That was the look in King Sugreeva’s eyes at that moment. Rama knew that look so well, it was as if his father’s soul looked out through those vanar eyes of red, flecked through with golden motes, set deep in the hollow cheekbones of a furry simian face.
‘Great one.’
The voice had come not from the king but from the vanar who stood before him, his back still held as straight as a rod. Then Hanuman bowed low to address his liege reverentially. ‘Permission to speak, my lord.’
‘Go ahead, Hanuman.’ Sugreeva’s eyes remained on Rama.
Hanuman spoke with his head held downwards, as if apologising for expressing his opinion. ‘Great one, I have seen the yoddha Rama Chandra fight. He has no match. He led a band of a few score against an army of fourteen thousand rakshasas and defeated them. He faced a rakshasa berserker single-handed and did not relent until he had brought it down. When he takes up a challenge, he does not rest until he has achieved victory. To have his sword in our cause would be a source of pride and inspiration for every vanar loyal to you. And if he indeed pledges himself to fighting the usurper Vali, then I do not doubt that Rama will triumph in that task as well. With Rama as your champion, you will surely regain your throne and end the rift that divides the vanar tribes once and for all.
My lord, I humbly urge you to accept Rama’s offer.’
Hanuman bowed again, as deeply as before, and took a step back.
An elderly vanar—his pelt silver-grey over his shoulders, back, head and face—asked to be permitted to speak.
‘Speak,’ Sugreeva said. ‘All those who have an opinion in this matter, speak now, that I may consider your views before responding to our guest’s offer.’
The elderly vanar introduced himself as Sharaka, a general of Sugreeva’s army. He uttered formal words of welcome to Rama and Lakshman, with unusual invocations that Rama had never heard before. Finally, he came to the point. ‘Why would a yoddha as illustrious as yourself wish to fight in our cause? How do the troubles of the vanar races concern you? Surely there must be something that you require in exchange for this offer? Some reward or boon that you ask for in the event that you succeed in besting the usurper?’
Rama thanked General Sharaka for his greetings and invocation. ‘You are right in your assumption, sir. I have come here seeking the aid of the vanar armies to recover something which has been taken from me. That is why my brother and I journeyed here. It is only fair that I should make my terms clear before King Sugreeva responds to my offer. But before I do so, I must narrate a brief history of my life first. I apologise for taking up your time thus, but it is essential to understanding the present predicament in which I find myself. If you will indulge me, Lord Sugreeva, I will attempt to keep the tale as short as possible.’
King Sugreeva nodded. ‘It is better to know all relevant facts before arriving at a decision on such an important matter. By all means, Rama Chandra of Ayodhya, tell us your history. You are not well versed in the ways of vanars, so I also inform you that far from being averse to “taking up time” with the telling of histories, we are great aficionados of tales, the longer the better.’ Sugreeva flicked his tail briefly, playfully. ‘You might even say, we love long tales!’
Bemused by the ripple of delight that met these words, Rama bowed. ‘Then we mortals are not very different from vanars in this respect as well. Not having the advantage of tails, we make do by joining words together to grow tales.’
He was heartened by the roar of laughter that resulted. It took some shushing on the part of the older vanars before his audience was quietened again. He exchanged a quick glance with Lakshman who shrugged, raising his eyebrows.
Rama explained as briefly as he could the history of his conflict with Ravana, starting from the time that Brahmarishi Vishwamitra had come to Ayodhya to enlist Rama’s services in the protection of his yagna, to the battle with Taraka’s hybrid hordes, then Taraka herself, then the guarding of the yagna at Siddh-ashrama, the journey to Mithila, the freeing of Ahilya from Agastya’s curse, the boon granted by Agastya in exchange for that act, the swayamvara of Sita Janaki, the encounter with Ravana at that event, the subsequent arrival of Ravana’s asura armies at Mithila, the unleashing of the brahm-astra, the decimation of Ravana’s armies and the end of the asura threat. He dwelled on his newfound affection for Sita, and their brief but happy wedding ceremony.
With only a brief mention of his duel with Parshurama of the Axe, he cut forward to Ayodhya and the domestic drama that unfolded upon their return home. When he described how Queen-mother Kaikeyi, influenced by the old nursemaid Manthara—who was herself manipulated by Ravana— demanded as her promised boons from Dasaratha the expulsion of Rama into fourteen years of exile and the institution of her son Bharat as the heir to the throne, the vanars in the trees began spitting and hissing like a clutch of angry snakes. They subsided at once as Rama went on to describe the first idyllic months at Chitrakut and how he and Sita and Lakshman were resolved to spend their exile in peaceful coexistence in their beautiful rustic surroundings—until the half-yaksi, half-rakshasi Supanakha entered the picture.
When he described how, after being rejected and thwarted by Rama, and mutilated by Lakshman, Supanakha brought her cousins Khara and Dushana and their horde of fourteen thousand rakshasas to Chitrakut, deathly silence fell over the mountain. Rama passed over the thirteen years war against the rakshasas in a few succinct sentences, knowing that most of those present had already heard this part of the story from Hanuman in considerable detail, coming quickly to the end of the war at the great battle of Janasthana, in the clearing named Vaman’s Footprint. He went on to describe the restless mood of the following spring and early summer, as the three exiles waited eagerly for the end of their term and anticipated their return home to Ayodhya. So receptive was his audience and so eager was he to forge a bond with them, that Rama even mentioned his and Sita’s conversations about bearing heirs on their return to Ayodhya. Several female vanars sighed and blinked their bright, large eyes at this point.
Rama then described the day of the golden stag, Sita’s sudden overwhelming desire to possess the creature, his chase of that fabulous creature and the subsequent revelation that it was none other than Mareech in disguise. Mareech’s luring away of Lakshman from the hut, Mareech’s dying confession to Rama, revealing Ravana’s intentions, the frenzied return to the hut, their struggle to stop the golden flying vehicle from carrying Sita away, their desperate chase and the subsequent crash of the vehicle several yojanas away, their sighting of Sita herself as she was lifted up and carried away at an incredible speed by the departing vahan, their subsequent discovery of the remains of brave Jatayu, and piecing together of the sequence of events of the kidnapping.
Throughout his narration, the entire assembly, elders of the council and onlookers alike, were enraptured. Rama had seen this kind of rapt attention in audiences often enough before to know that his listeners were enthralled and completely sympathetic to his plight. He felt a great burden lifted from his heart on telling his story. Although the part describing Sita’s kidnapping, and his and Lakshman’s inability to stop that heinous event from occurring had been the hardest words he had ever spoken in his life, he felt that it was an effort made for good reason. These vanars cared about what he had gone through. They felt what he had felt. They shared his joys, sorrows, love, triumph, despair and frustration at every point. Rama understood briefly the pleasure that Sanskrit poets must feel when performing their work before a truly passionate and responsive audience and he felt something of that great vindication and self-assertion that they must feel at such moments. But he did not think he could speak thus ever again, no matter what the reason. It was hard enough to have lived such a life without having to relive it through words again. Especially when he, the poet, did not know what the outcome of his own story would be.
When he ceased speaking, the silence that followed was wholly unlike the earlier silence. Then, the assemblage had been uncertain, in
terested, fascinated but somewhat puzzled. Now, he felt waves of emotion wash over him. Anger, love, outrage … he was surrounded by an ocean of sentiment.
Sugreeva was the first to break the silence. ‘And this is why, Rama Chandra, you come here to the vanars of Mount Rishimukha? To ask our aid in regaining your lost wife Sita Janaki Vaidehi? Because although the armies of Ayodhya are mighty, you are too honourable to transgress the vows of your exile by returning home before your time. And because, without an army, it would be nigh impossible to go to Lanka and face the might of the demonlord Ravana. So you offer your services as our champion, willing to take on the usurper Vali in single combat. And, if and when you succeed in besting Vali, then you wish us to send our armies with you to invade Lanka and recover beloved Sita, rescuing her from her dastardly abducter. This is the bargain you wish to make with us, Rama? Have I stated it correctly?’
‘Most accurately, Lord Sugreeva,’ Rama said. ‘This was precisely the bargain I meant to offer you.’
Sugreeva was silent for a long moment. In that silence, Rama could hear the roaring of his own blood as it rushed through his veins, like the ferocity of the Sarayu after springmelt when the banks of the beloved river of his homeland swelled with glacial waters and sped torrentially down to the ocean.
‘Very well,’ Lord Sugreeva said. ‘This once I shall break precedent. It is ever our way among the vanar races to first hear all sides to a story before pronouncing judgement. However, on this occasion, there is no right or wrong to be judged, no sides to be heard. Only an offer to accept or decline. As always, I invite and welcome all opinions and views, be they concordant or discordant with my own, but for the nonce, I will exercise king’s privilege by offering my decision first. This is what I say after hearing Rama’s tale and offer. I say, aye. If Rama bests the usurper Vali and returns me to the throne of Kiskindha, I shall send all our armies to his service. Not just those of you who have followed me here into exile on Rishimukha, but the greater numbers of our brave vanar soldiers that remain in the capital city, reluctantly living under the yoke of Vali’s repression. This I have decided, by my own good faith and judgement. Now, it is up to you to endorse or debate my decision.’
And Sugreeva made a gesture with his paws and tail, before falling silent.
After a moment of continuing silence into which nobody spoke, Hanuman stepped forward. The vanar’s face was streaked with tears after hearing Rama’s tale of his tragic history, and his hands trembled with emotion. He bowed low to Rama, then to Lakshman. Then he addressed the vanars at large, raising his head to speak loudly and starkly to those in the trees.
‘By the grace of the devas, I was given the opportunity to encounter the greatest of warriors who ever lived. And today, once again, by the grace of the devas and my godlike King Sugreeva, I am given the opportunity to serve alongside that illustrious yoddha. Whatever the rest of you decide, here and now, in the witness of my elders and my lord, I pledge my life and limb to the service of the mortal yoddha Rama Chandra and his cause. I swear by all that I hold dear and my mother’s proud blood and my father’s good name, that I, Anjaneya Maruti Whiteleaf, whom you all know as Hanuman, will not mate nor drink of honey-wine, nor rest or feed beyond that little which is absolutely essential for survival, nor wash or comb my pelt or groom my fur, nor twirl my tail in pleasure, until such time as Rama and his beloved Sita are united once more. This is my oath, and I give it freely and of my own choosing and mark it with my own blood.’
He cut a gash in his own hairless palm, held up the dripping cut that all might see, and pressed it to his forehead, leaving a blood-dot to seal his pact.
FOUR
An uproar exploded from the trees. At first, Hanuman thought they were cheering to show solidarity for his espousing of Rama’s cause, but the tone was angry, not excited, and was centred on a spot several scores of trees away, on the east side of Rishimukha. That way lay Kiskindha, where their enemy was housed. It was all he needed.
With a roar of outrage, he leaped straight to the branch of the tree above, and from there he went from branch to branch, leaping to the next tree, then eastwards. Every branch was crowded with vanars, but somehow Hanuman managed to find the few inches of gap between them, just enough space for a handhold or foothold or, failing both, a tail-grip. The volume of agitated sound rose as he passed over the crowded grove, rising to a deafening cacophony as he reached the source. He sensed Angad following close on his heels.
He landed on the ground between two neem trees. A huddle of his fellows were holding on to the limbs of a trio of strangers, pulling them every which way. Others sat on the branches of the trees above and chittered and shrieked furiously, pelting the strangers with pebbles and fruit pits and twigs, anything that came to hand. Hanuman waded into the thick of the mass, bellowing loudly to give way in the name of Angad, son of Sugreeva, for the prince was only a few yards behind him. At Angad’s name, the chaos settled to a noisy grumbling, but did not subside altogether. The vanars were angry.
Hanuman reached the first of the strangers. ‘Set him down on his feet,’ he commanded the vanars holding the outsider. ‘Set all of them down on their feet, but hold on to their tails tightly.’
His fellows did as they were told, not one nor two but four and five vanars grasping each of the three tails and holding them so tightly that the faces of the strangers betrayed their pain. Hanuman looked each one up and down quickly but efficiently, sniffing them thoroughly to identify their origins and routes, as well as their bodily health, then stepped back to allow Angad room to examine them himself.
Angad sniffed each one closely, his teeth bared. He lingered over the throat of the third one, as if eager to rip out the vanar’s life in one incisive bite. The outsider chittered nervously and voided his bladder. That provoked titters and jeers from the onlookers.
‘Spaas,’ Angad said contemptuously, his lips curled back to reveal his bright, white teeth. ‘Vali’s spaas.’
‘Not mere spaas, my lord,’ Hanuman said grimly. ‘Assassins. Look at their upper paws closely.’
He took hold of the left paw of one of the strangers and unfolded the fingers by force, wrenching each one open. He was careful not to touch the nails of the claws, and pointed them out to Angad. The prince bent and peered at them, sniffing. ‘Blackjuice?’ he asked doubtfully.
‘Blackjuice,’ Hanuman concurred. He looked around. ‘Any of you who suffered scratches during the tussle had better go at once and have your cuts washed out. If any of you have been gouged deeply …’ He paused. Fortunately, none had been gouged or raked badly. But several had sustained minor cuts. They went at once, loping away, grumbling noisily as they went and swearing that when the war began they would avenge themselves by raking their claws down the faces of …
The crowd parted. ‘The king, the king.’
Sugreeva’s face was pale and sad as always, but a new look had appeared on his countenance. It was not anything that Hanuman could define clearly, nor give a name to yet, but it was there: a sense of greater strength, of hope perhaps. There is iron in his gaze again, Hanuman thought. Praised be Rama, already he has given our king hope and courage.
The man responsible for bringing that look to the king’s eyes followed just behind him, alongwith his brother. Rama and Lakshman gazed curiously at the three vanars held captive. Rama’s eyes passed over Hanuman then returned. Hanuman acknowledged him with a brief nod, then addressed his king Sugreeva.
‘My lord, these are assassins sent by Vali to kill you. Seeing the assembly, they crept closer to eavesdrop and were discovered.’
Sugreeva looked at each of the three outsiders in turn, his face sad and sympathetic. The hatred and blood-rage that was on Angad’s face was absent here. He shook his head sadly and spoke to the strangers: ‘My brothers, what do you hope to accomplish by killing me?’
The largest and strongest of the assassins, a heavy- shouldered vanar with a dark blackish-brown pelt, looked mournfully at Sugreeva. ‘My lord, we a
re ashamed to have to stoop to such measures. Yet we could not disobey our master Vali. He sent us with these orders and held our mates and children captive. If we refused to obey his command, he would kill our families. If we returned without carrying out his command, he would kill them. What were we to do?’
The next assassin, a wiry muscled vanar with mud-brown pelt already tending towards grey in patches, added sadly, ‘Even if we succeed, he is likely to kill them and kill us anyway, for what king would want to retain liege-killers in his service? As the old saying goes, he who can assassinate one king, will not hesitate to assassinate another.’
Angad hissed angrily at both the captives, holding up their paws. ‘Father, they came armed with poison-tipped middle claws. Blackjuice!’
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