The Ramayana (80 page)

Angada had come up beside his uncle. Rama put his arm around the prince. “What can be said of your valor, Angada? You were magnificent. And you, Vibheeshana, how will I ever repay you for everything you have done for me? My thoughts will always be with you, my dearest friends.”

They stood before him, their hands folded. Choking, Rama said, “Go back to Kishkinda now, Sugriva. Your women and children are waiting for you. Farewell, my friends, I will never forget you!”

He began to climb into the vimana, but Sugriva called, “Wait, Rama!”

Rama turned back; he saw the vanara crying. Sugriva blurted, “We want to be in Ayodhya with you for your coronation! We swear we will behave ourselves, and be careful in your streets and your forests. We will not harm a tree, nor pluck a single flower. Please, Rama, let us meet your mothers, see you being crowned, and then return to Kishkinda.”

Vibheeshana said, “I and my four friends who came out to you, we would also see you being crowned.”

Such a smile broke out on Rama's face. He gave a delighted laugh at Sugriva's quaint promise that the vanaras would behave. He clasped the monkey king and cried, “How I wished you would say this! And you, noble Vibheeshana. Of course you must come to Ayodhya with me; but for you I would not be going back myself.”

Glowing, Vibheeshana said, “Rama, the pushpaka vimana can carry all the vanaras, and me and my friends, too. Shall we leave?”

Rama said, “Shouldn't you arrange for Lanka to be ruled while you are away?”

Vibheeshana replied, “I have already entrusted the task to Suparshva and some other ministers. You see, Rama, Sugriva and I decided some time ago that we would go with you.”

The vimana was a miraculous ship, and soon it was full of vanaras, who streamed into it. Amazingly, every monkey had a place inside, though it would not have seemed possible to look at the gleaming thing from the outside. Those who know the pushpaka vimana say that seen from without it was a great flying disk, but from within it was a dazzling city. Sugriva and his people, Vibheeshana and his four ministers, and finally, Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita climbed into the vimana. When they were all seated, the door slid shut by itself, soundlessly.

The ship flew at Rama's thought. When he willed it to, it rose into the sky. Though you could not look into it, the vimana was perfectly transparent from the inside. The vanaras laughed like children as they flashed up toward the clouds.

Rama turned to Sita. “There lies Lanka: the city Viswakarman built, the city of our destiny. Look at the battlefield outside its gates.”

Dead rakshasas still lay heaped on that field, their blood drying around them in dark stains upon the earth. Rama took Sita's hand and whispered, “For you I killed Ravana, and fate willed it so.”

They hovered above the momentous field. Rama pointed. “That is where Kumbhakarna fell. And there Hanuman killed Dhrumraksha.”

As they rose higher, someone else cried, “Look at that nyagrodha tree. That is Nikumbhila, where Lakshmana killed Indrajit.”

Rama said quietly, “That was the turning point.”

As if they were sailing on the wind, they flew over the sea, gathering speed. Rama pointed down at a faint line upon the waves, stretching away to the horizon. “Nalasetu: the bridge Nala built for us. The bridge across which we came by moonlight to rescue you.”

Now he smiled to think of the anxiety of those days. Sita said in a low voice, “This is the sea that Hanuman leaped across to bring me your message.”

Golden Mainaka rose from the ocean to watch them pass. Waving to him, they arrived swiftly at the other shore, of sacred Bharatavarsha. The vanaras set up a cheer.

Rama said, “Sita, that beach is where Vibheeshana first flew out to me.”

They flashed along now. Their speed was incalculable; the earth below was a blur of brown and green. Not long after, they were flying over a deep jungle. As they slowed, at Rama's will, they saw a familiar ring of hills and the secret entrance that led into Kishkinda. The monkeys roared in joy to see their home.

Rama pointed again. “That is where Vali died. And there is Kishkinda, where Sugriva rules.”

Sita said, “Rama, let us take Tara and all the vanara wives with us to Ayodhya. They have given us so much; it is the least we can do in return.”

Quiet as light, the vimana landed outside Kishkinda. The reunion of the vanaras with their families was rapturous. With his arms around Ruma and Tara, Sugriva ordered his people to hurry into the ship with their women. Soon they set off again, north to Ayodhya.

As they were still climbing, and before they went too quickly, Rama pointed out a mountain below, which shone as if a rainbow had broken on its slopes. He said to Sita, “Rishyamooka is iridescent for its colored rocks. That is where Hanuman first met us, when he came disguised as an artful brahmana, smooth of tongue and sharp of wit. On Rishyamooka's summit, Sugriva and I first swore friendship before a fire we lit.”

Later, as they flitted along, Sita cried, “Look, Rama, Panchavati, where you killed Khara and his rakshasas.”

Her voice caught in her throat; she saw a familiar glade in the jungle. Her eyes filling quickly, she whispered, “That is where Jatayu gave his life for me.”

A shadow crossed Rama's face when he saw the asrama from where Ravana had taken Sita: a terrible memory of how life had been without her; how despair had coiled itself around his heart like a serpent. He remembered what a strength Lakshmana had been during those days. Rama said softly, “When we saw you were gone, my love, Lakshmana and I went south from Panchavati.”

She saw how much he must have suffered. Tenderly, she took his hand. On they flew, over dense jungle, and Sita murmured, “From up here one would scarcely guess at all the wonders that lie hidden below: streams and flowers, ancient trees and charmed pools, and birds and beasts out of dreams.”

Rama squeezed her hand, and such joy flowed between them at being together again. In a wide clearing they saw Agastya's asrama, and then Sutheekshna's. They saw where Viradha had died, at the very edge of the Dandaka vana. Their minds were full of memories of the forest, all their adventures. From the uncanny vimana, which flew this route after Rama's own heart, they saw Atri's asrama. They folded their hands in obeisance to the rishi and his gracious Anasuya.

Like a comet, the pushpaka vimana plunged across the sky with its tail of light. Now they flew low above Chitrakuta of the sparkling waterfalls. Rama said, “Do you remember how Bharata came to see me here, with his hair tangled in jata?”

On they flew and the Yamuna appeared below them, a silver thread laid across the earth. They went lower still, and Lakshmana said, “Look, Bharadvaja's asrama.”

Sita cried, “The Ganga!”

Rama said, “Shringiberapura, where my friend Guha rules.”

And then the three of them cried excitedly and at once, “The Sarayu!”

Lakshmana said dreamily, “The Sarayu, which cradles Kosala in her arms.”

Now they saw the golden turrets of a city that lay like a vision below them. Rama heaved a sigh and whispered, “Ayodhya, city of my fathers.”

Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita folded their hands and bowed to the royal city of the Sun.

Rama flew them back to Bharadvaja's asrama. It was quite incredible: they had come all the way here in a few hours. The vimana landed outside the rishi's asrama. Without a whisper, the crystal panels slid open, and Rama and the others climbed down into the sunlight.

Rama went before the muni and lay at his feet. Today was the first day after his exile ended. Bharadvaja blessed him and raised him up. He had already seen Rama's triumph on Lanka, clairvoyantly.

Rama asked, “My lord, how is my brother Bharata? And my mothers? And not least, O Muni, how are my people?”

Overjoyed, Bharadvaja put his arm around Rama. He said, “Ayodhya waits for you. Bharata is well; he wears jata and the same valkala you last saw him in. He sleeps on the ground, and all day long speaks to the padukas you gave him, just as if you sat before him. He counts not only the days, but the very moments before he sees you again.

“And your mothers are well, Rama. They also wait impatiently for you.”

Suddenly, the sage's voice was tremulous, “These have been such a long fourteen years for us all. I can still see you standing before me, wearing deerskin, your hair freshly matted, and so solemn. Do you remember, you had just lost your kingdom? Yet dharma was all you thought of. Ah, you were like a God cast down into the world for some slight fault. I see it all so clearly; you had given away everything you owned as alms.

“I strive to be detached. But that day, when I was alone, I wept. Least among all the created did you deserve what had happened to you. But there was a great purpose behind it all. And even then Ravana's name came to my mind. But I could say nothing, for your encounter with him was still fourteen years away.

“From witnesses who are not of this world, I have already heard your story. Word of everything that happened to you in Chitrakuta, in Panchavati, on Rishyamooka and Lanka, came back to me. Your destiny in exile is fulfilled, Rama. Now it is time you claimed the throne of the world.

“But I will not let you go today. Tonight you must spend here with me, all of you, as my guests.”

Rama bowed. He took Hanuman aside and said to the vanara, “I cannot refuse Bharadvaja; and perhaps this is a heaven-sent opportunity. Dear Hanuman, fly to Ayodhya for my sake. Go first to Shringiberapura, which we saw; from there, Guha will show you the way.”

All attention, Hanuman stood gravely before Rama.

Rama went on, “Go to Bharata in Ayodhya; tell him about my life during these past fourteen years. Tell him everything you know, and tell him I have returned. As you speak, watch him carefully, Hanuman. Most of all, watch for the slightest flicker of disappointment on his face.

“Power and kingdom are mighty things, and the best of men are tempted by them. If you see the faintest sign of regret in Bharata's eyes that I have returned, fly back and tell me. I will return quietly to the jungle, while my brother rules Ayodhya in peace.”

 

48. The wonderful news

Hanuman's was a delicate mission. He decided to go to Bharata disguised as a human being, just as he had first accosted Rama. Outside Bharadvaja's asrama, it took him no more than a moment, and a thought of his father Vayu, to effect the transformation. Then he flew up into the sky as a diminutive brahmana with a shining face. He flew across the holy Ganga, across the Sangama, where her golden waters flow into the midnight-blue Yamuna. He saw Shringiberapura beyond the rivers.

Hanuman flew down from the sky into Guha's court, astonishing that king of hunters. He cried to Guha, “Rama of Ayodhya has served his exile and returns home in triumph!”

Guha sprang up and embraced the quaint messenger. Hanuman told him about Sita's abduction and Ravana's death. Guha wanted him to stay on in his city, so he could hear all about the war of Lanka. But Hanuman said he must meet Bharata urgently, and asked the way to Ayodhya.

With directions from Guha, the little brahmana flew up again, while Guha's people stared after him. Ayodhya was near enough for one who had carried the Sanjivini mountain from the Himalaya to Lanka. Guha had described Nandigrama, the village a krosa from Ayodhya, where Bharata still lived like a hermit, though fourteen years had passed.

Hanuman flew down a short distance from Nandigrama and walked the rest of the way to Bharata. The canny vanara hid behind some bushes and stood watching the prince for a while. Bharata was quite alone, like a solitary rishi.

Hanuman saw he was as handsome as his brothers. But he hardly looked like someone who ruled a great kingdom. He wore a ragged deerskin, his face and his body were caked in dirt; only his dark, piercing eyes shone through that mask. But even these were half-closed, as if Bharata was absorbed in some fervor that kept all his thought turned within himself. Above his face, his hair was piled in thick jata, as wandering rishis wear who are unconcerned about their bodies. He was lean, as if he hardly ate.

Bharata sat at the foot of a splendid throne set in a roofed, but otherwise open, pavilion, and spoke incessantly to that throne. When Hanuman crept closer, he saw that a pair of padukas lay on the seat of the golden throne. It was to these that the emaciated prince spoke. When he had watched Bharata carefully for a time, Hanuman came out from hiding and approached him. Bharata stood up, a little startled to see the wiry, cheerful mendicant. The kshatriya sensed at once that the little brahmana before him was not quite what he seemed.

Hanuman smiled at Bharata. He said solemnly, “Your brother Rama, for whose sake you live like a muni, has sent me. He is well and his exile is over. Rama killed the great Rakshasa, Ravana, and he is on his way home to Ayodhya to quench the yearning in your soul.”

The little brahmana spoke in the finest, formal language. At his first words, a great smile lit Bharata's face. By the time he finished, the prince gave a shout and actually fainted. In a moment Bharata revived. He clasped the little mendicant to him, crying, “Brahmana, for this news I will give you wealth you have not dreamed of!”

Bharata hugged Hanuman and planted kiss after kiss on his cheeks, and he wept and laughed at once for stark, unblemished joy. “This is not just good news you have brought me, my friend. This is my life you have brought me, who have been dead for fourteen years. Tell me what you want, anything at all, and it shall be yours.”

Bharata saw the little brahmana before him also wept. Bharata hugged him again. He spread a seat of darbha grass for Hanuman and, taking his hand, made him sit close beside him. “My friend, we have had no word of my brother since I left him at Chitrakuta. Now you say he is coming back. And, oh, this is such wonderful news, I can hardly believe it is true!

“You know what they say, good messenger: ‘Stay alive for a hundred years and happiness will come at the end. Even if it is late!'