पुलस्त्यगुणवर्णनं विश्रवसः उत्पत्तिश्च

When he had heard great-souled Rāghava's words, Agastya of great splendour answered him. The poet calls him Kumbhayoni, "born from a pot," a name that recalls the well-known story of his birth from a water jar. "Hear, Rāma, how it came about: that great might and splendour of Indrajit's by which he slew his enemies and could not himself be slain by them. But first I shall tell you of Rāvaṇa's family, of his birth, and of the boon that was granted him." Agastya does not answer Rāma's question directly. He goes back to the root, because Indrajit's strength was the fruit of his family and of a boon, and this is the way of the old stories: only when the root is known can the fruit be properly understood. His word "first" signals that the tale will be a long one, spread over many sargas; in fact it is only after the long story of Rāvaṇa that it reaches Indrajit. And since Agastya is himself a seer, it is fitting that he should tell of a line descended from a seer.

Long ago, in the Kṛta age, Rāma, there was a mighty brahmarṣi named Pulastya, son of Prajāpati Brahmā, who was like the Grandsire himself. His virtues of righteousness and character are beyond recounting; it is enough to say that he was Prajāpati's son. Being the son of Prajāpati he was dear to the gods, and that great-minded seer was loved by the whole world for his bright virtues. For the sake of dharma this bull among sages went to the hermitage of Tṛṇabindu beside the great mountain Meru and lived there. Agastya dwells on the greatness of Rāvaṇa's grandfather so that it becomes clear that even the line of the rākṣasa king was, at its root, a pure brahmin line. To say his virtues cannot be recounted is a way of saying they were endless. Tṛṇabindu was a royal seer, and his hermitage stood near Mount Meru, where even the gods wander. Pulastya went there to practise dharma, to do austerities, not for pleasure, and the poet calls him "bull among sages" to mark his eminence once more.

There that righteous one practised austerities, his senses governed by the study of the Veda. But maidens would come to his hermitage and disturb him. Daughters of seers and of serpents, daughters of royal seers, and apsarases too came to that place to play. The spot could be enjoyed in every season and the forest was lovely, so the maidens went there every day to amuse themselves; and because the place where the brahmin Pulastya lived was especially delightful, they sang, played their instruments and danced there. They were blameless, yet they disturbed the ascetic's austerities. At last the great sage grew angry and solemnly declared: "Whoever comes within my sight shall conceive." When they heard what the great-souled seer had said, all of them were afraid of a brahmin's curse and no longer came near the place. But the daughter of the royal seer Tṛṇabindu did not hear it. The maidens came from every kind of family, seers, serpents and royal seers, with apsarases among them, so that the young women of every world gathered there. They are called blameless because they did nothing wrong: they came only to play, yet the ascetic's concentration was broken all the same. Pulastya's curse is a curious one. He does not curse them to perish; he makes conceiving a child the consequence, a thing that would shame an unmarried girl, so that they would keep away of their own accord. And that very curse would become the cause of the growth of Pulastya's line; so strange are the ways of fate. That Tṛṇabindu's daughter alone never heard it seems itself to be fate's design.

She went to the hermitage and wandered about quite without fear, but she saw none of the friends who used to come there. Just then the great seer, the mighty son of Prajāpati, radiant with his austerity, was reciting the Veda there. Hearing the sound of the Veda and seeing that treasure-house of austerity, she grew pale, and the signs of pregnancy appeared on her body. She saw this blemish in herself and was deeply troubled. Wondering what had happened to her, she went back to her father's hermitage and stood there. When Tṛṇabindu saw her in that state he said, "Why do you bear this body so unlike your own?" The poor girl joined her palms and said to her ascetic father, "Father, I do not know why my form has become like this. Only, a little while ago I went alone to the divine hermitage of the great seer Pulastya to look for my friends. I did not find any of them there, but I saw that my form had changed, and I came here in fright." The key word is "the sound of the Veda": it was hearing the Veda, as well as seeing the seer, that made her conceive, and this is why the son will be named Viśravas. Her paleness is the pallor of a woman with child. Her words show her innocence plainly: she does not know what has happened, she went only to find her friends. She was so frightened and so modest that she stood before her father in silence and said nothing until he spoke first. There is no anger in his question, only concern; when he calls her body "unlike her own" he means a form that did not befit an unmarried girl. And though afraid, she tells the truth, turning to him for refuge with the single word "Father".

Then the royal seer Tṛṇabindu, radiant with austerity, entered into meditation and saw that this was the seer's doing: he understood that his daughter's state came from Pulastya's curse. Knowing the curse of that great seer of purified soul, he took his daughter by the hand, went to Pulastya and said: "Holy one, great seer, accept this daughter of mine, adorned with her own virtues, as alms offered freely. While you are engaged in austerity and your senses grow weary, she will always be devoted to your service, have no doubt of it." Seeing the righteous royal seer speak so, the brahmin, wishing to accept the maiden, said, "So be it." Having given his daughter, the king returned to his own hermitage, and the maiden lived there, pleasing her husband with her virtues. The bull among sages was pleased with her character and conduct, and in his delight he spoke to her. Offering her as "alms" is a delicate touch: a daughter is given to an ascetic as one gives alms, so that humility is kept even in the giving. Tṛṇabindu does not grow angry either. The royal seer has his own power of austerity; he learns the truth by inward sight and then chooses the path of dharma, since marriage was the way to protect his daughter's honour. He takes her himself rather than sending a messenger, a sign of respect, and by calling her "adorned with her own virtues" he affirms her innocence once more: even without ornaments she shines with virtue. He also names the service she will give, for senses worn out by austerity need care. Pulastya's one-word answer, "So be it," shows how simply he accepted. The king went home, the bride stayed in her husband's house, and the marriage was a simple one, as befits ascetics.

"Fair-hipped one," he said, "I am well pleased with the wealth of your virtues. Therefore, lady, I give you today a son equal to myself, who will carry on both our lines and be known as Paulastya. And because the Veda was heard by you while I was reciting it here, he shall be named Viśravas, there is no doubt of it." At these words the lady was joyful at heart, and in a very short time she bore a son, Viśravas, famous in the three worlds and endowed with glory and righteousness. Learned in the Veda, even-minded, devoted to vows and good conduct, the sage Viśravas became rich in austerity like his father. The name is explained here: Viśravas comes from the root "to hear," for the Veda was specially heard. The son would continue both lines, his father's and his mother's. Pulastya addresses his wife as "lady" with respect, and her joy is natural: what had once been a cause of shame had now become a cause of honour. Viśravas will be the father of Rāvaṇa and of Kubera, so at the close of this sarga the second generation of Rāvaṇa's line is in place. His virtues, knowledge of the Veda, even-mindedness and faithfulness to his vows, mirror Pulastya's, and so it is rightly said that the son was like the father.