The Bow Nobody Could Lift

Hundreds of kings tried. They couldn't even move it. Rama broke it in half.

King Janaka of Mithila has a daughter named Sita, and a giant bow that once belonged to Lord Shiva himself. He makes a promise. Whichever prince can pick up the bow and string it will marry his daughter. Hundreds of kings come from every corner of Bharat. Not one of them can even move it. Then a young prince walks in with his brother and his teacher. He picks up the bow as easily as a flower. He bends it. And it snaps in half with a sound like thunder.

A Bow That Came From Heaven

Far to the east of Ayodhya, in a green kingdom called Mithila, lived a king named Janaka. He was not like other kings. He sat on a throne, but in his heart he was a sage. He spent half his day reading the Upanishads and the other half looking after his people. He was famous all over Bharat for his wisdom and his calmness.

King Janaka had a treasure. Not gold. Not jewels. Something stranger.

It was a bow.

A huge, dark, heavy bow, kept in a special hall in his palace. The bow was so big that it had to be carried on a wheeled chariot pulled by eight strong men. Its wood was black and shining like night. The string had been made by gods. And it gave off a faint glow, the way coals glow in a kitchen at dawn.

This bow was called Pinaka. It had once belonged to Lord Shiva himself. The same Shiva you read about in the Ganesha chapter, the one who lives on Mount Kailasa with snow in his hair. Long, long ago, Shiva had given this bow as a gift to Janaka's family. And Janaka's ancestors had kept it safe, in a closed room, for many many generations.

Because here was the strange thing. Nobody could lift it.

Not the strongest soldier. Not the biggest wrestler. Not even ten elephants pulling on a chain could move it half an inch. The bow chose, all by itself, who could carry it. And so far, in all those years, the answer had been nobody.

A Promise to a Daughter

King Janaka also had a daughter. Her name was Sita.

Sita had not been born in the usual way. The story says that long ago, when Janaka was ploughing the fields one summer (yes, kings did that in old India, to bless the soil), his plough hit something. He bent down. He saw a baby girl in the furrow, smiling up at him. Janaka picked her up. He took her home. He named her Sita, which means the one found in a furrow.