“How dare you criticize me!” roared Rāvana. “If you are a true brother, you will help me in my time of need.”
Seeing Rāvana’s anger, Kumbhakarna quickly tried to soothe him. “Even if you did make a mistake, I’ll help you set it right. This very day, I’ll swallow the entire monkey army for dinner, and then for dessert I’ll crush Rāma with my powerful jaws.”
Rāvana was satisfied with this answer, but his other brother and minister, Mahodara, had something to say to Kumbhakarna. “How dare you attack the king on issues of government? You say that evil actions bring evil results, but that is not necessarily so. Our king has always done what he wanted and he has enjoyed a lifetime of luxury.”
“It’s precisely people like you who have sent Rāvana to his ruin,” shouted Kumbhakarna. “You tell him what he wants to hear, instead of giving him sound advice as ministers should.”
Eager for his brother to fight Rāma, Rāvana laughed demonically. “I know you can conquer Rāma; go and destroy him.” Rāvana adorned his brother’s mountainous body with oversized gold earrings, bracelets, necklaces of pearls, and rings set with huge precious gems. Kumbhakarna looked like Mount Mandara when it was draped by the king of the serpents and made ready for the churning of the ocean.
Outside the palace, Kumbhakarna stretched to his full height, holding a gigantic iron club and spear, his body flashing in the sun. Lumbering to the city wall, he crossed it in one step, as if it were a child’s playhouse. Evil omens assailed him, but he chose not to notice. Seeing thousands of monkeys scattering in fear, he threw back his head in a terrifying roar that rolled all the way to the sea and churned up ferocious waves that crashed against the shore.
Even Rāma was amazed at the monstrous size of Kumbhakarna as he lumbered toward them. He quickly rallied the monkey troops, who armed themselves with trees, rocks, and boulders.
Nīla, Nala, and Gavāksha fled before the giant, but the youthful prince Angada rallied them, saying, “How can you abandon your honor by running away? This is not really a rākshasa anyway, but merely an apparition they have concocted to frighten us.”
The monkeys, their courage revived by Angada, rushed on Kumbhakarna, hurling logs and boulders. Kumbhakarna felt nothing. Rocks dissolved into powder on impact, without leaving a scratch, and giant tree trunks snapped against his massive body. He stomped into the monkey ranks, sweeping up monkeys by the armful and dashing them to their deaths on the ground. The entire monkey army fled in terror, running for their lives, and plunged into the sea.
Again the fearless Angada stopped his army’s rout. “Where will you run to? You act like cowards. Stay and fight like the heroes you are!” he commanded. At that moment Kumbhakarna snatched seven hundred monkeys in one hand, and the monkey army kept on running.
But the heroic Nīla, Nala, and Gavāksha heard Angada and rallied around him with their troops. Angada began reciting the leaders’ heroic deeds from past battles, to keep them buoyed with courage.
Other courageous monkeys attacked the rākshasa army, cracking them with trees, pummeling them with their fists, and raking them with their nails. The rākshasas fought back with swords and spears, and blood ran like a river.
Hanumān rained down arrows on Kumbhakarna’s head from above, but Kumbhakarna swept them away with his club. When Kumbhakarna charged the monkey army, Hanumān stood in his path and thrashed him with a chunk of a mountain. His head spinning, Kumbhakarna stumbled and nearly collapsed. Then he recovered and stabbed Hanumān in the chest, and the valiant monkey howled and fell in a faint.
Nīla and a half-dozen monkey warriors rushed on the giant. He shook them off like fleas, smacking monkeys off his knees, arms, and head. The fearless monkeys lay in a stupor at his feet.
Now thousands of monkeys swarmed over the giant’s body, punching, tearing, and pounding him. He swallowed them by the handful. The enraged demon crushed monkeys beneath his feet and in his cruel hands.
Angada attacked next. He hurled a mountain peak at Kumbhakarna’s head, making him stumble and almost fall. Righting himself, the giant hurled a spear at Angada, who nimbly stepped aside and bashed the blubbery demon in the chest with his fist. Kumbhakarna fainted.
But once he revived, he again laughed his demonic laugh and struck Angada in the head, knocking him senseless.
Then Sugrīva attacked the hulking rākshasa. He, too, flung a mountain peak at Kumbhakarna, but it dissolved like a sugar cube on that giant demon’s broad chest. Enraged by the assault, Kumbhakarna threw his long spear at Sugrīva. Reviving from his faint, Hanumān jumped up, swift as the wind, and grabbed the spear before it could hit the monkey king, then broke it in two over his powerful knees.
“Huzzah! Huzzah!” shouted the monkeys. They ran to Hanumān from all directions, their courage roused by his heroic deed. A tremor of fear slowly made its way over Kumbhakarna’s face when he saw a mere monkey break his spear. In retaliation, he broke off the peak of a mountain and mashed Sugrīva with it. Then the fearsome Kumbhakarna snatched up Sugrīva in arms that were as big as tree trunks and carried him off the battlefield.
The monkey army milled about in turmoil. Hanumān, who saw his king lying limp in the giant’s grip, reflected on the best course of action. “I could easily rescue Sugrīva and rally the monkeys, but Sugrīva is strong enough to vanquish that demon. Once he regains consciousness, he will free himself. If I do it for him, it may humiliate him and be a blight on his honor for years to come.” Instead the humble and intelligent Hanumān rallied the monkeys, who had scattered in a panic.
Meanwhile, Kumbhakarna carried Sugrīva inside the walls of Lankā and through the streets. As the demons of Lankā cheered and showered the giant with flower petals, Sugrīva suddenly woke up. Regaining his strength, the invincible leader of the monkeys sprang from the demon’s arms, climbed onto his head, and tore off his ears and nose. Then he leapt over the city wall to rejoin Rāma.
The towering giant looked like a mountain flowing with rivers of blood. Bellowing with fury, he stumbled back onto the battlefield to fight. In his bloodthirsty rampage, he snatched up hundreds of monkeys, bears, and even rākshasas and stuffed them into his mouth, consuming everything in his path like a raging fire.
Finally, Lakshmana took his stand against Kumbhakarna. He shot hundreds of arrows, which did not seem to affect the lumbering giant much, but covered his shining gold armor until he looked like a black cloud.
“You have pleased me with your valor, courage, and strength,” said Kumbhakarna. “Even Indra was afraid to fight me the way you have done. But now I wish to face Rāma alone. I am ready to kill him, and then my warriors can finish off your army.”
Lakshmana smiled politely, but his voice rang out strong and clear over the battlefield. “It is true that before this day, even Indra could not fight you. But now you face Rāma, who stands as firm as a rock.”
At that moment Rāma drew his bow and pierced Kumbhakarna with dozens of blazing arrows. Weakened by the attack, the giant dropped his mace and other weapons. He staggered about the field, blood pouring from his body.
“Let’s send all the monkeys crawling over his body; their weight will bring him down,” suggested Lakshmana. But the giant shook them off as a dog shakes off water.
“We must stop this demon,” said Rāma, as he strode closer to the rākshasa. Rāma plucked his bowstring, sending a thunderclap resounding through the air. Kumbhakarna rushed at him in a fury. Then Vibhīshana placed himself on the field, armed with a mace, willing to fight his own brother on behalf of Rāma.
Here Kumbhakarna showed his wisdom, for he said, “Even though I fight against you, I know that you are a follower of Dharma, and since you chose to side with Rāma, you will be the only one left to perpetuate our race. But I pray of you, do not stand in my path, my brother, for in this crazed state I cannot distinguish between friend and foe. As your elder brother, it is my duty to protect you.”
Moved to tears by his brother’s words, Vibhīshana said, “No one would listen to me, so I had no choice but to save our family line by joining Rāma.” Taking Kumbhakarna’s advice, he waited out the battle far from the savage reach of his brother.
Again Kumbhakarna lunged for Rāma. “I am ready for you,” said Rāma calmly. “Be prepared to lose your life within the hour.”
Kumbhakarna’s grim laugh rolled out from his belly like waves rolling on the ocean. “You may think I am wounded, but I cannot feel a thing. Now I will eat you up.”
Rāma let loose a torrent of arrows, the same ones that had killed Bāli and pierced the seven sturdy shāla trees. Yet they barely scratched the giant. Kumbhakarna whirled his club in all directions. He grabbed a hilltop and slung it at Rāma, but Rāma crumbled it with his arrows before it could hit him.
Then Rāma invoked the arrow of Vāyu, the wind. It struck Kumbhakarna in the shoulder, cutting off the arm that held the club. Looking like a mountain without its peak, Kumbhakarna uprooted a tree with his other arm and rushed on Rāma—but now Rāma sliced off that arm, too. As the massive arm tumbled to the ground, it crushed hills, rivers, and rākshasas.
Still the armless giant rushed on Rāma. Unperturbed, that knower of reality coolly shot off his foe’s legs, each the size of a mountain. Kumbhakarna, minus his arms and legs, opened his mouth to swallow Rāma. But Rāma sent a volley of arrows into that wide and cavernous mouth, filling it up so the giant could no longer breathe.
Eager to end the fight, Rāma dispatched the sharpened arrow of Indra, which resembled the rod of Brahmā and vied with the wind in speed, trailing bright rainbow feathers like a comet. It severed the head of the demon Kumbhakarna, which crashed onto the fortress of Lankā and demolished part of the wall. The monstrous body fell into the sea, flattening thousands of rākshasas as it fell and drowning thousands more in the surging tides of its wake.
Earth, sky, and ocean rejoiced at the demise of Kumbhakarna. Devas, Rishis, and celestials rained down flower petals and shouted with joy. Dancing in jubilation, the army of monkeys leapt to the heavens and back. Having defeated Kumbhakarna in battle, Rāma shone as bright as the sun that dispels the darkness of the celestial worlds after being delivered from the mouth of Rāhu.
Then Rāma dispatched the sharpened arrow of Indra,
which resembled the rod of Brahmā and vied with the wind in speed,
trailing bright rainbow feathers like a comet.
—Yuddha Kānda 67.165
CHAPTER 47
Rāvana Sends His Sons into Battle
How can you leave me,
you who were my right arm,
who laughed when Indra’s dread thunderbolt
bounced off your vast chest?
With you I was invincible,
with you I shattered the enemy armies.
Now the Devas howl with laughter.
Now I am as good as dead.
What joy is there in Sītā now?
Or my kingdom,
when I have lost you,
my invincible brother,
destroyed in the purifying fire that is Rāma.
If only I had listened to the pious Vibhīshana.
If only I had followed his sage advice,
you and the valiant Prahasta would be alive,
and all would be well.
When Rāvana heard the shocking news of his brother Kumbhakarna’s death, he slid from his throne and collapsed on the floor. Recovering only slightly, he wailed and beat his chest. “I should have listened to Vibhīshana!”
“This lamenting and wailing is not fit for a great warrior like you,” counseled his valiant son Trishiras. “What is there to lament? You possess the weapons bestowed on you by the Devas, including the javelin and armor of Brahmā. You have vanquished the Devas in countless battles without even wearing that flashing armor. Go now and conquer Rāma. Better yet, let me.”
The other sons of Rāvana—Devāntaka, Narāntaka, and Atikāya—joined in. “I will go first!” cried one. “No, I will lead!” said another.
Rāvana gazed at his powerful sons, who were as strong as Indra, adept at magic, and educated in the Vedas. They, too, possessed powerful boons. The wicked Rāvana, his mind bemused by pride, felt he had been given a second chance.
Rāvana embraced his sons, decorated them with jewels, blessed them, and sent them off to battle.
The sons of Rāvana, immense in size and strength, prostrated themselves at their father’s feet and circled him with their hands folded in respect. Then they sallied forth into battle in their magnificent chariots, banners flying and gold flashing.
Of all the sons of Rāvana, Atikāya was the best bowman. He towered above the others, tall as Mount Meru, wearing his golden, jeweled crown. Trishiras had three heads, Narāntaka rode a gleaming white horse draped in gold, and Devāntaka brandished an iron club set with jewels.
When the rākshasa army saw the sons of their king riding out into battle, their jeweled ornaments flashing in the sunlight, they greeted them with a tumult of ringing bells and piercing war whoops. The thunder of elephants, horses, and camels pounded the earth. The monkeys heard the din and saw the rākshasas bearing down on them like a dark storm.
The monkey army of Rāma fearlessly attacked the rākshasa hordes. They pounded them with boulders, pummeled them with fists, and tore at them with tooth and nail.
To stop their advance, Narāntaka rode his powerful horse through their midst, mowing down countless monkeys with his barbed club. Seeing his army being destroyed, the invincible Angada, armed only with his nails, teeth, and fists, bashed the skull of Narāntaka’s horse and soon Rāvana’s son lay dead.
Narāntaka’s death infuriated his brothers and Rāvana’s brother Mahodara, who circled around Angada, attacking the monkey chief with their clubs, arrows, and spears. Though he had to fight three terrifying rākshasas at once, Angada showed no sign of fatigue or strain. He bounded about, first raining down boulders on his enemies, then wielding an uprooted tree. When Mahodara tried to run over him with his elephant, he stepped nimbly aside and smacked the elephant with his open palm, bringing the beast tumbling down. Then he grabbed a tusk off the elephant and struck Devāntaka with it. Devāntaka swung his club and stunned Angada for a moment, but he leapt up to fight again—only to be shot by three arrows of Trishiras, which made his forehead bleed profusely but did not stop him.
Seeing Angada fending off three warriors by himself, Hanumān and Nīla rushed to his aid. Soon the mighty Hanumān flattened Devāntaka, and Nīla knocked off Mahodara’s head. Enraged at his loved ones’ deaths, Trishiras wheeled his chariot on Hanumān, raining down arrows. When Hanumān sprang on the backs of his horses, Trishiras let fly his blazing javelin. The Son of the Wind caught it and snapped it like a twig. Trishiras responded by plunging his sword into Hanumān’s chest, which only inflamed that courageous monkey to rise up and strike Trishiras with his massive fist. As Trishiras stumbled and fell, his sword slipped from his grasp. Quick as the wind, Hanumān snatched the sword of Trishiras and cut off his three heads. The three crowns rolled in the dust.
The monkeys cried out in jubilation, and their shouts filled the air like thunder. Hearing their victory cries, Rāvana’s brother Mahāpārshva grabbed his mace, now crusted with the blood of his enemies, and struck the monkey chief Rishabha in the chest like a thunderbolt. The enormously strong Rishabha snatched the mace and smashed Mahāpārshva’s head into pieces.
Now Atikāya saw what had happened and raced his chariot to the spot. His eyes blazing fire, his colossal form terrified the monkeys in his path, who thought he was Kumbhakarna resurrected.
Rāma spotted him wheeling across the battlefield and asked Vibhīshana, “Who is this formidable rākshasa, who with his spears and weapons blazing reminds us of Shiva himself? Large as an elephant, his face as serene as t
he moon, he flames like the fire at the end of time. With four charioteers, thirty-eight quivers, and numerous shining red crossbows, his golden amulets flashing, he scatters the monkeys with his power.”
“He is Atikāya, the son of Rāvana,” said Vibhīshana. “He has all the strength and prowess of his father. He has mastered many celestial weapons, and Brahmā himself has bestowed upon him immunity from death at the hand of Deva or asura. Brahmā has also given him a set of shining armor, which makes him invincible. He has humbled the Devas in a hundred battles. Use all your strength with him, for he is not to be trifled with.”
Atikāya mowed down vast numbers of monkeys with his arrows, which were made of iron. Even Nīla and other monkey chiefs were paralyzed by them. Driving fearlessly to the spot where Rāma stood, Atikāya shouted, “I will not fight just anyone. If you dare, come and fight me.”
Lakshmana was incensed by this cocky statement and plucked his bow. The thunderous sound looped the earth and reverberated up to the heavens, striking fear into the hearts of the rākshasas.
“You are a mere boy,” said the arrogant Atikāya as he mounted his arrows on his bow. “Send me a man to fight.”
“Warriors are measured by their feats in battle, not by their age,” answered Lakshmana. “Let me see your actions, for boastful words do not make you a hero.”
In answer Atikāya let loose his powerful arrows, but Lakshmana shot them down. Atikāya mounted a celestial weapon and shot Lakshmana in the chest, and the mighty Lakshmana reeled from the blow, bleeding heavily. Then, remembering his origin in the absolute power that was Vishnu, Lakshmana healed himself and sent a celestial arrow sizzling like a molten snake straight into Atikāya’s forehead.
Staggered by the blow, Atikāya finally regained his balance and said, “I see by the force of that arrow that you are, indeed, a worthy opponent.”
After that, the two warriors kept shooting weapons, but each time the other cut them down. Even when Lakshmana’s arrows hit Atikāya’s chest, they glanced off like a ball bouncing.
The Ramayana Page 35