Śambūka and the King Who Ate His Own Flesh

When Rāma had killed Rāvaṇa and come home to his kingdom, the seers came to Ayodhyā to rejoice with him: from the east and the west, the seven seers from the north, and from the south Agastya with the sages who lived there. At the palace gate it was Agastya who spoke to the doorkeeper. Tell the son of Daśaratha that we seers have come. Rāma rose to meet them, honoured them with water and a cow, and seated them, and when they praised him for killing Rāvaṇa's son Indrajit above all the rest, he asked them why. And Agastya told him the whole history of Rāvaṇa's line, of the boons they had won and the wars they had fought, from the beginning.

Some time later, when Rāma had sent his brother Śatrughna back to Madhurā, the city he ruled, and was ruling his own kingdom in dharma, happy with his two other brothers, Lakṣmaṇa and Bharata, an old brahmin from the country came to the palace gate carrying his dead son. Weeping, in love and grief, he cried out over and over, My son, my son!

What wrong did I do long ago, in another body, he said, that I should see you dead, my only son? You were a boy, not yet grown to your youth, and death came for you before your time, to my sorrow. In a few days I shall die too, and your mother with me, of grief for you, my child. I do not remember ever telling a lie. I do not remember ever doing harm, or any wrong to any living thing. For what wrong of mine has my own boy gone today to the house of Yama, before he could do the rites for his fathers? I have never seen or heard of anything so terrible as this, death coming before its time in Rāma's realm. Rāma has surely done some great wrong, since death has come to the children who live in his realm. In other realms children have no fear of death.

King, bring this boy back to life, who has gone into the power of death. Or else I will die here at the king's gate with my wife, like people with no one to protect them, and then, Rāma, take the killing of a brahmin upon yourself, and be happy. You will have long life, king, you and your brothers. We lived happily in this kingdom of yours, mighty one. But now this has fallen on us, and in your keeping, Rāma, we have come into the power of time, and no happiness is left to us. The realm of the great Ikṣvākus has no protector now: with Rāma to protect it, its children surely die. When a people is not guarded as the law requires, it perishes by the king's faults; when the king does wrong, people die before their time. Or when men do what should not be done in the cities and the country and no one guards against it, then the fear of death comes. Clearly the fault is the king's, in the city or in the country, and that is why this child has died.

So with many words, again and again, he pressed the king, burning with grief, and he held his dead son close.

Rāma heard the whole of the brahmin's pitiful lament, and burning with sorrow himself he called his counsellors: Vasiṣṭha and Vāmadeva, his brothers, and the elders of the city. Eight brahmins came in with Vasiṣṭha and said to the king, who was like a god, May you prosper. They were Mārkaṇḍeya and Maudgalya, Vāmadeva and Kāśyapa, Kātyāyana and Jābāli, Gautama and Nārada, and all these, the best of the twice-born, were given seats. Rāma folded his hands and greeted the great seers who had come, and the counsellors and the elders as was fitting, and when all of them, blazing with power, were seated, he told them everything: how this brahmin was besieging him at his gate.

Nārada's answer rests on the four classes of the old order: the brahmins, priests and teachers of the Veda; the kṣatriyas, kings and warriors; the vaiśyas, farmers and traders; and the śūdras, whose dharma is to serve the other three.

Nārada heard the troubled king, and in the presence of the seers he answered him. Hear, king, how the boy came to die before his time, he said, and when you have heard, do what must be done, Rāma. Long ago, in the Kṛta age, only brahmins practised austerity, king; no one who was not a brahmin was an ascetic in any way. That age blazed with Brahman, unclouded, and all who were born in it were free of death and saw far. Then came the Tretā age, and kṣatriyas were born in it, full of austerity. The great men of the Tretā surpassed those of the age before in valour and in austerity, and brahmins and kṣatriyas, of the one age and the other, were equal in strength. Since no one saw any difference between them, the order of the four classes was set up, as all agreed. In that age Adharma set one foot down on the earth, and splendour grew dim. With that foot came untruth, and the eating of flesh, and the stain of passion, and a limit was set on the lives of men. Still the people held to truth and dharma and did only what was good. The brahmins and kṣatriyas practised austerity, and the others served them; that was the highest dharma of the vaiśyas and śūdras, and the śūdras above all honoured every class. In time, with adharma and untruth among them, the people of the earlier age dwindled greatly. Then Adharma set down his second foot, and the age became the Dvāpara, the age we live in now. Adharma and untruth grew, and austerity came to the vaiśyas. So through three ages austerity came to three classes in turn, and dharma was settled for three classes. In the Kali age it will come to those born of the śūdra womb; but in the Dvāpara, king, austerity is the gravest adharma for one born a śūdra. At the edge of your realm today a man of evil mind is practising great austerity, and that is why this boy has died. A man of evil mind who does adharma, or a forbidden deed, in a king's realm or in his city, lays the root of misfortune, and he goes quickly to hell, and the king with him, without a doubt. The king who guards his people in dharma receives a sixth part of all their study, their austerity and their good deeds; how then should he who enjoys the sixth part not guard his people? So search your realm, tiger among men, and wherever you see wrongdoing, set yourself against it. So dharma will grow and the lives of men grow longer, best of men, and this boy will live.

Rāma heard Nārada's words, which were like nectar, and a joy without measure came over him. He said to Lakṣmaṇa, Go, gentle brother, and comfort the good brahmin. Lay the boy's body in a vessel of oil, with the finest perfumes and fragrant oils, and see that it does not waste away. Keep it guarded, so that it does not decay or break apart. When he had given Lakṣmaṇa this charge, Rāma thought in his mind of the chariot Puṣpaka, and said, Come. Puṣpaka, adorned with gold, knew his wish and came to his side in a moment. It bowed and said, Here I am, king, mighty-armed, your servant, ready at your command. Rāma heard its pleasing words, bowed to the great seers and climbed into the chariot. He took his bow and quiver and his bright, shining sword, and left the two heroes, Lakṣmaṇa and Bharata, in the city.

He went first to the west, searching here and there, and then to the north, which the Himālaya encloses. He saw no wrong there, not even a little. Then he looked over the whole of the east, and from Puṣpaka the mighty-armed king saw that its ways were wholly pure, spotless as the face of a mirror. Then he went to the south, and on the northern slope of the Śaivala mountain he saw a great lake. By that lake Rāma saw an ascetic practising fierce austerity, hanging with his face turned down. Rāma came up to him and said, Blessed are you, keeper of good vows. Into what birth were you born, you who have grown great in austerity and are so firm? I ask because I wonder at it. I am Rāma, the son of Daśaratha. What is it you desire? Is it heaven you seek, or something else? For what boon do you practise austerity so hard to do? I want to hear it, ascetic. Are you a brahmin, bless you, or an unconquerable kṣatriya, or a vaiśya of the third class, or a śūdra? Tell me the truth. When the king had asked him this, the ascetic, still hanging head downward, told Daśaratha's son his birth and the reason for his striving.

I was born of a śūdra womb, he said, and my name is Śambūka. I seek to become a god in this very body, glorious Rāma. I do not lie, Rāma; I want to win the world of the gods. Know that I am a śūdra, and that I have taken up fierce austerity.

While the śūdra was still speaking, Rāma drew his bright, spotless, shining sword from its sheath and cut off his head. When the śūdra was killed, the gods, with Indra and Agni at their head, praised Rāma again and again: Well done, well done! A great rain of heavenly flowers, sweet and fragrant, loosed by the wind, fell on every side. The gods, well pleased, said to Rāma, whose valour is true, You have done the gods' work well, gentle one, wise one. Take a boon, whatever you wish, tamer of foes. Because of you, Rāma, this śūdra will not reach heaven.

Rāma heard the gods, and with a steady mind he folded his hands and spoke to thousand-eyed Indra. If the gods are pleased with me, let the brahmin's son live. Grant me this boon; it is what I want most. Through my fault the brahmin's only son has gone, before his time, to the house of Yama. Bring him to life, bless you; you should not make me a liar. I promised the brahmin his son would live.

The best of the gods heard him, and they answered gladly, Be at peace, Rāma. This very day that boy has life again and is with his kin. In the moment when this śūdra was struck down, the boy was joined again with life. Fare well, best of men; we must go. We wish to see the hermitage of Agastya. The vow of that great seer, the blazing one, is complete: for twelve years he has lain in the water. We are going to greet the sage. Come with us too, bless you, to see the best of seers.

Rāma promised the gods he would, and climbed into Puṣpaka, adorned with gold. The gods set out in their many great chariots, and Rāma followed them quickly to the forest where the jar-born seer kept his austerity. Agastya, the treasure of austerity, saw the gods arrive and honoured them all alike, and when they had taken his worship and honoured the great sage in turn, the gods went joyfully back to the vault of heaven with their followers. When they had gone, Rāma came down from Puṣpaka and bowed to the best of seers, who blazed with his own power, and received the highest hospitality, and sat down.

Welcome, best of men, said Agastya. It is good fortune that you have come. I honour you for your many qualities, you are a guest always worthy of honour, and you are always in my heart. The gods tell me you have come as the slayer of the śūdra, and that by dharma you have given the brahmin's son back his life. Stay tonight with me, and in the morning go back to your city. You are Nārāyaṇa. In you everything is established. You are lord of all the gods, the eternal Person.

Then he held out an ornament that shone like the sun. This heavenly ornament was made by Viśvakarman, he said. Take it, Rāma, and do me this kindness. To give again a thing that was given brings great fruit.

Rāma thought of the dharma of a kṣatriya. Lord, he said, to accept a gift is blameless for a brahmin. How can I, a kṣatriya, accept one, and from a brahmin? Tell me.

Agastya told him: In the first age, the people had no king, and they went to Brahmā and said, You have set Indra as king over the gods. Give us a king among men, whom we may honour and so be cleansed of sin; we will not live without a king. So Brahmā called the guardians of the world and asked each of them to give a share of his own splendour. Then Brahmā sneezed, and from that sneeze King Kṣupa was born, and Brahmā joined him with the shares of the guardians and gave him to the people as their lord. By Indra's share a king commands the earth, by Varuṇa's he nourishes the body, by Kubera's he gives wealth, by Yama's he rules. By the share of Indra that is in you, Agastya said, take this, to deliver me.

So Rāma took the ornament, and asked how the sage had come by such a wonder. Agastya told him.

Long ago, in the Tretā age, he said, there was a forest a hundred yojanas wide, without deer or birds or people, and I went into it to practise austerity. In its middle was a lake a yojana long, clear and still, full of lotuses, swans and ducks, and near it an ancient, holy hermitage with no one living in it. I spent a summer night there, and at dawn I went down to the lake, and I saw a corpse lying at the water's edge, well fed and unwithered. While I was wondering what it could be, a heavenly chariot drawn by swans came down out of the sky, and in it sat a man of heaven, with a thousand apsaras around him singing and playing and fanning his face. He came down from his throne, and while I watched he ate the corpse. When he had eaten his fill of its flesh, he went down into the lake, rinsed his mouth, and began to climb back into the chariot.

I said to him, Who are you, who look like a god? Why do you eat such food? I do not think this corpse is fit food for you.

The man folded his hands and told me. My father was Sudeva, king of Vidarbha, he said, and I am his son Śveta. When my father went to heaven, the people made me king, and I ruled in dharma for thousands of years. Then, knowing my time, I gave the kingdom to my brother Suratha and came to this forest and practised austerity by this lake for three thousand years, and I reached the world of Brahmā. But there hunger and thirst tormented me. I went to Brahmā and said, This is the world of Brahmā, where there is no hunger or thirst. Why am I hungry and thirsty? And Brahmā said to me, Your food is your own flesh. Eat it every day. You fed your own body with your austerity, and nothing grows that was never sown. You never gave anything, not even alms to a wandering ascetic or food to a guest. That is why you suffer hunger in heaven. Eat your own well-nourished body; it will be like nectar to you. When the great seer Agastya comes to that forest, you will be freed from this.

For many years, Śveta said, I have eaten this body, and it never wastes away. Free me from this misery. No one else can do it but the jar-born seer. Take this ornament, to deliver me. I give you this gold and wealth and clothes and food and ornaments, every pleasure you could want. Be gracious to me and set me free.

I heard his sad words, Agastya said, and I took the ornament to deliver him. The moment I took it, the royal sage's old human body vanished, and he went to heaven satisfied and full of joy. That is how this heavenly ornament, given by a king like Indra, came to me.