The Ramayana

by Linda Egenes, M. A.

  Dressed in fine gold bracelets and jeweled earrings, shining with youth and beauty, he drove his chariot to the gate where Hanumān waited. Aksha surveyed the scene with awe, taking the measure of Hanumān’s boundless strength and valor. Then he rallied his courage and attacked Hanumān in a rage. A terrific struggle took place, causing the sun to cease from shining, the wind to stop blowing, and the mountains to shake.

  Aksha let loose a spray of arrows that pierced Hanumān in the forehead. Blood ran into his eyes and blinded him, yet Hanumān was not frightened. On the contrary, facing a worthy foe exhilarated him, and he felt his energy surge.

  Hanumān roared in exultation. Aksha, in the eagerness and overconfidence of youth, rushed at him like an elephant rushing to a pit concealed in the grass. Driving his chariot high above Hanumān, Aksha rained down arrows, covering the valiant monkey like a cloud.

  Seeing Aksha’s valor, Hanumān thought, “This youth has skill and courage far beyond his years. I do not wish to kill him, yet if I let him go, he will kill me. It is unwise to leave a fire burning without putting it out.”

  His mind made up, Hanumān flew through the air, and with the palms of his powerful hands, struck the eight noble horses that pulled Aksha’s chariot, knocking them from the sky and overturning the chariot. Aksha deftly slipped out of the plummeting chariot and emerged mid-air with his bow and sword, eager to keep fighting.

  Hanumān ended the battle quickly. Grabbing hold of the valiant Aksha’s legs, that fearless monkey spun him around like a top and threw him to the earth below. Having trodden on the heads of his foes, the mighty Hanumān took his stance by the gate like Death itself.

  Rāvana’s blood coursed with anger when he heard of Aksha’s death. Controlling his anger and grief, his mind focused, he turned to his eldest and most beloved son, who was called Indrajit because he had once captured Indra, the king of the Devas.

  “You are the most skilled warrior in the world,” Rāvana said to his son. “I have faith in you, even though these other great warriors have been vanquished. You have proven that you can defeat both Devas and asuras. You are Indrajit, who bound the invincible Indra and dragged him to a cave. Yet you must use your shrewd intellect against this monkey, for he is fast like Vāyu, the wind, and immune to weapons like Agni, the god of fire. It appears he cannot be killed.”

  Indrajit, shining with valor, circled his father in respect and gathered his inner strength for battle. His heart free of fear, exuding strength, Indrajit drove his shining chariot, pulled by four snow-white lions. As this ferocious warrior and his army drew close to the gate where Hanumān waited, the sky grew dark and jackals howled.

  When Indrajit reached the spot where Hanumān stood, he alighted from his chariot and motioned for his army to stand back. He wanted to fight Hanumān alone. Then the two warriors, perceiving an equal match, joyfully entered the fight. Indrajit let fly his gold-tipped arrows, flashing through the sky like lightning. Hanumān, twisting and spinning, ducking and leaping, dodged them all. Yet Hanumān could not deliver his usual fatal blows to Indrajit, for he could not catch that brilliant warrior unawares.

  After a time, Indrajit stopped to think deeply. He realized that Hanumān could not be killed. So he decided to capture him. His mind focused within, he released the weapon of Brahmā, which he had won as a boon.

  Hanumān felt himself being bound by the invisible fetters of that celestial weapon, but he did not fight back. Nor did he feel pain. Rather, his heart was filled with devotion to Brahmā, the Creator. He knew that no harm could come to him from Brahmā. He also knew it was useless to resist.

  “Besides,” he thought, “it will be to my advantage to be captured. For then I can meet Rāvana and measure his strength.”

  And so Hanumān lay motionless as he was bound with ropes by Indrajit’s army. Although the rākshasas who were binding him did not realize it, the Brahmā weapon had ceased to work the moment Hanumān had surrendered to Brahmā. Hanumān only pretended to be helpless. Roaring like a lion, he allowed the demons to drag him through the streets of Lankā, bound like a maddened elephant.

  “Kill him!” shouted the demons who now poured into the city streets, rejoicing that the pillager of their city had been captured. They mocked and taunted him as he was dragged to Rāvana’s palace to face the demon king.

  Having crushed the brave generals along with their chariots and armies,

  the hero Hanumān rested for a moment at the side of the gate,

  destructive as time itself at the end of creation.

  —Sundara Kānda 46.41

  CHAPTER 38

  Hanumān Burns Lankā

  RĀVANA SMILED AS Hanumān, arms roped to his sides, was roughly shoved in front of the powerful king of the rākshasas and his court. Rāvana nodded to his four learned and distinguished ministers, who surrounded him like the four seas.

  “Who are you, and why do you come here?” demanded Prahasta, the eldest minister, who was also the commander in chief of Rāvana’s army.

  “I am a messenger from King Sugrīva of the kingdom of Kishkindhā,” said Hanumān quietly.

  As he stood there before Rāvana, Hanumān stared intently at the king of the demons, trying to learn as much as he could about Rāma’s adversary. Hanumān was dazzled by the golden ornaments on Rāvana’s body, which was polished smooth and smeared with red sandalwood paste. Precious gems, created by the concentrated power of the titan’s mind, made him shine like a universe of stars. Graceful and lavishly ornamented women stood nearby, gently wielding fans and waiting to serve him.

  “How surprising to see such power, such beauty, such magnificence and dignity,” reflected Hanumān. “If only he used his power for good, he could befriend the Devas or Indra himself. Instead he uses his unlimited prowess for destruction, and thus he himself will be destroyed.”

  At Rāvana’s bidding, Prahasta said, “I see that you are not a mere monkey. Are you Bāli? Or are you Indra himself? No, I think you must be Yama, or perhaps Vishnu, come here to settle an ancient score. Do not be afraid to tell us why you have wreaked havoc on Lankā. If you tell us the truth, you will go free. If you lie, we will take your life.”

  “I am not Bāli, nor am I Indra, nor Death itself. I am a monkey, and I wished to see Rāvana, which is why I tore up your Ashoka Grove. When you sent those waves of demon warriors to me, I fought them in self-defense. I have received a boon from Lord Brahmā which does not allow me to be killed by any weapon. I only submitted to gain this audience with Rāvana, to deliver this message from Lord Rāma, whose virtue and power are infinite.”

  Prahasta signaled for Hanumān to continue.

  Addressing Rāvana directly now, Hanumān’s clear voice echoed through the hall. “Listen to my words, O king of the titans, for they are your only hope. I am Hanumān, the son of the wind. I have come here to find Sītā and have discovered her in the Ashoka Grove. To retrieve her, Lord Rāma has joined forces with Sugrīva, after felling the mighty Bāli with one blow. Soon hundreds of thousands of monkeys and bears will descend on Lankā to destroy it. I myself have crossed a hundred yojanas in a single bound.

  “O king of the night prowlers, you are known for the power of your austerities. The son of the sage Vishravā and the grandson of Rishi Pulastya, you are familiar with the wisdom of the Vedas. One as wise as you should not transgress the laws of righteousness. It is not right to steal another’s wife. So far you have reaped only the blessings of your austerities. Now you will harvest the consequences of your evil deeds. This heinous act is not worthy of you. Return Sītā to Rāma, and save yourself, your family, and your kingdom from destruction.”

  Hanumān went on. “It is true that you are invincible against Devas, demons, celestial beings, and Gandharvas. But Sugrīva is a monkey and Lord Rāma is a man. I myself could destroy you and your city, only Rāma has not commanded me to do that. It is known by all that no one can resis
t the arrows of Lord Rāma. He can destroy the worlds and re-create them at will. By offending him, you give up your life. His valor has no equal.”

  Rāvana could contain his wrath no longer. Driven by pride, lust, and his own destiny, he bellowed, “For this impudent speech you will be put to death!”

  Then the wise and gentle Vibhīshana, brother of Rāvana, rose to speak. “For just a moment, brother, cool your anger and listen to me with a settled mind. You know the moral code regarding messengers. It is against ordinary justice to put a messenger to death. A wise king must overcome anger and do what is right. Think carefully, invincible hero, and mete out just punishment to your foes.”

  “It is no sin to kill an evil wretch such as this!” roared Rāvana.

  Vibhīshana again answered Rāvana’s crude words with quiet reasoning. “It is never right to kill a messenger. You can punish him in other ways to humiliate him and his sovereign, but a man of honor and strength such as yourself does not need to resort to killing. You are the king of the rākshasas, the ruler of the whole earth. Why would such a great warrior fall to such low actions? You must master your anger and deliver the punishment to the rulers who sent this envoy, for this messenger has merely uttered these words in service to them.”

  Seeing that Rāvana was unmoved by his words, Vibhīshana appealed to his brother’s vanity. “Besides, if you put him to death, Rāma and Lakshmana will not know where to find you. Why deprive the Devas and celestials of the glorious sight of the magnificent king Rāvana fighting Rāma in battle?”

  His pride at stake, Rāvana finally saw the truth in his brother’s words. “In a monkey, the tail is his most valued possession,” he said. “Set fire to this monkey’s tail and lead him through the streets of Lankā so all may see his humbling.”

  As the wicked rākshasas wrapped his tail in cotton rags and set it afire, Hanumān grew larger and larger and his tail grew longer and longer. As it flamed, the demons roared and held him in place.

  “I could destroy all these demons and end this game,” thought Hanumān. “But for the sake of Rāma, I will endure this heat so I can survey the city once more. Despite this pain, my mind is free.”

  Thus Hanumān allowed himself to be dragged through the city streets at the end of a rope, his tail burning. He carefully noted the position of the ramparts, moats, walls, streets, mansions, and palaces of Lankā. “Spy, spy, spy!” the crowds jeered at that illustrious champion.

  From her seat in the Ashoka Grove, Sītā could hear the clamor of the crowds. “They have captured that monkey who was conversing with you,” her demon guards told her. “Now they are dragging him through the city with his tail on fire.”

  Sītā, having endured unimaginable hardship herself, could not bear to think of Hanumān suffering on her account. Her large eyes, gentle as a fawn’s, filled with tears. She prayed to Agni, the god of fire, “If I have proven to be a faithful wife, if Rāma is still devoted to me, then may Hanumān feel no burning, but only cooling winds.”

  Immediately, Hanumān began to feel an icy breeze wafting across his tail. “Why don’t I feel the burning of the flame?” he wondered. “It must be Sītā’s purity and Rāma’s power that shield me.”

  Heartened by Sītā’s help, Hanumān suddenly thought, “Why should I remain a captive of these disgusting creatures?” When he had been dragged as far as the city gate, he shrank to a miniature size and slipped out of his bonds as easily as a snake shedding its skin. Once free, he swelled again to an enormous size. Before his guards could catch him, he bounded to the top of the wall, his tail still burning like a flare, and surveyed the city.

  “Having destroyed the Ashoka Grove and part of their army, now I will burn their fortress. With the god of fire helping me, I will destroy this entire city!”

  Leaping across the rooftops from house to house, with his burning tail Hanumān set fire to the mansions of Prahasta, Jambumālī, and countless others. Then he leapt across the palace moat and landed on the dwelling of Rāvana. Across the roofs of the magnificent palace he danced, touching off fires on the palace roof wherever he landed, his tail lighting up the sky.

  Winds fanned the fires and soon every building in Lankā ignited. Demons fled the buildings screaming in terror, or fell flaming from balconies like fireworks. As the structures melted, molten precious metals flowed through the streets like lava, mixed with diamonds, pearls, and rubies. Thousands of demons shouted and milled about trying to escape the fire, and others were trapped in their collapsing homes. Horses, elephants, and deer stampeded in terror. With smoke curling upward like the petals of a blue lotus, the flames licked the skies.

  “This is not a mere monkey,” cried one of Rāvana’s ministers who, with the rest of Rāvana’s court, had run from the palace to the garden below. “Only Death himself could wreak such havoc!”

  “Or perhaps he is Brahmā, the Creator, trying to destroy the rākshasas,” suggested another minister.

  Having torched the city, Hanumān plunged his burning tail into the sea, which hissed and steamed as it cooled. Then he rested outside the wall of the city, his mind fixed on Rāma. The Devas, Gandharvas, and Rishis, watching from above, felt their hearts swell with joy to see the evil city burning.

  As Hanumān sat quietly, a disturbing thought came to him. With all of Lankā burning, where was Sītā? Mortified, Hanumān could only lament. “Due to my anger, Lankā lies in ashes. Anger is the greatest folly—it prevents one from thinking clearly. Due to anger I have cut away the root of my mission. If Sītā is dead, Rāma too will die, and Lakshmana, Bharata, and Sugrīva will be unable to live without Rāma. I will plunge into the depths of the sea. I cannot bear to live.”

  Nearly lost in despair, Hanumān suddenly saw auspicious omens and remembered that Sītā was the one who cooled the flames burning his tail. “If she can cool the god of fire with her purity, surely she herself will be immune from its flames. For the sake of Rāma and Sītā the ocean itself yielded up Mount Maināka to help me rest along the way. No fire could consume Sītā, given her stainless virtue and unyielding devotion.”

  Then the faithful Hanumān heard voices above him. They were the divine heavenly bards, who had come to earth to see Lankā in flames. “Look, the mighty Hanumān has burned the city to the ground, yet the exalted Sītā still lives.”

  When he heard these nectar-like words dropping from the skies, Hanumān’s heart blossomed in happiness. With the auspicious omens and his own intuition now confirmed by the words of the celestial Rishis, Hanumān felt assured that Sītā was safe.

  Even so, he decided to visit her once more before leaving Lankā and flew to the garden where he had last seen her. His heart pounding, he entered the ruined garden and searched for her amidst the uprooted trees. Finally, he glimpsed Sītā sitting quietly under the ashoka tree where he had left her—the only tree left standing in all of Lankā.

  The hero Hanumān bowed humbly to Sītā, his eyes flowing with tears of devotion. “It is only by God’s grace that I find you here, unharmed,” he said, his hushed voice trembling with emotion.

  Sītā gazed on him affectionately, as she would a favorite son. Then she cried, “Oh, if only you could stay one more evening! I could hide you here, so you could rest before your long journey. With you here, I forget all my troubles. Once you are gone, I will surely suffer even greater misfortune and will be devoured by grief. I cannot stop wondering how Rāma and the monkey armies will pass over the ocean. I now know that you are capable of conquering Rāvana and returning me home all by yourself—yet it is for Rāma to do such a deed. Help him in every way you can, faithful Hanumān.”

  “Take heart, O lovely lady, for soon Rāma will destroy Rāvana and his army and return to Ayodhyā, bringing you with him. Hundreds of thousands of monkeys have pledged to help him in this task. They will see that he crosses the vast expanse of the sea.”

  After circling Sītā with all respect
and honor, Hanumān of immeasurable strength bounded up the nearby Arishta Mountain, with tall trees reaching like a giant’s arms to the sky. Waters tumbling down the mountain mimicked the chanting of the Vedas, making it a favorite pleasure garden for Rishis and celestials. Its peaks yawned at the heavens and its jagged cliffs and rich caves of gold ore added even greater beauty.

  When he reached the summit, Hanumān closed his eyes and settled inside himself, gathering his inner resources for his long leap home. As the Son of the Wind rose into the air, from the force of his leap that lofty mountain was stomped to the ground, its peaks toppled, its trees uprooted. Lions roared from their caves.

  Take heart, O lovely lady, for soon Rāma will destroy Rāvana

  and his army and return to Ayodhyā, bringing you with him.

  —Sundara Kānda 56.18

  CHAPTER 39

  Hanumān Returns to Rāma

  SCATTERING THE CLOUDS, Hanumān sailed across the skies in a single bound. Having found Sītā, vanquished the rākshasa armies, and burned Lankā, he returned home a glorious hero. Landing on the northern shore, he gazed up at Mount Mahendra and bellowed like a lion, his long tail rattling the earth as he climbed to the cliff where the monkeys waited.

  “Surely Hanumān has good news, or he would not be roaring so,” cried Jāmbavān. Pure ecstasy bubbled up among the monkeys, and they swung from tree to tree, leaping and jumping as they rushed to meet him. Laughing and cheering with joy, the monkeys surrounded him like water around an island.

  Bursting with happiness, Hanumān bowed to his superiors, first to the ancient Jāmbavān, leader of the bears, and then to the youthful Prince Angada. “I have found her!” he cried, and was answered by a tumult of shouting, cheering, and dancing that shook the mountain. Finally Hanumān sat beside Prince Angada. Some offered branches for him to rest on and fruits to sustain him after his arduous journey.