The Ramayana

by Ramesh Menon

  Finally, the rakshasas realized the monkeys had risen from the dead. They poured out of their homes and swarmed, shouting, into the streets. All around them flames licked at the sky and the moon, like some macabre festival of lamps.

  Outside the gates of Lanka, Rama stood with his bow in his hand, even like Siva with his Pinaka.

  27. The sons of Kumbhakarna

  It was an infernal midnight when Ravana was roused from sleep. Earlier, from his terrace he had seen the vanara army lying still on the field. He went to the gates with Indrajit and saw that no life stirred under the brahmastra’s canopy of darkness. Heady celebrations swept Lanka. Now at midnight, suddenly the city was ablaze. Messengers rushed to Ravana’s apartment with the incredible news: the monkeys had risen from the dead, and they had set Lanka on fire.

  Ravana sent another army against Rama. He sent dead Kumbhakarna’s sons, Kumbha and Nikumbha, to war. Under moon and stars, in the hour of the rakshasas’ greatest strength, the two princes attacked, with a swarming legion around them. The demons’ weapons and the jewels at their throats, chests, and arms shone like a river of stars fallen to the earth; through Lanka on fire, the river of rakshasas flowed. Their savage faces lit by the moon and the flames, they came to fight for their city and their lives. Their women and children had died tonight, and they came grimly, for revenge.

  But the vanaras were exuberant. Hadn’t they just risen from the dead to fight again for Rama and the army of dharma? They felt invincible, that not even death could stand between them and victory. Roaring, Angada leaped at three rakshasas who marched at the head of the demon legions. In a wink, he smashed their heads with a rock. The rakshasa army parted like a river with an island in its stream, and Kumbha of the rakshasas stood forth to confront Angada of the monkeys.

  Kumbha was tall and lean, like his uncle, the king, and his valor was lustrous. His arrows were gashes of lightning in the sky, and even Angada could not stand against him alone. Mainda and Dwividha rushed to his side. Still, Kumbha’s blinding archery beat back the vanaras. Dwividha was pierced with arrows of dim green light, and Mainda as well; both fainted. Angada sprang to them; but he, too, was shot swiftly with shafts of sleep.

  From behind the vanara lines loomed Jambavan, fangs and claws flashing in the moonlight, and beside him stood Sushena; but they could not even reach Kumbha. Then the vanara army parted again and another warrior, greater than Angada or Mainda, Jambavan or Sushena, came through it. Sugriva, king of the vanaras, son of Surya, arrived to battle in the night.

  He stood before the demon prince and cried, “Kumbha, you are the pride of the rakshasas. You are as mighty as your father and your uncle; why, you are like Bali and Prahlada, Indra, Kubera, and Varuna. Your archery is like Indrajit’s and your strength like your father’s. You are a jewel of your line. Yet, my brave prince, now you will die; for even against my will, I must kill you. Come, fight me hand to hand, unless you are afraid without your bow.”

  At that taunt, following the cunning praise, Kumbha flung down his bow and sprang from his chariot to fight Sugriva with bare hands; which was just as the canny vanara intended. The two armies fell hushed around them, as vanara king and rakshasa prince locked with each other, and the muscles stood out on their bodies like tree roots.

  Kumbha and Sugriva fought long and wildly, and Lanka shuddered with their roars and blows. But suddenly, Sugriva jumped back a nimble pace, clenched his fist, and struck Kumbha on his temple. One blow and the rakshasa sank to the ground, his skull crushed, blood and brains oozing from the wound. Crying out in terror, that yet another of their princes was slain, the rakshasas fled from Sugriva. The vanara king beat his chest; he gave the victory call of the deep jungle.

  “Aaoongh! Aaoongh! Aaoongh!” roared Sugriva, echoingly.

  His army responded echoingly with “Jaya, Sugriva! Jaya! Jaya!”

  Nikumbha, ferocious as the dead Kumbha, rushed into battle, roaring to drown Sugriva’s cries. Nikumbha was built more like his father than his uncle; he was another giant. Armed with an unlikely weapon came that prince of darkness: he came with a great pestle in his hands. The ayudha glowed in the night, now deep green, now dull red.

  Nikumbha raised the weird thing above his head and began to spin it round; until it seemed to catch the movement and whirled, humming, with a will of its own. Nikumbha loosed the wheel of fire at the monkeys, a chakra of a thousand burning blades, a whirlwind of death. The vanaras fled shrieking from it, but it pursued them, quick as thinking. Thousands of jungle folk fell, headless, sliced in two or made ashes by that weapon of both blades and fire. Blood flowed in a gleaming rivulet under the moon.

  Against the fleeing tide of monkeys came another vanara hero to confront Nikumbha dominating the field of death. The son of the wind came and stood before the prince: Hanuman, grown taller than the rakshasa. The wheel of death in Nikumbha’s hands shone with new light. It shone like a red and green sun. Round and round, chanting an evil mantra, Nikumbha whirled the pestle weapon above his head. It seemed to grow in his hands. It flashed another hundred glinting blades; its flames were twice as livid as they had been before. Now the pestle howled in Nikumbha’s sorcerer’s hands like a spirit in torment.

  He whirled it round so rapidly that it was an unbroken orb of light, a dark moon risen on the earth. With a cry that froze the blood, Nikumbha cast his weapon at Hanuman. It floated wailing through the moonlight and the vanaras fell on their faces. Like a comet, it blazed straight into Hanuman’s chest. There was a white explosion, followed by stillness and silence.

  Slowly the monkeys lifted their heads, expecting to see Hanuman blown to shreds. But he still towered above them, as he had been when he flew across the ocean. Of the pestle of fire, only some embers floated down from his chest, where that weapon had blown apart. Like a mountain trembling at an earthquake, Hanuman shook the embers from his fur.

  Growling in his throat, an unimaginable beast of prey again, Hanuman sprang at the stunned Nikumbha. The son of Vayu bunched a fist and struck the rakshasa a staggering blow on his chest. Nikumbha’s armor was riven; it pierced his flesh and blood flowed down his body. In a wink, Hanuman wrestled him to the ground, sat on his chest and strangled him with inexorable hands. Then he wrenched the prince’s head off his neck, and anointed himself with the spouting gore.

  28. Indrajit

  When Hanuman killed Nikumbha, Lanka resounded with the vanaras’ jubilation. The rakshasas shrank back in occult fear; they said that surely this battle could never be won. This was the ancient war between dharma and adharma, and they were fighting on the wrong side, the one that always lost in the final reckoning. Not all their dark weapons, not even their trained maneuvering or their greatest warriors were potent against the crude army of the jungle, armed with not just rocks and trees, but with dharma as well. Not a vanara knew how to hold a sword, a bow or arrow; yet victory so far was certainly theirs. It was as if the monkeys were protected by a power greater than the demons could fathom.

  After Nikumbha was killed, another rakshasa, and a master of astras, Maharaksha, came forth. He invoked the agneyastra and shot it at the vanara army. It lit up earth and sky, and flew to consume the army of the jungle in primeval flames. But Rama came forth from the vanaras’ side. Swifter than the agneyastra was his shaft in reply: a suryastra from the heart of the sun. The two weapons locked in the night sky, bright as midday with their garish splendor. But the will of Maharaksha was small match for the will of Rama, and the demon’s astra fell away into the sea. Rama’s arrow spumed on into Maharaksha’s chest and consumed that rakshasa in an instant. The demon army fled again.

  Ravana sat in his sabha, and strange strength was upon him. All his sons and nephews, save Indrajit alone, had been killed; the enemy turned every defeat into a reverberant victory. It was perhaps the last strength of despair; but Ravana no longer sat like a broken man on his throne. He had little left to lose now save his own life, and new courage surged in him.

  He called Indrajit. Ravan
a said to his son, “It seems you are the only answer to the monkeys. Whenever anyone else has gone out to face them, they have been killed. But both times you went to fight, you came back with victory. Each time, Rama and Lakshmana escaped by a miracle. Go forth again, my son; take death with you this time. Fight with any weapon you must, fight subtly with maya. Bring me Rama’s head.”

  Again Indrajit rode out with his army. He lit a fire of yagna, and worshipped it with oblations and mantras. Once more, Agni came out of the flames and received the havis in burning palms. Indrajit chanted slokas to pacify the Devas, the Danavas, and the Asuras, and his demons brought him his silver chariot, yoked to steeds of unearthly pedigree. It was no common ratha, but the chariot of Maharathika Indrajit, bearer of the brahmastra, and it was proof even against Rama’s and Lakshmana’s astras.

  When he had worshipped the fire, Indrajit cried, “Today I will kill the false hermits who roamed the Dandaka vana. Today the world shall be rid of the race of vanaras.”

  Bristling with weapons, Indrajit came to fight; hidden with maya, he flew into the sky. On the ground, battle had been joined again. As a cloud does the earth with rain, Rama and Lakshmana covered the attacking rakshasas with arrows. But then, from on high, Indrajit loosed his own storm of fire. His missiles fell on the vanaras like meteor showers. They flamed down from every side as if there were a hundred invisible archers in the air. The rakshasa’s chariot was as quick as time and he hid himself behind some clouds.

  Stealth and terror rode with the demon prince. He shot screeching narachas down on Rama and Lakshmana. They began to return his fire; they now tracked him with the quickness of instinct and by the trails his astras left. Ravana’s son filled the sky with smoke and fog from his bow, so his arrows left no trails any more. Yet with intuition shrewder than sight, the kshatriyas shot their shafts at him, blindly, and drew blood. Now Rama did not shoot at the prince in his evanescent chariot; he only cut down Indrajit’s astras, as soon as he saw them. But Lakshmana aimed at him and the rakshasa was hard-pressed to evade his arrows, though he rode through the sky like a gale.

  Many of Indrajit’s shafts found their mark, and Rama and Lakshmana soon looked like palasa trees in bloom. But not for a moment did they catch a glimpse of Ravana’s son. He kept himself hidden behind his veil of maya. Indrajit assailed not only the princes; around them, thousands of monkeys fell.

  Dismayed by the numbers of jungle folk who were dying, Lakshmana cried, “It is adharma, Rama, that a warrior like Indrajit burns the helpless vanaras with astras. They have come to Lanka to fight for us, and thousands of them perish each moment. I will bring this unnatural bird out of the sky with the brahmastra.”

  Though his bow flared arrows, Rama said gently, “It is not dharma for us, either, to kill a million rakshasas with the brahmastra. This is an ancient war. It has been fought by vanara and rakshasa on many worlds, in ages gone by and deep among the stars. And it shall be fought again. It is not only for us that the monkeys fight or die; it is for themselves, for their deathless souls. Lakshmana, you cut down his arrows now. Let me test Indrajit with astras that are less terrible than Brahma’s, but still fierce.”

  But this was total war: of mind, will, and instinct. No sooner did Rama say this, than Indrajit sensed his intention and vanished from over the field. He flew back to Lanka, with a cowardly plan forming in his violent heart.

  29. Vile deception

  Indrajit did not leave the battlefield for long. Briefly, he stood on the ramparts of his father’s palace, glowering out at the fighting beyond the walls of Lanka. He wept for his rakshasas whom Rama and Lakshmana had killed. If he had cut down ten thousand vanaras, the kshatriyas had killed twice as many demons. Indrajit was furious that this puny enemy had proved so indomitable. He fumed at their resilience. The rakshasa prince knew that all wars are won or lost in the minds of the generals; and the spirit of Rama of Ayodhya was immaculate.

  Rama seemed invulnerable to weapons of fire and serpentine evil. But Indrajit had a plan by which he would carve the kshatriya’s heart without breaking his skin. A master mayavi, Indrajit conjured up a lifelike, breathing Sita of maya beside him; with her in his chariot, he went to battle once more. Hanuman now led the storming vanaras. When they saw Indrajit ride out again, the soldiers of the jungle seized up rocks and trees to use against him.

  But before they could begin their attack, Hanuman cried that they should not cast a stone or a twig at the young rakshasa. Hanuman saw that Indrajit had brought Sita out onto the field; the vanara stood very still, his hackles raised, growling. A hush fell on the war. Hanuman saw Sita wore a soiled yellow garment, just as she had in the asokavana. Her ruined plait hung limp behind her, and her face was streaked with dirt and tears. The vanaras froze when Indrajit brought the maya Sita onto the field. She was entirely lifelike, and she sobbed as if her heart was broken.

  His fangs bared in a grin, Indrajit held Sita by her hair. Between the two armies, he began to fondle her. She struggled, she screamed, but Indrajit slapped her face. Hanuman sprang forward with a roar. In a flash, Indrajit drew his sword. The demon saw the hot tears in the vanara’s eyes.

  Hanuman cried, “Dare you touch the Devi? Vile rakshasa, you will die!”

  But Indrajit cried back, “She is the cause of all this misery. She came as death to Lanka. When I kill her, my revenge will begin for every rakshasa who has lost his life here. After she is dead I will kill the rest of you, and somehow I think it will be easy. Don’t preach dharma to me, vanara. Thousands of our women and children died when your monkeys set fire to our city as we slept.”

  Hanuman started forward again, but Indrajit was quicker than he was. With a blinding thrust, he buried his sword in Sita’s breast; gasping, she sank down in the chariot. There was a moment of perfect shock, when Indrajit killed his maya Sita between the two armies. Hanuman and the vanaras stood turned to stone.

  Gleefully, Indrajit called, “Come and see what I have done to your master’s wife! Monkey, you crossed the ocean for nothing; all your trials have been in vain.”

  Panic, like a wave of death, flared through the vanaras. Their cause betrayed, all their valor so pointless now, the unnerved monkeys fled shrieking in every direction. The rakshasas chased them and cut them down easily. Hanuman grew gigantic again. Roaring dreadfully, he slaughtered the advancing demons. He trampled on them like insects. Bending down, he swept away whole phalanxes with a blow. Berserk with grief, the son of the wind ran amok among Indrajit’s army. He was at them like Yama and the rakshasas fled.

  But as soon as they ran, Hanuman grew dispirited. He turned to his jungle warriors. He sighed deeply; tears stood in his eyes. He said, “Sita is dead and I do not know if we should fight on. Come, vanaras, come away to Rama and Sugriva. Let us take them the news, and let them tell us what to do next.”

  Heads bent, the vanaras went back to Rama. Seeing them go, with a triumphant smile Indrajit turned his chariot back to his father’s palace. At his feet, the body of the phantom Sita had dissolved into the stuff of dreams of which it had been made.

  30. The yagna at Nikumbhila

  Indrajit believed in the power of yagnas as much as he did in his own valor. He went directly to a tapovana called Nikumbhila. In that sacred grove he kindled another fire. He sat before it, his body bare and his demons around him. He fed the fire with ghee that had been purified with mantras. Like a fierce priest he was, absorbed in his sacrifice: a flame himself, and his ritual precise and flawless. He offered havis, and the agni blazed like a fragment of the sun.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, back on the battlefield, Rama heard the outcry from Hanuman’s warriors. He sent Jambavan and another force of monkeys to the son of the wind. The battle around the western gate had been abandoned and Hanuman had just turned back when Jambavan came lumbering up to him. Jambavan saw tears streaming down the vanara’s face. Barely pausing to greet the reeksha, Hanuman said, “I must see Rama.”

  The last rakshasa had fled into the ci
ty, and the massive gates clanged shut behind them. Hanuman came with Jambavan to where Rama and Sugriva sat. Bracing himself, the vanara wiped his eyes, and said as bravely as he could, “There is terrible news, my lords.”

  Then he looked into Rama’s face and could not go on. Sugriva cried, “What is it? What is your news, Hanuman?”

  Choking, Hanuman said, “Indrajit brought Sita to the field in his chariot. Before my eyes, he killed her with his sword.”

  Rama collapsed as if he had been cut down with an ax. The vanaras rushed to him. They sprinkled water on his face while Lakshmana held his brother’s head in his lap. The dazed Lakshmana whispered, “Dharma is of no use in this world. My brother has been a savior to the munis of the forests. He killed thousands of rakshasas, so the holy ones could live in peace. But his dharma has not saved him from evil.

  “And that monster Ravana still lives in his palace.”

  Lakshmana’s handsome features twitched in a dark rictus. He cried, “Gentleness and dharma are of no use in this world. But I swear Ravana will not live another day, and his city will be ashes when I have finished with it. Rama, rouse yourself; the hour of revenge is upon us. Sita may be dead, but Ravana will not escape with his life.”

  Rama lay unmoving. Then Vibheeshana came up to them; when he saw Rama unconscious, he wanted to know what had happened. Lakshmana sobbed, “Indrajit murdered Sita on the battlefield.”

  Looking doubtful, Vibheeshana asked, “Who brought this news?”

  “Hanuman.”

  Still, the good rakshasa was unperturbed. “I know how much Ravana loves Sita. He would never let her be killed. But then…” He grew thoughtful. The vanaras and Lakshmana hung on his every word, and now on his silence. Suddenly Vibheeshana gave a cry. “Rouse yourselves, monkeys, hurry! We must fly to Nikumbhila. Indrajit created a maya Sita and killed her on the field to shock you. As you grieve over a death that has never been, my spies have brought word that Indrajit has lit a fire at Nikumbhila. At this moment he sits at a yagna that will make him invincible. We must stop him, or the war is lost!”