by Daljit Nagra
enough to say, the two armies fell in
like Death-God!
All roared
Yaaaaaaaaaaah!
Or roared
Huzzaaaaaaaaah!
Raksassy arrows hungering downhill
were plugged
by bear and monkey tree-trunks chucked uphill.
Rama’s army pierced through flanks
and leapt or flew over
the shark-and-serpent infested ice-water moat of the palace.
Rampart-stationed raksassy
lunged at the beast coming over the wall.
At the palace or on the battlegrounds,
awesome duel overtime.
As befitting our oriental monkeys
the sound of fighting with clubs
was continuous as the rhythm of footsteps:
tat-thai/tat-thai/tat-thai/tat-thai/tat-thai/tat-thai …
Each raksassy repeatedly swinging his
barbed stabbing spear,
his valayam discus,
his trident or scimitar
that met a blocking-it-with-a-rock bear or monkey
and on they would fight until they fell to fists alone.
Then both so wounded – one would wither
and in withering fill his match with hope.
Blood and tufts of hair were pulled in the final
wrench
as body tore neck to neck at body
for desperate tooth-and-nail life.
In each incredible duel: hero versus hero.
Tragic personal outcome only
for he, whose body so heckled, died fighting
till his fatal
final exit
mood-swinging
mother-summoning
breath! For Death’d been knocking at the door
and already gone!
Like the battle between the gods and arsooras in the olden days
the earth was soon slithery, blooded
by every earthly creature.
Weapons lay in heaps like flower offerings.
So many bodies fell by the wayside
and ran down the river log-like.
Both sides were feeling smoked.
Guttural, chesty reverberant roars darkened the scene
then there were only screams
weeping
weird
joy-hootings …
Chapter Four: Enter the Vital Invisible
Raavana’s son, Indrajit, fights with Rama.
And so on raged the battle.
Rama’s army soon found
they had the upper hand
till Raavana sent his son
Indrajit into the fray.
Indrajit could be here and not here.
Invincible Indrajit could become
literally invisible!
When he was invisible
he was a daddy’s boy
riot-act!
Indrajit fired his Nakabat arrow
that freely knocked about the field:
one arrow dividing into many and those arrows dividing again:
from one Nakabat a thousand or so mini-Nakabat
ballistic spears whooped
in a deadly dreadnought insouciance!
Of the millions monkeys back for battle next morning,
Invisible Indrajit was a Death-God darkening the fields.
His panther chariot was like the wind off a monsoon.
Only his twanging was distinct. No
movement pattern to his skedaddle
amuck-running twang.
Rama’s army was a doomsday dance.
When Indrajit had his monkey-fill,
he became the glory seeker. He went after Rama.
Invisible Indrajit
fired spears at him!
Rama looked about feckless.
Rama was: who is firing the arrows?
From where?
His dense muscle defence breached –
he was speared willy-nilly.
Then Indrajit shot spears into his
vitals, literally, into his
groins!!!
Whilst Rama lay dying, Indrajit unleashed serpent darts.
Serpents nuzzled into Rama’s flesh.
Bloodsucker serpents mean you’re out for the count!
Who wouldn’t be out for the count?
No wonder Raavana’s army went back to the palace.
Raavana could be heard partying. Indrajit stole away
and prayed to the gods.
Meanwhile, Sugreeva and Vibishana steadied the troops
as rumour of Rama’s death startled each ear-to-ear.
Somehow, miraculous Rama awoke!
Rose; with barely enough focus.
The serpents were still at him.
He summoned a mantra.
A mantra calling for Garuda.
That mighty eagle and drat nemesis to all serpents
because he dines on serpents.
Garuda leapt on Rama’s mantra.
Garuda sailing through the lands
then swooping down to beat daintily his beak and fork-claws
at the serpents.
With impeccable dining manners he left a clean plate
and was gone.
Go Garuda!
Chapter Five: Feel my Shakti, boy!
Raavana fights Lakshmana. Hanuman is sent to find a leaf.
Each morning Rama’s army awoke full-sighting
Raavana’s palace high up as ever on its thousand pillars
and bathing its indestructible peaking whites in the first sun.
Replenished braggart block-work egging Rama on!
And Raavana, on day three, sniffing glory,
summoned his chariot and pronto
at the door could be seen – greased gem caps
and eight gleaming horses with charioteer.
From his heavily guarded gate, Raavana went to the field.
Even though his spies informed him that Rama had survived
he posed from his chariot. If son could give Rama
a good licking, with his ten heads in every direction
them all, all by himself!
He was pure war glamour. Poster boy.
Heart-throb soft-focus-shot!
If only the girls could see him now:
could sniff his sandalwood.
Even Rama could only say,
‘Raavana is the vision majestic.’
In plain view
Raavana picked up and chucked a rock –
a rock as heavy as a cloud
that’s made of a comet!
His rock silenced a flank of monkeys and bears
that had been roaring towards him!
Sugreeva pulled back the army
as Lakshmana jumped in, ‘Come and fight me
O mighty King!’
Raavana twanged his bow
and the enormous notes announced he was ready to fight.
Lakshmana twanged his bow.
Then both fell in.
It was a battle of wondrous arrows.
Lakshmana repelling Raavana’s arrows.
Raavana’s arrows slit like snakes with severed bodies
so they could not fly back to Raavana’s quiver.
Some fine Lakshmana shooting, or what?
Said Raavana, as they paused to reload,
‘You have been a worthy warrior
but you must go now to Yama.
This arrow was made by my father-in-law, Maya,
for me only. Feel my Shakti, boy!’
The Shakti-arrow which had seemed to come from nowhere
save for its eight tolling bells
was already in
Lakshmana’s chest.
Raavana knew Lakshmana was finished
when he watched
this image of his own mighty son, Indrajit,
drop to the ground
lifeless.
Hanuman charged to the centre
hauling
off Lakshmana’s body
whilst a thousand black monkeys distracted Raavana.
Poison from the Shakti could not be reversed.
Lakshmana must die.
Rama, shocked, openly wept,
‘What worth saving dear Sita
if my brother lies dying? If Sita is my heart,
brother you are my mind! Where, searching the world,
would I find another Lakshmana?
You, whose two hands have powered more arrows
than thousand-handed
Kaartaveeryaarjoona.
O lift up your arms again …’
Rama left rubbing his brother’s feet.
Jambavan, the wise bear-king, went to Hanuman,
‘Hasty for the mountains go,
between Kailasa and Rishabh, in the Himalayas,
is the medicine mountain. From there pluck
the sacred plant called Visalya.
Lakshmana might be saved by it.’
Hanuman, this son of Wind-God, was a natural carrier,
and knew he’d need to be
back in a jiffy to save the day.
He swung his tail till he was outstandingly expanded
then he charged for the distant mountains.
Hanuman flew at the speed of Garuda
and was there plenty quick.
He saw the mountain peak.
But it had a killer discus
whirling speedily
about it
protecting the whole peak.
Besides, Hanuman’s head was chocked
with the scent
of a billion balmy-breeze teeming herbs sprigging there.
He prayed for the first ever time to his
element father, that father recall son,
that father make the discus cease.
And at once, the zooming discus
came to slowly whirl and slowly
came to rest upon the peak.
Hanuman took deep breaths for he knew
his father, from however afar, was wings for him.
Hanuman shambled about the peak
trying to pluck a sprig
but each time he went to lift the sprig
the sprig
seemed to rescind
itself back into
stone
from where it grew against the course of nature.
Then at once, all sprigs vanished.
A bare mountain faced Hanuman. Lakshmana will die!
Hanuman was truly narked now.
With his cheek-puffing might
and thunderous muscles
he lifted
he lifted
the whole darn
mountain-crest!
The whole darn mountain-crest on a bare palm
which he flew along a wind stream
back to the battlefield.
The two startled armies
pulled back their wield and watched
as Hanuman rested the mountain.
Then he lifted Jambavan atop
for a gentle bear mantra.
Soon as Jambavan crooned his single note yodel
one
tee
ny
l
e
a
f
between rocks gently peeped out its head.
The teeny peepy leaf
was lit like a lotus and beamed upwards
for those refined
biscuity paw-tips.
Jambavan brought the leaf before Lakshmana’s
nose. The delicate, vulnerable Visalya –
light as a curl of air
and transparent save for a whiff of green
had enough guts to yank back from the deep pit
nigh-death
flesh
bounding
upwards and alive!
Lakshmana was given ample shakti
when his wounds healed and his blood plugged dynamic.
Chapter Six: Patronisation for cocky shot
Rama fights Raavana.
The army tried to pull Rama back
but he was riled. He stepped forth for Raavana.
How he must have felt a loathing
for this vile wife snatcher.
A snatcher who left the husband in a conundrum
about how to win back his wife
and have her
as she was
before she was taken …
Rama looked strained by raw mortal heat
as though a blood tongue-taste staked him useless.
Raavana was frisky for war.
He went about the sky showboating in his chariot
his long loose hair
crackled electric thunder
and fiery sparks
streamed downwind from his arms.
Rama seemed to calm, and said to his chariot-driver,
‘Raavana is excited.
Let him perform his dandy antics and tire himself.
He is trying to ruffle us. Remain sure.’
Then finally,
face to face:
Rama and Raavana.
Raavana was still admiring the battlefield
whilst he twanged his bow like a stringed barrel
raised high in the air in a cocky-boy style.
Rama held his bow level then twanged to begin battle.
Their notes rose
to heaven
becoming
a single
mingling note.
The gods swooning to the marriaged music.
Straightaway the two bow-twangers banged out arrows!
They fought so speedy it was sparks and fire.
Both heroes swept their bows back into circles
with each round.
Anything with less than sporting discipline
would be repelled!
Their full-tilt energy combined
was unfelt on earth before
and jolted the moon
causing banks to break and rivers to flood.
The sea skated upwards and sliced the clouds.
The battle outcome:
Raavana, too busy, dreaming of killing
this saviour of the heavens
found that
this saviour had loaded an arrow
into his chest!
The arrow had shocked Raavana back into reality
in such a startling way
that his crowns had puttered from his heads!
His bow had popped out of his two main hands.
Bare-headed.
Bare-handed.
Indigent.
Holy war!
Rama’s army was roaring! Roaring that now was the time
to kill this effing fiend!
Kill him, Rama! Kill him now, Rama!
Rama lowered his bow and arrows, saying calmly,
‘Shabash, Lord Raavana.
You have been a wonder today.
Truly, you have earned your kill.
You must be exhausted from your exhilarations.
Come back when you have bathed in healing salts.
I seek combat only at your peak.’
For the first time in his thousands years
Raavana felt that gut-burbling feeling of bhaya, fear,
when he was ridden home paupered by a brawl.
Chapter Seven: Wakey Wakey Din-Din Time!
The giant Koombarkana would do anything for his brother, Raavana …
Vibishana wondered to Rama,
‘I’m surprised not yet to see my brother, Koombarkana,
called to arms.’
Said Rama, ‘He is the mightiest, no?’
‘In battle he has been unbeatable.
We call him our Oooloo Ballong,
our champion warrior!
The raksassy lords owe their might to this or that boon
but Koombarkana’s might is all his own.
From birth he was constant bulking muscly
so he constant nee
ded nourishing.
As a child he was a gormless gaping maw
that would scoff banquet-loads for breakfast
then still feeling famished
he would sneakily
swallow arsooras or even raksassy!
Raw!
Chief raksassy went to heaven for support.
To shorten a long story,
Brahma saved the day by putting Koombarkana to sleep.
Permanent coma.
No other way was in his locker
to tighten the boy’s appetite.
But after some parental pleading,
Koombarkana was granted wake-up time
for one whole day every six months.
That day is nigh. He dotes on Raavana.’
‘Bring out the Oooloo Ballong!