandered down from the Himalaya and fate brought me to this place. I was the first man to enter the Dandaka vana in an age, and the rain followed me and the wind, unleashed; we had a storm like the deluge. Bolts of lightning fell from the sky, immolating many of the rakshasas, and it rained for ten days without let. How the parched earth welcomed my coming.

“Fell diseases, Yama's messengers, thrived in this forest. But I stilled them with mantras, and I burned the flesh-eating plants that grew at night's heart with fire from my mind. I had carried blessed seeds from Himavan with me; I scattered them through the endless darkness. Noble trees sprang up here, and bore flowers and fruit. At my tapasya, the rivers of the earth flowed back through the Dandaka vana; lakes and pools formed, with lotuses floating on their waters again, and swans.

“When they heard the old forest was transformed, the rishis came back. But the curse of Sukra had not been exorcised entirely. Parts of the jungle were still fastnesses of evil and not all the rakshasas had gone away. For many years, they were quiet. But Rama, since the day you arrived on Chitrakuta, a madness seems to grip them. By sun and moon, they come out of their lairs to hunt our people. As if the devils know their time is short and want to indulge themselves while they are still alive.

“Sukra's curse on this place was removed when your eyes first fell upon it. I have heard that in the east, where you lived for ten years, there are no rakshasas left. But rid us also of the demons in the south. Fate has sent you to us for this.”

Rama inclined his head gravely, to say he would do as the muni asked. Now Agastya looked at Sita, and said warmly, “What a rare woman your wife is. Poets speak of women's natures as being as fickle as lightning: when their men are favored by fortune they are happy to be their wives. But as soon as their husbands fall on hard times, they abandon them. But not so this jewel of Mithila. Care for her always, Kshatriya; she is a pativrata, a goddess among women.”

Sita blushed; her eyes filled with proud tears.

Rama said, “We are moved by your love, my lord. If you will tell us of a place beside a river where we can live, I will clear the jungle of its rakshasas. Sita will be happiest if we are also near some flowering trees.”

For just a moment Agastya paused to think, before he said, “Two yojanas from here, near the Godavari, is Panchavati. It has a wealth of fruit trees and savory roots; it has herds of gentle deer. I would love nothing better than to have you spend the rest of your exile with me. But it is not to be. Great events have been conceived in time's womb and wait to be born into the world. To Panchavati you must go, Rama; your destiny awaits you there.”

Agastya's lofty brow was knit at what he saw lay in store for the prince. He shook his head to clear it of that vision, and said somberly, “Yes, Panchavati is truly beautiful and quiet; just the place for you to build an asrama. Do you see that wood of madhuka trees, which stretches almost to the horizon? Pass through it and you will come to a lofty nyagrodha. From the nyagrodha, you must climb north. Panchavati is not far. Spend the rest of your exile there.”

Rama rose and touched Agastya's feet; and Lakshmana and Sita after him. They made a pradakshina around the shining weapons he had given them. Then, picking them up and taking the rishi's blessing with them, they walked away in the direction he had indicated.

 

8. A friend in the wilderness

Through the interminable wood of madhuka trees walked Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita. At last, coming out from under, its green ceiling, they found themselves at the foot of a hill. Between themselves and its gradual slope grew an immense nyagrodha, its branches falling in screens of aerial roots around its stupendous trunk. It was old and knotted, perhaps even a survivor of Sukra's curse. Few leaves adorned its branches in this season, and the princes saw a gigantic eagle perched on the tree, preening himself.

Drawing an arrow, Lakshmana whispered, “A rakshasa waiting for us. What a surprise he is going to get.”

But Rama restrained him, and cried up to the bird in a friendly voice, “Who are you, great one?”

The eagle peered down at them, then he looked away; and then he looked at them again. Abruptly, giving throat to excited cries, he broke into a little dance on his branch, until he said in perfect human speech, “Children of Ayodhya, I am a friend of your father's!”

Rama sat down under the tree. To Lakshmana's dismay, he undid his sword and quiver and laid them on the ground. The great bird flapped down majestically and settled near Rama; Lakshmana stood tense, his bow strung and ready. The eagle was as tall as Rama. He was old, and descended from the pristine race of Garuda. Rama sat smiling and admiring him: his golden plumage, his snow-white cap feathers, his beak curved like a scimitar and talons like daggers. His expression was haughty as he looked askance at Lakshmana out of flashing green eyes, as if to say, “Fool! Am I not too noble to be a rakshasa?”

Rama said respectfully, “Mighty one, tell me about yourself.”

The splendid bird said in his uncannily human voice, “Brahma's grandson Kashyapa Prajapati had many daughters. One of them was Shyeni. Vinata had two sons, eagles of light. One is Aruna, the sun's sarathy, and the other is Garuda, on whom Vishnu rides. Incandescent Aruna married Shyeni, and two sons were born to them: Sampati the older and Jatayu the younger. I, Rama of Ayodhya, am Jatayu.

“My prince, the forest you are going toward is an evil place. If you allow me, I will stay with you and be your guardian. When you go out to hunt with Lakshmana, I will watch over Sita.”

The bird glanced at Lakshmana, who had not yet returned his arrow to its quiver. Jatayu said dryly, “With my life if need be.”

Rama embraced Jatayu. “My father often spoke of you: how you and he hunted together and fought the war against the Asuras. I am so happy to meet you, noble Jatayu. I accept your offer gratefully; I am flattered you will be our companion.”

When he heard that Dasaratha had spoken of Jatayu before, Lakshmana thrust his arrow back into its quiver. He folded his hands to the eagle, who inclined his head imperiously at him. They set off together and Rama wondered if, when he sent them this way, Agastya had known Jatayu would be waiting for them at the nyagrodha. The eagle flew along above them and they followed, on a course he seemed to know well.