Rationalists believe that the bridge was built across a river, not the sea.
There is much speculation on the ‘real’ location of Lanka. Scholars have speculated that it must be located somewhere in Madhya Pradesh or in Karnataka or Andhra Pradesh, based on information in the Valmiki Ramayana. But such rational speculations have no impact on the faithful who are convinced the bridge was built from Rameswaram in Tamil Nadu to Sri Lanka. In the island nation there are many places identified with where Sita was imprisoned (Sita-eliya) and the battle against Ravana was fought (Ravana-goda, Sita-waka).
The episode of the bridge breaking and Ram’s army crossing over to Lanka on Hanuman’s tail (in some retellings, on his back) is purely South-East Asian.
Ram travels across the bridge on Hanuman’s shoulders and Lakshman on Angada’s.
The story of Bhasmalochan comes from Krittivasa’s Bengali Ramayana and is based on similar stories found in the Puranas.
Facing Ravana
Now the island was swarming with monkeys. They circled the land, like a noose determined to choke Lanka.
Ravana climbed up to the tallest tower of Lanka to see the monkey army that had gathered on the shores of Lanka. For the first time, the monkeys and Ram had a view of the man who had abducted Sita. There he stood tall and arrogant, arms crossed, his crowns flashing diamonds. Ravana remembered the words of Nandi, Shiva’s bull, ‘One day, you arrogant fool, you will face defeat at the hands of monkeys.’ Was that curse coming true?
Hundreds of monkeys started scrambling up the towers, determined to bring the rakshasa-king down like a coconut. Their screaming and swift movements took the rakshasas by surprise. Before they knew it, or could do anything, many monkeys tore down the banners that fluttered proudly over the palaces, and Sugriva was dancing on top of Ravana’s heads, knocking off the crowns.
The monkeys who were on the beach saw this and roared in approval. Sugriva ran back, beaming with joy. The enemy who sought to intimidate was thus intimidated.
Ram, however, did not smile. He did not approve of such an attack; it was against the rules of war.
Angry at how the monkeys had insulted his father, Indrajit raised his bow and shot arrows at Ram and Lakshman. These were not ordinary arrows. They were naga-pashas, the noose of serpents that coiled around their limbs and immobilized them with deadly venom. Try as they might, the monkeys could not break their bonds. Neither Ram nor Lakshman could move a muscle.
Suddenly from the horizon came a bird, followed by hundreds of other birds, eagles and vultures and crows and geese. They crossed the sea and landed on Lanka and with their sharp beaks and talons ripped away the serpents. Garuda, king of the eagles, led them.
‘We heard someone call out to us,’ said Garuda.
‘Who was it?’ asked Ram.
‘Sita, from within the walls of this golden city. She knows you have come and rescue is not far away.’
In most retellings, Sugriva dances on Ravana’s heads and knocks his crowns down. In some, it is Angada. Occasionally one hears of Hanuman doing it.
Ram’s displeasure at the attack indicates his discomfort with brute force and barbaric displays of courage. He wants a civilized war, one that follows after appropriate warnings are given and peace efforts made. In that, he is similar to Krishna in the Mahabharata who insists on peace negotiations before war is finally declared between the Kauravas and the Pandavas.
Western scholars see the Ramayana in social terms. Thus they see the rakshasas and vanaras divided along religious, social, sectarian and racial lines. Indian scholars prefer seeing the two groups in psychological terms: those whom we don’t like are always rakshasas, while those who serve us unquestioningly are vanaras.
In Bali, the famous Kecak dance or monkey chant tells the story of how the monkeys help Ram defeat Ravana. Kecak was originally a trance ritual that was turned into a theatre form based on the Ramayana by the German artist Walter Spies in the 1930s.
The arrival of Garuda to save Ram from the naga-pasha is the earliest indicator of Ram being seen as an avatar of Vishnu. The episode is found in the Valmiki Ramayana. In it, Garuda does not identify Ram as Vishnu but says cryptically that Ram should wait for a time later to know why Garuda came to his rescue. Ram is thus unaware of his own divinity in the Valmiki Ramayana.
In the Gobind Ramayana, Sita prays to the snake-gods to save Ram from the snake-bonds.
Nagas (snakes) and Garuda (the eagle) have an ancient rivalry, akin to the rivalry between asuras and devas, rakshasas and yakshas. All these creatures descend from Kashyapa, son of Brahma.
South Indian temple lore has it that Garuda enfolds Ram in his wings and begs him to prove that he is indeed Vishnu by taking the form of Krishna. Hanuman does not like this and so, when Ram is reborn as Krishna, he travels to Dwarka and demands Krishna present himself as Ram for his benefit, in the presence of Garuda. These tales speak of rivalry within Vaishnava sects between Ram-worshippers and Krishna-worshippers. Ram-worshippers kept the image of Hanuman before the Vishnu shrine while Krishna-worshippers kept the image of Garuda.
The lost text of the Bhusundi Ramayana, which Tulsidas refers to, was the story of Ram narrated by the crow Kakabhusandi to the eagle Garuda who is confused whether Ram is really Vishnu as he is subjugated by Indrajit’s snake-arrows. These medieval Ramayana s gradually established the idea that Ram was no hero of Vedic kavyas but God as described in the Puranas.
Angada, the Messenger
On recovering from the snake-arrows, Ram said, ‘Let us not fight like barbarians raiding a village. Let us send a messenger to the rakshasas offering to withdraw if they let my Sita go.’
Angada was chosen to serve as Ram’s messenger. When he entered Ravana’s palace, jeering rakshasas surrounded him. But young Angada was not intimidated. He entered Ravana’s hall and made note of the many warriors there, and the fabulous weapons they carried.
First Angada identified himself: ‘Long ago, Ravana, king of Lanka, mistook Vali for an ordinary monkey and tried to catch his tail. Vali coiled his tail around Ravana and dragged him around Kishkindha, where the monkeys mistook him for the royal pet. I am Angada, son of that Vali.’
Then Angada clarified his role: ‘Long ago, Kartavirya of the Haiheya clan stretched his thousand arms to block the flow of a river, causing a flood that washed away all the flowers and leaves Ravana had gathered for his worship of Shiva. Kartavirya thus humiliated Ravana. Kartavirya was killed by Parashurama, and Parashurama was defeated by Ram of the Raghu clan. I am the messenger of that Ram.’
Finally, Angada communicated the message: ‘Ram stands outside the gates ready to attack this city with his army of monkeys. But there can be peace if you return to Ram his wife. A king should care for the welfare of his subjects first, not his own pride, or lust.’
‘Monkeys do not make armies,’ scoffed Ravana. ‘They are captured, and trained to perform. Ram is your master and you are his servants. Join me, and you will be free, unbound by such rules. But if you persist, I will treat you like the animals you are, hunt you down and feast on your flesh.’
‘You overestimate your strength. Let me see if there is one rakshasa here who can move this left leg of mine that I have firmly planted on the ground,’ challenged Angada.
The rakshasas laughed and came one by one to yank the leg of the audacious monkey and hurl him into the sea. All of them failed.
Still Ravana said, ‘I do not fear you. I will kill you and your band of monkeys and your king and that Ram and that Lakshman and that traitor who calls himself my brother.’
Ravana’s father, Sumali, did not like this and advised his son to make peace. So did Ravana’s mother, Kaikesi. As did Kaikesi’s brother, Malyavan. But Ravana was adamant. No monkey would make a fool of him.
Angada is chosen as the messenger, not Hanuman, as he is young, royal and perhaps because he does not have a history of burning Lanka.
In the Mahabharata, when Krishna tries to make peace, Duryodhana tries to arre
st him and Krishna escapes by spellbinding all with a vision of his cosmic form. In the Ramayana, when Ravana tries to catch Angada, he displays his phenomenal strength.
In the Valmiki Ramayana, Angada simply kicks away the rakshasas who try to catch him. In Ram-leela performances of North India, Angada challenges the rakshasas to move his feet from the ground; even Ravana fails.
Many of Ravana’s family members appeal to his good sense. They want him to think of his subjects first. But unlike Ram, who always thinks of Ayodhya, Ravana is consumed by his own self-image, risking the welfare of Lanka.
The Attack
At dawn, the rakshasa army marched out to protect Lanka. They were so different from the band of monkeys who held sticks and stones in their hands They came riding on chariots drawn by donkeys, carts pulled by oxen, and on horses and elephants. They carried bright flags, which fluttered magnificently against the sky, and numerous weapons: clubs, maces, axes, lances, swords, bows and arrows. Every soldier had an armour and a helmet and wore protective magical talismans. And leading them was Ravana himself – a sight to behold, a great parasol over his head, deadly weapons in each of his twenty hands, on a chariot pulled by magnificent horses, surrounded by musicians and trumpeting elephants who announced his arrival.
But the monkeys were not afraid. They moved like a swarm of bees towards the rakshasa horde. They hurled trees and boulders that shattered the chariots and frightened the elephants. Their screams and snarls so terrified the horses that they started retracing their steps. For none who lived in Lanka had ever seen a monkey.
Ravana raised his bow and showered arrows on the monkeys, killing them by the dozens. Cheered by this sight, the rakshasas raised their weapons and began fighting the monkeys, swinging swords to chop off their heads and arms and tails, thrusting spears to puncture their hearts and guts and eyes, pounding their clubs to crush skulls and break bones. Their eyes were filled with rage and their hearts knew no mercy. Those on chariots shot a steady stream of arrows, pinning hundreds of monkeys to the ground. The screams of dying monkeys filled the air, pleasing Ravana. His fears had been unfounded.
The massacre had to stop. They were dying to save his wife. Ram raised his bow, and chanting the hymns that Vishwamitra had taught him, released missile after missile that wiped out column after column of the rakshasa army. He broke their bows, shattered their wheels, their swords, their spears. His arrows caused many to raise their shields and take refuge behind dead soldiers. They forced the advancing army to stop in its tracks, even retreat in some places.
Many fell in the battle, vanaras and rakshasas, sons and brothers, friends and servants – by the hundreds. Many more were maimed, losing hand or foot or ear or eye. But the fighting continued despite their groans and pleas for help.
The battle continued through the day, and stretched into the night. The rakshasas fought holding flaming torches in one hand and weapons in the other. The monkeys grabbed the torches and hurled them into the city, setting towers aflame.
The sounds of war outside the city filled the streets and frightened the women and children, who started to wail.
The only place that was silent and peaceful was the bower of Ashoka trees where Sita sat. She watched the men and women of Lanka run this way and that looking for a place where they would be safe. They had never ever felt so unsafe.
Finally, Ram started shattering the arrows of Ravana as soon as he released them from his bow. So intense was the torrent of arrows released by Ram that it became impossible for Ravana to strike anyone. Exasperated, he decided to turn around, but Ram’s arrows would not let him. He felt confined. He could not fight, he could not move. Finally, he dropped his bow in helplessness. Only then did Ram pause and allow the great king’s chariot to turn around and return to the city.
Word spread through the city: Ravana had withdrawn his forces. The sound of cheering monkeys could be heard outside. They had not been thrown back into the sea. The rakshasas had been locked in.
The siege of Lanka has reminded many European and American academicians of the siege of Troy in Greek mythology. In both, husbands are trying to free their wives from within the walls, but that is where the similarity ends. The Greek Helen had eloped with the Trojan prince Paris, while Ravana had abducted Sita. Helen’s husband is aided by his elder brother, Agamemnon, who rallies Greek warlords with the promise of plunder. Ram is aided by his younger brother, Lakshman, and they rally monkeys but there is no talk of plunder. This is a battle for all that is good and decent in human society. In the end, Troy is sacked, its women raped and taken into captivity. Not so in the Ramayana where the residents of Lanka are treated with the utmost dignity.
That the war, according to the Valmiki Ramayana, stretches into the night is interesting as civilized warfare according to the shastras ends at dusk and resumes at dawn allowing warriors to rest and recover.
Indian Ramayana s value the emotions evoked by war while Thai Ramayana s give greater attention to the technicalities of warfare, perhaps because Thai society was witness to long periods of war.
In the Sri Vaishnava temple tradition, where Ram is viewed as the embodiment of God, it is said that as long as Ravana held the bow in his hand, Ram would not let him leave the battlefield. Ravana had to learn to surrender to the divine but doubt made him cling to weapons.
Some of the sons of Ravana killed during the war include Akshaya, Atikaya, Indrajit or Meghnad, Trishira, Virabahu, Narantaka, Devantaka and Mantha. The list of names of Ravana’s sons varies in different retellings. Conventionally, he is said to have had seven sons. The two most popular ones are Akshaya, killed by Hanuman, and Indrajit, killed by Lakshman.
Recipes of Sita
People have to be fed during a war. And so the kitchens of Lanka were busy. Those who were going to the war had to be fed; those who were returning from the war had to be fed. Food had to inspire, comfort and stir passions.
The smell of rice boiling, vegetables frying and fish roasting filled the city streets, mingling with the smell of blood, rotting flesh and burning towers.
The aromas reached Sita’s grove.
‘Don’t you like that smell?’ asked Trijata noticing Sita’s expression as she inhaled the vapours. Trijata, Vibhishana’s daughter, had become a friend.
‘If I was cooking, I would change the proportion of the spices,’ Sita said. She gave her suggestions to Trijata, who promptly conveyed them to the royal kitchen. Mandodari followed these instructions and soon a different aroma wafted out of the kitchen.
So enticing was the resulting aroma that other rakshasa cooks came to the Ashoka grove and asked Sita for cooking tips. Without tasting the food, just by smelling what had been prepared, like a skilled cook, Sita gave her suggestions. ‘Add more salt.’ ‘Replace mustard with pepper.’ ‘Mix ginger with tamarind.’ ‘Less cloves, more coconut milk.’ These suggestions were promptly executed, and before long Lanka was full of the most delightful aromas and flavours, so delightful that sons and brothers and husbands and fathers wanted to stay back and relish more food. They wanted to burp, then sleep, then wake up and eat again. They wanted to chew areca nuts wrapped in betel leaves and enjoy the company of their wives on swings. No war, no fighting, just conversations over food.
Ravana noticed the lethargy in his men, their reluctance to fight. They were not afraid. They were not drunk. They were just too happy to go to war. Furious, he ordered the kitchens to be closed. ‘Starve the soldiers. Hungry men are angry men. In anger they will kill the monkeys. The only food they can eat is monkey flesh.’
Sita’s kitchen is a common theme in folklore and at pilgrim spots. She was a great cook. Traditionally, the belief is that people who are well fed are less angry and not prone to violence.
The Valmiki Ramayana is clear in pointing out the consumption of non-vegetarian food, especially game, in Lanka, but is shy of the same when it comes to Kishkindha and Ayodhya. Traditionally, Indians associate non-vegetarian food and alcohol with sensuality and violence.
Lakshman Struck Down
As the war resumed, Ravana sent out his sons to fight. Bravely they rode out bearing weapons. Lifeless they returned, their bones broken by monkeys, their limbs torn by the arrows of Ram, or Lakshman. As the number of widows and orphans increased in the palace, Ravana’s eldest son, Indrajit, decided it was time for him to lead the troops, enter the battlefield and boost the sagging morale of his people.
Indrajit was named Meghnad as at the time of his birth, instead of crying, he had roared like a storm cloud. He had earned the title Indrajit after defeating Indra in battle. Everyone feared Indrajit. It was he who had captured Hanuman and immobilized Ram and Lakshman with his dreaded snake arrows. Though he did not approve of his father’s action, Indrajit felt as a son it was his duty to fight his father’s enemies.
‘He is a good son,’ Ravana said proudly as Indrajit rode out.
‘He is a fool,’ thought Mandodari, not liking the idea of her son fighting to help his father secure a new wife.
Indrajit’s wife, Sulochana, watched the rakshasas cheering her husband. She belonged to the Naga clan and in her dowry she had brought with her the many naga-pashas that Indrajit used in battle. But with the eagles on Ram’s side, she wondered if her arrows could save her husband.
It was a fierce battle, made complicated by the magical powers of Indrajit. He could make his chariot invisible and create illusions that would distract Ram and Lakshman. Once he created the illusion of Sita being carried on his flying chariot and being slaughtered above the monkey army, a vision that had even Ram confused for a moment. Ram realized Indrajit was faster and smarter than any warrior he had encountered before. Indrajit realized that Ram was not an easy warrior to defeat. Cunning was needed to overpower him.
Sita: An Illustrated Retelling of the Ramayana Page 24