‘‘I cannot,” she pleaded. “For I am wedded to a good and honest vanar. It would not be meet for me to cuckold him thus. Were I not his wife, and only an apsara as indeed I was until not long ago, then I would gladly accept your passion, my lord. But I cannot commit a dishonourable act.” And she related the story of her curse and exile to the wind god in brief, apologetic words.
‘In her reply itself, Vayu saw the means to his salvation. “Dear lady, do you not see the truth of your own reasoning? At present you are not in the form of a vanar. You are as you were, an apsara of Indra’s court. By your divine master’s own command, you are Punjikasthala the apsara, not Anjana, wife of Kesari, for the duration of this night. It is in the form of Punjikasthala that I desire you. And Punjikasthala is not married nor has she taken a vow of fidelity to any one male. As Punjikasthala, you will be blameless in submitting to my embrace. Before morning arrives and you are transformed back into your vanar form, I will leave you. This I promise.”
‘In addition, the lord of wind promised that he would beget upon her that night a son who would be a champion among vanars and a legend whose exploits would be related for millennia after his passing. He would be brave and strong beyond measure, and endowed with great wisdom. The wind god continued heaping promises upon promises, in order to persuade the beautiful damsel to acquiesce. And finally, his arguments won her over, and Punjikasthala submitted to his desires. When she awoke the next morning, she was alone upon the mountain once more, and was once again the vanari Anjana. She had no memory of her encounter the night before, because Vayu deva had erased all memory of their encounter. Months later, when she gave birth to a handsome and healthy young vanar son, she herself assumed it was Kesari’s son. The truth was known only by Vayu himself, and he told it to Indra at his court where he was overheard by the wandering Brahmin Narada muni. And Narada, of course, told everyone who was willing to listen, and a good number who did not care to listen, too. And that was how the son of Anjana and Vayu was born in the house of Kesari the vanar.’
SEVEN
All assembled continued to listen in enraptured silence to the bear king. It was not only the tale itself that had their interest but the manner in which Jambavan told it. He made it seem as
if they were hearing it for the first time, which, in a sense, Rama mused, they were. For it was one thing to know a little here and a bit there about a person, and quite another to hear that person’s entire biography narrated by someone as wise and knowledgeable as Jambavan. The bear king was clearly blessed by Saraswati herself, devi of knowledge. ‘When he was but a boy, Hanuman revealed that he was no ordinary vanar. But fate decreed that none were there to see his greatness revealed, albeit briefly. It was because of his father’s occupation that he and his mother were often alone in some unsettled part of the wilderness, while Kesari studied flora and sought new methods of intermingling species and designing bigger and more beautiful gardens. Later they would come to live in Kiskindha city proper, where he would meet companions like Prince Angad and where his half-brother Sakra and other siblings would be born. But in those first weeks after his birth, Hanuman mostly played alone.
‘One day he saw the sun rising over the forest. He was no more than a babe still and it was the first time he had seen the celestial orb with his own eyes. He took it for a fruit hanging over the trees, and tried to leap to grab it. He leaped once and reached the top of the tallest tree, but could not catch it. He leaped again, leagues above the forest, and still could not put his hands upon the sun. So, with a great intake of breath, he jumped higher still, all the way to the sun itself. The ray’s of that great ball of fire were powerful and searing, but still he did not falter. Lord Indra in Swargaloka saw what his godson was doing, for ever since Vayu had told him how he begat Hanuman upon Punjikasthala, Indra had felt himself personally responsible for the young vanar—after all, it was he who had sidestepped the curse by transforming her back for that one fateful night even though he had known the possible consequences, so in a sense he was directly responsible for Vayu’s flaring of passion— and he saw that in another instant Hanuman would reach the sun and wrest that great orb out of the sky, thereby disrupting the whole of Prithvi. There was barely time to act, let alone to think. So Indra took the fastest recourse—he hurled his thunderbolt at Hanuman moments before he could reach the sun. Hanuman was hurled back, his body striking a glancing blow to the moon, which sustained a deep crater still visible on a full moon night, and then fell upon a mountain of our world, whereupon his jaw broke on impact. This, by the way, was how he came to be known as Hanumat or Hanuman, literally, He Of The Broken Jaw, for until that day he had been known after his mother’s name, Anjaneya, from Anjana, as is the vanar custom. On breaking his jaw, at once the babe with the broken hanu began bawling. For even though he was possessed of divine powers, he was still a babe and knew only one way to express himself.’
Rama looked at Hanuman and so guileless and honest was the vanar’s protruding face that he could well imagine the little babe that this grown hulk had once been. When he looked back at Jambavan, he found the bear gazing at him with a dark twinkle in his grape-black eyes, as if he knew exactly what Rama had just thought and what he was thinking at any moment.
‘Naturally, his true father Vayu, who was everywhere and saw everything that happened, was furious. Greatly offended by Indra’s action against his son, he did the worst thing possible. He ceased blowing in the three worlds. At once, all creatures high and low, devas and asuras and mortals and other creatures, began suffering greatly. The devas were confused and knew that they must appease Vayu at once or all life would cease to exist. So, Lord Brahma picked up little Hanuman, rocked him on his knee, and conferred upon him a blessing, softly whispered. This was the boon of invulnerability. From that time onward, Hanuman could never be harmed by any weapon in battle, be it mortal or celestial, no matter who wielded it. It was Brahma’s way of saying to Vayu that in future even Lord Indra, master of heaven’s affairs, could not punish his son as he had done that one time. Indra, who was feeling very guilty, for he had after all employed a terrible weapon of mass destruction against one who was no more than an innocent babe, was pleased and relieved. To show that he had not meant little Hanuman any harm, he granted him a boon as well.’
‘What boon was that, Lord Bear?’
It was Hanuman himself who had asked the question.
Jambavan grunted and patted the vanar’s head affectionately, tousling his hair as he would any bear cub. ‘It was the power to choose the manner and time of your death, my lad. Considered by many to be the greatest boon of all. For as we know, even the boons of invulnerability and invincibility can prove wearisome after a long life. Sooner or later, all things must end. It is the way of the world. So, to be able to choose when that time comes and in what way, ah, that is the finest gift anyone can be given.’
The bear king sighed and slapped his thigh. Several startled bees, suckling contentedly on the honey drops splattered here and there on the bear lord’s fur, were startled and flew off, buzzing in protest. ‘But of course, there was a caveat to all these gifts. It was decided that henceforth Hanuman’s mind would be sealed from all knowledge or awareness of his own divinity and of the great powers he wielded. Only when the proper time came, it would be revealed again, but for the nonce it was best that he neither knew nor wielded his power.
Jambavan looked at the back of his right paw, noticing a food stain of some kind that had been there for some days. He licked it curiously, then lapped it clean, as he added, ‘And that is the legend of Hanuman’s parentage and true nature.’
Rama looked around. Everyone looked stunned. He could see that several had questions, probably too many to be answered, and too controversial to be dealt with quickly and easily, even if the surly bear king deigned to answer one or two. Most stunned of all was Angad, who sat with his gaze riveted on Hanuman’s upturned face—still looking at Jambavan—as if he could not believe that his childhood pla
ymate was the same being of whom Jambavan had just spoken.
After a pregnant pause, during which Rama could hear the separate sounds of the surf soughing on the beach below and the rough crashing of the ocean upon the cliffside and crags, a great commotion broke out. Everyone began speaking at once, some excited, others shocked, and scores of vanars and bears began crowding the grove, seeking to spy the son of Vayu deva with newly opened eyes that now saw him for the great being he truly was. It was a cacophony so deafening, the bats in the trees above began screeling their sub-vocal calls and flying about madly.
Rama stood and asked for silence. Few heard him at first. That itself showed the level of excitement.
He shouted. And the other vanar and bear leaders heard him and conveyed his desire. A wave of ‘be silent!’ and ‘Rama speaks!’ rippled outward from the grove, travelling miles away, and finally quiet descended raggedly once more. Rama waited a moment or two. He could hear the distant shouts of ‘quiet, quiet’ still echoing and being repeated, the whirring of the bats overhead, and the hammering of his own heart in his chest.
Finally, he raised his hand to indicate he had something important to say.
‘All things come at their proper time and place. Thus has it been designed by the creator Sri, the One God of whom even the devas and devis are but many disparate reflections. There is a reason and purpose for Jambavan to be telling us this tale today, not yesterday or tomorrow. And there is a reason why Hanuman’s full potential was not revealed to us any other day. As we all know, time is short and the task ahead immense. I know you would all dearly desire to debate and discuss this matter further, but I request you to put it aside. We know our friend’s greatness now, and that is all that matters. All our doubts and queries can be answered over time—indeed, I have no doubt that the things we are meant to know we will come to know in due course anyway. But for the nonce, we must give our friend pause to reflect upon the things he himself has learned here about his own self. Now is not the time to press him with a thousand queries. Give him some space, my friends, give him a little room to explore the implications of his own rediscovered history.’
Jambavan rose. ‘Rama speaks wisely as ever. Heed him well. I have told the tale of Hanuman’s true potential not to entertain and regale us all. But to help the vanar himself unlock the power embedded in his being. Yet all the power in the world is of no use if he who bears it is not able to comprehend its purpose and put it to good use.
‘Let Hanuman sit and meditate on what he has learned about himself. When he is ready, let him come and join us again. We owe him this much at least.’
And the bear king looked at Rama and said gently, ‘Rama, if you wish it, let us return to work now. The sun is still high above and there are many fruitful hours of labour to be enjoyed. Order the vanar sena and the rksaa sena back to work on the bridge. Hard labour is the best antidote to too much thought and speculation.’
Rama nodded. ‘I concur, Jambavan, my friend.’
He gave orders accordingly, and without a murmur of protest all began to move back towards the beach, their vast numbers reminding him of an ocean itself.
Nala came to him as he walked out of the sweet shade of the grove into the sunlight again. He seemed inordinately excited.
‘Rama, I must have a word with you.’
Rama thought at first that the vanar wished to speak about the story told in the grove and what it implied for them all. ‘Speak, Nala.’
Nala began to speak in a babble, his words stumbling over themselves, stopping and starting, breaking off in mid-sentence, gesturing furiously. He described calculations he had made, estimates of the distance, the likely depth of the ocean, the kind of rocks, the size and variety. He talked about an experiment he had conducted in a little inlet by a troop of vanars over the past days, and the results of that experiment.
Lakshman and Angad came up while they were talking and heard part of Nala’s explanations. Rama glanced at them to see if they understood the vanar better than he did. Neither seemed to know what he was talking about. Out of politeness, and sensing that it mattered greatly to Nala, Rama let him finish.
‘So, you see, Rama,’ the vanar concluded breathlessly, ‘this method will be far safer than the method we have been using till now, and moreover, it makes better use of our larger numbers. Instead of the vast number of our forces waiting for each giant boulder to be manoeuvred into position or carried thither and hither, everyone can work simultaneously. The work will proceed much faster, and with greater efficiency.’
He would have gone on in this mode but Rama interrupted him.
‘Nala,’ he said patiently, ‘Lakshman and Angad did not hear your full explanation. Can you repeat the gist of your argument for their benefit? But only the main point, please. Time is short.’
Nala turned to the others and started again with his calculations. This time he even took up a stick he carried with him for such things, and began drawing pictures and numbers in the dirt, showing them some elaborate vedic system of calculation he had devised involving the multiplication of the number of rocks by the length and breadth and depth of the proposed sea-bridge and—
‘Nala, Nala,’ Rama said hastily. ‘Not the whole explanation. I mean to say, just tell us your conclusion. In one sentence!’
Nala stopped and scratched his head, looking bewildered as if the idea of reducing his complex calculations into a single sentence was harder than building the entire bridge to Lanka. But finally, after several false attempts—all of which took several sentences just to start—Rama managed to get the gist out of him.
‘So,’ Rama said slowly, making sure he had understood correctly, ‘the idea is simply to switch from large rocks to small rocks. Right?’
‘Yes!’ Nala said, almost weeping with relief that he was finally being understood. Lakshman and Angad, with their customary impatience, had asked him several pointed questions that had confused and then maddened him. R ama wondered if all creatures gifted with extraordinary mental gifts were similarly challenged when it came to expressing the fruits of those mental talents!
‘Yes, Rama,’ Nala went on. ‘Imagine a small stone in every vanar’s hand, passed on by means of a great chain, from hand to hand, and finally thrown into the ocean. Each stone individually is too small to make much of a difference, but millions of them, thrown continually, all day long, will make up a volume as great as several hundred giant boulders.’
‘And there will be no risk involved, for these stones will not be in danger of crushing us,’ Rama said, seeing the full import of Nala’s new idea. ‘And because everyone will be picking up and passing on the stones at once, the majority will not be sitting idle for hours and waiting as they do now.’
‘That is what I have said already! Exactly!’
Rama looked at his two companions. They raised their eyebrows sceptically. ‘What do you think?’
Lakshman shrugged. ‘I am not sure. Would even a million small stones fill up as much depth as a single large boulder?’
‘Might such small stones not be washed away by the tide?’ Angad asked.
‘And what would keep them piled up on top of each other?’ Lakshman added doubtfully. ‘At least the big boulders once thrown, stay in place firmly. Even an ocean squall cannot move them. But little rocks … ?’
Agitated, Nala began to repeat his explanations about experiments conducted in inlets and the calculations that showed how their sheer number of hands and the volume of the rocks—
Rama stopped him. ‘No need to explain yourself again, Nala. I have made my decision. We shall build it as you propose.’
‘We shall?’ A stunned smile spread slowly across the vanar’s protruding mouth.
‘Yes, Nala. You are the bridge-builder. I have seen your work and am greatly impressed by it. We shall follow your plan. Let us put it into effect at once.’
‘Now, Rama?’ Nala hardly seemed able to contain his emotions.
Rama looked up at the sun. It was
already moving low in the west. ‘Until we start, we will not know how effective it is. The best way to find out is by implementing it and then judging the results for ourselves. Put it into effect right away, this very minute. Angad, Lakshman, see to it that all the leaders are given the appropriate instructions. Nala, you supervise the chains as you described to me. You will be the overseer of the complete operation henceforth. All of us will be guided by you and you alone. There must be no dissension on this matter. Is that clear?’
Lakshman’s eyes flashed, but he nodded in a surly way.
Rama was alone for barely a moment before he felt the presence of someone close by.
It was Sakra. The little vanar hovered hesitantly.
‘Yes, Cheeka,’ he said, then corrected himself, ‘Sakra, my friend. What troubles you?’
‘Hanuman,’ said the little one, his mischievously twinkling eyes sombre for once. ‘He has gone into the forest. Nobody knows where. The bears say he has gone into the caves. To meditate. Jambavan went with him … “to aid him in his self-discovery,” they say.’ He sniffed disapprovingly. ‘Smells like rotten fish to a vanar, I say.’
Rama bent down and picked up Sakra. The vanar was startled at first, issuing a brief ‘cheeka!’ then grew still, realising that he was enjoying a rare privilege by being embraced by the great Rama himself. ‘That is good, Sakra. Great revelations were made to him today. He needs time to reflect upon it all.’
Sakra looked unconvinced. He glanced this way, then that, as if wishing Hanuman were here with them.
‘What troubles you still, Sakra?’
‘I am afraid, Rama,’ he said meekly, a different person from the fellow who played pranks and created a commotion in the vanar ranks all day long. ‘I fear we will lose Hanuman forever now.’
‘Why do you fear that, Sakra?’
‘Because now he knows that he is so powerful. Why should he stay with us any longer? He will leave us and go live with his father the wind god, and we will never see him again.’
RAMAYANA Part 3_PRINCE AT WAR Page 22