The Forest and the Theft

For a while, the forest is kind. Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana build a simple hut and live a clean, quiet life among the trees and streams. They want for little. But a great storm is gathering, far off, that they cannot yet see.

It begins with an insult. A demon-woman named Shurpanakha wanders by their hut. She is the sister of a mighty and terrible king. She is rudely sent away, humiliated, and she flees to her brother in a rage, crying for revenge and praising the beauty of Sita.

Her brother is Ravana. Hold this name; he is the great shadow over the whole tale. Ravana is the king of the rakshasas, the demons. He has ten heads, a sign of his vast power and learning. He rules a golden island-fortress called Lanka, far to the south, across the sea. He is mighty, proud, and used to taking whatever he wants. And now he wants Sita. rakshasa

Ravana is too cunning to fight Rama face to face. He builds a trap. He sends a demon, disguised by magic as a deer of pure gold, to graze near the hut. Such a creature has never been seen — its hide gleams, its eyes shine like jewels. Sita is enchanted. "Catch it for me," she begs Rama. "I have never seen anything so lovely."

Rama, to please her, takes up his bow and follows the deer. It leads him a long, long way into the trees, always just out of reach. At last he brings it down — and as it dies, the demon throws off its disguise and cries out, in Rama's own voice, "Lakshmana! Help me!"

Far away at the hut, Sita hears the cry and is terrified. She begs Lakshmana to run to his brother. He does not want to leave her unguarded, but she pleads, and at last he goes — drawing a line of protection around the hut and begging her not to step past it. Now Sita is alone. The trap has closed.

At that very moment Ravana comes. He seizes Sita and lifts her into his flying chariot. The old poet does not hide the violence of it. This is theft, and it is meant to feel like theft.

Sita cries out as the chariot rises into the sky. And one creature hears her. An old vulture named Jatayu, a friend of Rama's father, is resting nearby. He is ancient, his wings are tired — but the moment he sees a woman being carried off against her will, he does not pause to count the cost.

Jatayu flings himself at Ravana in the air. One old bird against the mightiest demon alive. He fights bravely, tears at the chariot, slows it for a moment — and Ravana strikes him down. The vulture falls to the earth, broken and dying, but he clings to life just long enough to tell Rama which way Sita was taken. He gives his life for a stranger's wife. Remember him; the tale is full of such small, shining loyalties.

The brothers come back to the hut and find it empty. The door open. Sita gone. Rama's grief breaks loose like a flood — he searches, he calls her name, he weeps among the trees. The bright story we began has turned, all at once, into darkness.

But grief is not the end. From this dark moment a new road opens: the long search for Sita, the gathering of unlikely friends, and at last the march toward Lanka. Hold the sorrow gently. We are about to meet the most beloved helper in the whole tale.