The Ramayana (54 page)

Ravana listened, twenty ferocious eyes turned unwinkingly on Hanuman. The monkey went on without pausing, “Ravana of Lanka has surely heard of the valor of Vali of the vanaras. Rama killed that same Vali with one arrow from his unearthly quiver, and set Sugriva on the ebony throne of Kishkinda. To honor their pact, Sugriva sent out an army of vanaras to find Sita; north and east, west and south he sent them. They are mighty monkeys of my ancient race. Some fly through the air like Garuda, and others as swiftly as Vayu. I am Hanuman, the wind's son by Anjana, and I leaped across the ocean in quest of Sita.

“Imagine my surprise, great king, knower of dharma, when I saw the lovely Sita grieving in your asokavana. I thought, how can one so noble and renowned as Ravana of the rakshasas, Ravana of matchless tapasya, hold another man's wife against her will? You are a person of superior intelligence; you should never have become entangled in such shame.

“Which Deva or Danava, Asura or rakshasa, Lord of Lanka, shall stand against the astras of Rama and Lakshmana?”

Ravana still said nothing. Hanuman stared straight into his eyes in cool defiance, as no one ever dared to. The vanara said, “I saw Sita. I am surprised that a king of your wisdom harbors a serpent in your palace with such tender affection. Like the choicest food mixed with poison, she will prove more than you can digest. Ravana, she will be your undoing. Heed what I say; return her to Rama who pines for her. Give her back today, she is dangerous.

“You are a tapasvin. For one who sat for as long as you did in penance, what is a woman, even the most beautiful one? I have been told it was incomparable dhyana that blessed you with invincibility against Deva and Asura; and you vanquished Indra and Kubera. But Ravana, you forget that Sugriva is neither a Deva of light nor an Asura of darkness. He is not a gandharva, a yaksha, or pannaga. Great Rakshasa, Sugriva is a monkey and Rama is a man. Are you invincible against these two?

“Think well, before it is too late and nemesis comes hunting you. Long have you enjoyed the fruit of your tapasya; but the time to pay for your sins is near. Will you be able to withstand the human princes and the vanaras, or will they bring you your death? I appeal to your wisdom, Ravana of Lanka. Remember how Vali died; think back on Janasthana and the slaughter of Khara's army. Think of today, and what I have done to your garden and your army. I say to you, even I, who am just one small monkey, could raze your fabled Lanka. For I am on the side of dharma, while you are on the other.”

Ravana's eyes were eloquent with fury; but he said nothing. Hanuman went on bravely, and calmly still, only quiet reason in his voice. “You think of Rama's wife as just another woman. But she is the deep and dark night that will eclipse the glory of Lanka; she will prove to be the end of all your majesty. She is the noose you have tied around your own neck, as if death were dearer to you than life. She is the fire of truth, which you kindle close to your deluded heart. Rakshasa, she will make ashes of you and your city.

“Rama is he who can incinerate the universe. He can put out the stars with his arrows and create them again. Save yourself from his wrath. Save your people, your women and children; save this beautiful Lanka. When Rama comes, what I did in your asokavana shall seem as a trifle compared to what he will do. Not Brahma, Indra, or three-eyed Rudra will save you then.”

Ravana's eyes flashed. Like some unthinkable beast of prey, the Rakshasa growled low in his throat, “Kill him.”

But his brother Vibheeshana cried, “My lord, to kill the monkey is against the dharma of kings. Don't let your anger get the better of you; you must not kill a messenger. Think of a less drastic punishment for him.”

But Ravana snarled, ten heads at once, his eyes on fire. “There is no sin in killing a despoiler and a murderer. Hasn't he killed Jambumali, Aksha, and ten thousand others? Hasn't he desolated my asokavana? Haven't I sat here listening to his taunts and his abuse, which no king would tolerate?”

Vibheeshana said quietly, “On no account should a messenger be killed. He is our enemy and he must pay for what he has done. Whip him, maim him, even; shave his head and scar his body with your wrath. But do not have him killed; the law of kings does not permit it.

“Moreover, he is just a lowly messenger. If you have him put to death, all you gain will be an evil name for yourself. Send an army against the human princes whose emissary he is. That is just; and the wise will not censure you, but say that Ravana kept his temper even when he was gravely provoked.”

The ten heads nodded slowly. But in his heart, Ravana wondered, “Is this Vishnu who has come as this monkey to kill me? Or is it Brahma, or the Parabrahman Itself, the Holy Spirit incarnate?”

With some effort, the Demon of Lanka curbed his anger.

 

14. The monkey's tail

Calming himself, Ravana said to his brother, “You are right, Vibheeshana; I will not have the monkey killed. But I must punish him for the havoc he has brought to our city.”

The heads whispered evilly among themselves; then, a slow smile wreathed the central face. Ravana said, “Nothing is more precious to a monkey than his tail. Let this monkey's fine tail be set on fire. Let him be sent back with a burned stump behind him to show that he crossed my path. Yes, let the monkey's tail be lit and let him be marched through the streets of Lanka. Let my people mock him for what he did today.”

He nodded to his guards, who ran out to fetch a length of cloth. They wound the fabric tightly round Hanuman's tail. At first, Hanuman glowered; he bared his fangs and snarled at his captors. But then he thought, “If I allow myself to be paraded through the streets of Lanka, I will be able to see the city by daylight. What I observe will be useful later, when we bring our army against Ravana.”

He allowed his tail to be wrapped, dipped in oil, and set alight. He let Ravana's guards drag him out of the palace and into the dazzling sun. They hauled him through the city, while the rakshasas lined the streets, jeering and taunting him. Hanuman went quietly, as if no fight was left in him, while his tail blazed, though he felt no pain yet.

The rakshasis of the asokavana ran to Sita and cried triumphantly, “Your friend the red-faced monkey is being paraded through our streets, with his tail on fire!”

Tears springing in her eyes, Sita turned away from them. She began to pray fervently to Agni, God of fire. “If it is true that I have been faithful to Rama, true that I have kept my vows and that my mind has always been pure, then don't let Hanuman, who leaped across the sea to find me, who braved every danger to bring Rama's message to me, be burned by your flames. Let your touch upon his tail be as cool as the caress of his father Vayu.”

At once, Agni was soft as sandalwood paste on Hanuman's tail, and Vayu blew gently around his heroic son. The vanara wondered that the flames that encircled his golden tail did not hurt him at all. He thought, “My tail burns fiercely, yet I feel only a wonderful coolness, as if someone anointed me with tender sandalwood paste. Oh, this is even more marvelous than the mountain that rose from the waves. But why should I marvel? Varuna of the ocean is so devoted to Rama that he bade Mainaka receive me. Why should I wonder that Agni has decided not to burn my tail, when he knows whom I serve?”

Then his wise heart informed him, “Sita prays for me! And, of course, Agni is my father's friend.”

He felt he had seen all there was to see in Lanka. He gave a roof-rattling roar and, in a blink, Hanuman was as tall as the loftiest tower in that city. The next moment he was the little monkey of the asokavana again, small as a cat, and he leaped nimbly onto the nearest rooftop. The ropes that bound him fell away from his body in a useless pile. He jumped down into the street again, growing as he fell until he was bigger than he had yet been in Lanka. Pulling up a pillar that stood at an intersection of streets, he struck out at the rakshasas who attacked him, felling a hundred; the rest fled. Great Hanuman stood roaring at the heart of wonderful Lanka and his tail blazed behind him like a quenchless torch.

Then, monkey that he was, he squatted on the ground, scratching his golden fur, wondering what to do next. What he had come for was accomplished. But another yearning tugged at his mind, the itch of the fire in his tail. Hanuman thought, “The asokavana is ruined. I have killed many of Ravana's best warriors today and their blood runs through this evil city. I have killed one of the Rakshasa's sons. Still my heart is not content. The fire in my tail has been kind to me, but it has been deprived of its fuel. Let me return the favor of my father's friend Agni. I will set alight these fine mansions of Lanka to feed his hunger.”

Hanuman was a streak of lightning among the rooftops. He sprang from roof to roof, setting Lanka on fire with his burning tail, while the wind billowed around him fanning the flames. Houses caught and the palaces of the nobles blazed as the conflagration spread. Hanuman, roaring in delight, raced all over the city, touching it aflame with his tail as if he were lighting a thousand lamps for worship at sandhya.

Rakshasa men, women, and children poured out of their homes. All the city echoed with their cries as their fabulous dwellings, created by Viswakarman, crackled and burned. And everything within them, the spoils of a hundred wars, was consumed by Hanuman's inferno. Priceless silks, brocades, and tapestries were ashes. The gold of Lanka melted and flowed into the livid streets, and the hearts of precious jewels were snuffed out in the flames that enveloped Ravana's capital. Their pillars cracking in the incendiary heat, mansions came crashing down.

When he had put much of Lanka to the torch, Hanuman sprang high into the air and landed with a mighty tremor on the roof of Ravana's palace. The vanara ran across that roof, big itself as a city, touching every corner ablaze with his raging tail. Ravana's palace caught and burned like straw. The agni in the monkey's tail was fierce, and exhilarant the breath with which his father, the wind, fanned the flames. The harems disgorged their delectable women, screaming above the roar of the fire and the howl of the wind.

Hanuman was an apocalyptic beast, exulting as the city burned, roaring his joy to the sky, beating his chest like thunder, celebrating the triumph of the natural jungle over the city of artifice. From Ravana's palace roof, the vanara saw that most of Lanka burned; he saw more houses collapse in slides of rubble and sparks. Smiling to himself, still immense, he leaped straight from the king's palace to the nearby peak of the Trikuta. The wind wrapped himself lovingly around his son. Hanuman looked behind him and saw his tail still burned with the friendly Fire God's cool flames, his proud tail that had gutted magnificent Lanka!

He jumped down onto the white beach below, the cries of the stunned rakshasas still ringing in his ears. He dipped his tail hissing into the waves and put out the exceptional fire, which had not singed a hair of him. At the very moment when he thanked pristine Agni with all his heart, a terrible thought struck Hanuman like an arrow. He whimpered aloud at it.

“I have committed a sin of rage. The wise restrain themselves, but I gave in to anger. Sita must have burned with the rest of the city. Everything has been in vain; I have ruined Rama's life!”

Hanuman stood at the foot of the Trikuta and, turning his face to the blazing city, he howled long and mournfully, a grief-stricken animal of the jungle. But then a subtle light shone into his heart. He scratched his head; he cocked it to a side. He shook it, and he thought, “If the fire did not even singe my tail, it was because of Sita's prayer. Then how much more Agni would have cared for the princess herself. He couldn't have even warmed her, she is so chaste. She is divine; no flame could burn her.”

Suddenly he heard voices above him and he saw three bright beings flying through the sky. Their bodies seemed made of shimmering crystal; their long hair blew, casting colorful waves of light behind them. He heard clearly what they said, as if fate had willed them to pass above him at that moment. One of the charanas of the air, for so they were, said to the others, “How amazing it was to see! Ravana's palace fell raging around her; all the asokavana was consumed. But Sita was calm at the heart of the fire. And the flames did not burn her at all, but washed over her like cool waves.”

Hanuman jumped up and down. He danced; he shouted out Rama's name. He decided he would see Sita once more before he left Lanka. One great leap and he landed in her presence. Her face lit up, and she cried, “Oh, Hanuman! You alone are enough to wipe Lanka from the face of the earth. You are mightier than I imagined. But fly now, good vanara, fly to Rama with my message.”

Hanuman said, “Don't be anxious, Devi. Rama will be here in a few days with the vanara army. Until then: may the panchabhuta, the very elements, protect you!”

Sita said, “Fly Hanuman, fly to my husband.”

Hanuman leaped back onto the Trikuta's summit, and from there onto another mountain called Arishta. Now he grew as tall as he had been upon Mahendra across the sea; he towered into the sky like one mountain standing on another. As he paced the hilltop, seeking a hard place to launch himself from, Hanuman crushed the rocks under his feet to dust and Arishta shook just as Mahendra had. Facing north, the golden vanara stared for a moment at the foaming tide far below. He crouched down, every muscle taut for the leap. With a cry that made the ocean quail, Hanuman launched himself into the air, and Lanka shook as if with an earthquake. Like an arrow, the vanara flew north over the waves, flashing back toward Bharatavarsha.

Cobras and lions tore out of their holes and caves in terror when Hanuman leaped into the sky. Trees rose with him and fell back onto the earth and into the waves, their trunks floating like twigs on the surging foam. Before he arrowed into the outer blue, he seemed to hang in the air for a moment. His body lit by the last rays of the sinking sun, he filled half the firmament like a thundercloud streaked with lightning.