The Ramayana

by Ramesh Menon

  Not by what Rama said was Vali assuaged, but by his unearthly voice, and the visions that unfurled in the vanara’s head as he listened: like golden lotuses, thousand-petaled. Rama’s love washed into him in a tide. The dying monkey saw hidden realms of life opening before him, and he knew Rama had killed him in compassion and in forgiveness of all his sins. He knew death was only the beginning of a deeper, more glorious existence. It was redemption. Rama’s voice opened a path of light out of the bondage of the body; and when he had a glimpse of what lay beyond, Vali understood who this dark prince was, who stood before him. A smile touched his lips and his eyes softened. He knew Rama had not only killed him, but also delivered him to eternal life.

  Then he thought of his son, and Vali was snatched back into anxiety. He took Rama’s hand, held it tightly, and breathed, “Now I know who you are, my lord. Forgive me that I doubted you. But a great care holds my spirit back in this world. My son Angada is still tender. He is my only child; he has much to learn yet and he will pine for his father’s love. I am not worried about anyone else, not even my queen.

  “Who has you has everything, prince of light. What is a vanara kingdom, when he who has your love can be a king in heaven? Protect my son, Rama; let him be as dear to you as Lakshmana or Bharata. And my Tara, don’t let Sugriva harm her.”

  The light around Rama grew blinding, and the dying vanara saw it was the light of his own soul. His heart was awash on the sea of splendor, flowing in waves from the blue kshatriya; only Vali saw Rama as he truly was.

  In ecstasy, Vali cried, “I answered Sugriva’s challenge just to die at your hands! If I lived a thousand lives, each time I would not die any other way. Look after Angada, Lord; let your blessing be upon him.”

  Vali’s breath, came in ragged gasps as Rama knelt beside him and took his hand.

  Rama said, “Only fate decides how a man shall die. When he is born, already deep in his body the secret of his death nestles; no man may live a moment longer than he was born to. I swear Angada shall have my protection, and he will be as dear to Sugriva as he was to you. I will see to that.”

  Suddenly, they heard heartbroken wailing from within the walls of Kishkinda. They heard the shrill yowls of the vanaras’ panic when they learned their king was slain. The monkeys fled into the jungle in every direction, for fear that they too would be killed. Above the bedlam, Rama and Vali heard the ululating lament of a queen. Tara came out of the palace, bringing her son Angada with her.

  9. Tara’s grief

  As Tara came wailing out of Kishkinda, someone cried to her, “Tara, save yourself and your son. Vali is killed, and our enemies are at our gates.”

  But she snarled at that vanara, “My husband lies dying outside the city and you speak to me of saving myself. My life has already gone from me.”

  Crying his name, she ran to where Vali lay with Rama’s arrow in his chest. Never before had anyone vanquished Vali in battle. He had cast great rocks at his enemies as his father of light did his vajra of a thousand joints. He had killed countless Asuras. Vali’s roar had been like thunder; his courage had been deeper than Indra’s. Tara could hardly believe her eyes when she saw he lay on the ground, gasping his last, and his killer so terribly bright above him.

  Tara fell on her knees beside Vali and clasped him to her. Angada wept as loudly as his mother. Tara gazed at the arrow plunged into her husband’s chest. She felt it gingerly with her fingers, and sobbed. Vali’s eyes were shut; he had drifted off on the sweet pain and the uncanny peace of his death.

  Tara cried, “Why don’t you open your eyes and look at me? It is I, Tara, your wife. Come, my lord, let us go back to the palace. I will wash your face with cool water and you can sleep for a while. Then you will be well again.”

  But Vali said nothing. Only his breath still rasped cruelly from him, rattling his torn chest. Tara stared at him for some moments, her tears flowing as if they had life and passage of their own. She sighed, “This bed you lie on is hard; you are not used to such a hard bed. But perhaps a more wonderful Kishkinda calls you from another world. Oh Vali, am I so unfeeling that I can see you like this and my heart doesn’t break and my life fly out of my worthless body?

  “Why didn’t you listen to me when I warned you this morning? Vali, I am afraid: Angada will be at Sugriva’s mercy now. Your brother cannot love you for what you have done to him. Angada, look at your father for the last time!”

  She turned her face up to Sugriva, who stood hugging himself as if he was very cold. He crooned to himself, shifting from one foot to the other: a restless, anxious monkey.

  Tara said to him, “How happy you must be, Sugriva. Your brother is dead and the kingdom is yours. With your human friend’s help, your long ambition has been fulfilled.

  “Vali, why don’t you speak to me? It is I, Tara, who kneel beside you.”

  She sobbed; she cried she would fast to death from this moment. Hanuman came to her and said kindly, “All of us reap the fruit of our karma. Why should we mourn anyone else? When we are all pitiable, like bubbles riding briefly on a current until they burst. This whole world is a transient place, a dream. Tara, your dharma is not to die for Vali, but to live for Angada. Your husband was noble and gracious, save for one crime. He will find the heaven meant for the brave.

  “Your people look to you for strength, and Angada must perform the last rites for his father. My queen, it is a time when your womanly strength must give solace to others. Let Angada fulfill his sacred dharma as a son, and then let him be crowned yuvaraja. Tara, compose yourself.”

  But Tara only sobbed louder. She called out to Vali again and again; she cried that she would die beside him. Suddenly, Vali’s eyes flew open, blazing with death, and his gaze lighted on his brother who stood guilty as a murderer.

  Vali called softly, “Sugriva, come near. I want to speak to you.”

  Sugriva padded warily up to him, on tiptoe. Vali whispered, “Now I feel sorry that I hurt you for so long. My arrogance and the fear in my heart made me mad. Fate was envious of our old love, my brother; she conspired to set us against each other. Take the kingdom from me, Sugriva. I give it to you gladly, because I know you will make a good king. But come nearer and hear my last wishes.”

  He reached out and grasped his brother’s hand, and Sugriva’s eyes brimmed over. Vali said, “Now Angada has only you to depend on; look after him like your own son. He is more precious to me than my life, and I leave him in your care. He is brave, if young, and a fine warrior; he will prove himself noble. And Tara. Sugriva, my Tara is wise and seasoned in statecraft. Consult her about everything you do: she has been most of my wisdom while I ruled.”

  He paused, in pain, before continuing, “Then there is this Rama who has come among us like providence. Be sure to help him with all your heart, for he is great and glorious beyond our understanding. He has come to the world to dispel its darkness. Help him with all your might: nothing is more important!

  “Now take my garland and wear it round your neck. Take it quickly before life leaves me, or its power will fade.”

  Sugriva wept like an orphaned child. Gone was any joy he had felt that Vali was slain; gone any eager anticipation of kingdom. His hands shaking, he gently removed Indra’s golden garland from Vali’s neck and draped it around his own.

  Vali called his son to him. He drew Angada close, and kissed him. “My child, your life has changed. Don’t chase after pleasure any more. Accept whatever comes to you, joy or grief, calmly. From now you must please your uncle Sugriva. He may not cosset you as I did; but obey him in all things and treat his enemies as yours. Don’t be too attached to anyone, nor coldly detached; adopt a middle course. Remember, listen to Sugriva and grow used to his guardianship.”

  Vali reached out to stroke his son’s cheek a last time, and life went out of him. Tara screamed long and piercingly. The vanara chieftain Neela went up to the dead king’s body and drew the arrow from his chest. Tara made Angada prostrate himself at his father’s feet. />
  Sugriva came to Rama with folded hands and tears flowing down his face. “You have kept your word and Vali is dead. But I feel no joy when I see Tara weep, Angada fatherless, and my brother lying on the earth as a corpse. I caused Vali’s death from my greed, and I regret it bitterly. I want no kingdom any more; I must seek the peace of my soul. I will return to Rishyamooka and sit in penance for the crime of killing my brother.

  “How many times we fought each other, Vali and I. How often he held my life in his hands, and always he cried, ‘Leave my sight! I haven’t the heart to kill you.’ My brother loved me, but I did not understand him. I should never have wished him dead. I am a terrible sinner; I am not fit to rule.”

  Fingering the garland around his neck, he sobbed, “Look at my brother’s generosity even after I had him killed: he made me wear this heavenly thing. Rama, I will tell my people to seek out your Sita for you. And they will find her. But I cannot bear to live any longer; not even on Rishyamooka will a sinner like me find peace. There is only one way for me: I will make a pyre for myself and die!”

  Rama stood disconsolate to hear Sugriva raving like this. Tara rose from Vali’s side and came to him.

  “Rama of Ayodhya, I have heard you are merciful. Take pity on me and kill me with the same arrow that took my husband’s life. We shall be united again, and he will be happy. You have been separated from your wife; you can understand my pain. Noble prince, you cannot want Vali to suffer as you do. Send me to him, Rama, he needs me. No sin will cling to you, I swear, not even the one of killing a woman.”

  Rama said to her, “You are a great king’s wife: you should not give in so tamely to despair. Fate rules this world, and all that happens here is by Brahma’s will. Once Angada is crowned yuvaraja you will be happy again. Fate is all there is in this world; all of us are her playthings. We begin and end by her dictates; then how can we resist her during our brief lives? Only fate knows what is best for us and what our ends are. Only she knows which fork on the long road we must take; only she knows why, and what lies around the next corner. All that is, is by fate. And at last, she takes us into heaven, as she has taken Vali today.

  “Put away this despair. No woman whose husband was a warrior, and whose son is a warrior, should give in to grief. Be brave, O queen, and perform the last rites for Vali.”

  Lakshmana spoke to Sugriva, and they arranged for the royal palanquin to be fetched from the city. When they heard about the final reconciliation between Sugriva and Vali, and of Sugriva’s remorse, the vanaras gathered around again. Near where Vali had fallen, they heaped a tall pyre with fragrant sandalwood. When they had bathed his body in the river, they laid their dead king upon it with honor. Holding back his tears, Angada touched his father’s pyre alight with a flaming branch. They prayed for the peace of Vali’s soul, as the flames licked him into ashes.

  They went back to the river and bathed, and offered tarpana to the departed one. Then they returned to Kishkinda.

  10. King of the vanaras

  The vanaras gathered outside Kishkinda, outside the cave that led into the secret city. The monkey chieftains were all there; anxiety was writ large on their faces; it was plain in their uneasy movements and nervous chattering. At the cunningly concealed cave mouth Hanuman came to Rama, and said, “By your grace, Sugriva has the kingdom of his ancestors. Advise him what to do next. He feels guilty and talks of killing himself. Our people are alarmed; they want a strong king to rule them.”

  Rama said to Hanuman, “To keep my father’s word, I may not enter any city, or village even, until the fourteen years of my exile are over. But let Sugriva be taken into Kishkinda and crowned.”

  Rama turned to Sugriva, and said aloud before all the vanaras, “Don’t waste your grief. If you are truly sorry, go into Kishkinda and take up the reins of kingdom. Crown Angada yuvaraja. He is a noble prince and he will bring honor to Vali’s name and yours.”

  Rama paused and looked around him at the trees of spring, festive with flowers, and the birds full of songs in their branches. He said slowly, “It is Shravana. The monsoon will soon be upon us. Lakshmana and I will find a cave on the mountain to live in until the rains have passed. For four months, it will rain without let. But when the month of Krittika arrives, you must keep your promise to me that you will find Sita. I will wait until then.

  “But now, go into your city, O king of the jungle, and be crowned. It is a time of transition, when your people need you most of all. Be strong and sit upon your throne with dharma beside you. I know you will be a great king. Go my friend, go in peace.”

  Sugriva knelt at Rama’s feet for his blessing. But Rama raised him up and embraced him. The princes of Ayodhya went back into the forest from where they had come. Sugriva entered the hidden city of Kishkinda and was crowned king of the vanaras. At the same ceremony, he made Angada the yuvaraja and embraced him as if he were his own son. Bitterness had melted from Sugriva’s heart; only remorse for his brother’s death remained.

  Then, at last, his wife Ruma came to him. Crooning in joy, he clasped her to him and his life began anew. Sugriva began a long and happy rule as king of the olden and free race of the vanaras.

  11. The rains and after

  Rama and Lakshmana went to the mountain called Prasravana. They found a large, dry cave, its floor so smooth and clean that it may have been created just for the princes of Ayodhya to live in. They had barely laid out beds of grass for themselves when the heavens opened. For four months, with hardly a day when they saw the sun, it poured on the world. The wind howled in the valley below the cave and great trees bent their crowns to the power of Vayu and Indra.

  The jungle grew visibly with the succor of the monsoon. When the sun did emerge from behind scudding cloud banks and shone down into the world for an hour or two, the brothers marveled at the lush creepers that wound themselves around giant trees, almost a fresh foot each day, and thrust gaudy flowers and sensuous pistils at the steaming forest. The trees were covered in soft new leaves, and the grass and the foliage all seethed with warm, Wet life. The animals of the jungle mated in abandon during the rains, beside swollen rivers and on tangled hills. The birds in the trees were all lovers. Serpents entwined in damp nests, and insects mounted their mates under flowering bushes and slabs of rock, in fervent ritual.

  Rama was lonely. His blood coursed madly for Sita during the nights of the waxing moon that flitted across the shrouded sky behind stormy rags of cloud. The prince lay sleepless at the cave mouth and every beam of renegade Soma was a shaft of longing in his heart, every streak of lightning a jagged impatience for the monsoon to end.

  Once, past midnight, Lakshmana was roused from a deep slumber by the sound of his brother sobbing. He awoke to see Rama bereft at the silvery cave mouth: tears flowing down his dark face, grief having its way with him. In Rama’s eyes was such torment it seemed he had taken the sins of all created beings upon himself, and suffered in their place. Lakshmana put his arms around his brother, as he would a child, and held him close.

  Rama wept, “Our lives are ruined. Not without reason did Kaikeyi send us into exile. Sita, where are you, my love? With whom do you spend this night?”

  Lakshmana stroked his head and said, “Rama, don’t let your mind be swayed by wild suspicions, or your will broken by sorrow. The rains are almost over. In just a week, even sooner, Sugriva will begin his quest for Sita. Don’t forget who you are in this dark jungle, O prince of all the world. You will kill the Rakshasa and have Sita back. Only be brave.”

  Rama grew quiet. He smiled at Lakshmana and took his hand. “It has passed now, child. Like a storm my sorrow has passed. Lakshmana, there is no one like you in all the world: no one else could have saved me as often as you have done. You are right. I will wait for autumn, and then Sugriva will keep his word to me.” Rama sighed. “It is hard to wait, but wait I must.”

  Lakshmana said, “I am restless too. But it cannot be long now before these wretched rains pass and we can begin our search with the su
n in our faces. How I long for the sun, Rama.”

  Rama cried, “My loving brother, best among men!” and he hugged Lakshmana.

  * * *

  The next day, the sun shone from a cerulean sky that had not a cloud in it. In Kishkinda, Hanuman looked up and knew it was time Sugriva kept his word to find Sita. But the first months of his kingship saw Sugriva mired in an orgy of indulgence. As if to make up for his stark years of exile, the vanara left the governance of his kingdom to his ministers, and steeped himself in wine and women, as if to live just by them, to heal the wounds of his years of terror by them, to forget Vali’s death by them—even as if to find immortality through pleasure.

  When the sky cleared, Sugriva had forgotten all about Rama and his promise to him. They had a month of clear weather, of days when the sun dried the sodden forest, of nights when a charmed moon hung low in a lucid sky. Still, Sugriva made no move to keep his word to Rama; indeed he seldom emerged from his harem.

  One day, Hanuman went to see his king, who lay drunk among his women. The son of the wind said quietly, “My lord, you have a kingdom now and your wife back. All the pleasures of Kishkinda and the power of its throne are yours to enjoy. But have you forgotten the friend who gave you all these things? What about your pledge to Rama that you would find his Sita as soon as the monsoon passed?

  “The sun has shone on us for a month. It is time you called your vanaras to you and combed the earth for the prince’s wife. He waits patiently in his cave for your help. Don’t delay any longer, Sugriva, lest Rama’s love turn to anger.”

  Sugriva blinked his wine-red eyes. The merriment faded on his lips and he grew very still. For a moment, he seemed to struggle with some inner conflict; his eyes blazed briefly at being disturbed at his pleasure. Then his expression sobered, and he clapped his hands for a guard to fetch Neela, his Senapati.