The Ramayana

by Valmiki

  Chapter Three

  Eager for a glimpse of Sītā, the monkey scoured the arbours and the galleries, but he did not see her lovely face anywhere. ‘Since I cannot find Sītā in any of these places, I must conclude that she is dead!’ he thought. ‘She has been killed by that wicked rākṣasa for being determined to protect herself from his assault! Or maybe she died of fright when she saw Rāvaṇa’s women who are all ugly and deformed!

  ‘I have achieved nothing and a great deal of the monkeys’ time has been wasted. I cannot go back to the mighty Sugrīva like this, for his punishments are harsh. When I return, all the monkeys will ask me what I did here. How can I tell them that I saw no sign of Sītā? They will starve themselves to death! What will the elders, Jāmbavān and Angada, say about my fruitless leap over the ocean?

  ‘But perseverance is the root of success and self-reliance is the highest goal. I shall search in all the places that I haven’t yet seen. The banquet halls, the arbours, the galleries, the gymnasia, the groves, stables and coach houses, I have searched them all, but I shall do so again!’ Hanumān went through cellars, temples, multi-storied buildings, up and down, to and fro, over and over again. The great monkey went everywhere, opening and closing doors, entering and exiting rooms. There was not even four fingers of space that he left unexplored in Rāvaṇa’s mansion.

  Hanumān searched in the streets and among the fortifications, on the platforms that surrounded the trees and at the crossroads, in the lotus pools and in the wells. He saw all kinds of deformed and ugly rākṣasīs but he did not see Sītā. He saw exquisite vidyādharīs but not the woman who delighted Rāma. He saw gorgeous nāga women with faces as lovely as the full moon but not the slim-waisted Sītā. The nāgas had also been abducted by Rāvaṇa, but Sītā was not among them. And now that he had seen all kinds of women and still not found Sītā, Hanumān became anxious. In utter despair, he climbed down from Puṣpaka.

  ‘Sampāti said that Sītā was sure to be found in Rāvaṇa’s mansions, but I have not seen her anywhere!’ thought Hanumān. ‘Could it be that, utterly helpless, she has succumbed to Rāvaṇa?

  ‘Maybe Rāvaṇa, as he flew away quickly to avoid Rāma’s arrows, let her fall from his arms along the way? Or did she die of fright when she saw the ocean as she was being carried through the air? Did she fall into the ocean as she struggled? Or, did Rāvaṇa devour that virtuous woman, so far from her friends and family? Could it be that Sītā, still undefiled, was eaten by Rāvaṇa’s wives? Maybe she died with her thoughts fixed on Rāma’s handsome face, crying “Oh Rāma! Oh Lakṣmaṇa! Ah Ayodhyā!”

  ‘How could this delicate, noble creature have got away from Rāvaṇa? I do not have the courage to tell Rāma that his wife is either dead or lost! It would be a mistake to tell him and a mistake not to tell him. I really don’t know what to do!

  ‘If I tell Rāma that I did not see Sītā, he will end his life. And Lakṣmaṇa, who is so attached to him, will see Rāma dead and he too will die! When Bharata hears that his brothers are dead, he will die and then so will Śatrughna. And the mothers, Kausalyā, Sumitrā and Kaikeyī will die when they see their sons dead. Sugrīva, the honourable king of the monkeys, will give up his life when he sees Rāma dead. And virtuous Rūmā will die of grief for her husband and so will Tārā who is already upset about Vālī’s death. How will young Angada cling to life without his parents and without Sugrīva? And then, upset over the death of their leader, all the monkeys who live in the forest will kill themselves by beating their heads with their fists. They will no longer play and frolic in the mountains and caves and forests! They will jump off cliffs with their wives and children and retainers. They will hang themselves, jump into fires, fast to death or throw themselves upon their unsheathed weapons!

  ‘I cannot return to Kiṣkindha. I cannot see Sugrīva unless I have seen Sītā! But if I do not return, those two mighty warriors and all the monkeys will continue to live in hope.

  ‘I shall become an ascetic eating only plants and roots and the things that come into my hands without any effort. Maybe I will find a pleasant spot by the ocean shore, one that abounds in plants and fresh water, make a huge pyre there and jump into the flames! Or wait until my body is wasted and let the vultures and birds of prey eat it. Or I may jump into the water.

  ‘There are many disadvantages to suicide and many good things can be gained by living. I shall live! Rāma and Sītā’s reunion is certain if I live!’ The monkey pondered these problems and did not allow himself to succumb to despair.

  ‘Shall I kill the ten-headed Rāvaṇa? Or shall I haul him over the ocean and offer him to Rāma as a sacrificial animal is offered to Paśupati?

  ‘I will look for Sītā again and again until I find her. There is an aśoka grove here that I haven’t searched yet. Let me go there! I am sure it is heavily guarded and that even my father does not blow there very much. I shall reduce my size for Rāma’ sake! May the gods and the sages give me success!’

  Hanumān leapt off Rāvaṇa’s palace and landed on the wall that enclosed the grove. Feeling rather pleased with himself, the mighty monkey stood there, looking over the tops of the flowering trees. Like an arrow loosed from a bow, Hanumān flew into a mango grove which was covered with creepers and hidden from view. Birds sang joyfully and the trees all around seemed to be made of gold and silver. Flowering trees were visited by bees intoxicated with honey. It was now the season that delighted the hearts of men and the garden was filled with strutting peacocks and all kinds of birds.

  As the monkey searched for the lovely princess, he woke the sleeping birds. As they rose from their nests, their wings brushed against the many coloured flowers, making them rain onto the ground. The flowers covered Hanumān and all the animals that saw him moving through the garden mistook him for Spring incarnate. Strewn with fallen blossoms, the earth looked like a lovely woman adorned with jewels. Hanumān rocked the trees as he leapt through them and their leaves and fruit fell to the ground. Birds flew away from the trees that had been denuded as if by storm winds, for they were no longer hospitable. Hanumān crashed through creepers and vines, scattering them as the wind scatters the rain clouds over the Vindhyas.

  He wandered through courtyards paved with gold and silver and pearls. He saw pools of different shapes and sizes, filled with clear sparkling water, with jewelled steps leading into them. They had crystal bottoms and banks of coral and pearls. They were lined with golden-hued trees which made them shine pleasantly. Lotuses and lilies bloomed there and the calls of water birds could be heard.

  In the distance, Hanumān saw a charming little hillock with a tiny stream running down it, like a beautiful woman who leaves her lover’s lap and throws herself on the ground in a fit of pique. There was an artificial lake brimming with cool clear water with jewelled steps and gem-encrusted banks. It was surrounded by landscaped gardens abounding in deer and other animals and adorned with pavilions created by Viśvakarmā.

  Close by, Hanumān noticed a śimśapa tree, dense with leaves and covered with creepers. He was amazed to hear the tinkling of bells as the tree swayed in the breeze. He climbed onto the tree quickly. ‘I will definitely be able to see the pining Sītā from here,’ he said. ‘She may come here by chance, oppressed by her grief.

  ‘I am sure this lovely pleasure garden belongs to Rāvaṇa. Sītā will come here because she loved to wander through the forest. Her grief for Rāma will bring her here. She will come to the clear waters of this pool to perform her evening ablutions, for she is particular about these things. I know that Sītā will come to this spot if she is still alive!’ Hanumān settled down, hidden in the leafy tree, to wait for Sītā, keenly observing everything around him.

  Not far from where he was, Hanumān noticed a lovely pavilion. White as Kailāsa, it had a thousand pillars of beaten gold and steps of coral. It dazzled the eye with its brightness and was so tall that it seemed to touch the sky.

  In front of it, he saw a beautiful woman surrounded b
y rākṣasīs. She was wearing a dirty, soiled garment and was thin and pale from fasting. She sighed deeply again and again but she shone still like a moonbeam in the bright half of the lunar fortnight even though her beauty was diffused, as a flame is dimmed by smoke. Her yellow silken garment was fine but worn and without any jewellery, she was like a pool without its lotuses. Her sad face was tear-stained, her hair hung down her back in a single braid. She was emaciated from not eating, for her grief never left her. In fact, it grew all the time.

  Hanumān watched her and inferred that she must be Sītā. ‘She looks exactly like the woman we saw being carried away by that form-changing rākṣasa!’ He looked again at her face which was as lovely as the full moon, her delicate eyebrows, her shapely rounded breasts, her jet black hair, berry-red lips, lotus eyes and lovely limbs. She dispelled the darkness with her beauty. But this woman who had delighted all creatures with her loveliness now laid her slender body on the ground like an ascetic who had taken firm vows and Hanumān recognized her with great difficulty.

  After a closer examination, he decided that she was definitely Sītā. He saw that she was still wearing all the ornaments Rāma had described, the earrings and the other jewellery studded with pearls and gems. Though they no longer sparkled and had dimmed with constant wear, Hanumān was sure they were the very ones Rāma had described to him. ‘The ornaments which fell on the Ṛṣyamūk mountain are missing, but the others are exactly as Rāma had said! Her clothes are now soiled and worn, but they seem to have the same colour as the cloth which was tossed onto the mountain. I am sure this golden-skinned woman is Rāma’s beloved wife, never absent from his thoughts. Rāma can do many difficult things but he has done the impossible by continuing to live without her!’ Hanumān was beside himself with joy at having found Sītā and his thoughts flew back to Rāma.

  The moon rose higher into the sky, white as a pool of lotuses, bright as a white-winged swan. As Hanumān was trying to keep an eye on Sītā, his glance fell upon the fearsome rākṣasīs who surrounded her. There was one who had only one eye, another had a single ear, another had ears large enough to cover her whole body, another had no ears at all, another’s ears were twisted like a conch shell. One of them breathed through a nose that was located on top of her head. Some had huge bodies, but one had a tiny body and a huge head. One had a single tuft of hair, another was totally bald and there was yet another with hair like wool. One had a drooping forehead and sagging ears, another had a pendulous belly and breasts. One had enormous pouting lips, another’s lips touched her chin, another had protruding knees.

  They were tall and short, hunch-backed and twisted like dwarves. They had yellow eyes and crumpled faces. Some were yellow and some were black, but they were all ugly, bad tempered and quarrelsome and were armed with vicious weapons. They had the faces of boar, deer, tigers, buffaloes, goats and jackals and the feet of elephants, camels and horses. These cruel rākṣasīs with their smoky grey hair were addicted to eating meat and they drank alcohol all the time. Hanumān looked at them with blood and gore spread all over their mouths and his hair stood on end. They all sat at the foot of an immense tree with wide-spreading branches, surrounding the flawlessly beautiful princess Sītā.

  Chapter Four

  Meanwhile the night had come to an end and in the hour before dawn, Hanumān heard virtuous rākṣasas chanting the Vedas.

  Ten-headed Rāvaṇa was woken at that hour by the strains of pleasant music. As he rose, his clothes and garlands in disarray, his first thought was of Sītā. Drawn irresistibly to her by his lust, he could not hide his feelings. Adorned with all his jewels and flaunting his majesty, he made straight for the aśoka grove.

  Hundreds of women followed Rāvaṇa, the descendant of Pulastya, as the women of the gods and the gandharvas follow Indra. Some carried lamps of gold, others carried fly whisks and palm-leaf fans. Some walked ahead of him with golden pitchers full of water and others walked behind him carrying a grass seat and the royal umbrella which was as white as the moon and had a golden handle. Befuddled with sleep and drink, the women accompanied Rāvaṇa as lightning flashes accompany a cloud.

  Hanumān heard the tinkling of anklets and girdles. He looked up at the gate and saw Rāvaṇa, whose deeds were unrivalled and whose strength and power were unimaginable. His face was lit up by the sweet-smelling oil lamps that were carried before him. Intoxicated with drink, arrogance and lust, his red eyes gleaming, Rāvaṇa looked like the god of love without his bow. His lovely shawl, white as the froth that was produced when the ocean was churned, had slipped off his shoulders and he dragged it along behind him carelessly.

  Hanumān watched in fascination as Rāvaṇa, endowed with youth and beauty, entered the garden surrounded by his women, still a little drunk from the night before. ‘This must be Rāvaṇa!’ thought Hanumān and climbed higher into the tree. Though Hanumān himself was immensely strong, he was absolutely stunned by the raw power exuded by Rāvaṇa and he hid himself deeper among the leaves.

  And Rāvaṇa, desperate to see Sītā with her dark hair, her slim waist, her full hips and her rounded breasts, came closer and closer. The moment the innocent princess saw the king of the rākṣasas in all his glory, she trembled like a slender banana plant in a high wind.

  ‘You cover your breasts and your belly when you see me, as if in fear, as if you would like to be invisible!’ said Rāvaṇa gently to Sītā. ‘Ah, dark-eyed lady with the perfect body! I love you! Be good to me! No one can come close to you here, neither a mortal nor even a form-changing rākṣasa. Do not fear me!

  ‘Consorting with the wives of other men and carrying off women against their will is natural to rākṣasas. That is the way we live. Let my body be ravaged by desire, I will not touch you until you want me to! Trust me, you have nothing to fear. Be good to me and stop wallowing in your grief!

  ‘This single braid, these dirty clothes, this sleeping on the bare ground and not eating for no reason, these things are not for you! Beautiful flowers, sandal and priceless unguents, fine clothes, celestial ornaments, the best of foods, the softest beds, music, dance! All this can be yours, Sītā, if only you would accept me! You are a jewel among women! You cannot stay like this! Adorn your body! Accept me and take the best that you deserve!

  ‘You are young and beautiful but our youth is passing us by! The past is like a flowing river, it cannot be recaptured. Give up your delusions and become my wife. You can be my chief queen, ruling over all the women I have gathered from all over the place. The jewels and wonderful things I have collected from all the worlds shall be yours, along with my kingdom and myself. I will conquer the whole earth, garlanded with cities, and bestow it upon Janaka, just for your sake. There is no one on earth stronger than me. Look how powerful I am! Even the gods and the asuras cannot face me in battle, for I have trampled upon their fallen battle banners on the field of war.

  ‘Adorn yourself with jewels that dazzle and glitter and let me gaze at your beauty enhanced by these ornaments! Do it as a favour to me and you can enjoy all the pleasures you like. Eat! Drink! Make merry! Do whatever pleases you, give away as much wealth as you desire.

  ‘Think of my wealth, my glory, my majesty! What do you want with Rāma who has to wear rough and simple clothes? Rāma has lost all opportunities to be successful. He has renounced his royal splendour and wanders in the forest. He has taken the vows of an ascetic and sleeps on the ground. I wonder if he is even alive! You shall not catch even a glimpse of Rāma, for you shall be hidden from view like the moonlight covered by a thick curtain of rain clouds. Nor will Rāma ever get you out of my hands.

  ‘You have captured my heart with your lovely eyes and your charming smile. Even though you are thin and pale and clad in tattered silks, I have lost interest in all my other wives. You can rule over them all. They are the finest women in the three worlds and they shall wait on you the way apsarases serve the goddess Śrī.

  ‘Rāma cannot rival me in wealth, strength, courage or the perf
ormance of austerities. I can give you the pleasures of the earth to enjoy. Be happy with me and let your family share in your happiness. Enjoy yourself with me in the flowering woods and groves at the edge of the sea! Adorn your body with the finest golden ornaments!’

  Sītā thought only of her husband and as she placed a blade of grass between Rāvaṇa and herself, she answered in a small, miserable voice. ‘Take your mind off me and devote yourself to your own women! You cannot have me any more than a wicked man can aspire to heaven. I was born into a noble family and married into one just as great. I cannot do anything that would be condemned by the whole world!’

  The virtuous woman turned her back on Rāvaṇa and continued. ‘I cannot marry you. I am the chaste and virtuous wife of another man. Respect the conduct of good men and learn to behave like them! Protect the wives of others as you would protect your own. Act as you would have others behave towards you. Enjoy your own wives, Rāvaṇa! A man who has a roving eye and lusts after others’ wives will soon be disgraced.

  ‘Are there no good men here? Do you not listen to their advice? Or do you pretend to listen to them with mock humility and then disregard their words? Kingdoms ruled by unrighteous kings will perish, no matter how prosperous they may be. Even Lankā, which abounds in wealth and luxury, will be destroyed because of you and your crimes! People rejoice when a short-sighted and wicked creature is destroyed by his own misdeeds. All the people that have suffered because of you will celebrate when you are destroyed, Rāvaṇa!