सम्पातिदर्शनम्

To the spot on the mountain where the monkeys sat fasting to death came the king of the vultures. His name was Sampāti, a long-lived bird, Jaṭāyu's brother, glorious and famous for his strength and prowess. Three details introduce him — long-lived, Jaṭāyu's brother, famed for his strength — and in them lies the seed of all that follows, for it is his bond with Jaṭāyu that will make him the monkeys' helper. Coming out of a cavern in the great Vindhya mountain and seeing the monkeys sitting there, he said with glee: "Surely in this world fate follows a creature by its own decree — here is food meant for me, come to me of its own accord after so long. I shall eat these monkeys one by one as each of them dies." So said the bird, looking down on the monkeys. The principle that one's lot comes to one unbidden is turned by the vulture to his own advantage, and the monkeys feel its reverse: one creature's meal is another's death. The poet sets up the irony at the very start of the sarga: to those who have resolved to die, a devourer has come. "With glee" is pitiful, for what gladdens him means death for them, and "one by one as each dies" shows he would not attack but simply wait for them to die.

Hearing the words of that bird greedy for his food, Aṅgada, in deep distress, said to Hanumān: "Look — Yama, son of Vivasvān, has come here in person to destroy the monkeys, with Sītā as his pretext." In his imagination the vulture is the god of death himself. "Rāma's work is not done, nor the king's command; and now this unforeseen disaster has suddenly fallen on the monkeys." His two sorrows are failure in the task and untimely death, but he quickly raises a third thought above them: a death for Rāma's sake is not in vain. "You have all heard in full what Jaṭāyu, king of the vultures, did there out of his wish to serve Vaidehī. In the same way all creatures, even those born as beasts, are laying down their lives as we are to do what pleases Rāma. Bound by love and compassion they help one another; so, for his sake, give up your lives of your own accord." Aṅgada here changes the very reason for their death: it is better to give up life not out of fear of Sugrīva but to serve Rāma. Jaṭāyu's example is the foundation: what even a bird has done, monkeys must do too. And "bound by love and compassion" says that creatures help one another by nature, not merely because a rule requires it. So Aṅgada's words turn from grief to teaching about dharma.

"It was Jaṭāyu, who knew dharma, who truly did Rāma a service. We have worn ourselves out for Rāghava's sake and given up our lives; we have made our way into trackless wilds, and still we cannot find Maithilī. That king of the vultures is the lucky one: killed by Rāvaṇa in battle, freed from fear of Sugrīva, and gone to the highest state." There is sharp irony in "freed from fear of Sugrīva": even dead, Jaṭāyu is better off than the monkeys, for Sugrīva's punishment cannot touch him. "Because of Jaṭāyu's death, and King Daśaratha's, and the carrying off of Vaidehī, the monkeys' very lives are in danger. Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa living in the forest with Sītā, Vālī killed by Rāghava's arrow, and the destruction of all the rākṣasas that Rāma's anger will bring — this whole disaster was brought about by Kaikeyī's boon." Here Aṅgada traces the chain of suffering to one root, Kaikeyī's boon: from it came the exile, from it the abduction, from it Vālī's death, and from it this vow of the monkeys to die. The fruit of a single boon spreads through Ayodhyā, the Daṇḍaka forest, Kiṣkindhā and Laṅkā, and this chain of causes binds the whole plot of the Rāmāyaṇa on one thread. With their very lives at stake, the monkeys have reached the lowest point of the story.

Hearing these painful words repeated over and over, and seeing the monkeys lying on the ground, that wise king of the vultures was shaken to the core and spoke piteously. The bird that had come to feed was suddenly changed on hearing his brother's name; "shaken to the core" marks the sudden turn in his mind, and "wise" shows that he was no mere bird but a thoughtful being, so his response was pitiful grief, not anger. Having heard what came from Aṅgada's mouth, the sharp-beaked vulture with the mighty voice said: "Who is this who proclaims the killing of my brother Jaṭāyu, dearer to me than life, making my heart tremble?" It is his heart, not his body, that trembles, and that is the deeper grief. "How did a rākṣasa and a vulture come to fight at Janasthāna? Today, after so long, I hear my brother's name again." His words suggest he can hardly believe it himself, uncertain whether what he heard was true or a mistake.

"I am glad to hear the name of my younger brother, a judge of worth and praiseworthy for his valour, after so very long a time." "Younger" tells us that Sampāti was the elder, and an elder brother's love for the younger shows here. "So, bulls among monkeys, I wish to be brought down by you from this mountain fastness, and to hear how he died. How did Daśaratha, whose dear eldest son is Rāma, loved by his elders, come to be the friend of my brother Jaṭāyu, who lived in Janasthāna? My wings were burnt by the sun's rays, so I cannot move; I would come down from this mountain, subduers of your enemies." The story of his burnt wings will be told at length in later sargas; here it is mentioned only to explain his helplessness. The vulture who came wanting to eat them was suddenly overcome by grief at his brother's name, and the monkeys' fear begins to turn into hope. His request to be carried down is the turning point of the story: the devourer has become a suppliant. So the sarga ends with a question, whose answer comes in the next.