Hanuman was silent, struck dumb. Truly, Sita knew Rama better than anyone else.
‘And I do wish Rama to invade Lanka. I wish him to storm its gates and frontiers and demolish its vain and over-proud armies. I wish him to wreak death and devastation upon this land and its people. To rid the earth of a vile corruption upon the body of Prithvi Maa, our Mother Earth. And he must destroy Ravana in fair and honest combat as well, proving once and for all, that Rama is the righteous one and Ravana is the enemy of dharma. For only then will the rakshasas, and the world, and history, accept beyond doubt that Rama is the champion of righteousness. And then, and only then, Hanuman, will I be restored to Rama. These are not my demands for my selfish need, for I would sorely like to go now with you to safety and not suffer a moment longer in this dread place. But it is my desire to see justice done to Rama’s name and to see the earth rid of the menace of Ravana once and for all. So, go now, save yourself, and tell Rama this: “Sita remains in Lanka and awaits your righteous invasion; her imprisonment is the warrant that grants you the unassailable dharmic right to wage war with the rakshasas.” This is why I stay, and this is why he must come here and wage war on Lanka.’
‘But, my lady, you said you would not last even this night. How can I let you stay when I know you may not live even—’
She interrupted him sternly, as firm and as immovable as the earth itself. ‘My life is no longer the only thing at stake here. Rama’s honour is what matters most. Now, go, loyal friend of my husband. Go, fly. And take these, my last words, to Rama.’
Hanuman stared at her. He could not find any more words with which to express himself, for she had washed every last thought out of his mind, leaving only the awareness that she was right. One last possibility occurred to him. To pick her up forcibly and carry her back to Rama. But that was unthinkable. Not only because it would violate his own sense of dharma to forcibly lay hands upon the wife of his lord and friend, and because his vows of celibacy forbade him from even touching a female of any species against her will, but also because it would be an insult to her proud and righteous spirit. She was right. His rescuing her would take away Rama’s only justification for waging this war. And this war must be waged. Not just for Sita’s sake. But for Rama’s. And for all mortalkind. Even, as Sita had said, for Prithvi Maa herself.
The first rakshasas broke through into the clearing. ‘There!’ he cried. ‘There is the spy! Kill him!’
Hanuman shut down all faculty of thought, acting on instinct alone. He did not care about himself, for he knew he could not be killed as easily as that lone rakshasa might foolishly believe. He cared about Sita. If he fought a dozen or a hundred rakshasas here, with weapons flailing and bodies flying about, she would certainly be injured. The best thing he could do was to put as much distance between himself and her as soon as possible. Take the fight elsewhere.
He leaped high into the air, rising up, above the treetops, into the peculiarly illuminated sky of this artificial world that dressed itself in the garb of a forest, up and away.
He landed a mile or more away, thumping down in the middle of a flower bed in the heart of what looked like palace gardens. Neat rows of flowers extended in either direction, and an intricately carved wrought-iron fence ran along one side. Rakshasas patrolling the wall turned to stare at him, stunned. One of them, a larger, uglier specimen than the rest, shouted something unexpectedly sweet and melodious in a foreign tongue, and the rest lowered their spears and converged on Hanuman.
Kinkaras. He had heard of this tribe of rakshasas. They had once invaded the madhuvan gardens, where the vanars grew their healing herbs and brewed their honey wine. In his younger days, Hanuman and a band of other mischevious young vanars had raided the madhuvan one night, and got madly drunk on honey wine and then urinated all over the rose bushes, ‘to make them grow yellower!’ When discovered, all the vanars got a sound thrashing for their prank, but Hanuman got the worst of it for his own father was the keeper of the royal gardens. Kinkaras, his father had shouted over and over again, kinkaras do such mischief, vanars do not behave thus.
The kinkaras were much like other rakshasas he had seen before in Janasthana, except that their tribe favoured elaborate body and face painting and ornamentation. The kinkara rakshasa closest to him, advancing with his spear held like a javelin on his shoulder, was painted like a court dancer in some mythological re-enactment—curled lashes, heavily rouged cheeks and, kohl-accented eyes and all. He, or she, Hanuman couldn’t tell which it was, batted its heavily painted eyelashes at him and drew back its spear. Other kinkaras surrounded him, although, he couldn’t help noticing, they seemed loath to step on the flowers.
He threw back his head, spread his arms and roared.
The kinkaras stumbled back hastily, almost impaling themselves on the spears of their comrades. The one with the spear held up screeched in dismay and threw the weapon, not the way it ought to be thrown, but straight up into the air, like a man unloosing a courier pigeon. The spear rose up and fell, its weighted point causing it to embed itself in the bed of marigolds in which Hanuman stood.
He roared again, loudly. The intention was not only to confuse the kinkaras but to draw away the rakshasas that had gone to the Ashoka grove. Without waiting to see what the kinkaras did next, he leapt up again, bounding to the top of the iron fence. He landed upon it nimbly, and looked to either side. Rakshasas were racing towards him from all points. The ones on the inside of the garden were kinkaras, the ones outside were clad in the same purple-black uniform he had seen others dressed in on his earlier passage through the myriad chambers of the palace-tower and which he had guessed were Ravana’s palace guards. These latter ones seemed more aggressive than the kinkaras, shouting gruff orders and grouping in squads to advance upon him.
He raised his head and roared several times more, loud enough to be heard for miles around. When he was certain that every rakshasa within hearing distance, even those slightly deaf or feeble, were aware that the intruder was in the vicinity of the palace gardens and nowhere near the Ashoka grove, he made his next move.
Reaching down, he took hold of the iron fence and wrenched hard. With an extended groan of protest, the metal yielded slowly, bent, then snapped off. He stood up, a five-yard-length of iron fence in his hand, the ends jagged and curved like a mad imitation of a weapon. The rakshasas, compelled to keep a distance while he was roaring, took this as a brazen sign of aggression and came charging forward. Several threw spears, others hefted maces or wielded swords. More rushed in by the moment.
Hanuman raised up the iron fence like it was a shortsword, swinging it from side to side to deflect the spears flying through the air at him. The fence met each spear with a resounding clang, striking the missiles with force enough to throw them back. Some of them found rakshasa flesh and the unfortunate targets thrashed about screaming, or dropped dead or did both in quick succession. He roared once more, then leaped to the ground, landing with a thump on the forest side of the gate. Behind him, he could hear kinkaras calling out in their melodious, dainty dialect. No doubt, they were preparing to rush at him from behind, through the yards-wide gap in the fence he had just made. He lifted his makeshift weapon and swung it wildly at the oncoming rakshasas on both sides. Bodies flew through the air, broken, bleeding, screaming.
‘Come,’ he boomed, in a voice augmented by rage. ‘Come, you harrowers of Sita and enemies of Rama. Come, see how a vanar fights rakshasas.’
Captains shouted orders, pressing more soldiers into the attack. Rakshasas poured in from every side, surrounding Hanuman. Behind him, the kinkaras gained courage and attacked.
He expanded himself without thinking. Growing to twice, then thrice the size of the tallest rakshasas. Swinging the fence, he struck out in terrible, bloody blows, each strike impacting a half-dozen rakshasas or more, smashing skulls and bodies, shattering faces and helmets, snapping swords. He roared as he fought, feeling a rage fuelled not only by the righteous anger he felt at all rakshasas
in general for their crimes over the ages, but at these ones in particular. For they guarded Sita, his lord Rama’s beloved. And that was crime enough for him. He struck again and again, growing larger with each blow, louder with each bellow. Rakshasas died every time he struck. And still more came. And still he flailed on, slaying, slaughtering.
***
Ravana examined the two silk body garments held up by rakshasis, comparing one with the other, with the elegant ease of a man dressing to attend a royal ball.
Supanakha stalked the floor, her tail whipping back and forth like a cat-o-nine-tails with a life of its own. ‘I tell you the vanar has invaded the tower and you waste time dressing? Doesn’t it worry you?’
He ignored her while he continued to decide between the two garments. Finally, he chose the red one with purple piping. ‘Worry?’ he said distractedly. ‘A mere vanar? Why should I worry about a monkey-man?’
‘Because he’s not any ordinary monkey-man, cousin. You saw what he could do when he crossed the ocean. And I tried my best to deceive him, seduce him, tempt him, but he still resisted everything. I even brought him here in the hope that he would be stupid enough to try to assassinate you while you took your beauty nap.’
He turned a head to her, cocking its eyebrows. ‘Are you upset that you couldn’t seduce him or that he didn’t try to assassinate me?’ He chuckled. ‘Both, no doubt.’
‘He’s with Sita. He could carry her off and fly back to the mainland! Doesn’t that bother you? Don’t you want to at least try to stop him?’
He allowed the rakshasis around him to cast off his garments, standing naked in the centre of the bedchamber. Supanakha paused in her stalking, her eyes examining his body’s nether parts with a feral hunger that was both sexual and malevolent. The rakshasis began to anoint his body with oils, massaging every inch of his body with reverential, adoring care. ‘He will not.’
‘How do you know?’
He chuckled softly at her naivety, and at her frustration. ‘I am Ravana. I know.’
She flicked her tail angrily, tumbling a vase that shattered on the polished stone floor. Rakshasis shot her hateful glances, but made no sounds of protest. They began to clean up the shards quickly, efficiently, removing all traces within moments. Other rakshasis continued to play music and others danced or entwined themselves around each other sensuously for the amusement of the lord of Lanka. Supanakha snarled, impatient with Ravana’s refusal to take her seriously. ‘He didn’t come here for the sun and the climate, cousin. He means to take the woman back with him. I tell you. I have never seen any being so single-minded and determined to fulfil his will before.’
‘Never?’
She paused, thinking. ‘You mean, Rama. Well, apart from Rama, I’ve never seen anyone else so hellbent on accomplishing the impossible.’
He gestured to the rakshasis. They held up the robe for him to slip his arms through. She watched with fascination as he slipped all six arms into the appropriate holes with practised ease, then folded the lower pairs of arms into the slots in his own body. ‘Yet you do acknowledge that his task is impossible.’
She grunted. ‘I would have thought so until today. But then, until today I also thought that it was impossible for any virile male to resist the temptations of the palace of sensual pleasures.’
He allowed the rakshasis to tie the sash around his waist and chest. Then place plates of armour upon his arms and chest and midriff. ‘Tapasvi sadhus can resist sensual temptations. My pious brother Vibhisena resists the temptations of Lanka daily. Any man who devotes himself to raj-yoga can do it. Why, I myself abstained from sex and from consuming flesh or wine for a thousand years as tapasya. That was how I obtained my boons from Lord Brahma and Lord Shiva.’
‘But sadhus and pious pentitents don’t come storming into the lair of Ravana alone and unarmed,’ she snarled. ‘What must I say to convince you? Why will you not take this vanar seriously? I tell you, he is a threat to us all.’
‘So what would you have me do?’ he asked, as the rakshasis bound tightly the straps of his armour and strapped on his boots.
‘Destroy him!’ she said. ‘Fight him and smash the leaping fool before he gets out of hand.’
‘There are a thousand palace guards already taking care of him. And the entire kinkara tribe is at him because he violated their precious gardens. Would that be enough to sate your anxieties?’
‘I don’t know,’ she snapped. ‘I told you. That’s what worries me. I have never encountered anything like this vanar before. His zeal is fanatical. He chants—,’ she paused. She had been about to say the one name that might make Ravana lose his elegant demeanour. ‘—his master’s name as if it were one of those secret Sanskrit mantras the mortal sages use … ’
‘Astras,’ he supplied, then paused to swat aside a trio of rakshasis who were trying to raise his elaborately designed ten-part armoured headpiece to his heads. His strength was such that they fell back with broken bones and serious bruises, but none of them raised so much as a whimper of protest. They removed themselves from the chamber in submissive silence. Ravana took the headpiece and put it on his heads himself. Supanakha thought the rakshasis must be new additions to his harem, or over-eager to serve their master. Everyone who knew Ravana ought to know that he never permitted his heads to be touched by anyone, not even by his own wife Mandodhari during the most intimate moments.
‘Yes,’ she went on. ‘Like astras. And reciting just that one word, his master’s name, seems to empower him enormously, give him tremendous strength and energy. When he gets into that state, I feel like he could do anything. Face any opponent.’
‘Any opponent?’ he asked, turning to face her, fully dressed and armoured now. He made a formidable sight.
She gave him a smile that was also a snarl. ‘Yes. That is what I feel, cousin. Of course,’ she smiled sardonically. ‘If you disagree, you can always prove me wrong.’
He chuckled. ‘I intend to.’
TWELVE
When the rakshasas withdrew to regroup, Hanuman paused to take stock of his situation. Bodies lay piled in heaps all around him. The cries of grievously wounded rakshasas filled the air. The fence iron he had wielded so lethally was bent beyond all recognition, the wrought curves coated with a patina of rakshasa blood and fluids so that it seemed painted scarlet rather than black. On the garden side of the fence, kinkaras lay dead or howling in agony for yards around. Once stung, the foppish painted rakshasas also fought bravely and intelligently, using a peculiar spear-jabbing action that he had not seen before in battle. He had noted it to pass on to the other generals when he returned.
The air around him stank of rakshasa effluents and his own copious sweat. He was some five or six times his usual size, though he did not recall growing to that extent. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, clearing away sweat and blood. He was stained all over with the blood of his enemies, and both his feet rested on the corpses of rakshasas. A palace guard stirred underfoot, moaning, and he jabbed the edge of the fence down, dispatching the poor fellow to a speedy end. Even rakshasas did not deserve to linger in agony.
The rakshasas were regrouping, creeping up to him steadily while he seemed distracted. They were more respectful of him now, neither shouting nor daring to launch individual attacks. They came in one close group, clustered together for courage. He spied them out of the corners of his eyes, coming from both sides. He ignored them and went on thinking.
He considered his options. What was the best thing to do next? Thanks to that devious demoness Supanakha, Ravana undoubtedly knew already that he was here to fetch Sita. The lord of rakshasas would expect him to return to the Ashoka grove and attempt to carry her away. Indeed, that was what he wished with all his heart to do. But since that option had been closed to him by Sita’s own decision, he must not return there. To do so would only increase the guard around Sita and probably endanger and harry her further.
He had to show them that he was after other targets.
>
He inhaled, breathing in deeply enough to fill his lungs. Then, crouching to tighten his thighs like iron springs, he leaped up, away from the direction of the Ashoka grove, towards the far side of the forest level.
The rakshasas, who had crept within a yard or two of him, fell back in startled horror. He saw their surprised faces reduce to dots as he flew up high, then they were lost behind him in the dense forest.
He recalled how he had followed Supanakha through the many levels and worlds of this magical tower before. It was as if he had simply willed the tower to grant him access to the next level, and the next, and it had yielded without protest, letting him pass through the sorcerous membranes that divided them, without opposition.
He did the same thing, passing from the forest level on which Sita was held to the next. This was a natural landscape too, an enormous shining lake and a township on its banks. He passed through it and to the next, and the next. And so on. It took him a while, but finally he found what he was seeking.
The palace of sensual pleasures.
The rakshasas turned to greet him effusively, thinking mistakenly that he had returned to correct his earlier lapse, that he was ready now to succumb to the potent lure of this realm’s fleshly temptations.
He roared and swung the twisted blood-spattered iron fence about to show them he meant war, not love. He smashed it into domes and cupolas, destroying pleasure houses and apartments, shattering marble floors and fabulous chandeliers. The rakshasas understood his intent then, and ran screaming before him. Suddenly, individual survival seemed more important than the perpetuation of the species—if that was their excuse for what they did here.
RAMAYANA Part 3_PRINCE AT WAR Page 36