“But rise up, O knower of truth,” he said. “How can you forget that you are the supreme Self, Paramātmā? I am here to serve you, and in my wrath over Sītā’s death I will level Lankā.”
Lakshmana choked back his own tears in order to comfort Rāma. Just then Vibhīshana arrived to report to Rāma after surveying the troops. “What is this?” he asked, distressed at seeing Rāma lying on the ground. “What has happened?”
When he heard the news, he knelt beside Rāma and said with urgency, “This is nothing but a trick of Rāvana’s, please believe me. I know Rāvana’s mind like my own. He would never allow Sītā to die any more than the ocean would dry up. He is much too attached to her; he refused to give her up even to prevent his own ruin. Indrajit has used this sorcery to distract you from his real objective: to become invisible again. Shake off this gloom, Rāma, and send Lakshmana to stop the spell from being completed. Once Indrajit is invisible, none can vanquish him.”
Rāma opened his eyes and stared at Vibhīshana in a daze. Still sunk in grief, he only vaguely understood the meaning of Vibhīshana’s words. Finally he said, “I need you to repeat what you just said.”
Again Vibhīshana, who was a masterful orator, urged Rāma to stop Indrajit before he finished the rite for invisibility.
“If he completes the rite and is able to use the invisible chariot and horses and the missile of Brahmā that he received for his austerities, we cannot defeat him. Yet Brahmā predicted his death when he said, ‘The enemy who interrupts your rite at Nikumbhilā and attacks you before the battle will end your life.’ So let us go and fulfill that prophecy.”
Rāma said, “It is true that once the cruel Indrajit uses his witchcraft to become invisible, no one can return his arrows. Even when he fights the Devas, he makes them fall into a faint. Lakshmana, go to Indrajit and fulfill his destiny. Take Hanumān, Jāmbavān, and all the monkey chiefs. Take Vibhīshana, for he knows the land and the ways of the rākshasas.”
Lakshmana of the auspicious markings covered himself in golden armor and grabbed his sword and bow. Glowing with the radiance of the Devas, raising high his quiver, he vowed, “These arrows will soar over the treetops of Lankā and end the life of Indrajit!” He circled his brother, bowed to Rāma’s feet, and joyfully joined Vibhīshana and the monkey chiefs.
“See the rākshasa forces hugging that hillside like a black cloud?” asked Vibhīshana. “If you disperse them, Indrajit will have to stop his ceremony to rally them.”
Following Vibhīshana’s advice, the monkeys and bears armed themselves with trees, rocks, and boulders and attacked the rākshasas on the hillside. Lakshmana blotted out the sky with his torrent of arrows. Hanumān rallied the monkey army, who loved to fight, with these words: “This is virtually the last remnant of Rāvana’s army. When Indrajit is killed today, there will be only one more rākshasa and his troops to conquer!” As the monkeys attacked, a ferocious din rose from the battlefield.
Just as Vibhīshana had predicted, Indrajit emerged from a thick clump of trees to save his army from being destroyed. In a rage, he mounted his chariot. His eyes red and mouth fiery as a hundred torches, he looked as terrifying as Death itself. When they saw their leader, the rākshasas rallied around him.
“Take me to that monkey,” cried Indrajit, pointing to Hanumān. “I will kill him before he destroys our army.”
While Hanumān occupied Indrajit in fierce combat, Vibhīshana spirited Lakshmana away to the Nikumbhilā Grove. There they saw the fire, still burning, under a huge banyan tree.
Suddenly Indrajit appeared, having seen them heading to his private altar. “Have you no shame?” he railed. “You are my uncle, my blood, yet you show the enemy my secret shrine! You know nothing of Dharma, or you would not harm your own kin.”
“Though born a rākshasa, I never agreed with my people’s evil ways,” Vibhīshana fired back. “It is right to leave the company of the wicked. It makes one rejoice. Stealing another’s wife, committing violence, and stealing another’s property—these are the three evils that the righteous cannot abide. It was because your father refused to stop committing these crimes that I left him. Now you too will die for your sins at the hand of the virtuous Lakshmana.”
Furious, Indrajit raised his formidable bow and taunted Lakshmana. “Remember that you have fallen twice under my arrows that tear like fire. This time you will not recover from your swoon!”
“Boasts cannot save you,” said Lakshmana. “Without the crutch of your magic, I will triumph.”
In answer to Lakshmana’s words, Indrajit shot a volley of fiery arrows that flashed through the air like comets. They struck Lakshmana all over his body, drawing blood. Indrajit whooped in delight. “I will kill you first, next your rogue brother Rāma. Jackals will eat your entrails.”
Lakshmana felt no pain from Indrajit’s arrows, nor was he perturbed by his verbal barbs. “Your words are empty without actions to back them up. As you will see, I will vanquish you without harsh words or boasting.” He fired off five missiles that struck Indrajit in the chest, surprising him with their power.
The two warriors were equally matched. Each a master of celestial weapons, when one shot an arrow the other swiftly countered, dissolving it with another. Some of the arrows struck home, and both Lakshmana and Indrajit were covered with wounds. But each was so focused on his task that neither felt any pain.
All of the Devas, Gandharvas, and Rishis gathered above the fray to watch the relentless barrage of arrows by the master bowmen. The two warriors strung new arrows and shot them so swiftly that it was impossible to see their hands. The thick volley of arrows darkened the sky, and the wind stopped blowing. The Rishis prayed, “May all be well with the three worlds!”
One of Lakshmana’s arrows killed Indrajit’s charioteer, but Indrajit fought on, directing his horses by thought alone while he continued to shoot arrows. The host of Devas marveled at his dexterity. Lakshmana, irked that Indrajit was able to continue maneuvering without a charioteer, struck the horses with his arrows. Vibhīshana finished them with his mace and then fired arrows that struck Indrajit full in the chest.
Incensed at his uncle’s interference, Indrajit shot the dread weapon of Yama at Vibhīshana. But just as quickly, Lakshmana mounted a weapon that had been given to him in a dream by Kubera. The two arrows collided head-on in the sky, and golden fragments streamed to the ground like fireworks, incensing both warriors.
Then Lakshmana shot the missile of Varuna; Indrajit shattered it in midair with the weapon of Shiva. Indrajit fired the blazing missile of Agni; Lakshmana destroyed it with the weapon of the sun.
The battle raged for three days and three nights. Finally, wishing to end the duel, the younger brother of Rāma fitted an arrow to his bow that had a rounded head, brilliant feathers, and a dazzling gold color. Lakshmana slowly pulled back the arrow, deadly as a viper and smoking with heat. Closing his eyes, he made a solemn vow, “If Rāma, son of Dasharatha, is the soul of Dharma, steadfast in truth and unmatched in valor, let this arrow take the life of the son of Rāvana.”
The arrow shot true. It severed the head of the cruel Indrajit, and his body crashed to the ground.
Vibhīshana and the multitude of monkeys raised their arms to the heavens in gratitude and jubilation. Celestial musicians filled the air with vibrant notes and the rolling of drums. The Devas, Gandharvas, and Rishis showered down flower petals, heaping them on the radiant Lakshmana.
With the demon Indrajit gone forever, the Devas vowed, “From this day may the Brahmins perform their duties without fear.”
The monkeys crowded around their hero Lakshmana. Laughing and cheering, they slapped their tails on the ground in joy. “Victory to Lakshmana!” they shouted.
One by one, Vibhīshana, Jāmbavān, Hanumān, and the other monkey leaders embraced Lakshmana and congratulated him on his stunning victory. They followed him like a parade as he walked to
the place where Rāma waited, sometimes leaning on Vibhīshana and Hanumān for support. Lakshmana humbly stood by Rāma’s elbow while Vibhīshana regaled Rāma with tales of his brother’s prowess in battle.
“Well done, Lakshmana!” said Rāma. “I am pleased with you. With the death of Indrajit, victory is ours. You have done what no one else could have achieved. Without Indrajit, Rāvana is missing his right hand. Now I will end his evil rule forever.”
Smiling broadly, having honored Lakshmana with these words, Rāma affectionately kissed his brother on the top of his head. Drawing him close in an embrace, he suddenly realized that Lakshmana was badly wounded.
Rāma called Sushena, the revered grandfather of Prince Angada, to his side. “Heal the valiant Lakshmana and restore him to good health. Also restore the brave Vibhīshana and all the monkeys and bears who have been wounded in battle.”
The highly respected commander Sushena then gave Lakshmana a powder made of herbs. When Lakshmana inhaled it, his wounds instantly disappeared, and his pain was gone. Sushena administered the same herb to Vibhīshana, Hanumān, Jāmbavān, and all the forces of Rāma’s army. Far into the night, the rejuvenated monkey army told stories of the great deeds of Rāma and Lakshmana, creating a din with their merrymaking.
If Rāma, son of Dasharatha, is the soul of Dharma, steadfast in truth
and unmatched in valor, let this arrow take the life of the son of Rāvana.
—Yuddha Kānda 90.69
CHAPTER 50
The Fall of Rāvana
O Rāma,
Bow to the Sun,
Sūrya, bringer of seasons,
giver of light,
the seer who bestows life.
Bow to the Sun,
Ushas, daughter of heaven
who appears on the horizon
and fills the dawn with radiance,
shedding golden beams
that warm the earth.
Bow to the Sun,
Hiranyagarbha, the golden egg,
the bird that floats in the void,
and fills it with daylight.
Bow to the Sun,
Āditya, the bestower of happiness,
hidden in the cave of the heart,
ruler of the worlds,
destroyer of darkness.
Bow to the Sun,
Pūshan, the spirit of the universe,
ruler of the stars,
the luminous chariot with seven horses
that conveys the sunrise and sunset.
Bow to the Sun,
Savitri, the moon’s consort,
who awakens the lotus,
dazzles the eye,
and dissolves the snow.
Bow to the Sun,
Prajāpati, who creates all creatures,
watches over them in sleep,
and nurtures the world with his rays.
Bow to the Sun,
Agni, the sacred fire and its fruit,
the witness in the heart of creation,
the gift of the gods,
who rejoices with rice and butter
and sweet songs of praise.
Rāvana fell from the throne and lay unconscious on the floor. His beloved son Indrajit was dead. After many hours, Rāvana regained awareness. Even then, he could only whisper a lament. “My child, who conquered Indra and the Devas, how could you lie dead? I hear the wailing in the women’s apartments—O why have you left me and your mother and your wife?”
Then his grief turned to rage. Ever ready to flare up, his anger now consumed him. His red eyes burned, his cavernous mouth opened to howl, and his red tongue leapt out like a flame. His brow furrowed in deep creases like the waves of the ocean. Tears of wrath dropped from his eyes and coursed down his face.
“I will demolish Sītā!” he roared. “My son killed her in magic, but I will do it for real.”
Arming himself with the body armor and magnificent bow that Brahmā had given him after a thousand years of penance, which neither Indra’s thunderbolt nor javelin had shattered in countless battles, Rāvana mounted his chariot and stormed over to the Ashoka Grove, his mind in turmoil. As he dismounted from his chariot and charged Sītā in his fury, brandishing his sword as blue as the sky, his ministers and well-wishers tried to hold him back.
Sītā saw Rāvana rushing toward her, and she sobbed with fear. “Helpless as I am, he is coming to kill me because so many times I refused to marry him, being devoted to Rāma. Or perhaps Rāma and Lakshmana are dead, and now he wishes to finish me off too. Fie on me that I should be the cause of their deaths! Oh, if only I had flown across the sea on Hanumān’s back and avoided all this.”
Seeing the pure-hearted Sītā waiting for her death, one of Rāvana’s high-minded and wise ministers, Supārshva, flew to Rāvana’s side. “You have so dutifully ruled your kingdom according to the laws of Dharma,” he addressed Rāvana. “Why should you commit this unforgivable sin of killing a woman? Come, win the war with Rāma, just as you have won every battle, and then Sītā will be yours.”
These words, which appealed to Rāvana’s vanity as well as his honor, had the desired effect. Rāvana directed his chariot to return to the palace. Entering the assembly hall again, he sank heavily into his throne and ordered his generals to resume the conflict at dawn.
As the epic fight began again the next day, Rāma invoked the Gandharva astra, a missile whose power was vested only in Rāma and Lord Shiva. Through its power he was able to multiply himself on the battlefield a thousandfold. The rākshasas sometimes saw a thousand Rāmas, sometimes just one. Sometimes they beheld a veil of destruction so dense that they couldn’t see anything of Rāma at all. His attack was like the wheel of a chariot spinning. Rāma formed the hub, shooting sparks and fiery arrows. He struck down the rākshasa army with such speed that within a few hours, ten thousand swift chariots, eighteen thousand elephants, fourteen thousand horses and riders, and fifty thousand infantry were annihilated. After nearly the entire army was destroyed, the few remaining chariots, elephants, horses, and soldiers limped back to Lankā in disarray.
“Well done, Rāma!” cried the Devas, Gandharvas, and Rishis from above.
The women and children of Lankā passed the night sobbing and wailing for the loss of their loved ones. Women everywhere cried out for their sons, husbands, and brothers. One and all, they blamed Rāvana. “Even now, he does not see that the one who takes on the fair-formed, truth-loving son of Dasharatha is headed for destruction,” they moaned amongst themselves. “If only Shūrpanakhā hadn’t insulted Rāma—if only Rāvana hadn’t stolen Sītā—if only our king had listened to the wise and pure-minded Vibhīshana.”
Hearing the pitiful wails from every home in Lankā, Rāvana fell into a deep depression. But—once again—it was not long before his ferocity resurged. He summoned Virūpāksha, the last of his commanders. “Come with me into battle, where I will slay Rāma and Lakshmana, and avenge the deaths of my sons and brothers,” he said. “Like an elephant I will trample the monkey army under my feet. I will blacken the sky, sending forth billows of arrows from my oceanlike bow.”
As the night wore on, the commanders searched the remaining buildings of Lankā, gathering what was left of Rāvana’s once vast army. When the sun came up Rāvana donned his armor and mounted his chariot with eight steeds. His commanders followed him in their chariots. When Rāvana reached the battlefield, jackals howled, darkness covered the sky like a blanket, and the clouds rained blood. But Rāvana in his folly ignored the bad omens and rode on to his destiny.
The battle began. Rāvana killed thousands of monkeys, and the field was covered with their bodies. Yet destiny was on the side of the good. After a ferocious fight, Sugrīva killed Virūpāksha with a blow to the chest. Seeing that brave warrior slain, the monkey army rallied and rushed on the rākshasas. Like waves
crashing in a hurricane, the two armies created a frightful din.
Soon Rāvana roared across the battlefield like the devourer of time. He bellowed, “I will avenge the tears of all the women of Lankā, I will chop down the tree that is Rāma, with Sītā as its fruits and flower. I will destroy these monkeys in a blaze to end the world!”
The mountains, rivers, and ocean shook as Rāvana’s chariot thundered to the place where Rāma stood. That wicked king released the missile of the asuras, the power of darkness. It shot across the sky like a meteor and exploded, burning the monkeys and creating chaos in Rāma’s army.
As the monkeys fled the blaze, Rāvana found himself face to face with Rāma. The all-powerful Rāma stood serenely on the battlefield, Lakshmana at his side. Rāma, thrilled to be facing Rāvana at last, plucked his bowstring, and the sound slapped the sky and tore up the earth.
First Lakshmana shot his flaming arrows at Rāvana. But Rāvana shot his arrows to deflect them, and then, wishing to fight Rāma alone, showered that invincible warrior with arrows. Rāma swiftly cut down the arrows of Rāvana with his own, and the two circled each other, blotting out the sky with a cloud of dark arrows, the sun flashing through the chinks like lightning.
Then Rāvana again let loose the missile of the asuras, which took the shape of heads of deadly lions, tigers, wolves, jackals, and alligators. Rāma coolly launched the missile of Agni, and his sharp arrows shone as bright as the sun, moon, and stars. They struck down the dreadful missiles of Rāvana in midair.
“Well done!” shouted Rāma’s army, and that first among bowmen smiled in satisfaction.
The Ramayana Page 37