Taking the young warrior’s hand, he related all that he had seen, all that he had heard, and all that he had done in Lankā. Listening with rapt smiles, the monkey host was silent long after Hanumān stopped speaking, absorbing the glorious feats he had described. Finally Angada spoke. “There is none to equal your courage, your valor, your prowess, O Son of the Wind. You have given us back our lives. Such endurance! Such bravery! Such skill! Now, by the grace of the gods, Rāma will smile once more.”
After Hanumān had refreshed himself with food and drink, other monkeys dragged boulders over and arranged them in a circle around him. Sitting on the boulders, they asked, “How did you find Sītā?” and “What did she say?” Again he told the whole story of his visit to Lankā, keeping his head slightly bowed in respect for Sītā. More monkeys arrived and crowded around his feet, listening to his glorious exploits with delight.
When he had come to the end of his tale, Hanumān left the celebration and met with Jāmbavān, Angada, and the other monkey leaders. “It made me supremely happy to see Sītā’s unwavering devotion to Rāma,” he told them. “By the power of her virtue, she herself could destroy Rāvana. I leave it to you to decide what we should do next.”
“Let us cross this sea to Lankā, destroy it and Rāvana, and return Sītā to Rāma,” suggested the youthful Angada.
Jāmbavān, who knew the wisdom of the Vedas, gently advised, “It is true that we are powerful enough to destroy Rāvana and rescue Sītā. Yet we must consider carefully the task Sugrīva and Rāma asked us to accomplish. They asked us only to find Sītā, not to bring her back. Rāma, if you remember, has vowed to slay Rāvana and rescue Sītā. Why should we prove his words false? What good would it do to displease him? Let us return to Rāma and tell him the success of our mission. Your thoughts are valorous, Angada, but we will find supreme victory only by following Rāma’s commands.”
“Yes,” cried the other leaders. “Our good fortune lies in serving Rāma.” Hanumān and Angada agreed.
With the victorious Hanumān at their head, massed together like a dense cloud, leaping and frisking about, the monkeys set out on their journey back to Kishkindhā.
—
MANY DAYS LATER, as they drew near Kishkindhā, they came upon an enchanted garden owned by Sugrīva and guarded by his maternal uncle, Dadhimukha. Known for its golden honey, it was called Madhuvana, meaning “the honey-sweetened woods.” Bees swarmed around orchards of fruit-bearing trees, and abundant streams of honey poured out of beehives, tawny-colored like the monkeys’ fur.
“Drink the honey and enjoy yourselves,” said Hanumān. “I will protect you from anyone who tries to stop you.”
Angada, who knew that the garden belonged to Sugrīva, his uncle and king, said, “We will do whatever Hanumān wishes, for he has succeeded in finding the divine Sītā and is beloved by the Devas.”
“Splendid!” cried the monkeys. “Marvelous!” They swarmed into the orchard and scrambled up the trees to drink the honey. Soon they started to riot, inebriated with honey and high spirits. Monkeys jumped and tumbled, wrestled and shouted as they swung merrily from the trees. When the guards of the garden came running to stop them from ripping it up, the mischievous monkeys smacked them with their powerful hands and feet and chased them away. Even Dadhimukha, the garden’s chief guard, was treated roughly.
Barely escaping from those rascal monkeys, Dadhimukha leapt from tree to tree all the way to Kishkindhā to complain to Sugrīva. He threw himself at his sovereign’s feet, breathless, his clothes in disarray.
“Tell me, is all well in Madhuvana?” asked Sugrīva. “Tell me everything.”
“The royal forest, brimming with honey and fruit, which you kept off-limits from all the monkeys in order to protect it from harm, has been overrun by them. Your guards tried to stop them, but they brazenly kept up their feasting and merriment. In their wanton revelry, they have uprooted the trees and plundered the fruits and honey.”
Lakshmana, who was sitting beside Sugrīva, wanted to know who had done such a deed.
Buoyed with excitement, Sugrīva exclaimed, “It must be Angada’s monkeys who have gorged themselves on honey and fruits from the royal garden. This is extraordinary news, for they would never behave with such abandon if they did not bring us good tidings. This can only mean that Hanumān has found success in his search for Sītā. Tell Rāma his suffering is over.”
Instead of censuring those monkeys, Sugrīva said to Dadhimukha, “We can forgive the reckless behavior of the victorious. Send a delegation to Madhuvana and bring the lionhearted Hanumān home with all speed.” Elated that their long wait was nearly over, the monkey king’s tail curled and uncurled, and he lifted off the ground in bursts of happiness.
“So be it,” said Dadhimukha. He bowed respectfully to Sugrīva and Lakshmana and flew back to Madhuvana, where the monkeys were resting after their revelries, sober once again.
Dadhimukha sought out Angada. Bowing to the youthful leader, he said, “Forgive me, O prince, for setting my guards on your troops. I did not realize it was you, the heir apparent. I was only trying to save the royal garden from destruction. I have informed your uncle, Sugrīva, of all that happened. He is not upset; on the contrary, he wishes you to return home immediately.”
“You have brought us good tidings,” said Angada. For now he knew that Sugrīva would pardon them for exceeding the one-month time limit.
Immediately Angada turned to the monkey troops and said with all humility, “Sugrīva has welcomed us, and by now Rāma, too, knows of our victory. We should delay no longer. But it does not seem fitting for me to give you orders, now that you have returned with your hands firmly grasping victory. Tell me what to do and I will do it.”
The troops shouted words of praise and joy. “Only one who is truly great can utter such humble words. We are ready, but will go only with your blessings.”
“Then let us return home without delay!” shouted Angada. The horde of monkeys shot into the sky like pebbles being flung from a boy’s hand.
Shouting “Kila! Kila!” the exuberant monkeys flew like a cloud before the wind to Mount Prasravana, where Sugrīva, Rāma, and Lakshmana waited in almost unbearable anticipation. As they heard the riotous clamor of the monkeys descending on them, their hearts throbbed with joy, and Sugrīva’s tail curled and uncurled.
“With Angada and Jāmbavān as generals and Hanumān as inspiration, their victory is in hand,” cried Sugrīva.
Suddenly Hanumān landed in front of Rāma, Lakshmana, and Sugrīva. As the monkey army alighted giddy with happiness from the sky, Hanumān bowed low to Rāma first.
“I have seen Sītā, who is uninjured and whose heart is fixed upon you,” he said with great joy.
“How is my Sītā?” implored Rāma. “Where is she to be found? Tell me everything.”
Keeping his head bowed to show respect to Sītā, the divine Hanumān faced south, toward Lankā, and began his story. He told how Sītā, bereft without Rāma, was like a lotus plucked from the water. How, ever devoted to Rāma, she steadfastly suffered the torments of Rāvana and the demon women.
Kneeling before Rāma, Hanumān pressed Sītā’s pearl into Rāma’s outstretched hands. “She who is your very soul entrusted this to me,” said the brave Hanumān. “Sītā said, ‘Give this to Rāma, so that he may remember how he placed the red mark on my brow, how he chased to the ends of the earth the crow that tore my sārī. Tell him I cannot live one month more without him.’”
Rāma clasped the pearl to his heart and nearly fainted.
“O Lakshmana,” he cried. “This pearl is the one my darling Sītā wore on her brow on our wedding day. Plucked from the depths of the sea, worshipped by the Devas, this pearl was given to her by her father, Janaka. To see this pearl is to see Sītā, as real as life. Yet to hold this pearl without holding her is more pain than I can bear. I cannot live another moment wi
thout my sweet-smiling Sītā.”
When he had somewhat recovered, Rāma implored Hanumān, “Tell me more. How is my tenderhearted consort able to withstand these hardships?” Again and again he questioned Hanumān, who recounted the words of Sītā, how she remained ever true to Rāma but feared she could only last one more month, until Rāma at last grew silent.
Then the mighty Hanumān bowed low to Rāma and said,
“I have seen Sītā, who is uninjured and whose heart is fixed upon you.”
—Sundara Kānda 64.42
End of the Sundara Kānda
SIX
Yuddha Kānda
The War
CHAPTER 40
Rāma Marches to the Sea
They say that time heals all wounds,
yet my heart weighs heavier with each passing day.
It is not only that Sītā has been swept far from me,
it is her youth fading
that sears my heart.
O gentle wind, I call on you to go to her,
and having caressed her,
return to caress me.
As I lie awake at night, I hear one thing—
her last words as she was carried off:
“O Rāma, save me!”
Only news that she is alive keeps me
from throwing myself into the sea.
O Sītā of the slender waist,
when will my arms circle your lovely form again?
When will you hold me in sweet embrace,
and when will I drink the nectar of your lips?
How can you, the daughter of Janaka,
lie down to sleep amidst the titans?
Already delicate in stature, you are wasting away.
When will I shoot my arrow deep into Rāvana’s heart
and release you from the demons
like the moon scattering the darkness?
Gentle Sītā, when will I feel
your tears of joy on my neck,
O daughter of the immortals?
While the monkey army camped in the surrounding hills, Hanumān and the other leaders sat in a circle around Rāma like the crescent moon around a star.
Rāma thanked Hanumān again and again. “No one but Garuda, Vāyu, and you could cross the infinite ocean,” he said. “You have not only accomplished the purpose of your mission by finding Sītā, but you have destroyed much of Lankā. They say the finest messenger completes a difficult task with dedication, exactly as the king asks—and then does something more.” Thus Rāma praised Hanumān.
“The only thing that disturbs me,” said Rāma as he smiled at the brave Hanumān, “is that I have no gift to give you. All that I have is my embrace. Let that stand for my Self, which I offer to the high-souled Hanumān.” With these words, Rāma joyfully clasped the valiant Hanumān to his breast.
Later, after rejoicing with the monkey army, Rāma said to Hanumān, “Now that I know Sītā is alive, I should be thrilling with joy. Yet one thought still plagues me. How will we cross the sea to reach her?” Having voiced his doubt, Rāma suddenly looked down, his face drained of color.
Sugrīva hastened to comfort his friend. “What is this gloomy mood?” he asked gently. “It is not fitting for a hero to waste his energy on dark thoughts. You must set aside your doubts, just as an ascetic sets aside the thoughts that do not help him attain his goal. Giving in to grief only makes you weak.”
Sugrīva gestured to the waiting army with a grand sweeping motion. “Look around you, observe this ocean of valiant monkeys. They are so devoted to you that they will risk their lives for Sītā. With this army you can build a bridge, cross the sea and destroy Rāvana. No one who faces you in battle can survive. Let us not sit here talking another moment. I see all good omens for your success. Turn your heartbreak into resolve and vanquish your foes.”
Encouraged by his friend Sugrīva’s wise words, Rāma felt heartened. With renewed vigor he turned to Hanumān and said, “I will find a way to cross the wide ocean. If I have to, I will dry up the sea! Now tell me, dear Hanumān, what are the fortifications in Lankā? How large is their army? What are their weak points?”
The intelligent Hanumān spoke clearly and eloquently about the drawbridges, walls, moats, palaces, guards, armies, roads, houses, and weapons of Lankā, which he had carefully observed.
“I will destroy that city myself,” said Rāma. “Let us leave now for the ocean shore, for the moon is in an auspicious nakshatra and the sun is overhead. If we start now, we will have good luck. All the omens are good. Sītā will wish to live long, once she knows we are on the march.”
Then Rāma, trained by his father in warfare, determined which leaders would go to the fore, which behind, which to the east, and which to the west. “Let any exhausted or weakened troops remain here,” he said. “Let Jāmbavān and his army of bears march where there is cool, fresh water and abundant fruit to eat. Let the monkeys leap high into the air and scout for rākshasas, who may be hiding in the hollows and valleys, wishing to poison our food and water.”
When Sugrīva gave the orders, the army burst from the forest like water from a dam. The ecstatic monkeys swelled in size and shouted loud enough for all to hear, “We will destroy Rāvana and rescue Sītā!” Bounding and leaping, cartwheeling and catapulting, the exuberant monkeys lifted one another playfully on their backs and leapt into the sky. They roared with delight as they passed by flowering blossoms, crowning one another with wreaths and uprooting whole trees to use as walking sticks.
Behind this bubbling, roiling sea of tawny-colored monkeys the high-souled Rāma rode serenely on Hanumān’s back, and the mighty Lakshmana straddled the shoulders of Angada.
Avoiding cities and towns, the army feasted on fruits and drank from mountain streams along the way. Finally, the eager monkeys reached the peaks of Mount Mahendra. Gazing down from that great height, Rāma glimpsed the sea for the first time. Quickly the army pressed on and soon arrived at the sandy shore.
The monkeys grew silent as they contemplated the bottomless sea, crowded with fish, turtles, and whales, its expanse stretching so far in all directions that it merged with the sky at the horizon. Home to all streams and rivers, tumultuous and churning, its waves thundered on the shore like war drums beating.
“Let us camp here and decide how to cross this vast ocean,” said Rāma. And so the army of thousands of monkeys camped along the shore.
Later, as Lakshmana made his way to the water’s edge for his evening prayers, he found Rāma there, sitting with his head in his hands, his face wet with tears. “When will Sītā be free and this bottomless grief be ended?” cried Rāma in anguish. Lakshmana, ever the faithful servant, gently reassured him in soft tones and led his all-powerful brother into the waves for his ablutions.
—
AT THE SAME time the monkey army was marching to the sea, Rāvana was sitting in his jeweled throne room, with its gold-leafed walls, gem-studded chairs, and sumptuous silken cushions. The rākshasa leader looked careworn and pale. Belatedly, now that war seemed inevitable, he had decided to consult his ministers, who sat before him.
“Our fair city of Lankā, which was impregnable even to the Devas, has been laid waste by Hanumān, a mere monkey,” he said. “I’ve called you here to discuss how we should deal with Rāma, who will undoubtedly cross the sea with his monkey army, being powerful enough to dry it up.
“I am asking you, my ministers, to advise me in a plan of action. I intend to follow your counsel, for I always seek the advice of friends and family members who are concerned with my success. Together we will weigh the pros and cons of the situation carefully and then act in the way we think best.
“As you know, ministers fall into three categories. Superior ministers make their decisions by the light of the Vedas, never sway from the truth, and spontaneously agree with each other fro
m the start. Ordinary ministers consult each other even though they have different views, and eventually agree on a course of action. Weak ministers never come to an agreement.
“Advise me, then, on the question of Rāma arriving at Lankā’s gates with his horde of monkeys.”
“I myself will destroy that monkey army,” cried one of the foolish advisors. Another ventured, “You have never been defeated by Devas, celestials, or rākshasas. How can a mere monkey army do you harm?”
“We were taken by surprise by Hanumān,” cried another. “Just order us to attack them now, and we will wipe them out before nightfall.”
Shouting and brandishing their clubs, javelins, and spears, in their fury the rākshasa leaders jumped to their feet and ran to the door as if to attack Rāma at that moment. They were stopped by the exalted, high-souled Vibhīshana, brother of Rāvana. He stood in their way, calmly raising his hand and motioning them back to their seats. Then he took the floor.
“According to the science of warfare, we should resort to force only if the first three tactics of conciliation—negotiations, giving gifts, and sowing dissension—have failed. Even then, the wise know that an attack will succeed only in certain circumstances: if the enemy is evil, is caught off-guard, is already fighting with another foe, or is doomed by fate,” he said in a firm, clear voice. “Why should we attack Rāma, who is waiting for battle, alert and fully prepared? In addition, he has Dharma on his side, for he has been wronged by you. The only way to avoid being destroyed by Rāma’s superior forces is to give his wife back to him. I speak the truth, and I advise you only out of brotherly affection. Take pity on your people, let them live long, and follow the path of righteousness.”
Rāvana, who had grown thin and weak from his obsession with Sītā, quickly ended the meeting and retired to his private palace. But the truthful and wise Vibhīshana followed him even there. He knew that it was dangerous to press his view on Rāvana, but the situation had become so extreme that he felt he had no choice. He was treading a path that he knew was the way of Dharma. That thought emboldened him.
The Ramayana Page 30