by Ramesh Menon
“The yakshas of the mountain heard of Dasagriva’s advent and fled to their master’s city, Alaka. Meanwhile, news of what Dasagriva had done to his messenger also reached Kubera. The Lokapala stood before his teeming legions, raised his hands high above his head, and roared, ‘Kill the Rakshasa! Kill all the rakshasas, that they dare to murder our messenger and come to attack us here. No matter that Dasagriva is my brother; he must die.’
“Crying their strange cries, like a sea roused to break its shores, the army of nairritas streamed out from their white city fortress and charged the rakshasa legion camped below them. They outnumbered Dasagriva’s demons by a hundred to one, but the force from Lanka, especially its commanders, fought a spectacular battle. Each of the six who surrounded their ten-headed king killed a thousand yakshas, and Dasagriva killed ten times as many.
“Wave after wave of brave yakshas swept at the Rakshasa. He stopped them as a great cliff does the tide. He let flow a river of yakshas’ blood, staining the white mountain scarlet. They beset him with a veritable night of maces, clubs, javelins, arrows, and other, more mysterious missiles Kubera’s people are masters of. They cast sorceries at the Lord of Lanka, and drew blood on him like the wild roses of spring. For a time they arrested Dasagriva’s frenzy of slaughter. They managed to check the bloody careen of his chariot.
“With a roar that stopped the wind on the mountain, Dasagriva seized up a huge mace, like Yama’s danda, and leaped out of his chariot straight into the midst of the thronging yakshas. Like a volcano he erupted on them. His arms were a blur, the mountain air was a denseness of piteous shrieks: the yakshas fell all around him and their blood lapped around his feet.
“Mahodara, Prahastha, and the other rakshasa chieftains were hardly less dreadful than their ten-faced master was. Like snow on the Himalaya at the arrival of summer, Vaisravana’s army melted at their onslaught. Limbs hewn from their trunks flew through the sunlit air, borne by invisible hands, and fell far away from those to whom they belonged. Severed heads rolled giddily down the mountain slope.
“Some of the rakshasas struck off their enemies’ heads and then seized the headless trunks and swilled greedily from the open necks, their eyes as red as the blood that gushed into their wild mouths and flowed down their chests. Other rakshasas tore out the entrails of slain yakshas and wore them as macabre garlands. Soon the delicate nairritas could not bear the invaders’ brutality, and fled back to their master in his city of gold and ice.
“A magnificent yaksha chieftain, Samyodhakantaka, killed a thousand rakshasas. He felled Maricha with a keening chakra, and knocked him down a sheer gorge, where the demon lay senseless for an hour; and Samyodhakantaka thought he had killed that rakshasa. Then, even as the yaksha cut down a thousand common rakshasas with some breathtaking archery and their gore flowed, mingling with yakshas’ blood, Maricha flew up from the gorge he had fallen into. Roaring to shake the snow from the loftiest peaks, he hacked thrice at Samyodhakantaka with his curved scimitar, drawing three crescented fonts of blood from the yaksha. Howling, Kubera’s commander fled.
“Now no yaksha or nairrita barred Dasagriva’s way into his half-brother’s city. The Rakshasa entered the golden portals of Alaka, contemptuously cutting down the last line of resistance: a meager, frightened company of dwarapalakas. At the next, inner door, Vaisravana’s main dwarapalaka, the powerful Suryabhanu, stood in Dasagriva’s way. With a growl from ten faces, the Rakshasa hewed at him with his sword. But the yaksha pulled up a stone pillar next to the door and struck Dasagriva across all his faces, drawing ten geysers of blood.
“Now Dasagriva’s roar shook the white city down to its foundations of rock and up to its turrets of ice. He leaped at Suryabhanu like a tiger, snatched the pillar out of his hands, crushed his head with it like a mushroom, flattening the skull, and was sprayed with the yaksha’s brains. All the other yakshas who crouched within the doorway melted away into the inner labyrinth of caves and streams within Kubera’s secret city.
“Seated in his sabha, Vaisravana watched the rout of his army. He saw them run like children before the Rakshasa, who had breached his city like some plague. Beside him stood Manibhadra, his yaksha Senapati, his general of generals. Manibhadra stood quivering with rage, and Kubera, his master of the gray eye, said to him, ‘Go, my friend, kill this Rakshasa and become the sanctuary of your people.’
“Taking his palace guard, four thousand of them, Manibhadra went to battle. These yakshas were the finest of Kubera’s fighting men. They were all masters of maya, and fought with mysterious ayudhas, spewing banks of spectral flames. They killed a thousand rakshasas. But infused by their master’s power, the rakshasa maharathikas seemed invincible. Prahastha killed a thousand yakshas by himself, and Mahodara, another thousand. And Maricha was implacable: he killed two thousand nairritas.
“Manibhadra himself faced Dhrumraksha on the pale and crimson field. Dhrumraksha struck the yaksha squarely in his chest with a great pestle weapon. But like a mountain struck by lightning, the yaksha did not flinch. He swung his own mace at Dhrumraksha’s head, and the rakshasa fell spouting blood from a deep wound. Dasagriva rushed toward him. Manibhadra aimed three lightlike shaktis at the rakshasa king, but they fell off the Demon like the stems of flowers.
“Dasagriva knocked Manibhadra’s gleaming crown askew with a thought-swift arrow, and the stupendous yaksha was called Parswamauli since. Unable to withstand the ferocity of the fight Dasagriva offered, Manibhadra turned away from his adversary. Then a gasp went up from the advancing rakshasa legions. They stopped in their tracks, rooted, trembling. Dasagriva turned his head to where his soldiers gazed, where a dazzling light shone now, as if a bit of the sun had fallen to the earth.
“There, his mace in his hands, swathed in the refulgence of a Lokapala, stood Vaisravana himself, with two of his ministers, Sukra and Prausthapada, and two of the demigods who ruled two of Kubera’s nine treasures: Padma and Sankha. In a voice that shook the palace, Vaisravana said, ‘Dasagriva, you fool, what have you done? Don’t you know these crimes will lead you straight to hell? How often I have warned you, but you are blind with arrogance and you will not listen to me. I will say no more; come let us fight.’
“And the Lord of the yakshas, the Dikpala of the north, was at the rakshasas like a force of nature. Dasagriva’s warriors wilted before that assault of light. Maricha, Prahastha, Mahodara, and the others fled before Vaisravana; only Dasagriva stood his ground. Kubera fetched him a blow like the end of time on his central head, but his half-brother received it as a God might an offering. His ten heads now flashed into view and ten horrible laughs filled the courtyard where they fought.
“For a while they fought with maces and blows like earthquakes. Kubera loosed an agneyastra at Dasagriva. But the Rakshasa doused its fires with a varunastra; and now the Rakshasa began to fight with maya. He assumed a thousand different forms: some terrifying, others deceptively gentle; some human, some almost divine, and some bestial. Dasagriva hunted among the yakshas like a tiger, a boar, a cloud, a hill, a sea, a tree, a yaksha himself, a Daitya.
“Then suddenly he vanished altogether, all his thousand forms. But Vaisravana’s soldiers still died in waves around him. Dasagriva had made himself invisible; he still stalked the enemy, unseen, cut their heads from their necks, and drank their blood with all his ten mouths. Often you could see a headless corpse suspended in midair, and the blood gushing from its naked throat would vanish eerily.
“Finally, Dasagriva appeared again, in sinister splendor. He held a sleek iron club in his hand and, quick as light, he struck Kubera on his head with it. Flowing blood, the Lord of treasures, the Lokapala, Siva’s friend, the rishi who was equal to a Deva, fell unconscious. He fell like an asoka tree in scarlet bloom, which had been cut down at its roots.
“The Devas who were present, Padma, Sankha, and the others, spirited Vaisravana away to the Nandana in Amravati, where he was restored with magical herbs and poultices. But that was the end of the battle, and
Dasagriva had vanquished his half-brother. Roaring his triumph, the Rakshasa entered Kubera’s palace and plundered whatever took his fancy. But the prize he cherished most was the pushpaka vimana.
“The fabled vimana had pillars of gold; its arched doorway was made of vaidurya and padmaraga. Nests of pearls covered its dome, and inside were trees of the most pristine strains, which bore ambrosial fruit in every season. The ship of the sky assumed any form its master chose, and it flew anywhere in the three worlds at his very wish. Viswakarman had created that vimana, and now Kubera’s conqueror, his brother Dasagriva, night-stalker, Lord of the night, flew down from Kailasa in the peerless pushpaka. And Dasagriva did not doubt any more that he would soon be master of the three worlds.”
8. Dasagriva gets a new name
Rama asked keenly, “And what did Dasagriva do next, Muni? We knew so little about the Rakshasa, and yet it was our destiny to face him in battle.”
Agastya resumed. “When he had vanquished Kubera, Dasagriva wanted to see the legendary thicket of sara reeds in which Siva’s son, the Lord Karttikeya, had been born. He flew to the banks of the Ganga in his newly taken treasure, the pushpaka vimana, and he saw the bed of reeds that shone as if pollen from the sun had been scattered over it. The vimana flew up to a hill above the sacred thicket and would not move even when the Rakshasa willed it to.
“Dasagriva cried, ‘What has happened? Someone on this hill has arrested our flight.’
“Maricha ventured to suggest, ‘Perhaps, my lord, the pushpaka vimana will not bear anyone save Vaisravana?’
“Just then they saw a hideous being approaching them. He was a Siva gana, sallow-complexioned, dwarfish, thickset, misshapen, his head shaven, his arms short and massive, and obviously strong. And from his face, it was plain that he was full of unearthly joy, always. It was Nandiswara, Siva’s mount, in his human form.
“Nandin said in a ringing voice, ‘Turn back, Dasagriva. My Lord Sankara is with Uma on this hill, and none of the created may come here, not the gandharvas, nagas, yakshas, Devas, suparnas, Asuras, or rakshasas.’
“Dasagriva climbed down from his vimana; his kundalas quivered for the wrath he felt, and his eyes were the color of dusk. His voice quivering, he breathed, ‘Who is this Sankara of yours?’ At that moment he saw Nandin grow as refulgent as Siva himself, and he saw the gana had a monkey’s face and held a flaming pike in his hands. Dasagriva threw back his head and roared with laughter that was like lightning exploding in the sky.
“Nandin grew very still, then said, ‘Dasanana, ten-headed Demon, you dare laugh at my vanara form today. I could kill you even now, little Rakshasa, for you have no boon to save you from me. But I curse you instead. I curse you that you and your arrogant rakshasas shall be razed by the wild race of monkeys. They shall have my strength; they shall be as radiant and full of faith as I am. Claws and fangs shall be their weapons. They will have the mind’s swiftness, and they will be like a legion of mountains come to your gates to crush your rakshasas. As for you, Dasagriva, your sins shall come hunting you as your death.’
“When Nandiswara pronounced his curse, a battery of drums sounded in Devaloka, as Indra’s people rejoiced. But Dasagriva was not moved. He said evenly, ‘Bull-like, what power does your master Siva wield that he sports like a king all the time? How does this hill arrest my vimana’s flight? Does Siva not know that I, Dasagriva, have come here? Doesn’t he know danger is near him?’
“With that, Dasagriva bent, thrust his hands under the hill, and drew it out of the ground by its roots. The hill shook violently. Siva’s ganas on its summit trembled; Parvati slipped, and clung to her lord. Siva laughed; playfully he pressed down on the hill with his toe. Dasagriva’s arms like columns were broken and thrust into their sockets. His roar of pain reverberated through creation, like the thunder of the pralaya. In Devaloka, Indra and his lambent people quaked to hear that sound. Oceans rose in mountainous waves and crashed against their shores. The earth wobbled in her orbit.
“Yakshas, gandharvas, and vidyadharas cried in alarm, ‘Hah! What sound is that? Is the world ending?’
“Dasagriva wailed on. Birds wheeled in panic and animals dashed through their jungles in a frenzy of fear. Dasagriva still did not stop his dreadful howling, and an asariri said to him, ‘Worship Siva, Rakshasa. He is kind, and he will bless you if you worship him.’
“It is told that, standing on one foot, Dasagriva then played on the vina, while he held that hill aloft with his broken arms and, for a thousand years, sang hymns from the Samaveda, which praise the blue-throated Nilakanta, Uma’s Lord. And all the while, he wept.
“Siva sat with Parvati on the crest of the hill and enjoyed the Rakshasa’s singing. When a thousand years had passed, the Lord said kindly to Dasagriva, ‘Rakshasa, I am pleased with your worship and your valor. I will grant you a boon. But first, I will give you a name. Since you terrified the creatures of all the worlds with your wailing, I name you Ravana. From now, let the beings of the three worlds know you by that name. Go where you will, Ravana, go without fear.’
“Ravana’s arms were healed. He set down the hill, gently, and prostrated himself before the God of Gods. He said, ‘Lord, if you are truly pleased, grant me a boon. O Siva, I already have a boon from Brahma. You grant me a long life, Lord, and give me a great weapon.’
“Siva granted Ravana the boon he wanted, and gave the Rakshasa a glittering sword called the Chandrahasa. Then Siva and his ganas vanished from before the Rakshasa’s eyes. Named anew by Siva himself, and with the Lord’s inexorable blade in his hands, Ravana climbed back into the pushpaka vimana and now it flew wherever he wanted it to.
“No one could resist the Rakshasa any more and he soon conquered most of creation. Those that dared oppose him, he dealt with mercilessly, and the others yielded, saying, ‘We are vanquished,’ and he lost further interest in them.
“The Devas and all the races of heaven and earth sent Ravana tribute, and he was, indeed, the undisputed sovereign of all he surveyed. A tide of evil, whose font was Ravana of Lanka, swept the earth.”
9. Vedavati’s curse
“Ravana was a restless spirit. He never tired of ranging through the world, his domain. Once he went into the heart of a deep jungle and saw a sight that riveted him. Under a nyagrodha tree sat a young woman at dhyana. She wore the hide of a black antelope; her hair was matted in jata, like any rishi’s, and she shone like a goddess in the dimness. She was in the sensuous bloom of her youth, and beautiful past describing.
“The Rakshasa stood staring helplessly at her for a while. Then he approached her and said softly, with a laugh, ‘What are you doing here, young woman? Your youth and beauty do not belong in this forest of hermits. Why, a rishi could go mad just to look at you. Who are you, my beauty? Who is your husband? Ah, he is a lucky man that lies with you. And, tell me, why do you sit here in dhyana? Tapasya is not for the likes of you, auspicious one.’
“As any sannyasi should, she welcomed Ravana and made him comfortable. When he sat at his ease, she said, ‘I am Kusadhvaja’s daughter, and my father was Brihaspati’s son and a brahmarishi himself. My father spent his life chanting the Vedas, and I, O Lord of the rakshasas, am called Vedavati. For I am the Vedas embodied in a woman’s form, and I was born out of my father’s bhakti.
“‘Many gandharvas, yakshas, pannagas, and rakshasas have begged my father for my hand. But he will never give me to any of them. Would you hear why, O Ravana?’
“And he was so enchanted with her that of course he would. Vedavati said, ‘My father said he would only give me to the Lord Vishnu. When the Daitya king Sambhu heard this, he was furious. He arrived in our asrama one moonless night, killed my father in his sleep, and melted back into the darkness of which he was born. When my mother saw my father dead, she made a pyre and burned herself on it with my father’s body.
“‘I have lived here in their asrama ever since, and I have kept the image of Narayana, the sleeper on the waters, in my heart. For my father�
�s sake, I am determined I will marry Vishnu and no one else. It is to bring him to me that I sit here in tapasya. So now you know about me; I beg you, leave me to my dhyana.’
“But Ravana already quivered from wanting her. He said, ‘You waste your youth for this foolishness! There is no woman in the three worlds as beautiful as you are. How can you do this to yourself? Anuttamaa, peerless one, only an old woman will sit like this in dhyana; not someone like you, blessed already with every gift a woman could want. Look, I am Ravana and I am the Emperor of the rakshasas. Why, I am Emperor of the three worlds because there is no one in any of them who can match my valor or my strength. Come, Vedavati, be my queen and enjoy every pleasure, as you were born to.
“‘And, tell me, who is this Vishnu for whose sake you desolate your youth?’
“Mortified, she said, ‘Vishnu is the Lord of the three worlds. Only you would ask who he is so contemptuously.’
“With a terrible growl, Ravana sprang toward her. He seized her by her hair, to slake himself at once on her sinuous body. But she cried out in grief and rage, and her very hand turned into a blade. She sheared her hair off with it, leaving him holding her tresses. Still, he came after her. He laid his coarse hands on her. He forced himself upon her virgin, exquisite body. When he had spent himself in a paroxysm of violence, she rose and stood over him like a fire.
“‘Rakshasa, you have violated me and my life is a ruined thing. I will not live another day. But I swear I will be born again, and I will be your death, Ravana of Lanka. Alas, that I may not curse you, even now. You have sinned on my body, and if I curse you I will lose my own tapasya shakti.’
“With the power of her yoga, she kindled a fire and walked into it. As the Rakshasa watched in mild curiosity, Vedavati became ashes before his eyes.”
