The Ramayana

by Ramesh Menon

  Sugriva said to Rama, “My lord, let Hanuman take you across the waves upon his shoulders. Let Angada carry Lakshmana. When they cannot walk, or if the ocean breaks his word, they can fly through the air with you.”

  They offered worship to the Gods on that shore. Rama prayed solemnly to Siva, his guru; he was full of anxiety as the hour of reckoning drew near. Rama was the first to set foot on Nala’s bridge, the Nalasetu, then Lakshmana and Sugriva. Cheering loudly, singing, and dancing, the vanara army followed him: now to return to the sacred land only after the enemy was vanquished. Rama’s heart was heavier than he cared to show.

  The vanaras were exuberant. They shouted Rama’s name, Lakshmana’s, and Sugriva’s as they went along, Angada’s name and Hanuman’s. Now another hero was added to their legends: Nala’s name echoed beneath the moon, and was wafted by the night breeze among silver waves.

  The monkeys did not just walk on the bridge of stone and trees. As the fancy took them, they dived into the calm sea beside the bridge and swam some way. Then they climbed back on, shivering with the crispness of the water and the breeze, and walked again along Nala’s bridge through the tranquil band of the ocean. When a different mood took them under the bronze and timeless moon, the vanaras leaped up into the air, crying, “This is how Hanuman went!” and flew along, as most of them could because of the unearthly blood in their veins.

  So great was the noise that army made, the moon above no longer heard the waves but only the tumult of the sea-crossing monkeys. High above that colorful, colossal force, the Devas and the celestial rishis, the gandharvas and apsaras showered blessings down on blue Rama: in the fervent hope that the Avatara’s mission would succeed.

  Their breath filled night sky and moonbeam, breeze and spray, as the heavenly ones whispered in starry tongues, “May you vanquish your enemy, Rama, and rule the world for ten thousand years.”

  Devaloka was more impatient than the earth even, that Ravana be slain.

  Past midnight, when the moon sank low, the army of vanaras landed on the shores of Lanka, swift and quiet, wave after wave of monkeys. Rama hugged Lakshmana and cried, “Let us make camp here. The trees shine with fruit and the vanaras will be pleased.”

  The dark prince knew how to read omens; he had studied their lore with Vasishta. He said, “Did you notice the portents of land, air, and sea, Lakshmana? We shall win our war. Yet I see a calamity curled like a sinister fetus in the womb of time and growing rapidly toward its dreadful birth. Though I am certain we will prevail, I have a terrible premonition of tragedy. I see not only a million rakshasas being killed, and their blood staining this island; I see the death of so many of our merry vanaras and the solemn and mighty reekshas of Jambavan.”

  He grew silent. The last lines of monkeys gained the beaches of Lanka, and like shadows they hid in the dense groves of mango and banana trees.

  Rama said again, “Listen to the earth; can you hear it prophesy the grim fate that stalks this island? I feel the sands of time on my cheek, blown in a warning breeze. I feel a hush upon the world and see blood drops in the clouds that gather across the face of the moon. Look up, Lakshmana. Who has seen so many crows and kites in the sky at midnight? And the stars are wrapped in ominous haloes.

  “It is as if the end of the world is here. This will be more of a battle than we have dreamed, Lakshmana. I can feel it in my body: a million lives will be put out on these shores. Ah, not only to save Sita have we crossed the ocean, but to fight the greatest war of our times. We must not underestimate the enemy; we must be vigilant so he does not take us unawares.

  “Uncanny visions rise in my mind: of timeless evil, and a battle older than the earth, which has been fought before on countless worlds, in forgotten ages. Even after this battle of Lanka, the war shall be fought again and again; until time ends, and dharma and adharma with it.”

  Rama grew somber and fell silent. After a while he said, “This Ravana is no ordinary rakshasa; he is more than we think he is. His soul is ancient and this is just one incarnation of his through eternity. But he must be killed. Much more than Sita’s life is at stake here. The future of the world is in your hands and mine, and in the hands of these loyal, loving monkeys. We must win this war.”

  The vanaras surrounded the princes again. Rama saw how excited they were, how devoted to him. Had they not crossed the sea for their Rama, and joyfully? They also knew, with unerring jungle instinct, that they had come to fight the eternal war between good and evil. But tomorrow, or the next day, the sky would be dark with the arrows and lances of the rakshasas, and the trees and rocks these monkeys would hurl back at the demons. Tomorrow countless brave vanaras and fell rakshasas would lie side by side, and their blood would stain the earth of this pristine island.

  Rama wept for them all.

  9. Spies

  In another tide, the vanara army covered the southern shore of Lanka. Then, across the night’s last yaama drifted the sounds of bugles and drums: Lanka was awakening to another day. As the sun rose, so did the vanaras, who saw the great city above them resting on its hills. They stood awed, gazing at its vivid flags fluttering in the dawn breezes, and its turrets of gold and silver.

  In one immense voice, the monkeys roared their excitement at being here and the earth shook. The rakshasas in Lanka heard that noise, and were astonished.

  Rama was pensive. He turned to Lakshmana. “Look at Lanka upon its hills. For almost a year now, Sita has been a prisoner there. Can you imagine the torment in her eyes? And the tears those eyes have spilled? Look at Lanka, Lakshmana: her turrets seem to stroke the sky. Viswakarman built his city for Ravana, in fear.”

  Morning mist drifted across the hills, and for a breathtaking moment it seemed Lanka floated on air like an island on another sea. The breeze wafted down the scents of its gardens, and Rama sighed, “Ah, this city we must attack is like Kubera’s Alaka.”

  For a time, Rama stood rapt in the spectacle of Lanka poised above them. Then, quietly, he turned to the task at hand. He called the vanaras together around him. Rama said, “Let Angada and Neela be at the heart of our army. Let Rishabha be on the right flank and Gandhamadana at the left. Lakshmana and I will go at the head of our legions, and let Jambavan and Sushena bring up its rear.”

  When these instructions were being carried out, Rama came to Sugriva. “I think this deployment is the best we can hope for, my friend. Now it is time we set Suka free, to fly back to his master and tell him we are here.”

  Sugriva gave the command and the bonds at Suka’s feet were cut. With a moan and not a glance behind him, the demon streaked away toward the imperial city above. Disheveled and shaken, Suka arrived in Ravana’s presence. His king laughed to see him.

  “Who bound your wings, my little rakshasa?” cried the Lord of evil. “Who marked your pretty face with bruises? Don’t tell me you fell among Sugriva’s vanaras?”

  Ravana’s guards cut away the vines around Suka’s body. Suka stood before his master. Tearfully, the spy said, “I flew to the shores of Bharatavarsha as you commanded. But when I gave the vanaras your message, they tied me up and beat me without mercy. They would have killed me if Rama had not stopped them. They are ruthless creatures. They are quick to anger, and implacable when they are angry.”

  The spy trembled to think of the moment when he was sure his end had come: when he lay under a mountain of monkeys who beat him and kicked him, their fangs bared in his face.

  Recovering himself under his king’s ten-headed gaze, Suka said softly, “I saw him, my lord. I saw Rama, the scourge of Viradha, Kabandha, and Khara. I saw him amidst his teeming vanara army. Last night he landed that army on the southern shores of Lanka. The ocean posed him no obstacle, but came quailing before him when he burned the tide with his astras. Varuna told Rama how he could cross the waves with his legion of the jungle.

  “Great Ravana, even now Rama’s army marches on your city. Return Sita at once, or be prepared for war.”

  Ravana’s roar echoed against t
he walls of his palace. The Demon thundered, “Let not only the jungle but all the earth and all the armies of Swarga and Patala come to fight me. I am Ravana, I am not afraid. Let the Devas and the Asuras arrive at my gates with their bright and dark hosts. I will face them. But Sita stays here with me, she is mine!

  “As for this Rama, I will cover him with my arrows as bees do a flowering punnaga in spring. As the sun dims the stars and turns night to day, I will take Rama’s glory from him. When he stands before me he will discover, and the world will discover, his worthlessness. My astras will consume him and he will be a heap of ashes before your eyes. I am Ravana. My valor is as deep as the sky; my speed is of thought and time. Rama does not know who I am, or he would not dare come to my island.

  “No one has told him that not Indra or Varuna, not Yama who is death or Kubera who was Lord of the earth, could stand before me in battle. That is why Rama has come to Lanka like an ignorant boy, who has not bargained for the swift end he will find here.”

  His breath was harsh and heavy and his eyes burned crimson. The nine heads around the central face now appeared, now vanished, in their baleful cone. Suka stood shivering before his king. Ravana grew quiet again and his quietness was more menacing than his open fury.

  Slowly, the Demon of Lanka said to Suka and another rakshasa who was there in his presence, “Suka and Sarana, my brave spies, the army of monkeys has done what I never dreamed they could. They have crossed the ocean. Now we must prepare in earnest for war. Go, both you clever ones; turn yourselves into monkeys and go among Sugriva’s people. Bring back a detailed account of their numbers, their weapons, and how the army of apes is deployed; which vanara commands which part of it, and how powerful each one is. Go now, fly!”

  They went before he had finished, for they read their king’s mood clearly. Beneath all his bluster and roaring, they sensed the despair that consumed him. When Ravana was left alone, his nine demonic heads reappeared around the royal one, and all ten conferred sibilantly.

  * * *

  Turning themselves into monkeys, Suka and Sarana crept into the vanara army. They strolled along its length and width, chattering intently between themselves, so no other monkey spoke to them. They saw how the jungle force was arrayed: which vanaras commanded each flank, and which the center, the front lines, and the rear. But as they walked through that wild multitude, trying to count its numbers, Vibheeshana saw them. Knowing who they were at once, he pounced on them with a band of monkeys and dragged them before Rama. They cringed and cried that Ravana had forced them to come, that he would kill them if they did not obey him.

  “Don’t kill us, noble Rama,” they wailed. “Your mercy is a legend in the world.”

  Rama smiled at them indulgently. “Have you finished with spying? Then go back to Ravana and tell him everything you saw. If there is anything else you want to know before you go, Vibheeshana will take you around and show you all our secrets. But return to your master, and tell him from me:

  “‘You dared take my Sita from me. Now you will have to prove yourself in battle. Come out, Ravana; bring all your sons, your brothers, and your commanders; stand face to face with me. Tomorrow, Lanka shall be a ruin worse than Hanuman left it. Tomorrow you will find me at your gate and discover that Rama’s arrows are more terrible than Indra’s vajra. Tomorrow, Rakshasa, you will taste my anger.’”

  Suka and Sarana fell a score of times at Rama’s feet. They would rise and begin to go away; then, overwhelmed again that he had spared their lives, they would run back and prostrate themselves at his feet. At last the vanaras chased them away.

  They fled straight into Ravana’s presence and reported: “Vibheeshana saw through our disguise and the vanaras captured us. They dragged us before Rama, but the noble prince set us free. He said, ‘Take all the secrets you have gathered, and if there is anything else you want to know, ask Vibheeshana or the monkeys and they will help you. But go back to your master and say I will be at his gates tomorrow. Tell him to meet me with his army, and all his brothers and sons. Let us see how they save him from me.’

  “Ravana, we have never seen kshatriyas like Rama and Lakshmana. Greatness shines from their bodies like light from the sun. Lord, you have always taken our advice; listen to us now. We have never seen an enemy like this one. It is not wise to have war with him. We may not be great warriors like some others, but we have seen the world. We say return his Sita to this prince of Ayodhya. Make peace with him; he is terribly brilliant and dangerous.”

  Wordlessly, Ravana strode out through his windows onto the vast terrace outside. Sarana and Suka followed their master meekly. They saw how grim his face was. For a long moment, the wind blowing their hair, king and minions stood silently on the terrace, gazing out over Rama’s army.

  At last Ravana said, “Tell me which monkey chieftain is which; show me which one leads each legion of the jungle rabble.”

  Ravana’s spies pointed out Nala and Neela to him, Angada, Hanuman, and many more vanaras. Then Ravana’s red eyes rested on Vibheeshana. There was untold rage and pain in them, and Suka and Sarana trembled even more. The spies smoothly moved on to Lakshmana, who stood on the other side of Vibheeshana, and Sugriva, Sushena, and Jambavan, the lumbering king of bears. Gaja, Gavaksha, Gavaya, Mainda, and Dwividha they showed their sovereign. His eyes grew grave when he saw how radiant these monkeys were, how strong and agile.

  Quite suddenly, at the heart of the knot of monkey chieftains, they saw Rama. Unearthly blue he was, and the bow at his back gleamed in the sun. Suka and Sarana saw their king’s gaze riveted to the dark prince. Taking courage in both hands, they whispered together, “Lord, that is Rama.”

  For just a moment, when he saw Rama at the head of that merry force of the jungle, it seemed Ravana felt a pang of doubt. But then, quickly, his eyes were hard again. He turned snarling on Suka and Sarana, “You want to frighten me with this ragtag of foolish monkeys? Who but witless apes would follow a hermit into Lanka, to fight Ravana? As for you two, count yourselves lucky that I don’t have your heads. Put it down to the services you have done me in the past. Now go, before I change my mind and reward you with the death you deserve for trying to sow fear in our hearts.”

  They bowed to him, crying, “Long live Ravana! May victory be yours,” and fled from his presence, before he did indeed change his mind. They knew that, given the occasion, the lives of his servants meant little enough to the Rakshasa.

  10. A mayic head

  Ravana called a council in his sabha. He said to his ministers, “The enemy is at our gates; let our fighting rakshasas be armed.”

  His mood was strange: he was full of thought, which had never been his way just before a battle. The Rakshasa was somber, like a man who has incurred a heavier debt than he could ever discharge. The ministers hurried away to carry out his command. Ravana returned to his private chambers. He dismissed his servants and summoned Vidyudhjiva, his sorcerer.

  Vidyudhjiva was a demon with occult powers, not least among them a gift for maya, the sorcery of creating illusions. Ravana said to him, “Make me a bloodied head, just like the prince of Ayodhya’s. Make me a bow and a quiver that resemble his in every detail.”

  This was not hard for Vidyudhjiva, who had stared long and in some fear at the kshatriya below. Within the hour, the head and the weapons were ready for the king. Ravana went to the asokavana. That garden, which Hanuman had ravaged, had been cleaned up by a contingent of rakshasas. It had been planted again with saplings from other parts of the island.

  Far away from her surroundings, borne on a daydream of her love, Sita sat forlorn and bewitching under the lone shimshupa. Her head was bowed and her eyes were teary when Ravana stalked up to her. The moment he saw her his heart was on familiar fire. She was so quiet in her grief, so entirely regal and lovely. Hers was the beauty of one whose spirit had survived its severest trial; in her loneliness she was as deep as the Ganga. She was calm, as if the Rama in her dreaming mind was as real as the one who was missing fro
m her life.

  Standing above her, Ravana said tenderly, “Sita.”

  She was startled out of her reverie, like a sleeping doe awakened by a tiger. She blanched to see her captor, her breast heaved. Weak at the sight of her face, Ravana said, “Don’t waste your dreams on your Rama any more. How often you extolled his valor and said he would easily kill me in battle. But you did not know Ravana when you spoke. You did not know who I am.”

  He paused to watch fear start in her eyes, but he saw nothing there. It was as if she had passed beyond the pale of fear by her long ordeal. Disappointed but undaunted, Ravana went on, “Your hermit prince, who killed my cousin Khara, is dead. Forget him now; he is gone forever. Turn your thoughts away from the past and to where it belongs, to where destiny has brought you. Turn your love to me, Sita. Look into my heart and see the flame that burns there for you. Touch me, and feel yourself loved as that boy could never have loved you.

  “Arise, precious Sita, come to my antapura with me. I am your hope, your sanctuary. The prince of Ayodhya is dead. If you had not been so stubborn, and resisted me for so long, you might have saved his life. But that is over now. All your punya and your vratas could not protect your Rama. Now prepare yourself to be a queen, the greatest queen on earth: my queen, Ravana’s queen in Lanka!”

  She stared at him mutely. He went on, “Listen to me, foolish woman. Just as you prayed he would, Rama came to Lanka. He landed on the northern shore with an army of vanaras. But the monkeys were tired after their passage across the sea, and they fell asleep. When my spies reported this to me, I sent my rakshasas under Prahastha and he killed the apes while they slept.

  “Your Rama was so tired after his journey, he slept on even when the monkeys died around him. Prahastha crept up to him. With a clean stroke of his sword, he cut off your husband’s head and brought it to me. The traitor Vibheeshana has been captured. Lakshmana and the vanaras who escaped death have fled our shores. Sugriva’s neck was broken, and Hanuman’s jaw, before he was impaled on my warriors’ lances. So much, Sita, for your last hope.