It looked like a vanar leaping through the air. A not unattractive vanar, well-formed and well-built. The image on the water was, well, watery … like a rapidly melting ice-sculpture. Not much detail was available. But from her point of view, it seemed as if the vanar was leaping across a body of water—a lake or a pond of some sort perhaps? … Or was that only the surface of the water in the vessel itself? No, those were surely waves flecked with foam, and was that a cloud beside his arm? It couldn’t be, for the cloud was smaller than his fist. And the look of determination on his protruding face was quite amusing. He looked like he was on a mission!
All in all, it was a very clever imagining. A vanar as large as a mountain, leaping across the ocean on a mission! How droll.
‘I had no idea you were artistically inclined, cousin,’ she said, swishing her tail. ‘That is quite good, you know. Maybe if you lose the battle with Rama, you could take up painting royal portraits for his family?’
She chuckled at her own wit.
Ravana didn’t reply.
Instead, he gestured with his uppermost pair of arms and the suspended water sculpture changed its shape, producing a sound like an oar swishing through a lake. When the image settled again, it depicted the same vanar in a much smaller perspective, far in the distance but still recognisable. The cloud by his arm had fallen a long way behind, hinting at the great speed at which he was travelling. Far ahead of him, many yojanas distant, lay a landmass surrounded by ocean. His destination.
Even with the restrictive imagery of the water-sculpture, she could recognise the familiar blackrock cliffs and the sloping grass-topped peak of Nikumbhila with its tiny spire of stone that was the monolithic temple of Shiva. Her jaw dropped open, and she lost her sardonic grin. There was no mistaking the vanar’s destination. And if the destination was real, then obviously so was the vanar. The giant flying vanar who looked like he was ready to face and fight an army single-handed. The giant vanar who seemed to be leaping across the ocean as easily as she, Supanakha, might leap across that vessel of Gangajal— not that she would want to chance leaping across holy water. Leaping to Lanka.
Ravana laughed. The rakshasa king reached out and grasped the tiny image of the flying vanar in his fist. Crumpling it. It dissolved in his hand, droplets leaking through his fingers. The curtain of water cascaded down in a torrent, splashing back into the vessel.
‘Come, then,’ Ravana said. ‘Come and meet your death, fool.’
KAAND 3
ONE
The sky pressed in above his head, seeming close enough to touch. It brought back memories of his childhood prank, the time he had leaped to grasp the sun. This exhilaration, this feeling of total freedom, he remembered it well now. It was marvellous. How could he have forgotten how to do this? Now that he had rediscovered the ability, he felt he could fly forever, a creature of air and sky, eschewing the land and clumsy bipedal motion altogether. Up here, he was free, alone, supreme.
At this height, the sky above him was white, as pale as a duck’s belly. While the sea before him, endless and eternal, was deep cerulean blue, the blue of a robin’s egg. Clouds drifted slowly by, leagues below him, tiny puffs over an epic expanse. The occasional flicker of a flock of birds flying slowly in an enormous arc, casting rippling shadows over the water, caught his eye. He looked to his left and to his right, below and then back over his shoulder. Nothing was as high as he was. Except the sun. And, faintly glimpsed beyond the uppermost reaches of the airblanket that covered the world, the myriad stars. Surya deva shone down hard, scorching his back and head. But he did not mind that, for the air was cool and constant up here, the speed of his flight ensuring an unceasing stream of refreshing wind that ruffled his fur, aerated his pores, kept him alert.
At times, the ocean was so clear, so still, he could see down to the bottom itself, glimpse great underwater terrains, rolling mountains and valleys rife with the flora and fauna of the deep undersea world. Sea monsters frolicked and danced in the deep, enormous grey-backed things as large as mountains that rolled beneath the surface and spouted out geysers of foaming water high into the air; many tentacled creatures that issued dark inky bursts as they looked up and saw him pass, as if fearing that he would plunge down and attack them; sleek, swift things with jaws full of jagged fangs, biting and slashing and tearing into their prey—and even each other, cannibals that they were; playful, dancing, finned beings that leaped in mischievous arcs above the surface, reminding him of leaping salmon, and in turn, of the bears. What would Jambavan say if he could see all this? The profusion of fish in inconceivable numbers, enormous shoals of them, numbering in lakhs and crores, darkening the ocean like cloud-reflections. He recalled Rama musing aloud to Lakshman that he could not understand how some parts of the ocean occasionally appeared to be darker than others, then cleared soon after, when there were no clouds in the sky to account for such shadowplay. It was the shoals of fish that caused that discoloration and darkening. It was one of the many things that he tucked away in his mind to share with his friends when he returned.
The world scrolled below him as he flew. He remained fascinated by the sheer variety and lushness of life in the waters below. There was an entire world here. Richer and more profuse than on land. He saw predatorial creatures hunt and kill smaller predators, and those smaller ones in turn hunt even smaller ones, but the largest of them all, the gargantuan grey and white and black beasts that rolled ponderously through the water like herds of elephants, seemed to hunt not at all, only gulping down enormous mouthfuls of ocean, then spewing the water back out through the spout-holes on their heads. Some of them paused in their swimming, floating with their blunt heads raised upwards, their dark glinting eyes reflecting the sun, watching him. They sang a song for him, in a language he could not understand. But the sentiment was unmistakable. They were praising and honouring him, acknowledging this great land beast, larger even than they were, who flew above their realm as effortlessly as the winged denizens of the air.
Once, a great bird with a wing span almost as wide as a tall ash tree appeared below him, drifting langurously on the air currents. As his shadow passed over it, blocking out the light of the sun, it issued a piercing screel of outrage that travelled for miles. It was furious and humiliated that any creature could rise above it; these high reaches were its realm. It had believed itself master of the high airs until now. Hanuman cooed softly to it, reassuring it that he was only passing through. It flapped its great wings angrily twice, then blinked up and saw that he was no bird, but a wingless land animal. With a final squawk of dismay, it plunged downwards, spiralling down with folded wings, fleeing from him as fast as it could. He laughed at its panic and flew on.
Towards noon, he looked back and found that he could not see any trace of the land he had left behind. The last time he had checked, a faint black line had still been discernible, rippling with heatwaves. Now only the ocean was visible. He looked around, sweeping his vision in a full circle. Ocean everywhere. He shielded his eyes from the sun and peered ahead, seeking to glimpse some sign of his destination. There was none as yet. He sighed and lowered his hand. Looking down, he saw that he was still rising. The arc he had traced as he leaped out over the sea was designed to carry him up as high as he could go, then bring him back in a long, slow curve to the ground—right down to Lanka, if his estimation was correct. If he was still rising, then that meant he had not as yet reached the top of his first arc. The air was growing thinner, and colder. The clouds very far below, the ocean farther still. The landscape of the undersea world lay spread before him like an enormous map seen from a treetop. The almost unchanging regularity of his surroundings, the wafting stream of wind upon his body, the sunlight baking his back and head, all made him drowsy, dreamy. He fell into a reverie, musing on things that were, might have been, and might be again.
He wondered if once, in aeons past, all this had been land as well, emptied of this saline water, and if creatures of the land had dwelled here too. Then he
remembered something, a faint memory of an ancient knowledge. It was the other way around; all had been ocean once, and the waters had receded only in some parts, allowing new life to spring up and exist. This was the original state of the world, waterbound. In the first age, all life had existed only beneath and upon the water. It was told in all the Puranas. The age when Vishnu had taken his first fleshand-blood form as Matsya, the Fish Avatar …
Something caught his eye, interrupting his musing.
At first he thought it was a reflection of sunlight upon the ocean, some silvery thing catching the light and casting it up at an angle that met his eyes.
He blinked when he saw that it was no reflection at all. It was something quite impossible.
A mountain was rising up from the middle of the ocean.
It rose at tremendous speed, matching the velocity of his flight, as if it sought to reach a certain height before he reached that spot. He recognised it as being similar to one of innumerable suboceanic rises he had glimpsed below, their peaks submerged leagues beneath the surface, and their lengths extending many miles further below into unplumbed depths. But this mountain was shooting up from the ocean, rising and growing visibly, just as he had grown to his present size.
And it was rising to block his way.
Hanuman watched in bemusement as the mountain rose up. Water cascaded down its sloping sides, falling back into the ocean. Sea creatures fell with the water, all shapes and sizes and colours and species. The larger ones were pulled down by their weight and splashed noisily back into the sea, lay stunned awhile, before sluggishly starting to swim again. But the smaller ones fared less well. He saw a large shoal of fish suddenly beached on the side of the mountain, only a few of them falling back into the precious life-giving waters, while the majority flopped and gasped, tiny silver pinpoints winking in the sunlight. One of the enormous, toothed predators of the kind he had glimpsed earlier was beached too, and he saw it thrash and twist violently, seeking the water that it needed to sustain itself. Yet even in its death throes, it lunged greedily at the gasping fish nearby, its jaws snapping them up and chomping them to bloody bits. Then, the mountain’s rapid rise caused the slope to smoothen out, and the large predator as well as its gasping prey all fell back into the brine, splashing and resuming at once their eternal dance of survival.
The mountain loomed up, already reaching as high as Hanuman himself.
And still it continued to grow. To expand, as he had expanded his own form. To enlarge itself, spreading now to form a butte-like shape that stretched for yojanas from top to bottom—and that was only to the surface of the ocean—as well as miles from side to side. As it passed above his present height and surpassed him, it slowed its upward motion and began to expand breadthwise at a faster rate. Now it was a mile or two across, then four or five, then a full yojana. And still it grew.
Still, he wasn’t concerned. He did not understand what force could cause such a phenomenon to occur, raising an entire mountain out of the sea-depths, but he knew what the purpose of this phenomenon was. It was meant to block his flight. To stop him from reaching his destination.
It would not succeed.
He inhaled deeply, spreading his arms and feet wider than they already were, expanding himself even further. Exerting his will, he increased both his speed and the angle of the arc by which he was presently rising. He saw himself rise to the level of the mountain’s peak, then crest it, then rise above it. And he was going faster now. In a matter of moments, he would reach the place where the mountain had appeared and fly over it. He would not be daunted in his mission.
The mountain began to grow again. It shot up tendrils of earth, still damp and cloggy from their millennia of immersion, clad with weeds and undersea plants and growths. Like a row of spears, the fingers of earth shot up, high above where he was, seeming to stretch to the very stars themselves. Then, like a second rank rushing to fill in the gaps, the spaces between the fingers of rising earth were filled by the mountain’s substance, making a solid wall once more.
Hanuman roared and flew higher.
The mountain grew again to meet him.
Still he rose higher. And higher.
And still the mountain rose.
He darted to the left.
The mountain expanded itself to that side.
He flew to the right. It blocked that path as well.
He was fast approaching it now. For in increasing his size and the angle of his upward arc, he had increased his speed as well. The changed angle had delayed his reaching the spot, where the mountain had appeared, by a few moments, but now he was finally approaching it.
He set his jaw firmly, and beat his chest with his fists. Roaring a challenge, he flew directly towards the mountain.
He was less than a mile away, and approaching at great speed, when the top of the mountain changed shape. As quickly as it had elongated itself, it moulded its crest into a shape that was surprisingly familiar. Within a fraction of an instant, it became a giant face. An imperfect, roughly hewn face, such as a potter might dab and press out of a lump of wet clay, unfinished and without fine detail. But enough that he could see it had two eyes, a semblance of a nose, and a mouth. The eyes of the mountain’s face opened, and within were two mud-brown eyes without pupils, staring back at him.
Hanuman slowed his flight by exerting his will, reducing his speed to almost nil. He floated in mid-air, face-to-face with the mountain.
‘Who or what are you?’ he asked.
The mouth of the mountain opened. It stretched from side to side and up and down as if unfamiliar with the use of this appendage. A great rumbling emerged from deep within the bowels of the structure, causing a disturbance in the ocean below, sufficient to generate waves several dozen yards high. They ran from the base of the mountain—or from the belly of the mountain man, as it were—fleeing in panic just as the sea hawk had fled at the sight of the giant vanar flying overhead. When the mountain spoke, it did so in rumbling waves of sound, each wave generating its namesake in the ocean below.
‘I am Mainika,’ said the mountain. ‘I am the gold-navelled one. Placed here by Lord Indra to pose an obstacle to the asura hordes that dwell in the underworld. Once, I blocked the way to that netherland, preventing the demon dead from coming to the mortal realm. But Ravana through his sorcery rendered me useless. So I diminished in size and lay huddled at the feet of the ocean lord Varuna, biding my time until the world ends.’
‘Mainika, why do you block my way? I am no asura, as you well know.’
‘I know this,’ the mountain rumbled. ‘You are the son of the lord of wind. Once, in the kritayuga, a long time before your kind came upon this world, He was kind to me. In that great age, all mountains had wings and they flew everywhere with the speed of the breeze that blows across Prithvi. But then the sages began to live upon the earth and increased in number, and they feared that the mountains might fall upon them and crush them to death. So they entreated the devas to clip our wings. Indra complied and with the use of his thunderbolt Vajra, he cut the wings of all my brothers and sisters. I did not try to flee, as I wished to share the fate of my brethren. But even as the celestial thunderbolt approached me, a great wind rose and carried me away, throwing me into these salty waters with my wings still intact.’
‘But why were you spared?’ Hanuman asked.
‘I asked the wind lord, for it was he who had saved me. And Varuna replied that someday he would have use of me. And it was for that day that I was spared and sent here. For many millennia I was used to weigh down the entrance to the netherworld, thwarting Ravana’s plans to release the demon races. That long pressing down altered my structure and the wings I once possessed became a part of the rest of me. That is why I can now rise and grow and expand, but not fly as I once could.’
‘You still have not answered my question, Mainika mountain. Why do you block my path?’
‘I do not block it, son of Marut. I sensed your approach from a long way, for the
use of such powers as you possess can be sensed by all the elements of the universe, as it involves a great exertion of the force of Brahman, the energy that sustains and unites all things, animate and inanimate. When I knew that you were the son of my saviour, I knew I must rise to meet you. So I have come out of my watery home to greet you and offer you my back to rest upon before continuing your journey.’
Hanuman smiled at last, relaxing his guard. ‘You are kind, old one. And it is an offer I would gladly accept. But my mission is urgent and time is short. I must reach Lanka before this day is ended, or a great calamity will befall Sita devi, the wife of my lord Rama. Please accept my gratitude and move aside to let me pass. I must be on my way.’
Mainika sighed a great sigh, the exhalation setting a sea typhoon into being that churned its way westwards at a furious pace. ‘If that is your desire, then I shall move at once. I apologise if I have delayed you in the commission of your task. I sought only to honour and aid you.’
‘No apologies are needed, Mainika,’ Hanuman said benevolently. ‘To show you my appreciation, and thank you for staying loyal to my father for so many ages, I shall touch you and offer you my heartfelt thanks.’
And he flew forward and, bending down, touched the tip of the mountain—the top of its ‘head’—with his forefinger.
‘And now, my friend, I must be on my way.’ And he shot up over the mountain, which began to recede and diminish at once, and flew over it.
‘May your father’s strength speed you,’ cried Mainika, the reverberations of its shout causing another enormous hundred-foot high wave.
Hanuman raised his hand to acknowledge the mountain’s wish, and without turning back, flew onwards, picking up speed. After a while, he heard a loud groaning, then a huge implosion of water, and guessed that the mountain had returned to its watery bed.
RAMAYANA Part 3_PRINCE AT WAR Page 28