Lakshman stood breathing heavily, staring not at Rama any longer, but at the ground on which they stood, the grassy slope of Mahendra. ‘And if Sita is violated?’
This time, it was Rama’s turn to look at him sharply. ‘Lakshman, remember your place. You speak of your sister-inlaw, she who is as honourable as your mother, or mine.’
‘Yes, she is. And I did not so much as suggest that she would yield or accept any advances ventured upon her. I know she would die rather than do so. Die fighting, for she is a warriorprincess of Mithila and I have seen her fight myself. But the word I used was ‘violated’. Even the fiercest fighter cannot battle an entire kingdom of rakshasas alone. I am sure Ravana did not steal her away so she could play a game of chaukat with him on rainy afternoons. He took her to make her his—’
‘Lakshman.’ This time Rama’s tone was not just one of warning, it carried open disapproval.
‘Fear not, bhai. I will not speak ill of her who is more honourable than Devi herself. I seek only to remind you of the facts of the matter. Even if Sita is returned to us, safe and sound in limb and health, as I sincerely pray she will be, what of the violation of her honour? Will you not seek to avenge that at least? I accept that you do not regard the violation of the honour of our house as sufficient justification for waging another war against the rakhsasa race. But what of the violation of your wife? Surely you cannot let that transgression pass unavenged?’
Rama’s fist, clenched so tightly that the knuckles had turned white, opened and closed slowly. His jaw worked, as if he would bite and rend the words to pulp rather than speak them. He took care not to look at Lakshman directly, keeping his eyes instead on the beach below and before them. But his anger was palpable and several moments passed, during which it seemed he must surely strike his brother. Yet he did not strike or shout or do anything that was not in his normal sphere of behaviour. Finally, he said in an almost level tone, ‘I will consider that question if and when it arises. For the moment, I do not care to discuss this matter further. We shall continue with the building of the bridge with the same haste as planned. We shall await Hanuman’s return. And then, we shall confer again, take stock of the situation, and decide what must be done. But know this, Lakshman, I will accept facts if they are proved to me. I will accept my fate and the fate of those I love, however terrible that fate may be. But I will not accept speculation and rumour and assumptions before the fact and before that fate is unveiled. Do not speak again of your sister-in-law in such a light. It does not become you, and I will not tolerate it. That is all I will say at present on this matter.’
THIRTEEN
The mountain shook. Birds shrieked and flew up in enormous numbers, filling and darkening the sky with their flocks. Swarms of bats, more numerous than anyone might have imagined, left the palm groves and wheeled about in confused dismay, unable to comprehend this disruption of the natural order. Monkeys, those gibbering distant relatives of the vanars, fled the safety of the trees of the forests on the rear side of Mahendra and in the valley behind, and scattered north and east, away from the source of the trembling. Other creatures of the forest, deer and buffalo, elephants and lions, snakes and mongoose, all fled as well, terrified by the shaking of the earth.
The entire region shook, in a fashion similar to, but different from, an earthquake. An earthquake would have been like a shuddering from deep within the earth, a subterranean vibration that travelled to the surface. This shaking was only upon the surface itself, and it was not as constant as an earthquake, nor as reverberatory. It shook in the aftermath of one enormous, bone-shuddering thud, accompanied by a massive pounding sound that rattled in the ears, then was still for long moments, before the thudding and pounding were repeated, this time louder and more powerful than before, followed by a longer pause than the one before, followed by an even louder and more bone-shaking thud, and then a still longer pause … The intervals between thuds grew greater, and the impact and sound of each successive thud grew as well, until it seemed as though a mad deva was pounding the earth with his celestial hammer.
Upon the beach, two miles from the peak of Mahendra, Rama and Lakshman and the rest stood and watched. Their eyes were raised to the mountain’s peak, but after each successive thud, they looked high into the sky, then down again. Each time they glanced down, the subsequent thud shook them so mightily, they lost their focus and had to readjust their vision. In the trees to their left, coconuts and bunches of dates fell in showers with each impact. Beneath their feet, sand crabs, abandoning their sandy homes, were racing frantically across the beach, seeking shelter in the arms of Mother Ocean.
On the peak of Mahendra, Hanuman had expanded himself to some fifty times his normal size. He was jumping up and down on the mountain, increasing in size even as he built up momentum for his great leap. Each time his bare feet thudded into the top of the mountain, the ground shook, and with each successive rise into the air, his body grew in size and weight. He was now perhaps one hundred yards in height and growing visibly. A hundred and twenty, a hundred and fifty, two hundred … now, his rate of expansion multiplied, as he exerted greater force over his powers. In moments, he had grown to at least two hundred yards in height, and still he continued expanding. The peak of the mountain was crumbling under each successive pounding of his enormous hairy feet. The craggy rim of the cliff was giving way, slabs and sections sliding and falling into the ocean, or onto the rocky crags below. Entire trees were crushed beneath his feet, snapping like twigs, and Rama saw a boulder, the last one carried up the mountain before Nala hit upon the new plan, come beneath the heel of Hanuman’s left foot. The rock was shattered to bits, while Hanuman hardly seemed to feel the impact. Three hundred yards and growing … With the next impact, the fragments of the rock were turned to gravel. Four hundred yards … The gravel became dust which became a cloud which obscured the top of Mahendra, but only came up to the knees of the giant vanar.
Five hundred yards … six hundred … seven …
Now, to look up at his head, Rama had to shield his eyes from the risen sun, which blazed in the eastern sky like a halo behind Hanuman’s gargantuan visage. It was hard to focus on the vanar anymore, for each time he hit the ground, the vibrations jarred every bone in one’s body, forcing one to lose one’s balance, and before one could recover sufficiently to focus again on the jumping vanar, he descended and hit the ground again.
Eight hundred … nine … A thousand yards high. Now, Hanuman was almost thrice as tall as Mahendra itself, and the mountain was being pounded beneath his feet. What must he weigh, Rama wondered? If the increase in his weight was proportionate to his gain in size, that would mean he now weighed … the next impact knocked him off his feet and when he blinked the dust from his eyes, Hanuman was even larger. The vanar’s stationary jumps were now taking him so high up into the sky, his head was brushing against the bellies of the clouds. As Rama stayed on his knees, crouching to maintain his balance, he saw Hanuman grow so quickly that his expanding head pushed through the enormous bank of clouds, disappearing from sight completely for a moment. His descent took longer too, but the subsequent impact forced Rama to clench his jaw to avoid biting his own tongue. Everyone around him was sitting on the ground, the vanars mostly
cross-legged, staring mesmerised. He lowered himself to the ground too, putting his hand on Lakshman’s shoulder to steady himself. Lakshman sat beside him, staring up at the sky. For a moment, Rama was reminded of a kul, full of students, looking up at their guru as he unfolded the secrets of the sacred Vedas, the storehouse of all Arya learning.
Hanuman landed on Mount Mahendra with an impact that split open the very veins of the rocks of mountain. Rama saw an enormous jagged crack appear in the cliff face, like a black lightning bolt. It ran down to the foot of the cliff, followed by a great rending and gnashing sound. The entire mountain groaned and settled several yards lower than before. Another dozen poundings like that, he thought, and the mountain will be reduced to a hill.
> That turned out to be an underestimation.
Over the next hour, as the sun rose higher into the sky, and the morning drew on, Hanuman continued to expand and to leap higher with each jump. At the very end, he was easily a mile tall, and his outstretched arms spanned a distance hundreds of yards wide. But it was clear that his weight did not grow proportionately, for if it had, then even by Rama’s rough mental calculation, he would have weighed enough to drive the entire coast into the ocean. Instead, he seemed to strike the ground with more or less the same impact, the thudding heightened only by the increase in the height to which he jumped. Even so, by the time he was ready to make his final leap, the mountain had been completely flattened. The entire seaface had been altered, with only blackrock and debris strewn everywhere as far as the eye could see. Gone was the line of miles of palm groves, gone was the golden sand of the beaches. Rubble and rocks were all that remained. And Mahendra was only discernible by the fact that the ground in that place, all black bedrock, bore a curious indentation like that which might be made by a child leaping up and down on soft, spongy, wet earth.
Hanuman’s last jump took him so high, nobody could see where he went. He rose up into the air, passed through the now-shredded cloudbank, and rose still higher, higher, until he could no longer be seen. Several moments passed. Finally, cries broke out as the sharpest eyes spied a faint speck reappearing, descending. This time, even Rama’s heart was in his mouth as he braced for the impact. Were Hanuman to land even a little to the right or left of where he had left the ground, several tens of thousands of his vanar fellows and bear allies would be crushed to so much bloody pulp.
But Hanuman landed exactly where he should. Upon the shattered bedrock of Mount Mahendra. Pressing the rock so deep into the ground, it became a deep bowl, like the bed of an emptied lake. He landed on the balls of his feet, cracks splintering outwards from the centre of the declivity that had once been a mountain, and sending entire ranges of trees toppling with the impact. He crouched, bending low at the waist, his powerful thigh muscles and calf muscles tensing visibly, like giant cords tugged by numberless hordes, his shoulders tight with the strain, his protruding vanar jaw set with determination, eyes as large as boulders gleaming brightly, mouth open to draw in one enormous breath. A bead of sweat left his chin and fell to the ground. It splashed and became a small pond. His tail swung from side to side pendulously, aiding his balance.
For a moment, he seemed suspended in time, like a living statue, carved by some unimaginable god.
And then, with one final mighty burst of strength, he leaped again. Not upward as he had done until now, but outward, forward, towards the gaping sea. With a roar of effort, he rose into the air, launching himself with an energy that was formidable to behold. It was the same manner in which any vanar might leap, say from one rock to another, or one branch to another, but on a scale that boggled the mind.
Hanuman left the earth and rose up into the air. Leaping … no, Rama corrected himself, flying. For the distance he covered with that great jump was akin to the entire flight span of most birds. He flew up into the air, rising, rising … until he shrank in perception, though not in size, to a fist-sized object, then the size of a fingernail, and finally became just a tiny speck in the vast blue sky. The speck disappeared from sight as well, still rising. Rama watched it as long as he could, then blinked.
The sky was clear, except for the enormous cloud of dust still drifting from the debris that was all that remained of Mount Mahendra.
A resounding cheer rose from the ranks of the armies of vanars and bears, filling the air for miles around. Rama added his own voice to the throng, calling out the new name that the vanars had agreed upon for their fellow, a name that they conferred upon him to mark his newfound stature, Bajrangbali, to indicate the great sacrifice the vanar had made when he swore his oath of celibacy back on the mountain of Kiskindha when he first pledged loyalty to Rama’s cause. Since bali also referred to Hanuman’s tremendous strength, the name encapsulated both his great qualities: strength and sacrifice.
‘Jai Shri Bajrangbali!’
***
It took great coaxing and prodding to get the vanars and bears to resume work. If not urged, the armies would have been content to stand about and cheeka and roar and beat their hairy chests, and leap up and down, imitating Hanuman’s mighty leap all day long, chattering excitedly. Even the bears tried to jump up and down to show they could do it as well as vanars; the result was unconvincing, even ludicruous, for bears jumped no better than vanars fished, but none dared tell the bears that.
Hanuman’s preparatory jumps had taken far longer than anyone could have guessed. The sun was high in the eastern sky by the time he disappeared from sight. Even so, it was closer to noon than morning by the time the leaders were able to marshall their ranks and Nala got the bridge-builders working. Once at work, though, work progressed with tremendous speed. Everybody was filled with passion and pride after viewing the fabulous spectacle of the morning, and vanars and bears alike sang songs in unison, alternating between the melodies of one species and then the other. If it sounded strange to hear bears singing gruffly of leaping from tree to tree and feasting on the highest fruits, it sounded even more incongruous to hear vanars yodelling about dipping their snouts into honey hives and lunging after upstream salmon!
Whether knowingly or accidentally, Hanuman had made their work substantially easier. By reducing Mount Mahendra and the surrounding cliffs to one enormous pile of rocky rubble, he had provided a huge cache of raw material for their bridge. The crushed rocks were just the right size, small enough to be lifted by even a vanar and passed from paw to paw, and yet heavy enough to sink decisively into the ocean. By the time their shadows had begun to lean eastward, Angad came to Rama with the news that they were progressing at a rate of some hundred yards every clock-hour. Rama was impressed. He had expected speed and efficiency, but this was remarkable. At this rate, they could be in Lanka in two days, at best three. The bridge-builders sang on, unmindful of the miles-long cloud of dust raised by their brother’s leap, and afternoon turned to evening and the day drew gently to a close.
***
Supanakha waited impatiently for the last of Ravana’s bootlickers and sycophants—ministers and generals—to file out of the sabha hall before she climbed down from her perch in the ceiling, creeping down the side of the alabaster wall, not caring if she left pugmarks on the pristine white surface, and leaped onto the dais. She landed on all fours, preened with self-pride at her own dexterity, and sprang up to the throne that Mandodhari had vacated a while earlier. She didn’t mind the warm seat but sniffed disapprovingly at the remnants of Mandodhari’s scent. Was the woman a rakshasi or a mortal? She smelled disgustingly clean, as if she had bathed within the past week. Why anyone would want to immerse themselves in steaming hot water at all was beyond Supanakha’s understanding. Wasn’t licking one’s haunches a few times a day good enough, then? This bathing fetish was a perversion of the natural way of things. She sneezed out the disgustingly aromatic scent, and felt better.
Ravana was watching a clutch of his personal guard carry something heavy up the stairs of the dais. They set it down with exaggerated caution then retreated quickly, leaving the sabha hall empty except for Supanakha and her cousin. She peered doubtfully at the thing they had left. It was a large, shallow-bottomed vessel made of baked clay. It seemed to be filled with water. How repellant. Surely he didn’t intend to wash himself as well? What was Lanka coming to? Bad enough that Ravana had had the Pushpak insinuate itself into every structure in the city-capital, turning everything into a gaudy imitation of mortal architecture and design. Did he have to go and—
‘Cousin, shut your mindbabble before I dunk you in this Gangajal.’
Supanakha swore aloud, leaping backwards. She perched on the backrest of the queen’s throne. Gangajal? Water from the sacred river Ganges? ‘What do you want with holy water? Are you planning to bathe Rama’s wife in it?’
She stayed sullenly silent, licking her paws and keeping her distance from the cursed water. She watched with disdain as Ravana stood before it with all his six arms outstretched, uttering some arcane mantra too softly and too quickly for her to catch— as if she would steal his stupid sorcerous Sanskrit shlokas! Her disdain turned to horror as at one point he bent, dipped his hands into the water and splashed it liberally into the air. She cringed, even though the water was thrown in the opposite direction from her. To her amazement, the water rose up, then froze in mid-air. Intrigued, she began to creep forward slowly, then stopped herself. Suspended in the air or no, that was still holy Gangajal. Even a drop of it would be enough to burn a hole through her flesh like the harshest acid. She remained where she was, crouched on the backrest of the queen’s throne, watching in mute fascination.
Under the urging of more shlokas, the water began to move and swirl, taking a definite shape and form. It gained myriad hues as well, creating a proximation of reality that was close enough to identify. An image formed in mid-air, like a sculpture wrought out of molecules of water in defiance of gravity. Supanakha narrowed her eyes, recognising the shape Ravana had crafted.
RAMAYANA Part 3_PRINCE AT WAR Page 27