The Ramayana (32 page)

“Ravana, you have had the apsaras of Devaloka in your bed, the slender gandharvis and yakshis of night who live in scented pala trees. But you have not seen Sita. She makes the charms of these others seem like stars twinkling vainly beside a full moon.”

She knew her brother well, especially his weakness. Surpanaka leaned close to him and breathed, “She is the woman for you! She belongs in your bed. I tried to capture her for you; that was when Lakshmana cut my face. If you don't believe me, go and look at her just once. Then tell me if you don't lose your heart. She was born for you; your destiny is calling you, Ravana. Go and kill the arrogant kshatriyas, and bring Sita back to Lanka to adorn your harem and your life.”

She saw the gleam in his eyes and knew she had aroused his desire. Surpanaka fell silent and, whimpering, gingerly felt her wounds. Ravana clapped his hands; he nodded to his court that it was dismissed.

 

12. Maricha persuaded

Ravana sat alone in his court. Light from the sea and the sky streamed in on him through the tall bay windows. Before his mind's eye there floated a face conjured by Surpanaka, which seemed to call out to him with unearthly perfection. Below the face he saw flawless limbs, like none he had ever caressed.

He sat thinking only of how he could possess the woman of his dreams: Sita, whom he had not even seen, but who already haunted him inexorably. Plan after plan rose in his ten heads, some absurd, some almost plausible. Plan after plan he rejected, in a spirit of complete solemnity. Ravana had decided he must have Sita: not only for revenge, but also for the pleasure of his bed.

After what he knew the kshatriya had done to Khara and the others, Ravana was not rash enough to confront Rama. Despite what Surpanaka said, the Rakshasa was neither complacent nor foolish. Rama was a dangerous enemy; he must be stalked cautiously. Ravana sat lost in thought for a while. Then he rose, strode out to his stables, and ordered his flying chariot to be yoked to the uncanny mules.

Over the smoky sea flew the Demon, bright as a jewel in the sky. His white silks flapped around him; his golden earrings shone in the sun. He Was still deep in thought: he wanted to approach the one whose asrama he was headed for in just the right tone. The Lord of Lanka was bound, again, for his uncle Maricha's hermitage.

Ravana sat perfectly still in his chariot, unmoved by picturesque Bharatavarsha unfolding below him. Painted forests and flowing plains, rivers like silver threads laid across the earth and mountains thrusting up: all these he ignored. His thoughts were his masters, and they were far away. He wrapped himself against the wind and sat dreaming in the chariot, and scheming. At last he saw the Dandaka vana. As he flew low, shrouded in maya so he was invisible, he saw the giant nyagrodha tree on the branches of which Jatayu sat when Rama first saw him.

Maricha's asrama was not far. When that hermit rakshasa saw Ravana's chariot descending on him from the clear sky he trembled. Maricha guessed what must be on his nephew's mind that he had returned. But he was afraid of Ravana, and went to welcome him with a smile on his face.

With fruit, dark mushrooms, and soft venison, Maricha entertained his royal guest. When Ravana had settled himself comfortably and eaten two ripe red mangoes in silence, Maricha said, “I hope all is well in Lanka. The queens of my lord?”

Ravana gazed at him briefly. As was their way, nine of his faces were now hidden. But the inscrutable eyes of the main face were turned unwinkingly on poor Maricha. He blanched and offered his terrible guest more fruit. But Ravana declined, thrusting the bowl away with the back of his long hand.

At last, he said with a sigh, “Uncle, I have no peace of mind and I have come to you for comfort. A word from you is balm to my distress.”

Maricha betrayed nothing of his thoughts. “Tell me, my king, what troubles you?”

“Oh, I am suffering, Maricha, and only you can console me. Surpanaka came to Lanka today. The prince who killed Khara had her nose and ears cut off. Not one or two of our people were slain by this Rama, but fourteen thousand. He is certainly a great archer. But just think, uncle: he must be a great sinner as well, that his father banished such a warrior from his kingdom.

“Now, in exile, he has crossed my path. He is a blot on the face of kshatriya kind and he must die. For no reason, he maimed my sister; then he murdered fourteen thousand of my best rakshasas and my cousin Khara. Maricha, I am a king. I cannot ignore such provocation or my people will lose respect for me.”

Maricha thought, “Better that than lose your life.” But he said nothing, only waited in silence to hear what his Emperor intended by way of revenge.

Ravana resumed softly, “He is evil, this Rama, and powerful. The only way to kill him is to take his wife away from him, so he does not know where she has gone.”

Maricha's heart gave a lurch. Ravana saw fear leap into his demon's eye and ignored it. “Uncle, you must help me. With you at my side, I do not fear even the Devas. You are wise and gifted beyond anyone's common understanding. You are my hope in this enterprise; listen to my plan.”

Maricha's hands shook; he had broken out in a sweat. It seemed to him his life was forfeit, any way he viewed his predicament. If he did not go along with Ravana, the Rakshasa would kill him; if he did, Rama would. Maricha shivered with strange cold this warm afternoon. He nodded numbly to Ravana, to indicate he would listen to his plan.

Ravana said, “Uncle, master of maya, turn yourself into a golden deer. If Sita sees you at Panchavati, she will ask Rama and Lakshmana to capture the creature for her. With all your guile, Maricha, lead the two princes far from the asrama and from Sita. And as Rahu does the light of the moon, I will seize her, and fly with her to Lanka.

“Rama's heart will break and he will become easy prey for me. I will avenge my cousins, my sister, and my dead fourteen thousand.”

Not a word that, just hearing about her, he wanted Sita for his bed. But Maricha guessed as surely as if Ravana had confessed his lust. Maricha's mouth was dry. He licked his lips and stood goggling at Ravana as if his eyelids had lost their power to blink. At last he said slowly, “Ravana, nephew, you said you needed comfort because your heart was troubled. You have come to the right person. Now listen to me.” He folded his hands to Ravana. “You are an emperor, and fawning courtiers surround you. They are not sincere. They will say anything to please you, even if their counsel leads you to your death. Of old it has been said that it is rare indeed to find an honest and blunt counselor, who truly cares for his sovereign. It is rarer still to find a king who listens to such an adviser.

“Ravana, your spies have been asleep, basking in your glory, believing you are invincible. Or surely you would have heard of Rama much earlier, and you might have prevented the slaughter of Khara and the fourteen thousand. Rama is more powerful than Indra or Varuna. He came to rid the jungle of our people. His work is done, and if you leave him alone, he will return peacefully to Ayodhya.

“This prince is no adharmi. No evil sits upon his heart; no sin stains his spirit that he will be easy to kill. He came to the jungle to keep his father's honor; he came forsaking a throne that was his for the taking. Rama is an embodiment of dharma. If you kidnap his wife, you might as well leap into a fire and save him the trouble of killing you: which, Ravana, he surely will.

“Go home to Lanka. Ask Vibheeshana's advice and you will find he says exactly as I do. I want to save you from death, Ravana. Listen to me. Don't be swayed by the moment's passion; take heed for your future.”

Ravana said nothing, but stared calmly at Maricha, so that rakshasa said, “Once I lived in the northern forests at the feet of the Himalaya. What days those were. I was as strong as a thousand elephants, and we ate hermits' flesh, and ruined every sacrifice in the forest. For years, Viswamitra tried to perform a yagna in that vana. But each time it neared completion, Subahu and I would desecrate it.

“One day, we attacked the yagnashala where Viswamitra sat chanting the Vedas. With filth we went: blood, excrement, and rotten meat to cast at the holy fire. Suddenly I saw a young man, handsome as the moon, who stood guard over Viswamitra's yagna. He was no more than sixteen summers old, tender, and innocence was upon his face. For a moment I was arrested by his sheer beauty. Then, roaring, I hurled my filth at the agni.

“I scarcely saw that youth fit his arrow to his bow, and, Ravana, I was lifted from the ground and carried into the sky. My body and soul on fire, I was borne a thousand leagues by the astra with which he shot me, and flung into the sea. That was Rama. He was only a boy then, a stripling.”

Maricha paused, his chest heaving. He prayed fervently that Ravana would be convinced. How could he explain Rama's prowess to his king? “You know your sister as well as I do,” he continued. “I am sure she provoked the brothers, that they cut off her nose and ears. She must have taunted Khara into attacking Rama. Then what choice did the prince have, except to defend himself? I speak to you from my heart, as not merely my king but my nephew. Be guided by me, Ravana. You have vanquished many great enemies in battle, but this kshatriya is different. All the wise say he is Vishnu's Avatara.”

Maricha fell silent, hoping good sense would dawn on his sovereign. But like one whose evil hour had come, Ravana was impervious to wise counsel. The older rakshasa's words fell by the way, like seeds in a desert.

After a moment's tense silence, Ravana said softly as ever, “I am not afraid, uncle. My mind is made up: Sita must be taken. I did not come to you for your advice but for your help.”

His voice had an unpleasant edge to it now. He bared a fang briefly, and Maricha trembled.

Ravana said, “Don't let the freedom I give you as an elder go to your head. Don't forget who I am: obedience, unquestioning obedience to me, Maricha, is your dharma.”

Those terrible eyes bored into Maricha's frightened ones. Some of the heads appeared briefly, in a haze, to glare at this insignificant demon that dared thwart Ravana.

Ravana said, “Uncle, be a golden deer with silver speckles for me. Enchant Sita's heart. When I have taken her, I want nothing more from you. Come, we will go in the chariot and arrive quickly.”

Maricha still hesitated. Ravana studied his fingernails and said in deadly quiet, “If you value your life, Uncle Maricha, I think you should do as I say.”

But in a final burst of courage and good sense, Maricha said, “Someone wants you dead. And it seems you yourself are keen to put an end to all your glory. Ravana, if you do this thing you will die, and doom will come to Lanka. As for me, it is foolish to speak of my freedom: the moment I see Rama again, I will die. He told me as much. But at least if I die at his hands I will find heaven for myself. Ah, Ravana, I see the stubbornness in your eyes and I know you will do as you have decided. This is the last chance you have to save yourself. You seek to embrace the lovely Sita, but you will clasp your death instead.”

 

13. A golden deer

But Ravana was in no mood to pay any attention to Maricha's advice. He wanted to see Sita: to possess her as quickly as he could. Surpanaka had inflamed him well, and he had surrendered his reason to the seductive images that filled his mind. Ravana rose and fingered his sword meaningfully. He said, “Let us go.”

He strode out of the asrama. Maricha cast a last sad look at the hermitage that had been his home for so long. He was sure he would never see it again.

Ravana called impatiently over his shoulder, “Hurry up, Maricha; my time is short.”

Maricha mumbled to himself, “Ravana, you are the most arrogant and callous rakshasa, and you will lie dead upon the earth very soon, pierced by Rama's arrows.”

With a sigh he went out to his determined king. Ravana embraced him. In febrile anticipation of seeing Sita, he cried, “Now you are my obliging uncle again. I will reward you when your task is finished, Maricha. I will reward you beyond your dreams.”

They climbed into the chariot and flew like the wind toward Panchavati. The air in the higher reaches froze Maricha's blood, and much too soon for his liking they saw Panchavati from the sky. Ravana grasped his uncle's hand in excitement. He guided the chariot down into some woods near the princes' asrama.

The Emperor of the rakshasas helped Maricha out of the chariot. He whispered, “Now, uncle, change yourself!”

Maricha shut his eyes with a prayer. He focused his maya sakti upon his own body. In a moment he was transformed and a velvet stag stood there, its golden skin twitching. Even Ravana gasped: so graceful, so brilliant and beautiful was that creature. Silver markings shone like stars on its body; it was a treasure alive, with great, limpid eyes, curled antlers, and a delicate gait. Ravana stroked the golden stag's flanks and it quivered beneath his hand. After patting it a few times to quieten it, he slapped the deer sharply on its side and sent it dashing off toward Rama's asrama.

Maricha, the golden stag, came in enchantment to the asrama in Panchavati. Shy, playful, and tremulous, it approached the hermitage. Its skin was molten; its antlers seemed to be made from stalks of diamond and its silver markings glowed like bits of the moon. It pranced there, at times cropping lush grass and at others dancing on quicksilver hooves, as if for the rapture of being alive and being so lovely a creature.

There were other deer around Rama's asrama. The moment they saw this gilded beast they fled, barking in alarm at his smell. Maricha would have loved to sink his fangs into their throats and drink warm blood. But the pleasure was denied him today. Under the karnikara trees encircling the asrama, the golden stag strutted in disdain of those lesser creatures. Even the squirrels chattered down angrily at the predator they smelled clearly under his shimmering hide.

Sita came out of the asrama to gather flowers for her puja. She crossed to the karnikara and asoka trees, and the flowering bushes that grew in their shade. Suddenly the golden deer stepped out from behind a tree. Sita almost dropped her basket. Her eyes were riveted to the bewitching creature. She called to it, as she did to the other deer that frequented the asrama. But this beast appeared not to understand her.