On the shore of the vast ocean, Rāghava, the noble Rama, prepared himself for a solemn vow. He spread sacred darbha grass, faced east, joined his palms in reverence, and lay down before the mighty ocean, seeking its favor. Resting his arm, adorned with pure gold ornaments and gleaming jewels, Rama’s form shone with the marks of nobility. His arms, decorated with bracelets and the finest pearls, had often been caressed by noble women, and served with sandalwood and aloe, their fragrance mingling with the brightness of sandalwood radiating like the rising sun. Once, those arms had been graced by Sita’s gentle presence upon their shared bed, enjoyed like the serpent king Takshaka, and sprinkled with sacred Ganga water. In battle, Rama’s arms appeared as heralds of the end of an age, bringing sorrow to enemies and joy to friends. Now, long and mighty, they rested at the edge of the ocean. His left arm bore the mark of the bowstring, while his right was like a great iron bar. As he lay there, Rama, the giver of a thousand cows, declared with resolve: “Today, either I will cross the ocean or meet death.” Thus, Rama, steadfast and broad-armed, lay before the ocean with discipline and devotion, as a sage would, seeking its permission. For three nights, Rama slept on the earth covered with kusa grass, vigilant in his austerities, worshipping the ocean, lord of rivers. Yet, despite Rama’s sincere worship and effort, the sluggish ocean did not appear before him. Frustrated, Rama’s eyes reddened with anger as he spoke to auspicious Lakshmana, who stood nearby. “Arrogance keeps the ocean from appearing of his own accord. Calmness, patience, straightforwardness, and gentle speech—these virtues yield fruit only with the worthy, not with the unworthy. For those who are wicked, insolent, and unruly, only punishment is respected; fame and glory cannot be attained by conciliation alone. Victory in battle is not achieved by gentleness, Lakshmana. Today, with my arrows, I will shatter the abode of makaras and its denizens. See how the waters will be restrained by the leaping creatures, and the bodies of serpents broken by me. Here are the great bodies of fish, trunks of elephants, clusters of conch shells and oysters, and various kinds of makaras. Today, by a great battle, I will dry up the ocean; this abode of makaras has mistaken my patience for weakness.” Rama then commanded, “Bring me my bow, O gentle one, and arrows like venomous serpents. I will dry up the ocean—let the vanaras cross on foot. Though the ocean is unshakable, in my wrath I will agitate it, with its boundaries marked by the shore and crowded with a thousand waves. With my arrows, I will destroy its limits and disturb the abode of Varuna, the great ocean teeming with mighty demons.” Having spoken thus, Rama, with bow in hand and eyes blazing with anger, became unassailable, like the fire at the end of an age. He drew his terrible bow and, shaking the world with his arrows, released fierce shafts like Indra hurling his thunderbolts. Those blazing, swift, and powerful arrows entered the ocean’s waters, terrifying the serpents within. The mighty ocean, filled with fish and makaras, surged violently, becoming dreadful and roaring with the sound of winds. Its waters, covered with rows of huge waves and conch shells, smoky and swirling, suddenly became tumultuous. The serpents, with blazing mouths and fiery eyes, were agitated, as were the mighty Daityas dwelling in the depths of the netherworld. The waves of the ocean king, bearing crests like the Vindhya and Mandara mountains, surged up by the thousands. The abode of Varuna, with its multitude of churning waves, disturbed serpents and rākṣasas, and great crocodiles tossed about, resounded with noise. Seeing Rama’s terrible speed as he drew his unfathomable bow, Saumitri, Lakshmana, leapt up and clung to the bow, pleading, “Do not!” as Rama exhaled forcefully. “Even without this, O hero, your purpose concerning the ocean will be accomplished today. Those like you do not fall under the sway of anger—let your noble conduct be seen for long.” Likewise, from the sky, the hidden Brahmarṣis and Surarṣis cried out, “Alas!” and, with great voices, called, “Do not!” Now begins the twenty-second sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Yuddhakāṇḍa. Rama, the best of the Raghus, spoke harsh words to the ocean: “Today I will dry you up, O great ocean, along with the netherworld. When your waters are burned away by my arrows and you are left parched, a great cloud of dust will arise from your lifeless bed. By the shower of arrows from my bow, the monkeys will cross to the far shore simply on foot. You do not recognize my manliness or valor, searching in vain; you, abode of the Daityas, will soon experience torment from me.” Then, fitting the Brahmāstra—a shaft resembling the rod of Brahmā—to his excellent bow, Rama, mighty and resolute, drew it back, ready to unleash its power.