66697602-The-Ramayana-R-K-Narayan

of life seemed to have become paralysed. Wild and uncouth
vegetation overran the landscape in a variety of monstrous
creepers and vines. The sky was perpetually overcast.
Winds blew cold and damp and drenched one’s
surroundings and person. For a few days, the change of
season was fascinating, but, in course of time, the persistent
gloom and wetness proved depressing.
Rama, isolated in this climate, became subject to long
periods of melancholy. The surrounding conditions made his
inner turmoil more acute. He now felt hopelessly cut off from
his wife and no action to seek her ever seemed possible. He
felt thwarted and desolate. He began to feel guilty; he
thought he was being too complacent. “While I live sheltered
here, I cannot imagine what misery she might be facing.”
When he saw foaming, frothing, reddish floodwater rushing
down the mountain, bearing and rolling along uprooted trees,
he was reminded of Sita being carried off. It created a
hopeless ache in his heart and he said to himself, “There is
no meaning in my continuing to live.” When he saw streaks
of lightning splitting the sky, he pictured them as the
monstrous fangs of asuras grinning and menacing him on all
sides, and he pleaded, “Just when one of your clan has
taken away the very core of my life, you want to take more?
Nothing more is left.” When he saw an occasional deer
emerge from its shelter when the downpour slackened a
little, he addressed it, “You were jealous of Janaki; she was
your rival in the grace of her movements. Now are you not