The Ramayana (69 page)

Five gold-tipped arrows flashed out from Rama's bow. Kumbhakarna's armor was disjointed at its seams, and fell away from him. Dazed by his enemy's supernatural archery, but still roaring, Kumbhakarna blundered on. The golden necklaces his brother had draped round him shone like heavenly treasure. His body bathed in scarlet with all the vanaras he had killed, Kumbhakarna came on.

Lakshmana cried, “He is blood-drunk, Rama, and not just on the gore of the vanaras but of his own rakshasas. Let the monkeys cover him; let them hold him down.”

Rama nodded. The vanaras sprang at Kumbhakarna. In a trice, a hundred of them covered him. But the monster shrugged and they were thrown off with unbelievable power. Like Meru, the golden mountain at the earth's heart from where the continents unfurl, Kumbhakarna rushed at Rama with his arms outspread: to seize him, to crush life out of him.

 

22. Weapons of light

Gorged on monkey flesh and the flesh of his own rakshasas, Kumbhakarna rushed at Rama. The prince stood as still as a mountain, as fierce as a flame that does not smoke. Rama strummed his bowstring, as if he caressed a vina.

He said to the demon, “Kumbhakarna, I am Rama. Are you ready to die?”

But the monster laughed like a volcano erupting. He roared back, “I am not Viradha or Kabandha. I am not Khara, Vali, or Maricha. I am Kumbhakarna; show me how sharp your arrows really are.”

Quicker than thinking, Rama loosed a sizzle of shafts at him. But the demon stood smiling before him and most of the arrows fell tamely off his skin. The few that pierced him he pulled out like thorns. A hush had fallen on the field. Rama stared at his adversary in wonder: his arrows, which passed through the seven sala trees, which felled the invincible Vali, hardly punctured this rakshasa's skin. Both of them stood calm as hills on which it rains.

Kumbhakarna raised his own weapon, a mudgara of black fire. But the flames it spewed did not singe the prince of light. Rama intoned the mantra for Vayu's unearthly weapon; he had learned it a life ago from Viswamitra, on the bank of a river. In a rustling of breezes, an awakening of ancestral winds, the power of the astra filled the arrow in the prince's hand. It was a shining ayudha of time and air, charged with the power that denudes mountains.

The fires of the mudgara flamed around him. Rama drew his bowstring to his ear and Vayu Deva's astra, the vayavya, flashed from the Kodanda, howling like the simoom of the desert. With the force of a thousand years packed into a moment, that astra struck Kumbhakarna's right arm off at the shoulder in a crimson burst, and carried it up into the sky, still clutching the flaming mudgara in its hand. At first Kumbhakarna hardly noticed the pain: he had lost his arm so suddenly. Then he saw blood spurting in a geyser from his hollow shoulder, and he began to scream.

The rakshasa giant ran to a tree growing near him. He pulled it up with his left hand and raised it to hurl at Rama. But another shaft of the wind severed that arm as well, and the tree fell on the ground before it could be flung. Now Kumbhakarna's screams shook the sky and the dazed rakshasa army behind him.

Rama drew another arrow from his quiver. He said the mantra of the aindrastra over it. The shaft in his hand lit the world for a yojana around. It was Indra's weapon, subtler than time, also given him by Viswamitra. It hummed in Rama's hand, keen to fly from his bow and claim a worthy victim. No other kshatriya could have held that missile steady and drawn it back as effortlessly as Rama did; no one else could have shot it so truly. It blazed through the air like a burning sliver of a rainbow. It took Kumbhakarna's head from his body and carried it, still roaring, to the ocean below. Spuming blood at his severed neck like the spring of a red river, Kumbhakarna fell. The earth quaked.

In the sky, the Devas whom the dead monster had once humbled could not contain their joy. They showered unearthly blooms down on Rama, and the rakshasas fled the battlefield: they could not bear the fragrance of that soft rain. But released from terror, the vanaras danced on the petals that lay shining on the river of blood that Kumbhakarna had made outside Lanka. Rama stood among them, radiant, happy as Indra had been when he slew Vritrasura in time out of mind.

 

23. A king's despair

Messengers from the field of battle stood before Ravana in his sabha. He glared down at them from his throne. They stood trembling, speechless. He said impatiently, “Well? What news of my brother?”

The leader of the messengers said in a whisper, “My lord, Kumbhakarna assailed the monkeys like a storm at sea. He tossed them about, killed them, and ate them as if they were little dainties. He let flow a river of blood among the vanaras.”

A smile dawned on Ravana's face. The first messenger fell silent. Not daring to look into his master's eyes, another one took up the tale. “Your brother was magnificent; he devoured a thousand vanaras.”

“And I suppose a few rakshasas for variety?” said Ravana, still smiling. He knew how his brother fought.

The messenger bowed his head, then stood silent again. Ravana cried, “Well, go on! Has he faced Rama yet?”

“My Lord Kumbhakarna faced all the vanara chieftains on the field. He mastered every one, including Sugriva, their king. Then he came face to face with Lakshmana. Lakshmana's arrows fell away from him like wisps of straw.”

Ravana rose from his throne and cried, “What did I tell you? They could not face Kumbhakarna! Has he killed the Kosala brothers? Tell me quickly, you take too long to deliver good news. Did he kill the humans with his hands, or burn them with his trisula? Has he impaled Rama's head? Is he carrying it through our streets to me in triumph?”

His voice quavering, the rakshasa said, “They fought a great duel, Rama and Kumbhakarna. But at last, Rama severed your brother's arms with two screaming shafts of the wind and his head with an astra of light. The Lord Kumbhakarna is dead.”

Ravana fell where he stood. His sons Devantaka, Narantaka, Trisiras, and Atikaya had gone pale. Mahodara and Mahaparshva rushed to their fallen king; their faces were ashen.

When they sprinkled water on his eyes and held sharp salts under his nose, Ravana revived. He sat up unsteadily, and his ministers helped him to his throne.

Ravana whispered, “My precious brother, I sent you to your death. You have left me alone, Kumbhakarna. Did you forget you had a brother that you let yourself be killed? But Indra could not harm you with his vajra. How did a mere man's arrow cut your great head from your body?

“Ah, Kumbhakarna, I hear the Devas singing in the sky that you are dead. The vanaras are rapturous. They laugh at me, that my invincible brother is slain.” He paused, then said more softly than ever, “This human prince who has come to our gates is truly terrible. He has filled our lives with such dread that I fear our end is at hand.”

The Evil One shook his head sadly. “Vibheeshana told me Rama was powerful. I should have listened to him. But sweet Kumbhakarna, how did I know I would learn how powerful Rama is by your death? Vibheeshana was the only one who saw the truth clearly and I cursed him for warning me; I sent him away. And now it is the time for retribution.”

He grew as still as the heart of night. He seemed to seek some deep strength within himself, to fight on. Again, ten heads were plain above his neck, whispering together in their cluster, in a devilish tongue no one else could understand. Ravana hushed them. They fell quiet and vanished out of sight. The Rakshasa sat in silence, trying to master the grief that wanted to break his spirit. He sat a long time, gathering his last resources, trying to find another frontier of hope within himself, beyond each defeat Rama inflicted on him.

At last, while his sabha waited, hardly breathing, the Demon sighed, “If something remains to live for, it is to avenge myself on my brother's killer. I swear Rama will die for this, and for Prahastha, and every rakshasa who has given his life for me.”

Again, a pang of anxiety: Ravana shivered as if with a spasm of death. And indeed, he had already begun to die. Almost inaudibly, he breathed, “Sita, you are being avenged. My brother is dead because I love you. But you will not be satisfied with any death except my own. Oh, if you only knew how much I love you! I would still give up my life, before I gave you away. I cannot help myself: I would sacrifice a hundred Kumbhakarnas for you.”

He fell quiet, and the sorrow of his brother's death was upon him once more. He murmured again, “Vibheeshana was right, and I would not listen to him. Kumbhakarna, what have I done to you?”

Now his son Trisiras, who could not bear to see his father in such despair, cried, “Our uncle lies dead on the battlefield. His arms are cut away, his head is gone. His body still glows with splendor, illumining the armies that stand gazing at him. The rakshasas of Lanka look to you for courage. How can you give in to grief now and leave your people helpless?

“Father, you still have your golden chariot, your great bow and Brahma's inexorable shakti. And I am proud to be Ravana's son! Send me into battle. I will go among the monkeys as Garuda went among the serpents, and bring you the humans' heads.”

Ravana listened numbly to his son. He heard his other sons cry, “We will go with Trisiras. We will bring you Rama's head.”

Devantaka, Narantaka, and Atikaya were eager to prove themselves worthy sons on the field. Their father clutched at this new hope like a straw in a gale. Perhaps his sons could achieve what Prahastha and Kumbhakarna could not? Was this the time of a new generation? Could it be that Lanka's stars of fortune now rose and set with the fortunes of these princes? Ravana did not think of how Hanuman killed Aksha. Neither did he consider returning Sita to Rama and begging his forgiveness. There was no turning back for the Rakshasa, though in his heart he knew his war was lost.

Absently, Ravana said to his sons, “You are all maharathikas, and masters of maya. All of you have Brahma's boons and command a hundred astras. Go, my sons, and bring glory to your father. This is your time.”

They prostrated themselves at his feet. He blessed them, and sent them to war against Rama and the vanaras. But when they had gone, tears welled up in Ravana's eyes. He was certain he would not see his princes alive again. The Rakshasa cursed the insane love that held him in its clasp like death. Now he cursed that love for which he would sacrifice his own sons.

Ravana waved away his ministers. He sat alone on his throne, weeping, and the debt of karma he could never discharge choked his very life. Sita's face swam up before him, perfect as ever. Ravana looked into her eyes and, whimpering, cowered from her.

 

24. The sons of Ravana

Two more of their brothers, Yuddhomanta and Matha, went out to battle with Ravana's four sons. These fierce young rakshasas came mounted on elephants and in chariots, with a teeming army behind them.

Like a spirit of darkness Narantaka swept at the vanaras, who were in great heart after Kumbhakarna's death. The monkeys' faith in Rama, so crucial to winning this war, was stronger than ever. Now Narantaka arrived in a wave of fear. His arrows filled the sky like rays of a black sun, and a thousand vanaras fell before him.

Sugriva loped up to Angada and cried, “Kill this fell prince, Angada, before he kills us all.”

Leaping into the sky, Angada flew down like a curse in front of Narantaka's chariot. The terrified horses reared and Angada snatched the bow out of Narantaka's hand. They fought with blows and by butting each other with their heads until Narantaka felled Angada with a stroke of his mace. But as the vanara sprawled on the ground, his hand fell on a rock. He saw the young demon draw a dagger from his belt. Angada sprang high into the air. Hurtling down, he crushed the rakshasa prince's skull with the stone.

Meanwhile, the battle of Lanka raged again at every city gate. Warriors' roars and the screams of the wounded and the dying rent the air. At first it seemed the rakshasas, renewed by Ravana's sons, would carry the day. They slaughtered the monkeys, who were a little complacent after the slaying of Kumbhakarna. Not only Ravana's sons but the legions they brought were magnificent. Also, by now the demons were more used to the vanaras' unconventional methods of fighting, and thousands of the jungle folk perished.

But shouting encouragement to his people, Sugriva sent some of his great warriors to fight Ravana's sons. Roaring through the air came Hanuman, son of Vayu, and Agni's son Neela, and with them Rishabha. They flew out of the sky like death. Like thunder and lightning, they fell on the princes of Lanka, who fought drenched in monkeys' blood. Hanuman killed Devantaka with six sickening blows to his temples. Neela strangled Yuddhomanta, and Rishabha fastened his teeth in Matha's neck. Roaring, screaming, but unable to shake the vanara off, the rakshasa died thrashing in agony.

Hanuman leaped on Trisiras, who was three-headed like his uncle after whom he was named, whom Rama killed at Panchavati. Two heads Hanuman smashed with a rock, and the third roaring one he silenced by beating it into a pulp with elemental fists. He bayed his triumph, long and loud, beating his chest in the ancient way of the jungle. The rakshasas fled from the fearsome vanara. With their princes slain, the demons panicked again. But from behind them, blowing an echoing blast on his war conch, loomed the last of Ravana's sons who had come to fight today. Mountainous Atikaya, built more like his uncle Kumbhakarna than his father, lumbered into battle on a caparisoned war elephant.

The vanaras fled back to Rama, crying that Kumbhakarna had risen from the dead. Rama turned to Vibheeshana with a question in his eyes. Vibheeshana said, “It is Ravana's son Atikaya. He is Dhanyamalini's son and a maharathika. He is a master of the brahmastra, and fought against the Devas and Asuras. He is incensed at his brothers' death; kill him quickly, or he will take many of our lives.”

Even as he spoke a hundred vanaras died, in a moment, at Atikaya's hands. Neela and Angada charged him. But he brushed them aside with a fluent volley, so they were numbed. Then he roared, “I have not come to fight you monkeys. I can kill a thousand of you at any time. Send me a kshatriya who can match my skill. Send me someone whose death will change the course of my father's war. Or are the real leaders of this rabble too afraid to come to fight?”