s present trial, and consequent
obtaining of Sita. The bow arrives, self-conveyed, being, as the weapon
of so great a deity, pregnant with intelligence. Rama snaps it asunder,
in consequence of which feat it is agreed that Sita shall be wedded to
him; Urmila her sister, to Lakshmana; and Mandavi and Srutakirti, the
daughters of Kusadhwaja, to Bharata and Satrughna respectively. The
party is again disturbed by Suvahu and Maricha, the first of whom is
killed and the second, thrown at a distance by Rama.

The messenger of Ravana then goes away mortified to represent the matter
to the minister of Ravana. The saint and his visitors then retire into
the hermitage.

Malyavan, the minister and maternal grandfather of Ravana and the king's
sister Surpanakha have heard the news of Rama's wedding with Sita from
Siddhasrama and discuss the consequences with some apprehension. The
minister takes the marriage as an insult to his master.

A letter arrives from Parasurama partly requesting and partly commanding
Ravana to call off some of his imps, who are molesting the sages in
Dandakaranya. He writes from Mahendra Dwipa.

Malyavan takes advantage of this opportunity to instigate a quarrel
between the two Ramas, anticipating that Parasurama, who is the pupil of
Siva, will be highly incensed when he hears of Rama's breaking the bow
of that divinity. The hero comes to Videha, the palace of Janaka, to
defy the insulter of his god and preceptor. He enters the interior of
the palace, the guards and attendants being afraid to stop him, and
calls upon Rama to show himself. The young hero is proud of Parasurama's
seeking him and anxious for the encounter but detained awhile by Sita's
terrors: at last the heroes meet. Parasurama alludes to his own history
how he, having overcome his fellow-pupil, Kartikeya, in a battle-axe
fight, received his axe from his preceptor, Siva, as the prize of his
prowess.

Parasurama addresses Rama thus:--

"How dost thou presume to bend thy brow in frowns on me? Thou must be an
audacious boy, a scion of the vile Kshatriya race. Thy tender years and
newly wedded bride teach me a weakness I am not wont to feel.

Throughout the world the story runs, I, Rama, and the son of Jamadgni,
struck off a mother's head with remorseless arm. This vengeful axe has
one and twenty times destroyed the Kshatriya race, not sparing in its
wrath the unborn babe hewn piecemeal in the parent womb.

It was thus I slaked the fires