At the guest house, Rama retired for the night. In the
seclusion of his bedroom, he began to brood over the girl he
had noticed on the palace balcony. For him, too, the moon
seemed to emphasize his sense of loneliness. Although he
had exhibited no sign of it, deeply within he felt a
disturbance. His innate sense of discipline and propriety had
made him conceal his feelings before other people. Now he
kept thinking of the girl on the balcony and longed for another
sight of her. Who could she be? Nothing to indicate that she
was a princess—could be any one among the hundreds of
girls in a palace. She could not be married: Rama realized
that if she were married he would instinctively have recoiled
from her. Now he caught himself contemplating her in every
detail. He fancied that she was standing before him and
longed to enclose those breasts in his embrace. He said to
himself, "Even if I cannot take her in my arms, shall I ever get
another glimpse, however briefly, of that radiant face and
those lips? Eyes, lips, those curly locks falling on the
forehead—every item of those features seemingly poised to
attack and quell me—me, on whose bow depended the
destruction of demons, now at the mercy of one6 who wields
only a bow of sugarcane and uses flowers for arrows …" He
smiled at the irony of it.
The night spent itself. He had little sleep. The moon set
and the dawn came. Rama found that it was time to arise
and prepare himself to accompany his master to theceremony at Janaka's palace.
At the assembly hall King Janaka noticed Rama and
Lakshmana, and asked Viswamithra, "Who are those
attractive-looking young men?" Viswamithra explained.
When he heard of Rama's lineage and prowess, Janaka
said with a sigh, "How I wish it were possible for me to
propose my daughter for him." Viswamithra understood the
cause of his despair. A seemingly insurmountable condition
existed in any proposal concerning Sita's marriage.
King Janaka had in his possession an enormous bow
which at one time belonged to Shiva, who had abandoned it
and left it in the custody of an early ancestor of Janaka's,
and it had remained an heirloom. Sita, as a baby girl, was a
gift of Mother Earth to Janaka, being found in a furrow when
a field was ploughed. Janaka adopted the child, tended her,
and she grew up into a beauty, so much so that several
princes who considered themselves eligible thronged
Janaka's palace and contended for Sita's hand. Unable to
favour anyone in particular, and in order to ward them off,
King Janaka made it a condition that whoever could lift,
bend, and string Shiva's bow would be considered fit to
become Sita's husband. When her suitors took a look at the
bow, they realized that it was a hopeless and unacceptable
condition. They left in a rage, and later returned with their
armies, prepared to win Sita by force. But Janaka resistedtheir aggression, and ultimately the suitors withdrew. As time
passed Janaka became anxious whether he would ever see
his daughter married and settled—since the condition once
made could not be withdrawn. No one on earth seemed
worthy of approaching Shiva's bow. Janaka sighed. "I
tremble when I think of Sita's future, and question my own
judgement in linking her fate with this mighty, divine heirloom
in our house."
"Do not despair," said Viswamithra soothingly. "How do
you know it was not a divine inspiration that gave you the
thought?"
"In all the worlds, is there anyone who can tackle this bow,
the very sight of which in Shiva's hand made erring gods and
godlings tremble and collapse—until Shiva put it away and
renounced its use?"
"With your permission, may we see it?"
Janaka said, "I'll have it brought here. It has lain in its shed
too long… . Who knows, moving it out may change all our
fates." He called on his attendants to fetch the bow… . The
attendants hesitated and he ordered, "Let the army be
engaged for the task if necessary. After all, this spot is
sanctified by the sacred rites recently performed … and the
bow is fit to be brought in here."
The bow was placed in a carriage on eight pairs of wheels
and arrived drawn by a vast number of men. During its
passage from its shed through the streets, a crowd followed passage from its shed through the streets, a crowd followed
it. It was so huge that no one could comprehend it at one
glance. "Is this a bow or that mountain called Meru, which
churned the Ocean of Milk in ancient times?" people
marvelled. "What target is there to receive the arrow shot out
of this bow, even if someone lifts and strings it?" wondered
some. "If Janaka meant seriously to find a son-in-law, he
should have waived this condition. How unwise of him!"
Rama looked at his master. Viswamithra nodded as if to
say, "Try it." As Rama approached the bow with slow dignity,
the onlookers held their breath and watched. Some prayed
silently for him. Some commented, "How cruel! This
supposed sage is not ashamed to put the delicate,
marvellous youth to this harsh trial!" "The King is perverse
and cruel to place this godlike youth in this predicament… . If
he was serious about it, he should have just placed Sita's
hand in his instead of demanding this acrobatic feat… ."
"The King's aim is to keep Sita with him for ever—this is one
way of never facing separation!" "If this man fails, we will all
jump into fire," commented some young women who were
love-stricken at the sight of Rama. "If he fails, Sita is sure to
immolate herself and we will all follow her example."
While they were speculating thus, Rama approached the
bow. Some of the onlookers, unable to bear the suspense,
closed their eyes and prayed for his success, saying, "If he
fails to bring the ends of this bow together, what is to happen
to the maiden?" What they missed, because they had shuttheir eyes, was to note how swiftly Rama picked up the bow,
tugged the string taut, and brought the tips together. They
were startled when they heard a deafening report, caused by
the cracking of the bow at its arch, which could not stand the
pressure of Rama's grip.