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The dazzling ivory towers disappeared from their view as Vishvamitra swerved off the main path to one that was narrow and overgrown with weeds and bushes.
“A shortcut,” Lakshmana whispered to Rama.
Rama shrugged and smiled at his brother. Vishvamitra led them forward purposefully.
Eventually the neglected path brought them to an empty hermitage. It was ancient and surprisingly solitary, considering its proximity to the city. The deserted dwelling was filled with a profound silence; every word and gesture seemed amplified. Responding to this, Rama lightly tapped Lakshmana’s hand, cautioning him against another whisper.
As they slowly moved into the silent courtyard of the hermitage, the soft sand caressed their feet, and small whirls of dust flew up and settled down again. They left deep imprints behind with each step. When they stood inside the clearing, Rama observed that Vishvamitra’s eyes were filled with an intense expectancy, penetrating every corner of the area with eyes like an eagle. Lakshmana also noted his heightened focus and was quiet. Rama began to look around with a puzzled feeling; he was aware of another presence, one that was gentle and so very sorrowful. Rama’s eyes lingered on a shiny black stone, polished by time, the most noticeable feature in the clearing. Vishvamitra focused intently on the stone.
“The warrior-turned-sage will come,” Vishvamitra said, and it sounded like a recitation.
“He will stand here, in the shadow of the prince, son of the Sun dynasty.”
Vishvamitra turned to Rama, his voice returned to normal but his expression was grave.
“I will now broach a sensitive topic unfamiliar to a child: marriage vows betrayed. You are on the brink of manhood. Dissension and human anguish are facts of life. To be unaware is to be unwise.”
Signaling them to come closer to him, Vishvamitra spoke. “Rama, Lakshmana, all sins committed do not have an immediate retribution. The punishment comes, but the laws of nature are not always clearly discernible. However, I have brought you to this place to talk to you of a sin committed by two people and the lightning-swift punishment that was meted out to them.”
His gaze wandered from them and back to the rock. “This was once the ashram of the virtuous Gautama and his wife, Ahalya. They lived here, performing austerities and purify-ing their lives. Bound by the vows of marriage, they prospered together. However, Indra, 316
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king of the gods, became smitten by the lovely Ahalya. Even though she was the wife of Gautama, he started thinking of ways that he might enjoy her. One day when Gautama went for his daily bath, Indra seized his chance. He took the form and dress of Gautama himself and approached Ahalya. Speaking sweetly to her and praising her appearance, Indra made his intention clear. She yielded to his advance, forgetting all chastity and loyalty; she enjoyed with Indra as on a first wedding night, though she knew in her heart that he was not her husband.
“After the union, Indra became nervous and hurried out of the ashram to avoid Gautama. But Indra did not escape unnoticed. Gautama, wet from his bath and pure from his austerity, came face to face with Indra, still disguised as Gautama—one, rich in virtue and the other, with none. Indra immediately felt the full weight of his shameful act and turned into his own form again.
“When Gautama understood what his wife and Indra had done, his fury knew no bounds.
His anger took shape in words, which he hurled like a weapon at Indra: ‘May you be covered by the private parts of a thousand women!’
“Instantly, Indra’s skin was transmuted.
“To his mortified wife, Gautama said, ‘You, heartless woman, become a stone!’
“At once her body became rigid and turned into a solid rock.”
While he told the story, Vishvamitra’s eyes had not moved from the black stone before them.
When it dawned on them that this was that very stone, Lakshmana gasped, and Rama’s eyes widened in disbelief. They looked at Vishvamitra for confirmation.
“Yes. This is that stone. Inside it, Ahalya’s being has been trapped. Indra was not punished in the same way, but became a laughing stock to the world, his whole body proof of his decadence. It was impossible to conceal or misunderstand the nature of his transgression.
Ahalya, at least, suffered her humiliation in privacy. Of course, this incident occurred a very long time ago.”
“But how long must she be punished, trapped inside this stone?” Rama asked, moving closer to the stone. “Indra used trickery to deceive her.”
“But she saw through Indra’s disguise,” Lakshmana said. “She knew in her heart it was not her husband, and still she accepted his advances.”
Rama frowned at his brother.
“Gautama was a sage with great insight,” Vishvamitra said. “After he overcame his anger, he agreed that Indra instead be covered by a thousand eyes. And Ahalya would be redeemed, he acquiesced, by the prince of Ayodhya, son of the Sun dynasty, by the name Rama.”
Now Vishvamitra’s gaze was on Rama, and Rama finally understood the cause of Vishvamitra’s intensity. Rama stared back at the sage, astonished.
“They knew that we would be born and come here?” Lakshmana asked, his eyebrows nearly touching his hairline.
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Vishvamitra could only shake his head. He too was perplexed. “The pattern of birth and death and the ultimate destination for all souls was set at the inception of the universe. Yet because each soul has freedom to choose otherwise at any moment, the accuracy of a prediction can be astonishing.”
Rama was by this time more concerned for Ahalya, the woman whose one-time transgression had fixed her inside a stone, an eternity of immobility and loneliness touched only by the unrelenting hands of nature, wind, and rain. Rama’s attention fixated on the rock, and he softly approached it. What his part was in her salvation, he did not know. It was his compassion that made him approach the woman of stone. As he did, the sand flew up in whirls from his feet and wafted onto the stone. As the dust particles settled down on it, something started melting inside the hard rock.
Rama could feel the soul in the stone emerging from her pall of darkness. Like a lost soul breaking through bondage and transforming the material carcass for the eternal body, Rama felt Ahalya reach out to him. The rigid stone gave way to a softer element, and Ahalya regained her form and vitality. Curled at Rama’s feet, the last rigid covering melted from her heart. Ecstasy of relief emanated from her, and her tears were warm and reverent as she pressed her forehead to Rama’s feet. Her long black hair draped around her body as she looked up at Rama with tear-filled eyes. She was naked as a newborn child and filled with the same innocence.
“Rama,” she said, chanting his name with adoration.
Rama swept his shoulder cloth around her, and a deep compassion filled his entire being.
She had suffered so long. Instinctively, he gently touched her shoulders and raised her up, his feelings of forgiveness and love transmitting through his hands. The rays of love reached her heart, melting away the last strands of shame and self-recrimination. Because he forgave her, she could free herself from any self-reproach. She had more than atoned for her transgression. Rama saw her bask in the pure glow of her salvation.
At that moment, Gautama, the disgraced husband, mystically appeared. He had the effulgence and bearing of a long-lived holy one. His long hair and beard were white like camphor, and his limbs glowed with acetic prowess. Ahalya fell at his feet before he could stop her. The moment Gautama touched her, she was draped in pure silk and adorned with jewels. Gautama embraced her, and Rama saw the intensity of their union. After an eternity of separation, Gautama welcomed Ahalya back to her rightful place beside him. Although Rama had not known this couple an hour before, he was deeply moved by the love between the sage and his wife. They belonged together, sharing a bond so strong that neither was whole without the other. Rama felt an awakening in his heart, a desire to belong to another being so completely. A sense of great satisfaction filled the air.
Rama bowed down at the feet of the timeless sage and the pure Ahalya. She placed her hand gently on his head in blessing and returned the cloth he had so thoughtfully draped around her. Her white garment shimmered with rainbow hues. Vishvamitra and Lakshmana, who had witnessed the miracle in stillness, came forth to offer their respect. After accepting their obeisance, Gautama and Ahalya disappeared.
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The place that Ahalya had occupied was now empty. The entire episode seemed like a dream. The trio went forth from the deserted hermitage, leaving only their footprints behind in the sand.
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chapter 36
A Miracle of Creation
As they entered Mithila’s city gate, a joyful mood greeted them. The citizens of Mithila were decorating the streets with flower garlands and strings of bilva leaves. Fragrant incense and camphor wafted from every corner, and Rama recognized all the signs of a massive celebration under way. Groups of girls sat in clusters on the ground painting colorful patterns with dyed rice flour. The patterns swirled with lotuses, paisleys, and peacocks, and, most prominent of all, a large ornate bow.
Rama imagined Shiva’s bow as the very center point of Mithila.
Reading his thoughts, Vishvamitra said, “The mighty bow has been in King Janaka’s family for so many generations, it has become Mithila’s most prized heirloom.
The unkind say that the king is intent on making a spinster of his lovely daughter, for during the first contest, no man was able to lift it. Tomorrow, kings from far and wide will approach the bow again to prove their strength and win Sita’s hand.”
In the heart of the city, Rama and Lakshmana were wide-eyed with curiosity.
Mithila was a beautiful city, and its people were happy. The festivities gave the city a warm glow, no matter what the outcome of the contest would be. On one side of the path was a clear pond full of blue, red, and white lotuses swarming with bees. On the other side of the path, Rama saw a garden grove full of trees laden with fruits.
Colorful flower petals were scattered everywhere on the ground. The garden was
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full of young girls, whose cheeks were red from laughing, running, and playing among the trees and bushes.
Rama was happy to be enjoying himself in the merry city atmosphere and allowed his gaze to wander freely while walking. The large palace, dotted by arched windows and terraces, was impossible to miss. Rama’s eyes were drawn to a girl standing on the largest terrace, looking out into the city. As they walked toward the palace, Rama’s eyes were fixed on her, seeing more of her features with every step closer.
The sight of her stunned him and took his breath away. He had never felt the need to look twice at any girl, but he couldn’t stop staring at the captivating form of this one. She was a miracle of creation. Every female had a particular beauty, but this girl was a composite of all the beautiful aspects possible in a woman. She was slender and graceful, with dainty feminine curves, a tapering waist, full hips, and round breasts. She looked like a lotus about to bloom, not a girl but not yet a woman.
The breeze made the curls of her hair caress her cheeks, and her long black hair lay in waves around her shoulders and hips. Rama’s heart was lost in her splendor, and it seemed to him that everyone was staring at her as he was. If Lord Brahma, the creator, was asked to create another like her, he would have to say no, for he had used all his tricks in making this girl. Celestial damsels like Rambha, Menaka, and Urvasi, themselves paragons of beauty and the inspiration of poets, would bow their heads on seeing such stirring loveliness as this girl possessed.
Her hands were dainty and delicate, her pinkish palms resting gracefully on the terrace railing. Her eyes were unbelievably large and deep, sparkling, and exquisite with thick eyelashes curling up and framing their almond outline. Her mouth was as red and full as a ripe berry, and a small, ethereal smile played on her lips, making Rama eager to know why she was smiling. Her skin was so fair that one would be afraid to touch her, and the rosy blush on her cheeks resembled the color of sunset through a pure white cloud.
She stood, motionless, her right hand placed over her heart, and Rama saw why when he looked into her eyes. She was staring at him. She was a perfect statue, her breath suspended, and Rama saw his own emotions reflected in her eyes. A profound longing cried out to him from the deep black of her eyes, and Rama felt his eyes were crying out the same longing to her.
Vishvamitra kept marching forward purposefully, and within moments Rama lost sight of the girl. For the rest of the day and that night, he saw her again and again in his mind and wondered at her beauty and who she was. He had left his heart with her and felt incomplete and agitated in body and mind for the first time in his life.
Vishvamitra brought them to a residence provided for wandering holy ones. The clay huts were replicas of dwellings Rama has seen in Vishvamitra’s ashram. Preferring to be incognito, Vishvamitra had not announced their presence to the king. Walking through the streets of Mithila, Rama had received curious glances, but since the princes were dressed simply and walking by foot alongside a sage, no one had openly recognized them as royalty.
As they settled down for the night, Lakshmana and Vishvamitra stretched out on the 322
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straw mats. Vishvamitra’s long matted hair doubled his length, as it extended behind him on the floor. Rama was unable to sit still and felt like an animal in a cage in the small room. While beholding Rama curiously, Vishvamitra combed through his black beard with his fingers.
Rama was aware of Lakshmana’s and Vishvamitra’s eyes following him from one side of the room to the other. Though the exchange with the girl on the terrace was momentous to Rama, he realized it had lasted only a few seconds. He did not know how to articulate what he felt.
“Aren’t you exhausted?” Lakshmana asked. “I am.” He didn’t budge an inch from his reclining position, though his gaze moved with Rama.
“I think it’s time I tell you a story,” Vishvamitra said with a knowing look.
Rama sat down and leaned against the clay wall. Vishvamitra sat cross-legged, his matted locks pooling around him on the floor. The storytelling had its soothing effect. This was the tale Rama’s mentor told:
Many thousands of years ago, or not so very long ago, the lord of lords, Vishnu, descended to the earthly realm in answer to the plea of the holy ones. Vishnu’s eternal consort, Lakshmi, could not bear the distance and followed him to take birth on Earth. She appeared as a sage’s daughter and lived isolated in the mountains of the Himalayas. No disguise, however, could conceal the presence of the goddess—the source of all opulence, wealth, and beauty—and the mountain sages worshipped her as Vedavati, the embodiment of the Vedas.
Sitting cross-legged and still, Vedavati could only think of her Lord Vishnu. She was like a diamond bereft of light, her sparkling dependent on Vishnu. Along with her breath, her life force rose and fell as she counted the moments until she would see her beloved lord again. Day after day, she sat immersed.
As fate would have it, Ravana, the king of blood-drinkers, was drawn to that sacred site, sensing the presence of the goddess.
Coming upon a well-kept ashram, Ravana felt a tingling sensation on the back of his neck, as if the most beautiful spirit had blessed him. Stopping in his tracks, he turned around. Then he saw her. Like a thief who had stumbled on an unguarded treasure, he could see only her. In that one instant he became one with his heart, passion his only purpose. Ravana fell to his knees in reverence, worshipping the ground where Vedavati sat in meditation. He wanted to wash her feet with his passionate tears. Most of all, he longed for her to open her eyes, to reciprocate his feelings. Her closed eyes were shutting him out of her world, and he knew he was glimpsing but a spark of her splendor.
To awaken her, he cleared his throat loudly. She remained absorbed in her own meditation. This only increased his fixation. She was like a magnet, and his hand was drawn to make contact. Without thinking, he reached his hand out to touch her.
With his fingertips, he lightly traced the shape of her head, then stroked the hair that 325
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cascaded down her back. Her black hair flowed through his fingers. He was stung by this woman’s lack of reaction. She was not affected in the least by his proximity or presence. No woman had ever been indifferent to him before. Not all women loved him at once, but he always got a reaction. Ravana’s pride was stung. He had thousands of women more attractive than her at his palace—women who fought for his attention. How did she dare ignore him!
With wasp-like thoughts stinging him, Ravana straightened, grasping Vedavati’s long hair firmly in his fist. Determined that she acknowledge him, he yanked her hair sharply. For a few moments, nothing happened. He stared at her again, seeing nothing but her, his pride forgotten. Would she open her eyes? Would her passion match his?
Tension filled the air, but Vedavati did not respond. He yanked her hair once more.
This time she slowly opened her eyes.
He stumbled back as their eyes met.
Ravana, who had fought with the most ferocious beasts, who could not be killed by Yama, was scorched by the burning fire in her eyes. Shocked, he tightened his grip on her hair. Her anger only heightened her beauty and appeal.
Vedavati knew instantly who was standing before her and arrogantly holding her hair. She had prayed to see her lord, but instead his nemesis had appeared, the most evil being alive in the universe. He was so close to her that she felt the heat of his body and the threat of his demanding eyes.
As she returned his stare, Vedavati transformed the side of her hand into a sharp blade and severed the lock of hair he held, leaving it limp in his grip. The ever-present pain of separation in her heart now mingled with rage.
She spoke with a voice that crackled with anger: “My body has been defiled by your touch. How dare you covet that which can never belong to you. I cannot bear to live with this body any longer.”
