Part 1: Meeting with Vajrajaṅgha

Distracted by fear, Sītā wandered here and there in the forest, blaming herself alone because injured by wicked acts of a former birth. Screaming again and again, stumbling at every step, going ahead, she saw a large army approaching. Seeing the army, Sītā stood, not at all terrified, with equal hope of life and death, occupied with reciting the namaskāra When they saw her, the soldiers on the contrary were terrified, saying, “Who is this goddess here on earth?”

Having heard Sītā’s scream, the general, expert in sounds, said, “She is some good woman with child.” Compassionate, the king approached Sītā. Sītā, alarmed, offered him her jewelry. The king spoke: “Do not be afraid in the least. Let these ornaments remain on your person, sister. Who are you? Who, pitiless even among the pitiless, has abandoned you here? Speak. Do not be alarmed. I am troubled by your trouble.” His minister, Sumati by name, said to Sītā: “This is King Vajrajaṅgha, Lord of Puṇḍarīkapura, son of King Gajavāhana and Queen Bandhu, a devout Jain, noble, a brother to other men’s wives. He came here to capture elephants and is leaving, having accomplished his object. Distressed by your grief, he came here. Tell your trouble.”

Gaining confidence Sītā told her whole story, weeping and making the compassionate king and minister weep. Without guile the king said: “You are my sister in religion. For all who have professed one religion are relatives of each other. Come to my house. I am a brother like Bhāmaṇḍala. A brother’s house is the proper place for women, next to a husband’s house. Rāma abandoned you because of the people’s talk, but not of himself. I think even now he is unhappy, like you, from remorse. The son of Daśaratha, suffering alone like a cakravāka, miserable from separation, will soon search for you.”

He, unperturbed, spoke so to her and Sītā, consenting, got into the palanquin which he had brought to her at once. She went to Puṇḍarīkapura, like another Mithilā. Day and night she remained piously in the house assigned to her.

Now Rāma’s general went to Rāma and said: “I have abandoned Jānakī in the forest Siṃhanināda. She fainted repeatedly and became conscious repeatedly. Finally recovering, she directed this message: ‘In what place in the works on morals or in tradition is there such a principle: punishment of one party because of a fault alleged by another party? This order of yours without reflection, though you always act with reflection, is, I think, by fault of my fate. You are always free from fault. Do not abandon the religion of the Arhats because of the talk of wrong believers, as you have abandoned me, though innocent, because of the talk of mischievous persons.’ Saying this, Sītā fell in a faint and, when she had recovered, she said, ‘How will Rāma live without me? Alas! I am killed.’”

At hearing these words, Rāma fell to the ground in a faint and was sprinkled with sandal-water by Lakṣmaṇa who came in a hurry. Getting up, he said: “Where is Sītā, a virtuous wife? For she was deserted by me, alas! because of the talk of people always mischievous.” Then Lakṣmaṇa said: “Master, now she is in the forest. A virtuous wife, surely she will be protected by her own power. Go and search and bring her yourself, lord, before Queen Sītā perishes from separation from you.”

Hearing this, Rāma went with the same general and Khecaras in an aerial car to that very cruel forest. At every dry place, at every water, at every hill, at every tree, Rāma searched and did not find Jānakī. After a long time Rāma thought with great grief, “I think Sītá has been devoured by a tiger or lion or some other wild animal.” With hope abandoned of finding Sītā, he returned to his own city and was blamed repeatedly by the citizens, reciting Sītā’s virtues. With a tearful face Padma performed Sītā’s funeral rites, looking upon the universe as consisting of Sītā, or rather, as a void. She alone remained before Rāma’s eyes in his heart and speech. “Sītā lives somewhere,” but he did not know.