Rama shook his head in exasperation. ‘Tell that idiot to get out of there now.’
Hanuman glanced impassively at the tail-dipper. Even his infinite patience had been tested to its limits by Sakra’s antics. ‘Ignore him, Rama. He’ll move quickly enough in a moment. Vanars learn better by example and experience than by following orders.’ He didn’t need to add that Sakra revelled in drawing attention to himself. The more he was loudly berated, the more mischief he got upto.
Another cry from the top of the mountain alerted them. They gazed up, shielding their eyes against the sun, and saw the crowd on the clifftop parting to leave a space clear. Lakshman and Jambavan had vanished. The roaring and shouting along the seashore died down, leaving only the ceaseless pounding and shirring of the sea. Gulls flew overhead, calling. Rama heard a crab scuttling between the boulders on which he stood, and then splashing into the water below. The vanars and bears on the beach all looked up, aware that the moment they had been waiting for all morning had arrived. Most of the curious line-breakers retreated up the dunes, behind the line that had been marked out by Hanuman earlier. Still the foolhardy vanar sat by the tideline, dipping his tail and holding it up. For a moment, the universe held still, waiting.
Then a large, black shape appeared on the top of the mountain. It moved very slowly, in tiny increments of space, as it had moved all morning. It was a gigantic black boulder, twice as large as the one on which Rama and Hanuman stood. It was easily the height of a palm tree, and as wide. Black as pitch, and misshappen from millennia of erosion, it was nonetheless somewhat rounded. Enough to be rolled up the mountainside by a few thousand vanars and bears all pushing at once. Even though Rama could not see it, he knew of the mighty struggle going on up there. What strain those creatures must be labouring under, to push that great rock all the way up the mountain. Hanuman and he had been there to help pick out a suitable boulder to start the enterprise, had given a hand themselves in dislodging the giant from its ancient perch. Hard as it had been to overcome inertia and get that monster moving, it had been tortuous to push it up the side of that mountain. Hundreds of vanars had been delegated the task of clearing the path, picking out stones, and pebbles, filling in and tamping holes that could cause one of those pushing to lurch or stumble. A hundred bears were the backbone of the effort, doing the actual pushing of the boulder. Hundreds more fanned out in a giant spreading formation, each pushing the back of the one above, in order to spread the weight and pressure. The vanars took the awkward smaller places in-between the bears, taking the pressure where the larger creatures could not fit, stabilising the overall load. Slowly, painfully, working all morning, they had managed to take the boulder to the top of the mountain. At that point, Rama and Hanuman had set off for the beach, to prepare for their side of the work. When they left, Nala had been hopping from one foot to the other, screaming orders non-stop.
Even this method was the result of much trial and error. Pushing giant rocks up mountainsides did not come naturally to either bears or vanars—or to any species for that matter. Lakshman had taken Rama aside and suggested that by placing sheared tree trunks beneath the boulder, they could roll it along more effectively. Rama had disagreed, not only because of the bears’ staunch refusal to ‘murder’ trees, but because he felt the boulder was much too heavy and because the added height would make it near impossible for the bears and vanars to place their hands upon it to push. Now, he wondered if he had been too hasty in dismissing Lakshman’s suggestion. They might have used ropes, he realised, long ropes to pull the boulder uphill. Anything to make it easier. Several vanars and bears had already died or been maimed in the initial efforts, either crushed when the boulder rolled too quickly down little slopes or when it fell back upon those pushing. Rama’s heart had wept for those brave souls who sacrificed themselves, and swelled with pride at the hordes who had stepped up to take their place. Nala, of course, had been inconsolable, feeling personally responsible for each death. As Rama had comforted the master-builder, he had wished there was some better way, some method that reduced the risk to life and limb. But in the same instant, he knew that there was no way to eliminate loss completely, that there would always be a price to be paid, that there were no ropes to hand, or if there were, then the ropes could break as well, the logs splinter. He must trust in the stout hearts and wills of his followers and believe that those hearts were stronger than the thickest ropes could ever be, their wills hardier than even the most densest logs.
The boulder came into view in stages, first only its rounded top appearing above the mountain’s flat top, then a larger wedge, then, after several anxious moments of waiting, a semicircular portion. Over the next half hour or so, it came entirely into view, dwarfing the tiny silhouettes of the animals around it, making Rama wonder how such tiny creatures could possibly manipulate such a great bulk. And yet, there it was at last, a boulder the size of a large house, standing on the rim of the cliff, proof that strong wills could move mountains—or large boulders at least.
A figure appeared to one side of the boulder, and from the way the sun caught the figure’s brown fur, Rama recognised Kambunara. The bear raised both arms into the air and waved them slowly from side to side. Hanuman waved back in response, then turned to Rama.
‘They are ready, Rama. Shall we proceed?’
Rama scanned the seafront. The tide was almost fully out now and thrice the usual span of beach was visible, the wet sand glistening in the sun. The ocean seemed enormous and placid, sunlight catching rising waves and twinkling at him, a giant winking with amusement at the thought of these puny creatures attempting to bridge its vast expanse. The day was clear and the sky almost empty of clouds. The world seemed to be watching him curiously, to see if he could achieve this next step in this enormous undertaking. He experienced a moment of great trepidation, a self-questioning instant wherein he wondered if it was truly worth all this, so many lives labouring so hard, struggling against such great odds before they could even begin a war. And if the struggle to reach there was so enormous, imagine what the war would be. He felt his resolve falter a brief instant, and heard his own voice speak doubtfully within the echoing space of his mind: Is it really worth it? Why are we making such a huge effort? Look at the way they have toiled all morning, just to raise one boulder, a single rock. Do I really expect to build an entire bridge this way? To span an ocean? Miles upon miles of undulating sea? How many boulders? How many broken backs and crushed bones, and lives sacrificed? And then what? Another war. Yet another terrible, doomed, life-extinguishing horror-wreaking war. How do I justify it all?
A bird cry broke through his thoughts. Without turning to look, he knew it was the same bird that had called earlier. A sea hawk perhaps, or a falcon, perhaps even a vulture? He did not know. But its cry, so mournful and soulful and filled with sadness and longing, cut through to his heart. And it brought the image of Sita flooding back into his mind, Sita sitting by his side in their little hut and talking to him about returning to Ayodhya, Sita dreaming of home and peace and children, Sita before her abduction. Sita, who had done nothing to merit such a fate, who depended now on him and him alone to come and free her. It sounded as if the bird spoke for her, with her voice, tugging at his conscience, calling to him. Come, save me. Save me, Rama.
Was it worth the price? So many lives, so much effort, to save only one person? He did not know. All he knew was that he could not fail her, he must go on, and he would not cease trying.
More than this he did not know.
‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘Proceed.’
Hanuman did not comment on the long wait for his response, or say anything else. He only raised his arms again and waved in a pre-arranged gesture, and was answered by the tiny silhouette of Kambunara. The bear turned away and shouted something to those pushing the boulder. There was a scurrying around, as positions were altered to prepare for the final step of the boulder’s journey. Then, one last signal from the bear, and the time for going back was pas
t.
The boulder rolled forward in lurching, drunken increments, slowing, then stopping as it reached the very lip of the cliff face. It teetered on the rim, as those behind it made one final superhuman effort, then gave itself to gravity. Rama could hear the voice of Lakshman now, shouting the final orders, his words undecipherable at this distance, but the urgency unmistakable. Then even Lakshman’s voice was stilled, and silence fell upon the bears and vanars once more, as the matter went out of their control and was given over to nature.
The rock hung on the edge of the clifftop, like a marble hesitating before rolling into a little hole in a child’s game. For a moment it seemed as if it would stay suspended there forever, stuck to the cliff. Then, it relinquished its hold on the earth and fell. Falling, it was no different from the marble descending into a too-large hole.
It fell for perhaps a hundred and fifty yards without encountering any obstacle. Then it brushed against an overhanging rock, a black kin to itself. The overhang shattered to smithereens, sending debris flying dozens of yards in every direction. Rama saw one fragment rise in an arc that took it thirty yards or more out into the sea, where it landed with a splash like a whale’s spout. The sound of the impact, so slight and seemingly negligible, was like a stroke of thunder in the silent morning, crashing against the face of the cliff and echoing back.
The rock continued its downward descent as if the overhang had never existed. It reached the point where the cliff face curved outwards again, the slope more gentle. Here it landed with a second impact that dwarfed the first, an explosion of sound that boomed like a bolt from Indra’s fist, and Rama felt the rock on which he stood shiver. The vanars on the dunes screamed and screeched and retreated further back, only their eagerness to see more keeping them from bolting outright. Sakra, still bravely sitting by the tideline, leaped up into the air as if launched by a bent sapling and scampered up the beach to join his fellows, quivering with fear. All thought of impressing the females had fled from his mind.
The boulder rolled down the slope at the bottom of the mountain, gathering great momentum. It bounced and leaped into the air, flying a good twenty or more yards out, then thudded with yet another ground-shaking impact on the wet, exposed sand of the tide-abandoned beach. Here, it’s powerful forward motion was absorbed almost entirely by the soft yielding sand, and after a half-roll, it abruptly came to a halt, some few yards from the lip of foam. Had the ground been hard and rocky here, instead of soft and wet and sandy, the boulder would easily have rolled right up to the place where Rama and Hanuman stood, crushing them as easily as a bladder-ball crushed two blades of grass.
But the sand had taken possession of the boulder now.
It lay there silent and still, its energies expended, its travelling done. In its wake, debris and fragments continued to roll down the cliffside a moment or two longer. The ocean sighed and soughed rhythmically for a moment or two. Gulls cried out angrily, furious at this violation of the natural order.
Then, as one, the armies cheered. Their collective throats roared out their satisfaction and pleasure at this task accomplished. They had beaten the rock. These puny beings had raised that great weight up the side of that towering mountain and flung it down to the beach below. They had moved it as they had intended to move it.
Hanuman and Rama leaped down from their perch and ran across the beach. The bears and vanars on the dunes, after a moment’s hesitation, let out a chorus of whooping cries, then ran down too. Rama felt the wet sand yield beneath his feet, his soles leaving deep prints that would be filled with brine. He felt the wind on his sunburned face, the salt chafing at his chapped lips. He heard Hanuman’s steady, deep, nasal breathing beside him, felt the pounding of his heart echoed in the impact each footfall made as it pounded the sand, and saw the vanars and bears upon the mountain top raise their arms and roar with delight as they looked down upon the fruits of their labour.
Hanuman reached the boulder a fraction before he did. The vanar barely touched the jagged side of the rock and launched himself up, up, seeming to leap almost in a single bound to its top. Rama had to pause and climb, seeking out footholds and handholds and working his way upward with effort. Hanuman’s hand reached down to haul him up the last yard or two and then he was standing beside his vanar ally, a dozen yards above the beach.
He raised his arms and let out a cry of triumph.
It was echoed by a million throats.
TWO
Work progressed slowly.
With each passing day, more lives were lost. Mainly vanars, for the smaller, less muscled creatures were crushed easily beneath the huge boulders. Bears were not spared either. Seven bears were killed when a boulder rolled back, after one of them put his foot into a rabbit hole and lost his balance. Almost twice that number fell and were smashed on the seawashed crags below the cliff when the ground at the edge gave way as they were manoeuvring a boulder over.
And that was the least of their problems. On the beach below, it was proving very hard to move the rolled boulders those last few precious yards. The original plan had been to roll the boulders down to the beach, then move them to the edge of the promontory, extending this natural jetty farther and farther out into the ocean. But they had not reckoned on the unfamiliar terrain of wet sand. The soft, yielding surface became a sucking pit beneath the weight of the huge boulders. And for several valuable hours each day, when the tide was in, it was virtually uncrossable. And this was despite the vanars overcoming their natural fear of the ocean—dry or wet, low tide or high, the sand simply would not support the great weight.
After a series of brave but futile attempts, Rama and Hanuman decided that each boulder must be carried over the promontory. The rocky crag itself would then act as firm ground over which to move. It took most of a full day to move the first boulder to the end of the promontory. The moss and lichen growing on the wet rocks could be cleaned away, and was, but what was to be done about the never-ending bombardment of seagull guano that fell all day long, splattering the tops of the rocks and making them dangerously slippery? Or the waves that washed continually over them and caused the poor rock-carriers to lose their footing? And there were gaps between the rocks on the promontory, into which legs slipped and whole vanar torsos were swallowed.
A total of seventeen vanar and bear lives were lost that first day itself on the beach. Rama was nursing a gash on his right shoulder, caused when the boulder he was helping carry alongwith a hundred others slipped a fraction of an inch. Had it slipped more than an inch, it would have shattered his collarbone to powder. He ignored the running blood and stayed under the rock, determined that nobody should do anything that he would not do himself.
Within a week, the overall count—mountainside as well as the beach below—went easily into the hundreds. Every night the pyres burnt at the top of the beach, a sobering reminder that for those unfortunates, the war was already over. But each day before dawn, they were all ready and at work once more, even those nursing broken limbs and cracked skulls and other minor or major injuries. By the end of the week, there were too many such partially injured to count easily.
By the tenth day, Rama began to feel his heart sinking, like a boulder into the soft sand. It was evident now that the bridge would take a great deal longer than anticipated. In these ten days, twelve since coming to Mount Mahendra, and fourteen since he and the Kiskindha vanars had first reached the seashore, they had amassed enough rocks on the beach to cover a distance of perhaps fifty yards. The ragged cluster of black monsters they had added to the end of the promontory extended by about fifty yards into the sea. Fifty precious yards, wrested from the ocean by copious blood-sacrifice and great toil.
He was standing on the farthermost edge of that extension, at the fartherest tip of Rama’s Bridge, as they all called it now. Two or three yards below his feet, the ocean swelled and sank, an occasional wave washing high enough to spray him lightly. The sun was angled in the western sky, somewhere between noon and sundown. On
the top of the mountain, a new boulder was being brought up. In the meanwhile, Hanuman and the others were moving not one but three separate boulders across the promontory. Rama had been under one of those three black monsters since daybreak, toiling without a rest, until Hanuman had ordered him replaced and scolded him roundly for not taking any nourishment since waking. The vanar seemed to grow in strength and confidence each passing day. His strength was amazing. There was a heart-stopping moment when a bear had slipped between two rocks, his spine snapped into two, and two vanars had leaped in to take his place, for they were all now inured to the constant toll demanded by their work. Even as the vanars replaced their fallen bear comrade, another vanar at the other end of the boulder had lost his footing, and the whole gang was imbalanced. In another moment, they would have lost their hold and the boulder would have come crashing down on them all, killing scores.
Hanuman leaped beneath the boulder, on the side where it was faltering. He had grasped it with both hands, squeezing in into an impossibly narrow space between two bears. Even then, his normal strength would hardly have been sufficient to restore the lost equilibrium. Rama had been under another boulder himself, close enough to the edge to see what was happening, but unable to break away or help. He had watched, horrified.
An astonishing thing had happened. Hanuman had grown. Rama saw it with his own eyes, or he might not have believed it. The vanar flexed his muscles, expanding them and taking in a great lungful of air. Any strong person might do the same, but Hanuman’s expanding body had not stopped at the limit of his muscle’s span. It had gone on expanding. In moments, the other astonished vanars and bears around him found the boulder lifted above their heads, out of the reach of their own arms. And Hanuman had continued growing, until he was twice as tall as any bear, with the entire weight of the boulder resting on his bent arms alone.
RAMAYANA Part 3_PRINCE AT WAR Page 17
