He stopped himself there, but in his mind the words rolled on relentlessly; self-accusatory, biting, inescapable. I should have been with her, I should have been there to fight him, I should have done something, somehow. How could I just let him take her?
Hanuman sighed. The sound expressed the weight of all that Rama carried in his clogged heart. ‘I scent from your sorrow,’ he said, ‘that she is a mate like no other.’
‘You scent truly,’ Rama replied, shocked by how readily his emotions had sprung up in response to a few comments. Had he changed so much so soon then? Or been changed, by the event? Perhaps. It would bear watching. He forced his jaw to relax before his back teeth ground against one another. ‘There are none comparable to her.’
He felt Hanuman’s eyes upon him, but kept his own gaze steadily directed at the fire over which Lakshman was preparing their meal. The fire crackled as a little juice oozed and dripped from the cracked skin of a jewel-fruit. The sounds in the nearby trees had faded as the watching hordes finally began to lose interest and returned to their vanar pastimes. The happy sounds of vanar littleuns and younguns playing and thrashing in the trees and across the mountainside in the growing dusk provided a stark contrast to the sombre mood that hung over the mortal campfire. For long moments, the only sound was the crackle and hiss of the fire as Lakshman, squatting before the spit, turned it from time to time.
Finally, Hanuman turned away, producing a sound halfway between a vanar sniff and a mortal sigh. ‘She was your favourite then? Of all your mates back in Ayodhya?’
Rama turned his eyes on him. The vanar returned his gaze at once, the fur on his face stirring attentively.
‘My friend, I have no other mates. Sita was my only chosen partner.’
Hanuman blinked. Twin blades of fire-grass leaped and danced in his red pupils. Rama noticed a deep scar beginning just behind his left ear and running behind his head. The vanar made that sniffing action that Rama was starting to learn meant curiosity: ‘But you have other females whom you breed with? Clan-mothers who take your seed?’
Rama shook his head slowly. ‘No, my friend. I have taken only one wife in this lifetime. And she is Sita. I give my embrace to none other.’
Hanuman stared at him with his snout raised up, eyes peering down the length of the proboscis. The vanar’s nostrils were flared. Rama assumed that this was some universal vanar way of showing surprise. ‘My Lord Rama, I do not understand. You are a king. Scion of a great dynasty of kings. Surely you must protect your lineage. You must be mated many times to bear enough heirs to ensure the survival of your bloodline.’
Rama laid a hand on the vanar’s arm. The fur felt soft and downy, but was crusted with dirt and stiff in patches. Clearly, vanars were not overly fond of regular washing. ‘First of all, call me only Rama. There is no need for titles here. We are brothers in arms now, Lakshman, you and I. As for the choosing of mates and also as to the number of such mates, my friend, we Aryas hold them to be an individual’s personal choice. It is true what you say, that as the scion of an illustrious dynasty, I could choose to take as many wives as I pleased. Yet I chose to take only one mate in this lifetime, and Sita is that chosen one. I chose her over all others, abjuring other wives for the rest of the duration of my mortal lifetime. She in turn chose me at a public swayamvara, not only because I was able to complete the given challenge, but because it pleased her to take me as her husband. We are sworn to one another only, and have forsworn all others.’
Hanuman raised his snout still higher, peering at the darkling sky. Plumes of smoke from Lakshman’s fire rose in curls and puffs, rising high in the twilight stillness.
‘Strange,’ he said at last after pondering Rama’s words. ‘Strange indeed. I did not know mortal ways were so different from our own. Among the vanarkind, things are not so. Our Prince Angad alone has five clutches of fine female stock eagerly awaiting his seed.’ He glanced at Rama. ‘That would be ten hands in your counting.’ He thrust his paws out, strong, calloused palms thickened by years of gripping rough branches.
Rama nodded. ‘It is not so different among us, Hanuman. My father had three titled wives, of which my mother is titled First Queen. Lakshman himself is my half-brother, from my clan-mother Third Queen Sumitra, as is his twin Shatrugan. While our other brother Bharat is the son of Rani Kaikeyi, Second Queen. While each of my brothers has taken one wife each thus far,’ he paused to swallow briefly, trying not to think of the wedding at Mithila and how Sita looked in her shimmering new bridal finery, ‘but may take others in time, as they please. Yet there is no compulsion. Each one may choose how many mates he would have, and even how many of them he would wed and grant the title of princess.’
‘I scent your meaning,’ Hanuman said slowly. ‘With us, it is slightly different, as I mentioned to you back in Janasthana. The women choose their mates, not the men. And they take as many or as few as they please, when they please. Men can vie for a vanari’s affections, even fight and kill for her, but they cannot compel her.’ He grimaced. ‘Or so it was until the usurper Vali’s evil rule.’
Rama nodded. ‘I did not mention it to you then, but once it was so with us too. Arya women were the heads of their clans and masters of all property. Back then, they chose their mates and husbands, a vestige of which tradition continues in the swayamvara. For that matter, it is not unheard of for even an Arya woman to choose to take more than one husband.’ He described a swayamvara he had once heard of where a princess had chosen to wed three brothers whom she had liked equally.
Hanuman looked interested. ‘So then, at one point, human and vanar mating customs were alike.’
Rama nodded. ‘I believe so.’
They spoke at length of matters related to human and vanar society and customs. The sky above was a purplish-black panoply embedded with glittering diamonds when Lakshman announced that their meal was finally ready and asked where he might find plantain leaves on which to serve it. Hanuman instantly dashed off to fetch them.
Hanuman had told Rama that since vanars did not use fire, they slept by darkness and roamed by daylight. Although their vision was fine enough to enable them to see as well by night if they wished, some primordial instinct made them stay in the branches and hand over the jungle to the predators of the night. Only a few like Hanuman himself prowled the jungle by night or ventured out beyond the environs of Rishimukha. Already, scarcely a vanar could be seen or heard and the mountainside was quiet except for the inevitable clicking and chittering of insects and the distant hooting of an owl.
Rama gazed up at the sky, as richly decorated with stars as a Gandaharan tapestry. In all these thirteen years, he had never been this far east beyond the redmist ranges. He had learned from his band of supporters of the great vanar clans that inhabited this region. Now that he was here and had been among them, he was not surprised to learn that Kiskindha and Rishimukha were only two of the many regions inhabited by vanars. Once, before the rise of mortalkind, vanars had lived even by the banks of the Sarayu, the Ganga, and the land of five rivers. These past few millennia they had retreated to pockets deep in the wilderness, partly driven by the spread of mortal civilisations. Farther east of Kiskindha, there were many fabled nations, including the lands of Cathay and Nippon, and Hanuman had spoken of great settlements of vanars in those lands. Rama wondered if the vanars of those far eastern nations were similar in appearance to the mortals of those nations, if they had developed over the millennia in any manner similar to the way their mortal cohabitants had, or whether all vanars everywhere were much the same.
He was making a mental note to ask Hanuman these questions when it came to him that Sita had loved the very idea of vanars, sentient, intelligent beings that were simian in appearance but more like mortals in their ways. She had never come this far east either. She would have loved to be here. Had she been here right now, she would be going among these people, speaking to them, learning their folklore and legends, their superstitions and their dialects, everything under the
sun that anyone could want to know. He thought that if he shut his eyes he could hear her voice, speaking to the vanar littleuns, could even hear her laughter tinkling, smell the scent of the jasmine flowers in her hair carried by the evening breeze, and if he looked at her, she would turn as if sensing his gaze and flash him a sudden, brief, mysterious smile, her white teeth gleaming in her sunburned brown face, and he would be filled with love so intense his heart would break.
‘Rama.’
He opened his eyes and saw Lakshman, holding out a leaf of food. While he had been lost in his reverie, Hanuman had returned with the plantain leaves and Lakshman had served their repast. Rama rubbed at his eyes reflexively, and took the food.
He put it down by his side without even looking at it. He had no appetite.
Lakshman handed another leaf of food to Hanuman who accepted it with profuse and elaborate thanks. The vanar sniffed eagerly at the items, then took a big bite of food. ‘Waugh,’ he exclaimed. ‘It burns!’
Rama smiled at him. ‘You must wait for the food to cool a little.’
Hanuman shot a glance at Rama’s own leaf of food, lying on the rock beside him. ‘Ah, that is why you have set your food aside. Hanuman is foolish. He is new to the eating habits of mortals.’
He set his own leaf aside. Lakshman had made a small pit with some of the embers of the fire and was burying nuts in gourds to bake them. Hanuman watched him as he waited for his food to cool, then said to Rama: ‘You must not despair, my lord. We will find her and bring her back home. Doubt it not.’
Rama smiled at the vanar’s incisiveness and sensitivity. ‘With you as my champion, how can I doubt it?’
Hanuman looked up at him, wonderingly. ‘Do you jest with me, Lord Rama? I, your champion? Surely you make fun of this poor vanar?’
‘Why would I make fun of you, Hanuman? You are a valiant being, and I am certain you are a great warrior in combat as well. I have not had the pleasure of seeing you at war, nor have I fought alongside you, but my instinct tells me that you have a brave heart, a stout resolve and great reserves of strength, and anything you set your mind to, you can accomplish.’
Hanuman’s eyes grew large and wide. ‘That is the second time you have spoken highly of my abilities, Rama. You praise this wretched vanar overmuch. Do you really see such qualities in my feeble form?’ He stretched out his limbs, staring down at them himself as well as inviting Rama to do so, as if wondering how these thin arms and legs and concave belly could have the strength that Rama spoke of.
‘My friend, true strength comes not only from the body, but from the soul. Those who are strong in dharma can summon great reserves of physical strength to accomplish their goals. I sense in you an infinite reservoir of untapped shakti. You have but to reach down within yourself and draw upon that reservoir and you will have all the strength you need.’
Rama indicated the leaf of food lying beside Hanuman. ‘But you must also feed your body to keep it healthy and fit. We are Kshatriyas. Ours is not the way of the Brahmins and the seers, we do not need to fast and starve ourselves in order to attain moksha. We achieve our salvation through the commission of righteous deeds. Through karma lies our way to godhead. Eat well, eat hearty, my friend, feed your body as well as your mind well, and nourish your inner being. For he is the Hanuman I speak of, and he is as great a yoddha as any I have ever known. He is my champion.’
Hanuman sat so still and stared up at Rama so intensely, that Rama thought the vanar must surely choke from want of breath. Anticipating another show of profuse gratitude and prostration, Rama picked up his own leaf of food and held it out to Hanuman. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Take some of my strength. Eat, my friend.’
Hanuman’s eyes misted over with tears. Rama, embarrassed now that he had so overwhelmed the vanar’s emotions, picked up a morsel of food and offered it to Hanuman. ‘Go on now, do not deprive yourself of what your body and spirit need to grow strong.’
Hanuman opened his mouth and took in the piece of food from Rama’s hand, taking it upon his pink tongue as reverentially as if he was being fed prasadam by a purohit after a yagna. Rama put the leaf in Hanuman’s hands, urging the vanar to eat.
After that, Hanuman ate eagerly, enthusiastically. His eyes watched Rama every moment, glazed with thoughts and emotions that Rama could not begin to comprehend. Rama wondered if he had said too much, if he had been over effusive; after all, he himself was hardly in his senses these days. For all his talk of a Kshatriya needing to feed himself to maintain his strength, he had hardly been able to touch food and find sleep. In the dark watches of the night, his thoughts churned like buttermilk in a dai-ma’s earthen pot. The other night, lying on his back on the grassy slope of a lower hill in the redmist ranges, looking up at the midnight-black sky, lightning had flashed intermittently in the distant southern corner of the sky. In those curling, intertwining streaks of godlight, he imagined that he saw Sita writhing in the lustful clutches of Ravana. He passed a hand across his face, fighting to dispel such images.
When Hanuman had finished his second or third helping, Lakshman squatted beside him and asked casually, ‘How was it, then, my friend?’
Hanuman grinned, his mouth appearing much too large and wide in relation to the rest of his face. Rama noticed the telltale lines of self-deprivation around the vanar’s eyes and neck. He had seen identical indications on the faces and bodies of tapasvi sadhus who spent their lives in penitential fasts. The vanar was clearly used to staying long periods without eating, a fact that accounted for his spare physique and bony ribs.
‘It was a meal fit for royalty,’ he replied. ‘Truly, I must take some to my lords Angad and Sugreeva to show them how Agnideva graces your meals.’
‘Certainly,’ Lakshman said, sounding pleased. He served a quantity sufficient to feed a half-dozen vanars in plantain leaves and bound it all up with some slender vine that Hanuman fetched.
As Hanuman started to leave, Rama stopped him. ‘My friend, a small request.’
‘Anything, my lord Rama,’ Hanuman replied with great earnestness.
‘Just plain Rama,’ he reminded the vanar. He indicated the crowd of vanars bristling all around them, grown bolder and more curious now that they had seen their fellow vanar sitting before the frightening fire for a while without coming to harm. The dusk-darkened mountainside glittered with red vanar eyes reflecting the firelight not unlike a sky full of stars. ‘Without conveying any insult or giving offence, could you somehow request your fellows to give us a little privacy.’
‘Privacy?’ Hanuman sniffed. ‘I do not scent your meaning. What is privacy?’
Rama glanced at Lakshman who explained. ‘We humans are not accustomed to being watched so closely for so long. If you could request that your fellow vanars stop staring at us while we rest and sleep, it would be most appreciated.’
Hanuman tilted his head to one side, considering this odd un-vanarlike concept. ‘Privacy.’ He glanced around at the twinkling eyes. Sudden understanding dawned in his own eyes. ‘I scent it! You wish to hold a council, and do not wish to be heard until you are done, yes?’
Rama shrugged. ‘Something like that.’
Hanuman looked disappointed. ‘Then I will not be welcome back by your agni again tonight.’
‘Not at all, my friend. You are most welcome to rejoin us and stay by our fireplace all night. We would welcome your company, would we not, Lakshman?’
‘Of course,’ Lakshman said, and Rama was glad to hear that he sounded like he meant it. ‘I would like to speak of many things with you, about the vanar art of war and combat. We are fellow warriors after all.’
Hanuman’s chest puffed up with pride, his nostrils flaring. ‘You may ask me any question you wish about war and combat. If I cannot answer, no vanar can!’
Lakshman clapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘Then hurry back, my friend!’
Hanuman beamed with pleasure, then turned and loped away up the mountainside with startling speed. He issued an ululating call as
he went, sounding simultaneously outraged and commanding. At the call, the hordes scattered, issuing varying cheekhas that seemed to range from irritation to impudence. Rama watched as Hanuman swatted several of his fellow vanars, cuffing others playfully but with enough strength and force to command compliance. The crowd surrounding their campsite dissipated slowly. Among the last to go was a young vanar hanging upside down by his tail. Hanuman called out to him in the vanar tongue, sounding stern, and the youngun somersaulted away, leaping agilely a few trees back where he sat, with his paws clapped over his ears. Rama wondered about that for several moments, then recalled Hanuman’s words. The vanars had no concept of privacy the way humans did. Hanuman had probably told the youngun that since the mortals were holding a council, they wished not to be heard, so the shrewd young fellow was continuing to watch them from afar, while covering his ears to avoid hearing their talk! He nudged Lakshman, pointing out the vanar and told him his theory. Lakshman burst out laughing.
After a while, Lakshman brought the baked nuts and sat beside him silently for a while, cracking open the shells and placing them on a leaf before Rama. Across the mountain, birds wheeled and cried out, rushing to their nests before twilight turned to night and darkness enveloped the world. The vanars of Mount Rishimukha had all retreated as well, the females scolding and shooing away the last of the little vanars playing around the coconut-shaped rock. They waved their tails at Rama as they went, and he smiled and raised a hand, waving back. That made him think of Sita again, of how she would have loved the little ones and chased them around the rock and played hiding and seeking with them, and his smile faded like the last threads of sunlight in the west, leaving his face as dark and desolate as the night-shrouded earth.
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