Seizing the idea from Mareecha’s own narration, Ravana firmly suggested, without leaving him any choice, “Assume the form of a golden deer, and draw her out. I’ll do the rest . . . It’s the only way to get at her without hurting anyone.”
Mareecha agreed. “Yes, I’ll go this moment and carry out your wishes.” But he was fully aware of the consequences that would befall him immediately and Ravana later. Mareecha went forth, gloomily reflecting, “Twice have I escaped Rama’s arrow; now, this third time, I shall be doomed. I am like a fish in a poisoned pond. Sooner or later I am bound to die, whether I stay in it or get out of it.”
Mareecha went to Dandaka forest. In the vicinity of Panchvati, he assumed the form of a golden deer and strutted before Rama’s cottage. Attracted by its brilliance, other deer came up and surrounded the golden deer. Sita, strolling in her garden, noticed it, hurried back into the cottage, and requested of Rama, “There is an animal at our gate with a body of shining gold, and its legs are set with precious stones. It’s a dazzling creature. Please catch it for me.”
The fates were at work and this was to be a crucial moment in their lives. Normally, Rama would have questioned Sita’s fancy, but today he blindly accepted her demand and said cheerfully, “Yes, of course you shall have it. Where is it?” and he rose to go out.
At this point Lakshmana interceded. “I would not go near it. It may be just an illusion presented before us. It’s not safe. Who has ever heard of an animal made of gold and gems? It’s a trick, if ever there was one.”
Rama replied, “Brahma’s creations are vast and varied. No one can say that he knows all the creatures of this earth. How can you assert that there can be no such creature of splendour?”
Sita interposed impatiently, “While you are debating, the animal will be gone. Please come out and see it for yourself.”
Rama came out of the cottage, saw it, and said, “It’s a wonderful creature. Stay here. I will get it for you.”
Sita said, “I’ll keep it with me as my pet and take it back to Ayodhya when our exile ends.”
Lakshmana once again tried to prevent this pursuit. But Rama brushed aside his argument. “It’s harmless to pursue it. If it is some infernal creature in this form, it will reveal itself when it is shot at. If it is not, we will take it intact and Sita will have a plaything. Either way we cannot ignore it.”
“We can’t go after it when we do not know who has set it before us. If it’s harmless, it would be wrong to hunt it. In any case, it is best to keep away from it.” When he found Rama obstinate, Lakshmana said, “Please stay here. I will go after it and try to find out the truth of it.”
Sita became insistent and said sullenly, “You will never get it, I know,” and turned round and went back into the hermitage, annoyed and irritated.
Rama felt sad that there should be such an argument over an innocent wish of his wife, who had ungrudgingly thrown her lot with his. He said to Lakshmana, “Let me go and catch it myself. Meanwhile, guard her.” With his bow held ready, he approached the golden deer. His mind did not admit Lakshmana’s words of caution; it went on echoing Sita’s plaintive appeal and he resolved to himself, “She shall have it, and then she will surely smile again.” The chase began. The deer waited for his approach and darted off again and again. In the mood of the chase, Rama had not noticed how far he had been drawn out or how long it had lasted. Forest paths, mountain tracks, and valleys he had traversed trying to keep pace with the elusive deer. A blind determination, a challenge, and behind them a desire to please his wife—all these drew him on as the splendorous animal receded farther and farther.
Suddenly it dawned on him that he was being duped. Lakshmana was right after all. He ought not to have so blindly obeyed his wife. Automatically his hand took out an arrow and shot it at the animal, just as Mareecha, guessing Rama’s thoughts, made a desperate attempt to escape. But it was too late. Rama’s arrow as ever reached its target. Mareecha screamed, “Oh, Lakshmana! Oh, Sita! help me . . .” assuming the voice of Rama.
After disposing of Mareecha in this manner, Rama turned back, rather worried that Mareecha’s cry might have been heard by Sita. “Lakshmana will help her to guess what has happened,” he thought, for he admired Lakshmana’s sagacity and understanding; but realizing that he had been drawn quite far away from Panchvati, he hurried back towards his cottage.
Sita, hearing the cry of Mareecha, said to Lakshmana, “Something has happened to my lord. Go and help him.”
“No harm can befall Rama. Be assured of it. One who has vanquished all the demons in this world will not be harmed by a mere animal, if indeed, as you think, it is an animal. It was an asura, now finished off, and the cry was false and assumed, aimed precisely at you.”
“This is no time for explanations or speculation,” she said. As she was talking the cry was heard a second time. “Oh, Lakshmana! Oh, Sita!” And Sita was seized with panic and lost control of herself completely. She cried, “Do not stand there and talk! Go, go and save Rama!”
“He is the saviour and needs no help from others, my respected sister-in-law. Wait, be patient for a while, and you will see him before you, and then you will laugh at your own fears.”
Sita had no ear for any explanation and went on repeating, “Go, go and save him! How can you stay here talking! I’m surprised at your calmness.” As Lakshmana kept on asking her to remain calm, she became more and more worked up and began to talk wildly. “You who have never left his side since your birth, who followed him into the forest—at a moment like this, instead of rushing to his side, you stand there chattering away at me. This looks very very strange to me!”
Once again Lakshmana tried to set her mind at rest. “You have apparently not understood the nature of Rama. There is no power which can reduce him to cry for help. If Rama was really threatened, the whole universe and all creation would have trembled and collapsed by now, for he is no ordinary mortal. . . .”
Sita’s eyes flashed anger and sorrow. “It’s improper for you to stay here with me and talk coldly this way. Strange! Strange! Anyone who has been close to my lord for even a brief moment ought to be prepared to lay down his life for him. Yet you, who were born and bred with him and attached yourself to him through everything—you stand here unmoved and unaffected by his cry for help. If you don’t want to save him, there is nothing more I can do, nor anyone I could turn to for support. The only thing left will be for me to build a fire and throw myself into it. . . .”
Sita’s insinuations and lack of trust in him pained Lakshmana deeply. He pondered over her words and said, “No need for you to harm yourself. Only I shudder at the import of your words. I’ll obey you now. Do not be anxious. This very second I’ll leave. I only hesitated because your order goes against the command of my brother. I’ll go, and may the gods protect you from harm!”
“If I don’t go, she will kill herself,” he reasoned. “If I go, she will be in danger. I’d rather be dead than facing such a dilemma. . . . I’ll go, and what is destined will happen. Dharma alone should protect her.” He said to Sita, “Our elder Jatayu is there to watch us, and he will guard you.”
The moment Lakshmana left, Ravana, who had been watching, emerged from his hiding place. He stood at the gate of Panchvati cottage and called, “Who is there? Anyone inside to welcome a
sanyasi
?” He was in the garb of a hermit, lean, scraggy, and carrying a staff and a wooden begging bowl in his hand. His voice shook as if with old age, his legs trembled, as he called again, “Is there anyone living in this hut?”
Sita opened the door and saw the old man and said, “You are welcome, sir. What do you want?”
Ravana was overwhelmed by the vision before him. Sita invited him in and gave him a seat while his mind buzzed with a thousand thoughts. “She should be mine. I’ll make her the queen of my empire and spend the rest of my days in obeying her command and pleasing her in a million ways. I’ll do nothing else in life except enjoy her company. . . . Ah! how perceptive and helpful my sister has been! Not a word of exaggeration in her description. Absolutely perfect. Perfection . . . How good of my darling sister to have thought of me when she saw this angel! I shall reward my sister by making her the queen of my empire. She shall rule in my place, while I live in the paradise of this woman’s company.” He had already forgotten that he had intended to make Sita the queen of his empire.
While his mind was busy with these pleasant plans, Sita was inquiring, “How do you come to be found on this lonely forest path—at your age? Where do you come from?”
He woke up from his day-dreaming to answer, “Well, there is one . . .” and proceeded to give a detailed account of himself in the third person—as the mightiest in creation, favourite of the great Lord Shiva himself, powerful enough to order the sun and the moon to move in or out of their orbits as he pleased. “All the gods wait upon him to do his slightest bidding, all the divine damsels, Urvasi, Thilothama and the others, are ever ready to massage his feet and strap his sandals on. He is greater than Indra; his capital is unmatched, a magnificent city; he commands all the power, wealth, and glories of this world. Thousands of women wait anxiously for his favour, but he is waiting and looking for the most perfect beauty in creation. He is learned, just, handsome, in vigour and youthfulness unmatched. I have stayed in the glory of his presence for a long time and am now returning home this way.”
“Why should a saintly one like you have chosen to live in that rakshasa country, leaving cities where good men are to be found and the forest where sages live?”
“They are good people, not harmful or cruel like the so-called gods. The rakshasa clan have been misrepresented and misunderstood. They are kind and enlightened and particularly good to
sadhus
like me.”
“Those who live amidst asuras could easily become asuras too,” Sita remarked naïvely.
Ravana said, “Asuras can be good to those who are good to them. Since they are the most powerful in all the worlds, what could be wiser than to live in harmony with them?”
“But their days are numbered,” said Sita. “My lord’s mission in life is to rid this world of them and establish peace on earth.”
“No human being can ever dare try it. It’s like a little rabbit hoping to destroy an elephant herd.”
“But have you not heard how my lord has vanquished Kara, Dushana, Virada, and the rest, single-handed?”
“Kara, Virada, and the rest were weaklings possessing neither bows nor armour—not a great task conquering them. Wait until you see, as you soon will, what happens to him when he has to meet the mighty Ravana, who has twenty shoulders!”
“What if he has twenty shoulders? Did not just a two-shouldered man like Parasurama once imprison Ravana till he cried for mercy?”
This statement enraged Ravana; his eyes became bloodshot with anger and he ground his teeth. Gradually he was losing his saintly disguise. Noticing the transformation, Sita began to feel puzzled and presently he loomed over her fearsomely in his natural form. Sita had no courage to utter any word.
Ravana said, “For your stupid statement, I would have crushed and eaten you, except for the fact you are a woman and I want you and will die if I don’t have you. Oh, swanlike one, my ten heads have never bowed to any god in any world. But I will take off my crowns and touch your feet with my brow. Only be my queen and command me what to do.”
Sita covered her ears with her hands. “How dare you speak thus! I am not afraid to lose my life, but if you wish to save yours, run and hide before Rama sees you.”
“Rama’s arrows cannot touch me; you could as well expect a mountain to split at the touch of a straw,” Ravana said. “Be kind to me. I am dying for your love. I will give you a position greater than anything a goddess can have. Have consideration. Have mercy. I prostrate myself before you.”
When Ravana fell to the floor, Sita recoiled and started weeping aloud, “O my lord! O, brother Lakshmana, come and help me.”
At this Ravana, remembering an ancient curse that if he touched any woman without her consent, he would die that instant, dug the ground under Sita’s feet, lifted it off with her, placed it in his chariot, and sped away.
Sita fainted, revived, desperately tried to jump off the chariot, cried, lamented, called upon the trees, birds, and animals and the fairies of the woods to bear witness and report her plight to Rama, and finally cursed Ravana as a coward and a trickster, who had adopted treacherous means only because he was afraid of Rama; otherwise would he not have faced Rama and fought him? Ravana only treated her words as a great joke and laughed at her. “You think too highly of Rama, but I don’t. I do not care to fight him because it’s beneath our dignity to confront a mere human being.”
“Ah, yes, your class are ashamed to contend with humans, but you may covet and treacherously attack a helpless woman.
This is a noble achievement, I suppose! Stony-hearted rakshasas like you do not know what is wrong and what is right. If you have the courage to face my husband, stop your chariot immediately; don’t drive it farther.”
All this only amused Ravana, who laughed and bantered and uttered reckless pleasantries. At this moment, he felt an obstruction in the course of his flight. Jatayu, the great eagle who had promised to guard the children of his old colleague and friend Dasaratha, noticing the danger that had befallen Sita, shouted a challenge and obstructed Ravana’s passage, hurling himself on Ravana with all his might. It was as if a mountain were hitting the speeding chariot. Before starting the actual battle, Jatayu appealed to Ravana to retrace his steps and take Sita back to Panchvati. He said, “You don’t even have to go back; just stop and put her down, and I’ll lead her back safely to her husband and you may run away before Rama comes.”
Ravana laughed at this proposal. “Keep out of my way, you senile bird, go away.”