Rama raised the bow and arrow to the sky. He chanted a famous Sanskrit shloka praising the devas. Those of the assembled armies, bedraggled and shaken though they were, who knew the shloka in question, chanted with him, their voices suffused with awe and wonder. Slowly, the fear that had struck them senseless was being replaced by a fury that seemed to Lakshman to match Rama’s own.
Then Rama took the bow and put the arrow to its string.
He directed the arrow out to sea.
Aiming it in the direction from which the killer wave had come.
‘Varuna does not heed my calls,’ he said. And his voice echoed the thunder itself now. ‘Varuna is a coward who strikes at innocent vanars and bears and then scuttles back to his deep watery bed to hide. Varuna has performed an unrighteous act and aided the lord of Lanka in executing a massacre that is against dharma itself. Therefore, I shall have no sympathy for him as I use these weapons to unleash the wrath of the devas upon his marine world.’
Rama turned to look towards where Lakshman stood. His eyes found his brother at once, despite the dullness of the light and the hordes standing around him. Again Lakshman thought he saw the blue light of Brahman shakti flash from Rama’s pupils; but it could not be so—the ability to channel the power of Brahman had been lost to Rama after the unleashing of the brahmastra at Mithila. And yet, Rama’s voice, form, his entire aspect, all blazed with the inner strength of divine shakti.
‘Lakshman! My brother. Watch as I use the weapons of Shiva and Vishnu to decimate the creatures of the ocean world just as their lord decimated our noble followers. Today I shall declare war upon this great ocean. I shall destroy all life within its waters, render those waters poisonous and uninhabitable. And after every creature has suffered and cried out in torment and died a terrible painful death, I shall cause those waters to dry up for ever. The ocean thinks that because I have respected his territory, because we have laboured painstakingly these past several days to build this bridge to span his vastness, that we are pathetic and puny. He mistakes our respect for weakness. Our patience for pacifism. You know how patient I have been. How I have sought peace rather than war. How I have used sweat and muscle and hard work rather than resort to the easy power of Brahman shakti or even use of godly weapons. You have been witness to my forbearance, Lakshman. Now bear witness to my justice.’
And Rama raised the bow and unleashed the arrow. At that very instant, the sky turned utterly black, as if a light had been snuffed out. In that preternatural darkness, the only thing left visible was that single arrow, a yard’s length of reed-thin wood blazing white as lightning. It rent the darkness like a needle piercing a finely woven black fabric, and Lakshman felt he could hear its passage across the void. The arrow rose, arcing, then fell far out to sea—or where the sea had been before the world had turned black. It fell into the void and there was a terrible tearing sound, as if the very fabric of the universe was being ripped open.
EIGHT
The void was ablaze.
The darkness that had extinguished the view of the ocean was replaced by the illumination of numerous fires … countless fires.
Even though it had been no more than late afternoon when the tidal wave had struck, the sky was now pitch dark. Glancing up, Lakshman could see lightning webbing the cloud-enshrouded sky, like the flicking tongues of a hundred invisible serpents.
Below, in the place where a sunlit ocean had lain not long before, there was now a burning sea.
The armies of vanars and bears, reassembled to watch Rama wreak his ire upon the ocean lord, gasped with astonishment. They had never seen such shakti unleashed, such phenomena revealed. As Lakshman stared at the ocean, at the unnaturally shrouded and benighted sky, he realised that neither had he. Certainly, he had seen some amazing sights in the past fourteen years, but nothing quite like this.
The ocean was ablaze. Like some great city on a vast plain, torched by an invading army, some immeasurably vast metropolis sprawled across countless yojanas, the kingdom of the sea lord was burning in patches and pockets. Sea creatures threw themselves up out of the waters, seeking to escape the supernatural fire that scorched and charred them below, only to fall back helplessly, screaming their exotic cries and wails. Enormous sea elephants, frenzied white jagged-toothed predators, rainbow-hued fish of varied sizes, sea serpents, fleshy tentacled creatures, orange-shelled crustaceans with claws and feelers, all thrashed and churned in agony, caught in the many pockets of divine fire that blazed phosphorescently, turning the grey-blue ocean white as salt where it worked its cruel magic. He saw one great charcoal-grey beast rise up, water pluming from a spout-hole on the top of its head, wailing its distress. Then it fell back and was engulfed by a pocket of greedy white flame.
Lakshman looked around in disbelief, sweeping the sea from end to end, turning almost fully to either side to take in the sheer scale of the spectacle unfolding before him. For as far as his eyes could see, from one extreme to the other, from the point nearest the shore to the farthest line of the horizon, the ocean was afire.
Could all this be the work of one arrow? A single stick of wood?
But of course.
It was the Arrow of Shiva. Fired from the Bow of Vishnu.
These were dev-astras. Weapons of the gods. Once, he had been given the power to work such weapons too. He had felt the unspeakable potency of their unleashing, the throbbing in every cell and fibre of his being, the sheer intimacy that he shared with the force of existence itself when he unleashed those astras. He had felt as if he could accomplish anything, destroy anyone, wreak any vengeance imaginable.
He believed that the sight before his eyes was no illusion. It was the wrath of the devas unleashed upon the ocean as punishment for misusing its power in the service of the lord of Lanka.
‘Varuna!’ Rama called again, and this time his voice was so terrible, even his own armies shrank away from him. ‘For the last time, show yourself. Or reap the harvest of your misdeed!’
And he raised the Arrow of Shiva once more to the Bow, directing it at the tormented ocean. For no matter how many times it was fired, the arrow would always reappear magically in the sender’s hand in an instant. This Lakshman knew without being told, for it was the way of such dev-astras to be eternally replenished.
Rama pulled back upon the Arrow, stretching the cord of the Bow to its limit. Even from where he stood, several yards distant, Lakshman could feel the shakti of the Bow vibrating in the air. The energy winding up, thrumming with power, preparing to unleash another miasma of destruction. He looked out upon the blazing ocean and the torment of the sea denizens and almost felt sympathy for their plight. If a single loosing of the celestial arrow could wreak such havoc, what would a second loosing accomplish? Or three, or four, or more? Truly, it would be as Rama had threatened: the ocean world itself would be rendered desolate and devastated, uninhabitable for aeons to come.
At the very last instant before Rama was about to loose the Arrow a second time, a great commotion occurred far out to sea. The waters boiled and seethed, great gouts exploding and splashing this way and that. The dying creatures around that spot thrashed and struggled pitifully to leave the region.
Then, with an immense rending sound, as if a mountain was being torn apart rather than an ocean split, a great mass rose up out of the ocean waters.
It rose and rose, filling the benighted sky with its hulking shape. Then stopped rising, and stood, shaking.
Water cascaded from its form, splashing back into the sea. There were patches where it was afire too, white flames licking greedily at its upper torso and limbs, for they could not be called a chest and arms. Great sea serpents, their undulating lengths burnished gold, coiled around the being’s limbs and body, hissing and screaming, for they too were tormented by the celestial flames ignited by Shiva’s Arrow. The body of the sea lord shimmered and shone with dazzling intensity, like a rainbow that could be seen and yet not seen wholly. It was smooth as an emerald and as translucent. It seem
ed to be clad in a variety of weeds such as might be found at the bottom of a river or ocean, except that they were brackish red rather than mulchy green. A colourful vine adorned its upper torso, like a garland of flowers. But the vine-garland moved, and Lakshman saw that it was also a variety of sea serpent, fat and thick with age and excess, like a favoured pet. Its multiple eyes glimmered like glowing coals in a bed of mud.
The sea lord himself was somewhat masculine in aspect, but Lakshman felt instinctively that to attribute mortal masculinity— or femininity—to such a being was impossible. It was more anima than creature. A being composed more of water and weed than blood and flesh. Its aspect was terrible to behold, like that of any deva manifesting itself. The assembled vanars and bears on the shore stared up, swaying slowly like drunken beings, mesmerised by the sight. They would have fled had it not been their own lord who had called upon the ocean lord to manifest itself.
Lakshman looked towards Rama and saw that he still held the Arrow strung in the Bow, the cord as tightly wound. Only a very faint tremor in Rama’s shoulder and arm muscles betrayed the strain of holding that great weapon for so many moments. Lakshman could hardly imagine the strength involved in holding the cord of such a bow for more than a fraction of a second. And still Rama held it, pointing it directly at the top of the form of the being that stood towering above him in the blazing ocean.
‘Varuna. So you deign to make yourself manifest at last. Speak then. Or suffer the effect of a second assault from this celestial arrow.’
The sea lord moved forward in such a manner that Lakshman almost shouted out to warn Rama. Water sloshed before its shell-encrusted lower limbs. Lakshman opened his mouth to shout a warning, then watched in amazement as the sea lord bowed the top of his head and joined two of his many serpentine limbs in a manner that almost resembled a namaskaram. When he spoke, his voice was the voice of a thousand sea elephants, wailing and moaning and trumpeting their distress; it was the voice of water itself, gurgling and splashing and thundering like waves upon a rocky shore.
‘Rama,’ he said. ‘I am but a force of nature. Like the sky, the earth, the wind … like fire. I am water itself made manifest. And I too have my own nature. Just as fire will burn flesh that is put into it, so also must I embrace and engulf any thing that enters my body, swallowing it whole and digesting it slowly, more slowly than fire, yet much faster than earth, or wind, or sky.’
Rama lowered the Bow slightly, loosening his grip upon the cord. Yet, Lakshman noted, he did not put the Bow down, or release the Arrow from the cord yet. He kept it lowered by his side, ready to be deployed again at a moment’s notice.
‘Varuna,’ Rama said quietly, though that quiet tone somehow carried to the farthest vanar or bear in the great throng behind him. ‘Do not justify your misdeeds as part of your nature. What you did earlier, when you unleashed that tidal wave of destruction upon my followers, that was no force of nature. It was the work of asura sorcery. You obeyed the diktat of Ravana, lord of Lanka, and in doing so you have brought my wrath upon yourself. You have already seen what I can accomplish with the loosing of this arrow but a single time. Tell me one reason why I should not unleash it again, and yet again, and again, until I have destroyed every last vestige of life in your vast holdings. Tell me why I should not wipe out the ocean itself from this world?’
Something thrashed in the ocean behind Varuna. Lakshman looked and made out an appendage like the fins that served fish as tails and feet both. Varuna’s upper body trembled as well, and the serpents entwined around the sea lord’s body writhed and hissed desperately. Even the great ancient one coiled around Varuna’s neck raised its thick head slowly, with great effort, and gazed upon Rama with its myriad eyes. Lakshman thought he could even guess what that ancient being must be thinking: Who is this mortal who threatens my lord himself with extinction? What favour does he have with the devas that he possesses the shakti to unleash such destruction?
Almost as if sensing Lakshman’s thoughts, the ancient one turned its head slightly, looking at him now. He felt a force probe his mind, alien tendrils of energy penetrating to his innermost thoughts. It was no less intrusive than if a real fleshand-blood sea serpent had coiled its slippery length around his limbs and bared its venomous fangs at his face. He could almost smell the breath of the ancient serpent upon his face, the stench of the deepest oceans, of rotten fish that it took a thousand years to digest, of things he had no name for, nor words to describe.
Who? asked the ancient one directly to his mind. Just that one question, blindly probing, demanding with the arrogance of one whose power and wisdom were so great, it had never needed to explain itself. WHO?
Rama, he heard himself respond defiantly, in the caverns of his mind. He is Rama, dharma incarnate. And I am his brother Lakshmana. Underestimate us at your own peril.
He felt the ancient one observe him for an instant more, then turn its head again to look at Rama once again. Lakshman sensed the passing of some wordless communication between it and Varuna. After a moment, when the sea lord spoke again, he sounded chastised.
‘Rama, what you say is true. In your present state, you are omniscient. There is no use my denying anything to you. I did indeed obey the command of the lord of Lanka and executed his will. I sent the wave to destroy your soldiers and your bridge. But I had no choice. I was powerless to disobey the king of rakshasas. For in another age, he invaded the realms of the devas and defeated them in open battle. His asura armies wreaked unspeakable horrors upon the devas and the other denizens of the heavenly realms. They were prepared to offer him anything to rid themselves of his foul presence. In return for leaving those realms, he secured several boons, including the services of many devas themselves. My service to him was part of that war-bond. When he commanded me, I had no choice but to fulfil his desire. I see now that I did wrong, that I have caused grievous harm to your people, and to your bridge, which now lies broken. I assure you, now that my bond to Ravana is fulfilled, he has no more power over me. I shall not cause another wave to rise. I will take no more steps to cause you harm.’
Rama laughed shortly. Lakshman frowned. He had heard that very laugh before, when Rama had confronted the giantess Tataka in the wilds of Bhayanak-van, fourteen years ago. But Rama had been infused with the power of the maha-mantras Bala and Atibala then, an indestructible machine driven by the universal force of Brahman shakti. How could he have regained that shakti?
‘You will not dare harm me now, Varuna. For I wield the weapons of Vishnu and Shiva that can cause the destruction of your entire realm and all species that dwell within it. Do not offer me irrelevant assurances. Tell me instead, why should I not punish you for your heinous massacre of my innocent followers? Why should I stay my hand? Answer me well, and wisely, lord of the seas, or you will soon have no power to form words at all!’
And Rama raised the bow once again, aiming it directly at Varuna himself.
Lakshman saw the ancient serpent’s myriad eyes gleam darkly, as it stared at the shocking impudence of this mortal. Varuna himself took a step back, the ocean sloshing like water in an arghya bowl. His followers screamed and wailed and thrashed, seeking to swim away from him, to distance themselves from the destruction that would certainly come if Rama loosed the arrow a second time.
‘Pray hear my plea,’ Varuna said, and its watery voice trembled audibly. ‘Do not loose your arrow upon me, good Rama. I am repentant for my transgression. I have committed great wrong by taking the lives of your followers and destroying your bridge.’
‘Mere apologies will not restore their lives, nor rebuild my bridge!’ Rama shouted. Thunder echoed him, crashing in the skies above. Lightning flashed, striking the body of the ocean lord in three separate spots. Small fires burst out at each of the three places; one stroke of lightning cut a serpent in half, and both halves fell writhing, splashing into the ocean. ‘You must do better than that, Ocean Lord! You must pay the price for your mistake!’
‘Rama,’ Varuna plead
ed. ‘I beseech you. Do not loose your arrow. It will destroy all ocean life on this mortal realm. It will end the lineage of countless species for all time. The very future of this realm will be altered, for the oceans are integral to the survival and sustenance of the realm itself, and of the other species that inhabit it, including your own mortal fellows.’
‘You did not care how many vanars or bears or mortals you killed when you obeyed Ravana’s order and unleashed your wave,’ Rama replied. ‘Where was your sympathy for living things then, Varuna? Why should you expect me to care now?’
‘Wait, Rama!’ Varuna cried. ‘Wait but a moment! I will make amends for my wrongdoing. I will atone for it by aiding you in your mission. I have offended you grievously by acting on behalf of the lord of Lanka. I did so under duress and unwillingly. Now I will act on your behalf and do ten times more for you than I did for him. I will be as your servant, and serve you loyally, and do your bidding. I will do so joyously and willingly. My powers are great. Use them. Use them to undo the destruction wrought by Ravana’s diktat to me. Use the very same powers against him!’
At these words, Rama cocked his head slowly to one side, deliberating. The armies of vanars and bears waited for his answer with bated breath. The ocean lord waited. The denizens of the sea waited. The sky, the clouds, the wind, the earth, all waited.
After a long moment, Rama lowered the Bow and released the Arrow from the cord.
NINE
Hanuman regained consciousness to find himself lying on an immense grey bed. The sun was shining in the sky again, wisps of clouds drifted lazily overhead, and high above, the silhouette of a flock of birds resembled the shape of a mountain peak turned sideways. He sat up, and found himself reduced to his normal vanar size. He looked around, trying to get his bearings. How long had he been unconscious? Where was he now? What had happened when the wave struck? Rama! Lakshman! His lords Sugreeva and Angad!
RAMAYANA Part 3_PRINCE AT WAR Page 52