The Ramayana

by Linda Egenes, M. A.

  golden as the lion’s mane,

  and black as ash—

  blanket the earth,

  forests and mountain peaks.

  Hanumān and Sushena,

  Nīla, Nala, Angada,

  illustrious monkey chiefs all,

  command armies of thousands.

  Shouting, leaping, saluting,

  they gather ’round Sugrīva

  like storm clouds converging in the sky.

  Rāma and Sugrīva looked up to see thousands of monkeys bounding toward them from all directions. Bursting with energy, they gleefully hopped on stones, boulders, and hillsides, leaping over the earth. The leaders of the armies gathered at Sugrīva’s feet, offering him gifts and bowing to him as befitted a king.

  Sugrīva stood amidst his valiant monkey generals like a mountain in the sea. With his hands folded in devotion to Rāma, he said, “Assembled here are the leaders of my armies, each commanding thousands of ferocious monkeys, strong as titans. They await your orders.”

  Rāma embraced his friend and said affectionately, “My loyal and courageous friend, you have my best interests at heart. You give the command.”

  Sugrīva called out his instructions to his valiant generals, first recognizing each for his special abilities. “O Vinata, you are able to turn back time with your hordes of monkeys as bright as the sun and the moon. Take your thousands of monkeys and search for Rāma’s highly regarded wife in the mountains, valleys, and rivers to the east. Scour the lowest crevices and the highest mountain peaks, the deepest caves, and crowded cities. Seek also the fortress of Rāvana. Return before a month has passed with your findings. If you wish to live, do not exceed the time, even by a day.”

  “Angada,” commanded Sugrīva, his voice ringing, “you are born to a noble family and are imbued with strength and vitality. Now is the time to reveal your heroism as you explore the regions to the south. Besides all the monkeys in your army, take Hanumān, son of the wind. Take Nīla, son of Agni, the god of fire, and Nala, son of Vishvakarman, the divine architect of the Devas. Take Jāmbavān, king of the bears, and his army. Whoever returns saying, ‘I have found Sītā,’ will spend the rest of his days in splendor, honored and cherished by me like a brother.”

  With bowed head and palms placed together in respect, Sugrīva humbly approached the eminent monkey chief Sushena, his wife Tārā’s father, and touched his feet. He then turned to the monkey army and announced, “Sushena will lead the army to the west. Listen carefully to all that he commands. Renowned for his bravery and skill in battle, he is also my spiritual teacher.”

  To the north Sugrīva sent Shatabali. “Search everywhere for Rāma’s wife, and do everything that you can to help him,” he told the monkeys under Shatabali’s command. “Do not go beyond the mountain Soma, for in that region the never-ending night awaits. Return before the month is over.”

  To each group Sugrīva gave detailed directions, naming every mountain peak, river, valley, and town the armies would encounter. To Hanumān, though, he confided the wishes of his heart, for he fully expected this trusted and enlightened hero to be the one to find Sītā. “Nothing on this earth, in the sky, or in the regions below can stop your progress, most trusted one,” said Sugrīva. “You are as quick and energetic as your father, the wind. In your wisdom, strength and courage I place my trust.”

  Hearing Sugrīva’s words to Hanumān, Rāma thought, “Hanumān, the one who has shown his superior valor through his deeds and is considered the most valuable servant by his king, will surely succeed in his duty.” With this realization Rāma felt a release of his heavy burden, and happiness filled his heart and mind.

  Slowly Rāma extended his hand to Hanumān, offering in his open palm a ring inscribed with his own name. “By this token, most loyal of monkeys, the daughter of King Janaka will know without fear that you are a messenger from me.”

  Hanumān lifted the ring and touched it to his forehead. He bowed in reverence at Rāma’s feet. Resolute in his intention, confident of reaching his goal, Hanumān prepared to depart. Angada’s monkey army circled him like a garland.

  “Search the four quarters and achieve your purpose!” cried Sugrīva. With that final command, the four monkey armies swarmed north and south, east and west, covering the earth like locusts. Howling and cheering, those brave and skillful warriors set out to vanquish Rāvana.

  “We will return Sītā to her lord and destroy the wicked Rāvana!” they shouted. “We will travel to the ends of the earth, even to hell,” some cried. “We can leap from the mountains to the sea,” said others. “Nothing can stop us.”

  As the ground trembled beneath their feet, Sugrīva, Rāma, and Lakshmana watched the monkeys depart. When Angada led Hanumān and the vast monkey and bear army to the south, Rāma raised his hand in a final salute. “O Son of the Wind, I depend on your valor,” he called after them. “Bring my beloved home to me!”

  For the next four weeks, the monkey armies scoured the countryside, seeking the princess of Videha in the north, south, east, and west. They climbed mountains and tramped through forests. At night they slept on the ground, nourished with ripened fruits plucked from the trees. No valley or thicket, peak or plain was left untouched by Sugrīva’s massive monkey armies, who combed their assigned regions again and again.

  The first army to return was led by the valiant commander Vinata, who came from the east without having seen Sītā anywhere. Next, Shatabali returned from the north with his monkey hosts. He too had nothing to tell Rāma.

  Finally, before the month had passed, Sushena arrived from the west, disappointed and empty-handed. After greeting Sugrīva, who sat next to Rāma on the ridge of the mountain, the revered general Sushena said, “It is for the noble-born Hanumān to find Sītā now. Surely he has reached the place where she is hidden.”

  —

  AT THAT MOMENT, far to the south, Hanumān, Angada, and his followers were lost in a cave, unaware that the month had passed. Here is how it happened. When they left Sugrīva and Rāma, the army searched every crevice of the Vindhya Mountains looking for Sītā. Later they came to a region where no fruits grew, no water flowed, and no birds or animals lived. According to legend, the sage Kandu had cursed the land in anguish when his ten-year-old son was killed.

  As they searched this desolate place, a giant rākshasa appeared and charged the monkey army. Thinking it was Rāvana, Angada struck him in the jaw and felled the raging monster like a mighty tree. Later, after searching two caves nearby without finding Sītā, the weary and famished army came to a halt near a stand of spiny bamboo.

  Wishing to fulfill his duty to Rāma, Angada tried to rally the monkeys’ sagging morale. “Until Sītā has been found, we must comb the area once more. When Lord Rāma entrusts his future to us, it is not right to stop for food, drink, or sleep. Let us not think of ourselves—let us keep searching until we find his cherished wife.”

  The wisest monkeys, including Hanumān, cheered Angada for his noble leadership. The monkey army, recharged with energy, once again bounded over the thick forests and precipitous valleys of the Vindhya Mountains, searching for Sītā.

  Alas, she was not to be found. Yet the weary and thirsty monkeys, their tails dragging and their spirits at a low ebb, continued to hunt for her in the deep caves, high cliffs, and impenetrable forests of the mountain range.

  Then they came upon an astonishing sight. A flock of waterfowl, dripping with water, flew from an opening in the mountainside. Concluding that there must be water nearby, the monkeys drew closer. Peering deep into a mammoth cave, they glimpsed a lush and enchanting land. Their senses were delighted by the sight of waterfalls falling from high cliffs, trees laden with fruits and blossoms, and animals ambling on the grassy banks of a river.

  “We have wandered far without finding Sītā,” said Hanumān. “Let us replenish ourselves with food and water from this cave.” />
  With Hanumān’s assent, the monkeys entered the Rikshabila Cave. But instead of coming to the lush and verdant valley they had seen from the cave’s entrance, they found themselves walking deeper and deeper into a dark and ominous cavern. They heard the roar of lions and bears, and their hair stood on end and they pressed close together for comfort as they wandered for days without light from the sun or stars.

  Hungry, thirsty, and almost drained of hope, they finally saw a light far in the distance. As they surged forward, the light became brighter and brighter, until they were enveloped in a shower of light. Fragrance filled the air, and they beheld trees bursting with blossoms of gold, their twigs ruby red, their trunks studded with emeralds. Glittering fish flashed through a tranquil lake crowded with blue lotuses. The path was lined with palaces of gold and silver, their windows draped in pearls, their walls embedded with diamonds and glittering precious gems. Vats of honey, vessels of food, sumptuous piles of silken fabrics, and golden chariots beckoned from all sides.

  The light shone on the hollow cheeks of the thirsty monkeys, shrunken with fatigue and hunger, as they wandered through this enchanting land.

  In the distance they saw a woman dressed in the garb of an ascetic. After bowing in reverence to her, Hanumān asked courteously, “Who are you? Who owns this magnificent cave with all its splendor and jewels?”

  “I am Svayamprabhā,” said the pure and holy woman. “I live here with the nymph Hemā, who is skilled in the arts of singing and dancing. Brahmā created this cave for Hemā to live in, and I am her guardian.”

  Then the sage said, “Please, satisfy your hunger pangs on the enchanted fruits you see all around you. Once you have regained your energy, tell me how you came to this impenetrable place, if your story is fit for me to hear.”

  After they feasted on the fruits and drank from the jeweled waters, Hanumān told Svayamprabhā about the abduction of Sītā and their search for her. Always courteous, he said, “You have saved us from dying of hunger and thirst. What can we do for you in return?”

  The omniscient Svayamprabhā smiled and said, “It was my duty to serve you. You owe me nothing, for you have pleased me.”

  “Please, holy one,” asked Hanumān, “will you help us find our way out of this cave, for only then can we continue to serve Lord Rāma.”

  “It is difficult for any being to emerge from this cave alive, but with the grace of the spiritual power I have earned through long meditations I can help you,” answered the ascetic. “Now you must close your eyes. No one will leave alive if they keep their eyes open.”

  With dark, slender fingers, thousands of monkeys covered their eyes and a moment later found themselves standing on the opposite side of a mountain than the place where they had entered the cave.

  “Behind you soar the auspicious Vindhya Mountains, blanketed with herbs and trees, and before you stretches the endless ocean,” said Svayamprabhā, who had accompanied them. “May you enjoy good fortune in your search,” she blessed them as she faded out of sight.

  But the monkeys had a serious problem. Judging from the blossoming trees, it was already spring. While they were lost in the enchanted cave, they had unknowingly stayed far beyond the time when Sugrīva had ordered them to return.

  Angada, his massive shoulders bulging, spoke to the hordes of monkeys as they sat on a wide ledge, watching the waves crashing against the shore far below. “It is not safe for us to return to Sugrīva, for he will surely keep his word and put an end to those who did not follow his orders. He will not spare me, for sure, for the enmity between my uncle and my father is well known. There is no recourse for us but to die fasting here in the wilderness.”

  The monkeys cried out in terror. “Sugrīva is harsh and Rāma wants only to find his spouse. One who does not follow a king’s orders cannot wait upon the king. Unless we find Sītā, we must die.”

  Then the general Tāra, shining like the moon, tried to soothe them. “Why do we need to die? We can enter this bountiful cave and live out our lives here, feasting on fruits and drinking pure water falling from the heavens. No one, not even Rāma, could find us here.”

  “Yes,” cried the monkeys, “we must save ourselves from an untimely death.”

  Hanumān stood slightly apart. Seeing that the monkey army was being swayed by fear, he stepped forward to reestablish their minds on their Dharma. Knowing that Angada, the son of Bāli, was wise and brave, Hanumān addressed him first.

  “O Angada, you are more valorous than your father and are certainly capable of ruling. But these fickle-minded monkeys will change their minds and want to return home if they are separated from their wives and children for very long. And if you shrink from fulfilling your Dharma, you will never draw Nala, Nīla, Jāmbavān, and myself to your side, not with gifts, not with threats.

  “The strong will always overcome the weak, so it is foolhardy for the weak to make the strong their enemy. This cave will provide no safety from the fiery arrows of Lakshmana. These monkeys, far from home, bereft of their loved ones, terrified by Lakshmana’s arrows, will desert you.

  “If we present ourselves humbly to the magnanimous Sugrīva, he will surely forgive us. He is devoted to your mother, Tārā, and lives to please her. You are her only son; thus Sugrīva will restore you as heir to the kingdom.”

  Angada shook his head, his eyes burning with tears. “That ruler among monkeys is ruthless. Why else would he seal the cave while my father was inside and take his brother’s wife for his own? He will surely imprison me if I return home. The rest of you can return to Kishkindhā, but I will stay here and fast to death. Console my mother, who is pure-hearted and loves me dearly.”

  With this distressing speech, Angada and the other monkeys groaned and wept at their fate, their cries echoing through the caverns and cliffs of the mountains.

  By this token, most loyal of monkeys, the daughter of Janaka

  will know without fear that you are a messenger from me.

  —Kishkindhā Kānda 44.13

  CHAPTER 31

  The Monkey Army Reaches the Ocean

  I am the Son of the Wind,

  who shatters mountains,

  befriends fire,

  and spins the earth

  on my finger like a ball.

  I can circle Mount Meru

  a thousand times without stopping.

  I can churn the ocean ’til it overflows,

  leap to the sun and back

  before it sinks in the west.

  I can touch the stars and planets,

  drink up the infinite ocean,

  or flood its shores.

  I can shatter mountain peaks

  and uproot trees when I fly.

  As I flash through the air like lightning,

  I can scatter the clouds

  and slip through space.

  In my heart I have already rescued Sītā,

  burned Lankā

  and returned victorious.

  While Angada and the monkey army wailed and mourned their fate, a vulture watched from a cave high above them. Seeing the monkeys preparing to die, the giant vulture said to himself, “It must be because of good acts in the past that finally this food comes to me.”

  Angada heard the vulture and said to Hanumān, “All creatures wish to serve and please Rāma; he brings out their natural affection. Just as Jatāyu, the king of the vultures, laid down his life trying to save Sītā, so we monkeys, exhausted from our search, now lay down our lives.”

  “Who are you, that you speak of Jatāyu?” cried the bird. “I am Sampāti, older brother to Jatāyu. Please carry me down from this peak so I can join you. I cannot fly, for my wings are scorched.”

  Angada did not wish to help Sampāti move closer, for he feared the great bird would eat them. But the other monkeys said, “He will only help us fulfill our desire to die.”
They carried the aged bird from the high cliff to their camp on the side of the mountain.

  Once Sampāti was seated beside them, Angada told the giant bird the story of Rāma’s exile, Sītā’s abduction, Jatāyu’s valiant fight, and their own miserable plight. “We will surely be put to death by Sugrīva, so we have vowed to end our lives here,” he concluded, and the monkeys moaned and wailed once more.

  Sampāti listened with tears in his eyes. “You say that my brother was felled by Rāvana’s sword, yet I have no way of avenging his death. My wings were singed one day long ago when my brother and I, in our youthful arrogance, wished to fly to the sun. We flew closer and closer, our eyes burning. Grand cities far below looked like tiny chariot wheels and mountains like small stones. My brother started to falter, so I spread my wings over him to shield him. My wings were scorched and I fell here, never to fly again, not knowing what fate befell my brother until now.”

  “Do you know anything of Sītā?” asked Angada.

  “I saw a beautiful woman flying across the skies in a chariot, struggling in the arms of the demon Rāvana. Her golden garments flashed against his dark arms like a lightning bolt among thunderclouds. She cried out again and again, ‘O Rāma! O Lakshmana!’ Rāvana carried her one hundred yojanas across the sea to the island-kingdom of Lankā, where he lives in unimaginable luxury. Even now, by the power of my extraordinary sight, my eyes can travel across the expanse of the ocean to see her. Sītā is kept under a tree in a garden. You must find a way to cross the crashing waves and rescue her.”

  The monkeys were transported with joy to finally learn where Sītā was hidden. They somersaulted and leapt down the mountainside, tagging each other and swinging from trees.

  “Now I wish to perform the water rites for my dead brother,” said Sampāti, his quiet dignity contrasting with the youthful energy of the monkeys. “If you would carry me to the sea that lies at the foot of this mountain, I would be most grateful.”

  Profoundly moved to have received such valuable information from the ancient bird, Angada dispatched six powerful monkeys to carry Sampāti down the mountain to the ocean below.