Then Hanumān dueled with the powerful rākshasa. First the Son of the Wind smashed the demon’s chariot, while Dhūmrāksha rained blows on that invincible warrior’s head with a spiked mace. Losing patience, Hanumān grabbed the crest of a nearby mountain and broke it off, smothering Dhūmrāksha beneath it.
When Rāvana heard that his mighty warrior was slain, he could not believe the news. In a voice hoarse with rage he ordered Vajradamshtra to the battlefield.
Vajradamshtra circled his chariot with folded hands and, mounting it, led a multitude of demons in gold chariots with their elephants, camels, and horses. Thundering out of the southern gate like a dark cloud, they immediately saw fiery sticks falling from the blue sky. Jackals howled. Beset by these evil omens, even the fierce commander Vajradamshtra shivered. But trained to be courageous, he pressed on to the fight.
The monkeys set on those demons with tree trunks and rocks. Vajradamshtra and his fierce troops cut a wide swath through the monkey army. The relentless twang of the bows, crunching blows, and wild war whoops created a fearful clamor.
Seeing his monkey army being destroyed, the youthful Prince Angada felt anger boiling in his heart. The invincible Angada mowed down multitudes of rākshasas before he faced Vajradamshtra alone, like a tiger facing an elephant. He rushed at Vajradamshtra with a shāla tree trunk, screaming like Death itself.
Vajradamshtra shot hundreds of arrows into Angada’s stomach. Not even feeling the pain, Angada cast aside the tree trunk and lifted an enormous rock and flung it at the chariot. Vajradamshtra nimbly leapt out before the boulder bashed the chariot to bits. Swiftly Angada broke off an entire mountain peak and crushed the valiant Vajradamshtra beneath it.
The demon warrior stopped breathing. Then he suddenly jumped up and clobbered Angada with his mace. That son of Bāli, strong as marble, pounced on Vajradamshtra and pummeled him with his paws. The fight continued with tree trunks, swords, shields, and rocks being hurled back and forth. Finally both warriors fell to their knees, exhausted by each other’s blows. Suddenly Angada felt a burst of energy and, springing up, grabbed Vajradamshtra’s sword and cut off his head.
The remaining rākshasa army, seeing their leader slain, tore through Lankā’s gates and into the city streets, chased by the victorious monkeys. Surrounding Angada, the monkeys cheered and lifted up their heroic prince, honoring him as the Devas honored Indra.
And so it went. The terrifically strong rākshasa warrior Akampana sallied into the furor of battle next. A cloud of dust rose so thick that no one could see, as if the darkness of night had fallen. In that fog of war, friends killed friends and foes killed foes. Akampana, who could not be conquered even by the Devas, wreaked havoc on the monkey army.
At one point, Hanumān peered through the veil of dust, saw the monkey army scattering, and ran to rally it. Grabbing the top of a mountain, he flung it at Akampana, but the demon’s half-moon arrows crumbled the mass of boulders in midair. Then Hanumān grabbed a tree trunk and cracked the warrior’s head. Again the rākshasa army scurried back inside Lankā’s walls, howling in terror.
Rāvana, beside himself with rage, summoned Prahasta, his eldest warrior and commander in chief. “It seems that to save the city we must send you, Indrajit, or myself,” said Rāvana. “What do you advise?”
Prahasta bowed to Rāvana and said, “When you asked my opinion earlier, I advised you to send Sītā back to save the city. Even though you did not follow my advice, you have always bestowed upon me the highest honors, and I will not fail you now. Nothing—not my life, my children nor my wealth—is as important to me as doing my duty. Let me command a multitude of rākshasas. Soon those monkeys will flee in fright. Soon they will be lying dead at my sword.”
A larger force of demon warriors was assembled, and smoke filled the streets of Lankā as rākshasas prepared for battle by offering ghee to sacred fires. Drums rolled, conches trumpeted, and rākshasas screeched as Prahasta took the lead. Bursting through the eastern gate, rumbling like thunder, the demons struck fear into the hearts of all creatures.
Yet this massive army also met with evil omens. The planets reeled too close to the sun, vultures wheeled above Prahasta’s chariot, and his trusted charioteer accidentally dropped his whip. Prahasta’s innate courage faltered as he saw his horses stumble. But he rallied and bravely led his army into the fray, trouncing the monkeys in his path.
Seeing the rākshasa horde pour out of the eastern gate of Lankā, Rāma asked Vibhīshana, “Who is this giant rākshasa who leads this attack?”
“That is Prahasta, commander in chief of the rākshasa armies. He leads the rākshasa forces and has gained victory over the Devas in battles past.”
Prahasta fought valiantly, scattering the monkeys in his way. Then Nīla, son of Agni and the commander in chief of Rāma’s army, spotted him. He rushed forward to attack Prahasta and soon was covered with Prahasta’s arrows like a mountain covered with trees. Nīla pummeled Prahasta with rocks and trees, and snatched the rākshasa’s bow. Prahasta battered the illustrious monkey’s body with a club. The struggle went on for some time. Finally, Nīla raised a colossal boulder and smashed Prahasta’s head under it.
Once again, the demons tucked their javelins, spears, and clubs at their sides and ran back to Lankā, their hopes scattered to the winds.
O Rāma, I am Garuda, your dear friend of old,
your very breath, outward-moving, and I have come here to heal you.
—Yuddha Kānda 50.46
CHAPTER 45
The Rākshasas Awaken Kumbhakarna
WHEN HE HEARD the bad tidings, Rāvana for once was silent. Finally he said, “It’s not a good idea to make light of this foe, who has killed my commander and all his elephants. Now it is time for me to end this battle with a resounding victory.”
Rāvana flew out of Lankā’s massive golden gates in his aerial chariot, followed by demons armed with javelins, swords, and clubs, their mouths filled with vicious, sharp teeth.
When Rāma saw Rāvana, shining like a black cloud even from a distance, he said, “I can see his strength by the intense glow his body radiates. Surely he shines more brightly than Indra or the holy sages. But today I will repay him for his evil designs on Sītā.”
Sugrīva rushed at Rāvana first, hurling a mountain peak at Rāvana’s head. The demon king’s arrow sliced the mountain into smithereens before it touched him. Then he shot a blazing arrow into Sugrīva’s chest. The king of the monkeys fell to the ground in a faint. Other fearless monkeys rushed at the rākshasa king, but Rāvana easily struck them down with his arrows.
Rāma, who was watching closely from his camp, resolved to fight. But Lakshmana said, “Let me kill him.”
Rāma nodded, saying, “Seek out his weak points and put forth all effort. Be vigilant, always on the alert.” Lakshmana embraced his older brother and bowed to him, then hastened to the battlefield.
Yet before the fearless brother of Rāma could reach that rider of the night, Hanumān faced Rāvana.
“You may have gained immunity from death by a Deva, but a humble monkey such as I can destroy you,” cried Hanumān.
“Strike quickly before I send you to death!” roared Rāvana.
“Have you forgotten how I snuffed out the life of your son Aksha?” taunted Hanumān.
Rāvana struck the fearless Hanumān on the chest in rage. Hanumān reeled and fell down. Then that sagacious monkey drew up his strength and sprang on Rāvana, jolting him in the torso. Rāvana staggered and swayed inside his chariot, like a mountain in an earthquake.
Seeing Rāvana faltering, the Devas showered flower petals on Hanumān.
Even Rāvana cried out, “Well done, monkey! I see by your strength that you are a worthy foe.”
“I care nothing for this praise, for you still live,” said Hanumān. “Ready yourself for Death’s abode, you fool.”
This made
Rāvana so furious that he slugged Hanumān in the chest with all his might. Hanumān collapsed in a daze. Rāvana took the opportunity to shoot flaming arrows at Nīla, who quietly withstood their fiery burning and hurled a mountaintop at him. By this time Hanumān had recovered, but ever the follower of Dharma, Hanumān could not attack Rāvana, since the rākshasa king was now engaged in combat with Nīla.
Nīla hurled rocks, trees, and boulders on Rāvana. Then, to escape the demon’s scorching arrows, Nīla shrank his body to the size of a mouse and sprang onto the flagpole of Rāvana’s chariot. The monkey armies burst out laughing, seeing Nīla tease the dread demon king.
The laughter enraged the proud Rāvana. “You may be nimble and full of magic tricks,” he said to Nīla, “but this arrow of Agni will take your life.”
He shot the weapon at Nīla, who fell to his knees. Due to his own inner strength and the compassion of Agni, his father, he was not killed, only stunned. With Nīla in a swoon, Rāvana turned next to Lakshmana.
“Fight me rather than mere monkeys,” cried Lakshmana.
Incensed by the taunt, Rāvana cried, “You will soon be turned to ashes by my burning arrows!”
“True warriors do not need to boast in battle,” observed Lakshmana coolly.
Rāvana let fly seven arrows. Lakshmana let fly seven more, which chopped Rāvana’s in two.
On it went. No matter how fast Rāvana shot his arrows, Lakshmana headed them off with his own. When Lakshmana let loose a volley of arrows as swift as Indra’s thunderbolt, Rāvana stopped them. Finally Rāvana sent the dread missile of Brahmā, striking Lakshmana on the forehead.
Lakshmana swayed, momentarily dazed. His bowstring hung slack, weakened by the blast. But the brave Lakshmana summoned his strength and fired off three more arrows, which broke Rāvana’s bow and caused him to faint. Bathed in blood, Rāvana regained consciousness and hurled the javelin of Brahmā, bestowed on him by Brahmā himself.
Lakshmana speedily dispatched arrows to intercept the fearful javelin, but it still struck him near his heart, and he fell down. Before he could struggle to his feet, Rāvana sprang on him and tried to heave him over his shoulder to carry him off. But the demon king, who was strong enough to carry off Mount Meru, could not lift Lakshmana. For at that moment Lakshmana remembered his origin in the invincible Vishnu himself, and he could not be budged.
As he watched the fight, Hanumān became outraged that the demon king had tried to wrestle Lakshmana when he was already injured. Hanumān landed a blow on Rāvana’s chest so powerful that it brought Rāvana to his knees and he could not stand up. The monkeys, Devas, and Indra cried out in exaltation, seeing the proud rākshasa humbled.
Then the ever-devoted Hanumān gathered in his arms the princely warrior Lakshmana, who allowed the faithful monkey to carry him to Rāma’s side. There the invincible Lakshmana regained his strength and his wounds miraculously healed. The javelin of Brahmā dissolved and returned to Rāvana’s chariot.
Seeing Rāvana laying waste to the monkey chiefs, Rāma at last strode into the fray. Hanumān cried, “Here, ride on my shoulders.”
When Rāma faced Rāvana for the first time, his voice of truth rang throughout the battlefield. “Stop here, lord of the demons! Now that I have set eyes on you, you cannot escape, no matter whom you seek for safety.”
Rāvana rained blistering arrows on Hanumān’s back, which only increased that formidable monkey’s radiance. Angry that Rāvana would hurt Hanumān, Rāma shot swift arrows that destroyed Rāvana’s chariot, his flagstaff, his horses, and banners.
Then Rāma’s arrows struck Rāvana himself full in the chest. Rāvana reeled in pain and dropped his bow. Rāma selected a powerful half-moon arrow, and with it he struck Rāvana’s crown, breaking it into bits.
Rāvana fell to his knees, weak and humiliated. Rāma said, “You deserve to suffer the consequences of my wrath, having done wrongs to Sītā, my warriors, and to me. But I see that you are fatigued from battle. Return tomorrow in your chariot, armed with your bow. Then you will see my true strength.”
The king of the rākshasas, the terror of the world, limped back to Lankā on foot, his head hanging, his ears burning with shame. The Devas, Gandharvas, and other celestials laughed with joy.
Rāvana had never before experienced defeat, much less total humiliation. Yet he had been crushed by Rāma like an eagle crushes a snake with its powerful beak. “I asked for immunity from Devas and rākshasas, but not from men,” he told the assembly of ministers. “Now I see what Brahmā meant when he said, ‘Know that you shall have cause to fear men.’” He slumped on his throne, his luster dimmed.
“The curses of the long-ago past have found me,” he said, momentarily humbled, his eyes downcast. “The words of those Rishis who cursed me must prove true.” He sank into silence.
“Nevertheless, we will win.” Suddenly he rallied, reverting to his usual boasts. “Guard the gates with increased care. And send a division to wake up Kumbhakarna. He has returned to his bed to sleep for the next six months, but we need him on the battlefield. He is the strongest of us all. Even though Rāma defeated me, he will be crushed in the arms of Kumbhakarna. We must wake him up now and save Lankā from destruction.”
Everyone knew that waking Kumbhakarna was easier said than done. Cursed to sleep six months of the year, he slept in a cave that was three yojanas in circumference, and his mammoth body filled most of it. Even entering the cave was tricky, for the force of Kumbhakarna’s breath was as strong as the north wind, and it blasted the rākshasas out of the cave whenever they drew near. Finally, by timing their advances just right, they snuck into the cave while he was drawing an inward breath and quickly darted around his body, being careful to stay out of the path of his outgoing breath.
They had brought with them all kinds of scents, noisemakers, and implements to goad him awake. They waved strong aromas of burning sage under his nose, and they beat drums and blew conches in his elephant-sized ears. They poked him with long sharpened poles that looked like toothpicks next to his immense body.
The rākshasas piled up a mountain of dead animals and filled giant vats of wine near his nose, hoping to awaken him with the smell of food and drink. They covered him in flowers. They sang his praises in loud voices. They jumped on him as if he were a giant mattress.
Then the mighty rākshasas struck Kumbhakarna on the chest with clubs, maces, mallets, fists, and even mountaintops, but he lay fast asleep on the ground.
They assembled ten thousand rākshasas to shout and scream in his elephant ears. The din was so loud that citizens who lived far away in Lankā had to cover their ears, yet Kumbhakarna still snored.
Finally, they drove a herd of one thousand elephants over his body. Kumbhakarna stirred when he felt a slight twinge of pressure on his chest. They continued to pummel him with tree trunks and yanked his hair, pulling on it in teams of ten. At last he sat up yawning, his mouth gaping like a hole in the clouds. The warriors pointed to the mountain of animals, and he began to stuff whole antelopes, pigs, and buffaloes into his cavernous mouth. Lifting a wine vat as big as a city well, he slaked his thirst. When his hunger seemed satiated and he sat staring at his feet in a sluggish stupor, the rākshasas dared to approach him.
“Why have you awakened me? Is all well with my brother, the king? I am ready to help him if he needs it.” His eyelids drooped, and the warriors thought they’d better hurry up and speak before he fell asleep again.
As soon as Kumbhakarna heard about the grave danger Lankā faced, he agreed to fight. First he bathed, then he gargled with vats of oil to cleanse his mouth. Finding himself thirsty again, he swallowed a few thousand pots of liquor.
Finally that sleepy, half-intoxicated giant stood up and strode through the streets of Lankā, toward the palace of Rāvana. Seeing that invincible Kumbhakarna awake, his body adorned with gold and jewels, as befits a ruler’s brother, the people of Lan
kā took hope and covered him with flower petals.
The ground trembled, and the monkeys in Rāma’s army thought there was an earthquake. Looking toward Lankā, they saw Kumbhakarna moving through the city, his head and shoulders towering far above the seven-story mansions, his head almost touching the sun. The monkeys cried out in terror and ran to Rāma, seeking protection.
Then the mighty rākshasas struck Kumbhakarna on the chest with clubs, maces, mallets, fists, and even mountaintops, but he lay fast asleep on the ground.
—Yuddha Kānda 60.40
CHAPTER 46
Kumbhakarna Enters the Fray
KUMBHAKARNA REACHED THE golden palace of Rāvana and saw his brother sitting on his throne, eyes downcast. Rāvana rose to greet him. After stretching out his enormous body in obeisance to his brother the king, Kumbhakarna sat up, straightened his giant crown, and said, “Why did you wake me up early? Is there someone you wish me to fight?” His eyes, small and hard in his mammoth body, flashed red.
Rāvana, who knew his brother well, could see that he was angry. Not wishing to antagonize him further, he said, “I throw myself at your mercy. I have spent all of my strength and my wealth trying to defend Lankā, but now mostly widows and children remain. Please use your unmatchable strength to scatter these monkeys, who are as large as a mountain, as numerous as autumn leaves. Destroy this foe Rāma out of love for me and your people.”
Kumbhakarna laughed bitterly. “You refused to listen to me or others when we told you to return Sītā. Without any thought of the consequences, you stole Sītā in a fit of lust, without consulting your ministers. Such a king brings ruin on his people. You did not consider duty or wealth, nor did you consider the proper steps of governing.”
The Ramayana Page 34