By nightfall, every member of Ram’s army lay wounded.
Indrajit reported to his father, ‘They are all finished. My dearest father, from now on you will have no more worries.’
Meanwhile, on the battlefield, the Bear General was crying, ‘Medicine, medicine, we need medicine. We must have medicine tonight.’
The Bear General saw Hanuman had some strength left. ‘Go,’ he ordered, ‘go to the Himalaya Mountains tonight. Bring back healing herbs from the Magic Mountain.’
Hanuman closed his eyes, bent his knees, took a deep, deep breath, and leapt. Before he knew it, he was in the Himalaya Mountains.
But it was pitch dark and he could not tell one herb from another.
‘Bother!’ he said. ‘I’ll just take the whole mountain.’
Holding the mountain aloft in his hands he leapt back to Lanka. As he hovered over the army, he shouted, ‘Where shall I put this down? Hurry. Hurry. Make some space below. This thing is heavy, make room.’
‘There is no room here for such a huge mountain,’ said the Bear General. ‘The aromas from the herbs have revived our army, so you can take the mountain back.’
Next day, Ravan heard sounds of rejoicing coming from the animal army. ‘What on earth is going on?’ he asked.
His spies climbed up on the walls of the city and did not like what they saw.
‘The animal army has recovered and is besieging the city,’ they reported to Ravan.
‘How can that be?’ said a bewildered Ravan, shaking all his ten heads. ‘This is not possible.’
Then Ravan’s son, Indrajit, spoke up. ‘Do not worry, Father, I am still here. I will take care of this.’
Indrajit tightened his belt and put on his gleaming silver armour. As he stepped outside the walls of his city, he called, ‘Laxshman, you may have survived my last attack but this time I will finish you. I challenge you to a duel.’
‘I accept the challenge,’ Laxshman yelled back.
The two went at each other with every weapon they had. Indrajit threw a poisoned javelin at Laxshman, who cut it into small pieces with his arrow. Indrajit lifted his bow and shot off a thousand arrows. Laxshman stopped each arrow with one of his own. Indrajit lifted up his sword and came at Laxshman.
‘Enough is enough,’ said Laxshman. He took slow, careful aim with his bow and, using a single arrow, shot off Indrajit’s head.
When Ravan heard of this, he let out a yell of pain. ‘My son, my dear son, dead! It is unbearable. I am the most unfortunate man alive. My generals are dead, my dear Second Brother is gone, and now my son, my son, my dear, dear son.’
That night it was very quiet. The stars shone clearly and brightly in the sky.
All the next day Ravan and his demons prepared again for war – a war to the death.
Ravan put on his gold armour and all his ten gold helmets. In the dark of the night Ravan and his demons thundered across Lanka’s drawbridge and advanced towards the army waiting below.
Ram said to his army of animals, ‘All my friendly monkeys and bears, take cover and hide. This is my battle.’ He turned to his brother Laxshman, and said, ‘You go with them. This is a fight I must fight alone.’
His army fell back.
There was a glow in the sky. Ravan was approaching in his chariot. Ram climbed into a chariot of his own and rushed towards the oncoming enemy.
They fought with golden arrows and silver spears. If Ravan shot a million arrows at him, Ram countered with a million of his own. If Ravan’s twenty arms aimed twenty spears at Ram, Ram sloughed them all off with his shield. Each one stood tall in his chariot. The clash of weapons resounded through earth and heaven. Ravan swung a mace round and round, letting it gather power and speed, and then he hurled it at Ram. Ram ducked to one side and let it fly past him. Then Ram aimed a single arrow at Ravan. It broke Ravan’s shield and struck Ravan in the centre of his heart. Ravan was dead. All the demons fled in fear. The animals jumped up and down shouting, ‘Glory be to Ram. Glory be to Ram.’
It was daybreak. Hanuman went scampering off to Sita to give her the good news. ‘I still have the jewels you threw down to earth when Ravan was carrying you away,’ he said.
Sita put the jewels on and combed her hair. ‘How is my husband?’ she asked.
‘Come with me and you will find out,’ Hanuman said. ‘Laxshman has built a small hut of leaves for you so that you may rest.’
Hanuman led Sita to her waiting husband.
‘O my Sita, what you must have suffered,’ said Ram, embracing her.
He put his arm around her shoulders and led her to the hut.
Meanwhile, the animal army began preparations to return home.
And Laxshman prepared to return to Ayodhya, where his brother would be crowned king.
The fourteen years of exile were over.
Have you ever tried to thread a needle by moonlight? That is what my mother and grandmother made me do when I was little.
There was a good reason for it, so they said.
In the early evening of a special full moon night that fell in the clear, cool month of October, my mother would hitch up her sari and tuck its flowing end neatly into her waist. With beads of perspiration collecting on the tip of her short, button nose she would roast mounds of semolina in a big frying pan, shaking the large pan expertly until a nutty aroma filled the kitchen. To this semolina, she added sugar, nuts and clarified butter and then she spread the mixture in round trays to form a halva. All the children were pressed into service, carrying the trays up the steep stone steps to the roof.
As night fell, we waited on the roof with the trays. The night got colder and colder and the moon brighter and brighter. It was then that we, as instructed by the women below, took out our needles and began threading them, again and again, until we had done it one hundred and ten times.
Why?
Because this special full moon night in October is a night of magic. It is the night when the moonbeams carry not just the most brilliant rays of light, but tiny droplets of Amrit, heavenly nectar that can make a person immortal.
If we were lucky, and the nectar hit our eyes as we caught the light to thread our needles, then our eyes would shine clearly and brightly for the rest of our lives. If we were luckier still, and the nectar went past our lips, then we would surely never die.
If the moonbeams missed our eyes and missed our lips, they were bound to glance off the trays of semolina and transfer to it all the goodness of the moon. Then we could eat the halva and gobble up the best of the moon.
There is a story about the Moon and the Heavenly Nectar.
The Moon and the Heavenly Nectar
When the world was formed, the Creator of the Universe churned the mighty oceans to see what they might throw up.
The oceans then were filled with milk and popping out of them, like rocks from a volcano, came massive rubies, diamonds, emeralds and sapphires.
Out of the churning also came the Heavenly Nectar of Immortality and Poison.
When the Poison came out, it was accompanied by much fuming and hissing. The milky ocean immediately turned to salt water. The god Shiva, wanting to protect the world, took the Poison and put it in his throat, which is why his neck is always as blue as the wings of a shining butterfly.
Everyone wanted the Nectar of Immortality. At that time, there were no human beings, only gods and demons, who immediately began squabbling over it.
Vishnu, the Creator and Preserver, was watching all this from the heavens and decided it was time to step in. In his thunderous voice, he called out:
‘All you gods and demons, tonight I will decide the question of immortality once and for all. Let us all meet at midnight.’
When they all met that night, Vishnu came disguised as a beautiful maiden and in his arms he carried the jug of nectar. He asked the gods and demons to sit in a row and when he passed a demon, he flirted with him and fluttered his eyelashes to distract him. When he passed a god, he quickly gave him a sip of
nectar, for it was his intention that only the gods should become immortal.
However, he made one mistake.
As he passed Rahu, the evil star, he raised the jug of nectar to offer him a sip.
Fortunately the Moon was watching and he sent out a quick beam towards Vishnu with the message, ‘Watch out for Rahu, the Demon.’
But it was too late. A single drop of nectar had already passed Rahu’s lips. Vishnu, greatly upset at what he had done, drew his sword and cut off Rahu’s head.
But Rahu had already swallowed a drop of nectar and he did not die.
He yelled furiously at the Moon, ‘I saw you betraying me and I will have my revenge. You may shine brightly, just as you please, but once every year I will wipe that smile and that bright light off your face.’
And that is why, at least once a year, there is an eclipse of the Moon.
If you listen hard enough, that is the day you can hear Rahu laughing.
As a child I never stopped to question why it was that my mother fasted and prayed once a year for God to give long life to my father and why my father never did the same for her. If, at that age, I had asked my mother this question, I am sure her answer would have been, ‘Because that is the way it is.’
In India, life is set up to follow certain preearranged patterns. No one knows exactly who decided on these patterns or when they were decided upon. But somewhere, sometime, it was decided that married Hindu women would set aside a day to pray for their husbands. The day, called Karvachauth, would be in the autumn, on the fourth day of the waning moon. So, ever since anybody can remember, married women have been following this pattern without questioning it. I know that in the case of my mother, she followed it partly because tradition demanded it, partly because she loved the fuss and details of religious ceremonies – but mainly because she adored my father and was not going to take any chances on his health and longevity!
At night we all slept in a row on a verandah which faced the rose and jasmine garden. Even though we slept on beds next to each other, we were really quite isolated, as each bed was enshrouded by a large, white mosquito net, held up by four bamboo poles. My father slept at one end, with my mother next to him, then my baby sister, me and my two older sisters. I did have two older brothers as well, but at the age of seven, they were shady figures, who seemed always to be away at a distant school or on fishing trips.
Since married women were supposed to fast from sunrise, my mother would set the alarm for four o’clock in the morning. This would allow her to get a quick bite to eat before sunrise. She was perfectly willing to follow the required rules about fasting and praying on the day of Karvachauth itself – but no rule said that she couldn’t spend the last minute of the previous day eating all she needed to sustain her! As the alarm went off, my father would stir and grumble. He would then pull the quilt over his head and go back to sleep. My mother would emerge from her mosquito net, awaken any of her daughters who had so requested, and begin to brush her teeth vigorously with a twig from a neem tree which she always kept at a nearby table. My sisters and I were awakened because we insisted upon it. We wanted to watch every bit of the ritual connected with this special day. My mother, with her daughters following behind her like ducklings, would go to the pantry where food had been left warming for her from the previous night. As my mother ate some sauced potatoes and deep-fried breads we would sit around and watch her. Every now and then she would pop a bit of food from her plate into our mouths. This made us feel as if we were really participating. Perhaps at this strange hour between night and day my mother was quietly passing on a ‘pattern’ or a tradition from her generation to ours.
We were sent off to bed again and awakened just in time for school. My mother would braid our well-oiled hair and secure the braids with freshly ironed ribbons. Once we had breakfasted, we were packed off to school with khaki sun hats on our heads and leather school-bags in our hands. The school day would actually be quite normal but it felt special. I would run around whispering to the whole class, ‘My mother is fasting today, you know. It’s Karvachauth. It’s very important that she fasts from sunrise until the first appearance of the moon. Otherwise my father will DIE.’ Since most of the class was Christian, this bit of information would both alarm and impress them. The whole idea was to get even with my classmates for the large Easter eggs they brought in annually, as well as for the pretty pastel holy pictures which they traded, buying and selling during every break between classes.
The rest of the school day was spent daydreaming – imagining my mother’s activities … now, with her sari tucked between her legs, she must be standing in the kitchen frying those sweet, wholewheat fritters! Since my sisters found them too doughy and sticky, I could look forward to eating their share as well! Bell after bell would ring at school, arithmetic books were exchanged for geography books, but my mind was at home.
By the time we got home from school and changed from our sweaty navy-blue tunics, white socks and tightly laced black shoes into loose Indian dresses and open sandals, my mother would be putting the finishing touches to the Prayer Room – fresh flowers in the brass vases, straw mats on the floor and special little ‘Karva’ clay pots with lids and spouts filled with water, with the fresh fritters sitting on their lids.
While we waited for the moon to appear, my father would retire to the living room, turn on the radio and listen to news of the Second World War over the BBC World Service. His wife and daughters would go into the Prayer Room and begin praying for his health and long life.
We would all sit cross-legged on the mats, the candles and oil lamps would be lit and the prayers would begin. The first and best part was The Story.
The Girl Who had Seven Brothers
Long, long ago there was a large house in which lived seven brothers and their seven wives. The brothers had a young sister who shared their lodging and upon whom they doted. She was fifteen, and had long, black wavy hair, soft doe-like eyes, a small rosebud mouth and an infectious, lilting laugh. The brothers knew that it was time they arranged a marriage for their sister as she was now of age, but they hated the thought of parting with her, so whenever their wives began a discussion about her age and marital prospects, they successfully changed the subject.
When she was sixteen, the brothers, pushed and nagged by their wives, reluctantly agreed to arrange the marriage of their sister. They knew of a rich landowner who lived two hundred miles to the East and who was reputed to be young and handsome. So they sent their sister’s horoscope to him, agreed a match, and one brisk winter day, married their sister to this handsome youth.
As the days went by, the brothers began to miss their sister very much. Whenever they got too depressed, they would console themselves by telling each other that she was, after all, very much in love with her husband and that the match had worked out better than their own marriages and that her happiness was all that should matter.
Ten months passed without the brothers seeing their sister. Even though she wrote to them regularly, they missed her laughter and her gaiety. So they sent her an invitation to come with her husband and celebrate Karvachauth with them.
The big house was cleaned and decorated for the festival. The ladies started their fast and cooked the fritters, and the brothers stood near the front door waiting for their sister to arrive.
Their sister and her husband arrived around noon, on the day of Karvachauth. Although she still laughed and joked as she used to, the brothers were quick to notice that her face had an unusual pallor and that there were dark circles under her eyes. When they asked her about this she answered, ‘Oh, it was such a long journey. We had intended to spend the night in a village along the way, but were so afraid of not being here in time, that we kept riding through the night. We have not slept, that’s all. Besides, I’m fasting, as you know.’ It was the truth but the overanxious brothers kept worrying. ‘Perhaps you should eat,’ they said, ‘you look really ill.’ ‘Don’t be silly,’ she answered, ‘this is
my first Karvachauth and I intend to keep the fast.’ She looked so lovingly at her husband as she said this, that the brothers were forced to be quiet.
As the day wore on, the sister grew weaker. The brothers again suggested that she should eat and again she smiled and tossed her head saying, ‘Certainly not.’
Night fell. The brothers scanned the skies for the moon but it was nowhere in sight. They went to their sister and said, ‘The moon is out but there is a dark covering of clouds over it, so it cannot be seen. It is perfectly all right to eat now.’ The sister looked out of the window and seeing no moon, said, ‘I will eat only when I see the moon.’
Time passed and the sister lay weakly on a cot. The brothers could stand it no longer, so they devised a plan. One of them climbed a tall tree with an oil lamp in his hand. The others went into the kitchen and got a sieve, then they called their sister outdoors, crying, ‘The moon is out, the moon is out.’ They asked their sister to look through the sieve at the oil lamp on the tree-top. The poor girl, in her weakened condition, looked up at the tree and did indeed think she was seeing the moon. The brothers brought her some milk and some fritters which she ate thankfully. She then went indoors and told her sisters-in-law to eat as the moon was out. But they all looked at her coldly and said, ‘Your moon may be out but ours is not.’ At this, the girl became suspicious. She ran, stumbling, to the room where her husband was, only to find him lying dead on the floor. She screamed and wept and pleaded with the nine Earth Mothers, the goddesses of Karvachauth, to return her husband’s life, but it was of no avail. The brothers, stricken with guilt, tried to console her but she pushed them away, crying, ‘I will carry my husband into the forest. There I will sit with his body for twelve full months. Next year, when the nine goddesses of Karvachauth pass through again, I will beg them to give life back to my husband.’ So saying, she summoned all her energy and carried her husband’s body deep into the forest. There, she sat with it in her lap for exactly one year.
Seasons of Splendour Page 7
