रावणेन मारीचस्य साहाय्ययाचना

At the end of the last sarga Mārīca had asked what errand had brought Rāvaṇa there. Now Rāvaṇa began his answer. "Dear Mārīca, listen to what I have to say. I am in distress, and in my distress you are my last refuge." So from the outset he made himself out to be helpless and set Mārīca up as his shelter. Then he reminded him of Janasthāna. "You know Janasthāna, where my brother Khara lived, and long-armed Dūṣaṇa, and my sister Śūrpaṇakhā, and the long-armed, flesh-eating rākṣasa Triśiras, and many other brave night-rovers who never missed their mark. At my command they settled there and made it their home, harassing the sages who walk in dharma in the great forest." So he named his own order as the source of what they did. "Dear" is a word of affection; Rāvaṇa treated Mārīca as an elder, since he was his maternal uncle. Calling him his "last refuge" is humble to excess: the one who wanted to conquer three worlds begged shelter of a lone ascetic. But this humility served his purpose; it did not come from the heart. In describing Janasthāna he listed only his own kin, a brother, a sister, relations, and so made his loss look like a family loss.

"There were fourteen thousand rākṣasas of terrible deeds there, brave, sure of aim, obedient to Khara's will. Those mighty ones living in Janasthāna, fully armed and ready, closed with Rāma in battle, Khara at their head, bearing weapons of every kind. And Rāma, roused to anger, in the forefront of the fight said not one harsh word but set his bow to work with arrows alone." So Rāvaṇa told the same marvel Śūrpaṇakhā had told: Rāma neither roars nor threatens; his bow is his speech. "Fourteen thousand rākṣasas of fierce splendour were struck down with blazing arrows by a man on foot. Khara was slain in battle, Dūṣaṇa brought down, Triśiras killed, and so the Daṇḍaka forest has been made safe." His words almost echo Śūrpaṇakhā's; he repeats the numbers she gave. But there is one clear difference: she described Rāma in words that praised him, while he wished to disparage him. Still, facts cannot be changed, and so even in the midst of disparagement Rāma's greatness shines through. The words "said not one harsh word" are especially worth remembering: the mark of a hero is silence, not roaring, and that runs against Rāvaṇa's own nature.

Then Rāvaṇa began to revile Rāma. "Thrown out by his angry father together with his wife, his life all but spent, that Rāma, a disgrace to the kṣatriya line, destroyed that army. He is a man without character, harsh, cruel, foolish, greedy, the slave of his senses; he has abandoned dharma, his soul is unrighteous, and he delights in harming all creatures." This abuse is utterly false, and Śūrpaṇakhā's account in the earlier sarga has already disproved it; but one who has made up his mind to abduct will blacken his enemy. "Without any quarrel, relying on mere force there in the forest, he cut off my sister's ears and nose and disfigured her. His wife Sītā, who is like a daughter of the gods, I shall bring away from Janasthāna." This abuse is really a portrait of Rāvaṇa himself: every fault he lays on Rāma is found in him. "The slave of his senses", "greedy", "has abandoned dharma": the words call Rāvaṇa to the listener's mind. In this way the poet shows a character deceiving himself. And "without any quarrel" is wholly false, for it was Śūrpaṇakhā who first attacked Rāma and Sītā.

"I shall carry her off by force, and you must be my helper in this. With you at my side as my helper, mighty one, and with my brothers, I would think nothing of all the gods together. So be my helper, rākṣasa, for you are able. In valour, in battle and in pride no one is your equal; you are a great hero at devising stratagems and a master of mighty illusions." So he flattered Mārīca, for flattery is the road to a request. "It is for this that I have come to you, night-rover. Now hear the task you must do at my word to help me." And he set out to describe his plan. The order of his praise is worth noting: first he wants Mārīca as a helper in strength, then he praises his skill in illusion. His real purpose was the second; the first praise was only a preamble. And in "you are able" there is a shadow of command: this was the kind of request that will not accept a refusal.

"Turn yourself into a golden deer dappled with silver spots and wander before Sītā's eyes at Rāma's hermitage. When she sees you in the form of a deer, Sītā will surely say to her husband and to Lakṣmaṇa, 'Catch it!' Then, when the two of them have gone and the hermitage is empty, I shall carry Sītā off at my ease and unhindered, as Rāhu carries off the radiance of the moon. And afterwards, when Rāma is worn down by the loss of his wife, I shall strike him easily and confidently, my purpose achieved." The plan has three parts: the lure of the illusory deer, the drawing away of Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa, and then the abduction and the blow. He speaks of it all without a flicker. This plan is the hinge of the whole Rāmāyaṇa: from it come the abduction of Sītā, and after that the killing of Vālin and the war at Laṅkā. The image of Rāhu and the moon's radiance is subtle: Rāhu does not destroy the moon, he only swallows its light for a moment; just so Sītā would not be destroyed, only carried off, and she would be won back.

But as soon as he heard this talk of Rāma, the great-souled Mārīca's mouth went dry and he was seized with terror. Licking his parched lips, his eyes fixed and unblinking, stricken and like a dead man, he stared at Rāvaṇa. The last verse rounds off the sarga in a different metre: knowing Rāma's prowess in the great forest, his heart full of fear and despair, Mārīca joined his palms and spoke the truth, words that were for Rāvaṇa's good and for his own. So the sarga ends on a picture of fear, and in the next we shall hear Mārīca's long refusal. His fear is described entirely through his body: the dry mouth, the parched lips, the staring eyes, the look of a dead man. This is Vālmīki's way; he does not name the feeling but shows its outward signs. And the single phrase "knowing Rāma's prowess" gives the cause of his fear: it is the one who knows who is afraid.