The Ramayana (65 page)

After probing their wounds with long fingers and peering under their eyelids, Sushena said, “This is the same paasa that bound some of Indra's Devas, when they fought the Asuras beside the Kshirasagara. Brihaspati woke them from their trance with two herbs he raised from the sea of milk. It was the sanjivakarani and the vishalyakarani he used. Let our swiftest, most reliable vanara fly to the Kshirasagara, where the amrita was churned. He will find the hills Drona and Chandra there, rising steeply from white waves. On their slopes he will find the oshadhis we need; for the Devas left them planted there. Let him bring them back to me, and I will make Rama and Lakshmana well again.

“Let Hanuman go, so there is no mistake.”

Now the writhing serpents that held Rama and Lakshmana in their coils were plainly visible. The vanaras stepped back in fear from those emerald thongs. Just before Hanuman could fly in search of the Kshirasagara, a great wind rose over the ocean. It howled across Lanka, pulling up small trees, blowing them across the island like blades of grass and out over the dark water. Huge waves smashed against the shores of Lanka.

Cowering in the storm, the monkeys heard the sound of unimaginable wings. Above the screaming wind, they heard the ululating cry of a golden eagle, greatest of all created birds. The vanaras around the fallen princes cried out: the glimmering serpents loosened their coils around the brothers. Turning into thin braids of lightning, they streaked away through the alarmed monkeys and flashed out across the sea.

Rama and Lakshmana sat up, rubbing their eyes. Still, the sky-churning wind swept closer. The monkeys scattered in fresh panic. The heavens themselves seemed to have opened, and from another mandala, awesome Garuda flew down to Lanka. His body seemed to be made of supernatural light, and his cry of love shook the island. Crystal wings tucked in, he glided down beside Rama. As the monkeys peered, wonderstruck, from tree and shadow, they saw Garuda assume a human form as soon as he landed upon the earth: a manly form, though his head remained an eagle's and his wings were folded behind him. He embraced Rama and Lakshmana. The brothers' bleeding wounds closed and vanished as soon as Garuda touched them.

The fabulous being stood before Rama, who said in wonder, “Who are you? I do not know you; but when you touched us our wounds healed, and I felt as if my father had caressed me. Who are you, mighty one? Your garlands and ornaments are not of this world.”

Garuda said, “It is I, Garuda, your companion through the ages. Just once, during this incarnation of yours, I am meant to come to you. Not the Devas or gandharvas could have shorn the nagapasa with which Indrajit bound you. But all serpents fear me, even the subtle ones of agni. They fled when I came, or I would have made a meal of them, be they of flesh or fire.

“Your taintless dharma drew me down the mandalas. You will triumph now, Rama; no one will stop you. And when Ravana is dead, you will rule the earth as you were born to. But this world weakens me and I must return to where I came from: into timelessness from time. Don't perplex yourself too much with what I have said. One day, when your mission is accomplished, you will understand everything. Fear nothing, perfect Rama; Sita and you will soon be together again.”

Then as the vanaras stood rooted, the miraculous one was a splendid eagle again. Unfurling shimmering wings he flew up and out of this world, still crying out in love. When Rama and Lakshmana stood up, once more, the monkeys' cries of
“Jaya Rama! Jaya Lakshmana!”
reverberated across Ravana's ramparts.

 

18. The jungle warriors

When Rama and Lakshmana were healed, earth, sea, and sky resounded with the vanaras' rapture. Lanka echoed with the monkeys' cheering, their wild horns, conches, and drums. Sugriva's people sprang high into the air; they turned somersaults and kissed their tails. Their hand clapping was like a tempest, and once more they rushed the gates of Lanka, eager for battle, confident of victory.

In his palace, Ravana heard the monkeys roaring. He raised his hands to stop the revelry around him. Then all the rakshasas heard it: the joy of the vanaras, a tide risen to drown the demons' celebrations. Ravana said, “Go and see what they are so pleased about.”

The guards came back to their king and reported in low voices, “The human princes have been healed by a miracle: the nagapasa does not bind them any more. The hundred wounds Indrajit gave them have vanished from their bodies. No trace remains that they were injured.”

As if to himself, Ravana said, “No one has ever escaped from the coils of the nagapasa before. Indra himself could not undo the bonds of darkness.” He paused, seething, tormented. Then he cried, “Dhrumraksha, go forth with your army. Kill the Kosala brothers, brave rakshasa—you have never failed me before.”

Roaring in great self-assurance, Dhrumraksha arrived on the battlefield beyond Lanka's gates with his fearsome legion behind him. But he saw evil omens in the sky, and Hanuman beyond, waiting with his indomitable monkeys around him. Dhrumraksha was one of Ravana's fiercest commanders and his rakshasas were some of the bravest in all Lanka. A pitched battle broke out between Hanuman and Dhrumraksha, the monkeys and the demons. And by night, the rakshasas were more powerful.

The vanaras fought with fang and nail; they fought with rocks and young trees they flung like lances at the enemy. At first, in the sheer joy of the resurrection of Rama and Lakshmana, Hanuman's monkeys killed thousands of demons. But the rakshasas came on and on at them, in wave after wave, fearless by night, ready to die. Sword, dagger, and arrow flashed under the moon, and hundreds of vanaras also fell. Slowly, they had to give way to the rakshasas; so many were they and so savage.

At the heart of the fighting, surrounded by a guard of his best men, was the seasoned Dhrumraksha himself. He fought from his chariot, flitting everywhere to strengthen the weaker lines where the monkeys threatened to break through. His arrows were like silver hail and his battle-ax was a thing of absolute fear, glinting crimson in the moonlight.

Hanuman saw that the demon at the heart of his men was the key to this encounter. He saw his monkeys forced back from the Lankan gate and he could not reach the rakshasa on the ground. He picked up a rock and flung it through the air at Dhrumraksha. The great stone flew down, whistling, from the bronze sky; just in time, Dhrumraksha leaped out of his chariot and saved his life. But the chariot was smashed and half the ring of fighting rakshasas around him was crushed. As he jumped away, Dhrumraksha himself tripped and fell. Before he could get on his feet again, Hanuman was upon him, snarling. With another rock, the son of the wind crushed the demon's head like an eggshell.

Ravana howled, long and loud, when he heard Dhrumraksha was dead. He called for another rakshasa, as ferocious.

“Vajradamshtra,” cried Ravana to his lean, scarred demon. “Go to war; take maya with you.”

Vajradamshtra took the field, with sorcery. He went everywhere unseen, and his sword and arrows spilled vanara blood copiously. He fought with cunning, but fate was ranged against him. Seeing the head of a monkey near him lopped off by an invisible enemy, Angada flailed out blindly with a blow like thunder. He knocked the invisible Vajradamshtra senseless. When the demon fell, his maya dissolved and the monkeys saw their tormentor clearly. They fell on him with cries of revenge, for he had killed many of them. Shortly, just a bloody mess of flesh and bone remained where that diamond-fanged rakshasa had lain moments ago.

Feeling his hand being forced more quickly than he liked, Ravana sent Akampana, maharathika, bane of Lanka's enemies and one of her boldest commanders. With his chariot guard, Akampana drove like a storm to the western gate, where Hanuman waited after killing Dhrumraksha. Now Hanuman knew exactly how to face the chariot-mounted enemy. Before Akampana could even begin to fight, he was crushed by a boulder that whistled down from the sky. Many of his rakshasas were crushed as well, under a barrage of rocks and tree trunks the monkeys hurled at them. The rest fled back to their king.

Ravana received the news grimly. He showed just his main face now; the rest were hidden. Forked serpent tongues darted in and out of their mouths, and not even his generals and ministers could bear that sight. Lifting his grave central face at last, Ravana said, “It is almost dawn. I will inspect the garrisons now.”

He went around the city, speaking words of encouragement to his rakshasas, brave words he hardly felt himself. He saw his dead warriors lying in heaps; he saw that so far the battle belonged to Rama's vanaras. Stalking back into his palace, Ravana called Prahastha, his Senapati.

“Dhrumraksha, Vajradamshtra, and Akampana are slain, and our men are near panic. It is time one of our very finest went into battle. I would go myself, or send Kumbhakarna, Indrajit, or Nikumbha. But turning the tide of a war is your special talent. How will these chattering tree dwellers, who scratch themselves as they fight, contain Prahastha, the master?

“Perhaps the others could not see well enough in the dark. But now day dawns. Go, my friend; make a river, a sea of monkeys' blood for your king.”

Ravana embraced his general. Prahastha said emotionally, “Ravana, I owe everything I am to you. My life is yours, my lord, and I will not fail you.”

He bowed to his king. Ravana embraced him again, and Prahastha turned and walked out of the sabha. His commanders announced his coming to his army, waiting anxiously to sweep into battle. Prahastha went to the northern gate where Rama himself was. Seeing him come, at the head of his glittering legions, Rama turned to Vibheeshana. “Who is this rakshasa that takes the field against us? Surely he is a maharathika.”

Vibheeshana said quietly, “I had not expected him so soon. It is Ravana's Senapati Prahastha. He is a master of astras and he fought against the Devas at Ravana's side.”

In a blaze of war that set the sky alight came Prahastha with his legions. He was an awesome rakshasa; his astras lit up the dawn. They fell flaming among the vanaras, and each one made ashes of a thousand monkeys. The vanara lines began to melt at his inexorable advance. Worry sat on Rama's face. Then he heard a roar from the trees above. Sugriva's Senapati, Neela, had silently watched Prahastha's advent. Now he jumped down to the ground to face the rakshasa general in his chariot of beaten gold.

Prahastha's horses reared in alarm at the stupendous vanara who loomed suddenly before them. With five lightning blows of the young tree in his hands, Neela felled those beasts. With another stroke he pulverized the chariot. Roaring as deafeningly as the vanara, Prahastha leaped down to the ground. They fought hand to hand, sword against tree trunk. That duel shook the earth: it seemed the vanara and the rakshasa fought with the elements as their weapons. Thunder, lightning, and tempest seemed to be in their palms; and they struck each other with these, roaring so loudly that the rest of the war was silenced. Monkeys and demons gathered round their Senapatis and watched them in awe.

Prahastha struck Neela down twice. The demons roared as loudly as their general. But Neela sprang up from the ground with a flat slab of rock in his hands. He leaped fifty hands into the air and, with all the force of his descent, smashed the rock down squarely on Prahastha's head. The rakshasa's skull was shattered and he lay twitching on the ground, his brains dribbling out.

The roar of victory of Neela, the son of Agni, echoed through Lanka. When they saw Prahastha felled, the rakshasas fled back to Ravana with fear pursuing them like a flash flood. The vanaras erupted in joy. They lifted Neela onto their shoulders and carried him back to Rama in a wave. Rama embraced, the hero of the moment.

In his palace, Ravana heard Prahastha was killed. Tears scalded his eyes and he cried, “How can it be? Prahastha ravaged Indra's army when we fought in Devaloka. And now just a monkey has killed him? He was the most loyal friend I had; he was my finest warrior. I will come to battle myself. The vanaras will wish they had never followed their human prince to Lanka. They think they have victory in sight; when they feel my astras, they will know who Ravana is. Prahastha is dead, but I swear the monkeys shall rue his death more than we.”

 

19. Terrible mercy

Ravana ordered his chariot fetched. Surrounded by his warriors, the Lord of the rakshasas drove into battle in the golden ratha. Rama saw the demon army sweep toward him. He turned to Vibheeshana. “The rakshasas have recovered heart. Tell me, who are they that lead them onto the field?”

“On the elephant, white as Airavata, is Atikaya. The one mounted in the chariot with the lion banner is Indrajit. Mahodara rides beside Atikaya and Kumbha rides in the chariot with the serpent banner. Between them all, and the commander of this force, is Nikumbha. Narantaka is behind Nikumbha.

“But the lord of them all is the one beneath the white parasol: he who rides in the golden chariot; whom the rest surround; who looks like Siva himself coming to battle with his bhutaganas; whose kundalas send shafts through the day like the sun's; who wears the crown of Lanka on his head; who is built like Vindhya and Himavan; who is as bright as the noonday sun; who subdued Indra and Yama in Devaloka. Rama, that is my brother Ravana.”

There was such feeling in that description, Rama turned to Vibheeshana with a smile. He saw the rakshasa was not past loving his terrible brother. Rama looked at the demon army that advanced on the vanaras. He had eyes only for the one who rode at the heart of that force. Long and admiringly the blue prince gazed at his mortal enemy riding toward him; long and hard Rama of Ayodhya stared at Ravana of Lanka.

In a low voice, he said to Vibheeshana, “He is like another sun risen over us. I have never seen anyone so splendid; it is hard to even look at him. See how his body ripples in power; look at the scars that adorn his dark skin. How handsome he is, how magnificent, Vibheeshana. Truly, if there was ever a king to fear on earth, it is your brother.