‘Clear the way,’ he had shouted, his voice muffled yet clear enough beneath the boulder.
His neighbours had moved aside like wheatstalks parting before a horse. They had staggered aside, staring with incredulous eyes, gibbering and grunting and pointing. Hanuman had taken a step to one side, staggering beneath the unspeakable weight, and Rama had thought for one soul-chilling moment that his friend would fall into the ocean and be crushed beneath the stone. But then Hanuman had exerted one last enormous effort, and to Rama’s surprise, the boulder had risen up, raised by the vanar’s own two arms, and nothing else, and Hanuman had flung it bodily beyond the edge of the promontory, into the sea. It had fallen with a great splash, drenching everyone for dozens of yards around with brine. Nobody cared. After a shocked moment, they were all cheering, as they had that first day, and then they crowded around Hanuman, clapping him on the back, hugging him and licking him and nuzzling him.
Hanuman was back to normal size again.
‘I can’t explain it,’ he said that sundown as they sat to eat their evening meal. Rama was still wet from the acamana and the wind was cool on his wet hair. ‘I only knew that I needed more strength than I had, more strength than I could possibly have, and the next moment, I had that strength. I don’t know about how I grew larger. It was as if I was someone else and I was doing it all, and I was aware of it but still not wholly myself.’
He looked around apologetically at the many curious faces watching him. ‘That’s all I can think of to say. I don’t know anything else about it.’
Jambavan grunted. ‘Better to have infinite strength yet not be aware of it, than to have to be a puny man who considers himself a giant.’
Lakshman frowned at the bear king. ‘What exactly does that mean? How can anyone not know their own strength? How could any vanar possibly double in size and then reduce to normal size again? And how could anyone possibly lift a boulder that size just like that?’
The bear king’s eyes glinted in the dusky light. There was no fire. Bears and vanars did not sit around and Rama had accustomed himself to eating uncooked food. ‘Do you know the answers to all questions in creation, brother Lakshman? What does it matter, the how and the why. This happened. That is all that we need know.’
‘But will it happen again tomorrow?’ Lakshman demanded. ‘Can Hanuman do this at will? If yes, then he can virtually build the bridge on his own! And if he can do it, why not the other vanars? Or the bears? Why not yourself, King Jambavan? With that kind of strength, we can finish this task in days!’
As against months or seasons, Rama added mentally but did not say. ‘I am sure we all wish for the same,’ he said aloud. ‘Even if only Hanuman can summon up such reserves of strength and ability, it would help us in our task a great deal.’
‘Ah,’ Nala said, releasing the word like a great pent-up sigh. Through his eyes, Rama could see visions of Hanuman rolling rocks as easily as bales of straw, and his great bridge being constructed in mere days.
Hanuman looked at Rama. ‘My lord, whatever strength I possess is given by you.’
‘Well spoken,’ Jambavan rasped.
Lakshman looked at each of them in turn. ‘Well spoken? What? That Hanuman’s strength is derived from Rama? By that argument, Rama should be able to lift a boulder in each hand and toss it over the mountain straight into the ocean!’
Jambavan snorted. ‘You take things too literally at times, brother. What Hanuman meant was that his love for and faith in Rama is the source of his strength.’
‘Very well,’ Lakshman conceded reasonably. ‘But that still does not answer the question: Can he or can he not summon up that strength at will?’
‘When the time comes, he will summon up far greater powers. What you saw today was only a small demonstration. Once he is ready, he will be able to not only toss boulders over mountains as you suggested, but even pick up whole mountains if he desires.’
Lakshman was silenced. Rama stared at the bear king, unable to tell whether the ancient rksaa was being literal now or mystical. Soon after, the topic changed—everyone had various ideas about how they might carry the rocks more effectively to the promontory. None of the ideas proved workable. The sandy beach made it impossible to take the stones any other way. After debating fruitlessly for a while, they resigned themselves to the existing method and moved on to discussing other matters.
That was yesterday. Today, thus far at least, Hanuman had not displayed any sign of repeating his extraordinary feat of the day before, and not for want of trying. Rama had twice seen the vanar put his shoulder to a rock and try to heave it up, and each time the rock had won the contest. After that, Hanuman had decided not to try again, and even the entreaties and encouragements offered by his fellow rock-lifters could not persuade him to make a third attempt.
In the late afternoon, the weather began to change. It began with a wind, nothing more. Restless, milling about, causing sand dervishes that irritated all, blowing saltspray into their eyes, but doing little harm. Nobody paid it much heed. But then the sea began to rise more than usual, each wave arching higher and falling farther inland. Never had they seen the tide rise so fast or so high. Soon all the fallen boulders were waterlogged and the vanars and bears attempting to carry them were immersed at various levels. It was not so bad for the bears since the water came up to their haunches at worst, but most of the vanars were floundering, some in neck-high water. And still the ocean kept rising, the wind kept growing stronger, and the temperature dropped steadily, despite the sun’s presence.
Then sulky, dark clouds began rolling in across the sea, lightning flickering inside their enormous bellies like devas warring listlessly. The deep, sub-aural grumbling and grinding warning of things to come.
The beach and mountainside were buzzing with ill omens and portents seen and unsuitable dreams the night before. Some had seen flocks of inauspicious birds flying in the wrong direction, others had experienced twitching in the eyes and right-hand limbs, and so on. Rama had never been particularly superstitious, and could not have identified an ill omen if it flew over him with banners unfurled and embroidered with warnings writ large, but he knew enough about such things to understand that they indicated some larger disturbance in the natural order. The gurus had taught them about how nature always issued warnings to the living creatures that inhabited any environment in the event of any calamity. This was why rats knew when to desert a burning house or a sinking seacraft, or why birds lost their sense of direction and flew in ‘inauspicious’ ways before the approach of a storm.
None of his people were inclined to work. Several of the Kiskindha vanars were already squatting high on the dunes, arranging themselves in mandalas and chanting verses to ward off the ill will of Lord Varuna. The Mandaras were miserable and wet but still struggled to toil on beside their bear brothers to lift the three newly rolled-down boulders, though there was more chance of the poor fellows drowning than actually lifting the rocks. There had been much mixing of the tribes these past days, with everyone focusing on the given task rather than on clan or tribal organisation. But the change of weather frightened them all and they were fast falling back into their traditional lines. Rama saw his workers gathering in clan-clusters instinctively, disturbed by the stormy weather and rising ocean. He did not rebuke or order anyone: it was brave enough of them to stay their ground in the face of such things. Only weeks earlier, few of them had ever seen the ocean in their lives before, let alone dreamed they would come so close to the dreaded thing. He waited to see how things played out. Surely the storm would pass quickly, surely it was no more than a passing disturbance; the monsoons were over, were they not? But he had heard tell that in these southern climes there was often a second monsoon, one that came during the winter months and which brought fierce typhoons and cyclones. He did not think such a storm might be coming; it could not, must not. He put it out of his mind and continued his work: carrying smaller stones from the beach and using them to plug the gaps and holes in
the bridge. At the edge of the bridge, a wave rose up over him from behind—he heard the shouted warning from one of the vanars accompanying him just before it struck—and broke upon his back. The force of the current was almost enough to sweep him off his feet and into the ocean. He gritted his teeth, shutting his eyes against the stinging onslaught, and resisted the watery claws tugging insistently at his feet.
The bears seemed unperturbed by the coming storm. As Rama waited for the line of vanars to hand up another stone, on the far side of the beach a boulder was being hoisted slowly and painfully by the bears. There were no vanars in the group because of the incoming tide. But Hanuman was in the midst of them, at the most dangerous point beneath the stone, heaving manfully. Rama watched as an incoming wave crashed into them, splashing over the boulder itself and the whole group disappeared from view beneath the wall of water. When it cleared, the bears sputtering and spitting water but unable to shake their soaked fur, he saw that the impact had dangerously imbalanced the whole group. Several tense moments passed as Hanuman shouted orders to bears on his right and left, fore and aft. The bears and vanars on the beach watched tensely as well, and for a few heartbeats it seemed that the group was certain to lose the unequal battle. Rama prayed that another wave did not come crashing into them just then.
Somehow, though, partly through Hanuman’s clever commands to adjust their balance and largely through the sheer will of the bears, they managed to regain command of the rock and resume their slow, incremental forward motion again. Another wave did come then, and almost buried them again, but they were able to withstand it and carry on. Water foamed and seethed continually around their waists, giving the bears a straggly wretched appearance that made Rama feel sorry for them. Several of them had bare patches through which vermilion wounds and scrapes showed through the fur, evidence of the hard price they paid for their achievements. This bridge, he thought with tightly clenched fists, is being built with the bones and blood of these beings, not just with stones and rocks.
‘So what do you think caused it?’
Rama had no need to turn to look at Lakshman. He had seen his brother coming down the mountain and over the dunes, pausing briefly to watch the near-fatal struggle of the bears when the wave threatened to imbalance them, before making his way over the bridge. He had no need to ask Lakshman what he meant either; he knew what the question referred to: Hanuman’s show of strength.
Rama shrugged, as much to attempt to alleviate the tight muscular tension in his body as to respond to Lakshman’s query. ‘Nothing so far,’ he said. ‘He hasn’t done it today.’
‘I know that,’ Lakshman said with a trace of impatience. ‘It’s been the only thing everyone’s been talking about since morning. Has he, hasn’t he, not yet, not today, not ever again.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far. I don’t think what he did yesterday was a fluke. It was his own doing. I saw it. It reminded me of … ’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sure he will be able to do it again.’
‘What were you about to say?’ He felt Lakshman’s eyes on him, watching him knowingly. ‘You were going to say it reminded you of the time Brahmarishi Vishwamitra gave us the maha-mantras Bala and Atibala, weren’t you? The kind of superhuman strength we gained at that time. Maha-shakti. You think Hanuman has somehow been given a similar mantra by someone? A certain wise and inscrutable old bear perhaps?’
Rama was about to answer when suddenly a cry came to them, above the keening wind and crashing ocean, the chanting of the vanars on the beach, and the grunts and gruff shouts of the bears at work. He looked up and saw the silhouettes of bears and vanars on the mountain, crying out and flailing their hands. Jambavan was there too, standing to one side of a huge boulder, certainly the largest they had mined since that monstrous one on the first day. The bear king and his generals were straining at the boulder, struggling. Not to tip it over as they usually did, but to stop it.
Lakshman cursed. ‘It must have rolled. The ground is eroded there.’
He sprinted back down the length of the ‘bridge’, all fifty or so yards of it, leaping nimbly over the wave-washed guano-slippery rocks, even though it would be quite impossible for him to run all the way back up the mountain in time. Rama let him go, knowing that Lakshman had come down only because the work upon the mountain had been suspended until the boulder being moved below had been carried out of the way. That boulder up there had been much farther back on the clifftop, almost out of sight, when Rama had last glanced up. It must have rolled, set into motion by the ground at the edge giving way. He could see the rim of the cliff face crumbling a little, debris falling like crumbs from a hungry mouth. The constant rolling of immense boulders over the edge had inevitably taken its toll; the ground at the edge of the cliff had been steadily eroded. At the meeting of leaders the night before, Lakshman had warned that something like this might happen, but Jambavan had only grunted and said that until they built another mountain or removed this one from their way, they would have to make do.
Rama looked down and saw a frightening sight. Hanuman and the bears were directly below the cliff, only a few dozen yards from the bottom of the cliff. If Jambavan’s team could not halt that great boulder from rolling over the cliff edge, Hanuman and the bears would not be able to put down their rock and move away in time. One way or another, they would all be crushed to death.
THREE
The great rock teetered on the rim of the cliff. Without taking his eyes off it, Rama saw a single figure run madly up the mountain. He knew it was Lakshman. He would not reach the top in time. It did not matter. Nothing Lakshman or anyone else did could stop what was happening. The rock was too close to the edge and the edge was crumbling too fast. As it was, the bears, supervised by a madly gesturing Nala, were desperately attempting to push it back, risking their lives in the process, for the only thing that stood between that rock and the fall was their bodies. Still, they strained and sweated valiantly, knowing that the lives of their brothers and sisters below were at stake. At one point, Nala himself put his hands and pushed at the back of one of the bears, as if by adding his few ounces of strength he could tip the balance in their favour. There was no place for more helping hands to fit.
On the beach below, Hanuman and his fellow rock-carriers were still labouring beneath their crushing burden. They were still a good ten yards from safety, Rama estimated, and even that was uncertain, for who knew exactly how far a rock might roll after falling from such a height.
He turned and sprinted over the bridge, almost dashing into the stunned vanars busy staring at the unfolding calamity. He shouted to them to move, and when he was still a long way from the tideline, leaped off the rocks and into the water. He landed with a resounding splash in chest-deep water, and fought his way through the swell. An incoming wave almost lifted him off his feet. Glancing up as he half-swam and half-ran, he saw that the edge was crumbling further, fist-sized stones falling away steadily now. A bear at the very edge lost his footing and fell to his death below, not a word of protest leaving his mouth in that final descent. Jambavan’s deep-throated roar urged the others to fight, fight on, as if it was a battle they were fighting, not a rock.
Rama reached the place where the bears and Hanuman were waging a battle of their own. He splashed his way around, towards the beachward side of the group straining beneath the weight of the boulder, trying to see the vanar. But Hanuman was surrounded by the press of dark, wet fur and the light in the sky had dimmed to twilight duskiness. Rama went close enough to shout above the raging sea and called out his friend’s name.
‘Hanuman, listen to me. Do not attempt to reply, I know you cannot speak. Only listen to my words.’
He spat out sea water swallowed inadvertently during his frantic run and took a deep breath.
‘My friend, I know you have great power in your veins. I do not claim to understand what infinite source gives you that power. But you said yesterday that whatever strength you possess was given by me. Very well. In that case, I
now give you all my strength, all the power I have possessed before, and all I will possess in ages to come. Take it. Take my strength and save yourself and save these brave allies of our’s. Act now, Hanuman Maruti Anjaneya. Act now and save the day.’
And he uttered the most powerful mantra he knew, the Mahamantra Gayatri, whispered into the ears of newborn infants that their souls, that portion of Brahman granted to each living being, could awaken and channel the power of the infinite shakti that created and maintained the universe, unlocking the eternal energy of all creation, the invisible force that sometimes manifested itself as devas, asuras, mortals and other animals, depending on the need of the hour. He chanted it over and over, with a fervent devotion he had not felt for too long, since that day in the Bhayanak-van when Brahmarishi Vishwamitra had chanted it, starting his cycle of litanies, and channelling the infinite force into both Rama and Lakshman, to feed them in their solitary battle against the warped offspring of the giant demoness Taraka. He was no brahmarishi, or even a Brahmin, nor was he that same Rama who had fought half a thousand demoniac creatures in the dark forest that day. He had no mahashakti infusing his body, empowering him to achieve great superhuman feats, nor did he know any of the sacred smriti mantras that Brahmins and Brahmin warriors used at such times. But he was not seeking power for himself. He was seeking to pass on his own stored energies to Hanuman. It did not matter that he now possessed no more strength than any other exceptional mortal warrior—no more perhaps, than Lakshman, for instance. What mattered was that Hanuman regarded him as a godlike being, possessed of infinite strength. The vanar’s faith was absolute, as solid as the rock beneath which he laboured now. And it was that faith that Rama sought to appeal to, to awaken, to unleash. This was the only thing he could think of. For Hanuman did possess the strength required to accomplish this seemingly impossible task he was demanding of him; he had seen him lift and toss that boulder yesterday. The power was there in his veins; it needed only to be unlocked. And if Rama’s intuition was right, then he himself, and he alone, could provide the living key.
RAMAYANA Part 3_PRINCE AT WAR Page 18