The Ramayana Read Online Free PDF Page B

archery was no less extraordinary. Their masters said that not even the Gods could equal the princes at the longbow, the mace, or the double-edged sword.
    Now, usually, twins are exceptionally close. But in the palace of Ayodhya, nature was subverted by a higher order of attachment. From the beginning, the fair, shy Lakshmana was like his dark brother Rama’s shadow; and Shatrughna was as attached to Kaikeyi’s son Bharata. Rama and Lakshmana were inseparable. Since they were babies, Rama would not eat a morsel, or sleep a wink, unless Lakshmana was at his side, being fed from the same platter or lying in the same bed. Later, Rama would not hunt without Lakshmana carrying his quiver, or the older, the younger brother’s. Dasaratha basked in the prodigious talents and the love of his sons. Arrogance laid no hand upon them; they grew up as humble and respectful as they were gifted.
    And what can be said about Rama, his father’s favorite? Dasaratha lived Rama, he breathed Rama, his every waking moment was Rama; and if one looked closely enough, his dreams as well. He loved his son perhaps more than any man should. It was devotion, obsessive and a little dangerous.
    Rama seemed to live for his father’s sake as well, indulging his every wish, anticipating his least whim as if he read the old king’s thoughts; at times, even before they appeared in Dasaratha’s mind! Those were perfect years, and Dasaratha’s pride in his sons grew apace. Then so quickly, the princes were almost sixteen and of an age when they should take wives. Their father began to make delicate inquiries. But of course he was very particular about the girls his boys would marry.
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    7. Viswamitra
    One day Dasaratha sat in his palace with his ministers and the rishis who lived in Ayodhya. He spoke to them about finding a bride for Rama. When he thought of his sons, he thought first, and at times only, of Rama. Then they heard a commotion outside. A tall rishi, with a great and stern face, arrived at Dasaratha’s gates. He could have as easily been a kshatriya warrior as a hermit. Though he seemed a man of fifty or so, in fact he was older than you could imagine.
    He came like a storm. In a voice more a king’s than a hermit’s, he commanded the guards at the gates to announce him to the court. “Tell Dasaratha of Ayodhya,” said the stranger with eyes like live coals, “that Viswamitra wants to see him.”
    And he stood tapping a foot, impatiently; for he was in a hurry. The guards knew who he was. After paying quick homage to him, they ran into the sabha to tell Dasaratha about the visitor, who was a legend not only on earth but in Devaloka. Viswamitra had once been a kshatriya king, who, after an unequaled tapasya, had become a brahmarishi.
    Dasaratha came out of his palace to welcome the great one. The stranger with the tangled jata and the burning eyes seemed pleased. After laying a long palm on Dasaratha’s head in blessing, he went into the palace with the king, into the court agog at his arrival. The visitor did not speak, only looked around him with the regard of one who had seen many palaces in his time. Even when he was seated, Viswamitra, friend of the universe, was silent, as if to remind Dasa-ratha of his duty as a host: to praise his guest.
    Dasaratha said in a clear voice, “Viswamitra, your coming here is a Godsend to me: like nectar to a mortal, rain to the famined, the birth of a son to the childless, like a treasure to a poor man!” Not imagining he might be held to his word sooner than he thought, he continued, “My lord, is there anything a humble kshatriya can offer a great brahmarishi? I have a kingdom I can lay at your feet.”
    With the faintest smile now, Viswamitra said briskly, “Spoken like a true son of the House of Ikshvaku. I know your offer is not a hollow one, Dasaratha. Indeed, today I have come to ask you for a favor. I have taken a vow for a