The Ramayana (76 page)

38. The two great enemies

Ravana shot ten smoking arrows at Rama. They flew at him, burning up the sky. But Rama plucked them from the air with one shaft of his own and smashed them into dust. In a wink, Ravana was on the other side of Rama and more arrows flamed at the prince, now from behind him. Whirling round, Rama shot them down. But again Ravana was already somewhere else.

The Demon rode in Brahma's flashing chariot, yoked to unearthly steeds; though Rama's bow streamed fire, Ravana was never in one place so they could find their mark. Quick as wishes, his chariot bore the Lord of evil over land and through the air. Now he was above, then upon the earth, but across the field; while Rama fought from the ground, where he made an unmoving target.

The Devas, the immortal rishis, the gandharvas and apsaras, all the celestial ones had gathered in the akasa to watch the fateful battle. Indra cried, “They are almost equal as archers. But the Rakshasa has his chariot, while Rama fights on foot.”

He called Matali, his own sarathy, and sent him down to the blue prince. In the midst of the stunning duel, a chariot from another world appeared, shimmering, before Rama. Jewels shone at its pillars, its green horses glowed, and their manes seemed to be made of moonlight. The golden thing did not rest on the earth, but hovered two hands above the ground, pulsing. Silver moon bells tinkled on its roof, the garlands around the emerald horses' throats were lambent. Matali stepped down from that ratha and folded his hands to Rama.

The starry sarathy said, “My Lord Indra has sent you his own chariot, his golden bow, and his arrows that are lightning. He sends you his shakti. Rama, my horses will obey your thoughts.”

Rama smiled at Lakshmana; this was the same chariot they had watched secretly outside Sharabhanga's asrama in the Dandaka vana. Rama remembered what Agastya had said, that when the time came Indra would send his own chariot to him. While Lakshmana held the storming Rakshasa at bay, Rama worshipped the ratha. After folding his hands to it, he climbed in. Like light Matali flashed away into the sky, with Rama behind him, splendid as Mahavishnu.

Ravana greeted Rama with a cool and deadly gandharvastra. Rama loosed a gandharvastra of his own. Full of hidden flames, the weapons fused in the sky. But neither could quell the other, and they fell away into the sea far below, where they burned blood red beneath the waves until they were extinguished in the deep.

Rama shot a devastra at the Rakshasa; but he had one of his own. These, too, locked together in a fervid duel of their archers' wills. But the astras' fires were exhausted before either warrior would submit. Ravana summoned a rakshasastra of a thousand shafts. It spumed into the sky and fell on Rama's chariot, its every barb a serpent; their hoods were flames and they spat smoking venom. The sky was full of shining hamadryads, flying at blue Rama.

But Rama was enthralled with the duel in the air. He admired his enemy's prowess, which for once matched his own. He relished being finally tested to the limits. The kshatriya strung his bow with a garudastra. Suddenly a thousand birds of prey were in the firmament. The monkeys and demons on the ground below cried out in wonder, and the golden eagles hunted the green serpents with crystal claw and beak.

Ravana turned back to common arrows. Whistling and sharp, they flew at Rama and Matali; and not even with the unearthly horses' fleetness, nor Indra's sarathy's dazzling skill, could all the shafts be dodged. Many found their mark, painfully, and one cut the banner from the Deva's chariot. When Ravana's arrows pierced Rama, it is told the sea swelled in tidal waves, as if to reach up into the sky to tend his wounds. They say the sun grew dim, as if he had a fever. Mangala reached out to stroke Visakha, the star of the Ikshvakus, over which Indra and Agni rule.

Ravana was as magnificent as Himavan's son Mainaka. The Rakshasa pressed Rama hard, and for a moment it seemed the prince could find no answer to him. Gentle Rama had not imagined Ravana would be quite such an adversary. He glared at the Rakshasa across the sky, as if to burn him up with his gaze. The earth quailed at Rama's anger. Tigers and leopards scuttled into their caves. The birds of the air wheeled in frenzy, screaming, because the very sky shrank from the rage in Rama's eyes. For a moment even Ravana shivered.

Roaring to drown his doubts, nine heads seething around the central one, the Demon seized up a pale trisula. Triune fires glowed at its points when the Rakshasa's hand touched it. The quarters echoed with Ravana's roar, at the bolt of power that surged through his body. The trisula was a great and olden ayudha; no one had ever withstood it.

Whirling the thing of white flames in his hands, Ravana cried, “Here comes your death, human. All the rakshasas you killed are waiting for you in the next world!”

With a howl, he cast his trident at Rama. Like the agni from Siva's eye it flew, a gash of fire through the sky. The report of its flight was of a hundred thunderclaps. It seemed the stuff of time would be torn asunder by that weapon. How could even the Avatara withstand its awesome power? Spewing invisible flames, the trisula came for Rama's life.

The Devas and rishis shut their eyes. They could not believe any man of flesh and blood could stand before that weapon, which not only burned the body but consumed the soul. Time stood still in the sky between the two chariots, and the fate of the worlds hung in the balance. Slowly, taking a lifetime, Ravana's trisula flew at Rama. In that frozen moment, Rama strung his bow and shot a hundred arrows at the macabre thing. But they were burned to ashes and fell away. The missile came on, inexorably.

Rama's face twitched in despair. Hardly knowing what he did any more, reaching blindly into the depths of his will, he found Indra's shakti in the chariot. Just in time, the last shred of an instant he had left, he cast it at Ravana's trident. The explosion in the air was as if the sun had blown apart. On the ground, the rakshasas and the vanaras covered their eyes with their hands; or they would have been blinded. Rama and Ravana shut their eyes. But the shakti of light put out the trisula of darkness, and both fell away to the earth. The unbearable splendor died out of the sky; demon and prince fought once more.

Ravana was shaken. He lurched briefly in his chariot, and at once Rama found him with three golden barbs. The Rakshasa screamed in rage. He stood like an asoka tree in bloom, crimson flowers unfurled on him. But no vital organ was struck, and his wounds were not deep or inflicted with any astra. Ravana plucked out the shafts and fought on. But the duel drained him. Now his face and his hands were those of an ancient beast's, thousands of years old; his skin was like dry parchment.

The chariots dazzled with their speed; they were like the magic wind. They flew on earth and through the air, their unearthly horses in blinding contention, spurred by just their charioteers' thoughts. Often, both stopped at once, as if by tacit agreement that their warriors needed to rest. After a panting pause, one archer would loose his stream of arrows again, and the other would reply.

Into one of those intervals Rama cried, “I have heard you were a great tapasvin once. Today you are just a thief, and like a thief you will die.”

Rama's aim was as true as when the battle began; but Ravana fumbled at his bow. His arms were sluggish and his aim was wayward. He dared not acknowledge it, but he was tired. Each moment, Rama covered the Rakshasa with a hundred arrows from his superb bow. Then Ravana fainted. Instantly, his sarathy vanished out of the sky with his king. He landed in a quiet grove, on another hillside across the island.

When the Demon revived, he sat up in the chariot and looked around him. He gave a hiss of anger when he saw they had flown the battle. He screamed at his sarathy, “What have you done? Does a warrior ever run from war? Because you were terrified by Rama's arrows, the world will say I am a coward. Fool, fly back to the fight!”

But his head still spun with weakness. Gently his sarathy said, “I am no fool, my lord; nor am I afraid. For centuries I have served you faithfully. Today, for the first time, I saw you were tired and in mortal danger. It is a sarathy's sacred dharma to protect his warrior's life. Omens of death were all around us, and Rama's arrows flew at us like time. You were hardly yourself after he cut down your trisula. You were full of age and then you swooned. I had to fly you out of danger; what else could I do?”

That loyal rakshasa spoke calmly, and at once Ravana softened. He said, “You move me with your love. But I have recovered now. Brave friend, fly back into battle. I must drink Rama's blood today.”

The rakshasa turned to lash his horses again; Ravana stopped him, laying a hand on his shoulder. When the sarathy turned around, he saw his king had taken a bracelet studded with diamonds and pearls from his wrist and was offering it to him in gratitude. Bowing to his great master, tears in his eyes, the charioteer accepted the gift and turned his chariot back to the battle.

*   *   *

Agastya watched the relucent duel from the akasa between heaven and earth. He saw Ravana faint and his sarathy make the ratha invisible and leave the field. It was then that rishi came to Rama in Indra's chariot. He came in a sukshma rupa, a spirit form like bright vapor.

Agastya said, “Rama, worship your ancestor the Sun. The Adityahridaya is one of the oldest of all mantras. Worship Surya Deva with it, whom the Devas and the Asuras both revere, and you will kill Ravana today.”

Agastya taught Rama the pristine mantra, and then vanished. Rama flew down to the earth. He asked for holy water; thrice he dipped his fingers in that water, and thrice, as Agastya taught him, he chanted the Adityahridaya, the heart of the Sun. It seemed the star blazed more brilliantly in the sky. Deep peace came over Rama, a living tide enfolding him. He felt his lucific ancestor had heard him, and touched him with a powerful blessing.

Then Ravana came flying back into battle. For a moment, Rama thought he saw Surya Deva appear before him and whisper, “Hurry!”

Rama flew up in Indra's chariot to face the Emperor of evil.

 

39. At the twilight hour

Ravana's black horses frothed as he stormed back into battle. Rama said to Matali, “Look, he comes the inauspicious way of apradakshina. He ignores all the omens and gives in to his deepest desire: to die.”

Matali urged his horses forward; he came from the right, the way of pradakshina. The dust from Rama's wheels covered Ravana's chariot. Flying up, the Rakshasa shot a cloud of arrows at Rama. Now Rama put down his own weapon and picked up Indra's golden bow.

The sky was full of Devas and gandharvas, kinnaras and maharishis, gathered in the ethereal zone, breathlessly, to watch Ravana die. More omens appeared in the sky; they all favored Rama. The way the wind blew was for him. Ravana's chariot was covered in a red sheen, as if it was painted in blood. Kites and vultures wheeled around it, as though it already flew with the dead. The rakshasas of Lanka saw these omens and were terrified. Rama sensed victory.

Spellbound, the rakshasas and vanaras stood motionless, like figures in a mural of frozen time. None of them fought any more; their battle would be decided by the duel that raged between the two flitting chariots. But as if fate had petrified his gifts, Ravana's prowess had deserted him. Cursing the unaccountable stupor, he aimed repeatedly at Rama's horses and his sarathy. But his shafts were wayward and great weakness was upon him. It seemed that at last all the debts of karma he owed had overtaken Ravana, at once.

His hands trembled, and his body; Rama had drained his will. Even the effort of drawing back his bowstring was almost more than the Rakshasa could manage. He felt his vast age intensely; the deaths of all his brothers and sons had breached his soul. He gritted his teeth and roared to embolden himself. Though he knew his time had come, he was determined to die a heroic death. All his ten heads plain, chattering and screeching around the central one, Ravana fought on.

They battled in the sky and on the ground, and at times the chariots flew out some leagues over the sea. Air, earth, water, fire, and ether were hushed when Rama and Ravana dueled. Primordial forces of light and darkness, dharma and adharma, battled through the two warriors: yet again, in endless time. The wind did not blow any more. The sun was dim as if he, too, held his fiery breath.

The Devas grew anxious that despite all the portents, the duel was lasting so long. They began to wonder if Rama could kill Ravana, actually finish him. For hadn't all of them tasted defeat from the Demon? Always serene, and aware of the deeper purposes of fate, the rishis of Devaloka began to chant timeless mantras to bless creation.

“May darkness and evil be overcome, and men live without fear in the world. May danger leave the earth today; may Rama kill Ravana.”

A gandharva whispered to the enchanting apsara beside him, “The sea is just its own metaphor, and the sky, also. And this duel between a man and a monster can only be compared to itself.”

One of Rama's arrows whistled perilously near Ravana's heads; in a flash the cluster of nine faces vanished. Just then, another golden shaft from the Avatara's bow struck Ravana's central head from its neck. The Demon's scream rang through the sky. But he did not fall. As Rama watched, in shock, another devilish head sprouted from the Rakshasa's gaping throat, like a hideous flower from its stem.

This grotesque green face grimaced, three-eyed, at Rama. A forked serpent's tongue flickered across its lips. Its eyes were lidless, yellow, and utterly malignant. Ravana raised his bow again. Now he fought with fresh vigor, as if the beheading had renewed him!

Rama loosed another silver shaft at his enemy and took the second head off in a scarlet burst. Ravana's roar echoed down among the monkeys and demons; the sea rose in crested waves. The Rakshasa staggered in his chariot, almost falling. But then, once more, like a weird plant thrusting forth its horrible fruit, another grisly head pushed its way out of Ravana's neck. Now it was a less demonic visage that roared at Rama in the sky; it was a head more like the first one.