by Ramesh Menon
When Neela came, Sugriva said to him, “Send our messengers abroad; summon my vanaras from every jungle in the world. In fifteen days, I want them all in Kishkinda. Those who do not come shall die. Let Angada collect our forces here in the city. Hurry, Neela!”
Sugriva turned to Hanuman with a smile, “Thank you, my friend, for reminding me. And now, if you allow me…”
Hanuman bowed and left the harem. Sugriva called for another flagon of wine as he turned back to the delectable Ruma and the others.
12. Grief and anger
More than a month had passed after the monsoon: a month of aching nights, when he lay awake, and Sita’s face and her tender form drifted before his eyes like visions and stoked his despair. One day, Rama broke down.
Lakshmana returned from his foray into the jungle, where he had gone to hunt. He found Rama laid out at the cave mouth. His face was tear-stained and anguished; his mind had sought relief from its agony in unconsciousness. Lakshmana sprinkled sparkling stream water on his brother’s face, and Rama revived. He sat up, shaking his head in misery, helpless pleading in his eyes.
Lakshmana cried, “I should never have left you alone. You must not torture yourself with memories; they only rob you of your courage. The rains are over. Sugriva must already have sent his people on the quest for Sita. Take heart, Rama, the way ahead is shorter than you think. You will be with her soon.”
But Rama said, “The season and the mood of the forest inflame me with longing. There are times when I cannot help myself. Lakshmana, she is in the hands of a devil. My heart tells me he is no ordinary rakshasa, but a great creature of darkness. And I fear for her life.
“Sugriva swore he would begin his search for Sita as soon as the rains broke. Sharada has been with us for more than a month, and there is no news from the vanara. These four months have been like a hundred years for me; but it seems Sugriva has forgotten his promise. He is indifferent now that he has what he wanted. You say I must be calm. But I cannot help myself any more; my body is on fire.
“Go to Sugriva and tell him from me: ‘The most contemptible man is he who forgets his friends after he has used them and has no further need for them.’ Ask him if he wants to hear the sound of my bowstring again. Remind him how I killed Vali, and of the debt he owes me. Rouse him from his lust; wake him to my pain and my need.
“Tell Sugriva I said, ‘The portal through which Vali left the world is still open. If you break your word to me, you will follow your brother out of this life. Hurry, Sugriva, before despair becomes my master and I come to kill you. You are still my friend; but don’t mock my friendship any longer.’”
They had heard of Sugriva’s long debauch from some wandering vanaras. Lakshmana said softly, “The monkey does not deserve his throne. I will go and kill him in his harem. Let Angada rule Kishkinda. Vali was right: he would have helped you sooner than his brother has cared to. Sugriva has forgotten he owes you everything he has today.”
Lakshmana strapped on his quiver. At once, Rama said, “I wish I had not showed you my anger. You must not be hasty, Lakshmana. Give Sugriva every chance to justify himself, before you even think of killing him. Tell him gently that by the covenant we made with Agni as our witness, he and I are friends for life. He must have reason for his delay: be patient when you speak to him, speak kindly.”
Lakshmana bowed to his brother, as formally as he might have in the sabha of Ayodhya, and strode away through the jungle toward the secret city of the vanaras. As he went, his mind swung between reason and anger. He must obey Rama and give Sugriva every chance to explain himself. But if the monkey king could not satisfy him, Lakshmana would not wait for Rama to come and kill Sugriva; he would do it himself. Didn’t the knavish creature know Rama’s plight? Had he place in his heart only for his own grief? Such a selfish heart should be cloven with an arrow.
Lakshmana could not bear to see Rama as he had been these past months. He couldn’t bear the hunted look in his eyes, the lines of pain that had appeared on his face. As all men do who love another as intensely as Lakshmana did his brother, he felt Rama’s anguish as if it were his own. At times he felt it even more than Rama did: during the long nights when he sat and watched his brother toss and turn in his sleep, and wept for him.
His bow clasped in his hand, gleaming like a sliver of a rainbow with its jeweled inlay, Lakshmana stalked grimly toward Kishkinda.
13. Lakshmana goes to Kishkinda
Kishkinda lay between two green peaks. It was cleverly concealed in a valley, into which the only way was through a long tunnel, high on one hillside. As Lakshmana climbed to the mouth of the tunnel, he saw the fierce vanara guard posted outside it. Those vanaras did not know him, and when they saw him coming, they began to jump up and down as monkeys do when they are alarmed. They bared their fangs and danced about, waving long arms, snarling—frightened themselves, trying to frighten him away.
When they saw he came on, they scrambled to pick up rocks and tear up young trees with which to attack him. But his face burning like the flames of yuganta, Lakshmana approached in quiet fury. In his hand, and sensitive to its archer’s mood, his bow burned with its own fire. When he reached behind him to draw an arrow from his quiver, the vanaras lost their nerve. They dropped their rough weapons and fled.
These monkeys ran to their king’s wooden palace. One cried, “A warrior with death on his brow marches on your city, Sugriva.”
Another said, “His bow was not made in this world and his arrows shine like time.”
Another whispered, “He is no ordinary man. He comes like Yama.”
But Sugriva was drunk, and he was lost in the long embraces of Tara, his dead brother’s wife, now his own favorite. Baring his fangs at them that they dared disturb him, he chattered angrily at the guards. He chased them out of his apartments, built quaintly half on the ground and half along the trunk and branches of an immense tree. But the king’s ministers had gathered outside his palace. Terror-stricken, they called for Angada, and he quickly summoned his army to the several entrances to the city hidden in the mountain.
Lakshmana saw the vanara army marching out through the city gates. His eyes turned crimson and his hands shook on his bow. At the head of his legion, Angada came out to meet Lakshmana. The young vanara stood bravely before the kshatriya. But not a word came from him, because his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and his body trembled at the awesome power that Lakshmana exuded.
But the human prince said gently to Angada, “Go and tell your uncle that Lakshmana has come to his gates. Ask him why he has not kept his word to my brother. If he has a shred of dharma, he should not break his solemn pledge. Give him my message and tell me what he says.”
Though the prince spoke gently, Angada sensed Lakshmana’s mood and the menace of him. He turned and ran back to Sugriva, who was at his endless pleasure while death had come to his gates. Angada burst in on the king, his uncle, who was making love with the prince’s mother Tara.
Angada turned his gaze away and cried, “Lakshmana is at our gates!”
But Sugriva was so drunk he could hardly open his eyes. By now, all the monkeys of Kishkinda were shouting outside the king’s palace. Sugriva heard the noise through his stupor and it roused him.
Sugriva’s ministers ran in to him in panic. Their king rose unsteadily. He asked for water, with which he splashed his arms and face. The water stung him; he squealed at its coldness and shook his fur. At last, the vanara king was more or less awake. He stood swaying slightly before his nephew and his ministers. But now his eyes were wide open, and he asked in a clear voice, “What is all the fuss about?”
Hanuman said, “Rama and Lakshmana are princes of dharma. You swore friendship with them and they helped you recover your kingdom. Lakshmana stands at your gates with his bow in his hand, and our army is terrified because the unearthly thing shines so brightly. The prince’s eyes burn in wrath, Sugriva. Tell him you mean to keep your word to Rama, or we are all dead.”
Sud
denly Sugriva grasped the peril he was in. He gave a moan and cried, “I have done nothing to offend the princes of Ayodhya. Why does Lakshmana come here with anger in his eyes? Some enemy of mine has poisoned his mind against me. Not that I am afraid of him; I am not afraid of him or of Rama. But it pains me that our friendship is at risk. Oh, the mind is fickle, and the smallest slip is enough to kill sacred friendship. And you all know I owe Rama everything I have today.”
Hanuman said, “You must reassure Lakshmana that you have not forgotten your debt of gratitude. Rama is not really angry, only anxious. But you have lost track of the seasons. The monsoon is over, when skies were dark and rivers turbid; it has been tranquil Sharada for more than a month. While you have been happy at love and wine, Rama has pined for his wife. He counts not the seasons and months, but each moment of his life that passes without Sita; and every one is like a wretched year to him.
“He has sent Lakshmana to you in anguish. Don’t be offended if the messenger’s words are harsh; he has cause to be aggrieved. You say you are not afraid of Rama. But if he strings his bow, the three worlds cringe, because he can extinguish them with his arrows. He loves you, Sugriva; keep that love. Rama is more than you or I can imagine.
“Forgive me if I speak too plainly, but it is my dharma to save you from folly.”
Sugriva stood staring thoughtfully at his quiet minister. Slowly, the wine-sodden fog lifted from his mind. The vanara king bowed solemnly to Hanuman, to acknowledge his wisdom. Sugriva sent his doorkeepers to escort Lakshmana through the king’s own underground passage.
Like the sun entering a rain cloud, Lakshmana came into Sugriva’s palace. Along carved wooden terraces, curling corridors, and polished halls, he was led through the labyrinthine edifice. He paused at the threshold of the antapura. He heard exquisite music within, and saw the beautiful women of the vanara’s harem. The tinkling of their silver anklets, the warm, breathy whispering of their voices, the fragrance of their delicate bodies invaded him like a seductive army.
Growing confused, he pulled violently on his bowstring and Kishkinda shook to its foundations.
14. The diplomacy of Tara
Sugriva turned pale when he heard the thunder of Lakshmana’s bowstring. For all his boasting, he dared not face the angry prince. Terror gripped the vanara king and his fur stood on end. He turned to the lovely Tara and said, “My queen, this kshatriya’s real nature is gentle, and he is as easily calmed as he is roused. Go to him, Tara; he will never show his anger to a woman. Pacify him, then bring him here and I will speak to him.”
Lakshmana waited alone in a corner, away from the eyes of the women of the harem. When the lovely Tara came to him in the wooden hall where he stood, she sensed his tenseness and his fury. Hesitantly she came, her long eyes cast down and only half open from all the wine she had drunk with Sugriva. Her slender body quivered with fear, like a lotus in a breeze. Yet she came with great poise, and was entirely queenly. Lakshmana knew who she was, but not why she had come. Thinking, even, that she had been sent to seduce him, he turned his back on her and stood glaring out a window. But Tara came softly up to him.
She said, “Be welcome to Kishkinda, O Kshatriya. But, great Lakshmana, you come in anger. Tell me, what is the cause of your rage, at which our city trembles? Who has been foolish enough to light a fire in a forest of dry trees?”
She touched him swift and deep. What man could ignore Tara’s beautiful voice or her utterly feminine presence? This was not the kind of battle Lakshmana relished. With an effort, he steadied himself and quietened the disconcerting tumult in his body.
He said to her, decorously, “My lady, your husband has sent you to placate me. But don’t be blind to what he has done. Once he became king, he has forgotten my brother Rama, who restored his kingdom to him. Wine and women are all he remembers, and dharma is far from his mind. These months that Sugriva has spent indulging himself, Rama has languished in the forest, with grief driving him to the edge of madness. Is this the friendship that Sugriva swore, with Agni as his witness? He has betrayed us, and an ingrate comes to a bad end.”
Lakshmana spoke quietly. But there was truth in his words and his eyes still smoldered dangerously. Tara did not reply at once; she considered what to say. Her task was a delicate and grave one, and she knew it.
At last she said, “Kshatriya, even great rishis fall prey to the temptations of Kama. What, then, of a fickle monkey whose nature you well know? After years of being denied in the wilderness, Sugriva could hardly help indulging himself. He fell so avidly to pleasure that he left even the governance of the kingdom to his ministers.
“But, noble Lakshmana, Sugriva had no desire to hurt Rama or you. It isn’t that he does not value your friendship; he was merely lost in a sensuous dream. You have woken him from his stupor; now let Rama, who is tolerance embodied, forgive him.”
Lakshmana looked at this bewitching queen, and thought, who could refuse her anything she wanted? But he also made no immediate reply, only gazed evenly at her.
Tara said, “I think you should also know, my lord, that Sugriva has already ordered his vanaras to come to Kishkinda. He means to send them forth in every direction on the quest for Sita. He did this even before you came here. Hundreds of thousands of monkeys from all over the world already fly to us at their king’s command.”
She saw Lakshmana give a start at this news she had subtly kept for the last. She saw his eyes soften and knew her little battle was won: she had saved Kishkinda and its king from immediate danger. Tara said, “Come with me to the antapura. I can see you are pure and strong, and will not be tainted by its sights. Sugriva is waiting for you.”
She walked before him through winding, climbing, simian corridors, along knotted branches of the ancestral tree into which the complex palace was built; and they came to the antapura, Sugriva’s harem. Inside, the vanara king sat upon a couch of gaudy brocade. He wore fine ornaments. He sat among his women, with his arms around the delectable Ruma. Lakshmana’s fury sparked alive again, and Tara sighed to herself at how indiscreet her lord was.
Sugriva sprang up when he saw Lakshmana. The kshatriya’s eyes sparked with anger. But the ways of monkeys and men are a world apart, and little could Sugriva understand that seeing him with Ruma could infuriate the human as it did. He came forward guilelessly to greet the fair prince, shambling up to him, his long arms trailing the floor. He folded his hands solemnly to Lakshmana, and stood silent, his moist brown eyes gazing at the warrior’s face.
Between his teeth, Lakshmana said, “A compassionate king, who is concerned about the suffering of others, gains fame for himself in the world. A truthful king, who remembers favors he has received and is grateful for them, deserves his renown. But a king who strays from dharma, who forgets his solemn oath sworn to his friend: there is no one worse than him. There is redemption from every sin in this world, prayaschitta for even the murder of a brahmana. But where is the salvation for an ungrateful man?
“Sugriva, you lied to us when you swore you would help find Sita. Rama kept his word to you; for your sake, he took Vali’s life. But when you had what you wanted, you ignored Rama’s need. The gates through which Vali went are not shut. If you don’t honor your oath sworn before Agni, Rama’s arrows will send you after your brother. Rama bids me tell you there is still time for you to relent. But hurry, Sugriva; before both your time and his mercy run out.”
Lakshmana spoke fiercely. It seemed the calmness that Tara had brought to his spirit was shaken at the sight of Sugriva at his dalliance, while Rama was waiting in anguish for the vanara to find Sita. Tara wanted Sugriva to be quiet, lest, in his inebriated anxiety, he say the wrong thing.
She said quickly, “You leap to the wrong conclusions, my prince. Sugriva is not a liar, nor has he forgotten his oath. Sugriva loves Rama. For Rama this vanara will sacrifice everything, even his kingdom. Why, he would gladly abandon Ruma and me, for Rama’s sake. Even in my bed, my husband speaks of Rama. I have told you, mighty Lakshm
ana, Sugriva has already called his legion vanaras to him, to send them to the corners of the earth to seek Sita out. Shed your anger, good Kshatriya. The vanaras will discover Sita swiftly, wherever she may be hidden.”
As Tara spoke of Sugriva’s devotion to Rama, the transformation that came over Lakshmana was quite marvelous. His body grew calm and a smile lit his handsome face like the sun breaking through dark clouds. Sugriva breathed a sigh of relief; his drunkenness had left him. He took Lakshmana gingerly by his hand and led him into his apartment.
He sat him down on a couch and, crooning in affection, said, “How can you ever think I would forget Rama, when I owe him everything I have today? Nothing can repay my debt to your brother. I may be just a vanara, but I am not such an ingrate. Not that a kshatriya who can shoot one arrow through seven sala trees needs my help. But for what it is worth, all my resources are Rama’s to use. Why, my very life belongs to him.
“And when he sets out to kill the rakshasa who took Sita, I will follow him with my army. I will follow Rama anywhere: let him forgive me just this once.” Wringing his hands, he stood before Lakshmana.
The vapors of anger had risen away from that prince’s mind. He said slowly, “With you at his side, loving Sugriva, Rama will surely vanquish his enemy. But now come with me to Prasravana. Rama needs to see you to restore his faith. As for me, I spoke harshly only because I have watched my brother’s anguish these five months and found it hard to bear. Sugriva, forgive me for what I said impetuously.”
There was genuine sorrow in the vanara’s eyes as he heard about Rama. He turned to Hanuman: “My monkeys from Vindhya and Himavan, Mahendra and Kailasa, march on Kishkinda even now. Send word to them to make haste. Fifteen days was the limit I set. Five have already passed. Rama is in pain; my people must be here in ten days.”
