The Bow No King Could Lift

The sage Vishvamitra had taken the two young princes of Ayodhya into the forest to guard his sacrifice, and when it was done he did not take them home. He took them east, to the court of Janaka, the king of Mithila, who was holding a great sacrifice of his own.

Janaka welcomed the sage and looked at the boys.

"Who are these two," he asked, "who walk like lions and carry bows like gods?"

"The sons of Dasharatha," said Vishvamitra. "They have come to see the bow."

So Janaka told them its story. Long ago, he said, the bow had belonged to Shiva, who had raised it in his anger against the gods when they left him out of Daksha's sacrifice. The gods had begged his pardon, and Shiva had given the bow to them, and they had given it into the keeping of Janaka's ancestor. It had been in the family ever since, and nobody could bend it.

"And there is something else," said the king. "Once I was ploughing the ground for a sacrifice, and the plough turned up a girl out of the furrow. I raised her as my daughter and named her Sita, the furrow. She was born of no woman. I have said she will marry only the man who can string Shiva's bow."

Kings had come for her from everywhere, he said, and not one of them had been able even to lift it. Some had gone away ashamed; some had come back with armies to take her by force, and had been beaten.

"Let Rama see it," said Vishvamitra.

Janaka gave the order. It took five thousand men to bring the bow in. It lay in an iron chest on a cart with eight wheels, and they dragged it into the hall and opened the chest.

"This is the bow," said Janaka. "The gods themselves could not string it. What can a man do?"

Rama looked at the sage, and the sage nodded.

He put his hand into the chest and lifted the bow out, as easily as a boy lifts a stick, while the whole court held its breath. He set one end on the ground and bent it and fastened the string. Then, to try it, he drew the string back to his ear.

The bow broke in the middle.

The noise was like a mountain falling, like the thunder at the end of a world. Everyone in the hall fell to the ground, all but the king, the sage and the two princes, and the earth shook.

When they could hear again, Janaka was on his feet with his hands joined.

"I have seen it," he said. "My daughter will be the wife of Rama. She was promised to strength, and here it is."

Messengers rode to Ayodhya that day to fetch King Dasharatha for the wedding.

Tulsidas makes it a contest in front of the whole world.

Janaka has invited every king of the earth to Janakpur, and they sit in rows on a great stage with the bow lying in the middle. One after another they get up, swaggering, and put their hands to it, and it does not move. Ten thousand of them try together and cannot lift it.

Janaka stands up in despair. "Is there no hero left on the earth? If I had known, I would not have made the vow. My daughter will never marry."

Sita, at the side of the stage, has already seen Rama in the palace garden that morning, and she prays to Parvati.

Rama rises when his teacher tells him to. He walks to the bow, bows to it in his mind, and lifts it. So quickly does he string and draw it that nobody sees him do it; they only hear it break. Sita comes forward with the wedding garland and puts it round his neck.

Then into the hall comes Parashurama, axe on his shoulder, shaking with rage, for the bow was his master Shiva's.

"Who broke it? Let him stand apart, or every king here dies."

Lakshmana laughs at him, and they quarrel, until Rama speaks gently and Parashurama looks at him properly. He holds out his own bow, Vishnu's. It strings itself to Rama's hand. Parashurama understands, and goes away to the forest.