Fiction for Dussehra: Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana are confronted by rakshasas and rishis in the forest

After Bharata left, life continued uneventfully at Chitrakoota for several months. Then, Rama noticed that the sages started leaving the area in droves and would whisper strangely to each other in hushed tones when he approached. He was concerned about this new development and asked one of the elderly hermits if he had unwittingly caused them some offence. The old recluse assured him that this was not the case and explained that a man-eating Rakshasa called Khara was harassing them. He inhabited a part of the forest called Janasthana some distance away but had suddenly appeared in this hitherto peaceful spot to persecute them. He would attack unexpectedly, taking on various frightening forms and disrupt their rituals, dousing their holy fires with water and smashing the pots that contained sacred offerings. Rama volunteered to drive Khara away, but the sage insisted that Chitrakoota was not safe any more. They were afraid for their lives and had already decided to move to an ancient hermitage some distance away, where fruit and roots were plentiful. He advised Rama to join them with his wife and brother, but he was insistent on remaining, and thanking the sage, said he did not fear the Rakshasa.

However, once the sages had departed, Rama reconsidered his decision as Chitrakoota was not the same in their absence. Also, it was associated with too many painful memories of Bharata’s visit and the unhappiness caused by his refusal to return to Ayodhya. Additionally, there was the concern that his whereabouts were no longer secret, and he did not want the people to continue visiting him out of allegiance, thereby undermining Bharata’s position as their ruler. Furthermore, despite the care taken, the large army camped there had trampled the area and damaged the forest’s delicate ecosystem by its presence; now, the place needed to be left uninhabited to regenerate itself. With this rationale, the trio abandoned their little cottage and walked southwards through the forest until they reached the hermitage of Rishi Atri.

The hoary old sage Atri was one of the seven great rishis in the land and had contributed to the fifth mandala of the Rig Veda. He lived in the forest with his pious wife Anasuya, with whom he had spent many years in contemplation, practising intense yogic austerities. The elderly couple welcomed Rama, Sita and Lakshmana with much fondness. Anasuya was an aged woman, grey-haired and wrinkled, with trembling limbs. Having reached a very high level of spiritual perfection, she was so pure that she saw nothing but good in everyone, and Sita felt honoured to be in the company of such an esteemed lady. Anasuya felt a motherly affection for Sita and commended her selflessness in sacrificing the comforts of the palace to follow her husband. Complimenting her, she said, “You are indeed a virtuous woman. By joining your husband in exile, you have kept your marriage vow to be his companion through fortune and misfortune alike. It is a wife’s duty to be her husband’s best friend, guiding him through life with good counsel. Your fidelity will be an inspiration for generations to come.”

Sita replied graciously, “My parents taught me to be righteous, but honestly, it is quite easy for me to be devoted to Rama, for he is compassionate, disciplined and brave. Moreover, he is steadfast in his love for me, his family, the people, and above all, the principles of dharma. When my father put my hand in his, my mother instructed me to be faithful to my husband, no matter his circumstances, and your words remind me of her.” Anasuya took Sita’s hands, kissed her forehead and said tenderly, “I am so pleased with your high standard of morality. What can I give you as a token of my affection?” Sita replied that she did not desire anything as she was happy to be there for her husband. Her response further impressed the old anchoress, and determined to show her appreciation, she bestowed on her a divine garland that would never wither, a garment that would never get soiled, beautiful jewellery to adorn her person, and various scented creams. Anasuya then asked Sita about her wedding, saying she had heard that Rama had won her hand by performing a challenging feat and was keen to know the details. Sita happily narrated the events of her life, giving a complete description starting from the day Janaka found her in the field while ploughing the land. Anasuya was delighted to hear the story, but by this time, they had talked for a long while, and it was nightfall, so she said, “It’s getting dark now, and moonlight is spreading like a blanket over the Earth, but before we rest, I would like to see you dressed in what I gave you.” Sita obliged; looking radiant, she went excitedly to show Rama. Admiring how lovely she looked, he told her how lucky she was to be honoured by such a great lady.

The following day, they took their leave of the revered couple and set out again, deeper into the Dandaka Forest. The rishis at Atri’s ashram indicated a path that they said would be relatively safe, as the forest was very thick and inhabited by several dangerous Rakshasas. They walked in single file, with Rama in the lead this time and Lakshmana at the back, keeping Sita safely in the middle. As they wended their way, they came upon a badly trampled spot with fallen trees and mangled branches, and the damage did not look like the work of elephants. Then without warning, a frightening creature suddenly leaped out before them. He was humungous in size, attired in a tiger skin dripping with blood; he had long legs, bloodshot eyes, protruding razor-like teeth and a big belly. To add to the terrifying picture, he held a long spear on which he had skewered three lions, four tigers, ten deer and a giant elephant head.

“Who are you?” he bellowed. “What brings you to Dandaka? Since you are armed and in the company of a beautiful woman, it is clear you are not real sages. My name is Viradha, and you have trespassed into my territory.” Then he looked leeringly at Sita and continued, “I will eat the two of you and make this slender-waisted lady my wife.” Saying this, he snatched Sita and placed her on his shoulder.

Aghast at the sudden mishap, Rama cried out in horror, “Alas! Lakshmana, look at the hapless condition of my chaste wife, who was hitherto protected in the palace and used to every comfort! I was sent here by Kaikeyi to suffer, so this misfortune will undoubtedly be to her satisfaction. When I lost my kingdom, I bore it without sorrow; when my father died, I accepted it stoically, but I cannot tolerate anything untoward happening to my lovely Sita.” To reassure him, Lakshmana said, “Brother, I came here to serve you; I will not allow any harm to come to Sita. I have bottled up my anger ever since your exile, and this evil fellow will soon face my pent-up wrath.” He warned Viradha that he would put an end to him unless Sita was returned, and Rama added that he should beware as they were from the valorous Ikshavaku clan.

Viradha responded with a hearty laugh. Guffawing loudly, he said, “Your threats are in vain; I have a benediction from the almighty Brahma, by the grace of which no weapon can kill me. So, give up this pretty lady to me, and in return, I will spare your lives. Now run along!”

Outraged at Viradha’s temerity, Rama sent a volley of seven gold-shafted arrows, which pierced the monster’s grotesque body, but he merely flexed his muscles, and they fell off, doing little harm. Rama then broke his spear, so putting Sita down, Viradha picked him up along with Lakshmana and began to run away. Afraid for their lives, Sita wept, “O Rakshasa, take me instead and spare them.” Rama decided something needed to be done fast, so he swiftly cut off Viradha’s left arm while Lakshmana lopped off the right one. As the giant creature fell to the ground, to their surprise, he began telling Rama a strange story. “I now realize that you are not an ordinary mortal. You said you are an Ikshavaku, so you are probably Rama, son of King Dasharatha, and I have been waiting for you. I was not always a Rakshasa; previously, I was a Gandharva called Tumburu in the court of Kubera. I was cursed to take this form for dereliction of duty and was told I would only return to my former self once you killed me. I want to be freed from the imprisonment of this repulsive body, but weapons cannot kill me, so please bury me in a pit. A powerful rishi called Sarabhanga lives about one-and-a-half yojanas from here. Once you inter me, go to him, and you will get useful guidance.” After liberating Viradha, Rama embraced and comforted the frightened Sita, saying, “This forest is impenetrable and dangerous, so we should go quickly to the seer called Sarabhanga and ask him to recommend a safe place to stay.”

As they approached Sarabhanga’s ashram, they saw the sage standing by a sacrificial fire, deep in conversation with a radiant being seated in a divine chariot hovering in the air. The individual the sage was speaking to was attended upon by powerful bodyguards and beautiful Apsaras, youthful in appearance with svelte bodies. Rama realized it was Indra with his entourage. However, as he neared them, Indra noticed him and hurriedly took his leave of the sage, saying, “Rama is here, but I don’t want to meet him prematurely. I need to wait till he completes the mission for which he was born.” When Rama, Lakshmana and Sita came forward to touch Sarabhanga’s feet, his face lit up. He told Rama that he was expecting him and said cordially, “Welcome, dear guests! I have earned a place in Brahmaloka through years of severe penance, and Indra had come to take me, but I knew you were on your way, so I waited to receive you. I have accumulated much spiritual merit and would like to share my benedictions with you.” Rama thanked him but said that it would not be proper for him to benefit from anything without effort, it being more appropriate for him to earn any such distinction by himself. However, he welcomed a suggestion on where they could settle. Sarabhanga told him to follow the path up the river Mandakini where they would come upon a holy seer called Suteekshna, who would direct them to a suitable place. Then, with his desire to see Rama fulfilled and his current lifetime’s karma exhausted, Rishi Sarabhanga gave up his body just as a snake sloughs off its old skin for which it has no more use; and his soul rose to the highest plane in heaven.

Excerpted with permission from Rama: A Man of Dharma, Priya Arora, Penguin India.