The Ramayana (56 page)

His eyes moist with hope, Rama raised his hand. “I thank you! I thank you, my friends, for bringing me news that Sita is safe. Now tell me, what did she say to me?”

Hanuman had not told anyone about the message Sita sent. A little shamefaced, the monkeys made way for the son of the wind to stand before Rama once more, and relate his adventure himself. Embarrassed, they said, “You finish the story, Hanuman, you will tell it best.”

Rama and Lakshmana stifled smiles, while joy tugged at their hearts. Hanuman came before Rama; he turned his face to the south, where Sita was Ravana's prisoner. He bowed in that direction with folded hands and said quietly, “Rama, I leaped across the southern sea to find Sita. With my father's power, I leaped a hundred yojanas. There, in the city of Lanka where Ravana rules, I saw Sita in an asokavana where he holds her prisoner. She hardly eats or drinks, but sustains herself by thinking of you. Some rakshasis guard her, and try to persuade her to yield to Ravana.

“She saw no way of escaping, nor any hope of you finding her. The morning I saw her, she had decided to take her life.”

Smiling modestly, Hanuman told how he had sat on the shimshupa tree and chanted the history of the Ikshvakus; how, at first, she had been terrified that he was Ravana come disguised as a monkey; how, slowly, he won her trust.

Hanuman said, “Sita sent this message to you: ‘Somehow, thinking of you, I will stay alive for a month more. But after that Ravana will kill me. Save me, Rama, before the month ends'

“I gave her your ring, and she was as happy as if she had seen you standing before her.”

He drew out the choodamani Sita had given him and handed it to Rama. Lowering his voice, Hanuman said, “She asked me to remind you of the day in Chitrakuta, when the crow attacked her. She asked me to remind you of the time when you marked her brow with the tilaka of dust from the manasila stone. She said she is waiting for you to save her, and that every moment apart from you is an abyss.”

Rama held the jeweled choodamani and a sob wracked him. Choking, he said to Sugriva, “Her father gave her this when we were married, and she wore it at the wedding. How beautiful she was on that day. Indra himself once gave Janaka this heirloom. When I look at it, I see Dasaratha, Janaka, and my Sita before my eyes. I feel she is here beside me.”

Rama shook as if with a fever, and cried to Lakshmana, “Lakshmana, I see her face when I hold this golden thing. She weeps for me, my brother.”

He turned to Hanuman. “Tell me everything she said, noble Hanuman. What you say will be like water on the lips of a man dying of thirst. Oh, if she stays alive for a month, she will live longer than I will; for I will not last another moment without her. Oh, Hanuman, take me to my Sita now!” He calmed himself. “But first, tell me what she said; tell me everything.”

Rama clasped Hanuman's hand, and Hanuman led him away into the cave. Alone, he told Rama everything he had seen and heard in Lanka; all that he had observed about Sita; all that she had said to him. He began with Sampati the eagle, who directed them to Lanka. Then he described how he crossed the sea, and how he found Sita. In painstaking detail, Hanuman dwelt on his meeting with her in the asokavana; every breath she drew, each word she uttered, he related carefully and vividly.

He said, “I have assured her that your love is constant, and that you will come swiftly to Lanka with an army of Sugriva's monkeys and Jambavan's bears, to rescue her from the Rakshasa. She waits anxiously for you, Rama, knowing you won't fail her, and that soon Ravana will be meat for the scavengers of the ocean isle.”

Rama smiled bravely to hear what Hanuman said.

BOOK SIX

YUDDHA KANDA

{War}

 

1. On Prasravana

Rama's eyes shone when he heard Hanuman's adventure in Lanka. Hugging the vanara, the blue prince cried, “Before today, I had heard of Garuda and Vayu crossing the ocean. Now Hanuman the vanara has leaped across the waves out of his love. He has ravaged impregnable Lanka and returned alive to bring us his news. Matchless one, it saddens me that, poor as I am today, I can repay you only with an embrace.”

Tears running down his face, he embraced Hanuman again. Rama controlled himself, and said quietly, “It is true we have found Sita. Yet, though Hanuman vaulted the ocean as if it were a puddle of rainwater, how will the rest of us cross the yawning sea?”

The vanaras all nodded their heads and murmured their agreement. Gloom settled on the company.

Then Sugriva cried, “Rama, it is not right that you fear these trifles as another man may. In dharma, this is nothing. Can just a sea stand between Rama and his love? Can Death, who is the widest of seas? I say no! We will cross the ocean, all of us. Look at the faces of my monkeys, Rama. Look carefully, and tell me if you see a single vanara who would not gladly leap into a fire for you. No, there is no one here who does not love you better than his life. Then how can you doubt the ocean shall be crossed?”

He paused, and saw Rama smile. The vanaras cheered their king deafeningly. Sugriva said, “To my mind, it seems a bridge must be built across Varuna's kingdom of waves before our army can cross into Lanka. I say to you, once the bridge is built you will see my vanaras' valor. You will see Ravana's corpse lie upon the earth. Only, do not succumb to doubt; don't let grief be your master. Rather, harness your rage fiercely in your heart and let it be your weapon. We will surely kill Ravana and rescue Sita. You must believe this, Rama.”

The vanaras cheered again. But though what Sugriva said gave some heart to Rama, he was still somber. Then, shrugging off his despondency and drawing himself erect, he said, “You are right, my friend. We will find a way to cross the ocean, because we must. If we cannot build a bridge to take us over the waves, I will drain the sea with my astras and we will walk to Lanka on dry land to confront Ravana.”

Rama turned to Hanuman. “Tell me all there is to know about Ravana's city. Tell me every detail you saw, when in your wisdom you decided to look it over. Omit nothing, my friend. Paint a picture for us so that Lanka rises before our very eyes and we see her turrets sparkling in the sun.”

Hanuman described the Rakshasa's city, leaving out no sight he had seen, however trivial. He did not belittle Ravana's rakshasa guard; he praised them. But he said the vanaras, who could grow vast or tiny at will, and who were all fearless fighters, would be more than a match for that army of darkness: the vanaras, with dharma on their side and Rama of Ayodhya to lead them!

“Angada, Dwividha, Mainda, and the rest of us will not fail you, Rama. All you have to think of now is an auspicious time for us to set out.”

Once more, the vanaras leaped into the air and cried out their king's name and Rama's, Hanuman's, and Angada's, and the names of all their chieftains, one after the other.

Rama and Lakshmana imprinted Hanuman's description of Lanka on their hearts, as if their lives depended on remembering each detail.

 

2. Below Mahendra

When Hanuman declared they must choose a proper muhurta to set out for Lanka, Rama shaded his eyes and stared briefly at the sky. He said, “The sun is at his zenith; this is the hour called Vijaya. If we set out at once for Lanka, our mission will not fail. Today the moon is in the Uttara nakshatra, but tomorrow he will be in Hasta. We must leave immediately if we are to take death to the Rakshasa across the sea. Let Neela go in advance through the jungle of fruit trees, with part of our army. But Neela, beware the rakshasas have not poisoned either the fruit or the pools in the vana you pass through. They may well do this, when they learn of our purpose.

“Let Gaja, Gavya, Gavaksha, and Rishabha lead armies from here, and let Hanuman carry me upon his shoulders, as Airavata does Indra. Let Angada carry Lakshmana, as Sarvabhauma does Kubera. Let us set out with courage and determination in our hearts.”

Rama spoke bravely now. He was not dejected any more, but full of hope, like the noble kshatriya he was. A beaming Sugriva sounded a clarion blast on his jungle horn; he shouted orders to his people to set out. Like a wave across the hillside, a flash flood of monkeys, the vanaras swept down Prasravana and flew along the quick paths of the trees. Over mountain and through forest they swung with lithe, long arms, toward Mahendra and the sea beyond.

The sun began to sink even as they went, and from Angada's shoulders Lakshmana cried to Rama, “You will soon be back where you belong: upon the throne of Ayodhya with Sita at your side. Look, the omens of the sky, the beasts and the trees are auspicious all around us.”

When Rama looked, he saw the sky was specklessly clear in every direction and the sun full of soft brilliance. Yet Sukra rose, glowing, behind them as they went. The seven rishis around the northern star Dhruva, and Dhruva also, were clear and shone down on them. In the south Viswamitra's galaxy, which he created for Trishanku, was plain. Visakha sparkled: the sacred asterism of the House of Ikshvaku.

Lakshmana smiled. “The breeze caresses us and the birds sing in joy.”

Rama smiled back at his brother, and now a mood of elation took him also. He cried, “The forest streams run like crystal, and the scents of the flowers on the branches fill my heart with hope.”

“The end of our misfortunes is near,” said Lakshmana.

The vanaras pressed on south, cutting across the path of the sinking sun and bearing slightly to the east. Through the green awnings of many forests they flew easily through branches, over brown hill, and across frothing river. Finally, as the sun was poised above the southern sea, its rim touching the water, they stood breathless on Mount Mahendra.

From the summit of the mountain they stared across the smoky sea, which faced them again, roaring at their feet. Rama saw the stupendous obstacle in his path, and was reminded sharply how right he had been to have misgivings about the crossing to Lanka. On and on stretched the ocean, which thundered up at them in disdain. Waves crashed against the rocks piled round and smooth at the foot of Mahendra. Varuna seemed to mock them with his expanse, his depth, and his ancience.

Rama, Sugriva, and Lakshmana climbed down the hill to the small wood below it. Rama said somberly, “My hope wanes to see the ocean before us, with its island hidden by the horizon. Let us make camp and rest here. We must consider carefully how we will cross the formidable lord of rivers.”

Like another sea themselves, the vanaras thronged the shore in tides that flowed down the hillside. They came to answer their king's call and gathered round him on golden sands lit by the last light of day. Briefly, Rama and Lakshmana were left alone together in the little wood.

Rama said quietly, “Nothing makes me as anxious now as the short time Ravana has left Sita before he kills her: only a fleeting month, of which three days are already gone. Lakshmana, my heart is weak with fear that we may not be in time to save her.”

And Rama broke down and sobbed. “O Vayu!” he cried. “Blow from here to where my love sits, and stroke her with the very fingers of air with which you touch me. Then blow those same drafts back to me, so I see her clearly before my eyes and she knows I am coming. How piteously she must have cried
‘Rama, save me!'
when the Rakshasa carried her away.

“My brother, they say time heals every wound. But this wound of being separated from Sita grows more painful with every moment that passes, as if flaming knives are being turned in it. It consumes me, Lakshmana; it robs me of my manliness. Can you begin to imagine how I long for her? Her touch, the look of her eyes, her tender caress, the sound of her sweet voice. Can you imagine how I yearn to be rid of this sorrow that feeds on my very life? To cast it from me like soiled clothes: to kill the Rakshasa and to have my Sita back. Lakshmana, hell and madness clutch at me, and I have to thrust them away with the knowledge that she lives—that, out there beyond this sea, my Sita is still alive.”

Lakshmana took his brother gently by the hand; he led him out of those woods to the damp sand. A stirring wind blew around them. In the distance, the scarlet sun sank into the waves. Rama sank down on his knees in prayer. Quietening the anguish in his heart as best he could, he worshipped pristine Surya Deva.

 

3. The king's brother

Meanwhile, in Lanka, Ravana sat in council with his ministers. He was terrible to see in his fury: controlled and sinister. Ravana said softly, “A low creature of the jungle, a monkey, comes to Lanka and sets it ablaze. By himself, he wipes out a good part of my army and escapes with his life. The asokavana is burned down; our people's homes are razed. More than half my own palace is gutted and the temple of our Devi of Lanka is ashes.”

All ten heads were clear in their malignant cluster around the central one, now as feral as the rest. Lips twitching, they glowered. He paused, drew a deep breath, and gazed around him, from face to blanched face in his sabha. Hanuman had shocked them all, as they never believed they could be within their smooth walls that no lizard could scale. In that court, which had escaped Hanuman's conflagration, silence reigned.

Restraining the rage that surged in him, Ravana continued in deadly calm, chilling his ministers' blood. “It is said a wise king is guided by his friends and counselors, who have his welfare at heart. A wise king knows the fruit of what he does depends on fate and the divine powers that rule men's lives.

“He who acts in dharma, but walks alone and pays no heed to his ministers' counsel, is less than the best of kings. But the king who pays no heed to the fruit of his deeds, who has no belief in providence, is a hasty one, foolish and doomed to failure.”

Ravana's ministers sat tensely around their sovereign. Slowly, deliberately, he spoke to them; at times staring into this one's eyes or another's, then gazing out again at the blue-green sea below the wide windows.