Rāma drew his bow again and hissed through his teeth. But this time Lakshmana jumped up and caught the arrow before it left the bow. “Stop,” he cried.
Rāma issued his final warning to the sea. “I will dry up all your waters with my arrows, and then my army will cross to the other shore this very day. You do not know my strength.”
When the sea remained silent, Rāma closed his eyes, invoked the dread weapon of Brahmā, and shot it into the ocean.
The sky darkened as if a veil had been drawn over it. The sun, moon, and stars shifted their positions until they formed a straight line across the heavens. Meteors flashed onto the waters and winds howled, snapping the tops of trees. Thunder crashed and lightning flashed, animals and birds shrieked in terror, and the ocean overran its shores.
At last the ocean king Sāgara rose slowly from the roaring waves. He shimmered with golden light, his head crowned with celestial flowers. Around his neck he wore a luminous strand of pearls, the jewels of the ocean.
“I am as boundless as the heavens and wide as the sky,” he boomed. “No one can fathom my depths or freeze my churning waves into silence. Beloved Rāma, ask the monkey Nala, son of the divine architect Vishvakarman, to build a bridge, and I will hold it up. Nala has the power and engineering skill of his father. To protect your army as it passes, I will stop the crocodiles and other sea creatures from attacking them.”
With that, Sāgara disappeared, and in his place rose the monkey Nala, who swelled to an immense size. “I did not want to speak of my powers because no one asked me,” he said. “It is true what Lord Sāgara says. I can surely lay this bridge across the sea.”
With Nala leading them, immediately the monkeys started building the bridge, merrily ripping up trees and snapping them in two, hoisting boulders as big as elephants and breaking off mountain peaks, which they piled at the edge of the sea. With Nala in the lead, they tossed all of these in the water, raising a sound like a thunderclap as the ocean roiled in giant waves. Then Nala organized the monkeys into work battalions, some holding strings to measure across the water, others carrying boulders and heaving them between the strings, and others filling in the spaces with more rocks and boughs of flowering trees on top. Thousands of monkeys splashed in the water, making the ocean swirl.
By the end of the first day, the bridge spanned fourteen yojanas. By the end of the second, it crossed twenty yojanas, by the end of the third day twenty-one more. The monkey army worked faster each day, covering more distance than the day before. On the fifth day, they laid the last stone on the opposite shore.
Never had such a feat been seen since the beginning of time. Ten yojanas wide and a hundred yojanas long, the vast, splendid bridge, strong, steadfast, and wide, separated the sparkling waters like the part of a woman’s hair.
When it was complete, the army poured onto the bridge, the monkeys playfully performing backflips and leaps, shouting and jostling each other as they crossed. Some skipped along the middle, others spilled over the sides and swam in the water, while still others leapt overhead, landing here and there for an instant to catch their breath. Amid the innumerable monkeys and bears swarming over the bridge, Rāma rode on Hanumān’s back, and Lakshmana on Sugrīva’s.
The Devas, Gandharvas, and Rishis watched this jubilant march across the sea with delight. When Rāma reached the other side, they sprinkled him with sacred oblations from above. “May you live long, Shrī Rāma, and triumph over your enemies!” they proclaimed.
As the first stars appeared in the sky, Rāma joyfully embraced Lakshmana on the far shore. Then he said, “Let us march to Lankā now and camp outside its gates. Crows and vultures fall from the sky, a blue spot has appeared in the sun, and a red halo surrounds the moon. Evil winds are blowing, and there are many other bad omens. I fear there will soon be a bloodbath between the monkeys and the rākshasas.”
Marching through the forests toward Lankā, the millions of monkeys in Rāma’s massive army roared, “Victory to Rāma!” The earth shook, as if it could not bear such extreme weight. Closer to Lankā, the monkeys heard the drums and shouting of the rākshasas, which only whipped up their spirits. They roared like thunder until their throats grew hoarse.
Rāma halted the army when the fortress city of Lankā came into view, crowning the tallest peak of Mount Trikūta. At Rāvana’s behest, it had been restored to its previous glory by the divine architect Vishvakarman after Hanumān burned it. The city with its seven-story mansions and pleasure groves shone again like the jewel of the Devas.
“Gazing on Lankā, born of the mind of Vishvakarman, soaring to the sky, my heart stops beating and I can scarcely breathe,” said Rāma. “All I can think of is my dear Sītā, locked in that city with Rāvana.”
Then his mind immediately focused on the task at hand. He called his army generals together and said, “We will set up our camp here, at the base of Mount Suvela, close to Lankā. Let us arrange the forces this way: the invincible Angada and my commander in chief, Nīla, at the heart of the army; the fearless Rishabha on the right flank; the brave Gandhamādana on the left; Jāmbavān and Sushena at the rear and Sugrīva’s army at both sides. I will be at the head with Lakshmana.”
Eager to begin, the monkeys uprooted trees and toppled nearby mountain peaks to arm themselves. When the army was prepared to attack, Rāma said, “Let the messenger Shuka go free.” Shuka, still in the form of a bird, flapped feebly across the sky to Rāvana’s palace.
When Rāvana, seated on his lapis lazuli throne and waited on by beautiful women, saw the bedraggled Shuka standing before him, he couldn’t refrain from laughing. “So you return at last. Did you let those monkeys clip your wings? Tell me all that you saw.”
Shuka, who was still shaking from being attacked by the monkeys, said, “Those monkeys jumped on me and would have killed me if Rāma hadn’t shown mercy. The monkeys are ferocious and angry—there is no use trying to negotiate with them. Sugrīva has joined forces with Rāma, and they have crossed the sea and lie waiting outside the city. You have only two choices: return Sītā or fight.”
“I will never return Sītā!” Rāvana roared. “I am itching to loose my arrows on that weakling Rāma. He does not know my strength.”
The demon king ordered Shuka to return to Rāma’s camp along with another minister, Sārana. They were to disguise themselves as monkeys and gauge the strength of the monkey army and their leaders, including Rāma and Lakshmana.
As they crept among the monkey troops, Shuka and Sārana were amazed at the army’s size and power. It stretched from the gates of Lankā to the seashore and across the bridge, as the rear of the army was only now leaving the far shore of the ocean and beginning the crossing. The two spies moved freely among the monkeys until Vibhīshana recognized his fellow rākshasas and ordered the monkeys to seize them.
“These are Rāvana’s spies, disguised as monkeys,” said Vibhīshana, as the monkey guards dragged the spies to Rāma.
Shuka and Sārana fell to the ground. “Spare us, for we were sent here by Rāvana to find out everything there is to know about your army,” they said.
Rāma laughed heartily to hear them admit openly that they were spying. Ever compassionate, the protector of all beings who ask for his protection, he said, “If you are through gathering your information, you may return safely to Rāvana. If you need more time, feel free to wander about some more. Vibhīshana will show you. Messengers without weapons should not be killed.”
The two spies, feeling lucky to escape with their lives, flew back to Rāvana without lingering. Again, Shuka advised his king to give up Sītā. “Those monkeys are crude and vicious, and it is only through Rāma’s grace that we escaped. Rāma is strong enough and has the weapons to level Lankā on his own. When his strength is combined with that of Lakshmana, Vibhīshana, Sugrīva, and the vast monkey army, who are capable of magnificent feats and can grow to an enormous size, then even with t
he help of the asuras it will be impossible to defend Lankā. Our only hope is to make peace with them and give back Sītā.”
Rāvana bellowed, “Even if the Devas, Gandharvas, and celestials unite to fight me, I will never give up Sītā. You’re just shaken from being handled roughly by those monkeys. No one can defeat me in battle.”
Having ignored their advice, Rāvana nevertheless summoned Shuka and Sārana to a tower window that looked down on the sea of golden monkeys camped below. He ordered the spies to point out each leader and describe his strengths. Dutifully, Shuka and Sārana described in detail the formidable strength of Hanumān, Sugrīva, Angada, Nīla, Nala, Sushena, Tāra, Rishabha, Gandhamādana, and the wondrous feats of all the monkeys, born of Devas and Gandharvas. They pointed out the army of bears led by Jāmbavān, the son of Brahmā, and his older brother Dhumra. And they described the supreme power of the magnanimous, blue-tinted Rāma and the unfathomable skill and determination of the golden-hued Lakshmana.
“So great is this army it is impossible to count,” concluded Shuka.
“There are monkey soldiers numbering at least one hundred crores,” added Sārana, “and each monkey is as large as a mountain and as strong as Indra.”
“Enough!” roared Rāvana. Recognizing his enemy’s unconquerable might for the first time, Rāvana felt a tremor of fear pierce his heart. But rather than admit this weakness, he covered it up by blustering to his spies, “How dare you praise the enemy in front of me? Displeasing a king brings certain death. Only the memory of your past service keeps me from ending your lives.”
The two faithful ministers hung their heads, humiliated and trembling from fear. Whispering “Victory to Rāvana,” they slipped away, feeling lucky to escape Rāvana’s wrath alive.
Rāvana sent yet another set of spies. “Find out what Rāma plans to do next,” he ordered. “Victory is certain for the king who is informed of his enemy’s intentions.” But they too were apprehended by Vibhīshana and roughed up by the strong monkeys before Rāma could release them. “It’s not possible to spy on these monkeys,” they cried to Rāvana when they returned. “They are too powerful and alert. The monkey army is now camped just outside Lankā. You must give up Sītā or fight.”
“I will never give up Sītā!” roared Rāvana once more. But even though his ten faces looked as arrogant and proud as ever, underneath he was deeply shaken. He quickly called his council of ministers. Having received their advice, he summoned the sorcerer Vidyujjihva, who was skilled in black magic.
Together they walked to the Ashoka Grove. Before they reached Sītā, Rāvana stopped in a secluded spot, hidden by trees.
“I need you to make a head that looks like Rāma’s, and a bow and arrows exactly like his,” whispered Rāvana, rubbing his hands together in delight. The sorcerer immediately created the head. Rāvana, eager to put his plan into action, strode toward Sītā, who sat on the bare ground, her head hanging in despair, guarded by dozens of fierce rākshasa women.
“Your precious husband is dead,” the evil Rāvana announced to Sītā. “Now you have no excuse not to become my wife. Give up your silly pride and come to my bed. Your Rāma met a most unpleasant end. Our army attacked his at midnight, and in one clean sweep our general, Prahasta, severed Rāma’s head while he was sleeping. Hanumān, Sugrīva, Angada, and all the monkey leaders are slain, and Lakshmana has fled for his life. Here is Vidyujjihva, who brought the head to me.”
The magician placed the false head of Rāma, dripping with blood, on the ground in front of Sītā, along with Rāma’s bow and arrows.
“Look on your husband,” said the cruel Rāvana. “What good does he do you now?”
Sītā opened her eyes, saw her husband’s head, and fainted away. When she regained consciousness, she lamented, “O my beloved one, what has become of your vow to always take me with you? Now you have left your youthful and devoted wife behind. I must have done some evil deed in the past to meet this fate. Here you have come to rescue me, and because of your love for me, you have met your death. What will Kausalyā say, when she finds her son has been killed and I am in captivity? Kaikeyī will finally be happy, for she has destroyed the family at its roots. Cut off my head, Rāvana, and throw it beside my husband’s. That would be the kindest thing to do, for I cannot live without him.” Crying and moaning, Sītā was beside herself with grief.
At that moment, Rāvana was called away by Prahasta and the other ministers, who urgently needed to confer with him to plan the battle. The moment he left the Ashoka Grove, the false head of Rāma disappeared.
Sītā, like a suffering mare who rolls in the dust, did not even notice that the head was gone. Seeing her anguish, the soft-spoken rākshasī Saramā, who had become Sītā’s friend, sat down beside her and began stroking her hair.
“This is only a trick of Rāvana’s,” she said in soothing tones. “If you were not so worn down with hunger and heartache you would remember that it is not possible to vanquish the invincible Rāma. He camps outside Lankā’s door with his expansive army, having crossed the bottomless ocean. Your time for rejoicing has come. Give up your tears.”
And so Sītā learned that Rāma was not dead after all, but was closer to her than he had been in months.
“I could fly to Rāma this very minute and give him your good wishes, my lady of dark eyes,” said the kindhearted Saramā.
“I know you could fly even to the heavens, if you wished,” said Sītā sweetly. “I know you will attempt the impossible on my behalf. If you wish to help me, let me know what Rāvana is planning. He has thrown my mind into turmoil with his evil threats.” And so Saramā flew to Rāvana’s court, to listen.
She soon flew back and told Sītā, “Rāvana’s own mother, Kaikasī, and the elderly ministers are advising him over and over to return you to Rāma. But he is bent on destruction. Only when Rāma vanquishes him in battle will you be released. I see in my mind’s eye that Rāma will soon free you, and sitting on his lap, you will return with him to Ayodhyā.”
Just then they heard the beating of the drums and the shouting of the monkey army outside Lankā’s gates. The earth shook with a deafening clamor, and throughout the city the rākshasas shivered in terror.
The vast, splendid bridge, strong, steadfast and wide, stretched across
the sparkling waters like the part of a woman’s hair.
—Yuddha Kānda 22.79–80
CHAPTER 43
The War Begins
Rāma’s army of monkeys
extends as wide as the ocean,
covers the land like locusts,
and blots out the sun.
Each monkey has the strength of ten elephants,
some the power of a hundred, and some of a thousand.
The captains are stronger still.
Standing upright, they
gleefully lift fallen trees like toys,
with bared teeth as strong as a tiger’s,
nails as sharp as a lion’s.
Sons of Devas,
invincible as the earth,
able to change their form at will,
these monkeys fight on the side of truth.
Rāvana, who made the three worlds wail, heard the tumult outside the city gates. Sitting with his chief ministers, he said with a sneer, “I see that you tremble at the sound of Rāma’s army. You seem to have forgotten your own prowess.”
Then Mālyavān, Rāvana’s maternal grandfather and the most learned of the ministers, slowly rose to speak. “A king becomes powerful when he is learned in the Vedas, follows the principles of statecraft and keeps his enemies under control—either by appeasing the strong or conquering the weak. A king should never underestimate his enemies. That is why I feel you should return Sītā to Rāma. All the Devas and Rishis pray for Rāma to succeed. For all these years now, you have championed adharma, and have shattered the yagyas o
f the Rishis. But that has only made the Rishis and Devas strengthen their resolve to uphold Dharma. Now they will use your own evil deeds to destroy you.
“Remember, too, that Lord Brahmā gave you immunity from death at the hand of Deva, Gandharva, yaksha, asura, or rākshasa. But you have no immunity from man or monkey. There are bad omens everywhere. Housewives dream of disasters, a red cloud drips blood over the city, and Death hovers over every home. Consider these warnings and do what you know is right.”
Rāvana’s eyes turned red and spun in their sockets. His breath grew hot and labored, and he shouted, “This harsh advice could hardly be in my best interest. I have never been defeated, never. How could this mere man hurt me? Why should I give up Sītā out of fear of monkeys? I will destroy them all, you will see.”
No one dared counter Rāvana when he raged like this. So his ministers wished him victory, and the rākshasa king stomped out of the hall. Rāvana’s mind was now made up. There would be no more discussion with his advisors. He called his military leaders together and began preparations for war.
Meanwhile, from his camp at the foot of Mount Suvela, Rāma planned his attack on Lankā. “We must remember that this is Rāvana’s city,” said Rāma to Lakshmana, Sugrīva, and his other military chiefs. “We should take extra precautions.”
At that moment, Vibhīshana arrived at the war council. “I have sent my ministers, disguised as doves, into the city of Lankā,” said Vibhīshana. “My brother Rāvana has placed Prahasta and his army at the eastern gate, Mahodara and Mahāpārshva at the southern gate, and Indrajit at the western gate. The spies Shuka and Sārana, along with Rāvana himself, wait at the northern gate, and Virūpākasha is stationed at the center. In all there are one thousand warriors on elephants, ten thousand on chariots, twenty thousand on horseback, and nearly one hundred thousand on foot.”
The Ramayana Page 32