The Ramayana (50 page)

Ravana laughed, “They all know I am a law unto myself. They know I am invincible.”

She looked up briefly into his eyes and, her voice firmer, said, “You have violated dharma and punishment will come to you more quickly than you think. You don't know Rama; he is not what you imagine him to be. You speak of this sea being an obstacle between him and me. But I say to you, Ravana, even if the ocean of stars lay between us, my Rama would come to find me.”

Something flickered deep in Ravana's plumbless heart, and she saw it in his eyes. But she did not know whether it was fear, or a sorrow too distant to fathom.

“But it is not too late for you, Rakshasa. Take me back to Rama and he will forgive you. I will tell him you did me no harm. I am part of Rama as the light of the sun is part of the star. Nothing in all the worlds, no cause in the yawning ages of time, will persuade me to give in to you. Take me back to Rama, before doom comes to Lanka.”

Ravana stared at her in amazement. He looked at his women around him, and, throwing back his dark head, began to laugh. “Are you trying to frighten the Lord of the rakshasas, at whose name the universe trembles?”

“If Rama is angry, nothing in the universe can save you. You don't know who he is. Indra's vajra may fail to harm you, or even Yama's paasa. But when Rama strings his Kodanda and Lanka shudders, you will know the terror of your death has come for you. As the sun covers the earth with his rays, Rama will cover your city with his eagle-feathered astras; and each one shall be a flaming army among your people. And then it will truly be too late for you.

“Rakshasa, there is no escape for you anywhere. Take me back to Rama and ask his pardon. He is kind beyond your understanding; he will forgive you. Listen to me, Ravana, you do not know what you have done.”

The smile vanished from his face. In a voice as menacing as a serpent's hiss, he said, “My love for you, which you scorn so arrogantly, preserves your life. No one else could speak one word of all that you dare to say to me and hope to live. I should have you tortured for speaking to me as if I were just anyone, but my love prevents me.”

The veins stood out on his temples from the anguish she caused him. His skin turned a ghastly pallor, his lips twitched. Deep in his eyes, terrible wrath and untold tenderness hunted each other; shadows, dark and bright, flitted across his face. He clenched his fists and drew himself erect. He said to her in deadly quiet, “Two months more I will give you, out of my great love. Remember to be in my bed before those sixty days are past. If you are not, my cooks will serve you to me in pieces for my morning meal.”

The women who had come with Ravana felt sorry for Sita, but none of them dared speak on her part. They tried to convey their sympathy to her with their eyes.

She flashed fearlessly at Ravana, “You have often called Rama a weakling hermit. When his arrow is buried to its feathers in your black heart, you will know who my Rama is. Very soon, Rakshasa, you will be just a few handfuls of ashes, and all your glory with you. Even as you dare look at me with lust in your eyes, you do not know that I could burn you up, and myself, with my paativratya. But I will leave you to Rama. Now that I have seen how evil you are, I think fate conspired to make you abduct me. So Rama would come to kill you.”

His lips quivered. But having thrown herself at time's mercy, she mocked him, “You say you are the bravest man in all the world. You say you vanquished Indra and Kubera in battle. But you stole me from my asrama like a thief, when my husband was away. Rakshasa, you are more a coward than a hero.”

Ravana's eyes were the color of the dawn that lay out on the sea. For a long moment, he said nothing, but grew very still. Then with a cry he drew his sword and stood over her, the weapon raised in both hands, glinting over her head. Hanuman almost fell out of his tree; he had no time to intervene. A smile tugging at her mouth, Sita raised her face and gazed calmly back at the Demon's terrible eyes. Thus they remained, locked in a silent struggle of wills, and the violence of it made the rakshasis around Sita scamper away, whimpering, and even Ravana's mistresses drew back in fear.

But at last, just as Hanuman was about to fly to Sita's rescue, Ravana threw back his face and howled abysmally, like a wild beast struck by an arrow. He thrust his sword back into its sheath, and screeched at her, “What do you want with that adharmi whom his father banished, that impoverished, half-naked tapasvin, when you can have my love?”

Turning on his rakshasis, he cried, “Coax her, threaten her; do anything you have to! Your task is to make her come to me. If you fail, I will have your lives as well.”

Still, he stood staring at her as if his eyes would lose their vision if he turned them from her face. Then, one of his once-favorite women, Dhanyamalini, who grieved for both her lord and Sita, came to him in that little temple. As Hanuman watched in amazement, she wound her slender arms around his neck like green vines, and kissed him full on his lips, so even he turned to her in surprise. The fascination of Sita was briefly forgotten, and his rage. Dhanyamalini was terrified the duel of wills between Ravana and Sita would break out again. He was in the mood for it, and the next time he would kill her.

Dhanyamalini cried, “Why do you waste your time with her? It has been so many moons since you came to my bed. Every night, Ravana, I he awake staring at the stars and wondering, will my king come to me tonight? Will he come to drink the fever that burns my body and turns my dreams away? But every night you lie alone, thinking just of Sita. She is not worthy of you, my lord. Come to my bed and let me take your anguish from you. Forget her for a while. Brahma has not willed that she be fortunate enough to lie in your arms.”

Bemused, and realizing the peril of staying on there, Ravana allowed Dhanyamalini to lead him away. After he had left, Sita sat very quietly, drained. A rakshasi brought her some food and water. She ate a morsel and drank just enough to keep herself alive.

*   *   *

Later, inside the palace, Dhanyamalini turned crying softly from Ravana. Minister to him tenderly as she would, she could not arouse her king at all. Sita's face haunted him, and he lay quite impotent in that lovely rakshasi's bed.

 

7. Trijata's dream

When Ravana left, the rakshasis began to cajole Sita again. They knew their master would not think twice to kill them if Sita did not give in to him. These were not beautiful consorts, who ever warmed the Rakshasa's bed. They were coarse warrior women who guarded his female prisoners, his spoils of war. It fell to them to persuade the more desirable captives brought back to Lanka that the best course open to them was to go to Ravana's bed. No woman, ever before, not gandharvi or apsara, kinnari, siddhi, or Asuri, had held out against their persuasions for more than a few days. But this human princess was different. Six months had passed and there was no sign of her yielding.

After the morning's encounter between Sita and their master, the rakshasis of the asokavana were alarmed. They were determined to persuade her, by fair means or foul.

“The most beautiful women would give anything to spend a night in Ravana's bed; but you refuse him.”

“She is vain.”

“And foolish; she doesn't know what she is doing.”

“Silly creature, your beauty blinds you to the truth of your plight. But beauty does not last long. Be Ravana's queen, arrogant one, and you will have wealth beyond your dreams.”

“And power.”

“Such pleasure in his bed that you could not dream of. Do you know how virile a rakshasa is? And this is not just any rakshasa, but Ravana himself.”

They brought their fanged faces close, making her gag with their putrid breath. They smiled and snarled at her; they hissed in her ears like serpents. Sita wept. Little Hanuman sat in his tree, wisely restraining himself from committing any rashness; though his blood boiled and he longed to tear those rakshasis limb from limb.

Sita said, “I would rather die than be unfaithful to Rama.”

They growled like a pack of wild dogs, snapping around her. Seeing that reason and argument had little effect on Sita, they began to threaten her.

“What a tasty meal she will make.”

“She is too succulent to be left alive.”

“She torments our king. He neither wakes nor sleeps in peace.”

“Let us cut her up and divide her soft flesh.”

Sita jumped up and, stopping her ears, ran out of the little temple. She stood panting under an asoka tree like a fawn at bay. The pack of rakshasis still growled and raged.

“Her flesh will be better for us to eat, than to warm Ravana's bed.”

“She is so vain she will be cold in his arms anyway.”

“When he knows she is dead, he will come to his senses again.”

“We will be doing him a service.”

“If we are to die anyway, let us kill her first.”

“Let us do it now; this folly has gone on too long.”

The rakshasis streamed out of the little shrine with murder on their minds.

“Rama!” Sita cried outside. “Lakshmana! O my mothers in Ayodhya! Why have you all forsaken me?”

She saw the rakshasis advance on her, their eyes full of death. She moaned. When they were just a few feet from Sita, an older rakshasi called Trijata awoke from a strange dream. She came flying out of the little temple. She slapped two of the younger ones resoundingly. “Have you gone mad? Do you want to die a slow death in the king's dungeons? Come away, you fools, and listen to what I have to tell you.”

She was the strongest of them, their leader, and the ones she slapped whined. Trijata said, “Sita, come and hear what I dreamed.”

Trijata had always been kind to Sita, since Ravana first brought her to the asokavana. As time wore on, and Sita resisted the Demon's every effort to seduce her, Trijata's kindness had grown into adoration. Now Sita was not averse to listening to the old rakshasi's dream, though she would not go any closer to hear it, but stood wiping her tears, still shaking from her near escape.

Her fierce eyes full of her dream, Trijata said, “I saw blue Rama clad in flowing white silk. He wore a garland of white lotuses, which were not of this world. Oh, he was handsome past imagining. He sat in a chariot of the firmament, an ivory vimana drawn by white swans. Our Sita wore royal white as well, and she sat beside him.

“Then I saw Rama riding a four-tusked elephant, a son of Airavata. As glorious as his brother, Lakshmana rode beside him through a deep forest. Someone waited for them in a glade hidden in the heart of that forest. I saw her face; it was our Sita, and Rama and Lakshmana came to her in joy. Rama set Sita on his elephant and they flew through the sky, for the children of Airavata go that way.”

The other rakshasis, who were impressionable and superstitious for all their fierceness, listened raptly to Trijata, their thick mouths hanging open. Under her tree, Sita thought Trijata's dream had come like a Godsend to answer her prayer.

The rakshasi went on, “In my dream, they flew to the gates of Lanka. I saw Rama in a golden chariot drawn by eight mighty bulls. As I watched him, he opened his mouth and swallowed the earth. I was terrified. Then there was an ocean of milk everywhere, and a pale mountain rose out of it, majestically. Rama set his elephant upon that mountain, and Lakshmana and Sita rode with him.

“I saw Rama, resplendent, his body made of light, in a fabulous palace. He sat facing east on a golden throne. He was being crowned by an immortal rishi, and congregations of Devas and munis had gathered for his coronation. Sita sat beside Rama. It did not seem to me that throne was any of this earth, and I knew there was no throne in any of the three worlds loftier than the one on which dark Rama sat.”

Lowering her voice to a whisper, Trijata said to her rakshasis, “Rama was Narayana himself, the Parabrahman, and this Sita was Lakshmi at his side. She is a Goddess, I tell you; don't even think of harming a hair of her. There was unearthly music everywhere, like nothing I had ever heard before, and the host of Devas surrounded Rama and Sita.

“I saw Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana again, in the pushpaka vimana, flying north through the sky.”

Trijata paused. She glanced left and right to make sure no guard had entered the asokavana, no spy of Ravana's. Gathering her rakshasis closer, draping her long arms around their shoulders, she said in the softest whisper yet, “I saw Ravana clad in red, karavira flowers around his neck and his body glossy with oil. I saw him fall screaming out of the sky from his vimana. On the ground, he wore black garments and he was dragged along by a dark woman. I saw him sitting in a chariot drawn by donkeys, and it went south, ever south. He drank oil from a bottle in his hands and laughed insanely, as if he had lost his mind.

“I saw Ravana's brother Kumbhakarna sink beneath the waves. I saw our king's sons all slain.”

Trijata was thoughtful for a moment. She resumed, “I saw Ravana's other brother, the gentle Vibheeshana, and he shone like the sun at noon. He sat with the royal parasol unfurled above him; he wore the white silks of kingship and a crown upon his head. Vibheeshana came with his head bowed to Rama on his elephant.

“By what I know of dreams, and they never lie, Rama will come to Lanka, kill Ravana, and take Sita back with him. Lanka's great army will be razed.

“Finally, just before I awoke, I saw a monkey, one of the vanara folk. He set fire to our Lanka and she burned down in ashes.”

Open-mouthed still, the other rakshasis listened to her. Nearby, under her asoka tree, Sita sobbed quietly. Hearing Trijata's dream made her cry for joy. It was as if Rama reached a hand across the sea and stroked her face.

Sita's left eye throbbed, as did her left shoulder, piquantly, and a current of enchantment coursed through her body. It was a long time since she had felt any hope at all. But now, though there was no sign of it except the old rakshasi's dream, Sita thought rescue was nearer than she had imagined. She felt Rama had flown into the asokavana as a breeze and caressed her; she was certain it would not be long before he came for her.