Mandapala worries about his sons and argues with Lapita
Even after securing the fire god Agni's promise to spare his sons, the sage Mandapala cannot quell his anxiety as the forest blaze rages. His current wife, Lapita, responds not with comfort but with sharp jealousy, accusing him of loving his first wife more and telling him to go to her.
The fire was loose in the Khandava forest, and Mandapala’s mind was not at peace. He had already done what he could: he had spoken to Agni, the fire god himself, and secured a promise that his four young sons — born to his first wife, Jarita — would be spared. But promises are one thing; a father’s fear is another. As the flames grew and the wind whipped them into a fury, his anxiety returned.
He turned to his current wife, Lapita. “O Lapita! My sons are still incapable of escaping,” he said. “When the fire grows in strength and the wind blows swiftly, my sons will be incapable of freeing themselves. Their ascetic mother will be incapable of saving them. She will suffer misery when she sees that she cannot save her sons.” He named them in his worry: Jaritari, Sarisrikva, Stambamitra, and Drona. “How is my son Jaritari? How is Sarisrikva? How are Stambamitra and Drona and how is that ascetic?” He lamented aloud in the forest.
Lapita heard his worry, and her response was not sympathy. It was jealousy, sharp and immediate. “You need not suffer anxiety on account of your sons,” she said. “You have yourself told me that they are powerful and energetic rishis (sages). They have nothing to fear from the flames. In my presence, you spoke to Agni on their behalf. The great-souled and blazing one gave you his promise. Being the protector of the world, he will never utter a falsehood.”
Then she aimed her words at the true target of her resentment. “They are eloquent in speech and your anxiety is not because of them. You are anxious because you are thinking of my enemy. It is certain that you do not love me as much as you loved her earlier. It can never be right that one with two parties should display no love towards his relative, even when the one close to him suffers.” Her conclusion was a dismissal. “Go to Jarita, for whom you are suffering. I will wander around alone here, like one who is allied with a wretch.”
Mandapala defended himself, but his defense was a statement of principle, not an apology for his feelings. “I am not wandering around in this world because of the reasons you believe. I am roaming around for the sake of offspring and those I have are now facing suffering.” He framed his life’s purpose: a man seeks progeny. To abandon the children he already had for the mere possibility of future ones would be the act of a fool. “He who casts off that which he has, for the sake of that which might be there, is stupid and the world disregards him.” His final words held both resignation and his unchanged fear. “Do what you desire. These blazing flames of Agni are licking the giant trees and are giving birth to a hateful and malevolent sorrow in my heart.”
The fire passed. Jarita, who had fled but was attached to her sons, swiftly returned to the spot where she had left them. Weeping and miserable, she found all four sons well, untouched by the flames that had devoured the forest around them. She wept again, embracing each one, and they wept with her.