अगस्त्येन रामाय दिव्यायुधप्रदानम्

Following Rāma's instruction, Lakṣmaṇa, Rāghava's younger brother, entered the hermitage, went up to a pupil of Agastya and said: ‘There was a king named Daśaratha. His eldest son, the mighty Rāma, has come with his wife Sītā to see the sage. I am his younger brother, devoted to his good, loyal and true to him; my name is Lakṣmaṇa, if it has ever reached your ears. At our father's command we have entered this most fearsome forest, and we all wish to see the reverend sage. Please announce us.’ Note that Lakṣmaṇa does not introduce himself first; he names his father and his elder brother and only then himself — the courtesy of a well-born man. ‘If it has ever reached your ears’ is humility at its height: he does not presume that he is known, but speaks as one unsure. And ‘at our father's command’ gives the cause of the exile in a single phrase, without naming Kaikeyī or Bharata and without a word of complaint; so the dignity of Rāma's story is preserved. Hearing Lakṣmaṇa's words, the pupil, whose wealth was austerity, said ‘So be it’ and went into the fire-chamber, the inner sanctuary where the sage always sat, to announce them. There, with folded hands, he told the best of sages, whom none could assail because of his austerity — an epithet that at once suggests Agastya's power and adds to the weight of the coming meeting — plainly of Rāma's arrival. The pupil, who stood high in Agastya's esteem, repeated it just as Lakṣmaṇa had said it, adding nothing of his own, as a faithful pupil should: ‘These two sons of Daśaratha, Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, have entered the hermitage with Rāma's wife Sītā. Those two tamers of foes have come to see you and to serve you.’ So in eight verses the poet shows the message passing in two stages, from Lakṣmaṇa to the pupil and from the pupil to the sage.

‘Please tell me truly what should be done next,’ the pupil said. Learning from him that Rāma had come with Lakṣmaṇa and the noble Vaidehī, the sage said: ‘How fortunate that Rāma has come to see me today at last! In my heart I too have long wished for his coming. Go, honour Rāma and bring him in to me, with his wife and Lakṣmaṇa. Why has he not been brought in already?’ Agastya's affection is especially striking here: he not only allows them in but asks, almost as if annoyed, why Rāma has not been brought in yet, so eager is he; and ‘in my heart I have long wished for his coming’ shows he had been waiting for him a long time. Thus addressed by the great-souled sage who knew dharma, the pupil saluted him with folded hands and said, ‘So be it.’ He hurried out — his haste shows how promptly he carried out his teacher's command — and said to Lakṣmaṇa, ‘Which of you is Rāma? Let him come in himself to see the sage.’ Then Lakṣmaṇa went with the pupil to the edge of the hermitage and showed him Kākutstha and Sītā, the daughter of Janaka. Repeating Agastya's courteous words, the pupil ushered in with due ceremony Rāma, who was worthy of honour and was honoured fully — the doubling of the words makes the point that nothing was lacking in his welcome. Then Rāma entered with Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa, gazing at the hermitage thronged with peaceful deer; that single picture conveys its calm, for where even the deer are unafraid, the power of austerity reveals itself. So the round of summons and reply is complete.

Once inside, Rāma saw one after another many shrines of the gods: the places of Brahmā and of Agni, of Viṣṇu, of great Indra and Vivasvat, of Soma, Bhaga and Kubera, of Dhātṛ and Vidhātṛ, of Vāyu, and of the great-souled Varuṇa who holds the noose; the places of Gāyatrī, of the Vasus, of the king of the nāgas and of Garuḍa; and the places of Kārttikeya and of Dharma. This list shows that all the gods were honoured in the hermitage: in a single grove of austerity every god was worshipped, so that it was like the centre of the whole of dharma. Some of these are Vedic gods — Agni, Vivasvat, Vāyu, Varuṇa, the Vasus — some are gods of the later tradition — Viṣṇu, Kubera, Kārttikeya, Garuḍa — and one, Gāyatrī, is a goddess embodied in a sacred metre; so every tradition was brought together in one hermitage. The place of Dharma comes last, hinting that dharma is the root of all the gods. The poet does not describe them at length; he merely counts the names and stops, for the counting is itself the proof of greatness. Rāma's eye moved from shrine to shrine and came to rest at last on the sage, for just then the sage too came out, surrounded by his pupils. Seeing him in front of the sages, blazing with splendour, the heroic Rāma said to Lakṣmaṇa, the increaser of his fortune: ‘Lakṣmaṇa, the reverend seer Agastya is coming out. From his noble bearing alone I know him for that treasure-house of austerities.’ Rāma asked no one; he recognised the sage by his radiance alone, and his keen perception shows once more.

So saying, the mighty-armed delight of the Raghus clasped the feet of Agastya, bright as the sun, as he came towards them. Having saluted him, righteous Rāma stood with folded hands, with Vaidehī Sītā and Lakṣmaṇa. The sage received Kākutstha, honoured him with a seat and water, asked after his welfare and said, ‘Sit down.’ He made an offering in the fire, gave the guest-water, honoured his guests, and fed them according to the dharma of a forest hermit. Then the great sage, knower of dharma, first took his own seat — for that too is part of the rule — and said to Rāma, who sat with folded hands, himself skilled in dharma: ‘One should offer oblation in the fire, give the guest-water and honour the guest. An ascetic who does otherwise, Kākutstha, will eat his own flesh in the next world, like one who has borne false witness. You have come here as the king of the whole world, a follower of dharma, a great chariot-fighter, worthy of worship and honour, a welcome guest.’ Having said this, Agastya honoured Rāghava with fruits, roots, flowers and other things to his heart's content, and then spoke to him. The whole sequence of hospitality is shown here — reception, seat, water, inquiry after welfare, the invitation to sit, the fire-offering, the guest-water, the honouring of the guest, and the meal. The sage first states the rule of hospitality in general, then the penalty for breaking it, and finally praises Rāma. His warning is a fearful one — the ascetic who does not honour a guest will eat his own flesh in the next world like a false witness — and it establishes that hospitality must never be neglected. Then he calls Rāma ‘king of the whole world’: though Rāma now wore bark and lived in the forest, in the sage's eyes he was the king of all the world, and this makes fitting the gift of Viṣṇu's bow that follows. ‘To his heart's content’ shows the generosity of the giving, as much as the guest wished and not a measured portion. And Rāma sitting with folded hands, though himself skilled in dharma, shows the attitude of a pupil before his teacher. So in these verses the poet sets out the whole art of hospitality.

Then Agastya handed over the weapons: ‘Here is this great divine bow, tiger among men, adorned with gold and diamond — the bow of Viṣṇu, made by Viśvakarman. Here is the best of arrows, unfailing and bright as the sun, given by Brahmā. And these two quivers with inexhaustible arrows, full of sharp shafts like blazing fires, were given to me by great Indra. And here is this sword with its great silver scabbard, adorned with gold. With this bow, Rāma, Viṣṇu long ago slew great asuras in battle and won back the shining glory of the gods. Take the bow, the two quivers, the arrow and the sword for your victory, you who honour others, as the wielder of the thunderbolt takes up his bolt.’ Having said this, the radiant, reverend Agastya gave all those splendid weapons to Rāma and then spoke again. Here is a great juncture in the story: until now Rāma had been only a guest of the ascetics; now he became their protector, armed with Viṣṇu's own bow. The lineage of the weapons is suggested too — Viśvakarman, Viṣṇu, Brahmā, great Indra, Agastya, and now Rāma — so this was not merely a gift of arms but a handing on of responsibility. The gifts themselves are all radiance: gold and diamond on the bow, arrows in the quivers like blazing fires. The inexhaustible quivers hint in advance that in the coming battle with Khara and Dūṣaṇa his arrows will never run out. The address ‘you who honour others’ is apt as well, for such weapons befit one who gives others their due. The sarga ends with Agastya about to speak again, leaving us eager for the next.