The Ramayana

by Ramesh Menon

  “The sands of our northern beaches are no longer pale, but dark with the blood of monkeys.”

  Ravana paused; he grinned fiendishly. The Evil One said, “I see from your smile that you do not believe me. I had thought as much, and I have brought something for you to see.”

  Ravana snapped his fingers at one of the attendant rakshasis. “Tell Vidyudhjiva to fetch the trophy from the battlefield.”

  Vidyudhjiva emerged from the shadows with a sack. Ravana nodded to him. “Show it to her.”

  The sorcerer opened the mouth of the sack and drew out the head he had created with his maya. Sita’s eyes stared in shock. Vidyudhjiva set the bloody head down before her. Ravana drew a bow out of his sorcerer’s bag, a replica of the radiant Kodanda, and said, “Even if you don’t recognize your husband’s head for what Prahastha’s blade has done to it, you will know this bow of which so much was made. Until the bowman came to grief on Lanka.”

  Sita gazed at the bloody head, its eyes shut, its neck horribly severed, and she began to scream. “Are you satisfied now, Kaikeyi? The light of the House of Raghu is put out forever. What did my gentle Rama ever do that he came to such an end?”

  She fainted and fell across the grisly head. For a long time, as Ravana watched her in satisfaction, she did not stir. Then she awoke and began to wail loudly, calling Rama’s name over and over again. Brokenhearted, she stroked and kissed the mayic head.

  Sita whispered, ‘They say that only the husband of a loose woman dies like this. But not for a day, not for a moment, have I sinned in deed or thought. Not once have I missed my vratas for Rama. Yet his head lies before me, hewn brutally from his precious body, and I have to see this sight with my eyes. I am cursed!

  “Oh Rama, how will your mother Kausalya bear this? How did a common rakshasa do this to you, who were lord of all the earth? I should have allowed Hanuman to carry me out of this accursed place, and this would never have happened. I am the most unfortunate woman ever born. Just when I thought the end of our ordeal was in sight, a rakshasa has ended all my dreams.

  “I will not live a day longer, Rama, and Lakshmana will be left alone in the world. His eyes streaming with a grief that will last the rest of his life, his heart full of guilt and dark confusion, he will go back alone to Ayodhya: to bring news of Rama’s death to our mothers and our people.”

  Ravana stood watching her triumphantly, lust and hope stirring powerfully in his heart. Sita cradled the bloody head and sobbed. Then a messenger arrived in haste from Prahastha. He came running and breathless, and stood with palms folded before the king at his diabolical game.

  Ravana glanced at him in annoyance. He was enjoying Sita’s grief. He thought the moment had come when her spirit would break and she would turn to him for comfort; and his hardest battle would be won. But the messenger, who stood quaking before his master, obviously brought urgent news. Ravana snapped at him, “Speak!”

  “Prahastha has arrived at the palace, my lord. He wishes to be announced immediately; his news is grave.”

  With a snarl, Ravana turned away from Sita, who had not once raised her eyes up to him as he so dearly hoped she would. Ravana strode out of the asokavana. At once, Rama’s head made of Vidyudhjiva’s illusion vanished out of Sita’s hands, and the bow and quiver beside her. She gave a cry and fainted again.

  A kindly young rakshasi among the others watched, day and night, over Sita. Her name was Sarama. She had heard how Vidyudhjiva had created Rama’s head with sorcery. As soon as Ravana stormed away to the palace, Sarama ran to Sita, who lay motionless on the ground. Shaking her, the young rakshasi cried, “Didn’t you see how the head and the weapons vanished? They were made of maya. Rama lives!”

  At the magic words “Rama lives,” Sita roused herself. They heard drummers and town criers out in the streets of Lanka, summoning the rakshasas to arms. The army of vanaras was at their gates. Sita looked at Sarama in desperate hope. The rakshasi stroked Sita’s cheek and said, “Not a vanara is slain, let alone Rama. Your rescue is at hand, lovely one. Pray to Surya Deva that your Rama kills Ravana, and all the earth will rejoice with you.”

  Sarama went off again to the palace to glean the latest news from the servants there. She returned shortly, shaking her head. She said, “Yama comes for Ravana’s life and the end of Lanka is near. His mother and his older ministers begged the king to give you back to Rama; but he would not listen to them. Like a man who has lost his reason, he cried that he would rather die than give you up: for you were dearer to him than life, many times over. Ah, Sita, you have come here to be the death of him.”

  Sita was consoled. She began to pray to all the Gods for Rama’s victory.

  11. The enemy at the gate

  Nearer and nearer Lanka’s walls came Rama’s jungle army. Its trumpets and wild horns, its drums and conches, resounded through the sea air. Ravana sat in his sabha with his ministers and commanders. Repeatedly, he asked for their advice on how their campaign should be planned. But his rakshasas were anxious. They did not boast any more; they could hardly believe the vanaras had actually landed on Lanka.

  But their king was still in high spirits. He mocked their silence; he laughed in their faces. He roared at them, “Cowards! Are the mighty rakshasas of Lanka terrified of a foolishness of monkeys? Are the conquerors of the Devas of Amravati and Kubera of the mountain panic-stricken that some long-tailed vanaras have gathered at our gates? Or is it the two human princes that make you so pale? Humans whom you would have as a snack in the morning.

  “It is the rumors that terrify you. Just think: none of you has seen the prowess of this Rama and Lakshmana. None of you has measured their worth. But listening to some gossip, you sit here and tremble like women.

  “I say to you, Rama is just another man. He may well be the strongest of his kind; but he cannot suddenly become a Deva, a gandharva, or an Asura. He is a puny human, and the strongest of his race is no match for even the least of our rakshasas. Your doubts have turned you against yourselves, and there is no fiercer enemy than one’s own mind.

  “If you calm your fears, victory will be ours, easily. And the jungles of Bharatavarsha will be rid of the menace of monkeys for good.”

  Malyavan was one of the oldest and wisest rakshasas in Ravana’s sabha. He had fought countless campaigns at his king’s side, and he had known Ravana since he was just a boy.

  Now Malyavan said, “A just king rules his kingdom for many years. But a king who turns away from dharma quickly loses his throne, and very likely his life as well. You have never needed me to tell you this before, Ravana, but it seems you do now: the most fatal mistake a warrior can make is to underestimate his enemy.

  “Open your eyes and look at the sea of vanaras outside our city. There is a great chance that we will lose a war against them. If there are any more monkeys like Hanuman in their ranks, our defeat is a certainty. If you are sure that your enemy is weaker than you, fight him. But tell me, my son, are you certain you will defeat Rama and the vanara army? Somehow, I don’t believe you are.

  “Remember, though you are invincible against all the Devas, the Asuras, the gandharvas, the nagas, and the other immortals, you have no boon against men and monkeys. You spurned that blessing in contempt. It is a man, with an army of monkeys, who has come to your gates. No boon protects you against them. Wisdom demands that you give Sita back.

  “I have heard that this Rama is Vishnu himself, who has been born as a human prince to kill you. Think with your intellect, Ravana, not your hopes. Could an ordinary man have done what Rama did at Janasthana? He killed fourteen thousand rakshasas, and Khara with them. Could an ordinary man have crossed the sea with an army of monkeys? Would Varuna not have drowned him? But Rama is no ordinary man. Give Sita back to him and, being who he is, he will forgive you. This is your chance to redeem yourself.”

  But Ravana turned on Malyavan, as he had never done before. “Old fool, you have joined the ranks of the doubters, who are so enamored of Rama! Why don’t you and t
he rest like you go and join your human prince? Your fine kshatriya, whom his own father turned out of his kingdom, though he was the eldest son. Without wealth to gather a proper army, the upstart has brought a jungle of monkeys to my gates. And you think I should go in fear of him—this nobody, this mere man.

  “Can’t you see that Sita belongs at my side? She is like Lakshmi, come down into the world just for me. And you want me to give her back tamely to that mendicant? Because he brings a gaggle of monkeys to my island? Is this the rakshasa’s way? Do you seriously advise Ravana, Lord of the earth, to go in fear of a human?”

  He glowered at old Malyavan. “Hear me clearly—you, Malyavan, and all the others who are so afraid: it is not in my nature to submit, not to this Rama nor to anyone. One’s nature can never change. I am Ravana, and Ravana I will remain, whether I live or die.

  “You say the building of the bridge across the sea is a feat that shows Rama’s prowess. I say to you, he will not return by that bridge. It shall prove the bridge to his death.”

  Ravana stood blazing before his hushed sabha. Malyavan saw it was no use trying to reason with him, and held his peace. He mumbled a customary blessing and left the court.

  Ravana began to prepare in earnest to meet the vanara invasion. He issued orders to his commanders. “Prahastha, you guard the eastern gate; Mahaparshva and Mahodara go to the southern gate. Indrajit, noble son, you meet the monkeys in the west. I myself will see to the northern gate. Virupaksha, take your army to the heart of Lanka and kill any monkeys that scale our walls.”

  Those rakshasas went out to their places, with their monstrous legions.

  12. Between two hills

  Beyond Ravana’s city gates, the vanara chieftains had gathered around Rama and Lakshmana. Sugriva said, “Rama, the walls of Lanka are lofty and smooth, and the rakshasas who guard her gates are fierce. Our war will not be an easy one.”

  Vibheeshana said, “Our spies have returned, the friendly birds with whom the monkeys palavered. They say Prahastha guards the east, Mahaparshva and Mahodara the south, Indrajit the west, and Ravana himself the northern gates of Lanka. Virupaksha and his rakshasas guard the fortress at the heart of the city.”

  Vibheeshana described the might of the rakshasa army in detail. There was little he did not know, whether of the characters of the demon generals themselves or the warriors each one commanded. He recounted the battle against Kubera: how each legion fought, which rakshasas were the bravest and most to be feared. He described again how Indrajit brought Indra to Lanka, bound in his livid astra.

  Finally he said, “Don’t underestimate my brother’s army, or his courage and ability. But Rama, my heart knows you can win this war. It will be hard, but it is not beyond you. Ravana has never been tested by an enemy to whose arrows he is vulnerable. Brahma’s boon does not protect him from you or your vanaras. Let us see how he fights a battle in which he knows he can be killed.”

  Silence fell on the chieftains of Rama’s jungle army. The time for the assault on Lanka was not far. Unlike the Rakshasa within his walls, Rama instructed his soldiers calmly and gently. “Good Neela, you attack Prahastha at the eastern gate. Brave Angada, take your army south to confront not one but two great rakshasas. Let Hanuman go to the western gate against Indrajit. Lakshmana and I will assail the north; while Sugriva, Jambavan, and Vibheeshana remain at the heart of our army, guiding us with their experience and wisdom.

  “No vanara should assume the guise of a man when we fight, or he may be mistaken for the enemy by our own soldiers.”

  He grew quiet, and Rama’s was a resonant quietness. He said softly, “For too long this Evil One has been a curse upon the earth. Too long his rakshasas have drunk the blood of the rishis of peace, whose tapasya supports dharma in the world. His time has come: not for nothing was Sita abducted; not for nothing did Sugriva and I meet on Rishyamooka. The hand of fate is always upon us, and everything that happens in this world is by fate.

  “My friends, Ravana’s time to die is here, and the earth will be rid of a great burden when he dies.”

  The sun was sinking into the sea again, and evening settled around them. Rama said, “Let us climb Suvela and spend our last night before the war on it.”

  Rama, Lakshmana, Sugriva, and Vibheeshana climbed that hill. Below them Lanka lay like another galaxy, its lights twinkling like stars in its streets and homes as night fell.

  Rama said, “It is so peaceful here, and how beautiful Lanka looks. But when I think Sita is a prisoner within those walls, I can hardly contain my anger. I wonder how a king who has as little dharma as Ravana has ruled for so long. He is a blot on the name of the noble family into which he was born. You, Vibheeshana, are his brother; you have left his side at this critical time, for what he has sunk to. I feel sad that all the rakshasas of Lanka must pay with their lives for their king’s sin.”

  By the last light of day, Lanka seemed to float again in the air: a dream city. Then night was upon the island, and from the east, majestically, there rose a golden moon. A sea breeze, full of solemn news, plucked at the faces of those who had climbed the hill. Soft excitement gripped Rama as he sat silently on a rock. Lakshmana stood beside his brother, perfectly calm on the eve of battle.

  Thus they sat, the human princes and the monkeys of the forest, staring out at Lanka and, beyond, to the silver and golden waves of the moon-drenched ocean. The rhythm and swell of the tide reached across the night and lulled them. They, and their army below them, slept deeply, and no dreams disturbed their rest.

  * * *

  The next morning they saw Lanka below them like a vision in vivid colors. The dawn breeze carried the scents of its gardens across to the vanara army. They saw, in wonder, that flowers that bloomed only in other seasons elsewhere in the world were all ablossom here: the dark roses of winter and the bright poppies of summer, at once. Wafted with the scents of flowers came the mellow songs of koyals in the branches of Lanka’s trees and the lively noises of waterbirds that had flown here across continents to swim in Ravana’s sparkling lakes.

  Trikuta rose steeply from the rest of the island, and Lanka still seemed to be built into the wispy clouds of the early morning, a fantasy. Reverberant banks of many kinds of flowers decked the slopes of that hill. Rama and his vanaras stared out raptly at the spectacle shimmering before their eyes. Rama’s gaze wandered over that city among cities, and rested on a palace that towered above every other edifice, as if it were a Kailasa among the Himalaya. Rama knew this was Ravana’s palace.

  A powerful intuition stirred in Rama when he saw that singular palace. He strained his eyes, and then on an open terrace he saw a white parasol unfurled. Suddenly a subliminal current, more potent than anything he had ever felt before, snaked out across the valley between the two hills. It gripped Rama’s heart in a vise.

  Rama felt a pang of panic. He saw Ravana across the vista that separated them. The Demon wore flowing white silk. He stood there, tall and sinister, staring out hypnotically, as if to destroy the human prince with his look. Rama felt the Rakshasa’s hatred reach for him, to snuff life from him, and he shivered in that regard. But the prince of light did not turn away, as his flesh cried out to; he stood firm. The two of them, one of evil and the other of grace, locked stares like swords across the valley.

  The tension between the two hills was a potent thing, and the vanara army fell hushed. Breathlessly, they watched the silent contest of wills between their Rama and the terrible one in Lanka. For a while, it seemed the very air might ignite; but at last, it was the Lord of Lanka who looked away first and abruptly turned his back. Rama stood as if he had been turned to stone by the contention. Then a cheer went up from the vanaras and a smile touched his face.

  13. Sugriva

  Rama turned to speak to Sugriva. To his astonishment, he found the vanara had risen bodily from the ground, and with a ringing cry flew at Ravana on his terrace. In a trice, Sugriva flashed across the valley that separated Trikuta and Suvela. Both armies watched,
agape, as the monkey king hovered above Ravana and cried, “Rama is the Lord of the world, and I am his servant. Your end has come, Rakshasa, you won’t escape.”

  The vanara swept down at the astonished Ravana, snatched the golden crown from his head, and flung it to the ground far below the terrace. But Ravana was perfectly composed. He said with a smile, “You must be Vali’s foolish brother. Sugriva is the one with the beautiful throat; how unfortunate that throat will soon be slit.”

  With a cry, Sugriva fell on Ravana. Well prepared for it, the Rakshasa seized the vanara. But Sugriva was stronger than he had thought, much stronger; the blows he struck the Demon with were like thunderclaps. Panting and cursing, they fought. When Ravana saw the battle was a more equal one than he had bargained for, he began to use maya. He would vanish and reappear before the vanara’s eyes. Sugriva grew confused and Ravana’s eerie laughter mocked him.

  But Sugriva had come only to taunt his enemy. As soon as the Rakshasa began to fight with sorcery, the vanara leaped into the air once more and, quick as a thought, flew back to Rama. The vanaras roared in delight.

  Rama embraced Sugriva and cried, “How brave and foolhardy of you, my friend! If you had asked me first, I would never have let you go. Suppose you had been killed; what would I have done? Not Sita, not Lakshmana, not anyone could have made my life worth living again. While you fought, and my heart was in my mouth, I decided that if you died I would kill Ravana, crown Vibheeshana, and take my own life. Do you know that, Sugriva, dearer to me than my life?”

  Sugriva blushed and mumbled shyly, “I saw Ravana standing there so haughtily, the devil who stole your Sita from you, and I couldn’t help myself.”