Rama, steadfast in his resolve, stood upon the ocean’s edge, silently offering prayer to the Lord of Waters. He invoked the sacred bond between gods and men, reminding the Ocean of their ancient kinship and his duty now, at this hour of dire crisis. Not only did Rama plead for his own cause, but for the well-being of all worlds, threatened by the demonic hordes under Ravana’s sway. In that moment, he resembled the sacred fire leaping from the divine altar — radiant, fierce, and unshakable.
Meanwhile, across the sea in the fortified city of Lanka, Ravana grew restless. News of Sugreeva’s desertion and the havoc wreaked by the vanara hordes unsettled him. Though he masked his doubts with blustering commands and hollow shows of strength, a lurking fear gnawed at his heart: that perhaps the enemy’s power was beyond reckoning.
Seeking to pierce the veil of uncertainty, Ravana summoned his surest spy, the demon Sardula, and dispatched him to gather intelligence across the ocean. Sardula, swift and keen, observed the simian forces: vast as an ocean themselves, their numbers stretching beyond sight, spreading over the lands in a seemingly endless tide of bears and monkeys. Upon his swift return, he bowed and spoke:
“O King, the hosts arrayed against us are beyond counting — a second ocean, vast and terrible, washing against Lanka’s very shores. The sons of Dasaratha, Rama and Lakshmana, have learned of Sita’s whereabouts and press forward with relentless vigor. The simian armies have covered leagues in every direction, a chasm of war heroes eager for battle. I counsel you, mighty king, to send more spies, to dispatch emissaries bearing gifts and soothing words — for the final hour hastens toward us.”
Ravana listened, his heart heavy with unease. He then summoned Suka, the shrewdest of his spies, and instructed him thus:
“Go, Suka, to Sugreeva, king of the vanaras. Speak soft and sweet words in my name. Say to him: ‘O King of the vanaras, born of the noble house of Ruksharajas, whose father was a great friend to demons — what profit lies for you in Rama’s cause? You are as a brother to me, Sugreeva! Why endanger yourself in this war for a quarrel not your own? Return to Kishkindha. Know this: neither gods nor gandharvas can pierce Lanka’s walls — how shall monkeys and men? Turn back, while time allows.'”
Taking the guise of a bird, Suka soared across the waters and, hovering above Sugreeva, delivered Ravana’s message. But the vanaras, suspicious of this stranger, leapt into the sky, seized him, and dragged him down. They shouted in anger, ready to tear him apart. Yet Rama, hearing the commotion, intervened.
“Lay no hand upon an emissary,” he commanded sternly. “It is against the dharma of kingship to harm one who bears another’s words, even if they are bitter.”
Freed, Suka humbly asked Sugreeva, “What message shall I return to my master?”
Sugreeva, his voice like thunder, replied without hesitation:
“Tell Ravana this: He has committed the unpardonable sin of abducting the wife of the noble Rama. He is no brother of mine, nor ever a friend. Like my fallen brother Vali, he has summoned his own destruction. Not only he, but his sons, kinsmen, and his entire host shall be consumed by Rama’s wrath. Let him hide where he may — in the heavens, in the netherworld, or the depths of Mount Kailasa — Rama’s arrows shall find him. Neither ghost, demon, nor Gandharva shall shield him. He has slain the venerable Jatayu in treachery; he shall now reap the price of his sins.”
At that moment, Angada, son of Vali, addressed Sugreeva:
“O King, this Suka is no true emissary — he is a spy, surveying our strength! It would be wise to detain him, lest he bring back vital intelligence to our enemy.”
Sugreeva consented, and the vanaras seized Suka once more, binding him fast. Trembling and fearful, Suka cried out:
“O Rama, son of Dasaratha! Save me! If I perish here, the burden of my sins shall fall upon you!”
Again, Rama spoke with righteous firmness:
“Release him. An envoy must not be harmed, even if he comes with deceit in his heart.”
Thus, Suka, spared by Rama’s magnanimity, returned to Lanka, bearing the grim tidings.
Meanwhile, Rama, lying on the sands with his hand beneath his head, fasted and prayed in earnest for the Ocean God’s favor. Yet as three nights passed and no sign came, his patience gave way to wrath. His body, glistening with sweat like the sacred serpent Takshaka emerging from the Ganga, trembled with fiery resolve.
Rama rose, his eyes blazing:
“O Lakshmana! The Ocean God, in his pride, mocks my forbearance! In this world, it is not virtue but violence that commands respect. Watch, brother, as I turn patience into fury!”
He seized his mighty bow and arrows, his form like a gathering storm. His rage sent tremors through the earth. Terrible shafts flew from his bow, striking the waters, boiling the seas. Crocodiles and fish writhed in agony; corals and pearls were shattered; mighty waves reared like mountains, hurling themselves against the land. Serpents and demons of the deep fled in terror, while the very heavens trembled.
Lakshmana, alarmed, rushed to restrain him:
“O noble brother! Cease this destruction! Heroes such as you find a path by wisdom, not through wrath. Let the tradition of the great and good guide your actions!”
At that moment, Brahmarshis and Devarshis descended from the heavens, imploring Rama to stay his hand, lest the world be thrown into ruin.
Thus, through Lakshmana’s wise counsel and the pleas of the sages, the terrible storm of Rama’s anger was stilled, for now. Yet the road to Lanka lay ahead, and destiny, vast and terrible, awaited its unfolding.
