Ravana remained seated on his throne. The king of Lanka seemed to be in a reverie of his own, Mandodhari saw. For once, his heads were neither babbling nor arguing. In fact, every last one of them seemed present in their consciousness, focussed on the here and now. The water-screen had been dismissed a moment earlier, before Indrajit’s chariot reached the dais, and the bowl removed. But now he sat stone still, gazing at the vanar at his feet with ten expressionless faces.
EIGHTEEN
Vibhisena felt outraged at the sight of Hanuman. The vanar had been badly beaten by Indrajit. He had watched the water
screen with chagrin as the beating was administered and even the reduced size and distance had not diminished the brutality of the beating. Even now, Indrajit yanked the chain with his fist, tightening the noose-like coils around the poor fellow’s throat as if he would hang the beast here and now. And still the vanar managed to make not a sound of protest, but stood ramrod straight, in the same stoic silence he had maintained throughout the beating. His face, already coated thickly with the blood and ichor of the many opponents he had slain, was now wet with his own freely running blood as well. The ends of the many arrows he had taken during the parley with Jambumali—which, Vibhisena felt strongly, had been rudely violated by the vicemarshal—still protruded from various parts of his body. Indrajit, in his typical meticulous way, had pointedly aimed the mace at those places, snapping off the heads of some arrows, and driving some further into the vanar’s flesh and organs. Vibhisena longed to protest and lament such abominable behaviour; even an enemy deserved to be treated with dignity once he surrendered with grace. But he knew the futility of attempting such a protest. After the massacre the vanar had perpetrated, every rakshasa in Lanka lusted for only one thing: his execution. If I were king, he thought with cold rage, then stopped himself … He was not king. And likely would never be.
He watched as Hanuman gazed up at the rakshasa who was king with a curious expression on his vanar features. There seemed to be no rancour or malice in that gaze. Indeed, the vanar seemed almost to be … admiring? Or something close to admiring Ravana.
He wondered what thoughts were passing through that simian-like head right now. With the power he had seen displayed in the battles, the vanar could undoubtedly give even Ravana a good fight. Yet he had submitted so meekly, so graciously. Why? Because he wished to be brought here before Ravana? That was what he had said, over and over again, but of course nobody had paid him any heed, until the body count was sufficiently high to earn him grudging attention. And now that he was here? Would he only talk and entreat Ravana? Or …
Vibhisena leaned forward, holding his silence until he could learn what the vanar intended to do next.
***
Hanuman gazed up at the king of Lanka in adoration. He was not ashamed of what he felt. The lord of rakshasas was worthy of such an adoration. Ravana sat upon his great throne like a king of kings. His jewels were dazzling, his armour unmatched, his body had been anointed with rare red sandalpaste, his golden pearl-studded crown sat upon his central head like a ring of solar fire. His rack of ten heads upon his immense neck were awe-inspiring, any one could have been the face of a great king; together, they presented an aspect that was unmatched by any ten kings. He blazed with his own splendour, serene and certain in his own power. The shakti in his spirit was palpable, illuminating him like a great shroud that pulsated with different hues of throbbing light.
How magnificent he is, Hanuman thought. What beauty, what grace and dignity. To his eyes, Ravana seemed to have all the qualities of a great king. It was possible to understand now, gazing at the rakshasa king in person, how this single being had acquired the stature of such a great legend, a mythology unto himself. For the first time it occurred to Hanuman that had Ravana not been unrighteous and violated dharma so relentlessly, he may well have been made protector of the three worlds by the devas themselves. Lord Indra himself would respect such a warrior, and gladly grant him all the wealth and power he desired, for no other ruler could command as much respect and adoration as Ravana.
His beauty is beyond reckoning, Hanuman thought. He is the most beauteous being created since the beginning of time. Even the terrible things he has done, the heinous crimes he is capable of, only add to his beauty. Is not the tiger that slays without forethought or hesitation beautiful in the dark, dappled, mangrove forests? Is not the great bull elephant, trampler of serpents and ravisher of any cow elephant that catches his fancy undeniably beautiful in his lustful rage? Is not the serpent himself, with his diamond-patterned scales and wedge-shaped head, and terrible, hypnotic eyes, those fangs dripping deadly venom, capable of bringing death with a single strike, beautiful? Is not the pale floating predator that glides through the valleys of the undersea world, his jaws opening and closing endlessly, killing and consuming without measure like a primordial killing machine, perfect in his elegant simplicity, beautiful?
He is beautiful. If only he was righteous. If only he was a faithful adherent of dharma. If only he was respectful of the sanctity of all life and a seeker of peace and knowledge. If only he was not an abductor of other men’s wives and slayer of innocent souls.
But then, he thought to himself, if he was not all these things, if he had not done what he had done, had not the nature that he did possess, then he would not be Ravana at all. Then he would be … Rama. Or something close to Rama. A virtuous warrior beyond compare.
And in that moment of insight, he came upon a realisation that was beyond thought or knowledge. It was pure wisdom itself. The ultimate goal of all study and worship. A fragment of pure Brahman. If he could but verbalise it, he would know truly what Ravana was, and why a being so beautiful was capable of such ugly acts. And knowing that, he would know the deepest secret of the rakshasa king, the one thing that nobody else had ever found out about Ravana. The secret of his true strength.
And the secret of his true weakness.
***
The hall was growing impatient and agitated. Prahasta could not understand why Ravana was not speaking or doing anything. The king just sat there, staring blankly at the vanar. And the vanar stood there and gazed back at the lord of Lanka with a look of, well, he did not know what that look meant. But it was not hatred. That much he was sure of.
It was almost as if both Ravana and Hanuman were locked in some mental bond, examining each other like two great sages who had progressed past the point of words and spoken language and communicated through pure thought alone.
He stepped forward, clearing his throat and speaking in a cautious voice.
‘My lord, with your permission, may we question the vanar about his actions?’
‘Yes,’ a voice shouted from behind Prahasta. ‘He has much to answer for.’
‘He deserves to be tortured and broken into pieces,’ shouted another voice.
‘He should be executed at once, right here and now.’
‘No. He should be eaten alive, a piece at a time, every day, so he suffers for the longest time possible.’
‘He should be—’
‘We must—’
‘Let us—’
‘Make him—’
The chorus of angry shouts grew louder, clamouring for inventive and progressively more horrible punishments to be inflicted upon the vanar, all eventually ending in his death. Prahasta turned to face the hall and tried to restore order by calling out in a commanding voice. But everyone was seeking to be heard by Ravana, using the opportunity to show their fealty and initiative. Many of them, he thought bitterly, felt guilty that they had not had the opportunity to fight the vanar and die as so many others had. As his son had.
‘Enough.’ Ravana’s single word sliced through the cacophony like a volcanic-glass blade through coarse cloth. Silence fell on the hall. Prahasta saw his king raise a head or three to scan the assembly. One pair of eyes found him, bored into him, then was joined by two more pairs. Ravana pointed a single finger at him. ‘War Marshal, proceed.’
&nb
sp; Prahasta thought that was an abrupt command even by Ravana’s curt standards. But he wasn’t about to argue. Every warlord and minister in the chamber was looking for an opportunity to turn this situation to his or her own advantage, or at the very least, to show solidarity and competence. There were at least half a dozen high ranks to be filled, and if Ravana’s previous attitude to failure was any basis to judge by, then more heads could roll before the night turned. He bowed and spoke swiftly, ‘Your Majesty, it would be my privilege. As a firsthand witness to the damage caused by this intruder, and as one who faced him and lived to tell the tale, I am entitled to interrogate him personally.’
He paused, aware that every rakshasa eye in the room was glaring jealously at him now. ‘However, in view of the fact that the situation is one that concerns the entire nation, I shall conduct my inquiry right here and now, before the entire body of governance. With your leave, of course,’ he added quickly.
Ravana gestured impatiently. The king was still staring at the vanar whose gaze seemed riveted to Ravana. Prahasta went up to Indrajit and held out his hand for the end of the chain by which the prince held the prisoner. Indrajit looked at him darkly but handed over the chain. He went and took his seat on the dais, watched by his mother whose eyes shone wetly.
Prahasta rattled the chain to attract the vanar’s attention. Hanuman seemed barely aware of him, and only by yanking the chain hard enough to choke off breath could the marshal get the prisoner to even glance at him once.
‘Speak. Identify yourself. Who are you and why did you come to our land?’
Hanuman looked at him unseeingly. Slowly, in stages, the vanar seemed to return to his senses like a person returning from a deep trance. He sighed, releasing a long-held breath, then spoke. Utter silence prevailed as every rakshasa in the hall hung on to his every word.
‘If you would know the answers to these questions, then you must grant me leave to tell the whole answer. I have heard some things spoken about my lord Rama that are patently untrue. It saddened my heart to hear such lies and slander about a man so pure of heart and deed. If you will hear the truth about Rama, I will speak gladly. If not, then do with me as you will.’
Prahasta regarded the vanar. ‘First answer the questions I have put to you.’
‘I am Hanuman, a vanar. Son of the wind god Marut and Anjana, who was once an apsara in Indra’s court before she was cursed to spend a lifetime as a vanar. I leaped a distance of a hundred yojanas or more to fly across the ocean here to Lanka.’
Prahasta held up his hand to still the commotion that erupted in the wake of this extraordinary revelation. ‘Are you an emissary of the mortal named Rama?’
‘I am his servant.’
‘So you represent his will here?’
‘It is at Rama’s behest that I come here to Lanka.’
‘Very well. What is it you wish to tell us about your master?’
‘The truth.’
Prahasta read the rumbling of discontent in the hall and interpreted it carefully. He injected the appropriate amount of scorn into his voice as he said, ‘Why should we listen to you? You have slain a great many of our warriors and wreaked great destruction in our land. You are now an enemy of the kingdom. Why should we sit here listening rather than put an end to your life at once?’
Hanuman considered the question for a moment. ‘Every warrior is prepared to die. But to die for a purpose is far more honourable than simply to die unknowingly. If you would know the reason why I slew your rakshasas, then listen to my words. If you do not desire to know, then do with me as you will. I have already surrendered my life to you.’
Prahasta glanced quickly around the chamber. There was grudging silence now and even the glowering stares held a tinge of curiosity. ‘Very well, vanar. As you are an emissary of the arch enemy of Lanka, and since we rakshasas honour the rules of war, we will hear your words. Make them brief and quick though. And bear in mind that no insult to any Lankan will be brooked here. Speak one ill word against any of us, and you will speak no more.’
Hanuman nodded once. ‘It is gracious of you to hear me out. I begin then, taking the name of my lord Rama.’
And he began to tell, in as brief a manner as he could, the story of Rama, sketching out the bare facts of his life. Prahasta was surprised to find himself listening with greater interest than he could have expected. From the relative silence in the hall, the same applied to the rest.
When he spoke of Ravana, every rakshasa in the hall listened intently. Even Prahasta was ready to respond should the vanar speak a single syllable of abuse. He knew that his own reputation, and likely his life, might rest on any such utterance. But he had permitted the vanar to speak and he must allow the prisoner a fair opportunity now.
To his amazement, Hanuman began praising Ravana. He lavished compliment after compliment upon the lord of Lanka, extolling him in such elaborate detail that Prahasta had to remind himself that this was the same being that had killed Ravana’s son only a little while earlier. And what was even more amazing, Hanuman seemed to mean every word he spoke. The vanar genuinely felt strongly that the king of rakshasas was an honourable and noble being at heart, that except for a wilful choice to pursue certain courses of action—‘paths of karma’ Hanuman termed them—for as-yet-inscrutable reasons that ‘he alone knows’, the lord of Lanka was a great personage deserving to be recorded as one of history’s greatest monarchs. This unexpected extolling drew drawn breaths and startled grunts and stares from around the hall. Even Mandodhari and Indrajit seemed to be puzzled and confused by it. Only Ravana remained as he was, staring impassively and silently with all his ten faces at the vanar, his expressions inscrutable.
Finally, Hanuman drew a long breath and added: ‘All that you need to know, you know. All that remains now is for your king to release the lady Sita and allow her to return home to her husband Rama. You may view this as a warning if you will or as a gentle offering of friendly advice. Release Sita, and you may yet be spared the coming devastation. Ignore this message, and not a single one of you will live to see the end of this long night of death.’
There was a long drawn-out pause, largely because of the vanar’s shocking praises of Ravana. Prahasta himself had to take several moments to consider how best to proceed next. On one hand, the vanar had committed unspeakable outrages against the kingdom—for pity’s sake, he had killed his own son, Jambumali, in the prime of his life. A veteran soldier who lived by the code of warfare, Prahasta could not possibly see the creature as anything other than an enemy, and as an enemy, he deserved the harshest penalty available. But on the other hand, so effusive had been his outpouring of praise for Ravana, so well-balanced his tale of Rama and the conflicts between the two over the years, so reasonable and empathetic his narration, that it had raised doubts that Prahasta never thought he could feel. The vanar had professed to speak the truth. And if that was the truth, then Rama was not the villainous, unrighteous dastard that they had all taken him to be, nor was their own lord Ravana the villain of the piece too. In fact, to hear Hanuman tell the tale, there was no clear black and white here. Only greys, with both Rama and Ravana painted in alluring and admirable shades ranging from pristine ivory to soft shadowy damask. Prahasta was finally facing the one choice no soldier should ever have to face: a genuine moral dilemma. And like all trained soldiers, he was incapable of solving the dilemma. For a soldier’s only purpose is to follow orders. And in dharma, in morality, in the realm of spiritual truth, there are no orders or directions. Only guidelines and multiple choices, each one right in its own way, none wholly incorrect or ‘wrong’.
At a loss, he turned finally to the throne. ‘My lord, you have heard the testimony of the emissary. What is your will now?’
Ravana spoke at once, without hesitation or any flicker of doubt. ‘Put him to death at once.’
NINETEEN
After a moment of confused silence, during which everyone looked at each other to see how the other was responding, a ragged
chorus of ‘Ayes’ broke out, followed soon after by a ragged but rousing roar of approval. Execution was always popular in Lanka.
Vibhisena sprang to his feet. ‘My lord Ravana, on what grounds do you demand the execution of the vanar? It is neither moral nor sanctioned by the rules of war. The moral aspect is open to all of us to judge. And Marshal Prahasta will testify to the veracity of the Kshatriya code that would never permit such a thing.’
But Marshal Prahasta was listening to the roars of the assembly and the silence of his king rather than the voice of his own conscience, and he kept silent, his eyes averted. Vibhisena strode up to the marshal, forcing him to meet his eyes. ‘Prahasta, you are an honourable warrior. Speak! Is it right that we execute an emissary sent to us by another king? Is it not a violation of the rules of warfare?’
Prahasta glanced around nervously, but found the gumption to speak. ‘That is so, Minister, but there are extenuating circumstances here … ’
‘If you mean the destruction and violence wrought by the vanar, then yes, I accept that,’ Vibhisena said. ‘Punish him for those acts. Disfigure him. Scourge him. Shave his head and brand him and parade him through the streets! But you cannot take his life!’
Someone shouted angrily, ‘What if we had killed him on the field, as he killed our rakshasas? Would not that have been acceptable under the rules of warfare, brother Vibhisena?’
‘Yes,’ Vibhisena agreed. ‘That was acceptable. But that is not what we are discussing here. The vanar surrendered gracefully, and put himself in our hands, so he could deliver his missive from Rama. In fact, he made it clear from the very outset that he had no wish to fight, but none would heed his entreaties and bring him here to be heard. So he fought on as any warrior would.’
‘Then he must be treated as a warrior, not an emissary,’ said another objector.
‘Aye,’ echoed several others.
Vibhisena turned to Ravana. ‘My lord, you have heard the vanar praise your character and your true nature. You yourself know that you are famed throughout the asura races for your wisdom and kingship. Do not let this travesty of justice be implemented. Do what is just and fair.’
RAMAYANA Part 3_PRINCE AT WAR Page 42