The Ramayana (78 page)

 

42. A new king in Lanka

Ravana's dark body was washed and prepared for the final tarpana. But suddenly Vibheeshana cried, “I will not perform the last rites. He was not a man of dharma, but a liar and a killer. He was not my brother, but my enemy. He was conceited and lustful. He was a monster: his eyes always strayed to other men's wives. An older brother should be worshipped like a father, but I did not respect Ravana. I will not offer tarpana for him; he does not deserve it.”

Laying a hand on the noble rakshasa's arm, Rama said gently, “It is your dharma, and you must do it, my friend. True, your brother was a sinner, but he was also a great king. Now he is dead, and you must offer him tarpana, so his spirit is gathered safely to his fathers.

“Look at him now: the past is finished; death has released Ravana from himself. See how peaceful his face is.”

Vibheeshana found solace in Rama's voice. He spoke so mercifully and so truly, there was no resisting him. Vibheeshana ordered his rakshasas to lift his brother's body onto the pyre that had been piled at the edge of the city. A fire was lit with mantras, and Vibheeshana touched Ravana's body alight with the flames. With sesamum and holy water, Vibheeshana offered solemn tarpana to his brother, to slake his thirst on the journey he had embarked upon.

Vibheeshana bathed in cold water to purify his body. Wearing a wet cloth round his waist, he mixed sesame seeds and blades of green grass with holy water. He offered these for anjali to Ravana's soul. Facing south, he prostrated himself on the ground. Ravana's women still came crowding near the crackling pyre. Vibheeshana asked them to return to the antapura, saying, “It is not proper for you to be here.”

Rama stood with Hanuman, Lakshmana, Sugriva, Angada, and the other vanara chieftains around him. With folded hands, Vibheeshana came to Rama. Above them, the subtle akasa was empty again. The Devas and the other celestials had gone back to their glorious cities and timeless gardens, to celebrate Ravana's death. Rama was being hymned in all the tongues of grace, which have been spoken since before the world was made and are the ancestors of our earthly languages. The wisdom of Sugriva was being praised, the loyalty of Lakshmana and Hanuman. In their airy halls, gandharvas sang and apsaras danced; for at last it was true that Ravana was indeed dead. The darkness they had been plunged in for eons had been broken, and their spirits soared in freedom.

On earth, Rama went to Matali and embraced him. At the critical moment, it had been Indra's inspired sarathy who told him to invoke the brahmastra. He walked around the unearthly chariot in pradakshina, and stroked the wonderful horses' heads. “Swift as light you were,” Rama said to them. “My victory is at least half yours.”

They nuzzled their faces against him. Then Matali folded his hands to Rama, flew up into the sky in a blaze of splendor, and flashed across the threshold that divides the earth from the realm of the Gods.

Rama came to Sugriva and hugged him, again and again. He cried, “We have won, my friend. My loyal friend, we have won.”

With Sugriva beside him, Rama stood at the heart of the vanara army. He said aloud to Lakshmana, “Child, Vibheeshana is a true friend. Without him, and his timely advice on so many occasions, we could never have won this war. Take him into the city, and crown him king of Lanka.”

Lakshmana asked for a golden urn to be filled with water from the sea. Surrounded by the triumphant vanaras, Lakshmana entered Lanka. He set Vibheeshana on the crystal throne, on which Ravana had sat, and drenched the new king with the water in abhisheka. The priests of the island kingdom intoned sacred mantras. As the ceremony progressed, the rakshasas who had survived the war came out of their homes, where they had hidden in fear. They streamed through the streets to the palace to witness the crowning.

Around Vibheeshana, and now as his ministers, sat the four loyal rakshasas who had flown out of Lanka with him. When the coronation was over, the people showered fried rice grains on their new king and the brightest, most fragrant flowers from the forests and gardens of the island. Vibheeshana came out of the city with these and offered them to Rama. Smiling, Rama received the auspicious gifts from the king of the rakshasas.

 

43. Hanuman and Sita

Rama turned to Hanuman. He said, “Wise one, ask Vibheeshana's leave to enter his city. Go to the asokavana and tell Sita that Ravana is dead. Tell her I am alive and well, and Lakshmana and Sugriva also. Tell her Vibheeshana is king in Lanka, and bring back her message to me.”

Hanuman rose and flew to the asokavana. Sita sat there under the same shimshupa tree where he had first approached her. Surrounded by rakshasis, she sat sorrowing still. Unhappy as Rohini separated from the Moon sat lovely Sita. Hanuman came and stood before her with folded hands. The rakshasis sprang up in fear and backed away from the son of the wind. They had seen what he did when he last came here.

For just a moment, she stared blankly, not knowing him for her grief. Then she recognized him and a small tumult of hope broke out on her face. Hanuman said softly, “Devi, Rama is alive and well. Lakshmana and Sugriva are with him. The war has been won. Your prince has killed Ravana, as you asked him to, and he has crowned Vibheeshana king of Lanka. Rama says to you:

“‘It is my good fortune you are alive to share in my victory. Let peace be upon you, Sita, your enemy is dead. Vibheeshana is king in Lanka now and you are in your own brother's house. He will come to you shortly, to bring you to me.'”

Sita was speechless. Hanuman stood before her, waiting, but she only shook her head from side to side and spoke no word. Anxiously, he asked, “What is it, Devi? Is my news not good, that you give me no message for Rama?”

Then she cried, “It is my joy, my boundless joy, Hanuman, which ties my tongue! How shall I reward you for bringing such news to me? No gift, no words can express what I feel. Nothing is good enough for you, nothing can repay my debt to you, for everything you have done.”

Blushing, Hanuman said, “Devi, your affection shines like heaven's light. For me all the treasures of the earth cannot equal your affection. I see the smile on your face; I see Rama happy and my heart is full. I feel I have conquered the three worlds.”

Sita smiled, bewitchingly, and said, “Hanuman, there is no one in all those worlds who can speak to me as sweetly as you do! Oh, you are the noblest, bravest, and kindest friend anyone could have.”

Now Hanuman looked around him with a glitter in his eyes. “I have one favor to ask you. These rakshasis have tormented you for so long; let me have the pleasure of tearing them limb from limb.”

He growled and the rakshasis shrank whimpering from him. But Sita laughed and said, “They were only servants of their master, and obedient to his will. They themselves are blameless. They will not ill-treat me any more, now that he is dead. Let us not judge them; I must have sinned in my last life, that I was condemned to suffer for a year in this one, to suffer captivity and terror and, worst of all, being separated from my Rama. I must have sinned heinously, that I made him suffer so much.

“But all that is over now. Rama always says that mercy and goodness are the only ornaments worth wearing. No one is sinless, Hanuman; let us be forgiving.”

Hanuman struggled with himself for a moment. Finally he said, “You are truly the wife of the greatest man who ever lived. Let me go back to Rama and tell him how pleased you are. He waits impatiently for me.”

Sita rose. Sensing she had something more to say, Hanuman paused. Her eyes turned down, she said shyly, “Tell Rama I am eager to see him.”

Hanuman said, “Devi, in no time you and he will be together again, even like Indra and his Sachi!”

She whispered, “Fly, sweet Hanuman.”

Hanuman rose into the sky and flew back to Rama.

 

44. Another Rama

Hanuman brought Sita's message to Rama. When the prince heard she was waiting to see him, his eyes brimmed over. Then he fell silent and was plunged in thought.

At last he turned to Vibheeshana and said, “My friend, I have no wish to see how she suffered. I could not bear it. Let her bathe, put on silks and ornaments, and come to me as she used to be.”

With his women, Vibheeshana went to Sita in the asokavana. They brought silks and jewelry for her. But with grave dignity she said, “I will go to Rama as I am. He must see me like this.”

Vibheeshana said, “Rama asked me to bring you holy water to bathe in, and silks and gold. How can I disobey him?”

Sita did not protest further, but went with the women. She allowed them to wash her filthy, tangled hair, and comb it out as gently as they could; for it was matted like jata. She allowed them to wash a year's dirt from her thin body. They draped her in fine silks and adorned her with ornaments fit for Rama's queen. They dabbed subtle perfumes over her, and made up her eyes and lips. When she looked at herself in the mirror they held up, Sita smiled: she was beautiful again for her husband.

Vibheeshana ordered a royal palanquin fetched, to carry Sita to Rama. He went before her, back to the prince. Smiling, he said, “She has come, Rama.”

A wave of excitement rippled through the vanara army. The monkeys were agog to see her for whose sake they had come to Lanka. But Rama was distraught; there was dark conflict on his face. One moment, he felt ecstatic at the thought of seeing Sita again, and the next, a nameless rage gripped his heart.

Finally he said, “Let her come to me.”

The vanaras and rakshasas gathered there surged toward the golden palanquin. Vibheeshana signaled his guards and they began to beat back the crowd with the staffs of fire they carried. They overdid this, hardly being well disposed toward the monkeys. The crowd roared its anger at them like a sea.

Rama jumped up and cried to Vibheeshana, “What is this? These are my own people, my kinsmen. They cannot be treated like this.

“A woman's chastity is her protection, not walls and weapons. Let them look at her, even as they look at me. And let her see me surrounded by those who helped me rescue her. In exceptional circumstances, the people may look upon a woman: in war, or when she is in trouble; during her wedding, or at a yagna.” He bit his lip. “There has been a war for Sita's sake, and she is in trouble.”

Lakshmana, Sugriva, and Hanuman stared at him in amazement. Vibheeshana went quietly to the palanquin to fetch Sita. With each moment that passed, Rama's disturbance grew. He frowned; he clenched his hands and stood taut as a streak of lightning. Vibheeshana helped Sita down from the litter and led her slowly to Rama.

She shrank from the thousands of eyes that stared at her. She blushed at the gasp from the crowd, when the monkeys saw she was more beautiful than they had dreamed. She covered her face. At long last, she stood before Rama. She saw his dark face, and stood gazing at what she saw as if it was her very life, which she had lost and regained. She whispered, “My lord!”

Her eyes swam with tears and her heart beat as if it would burst for joy. But Rama avoided her gaze. There was no smile of love or welcome on his lips. Looking away, and in a voice he did not use even with his enemies, he said to her, “Devi, I have vindicated my honor. Ravana wronged me and I killed him.”

His tone was cold and his words were like needles in her bewildered mind for their haughty aloofness. Sita still trembled, but not with joy any more. In the same icy voice she could hardly believe was his, he went on, “Great was Hanuman's valor when he leaped across the ocean, and Sugriva's and Lakshmana's in war. Vibheeshana came to me, abandoning his own brother; without him, victory could never have been ours.”

She shivered like a deer before a tiger, and her eyes were full of very different tears now: hot tears of anguish sprang in them. He looked at her briefly, and the sight of her face only fed his strange fury, as butter does a fire. He seemed to summon courage for what he had to say to her next.

He drew a deep breath. “I came to avenge Ravana's affront to me, and that I have done. For my honor and the honor of the House of Ikshvaku, I came to kill him. I came because of dharma.”

He paused. Then, as if plunging a spike of ice into her, he said, “Do not think for a moment, Sita, that I came for your sake. Your name is a stain on our family. It pains me to even look at you. You can go wherever you like. I have rescued you, as I swore I would; I owe you nothing more. No man of honor can take home a woman who has lived in his enemy's house for as many moons as you have.

“I feel nothing for you. You can go with whomever you choose: Lakshmana or Bharata, Sugriva or Vibheeshana. It will not matter to me. Seek your fortune, since you have already been with Ravana for so long.”

A hush had fallen; the stunned crowd hardly breathed. Just once more, helplessly, Rama looked into Sita's face, as if to seek something there that he could not bear to find. Then he turned away, red-eyed. Sita stood before him, as stricken as Ravana had been by the brahmastra, her heart breaking with each searing word he said, before all those vanaras and rakshasas. Tears flowed down her face and fell to the ground. She bowed her head down, right down, as if to bury it.

 

45. Agni pariksha

The vanaras could not believe this was the gentle prince they knew speaking. At last, Sita herself cried in a ragged voice, “You are full of wretched suspicion, Rama, and speak like any ordinary man. Don't you believe that I was faithful to you? Ravana touched me only once, when he dragged me from our asrama and flew with me to Lanka. And then, surely, the fault was fate's, that I was not strong enough to resist him. How can you suspect me like this? I have been in torment being apart from you.

“I swear to you, I was entirely chaste; every moment I thought only of you. If you were so full of doubt, why didn't you tell Hanuman to bring your true feelings to me? I would have killed myself at once, and you would not have had to fight this war. Instead, you sent him with lies. Not for a moment did I know this is how you felt, this despicable jealousy. You have ruined me with your suspicion, Rama; how could you think this of me?