By Sri Abinash Dash
In the verdant depths of Dandakaranya, where ancient trees whispered secrets of the ages and the earth pulsed with the rhythm of life, Lord Rama and his devoted brother Lakshmana roamed in search of the abducted Sita. Their hearts were heavy, their steps resolute, yet the trials of the forest weighed upon them. As the sun blazed overhead, their throats parched with thirst, they wandered in pursuit of water, guided only by the faint hope of a stream’s gentle murmur.
It was then that the forest, in its timeless wisdom, offered them a sound—a soft, melodious gurgle, like the laughter of a celestial maiden. Following the call, they stumbled upon a sparkling rivulet, its waters dancing over smooth pebbles, reflecting the dappled sunlight. Overwhelmed by thirst, Rama hastened toward the stream, his steps unsteady in his haste. As he knelt to drink, a faint crunch beneath his foot pierced the serenity. He froze, his heart sinking, and looked down to find a tiny frog, crushed inadvertently beneath his sandal.
Guilt washed over Rama like a monsoon torrent. Gently, he lifted the fragile creature in his palm, its small body trembling with pain. With tenderness, he caressed it, whispering, “Oh, little one, you bore such a wound, yet you did not cry out to me?” The frog, its eyes gleaming with an ancient knowing, responded in a voice soft yet resolute, “O Lord, when serpents or hawks pursue me, I call upon your name, crying, ‘Rama, save me!’ But when it was you who stepped upon me, whom could I call? Yet, in your mercy, you cradle me now in your hands—a grace no humble frog like me could ever dream of.”
Rama’s heart stirred at the frog’s words, a lesson woven into its simple truth: even in pain, faith endures, and even the smallest creature trusts in divine compassion. He blessed the frog, its tiny form glowing faintly before it stilled, its soul merging with the eternal.
Years later, in the golden city of Lanka, the tides of destiny had turned. Rama had vanquished Ravana, restored righteousness, and crowned Vibhishana as king. As he prepared to return to Ayodhya with Sita, he turned to Lakshmana, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “Brother, let us take a memento from Lanka, a token of our triumph.” Lakshmana, ever loyal, set out with Hanuman, the mighty vanara, to find something worthy.
Their search led them to Ravana’s opulent bathing chamber, where a magnificent black stone gleamed under the moonlight. Flanking it were two crystal maidens, each holding a kalasha, their forms radiant as if kissed by the heavens. Above, a crescent moon cast its silvery glow, and from the crystal figures flowed a stream of water, pure and ceaseless, in which Ravana once bathed. It was said that seated upon this stone, Ravana could peer into the corners of the world, his vision piercing the veil of time itself.
Lakshmana, captivated, declared, “This stone shall be our prize!” Hanuman, with his boundless strength, overturned the slab. Beneath it, to their astonishment, sat an ancient frog, its skin weathered like the bark of an ancient banyan. With a croak that rumbled like distant thunder, it leapt toward Lakshmana, its voice now human and grave. “Beware, O prince! Take not this stone, lest your heart be torn asunder. Call first for Lord Rama, then decide.”
Lakshmana, startled, rushed to Rama and recounted the strange encounter. Rama approached the stone, and the frog, bowing deeply, spoke with reverence. “O Lord, my years span beyond mortal reckoning. I have seen Brahma with five heads, chanting the fifth Veda before Shiva severed it. I have witnessed the moon wax and wane when every night was full. I have beheld the churning of the ocean, Shiva drinking poison, Vishnu’s Mohini form, and the fourteen jewels rising from the deep. I have seen your Vamana avatar stride across the cosmos. But never have I seen or heard of one who, having gifted a kingdom, takes from it in secret. To take this stone is to steal what you have rightfully given.”
Rama’s eyes softened, a smile playing on his lips. “In Dandakaranya, a frog taught me humility. Today, you teach me righteousness. Your lesson shall remain etched in my heart.” The frog, its voice trembling with devotion, replied, “Forgive my audacity, O Lord. I spoke only to behold you, to offer my final breath at your feet. Jatasya dhruva mrityu—death is certain for all born. Bless me, that I may merge with you.”
Rama lifted the ancient creature, its body frail yet radiant. As he caressed it, a brilliant light emanated, merging with his divine form, a union of the mortal and the eternal. The stone remained in Lanka, a symbol of justice preserved.
Thus, through the voices of two humble frogs, the Lord of Ayodhya learned lessons that echoed beyond the ages—humility in error, righteousness in victory, and the eternal truth that even the smallest beings carry wisdom divine.
React
