The Ramayana

by Ramesh Menon

  Then his wise heart informed him, “Sita prays for me! And, of course, Agni is my father’s friend.”

  He felt he had seen all there was to see in Lanka. He gave a roof-rattling roar and, in a blink, Hanuman was as tall as the loftiest tower in that city. The next moment he was the little monkey of the asokavana again, small as a cat, and he leaped nimbly onto the nearest rooftop. The ropes that bound him fell away from his body in a useless pile. He jumped down into the street again, growing as he fell until he was bigger than he had yet been in Lanka. Pulling up a pillar that stood at an intersection of streets, he struck out at the rakshasas who attacked him, felling a hundred; the rest fled. Great Hanuman stood roaring at the heart of wonderful Lanka and his tail blazed behind him like a quenchless torch.

  Then, monkey that he was, he squatted on the ground, scratching his golden fur, wondering what to do next. What he had come for was accomplished. But another yearning tugged at his mind, the itch of the fire in his tail. Hanuman thought, “The asokavana is ruined. I have killed many of Ravana’s best warriors today and their blood runs through this evil city. I have killed one of the Rakshasa’s sons. Still my heart is not content. The fire in my tail has been kind to me, but it has been deprived of its fuel. Let me return the favor of my father’s friend Agni. I will set alight these fine mansions of Lanka to feed his hunger.”

  Hanuman was a streak of lightning among the rooftops. He sprang from roof to roof, setting Lanka on fire with his burning tail, while the wind billowed around him fanning the flames. Houses caught and the palaces of the nobles blazed as the conflagration spread. Hanuman, roaring in delight, raced all over the city, touching it aflame with his tail as if he were lighting a thousand lamps for worship at sandhya.

  Rakshasa men, women, and children poured out of their homes. All the city echoed with their cries as their fabulous dwellings, created by Viswakarman, crackled and burned. And everything within them, the spoils of a hundred wars, was consumed by Hanuman’s inferno. Priceless silks, brocades, and tapestries were ashes. The gold of Lanka melted and flowed into the livid streets, and the hearts of precious jewels were snuffed out in the flames that enveloped Ravana’s capital. Their pillars cracking in the incendiary heat, mansions came crashing down.

  When he had put much of Lanka to the torch, Hanuman sprang high into the air and landed with a mighty tremor on the roof of Ravana’s palace. The vanara ran across that roof, big itself as a city, touching every corner ablaze with his raging tail. Ravana’s palace caught and burned like straw. The agni in the monkey’s tail was fierce, and exhilarant the breath with which his father, the wind, fanned the flames. The harems disgorged their delectable women, screaming above the roar of the fire and the howl of the wind.

  Hanuman was an apocalyptic beast, exulting as the city burned, roaring his joy to the sky, beating his chest like thunder, celebrating the triumph of the natural jungle over the city of artifice. From Ravana’s palace roof, the vanara saw that most of Lanka burned; he saw more houses collapse in slides of rubble and sparks. Smiling to himself, still immense, he leaped straight from the king’s palace to the nearby peak of the Trikuta. The wind wrapped himself lovingly around his son. Hanuman looked behind him and saw his tail still burned with the friendly Fire God’s cool flames, his proud tail that had gutted magnificent Lanka!

  He jumped down onto the white beach below, the cries of the stunned rakshasas still ringing in his ears. He dipped his tail hissing into the waves and put out the exceptional fire, which had not singed a hair of him. At the very moment when he thanked pristine Agni with all his heart, a terrible thought struck Hanuman like an arrow. He whimpered aloud at it.

  “I have committed a sin of rage. The wise restrain themselves, but I gave in to anger. Sita must have burned with the rest of the city. Everything has been in vain; I have ruined Rama’s life!”

  Hanuman stood at the foot of the Trikuta and, turning his face to the blazing city, he howled long and mournfully, a grief-stricken animal of the jungle. But then a subtle light shone into his heart. He scratched his head; he cocked it to a side. He shook it, and he thought, “If the fire did not even singe my tail, it was because of Sita’s prayer. Then how much more Agni would have cared for the princess herself. He couldn’t have even warmed her, she is so chaste. She is divine; no flame could burn her.”

  Suddenly he heard voices above him and he saw three bright beings flying through the sky. Their bodies seemed made of shimmering crystal; their long hair blew, casting colorful waves of light behind them. He heard clearly what they said, as if fate had willed them to pass above him at that moment. One of the charanas of the air, for so they were, said to the others, “How amazing it was to see! Ravana’s palace fell raging around her; all the asokavana was consumed. But Sita was calm at the heart of the fire. And the flames did not burn her at all, but washed over her like cool waves.”

  Hanuman jumped up and down. He danced; he shouted out Rama’s name. He decided he would see Sita once more before he left Lanka. One great leap and he landed in her presence. Her face lit up, and she cried, “Oh, Hanuman! You alone are enough to wipe Lanka from the face of the earth. You are mightier than I imagined. But fly now, good vanara, fly to Rama with my message.”

  Hanuman said, “Don’t be anxious, Devi. Rama will be here in a few days with the vanara army. Until then: may the panchabhuta, the very elements, protect you!”

  Sita said, “Fly Hanuman, fly to my husband.”

  Hanuman leaped back onto the Trikuta’s summit, and from there onto another mountain called Arishta. Now he grew as tall as he had been upon Mahendra across the sea; he towered into the sky like one mountain standing on another. As he paced the hilltop, seeking a hard place to launch himself from, Hanuman crushed the rocks under his feet to dust and Arishta shook just as Mahendra had. Facing north, the golden vanara stared for a moment at the foaming tide far below. He crouched down, every muscle taut for the leap. With a cry that made the ocean quail, Hanuman launched himself into the air, and Lanka shook as if with an earthquake. Like an arrow, the vanara flew north over the waves, flashing back toward Bharatavarsha.

  Cobras and lions tore out of their holes and caves in terror when Hanuman leaped into the sky. Trees rose with him and fell back onto the earth and into the waves, their trunks floating like twigs on the surging foam. Before he arrowed into the outer blue, he seemed to hang in the air for a moment. His body lit by the last rays of the sinking sun, he filled half the firmament like a thundercloud streaked with lightning.

  Then he flew effortlessly through the soft sky, along the way of the wind, joyful that he had accomplished what he had come for and, indeed, much more. Some clouds reflected the ocean below and such a sight it was: Hanuman flashing through them, his hair fluorescent with the sunset and flecked with sea green. At twice the speed at which he had flown to Lanka, the son of Vayu flew back to Rama with his news.

  Once more, Mainaka rose before him, a golden pyramid, a vision out of the waves. Hanuman circled the mountain, crying out his success, blessing Mainaka, being blessed in return. He stroked the glassy sides of the mountain in affection, and, folding his hands to that ancient one, flashed on. Soon he saw Mahendra looming before him and the sacred coast of Bharatavarsha. Hanuman roared his exultation to the darkening sky and the clouds in it. The ocean shook, and the four quarters. The vanaras on the far shore, waiting so impatiently for him, pricked up their ears.

  Their faces lighting up, Angada’s monkeys scarcely had time to turn to each other when, with a whistling of the air and a quaking of the earth, Hanuman landed on the summit of Mahendra. He stood for a moment on that height. He beat his chest; he cried out a long and ringing triumph, and thanked his ubiquitous father for being with him on his journey. Then Hanuman shrank back to his ordinary vanara size and ran down the mountain, bursting with his news and the joy of it. He met Angada, Jambavan, and the others halfway, for they, too, were agog to greet him and came running up as eagerly as he ran down.

  15
. A hero returns

  When they heard Hanuman roaring above them, Jambavan cried to Angada and his monkeys on the beach, “He has found her, or he wouldn’t roar so loudly.”

  So the vanaras ran up Mahendra in a frenzy of hope. Pulling up plants and small trees around them, spraying the hillside with their joy, they scrambled shouting up the mountain. As they came they broke the most colorful branches from the trees and waved them aloft like a sea of flowery torches. And when they met the returning hero coming down the mountain, their excitement knew no bounds.

  Angada embraced Hanuman again and again, and the others all bowed at his feet quaintly, with palms folded. Some of them had brought fruit and savory roots, which they had gathered on their way up. They offered these to Hanuman, guessing that perhaps he had not eaten since he left these shores. Hanuman bowed to Angada and Jambavan. As the sun sank below the waves, they fell silent and stood gravely around him, waiting for him to speak. Suddenly, a smile creased his kindly face, and Hanuman raised his voice and cried, so every vanara heard him and that place echoed with what he said: “In Ravana’s asokavana, I saw Sita!”

  The army of monkeys roared. They sprang high into the air. They turned cartwheels on the ground and the branches of the trees, and gibbered in delight.

  Hanuman held up a solemn hand and said, “She sat surrounded by rakshasis, who guarded her night and day. Her face was covered with dirt, streaked with the tears that flowed ceaselessly from her lotus eyes. She was skin and bones from hardly eating; she took only enough food and water to keep her soul in her body. Her black hair was twisted into a braid like a serpent. It was grievous to see the noble Sita like that.”

  Angada cried, “There is no one like you in all the world. You have crossed the sea and come back with news of Rama’s wife!”

  Mahendra was splendid with the vanara warriors upon its slopes: a vivid army lit by the last rays of the sun. A pang of hunger seized Hanuman, who scarcely remembered he had not eaten at all since he crept into Ravana’s city, a day and night ago. He took a fruit from one of the vanaras nearest him and began to chew on its flesh. Jambavan cried that Hanuman should be allowed to eat in peace; he must be hungry, indeed, after his adventure across the ocean. Once the first mouthful passed his lips, he knew how ravenous he was, and Hanuman ate quite a quantity of fruit and tender roots.

  When he had filled his belly, he belched softly and smiled. Then Jambavan said, “Tell us everything now; just as you went hungry for food since you left, we have waited hungrily for your news. Tell us every detail of your adventure, so we may share in it completely. Tell us about Sita, and how Ravana treats her. Tell us all we should know, and decide in your wisdom whatever may not yet be told. But tell us, tell us; we are impatient to hear.”

  Hanuman rose. He paid solemn obeisance to the south where Sita was. Then he told them about his flight across the sea and all his adventures in Lanka. He ended by saying, “Then from the top of the mountain Arishta I leaped back to these shores, and once more Mainaka rose golden in my path to greet me. And I flew back swiftly and landed upon this Mahendra.”

  The vanaras shouted his name until the sky resounded with it. They kissed their tails and leaped into the air, turning somersaults forward, backward, and sideways.

  Hanuman said gravely, “It is strange but true that the Rakshasa has not yet harmed Sita. When I think of how he has sinned by holding her his prisoner, I am astonished he has not been consumed by terror. But then, as I told you, he is no ordinary rakshasa. He is a tapasvin; otherwise, touching her would have devoured him quicker than fire.”

  His eyes brimmed with tears. Hanuman said, “Oh, when I think of how she laid a blade of grass between herself and him, like a sword, my heart bleeds that a woman as brave as she should suffer as she does. She could so easily make Ravana ashes with the fire of her chastity. But she wants Rama to rescue her; she believes that is the way of dharma. Why, when I offered to carry her out of Lanka, she refused, saying she could not willingly allow anyone but Rama to touch her. But how she suffers, every moment. We must hurry; we must not leave her there for long.”

  Angada cried, “Under Jambavan’s command we can raze Lanka, or what you have left of it, Hanuman! I shall kill Ravana myself. I, too, am a master of the brahmastra, the aindra, and the vayavya; Indrajit I can kill easily, and Hanuman can finish the rest. Let us go with Dwividha, Panasa, Neela, and Mainda, who all have boons from the Devas. The handful of us will crush Ravana’s legions and bring Sita back. If we return to Kishkinda and tell Sugriva that we found Sita but have not brought her back, he surely won’t be pleased.”

  Jambavan smiled at the prince’s eagerness. But he said quietly, “I have no doubt you will prevail against the rakshasas. But take thought that Sita herself wants Rama to come to Lanka to rescue her. She believes that is the way of dharma. I say we should go back to Rama and tell him everything. Let us leave the rest up to him.”

  Hanuman agreed with Jambavan, and Angada gave up his impetuous plan. Through the darkness of night, which had fallen around them, the monkeys set out at once, by starlight, on their journey home to Kishkinda.

  16. The king’s vineyard

  Early the next morning, after traveling all night by jungle paths and treeways, Angada’s vanara army arrived at the outskirts of Kishkinda. On the fringes of the hidden city, within the green valley in which it was built, lay Sugriva’s jealously guarded madhuvana, his private vineyard. His uncle Dadhimukha tended to it, and here he made and stored the choicest wines for the king’s cellar.

  The monkeys who had come from the south were already in high spirits when they reached the madhuvana. Someone cried, “We bring joyful news for our king. He will not be angry if we taste his wine today.”

  “What about the guards of the madhuvana?” cried another vanara.

  But Hanuman himself said, “Leave the guards to me. Today you shall drink to your hearts’ content.”

  Angada’s army stormed into the king’s vineyard where his wines were stored in great vats. Like an invasion they came, and not in fine goblets, nor even from wooden bottles, did they drink. They tipped the vats over and swilled straight out of them. Dadhimukha’s protests fell on deaf ears. When he tried to threaten them, they dragged him through the madhuvana, pulled his beard, and ripped his clothes.

  The honeyed wine went potently to their heads, and in no time every vanara was drunk. Some sang, others laughed and wept; others jumped high into the air and turned somersaults and cartwheels. Most of them could not walk steadily any more, though they danced all right. They swarmed into the trees and played riotous games in the branches, swinging from tree to tree, leaping down and chasing each other, shouting at the tops of their voices.

  Hanuman cried to that army, “Drink your fill; today is a day for celebrating.”

  The vanaras needed no encouragement; they drank Sugriva’s finest wines in vatfulls. Dadhimukha tried again to stop them, because they were now doing fair damage among the delicate vines. They laughed and began to pick the sharp fruit, crying that the grape on the vine was headier than the wine in the vats.

  Now Angada cried, “Let them drink. They come with joyful news for the king.”

  The desperate Dadhimukha ordered the guards of the madhuvana to stop the drunken monkeys. But they were no match for the fighting vanaras of the king’s army. Roaring, Hanuman himself joined the fray and the guards beat a hasty retreat. The drinking and the revelry continued.

  Dadhimukha withdrew, and said to his monkeys, “Let us go and tell the king. He is on Prasravana.”

  Through the nimble treeways, Dadhimukha and his monkeys flew to Sugriva. The vanara king sat with Rama, whom he now visited every day, to comfort him, and also because he himself found deep solace in the company of the blue prince: ineffable peace, which surpassed the pleasure he had in his queens’ arms.

  Dadhimukha prostrated himself at his nephew’s feet and lay there, obviously distraught. Sugriva asked sharply, “What is the matter, Dadhimukha?”
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br />   Tears in his eyes, that solemn and elegant monkey told him how Angada’s vanaras had stormed his madhuvana and were drunk in Sugriva’s favorite sanctuary. He sobbed, “Hanuman and Angada attacked us when we tried to stop the others.”

  Lakshmana was standing nearby. He asked, “Why does Dadhimukha come here with tears in his eyes?”

  Sugriva turned to Lakshmana, and a smile stirred on his lips. “He wants me to punish Angada’s army for ruining my madhuvana and drinking all my best wine.”

  “And?”

  Sugriva said, “I won’t punish them: they wouldn’t drink my wine unless they have come with good news.”

  Dadhimukha looked downcast. Sugriva went on blithely, “I am certain that Hanuman has found Sita.” Sugriva turned to Dadhimukha: “Uncle, they must have found Sita, or they wouldn’t dare drink my wine. Tell Angada, Jambavan, and Hanuman that I am impatient to hear their news.”

  A little dazed, poor Dadhimukha went back to the madhuvana. But Sugriva was elated he could keep his promise to Rama that, be she anywhere at all, his vanaras would find Sita. He was pleased that at least in some measure he could repay his debt to the prince. Most of all, he was happy that at last a ray of hope shone into his human friend’s misery.

  17. “Lord, I have seen Sita!”

  When a chastened Dadhimukha came back to the madhuvana, he found most of the monkeys asleep, on the ground and in tree forks. He presented himself before Angada with folded hands and said, “Forgive me, my prince. Forgive my guards for trying to spoil your army’s enjoyment. I have just been to the king to complain about you, but he said, ‘Welcome them to my madhuvana, for I am sure they bring good news. Tell Angada, Hanuman, and Jambavan that Rama, Lakshmana, and I wait impatiently for them on Prasravana.’”