मेघनादयज्ञाः कुम्भीनसीहरणं मधुसख्यं च

At the end of the last sarga Rāvaṇa had sent Khara to the Daṇḍaka forest with fourteen thousand rākṣasas. Having given Khara that dreadful army and consoled his sister, Daśagrīva was glad and easier in mind, content that he had made amends for her grief. Then, with his followers, the mighty lord of the rākṣasas entered Nikumbhilā, the finest park in Laṅkā. There he saw a sacrifice under way, crowded with hundreds of sacrificial posts and adorned with fair shrines, blazing as if with splendour. At the sacrifice he saw his own son Meghanāda, fearsome to behold, wearing a black antelope skin and carrying a water-pot, a topknot and a banner: the terror of the battlefield stood there in the dress of one consecrated for a rite. Rāvaṇa went up to him, embraced him and asked, "What is this you are doing, child? Tell me truly." But a son consecrated for a sacrifice keeps silence by rule, so it was Uśanā — Śukra, the great ascetic and best of the twice-born, who had come to see the sacrifice prosper — who answered the chief of the rākṣasas. It is worth noticing that Śukra, priest of the asuras, was now also the one who made the rākṣasas' sacrifices succeed. "I will tell you everything, king; listen," he said. "Your son has performed seven sacrifices of great scope: the Agniṣṭoma, the Aśvamedha, the Bahusuvarṇaka, the Rājasūya, the Gomedha and the Vaiṣṇava." The poet names them one by one: the Agniṣṭoma is the first of the soma rites, the Aśvamedha and the Rājasūya are the sacrifices of universal sovereignty, and the Bahusuvarṇaka is famed for its lavish gifts of gold to the priests. "And then, when he began the Māheśvara sacrifice, which men can scarcely ever perform, your son received boons here from Paśupati himself." This rite to Śiva crowned all the others, and in it the Lord of Creatures was pleased in person. "He received a divine chariot that goes wherever he wishes and travels through the sky, and the magic called Tāmasī, which makes darkness; when it is used in battle, lord of the rākṣasas, neither gods nor demons can tell where its user is moving. He received two inexhaustible quivers full of arrows, a bow that can hardly be overcome, and a mighty weapon, king, that destroys enemies in battle. Having gained all these boons, Daśānana, your son stands here today at the close of the sacrifice, eager to see you." The boons follow the order of a warrior's needs — a chariot to move, magic to hide, and quivers, bow and weapon to strike. Here the future deeds of Meghanāda are foreshadowed: the magic of darkness he would use against Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa in the Yuddha Kāṇḍa, and the chariot from which he fought unseen, have their origin in this rite. There is a quiet irony too: the sacrifices were Vedic, but their fruit would be used to torment the worlds. So, by his own efforts and without his father's leave, Meghanāda had become hard for even the gods to defeat. When later he conquers Indra, his name Indrajit, "conqueror of Indra", will come to bear its meaning; in this sarga he is still called Meghanāda, though the name Indrajit is already used once when the army marches out.

Hearing this, Daśagrīva said, "This was not well done, for with these offerings you have honoured my enemies, Indra and the rest." In a sacrifice the oblations go to the gods, so Rāvaṇa was vexed that his son's rites had nourished his foes. Yet he went on, "But what is done is done well, no doubt of it. Come, gentle one, let us go home." Two feelings were mixed in his words, blame for honouring the enemy and pleasure at the boons; he accepted what his son had done because it had increased the strength of the rākṣasa race. Then Daśagrīva went home with his son and with Vibhīṣaṇa — the words tell us Vibhīṣaṇa was with him, and so saw those women with his own eyes — and brought down from the Puṣpaka all the women he had carried off during his conquests. They were weeping, their voices choked with tears; they were women of auspicious marks, the jewels of the houses of gods, dānavas and rākṣasas. The poet describes them briefly but with pity: they were treasures, and they were in tears. Seeing that Rāvaṇa's heart was set on them, the righteous Vibhīṣaṇa began to speak, and here for the first time his sense of dharma shows itself plainly, for he spoke of his brother's fault to his face.

"King," said Vibhīṣaṇa, "conduct like this destroys fame, wealth and family. You know it torments living beings, and still you act as you please. You have brought these fair women here after violating their kinsmen — and, overriding you, king, Madhu has carried off Kumbhīnasī." The word "overriding you" made the insult to Rāvaṇa plain and struck at his pride. Rāvaṇa asked, "What are you saying? I do not understand. Who is this Madhu you speak of?" — his question showed how, busy with his conquests, he had given no thought to guarding his own house. Then Vibhīṣaṇa, now angry, said to his brother, "Hear how the fruit of this sinful deed has come. Our mother's father Sumālin has an elder brother, the aged and wise night-rover Mālyavān. He is our mother Kaikasī's elder uncle and so an honoured grandsire to us, and Kumbhīnasī is the daughter of his daughter Analā. Analā is our mother's sister, so by right the girl is sister to us brothers." Vibhīṣaṇa laid out the family line at length because Rāvaṇa seemed not to know her. "While your son was busy with his sacrifice, and I was deep under the waters at my austerities, and Kumbhakarṇa, great king, lay asleep, the mighty rākṣasa Madhu came here, slew your chief rākṣasas, your esteemed ministers, and violated her and carried her off, though she was guarded in your inner apartments." With the three of them away and Rāvaṇa himself off conquering, there was no one to guard her, and Madhu seized his chance. "Though we heard of it, great king, we let it pass and he was not killed, for a maiden must in any case be given by her brothers to some husband. This is the fruit of your own evil deed, wrong-minded one; it has come to you in this very world — know that." Vibhīṣaṇa did not approve of the abduction, but, remembering that a girl must marry, he argued for forbearance. The law of deeds and their fruits is plain here: the one who carries off other men's wives finds his own kinswoman carried off, and Kumbhīnasī's abduction mirrors Rāvaṇa's own acts. "In this very world" also foretells Rāvaṇa's end, for the fruit of his taking of other men's wives would come to him in this life too. Vibhīṣaṇa did not fear to call his brother "wrong-minded" to his face. Hearing him, Rāvaṇa, lord of the rākṣasas, was churned up by his own wickedness like an ocean whose waters are heated, and his eyes went red; but his anger was against Madhu, not against his own fault. He took no lesson from the warning, only the insult. Then, angry, Daśagrīva spoke.

"Have my chariot yoked at once," he commanded, "and let our heroes make ready. Let my brother Kumbhakarṇa and the chief night-rovers mount their vehicles, armed with weapons of every kind. Today I shall kill in battle this Madhu who has no fear of Rāvaṇa, and then, surrounded by my friends, I shall go on to the world of the gods, eager for war." The killing of Madhu and the march on heaven were joined in a single resolve; even his anger was mixed with thirst for conquest. Four thousand choice akṣauhiṇīs of rākṣasas eager for battle marched swiftly out of Laṅkā with weapons of every kind — a number that sounds like exaggeration, but it shows Rāvaṇa's might. Indrajit gathered the soldiers and went at the head of the army, Rāvaṇa in the middle and Kumbhakarṇa at the rear: a well-planned array, with the young and daring Indrajit in front, the king at the centre and the mighty Kumbhakarṇa guarding the back. The righteous Vibhīṣaṇa stayed in Laṅkā, practising dharma; his absence is meaningful, for he would not help in an unrighteous war. All the other great rākṣasas set out for Madhupura on donkeys, camels, blazing horses, porpoises and great serpents — a strange menagerie that shows the monstrous look of a rākṣasa army — and they filled the sky without a gap. Hundreds of daityas who had made enemies of the gods, seeing Rāvaṇa set out for the world of the gods, followed behind him too; all the gods' enemies took refuge in Rāvaṇa, and his war became the war of every enemy of the gods. Daśānana reached Madhupura and entered it, but he did not find Madhu there; he found his sister Kumbhīnasī. She bowed low, joined her palms and touched his feet with her head. With the sight of his sister the story turned: instead of a battle there would be a peace, and her bow began the calming of his anger.

Seeing Kumbhīnasī terrified, the rākṣasa king raised her up, saying, "Do not be afraid. I am Rāvaṇa, best of the rākṣasas; what can I do for you?" She answered, "If you are pleased with me, mighty-armed king, giver of honour, do not kill my husband here today. For women of good family nothing is spoken of as so fearful: of all fears, widowhood is the great calamity. Be true to your word, king of kings, and look kindly on me as I beg you. You yourself said, great king, 'Do not be afraid' — make that word true." Her plea rested on three grounds: her brother's favour, the great dread of widowhood, and Rāvaṇa's own promise; by asking him to be true to his word she left him no way to go back on it. Pleased, Rāvaṇa said to his sister, "Where is this husband of yours? Bring me to him quickly. I shall take him with me to conquer the world of the gods. Out of compassion and affection for you I have given up the thought of killing Madhu." He had said "Do not be afraid", and he kept his word. A woman's fear of widowhood calmed even his wrath — and it is a strange thing that the man who killed other women's husbands and carried the women off could not bear his own sister's widowhood. Nor did he merely forgive his enemy: he meant to enlist him in his army, so that his sister's plea also suited his policy, for the conquest of heaven needed allies. By naming compassion and affection as his reasons, Rāvaṇa showed a gentler side to his nature. At his words she went and woke her husband the night-rover, who had been asleep all along, unaware of the danger at his door.

As though overjoyed, the rākṣasī said to her husband, "My mighty brother Daśagrīva has come. He means to conquer the world of the gods, and he chooses you as his ally. So go with your kinsmen to help him, rākṣasa. It is right to put oneself at the service of one who is affectionate and who seeks one's support." Her words were almost a maxim of good policy, and with them she presented her brother's coming to her husband as an opportunity rather than a threat, calming her brother's anger and winning her husband's consent at a stroke. Hearing her skilful words, Madhu said simply, "So be it," and put his enmity aside to become an ally. He went to the best of the rākṣasas in proper form, met Daśagrīva, and honoured the lord of the rākṣasas as dharma requires of a host. Having received that honour in Madhu's house, the valiant Daśagrīva spent one night there and at dawn made ready to leave. Then the lord of the rākṣasas, splendid as great Indra, reached Kailāsa, the mountain home of Vaiśravaṇa, and there at evening he encamped his army. So by Kumbhīnasī's courtesy an enemy became a friend and a new ally joined the army. The night on Kailāsa prepares the next sarga: there the affair of Rambhā will take place, the worst example of Rāvaṇa's lawlessness, which will bring on him the curse of Nalakūbara. Thus the sarga that began with a sacrifice ends with a peace.