For some reason, the impossibility of it troubled him too. He could not easily express why; but it bothered him that the land seemed so peaceful and verdant. That their landing had been unopposed, their ingress unobstructed. Others had voiced these same concerns, but they had been answered, doubtfully. After all, it was not for nothing that these cliffs had been named Palisades. Had they not had Hanuman’s prodigious talents to simplify their ascent, these rock walls would have indeed acted as natural palisades, daunting them for hours, perhaps even an entire night and a day, for it would have been no joke to have such great numbers climb such steep faces. As it was, the only thing they had to contend with now was keeping the lines moving up from the beach in orderly fashion, making sure that the flow remained as continuous and unstymied as a flowing river. Already, a goodly percentage of their numbers were upon the plateau, and at this present rate, a few minutes after the time the last vanars and bears came ashore at around midnight, they would all be up here, assembled and ready for war.
He turned his attention to the gathering of chiefs. They were all here: Jambavan, Kambunara and their generals of varying pelt shades—fawn, light brown, dark brown, jet black, and black with white streaks. King Sugreeva, Prince Angad, Hanuman and the five vanar generals. And Vibhisena, Lakshman and himself. The troops were being managed by the clan chiefs, who had gained immeasurable confidence after the successful crossing and the absence of opposition on the Lankan shore. This unwieldy mass of furry friends was finally starting to resemble an army that could give Lanka’s rakshasas cause to fear. If nothing else, their sheer numbers would count for a great advantage: from Hanuman’s keen observations of Lanka’s forces, he deduced that they outnumbered the rakshasas by a factor of three to one. Now it was upto Rama to ensure that this weight of numbers was utilised in the most effective manner possible.
‘The key is speed,’ he said. ‘We must strike like the cobra, swift and unhesitant. And continue striking, in unending waves.’ He indicated Vibhisena. ‘As you can see from this solitary example, the average rakshasa is thrice as large as the average vanar. And with a hide that is almost akin to armour. Even if three vanars were to attack a single rakshasa at a time, the enemy would still have the advantage of weight and strength.’
He noticed the frown on Vibhisena’s face and paused. ‘Do you wish to add something to that, my lord Vibhisena?’ he asked politely.
The rakshasa nodded thankfully. ‘By your leave, Rama. I am not a typical example of my brother’s warrior forces. As I am sure Hanuman can tell you. But even the sturdiest Pulastya— which is my clan—are pygmies compared to the kumbhas.’
‘Kumbhas?’ Lakshman asked.
‘Indeed, Lord Lakshman. The kumbha-rakshasas are related to our other brother, Kumbhakarna. While they do not possess his extraordinary stature, for he is quite unique in that way, they are considerably larger than the average warrior-rakshasa.’
‘How large are they, then?’ Prince Angad demanded with uncharacteristic churlishness. Both the vanar prince and his father were still openly suspicious of their rakshasa collaborator and his motives. King Sugreeva felt strongly about the wisdom of discussing vital military strategy with a member of the enemy; it was only his respect for Rama that had compelled him to swallow his objections. Angad, of course, had followed his father’s example and bitten his own tongue as well.
Vibhisena shrugged. ‘At least thrice as large as I am, in height as well as weight.’
Everybody exclaimed. Even the bears glowered. ‘And how many of these kambos are there?’ asked Kambunara angrily, as if Vibhisena was personally responsible for birthing the whole subspecies.
‘A full rakshasa garrison,’ he said. ‘Roughly equivalent to two of your akshohini.’ He addressed the last to Rama and Lakshman. They exchanged tense glances. An akshohini was over sixty thousand soldiers. Two akshohini would mean a lakh and twenty thousand kumbha-rakshasas, each thrice as large as ordinary rakshasas, which meant they were each about four times as large as the bears.
Sugreeva stared coldly at Vibhisena. The vanars did not take disappointment well, and the king’s response at hearing about the kumbhas was writ clearly on his sorrowful features. ‘How do we know that these beasts even exist?’ he asked. ‘In all my years I have never heard of rakshasas that large.’
Hanuman spoke up. ‘They exist,’ he said simply. ‘I fought them only yesterday.’
Lakshman turned to Vibhisena suddenly. ‘You mentioned your other brother, Kumbhakarna? Who is this person?’
Vibhisena passed a hand across his eyes. ‘He is not someone any of you would wish to face in battle, Lord Lakshman. Fortunately, I do not think you will have to.’
‘Why is that?’ asked the vanar general Sarabha. ‘Does he not fight on the side of Ravana? Is he a dissenter like yourself?’
‘Nay, nay,’ Vibhisena said. ‘Would that he was. He is a partner with Ravana in every vile act he has ever committed. Together they have ravaged the realm of the devas and wreaked havoc in the underworld. Kumbhakarna unleashed in battle is an army unto himself.’ He shuddered and shook his head. ‘If he were in this fray, we would not be standing here debating sizes and weights. All our strategies would be devoted solely to defending ourselves against his onslaught. And I honestly would not know how that could be done. Nothing can face my brother and survive. Nothing that I have ever seen or heard of before.’
Everybody looked at the rakshasa with doubtful expressions.
Prince Angad seemed the least willing to take Vibhisena’s words at face value. ‘What exactly makes this Kumbhakarna so formidable? He is a rakshasa, yes? A large rakshasa? Well, even the largest can be downed in battle.’
Vibhisena looked pityingly at the young vanar. ‘Nay, Prince Angad. He is not merely large. He is the thing against which all other things are measured, and are found wanting. A long time ago, Kumbhakarna was granted a boon by the devas. He had only to speak his wish and it would be fulfilled. But he was clumsy and mis-uttered the Sanskrit shloka. So, instead of asking to be able to wage war all year round, which was what he desired, he asked to be able to wage sleep all year round! Lord Brahma, taking advantage of the verbal slip, immediately granted the boon. And so Kumbhakarna, who loved nothing more than to do violence every waking minute, was cursed to sleep for six months at a stretch. He awakens for a single day, during which he eats prodigious quantities of food and consumes great volumes of liquor, and then only is he ready to fight. But since there are rarely any foes worthy of facing him and surviving more than a few moments, let alone an entire day, he has taken to eating non-stop until he falls asleep once again. That may be a day, or a month or six months later. As long as he is awake, he eats and drinks, and then, soon enough, he sleeps again. And once he sleeps, nothing can awaken him.’ He sighed, and made a rakshasa gesture that suggested relief. ‘He is in the middle of a sleep cycle right now. Which is why I know for certain that he will not take the field of battle in this conflict.’
Everybody looked around at each other, unsure of how to take this extraordinary story. ‘How large exactly is he, then?’ Lakshman asked curiously. ‘I mean, if he is of the same clan as the kumbha-rakshasas, then he must be also—’
He paused as the ground beneath them vibrated briefly, like the floor of a canyon beneath an oncoming landslide. But they were standing at the highest point in sight and the tremor passed as suddenly as it had begun. Vibhisena frowned as if about to comment on it, then shook his head and addressed Lakshman’s comment.
‘No, no, no, Lord Lakshman. The kumbhas are like ants before him. He is of a stature that cannot be measured.’ Vibhisena indicated Hanuman. ‘You have seen our vanar friend when he expands himself to his greatest size? As he did yesterday when he pounded the Tower of Lanka into the ground. Kumbhakarna would be taller than that, and much, much more powerful. For he retains every morsel and every drop that he consumes. That is part of the boon that Brahma inflicted upon him … a curse really.’
Lakshman turned h
is head slowly to look at Hanuman, then raised his eyes to the sky, trying to imagine a rakshasa taller than Hanuman’s greatest height and stronger as well.
Rama saw that this line of discussion was making the vanars nervous and irritable. It was time to divert the conversation back to the original line of discussion. ‘In any event,’ he said, ‘if he is not able to take to the field, then we need not concern ourselves with him. Let us discuss our first assault now.’
He squatted on the ground and began pointing with a long stick that Lakshman had cut for him for this purpose, indicating the stones they had placed in rows to suggest the formations of the two forces. He had based his plan on Vibhisena and Hanuman’s description of Lanka’s geography as well as the likely defensive formations that Ravana’s army would mount. Lakshman had lit a small fire to illuminate the space in which they had convened. The vanar and bear leaders had learned to steel themselves in the presence of Agni for the sake of their mortal friends but a few of them still blanched and winced as the hastily assembled sticks crackled and hissed in the flames.
Beyond the circle of light, Rama glimpsed the partially illuminated outlines of the troops bounding past in the darkness, eyes glistening red in the moonless night. They had fallen silent out of deference to the war council that was in progress, as the landing progressed beyond the initial euphoria to a stage of grim consolidation. Nightfall had darkened the mood as well. The entire landscape seemed different by darkness. Rama was glad that there would be a moon tonight and the next few nights: they had spied the new moon eight nights before, which meant it was waxing and would be full in another six or seven nights. They ought to have enough moonlight to see by once the moon rose in another watch or two.
He resumed the description of his plans, using the stick and the lined-up stones to illustrate his strategy.
‘As I was saying earlier, our greatest ally is speed. The vanars shall line themselves up in waves, thus. After three waves of vanars, there will be one wave of bears. Which means that three vanars shall attack each rakshasa, and inflict as much damage as they can, and before the rakshasas have time to tear them apart or cut them down, the bears will follow, slamming into them with all their strength and weight. When the bear wave strikes, the first line of rakshasas should fall back. Then we repeat the formation. And so on, until we break through the rakshasa lines and crack their defences. At that point … ’
He paused. Was it just his hand that was trembling? Or was the very ground on which the stick was resting starting to shudder? He looked around at the troops still pouring onto the plateau from the beach. Could their footfalls be causing the ground to shake? But why should it start of a sudden? Perhaps—
‘My lords!’
The shout rose from the edge of the plateau. It was Nala, entrusted with the function of channelling the various vanar troops into the formation decided by Rama earlier, telling this tribe to go there, and that one here, and so on. He was a dimly glimpsed furry smear in the near-darkness. Only the faint spill of light from the fire made it possible to see him at all. He was waving frantically, leaping up and down in true vanar fashion.
‘My lords!’ he cried again. ‘The land! The land, it—’
He got no further. Chaos erupted all around, as the earth itself heaved up and began to attack them.
***
In the deep cavern in which Ravana had caged her, Sita felt the earth shuddering and opened her eyes. She had been seated cross-legged, meditating to calm her senses and reduce her bodily metabolism to a minimum. After the morning’s display of shakti, Ravana had flown her into this cavern lit by the ghostly illumination of his sorcerous stones, and protected the entrance with a guard of rakshasas. The interior of the cavern was curiously similar to the place where she had been imprisoned when first brought to Lanka: she even thought she could recognise some of the same trees, with the markings of the rakshasis who had tormented her then. They had used their talons to scratch out obscene drawings and markings on the trunks of the trees, and the trees in this place had similar scratches and markings—similar but not the same. She knew this because these markings made no sense whatsoever. It was as if an artist had attempted to hurriedly copy them and had only roughly replicated them, without understanding what they actually stood for. She wondered if this was a consequence of the damage that Hanuman had inflicted upon the Pushpak. This thought made her rejoice ever so slightly; it proved that even the great and shakti-shaali, omnipotent Ravana had his flaws. Even his maha-shakti had its limits. An imperfectly rendered obscenity upon the trunk of a sala tree, an Ashoka sapling which was bent to the right instead of to the left as it had been in that earlier grove … these were tiny suggestions that Ravana’s sorcery was not infallible. Hopefully, neither was Ravana himself.
The cavern was vast, the Ashoka grove was the most peaceful part of it. She had enough space to wander around, even a little brook and a garden with trees and a shrubbery. Yet she knew that she was no less a prisoner here than she had been in the tower.
She had immersed herself in meditation all morning, knowing that the only thing she could do now was wait—wait until Rama arrived and saved her, or until Ravana finally lost patience and she was forced to end her life. His limits had been tested to the extreme, she knew, and this morning’s outburst and display had been to intimidate her into succumbing to his will. She had resisted not by pitting her strength of will against his, but by simply negating his use of force. If one did not accept an abuse flung at oneself by another person, that abuse continued to belong to the person who had uttered it; by simply rejecting it, one brushed off the insult or abuse without any effect. Ravana’s lust and his growing desperation were his problems to deal with, not her’s.
And yet, she knew that even the most disciplined application of yogic endurance would not help her survive much longer. Ravana’s use of force could easily become physical at any moment, and while she might use her yogic strength to combat him mentally, she had no defences against his great physical powers, let alone his sorcerously enhanced strength.
If that happened, she would not live long.
For she would sooner kill herself and her unborn child than succumb to the rakshasa’s will. There were no circumstances under which she would yield to his demands or even provide him with the smallest modicum of the legitimacy he desired. Perhaps the greatest advantage she still possessed was the knowledge that he wished her to yield willingly. To attack her would be an admission of his own failure—and her triumph. Either way, all she could do was wait him out.
And so she sat here on the grassy floor of the artificial garden, lost in meditation. Seeking that yoganidra state the devas were so famous for: if she could lose herself the way Shiva had, perhaps all this would pass in the wink of a third eye, and when she regained her consciousness, Rama—
That was when the earth began shuddering.
She unwound her limbs and rose slowly to her feet as the ground vibrated with increasing urgency. The walls and ceiling of the cavern, far and high though they were, shook as well, and fine powdery rock dust trickled down around her. In moments, she was compelled to stand with her legs spread to maintain her balance, clutching to the trunk of the nearest Ashoka tree for support. The shudders increased, as if the island was in the throes of an earthquake. The light in the cavern flickered, dimmed to pinpoints, and then grew suddenly brighter, dazzlingly bright, too bright to look at. She shielded her face from the blinding light, and clung to the trunk of an Ashoka tree, alert to any falling debris—for now the tremors were great enough that she feared the cave ceiling itself might crash down upon her.
Instead, the floor rose up.
She gasped as the grassy ground on which she stood rose without warning, carrying her with it. The tree she was clinging to remained steady, her only support, but everything else was rising and falling, moving, morphing, reshaping … She could actually see the walls bulge inwards, and then change texture, as if some magical force were altering their very sub
stance. She saw the chiselled rock of the cave wall darken, then smoothen out, then develop a network of indented lines … The pattern that was developing seemed almost familiar. As if she had seen it often before. She sent up a silent prayer as a great and terrible grinding and gnashing echoed up the length of the cavern and then it was plunged into pitch darkness.
FOUR
The ground beneath Rama’s feet rose up with a roar like a Gir lion charging, flinging him upwards and backwards so suddenly, he had no chance to react in any way. It was as if the earth had reached out with an angry palm, shoving him viciously. He felt himself falling through blackness—no, not falling, rising! Rising up, up, up into the air, upon the fist of earth that had erupted beneath his feet. He was transported upwards against his will, too rapidly to do anything more than lie still and try to catch his stolen breath. As he rose up swiftly through the darkness, he heard an angry spitting and hissing, like a nest of Uragas woken by an enemy, and saw a shower of sparks explode in the air somewhere far to the left, dispelling the darkness momentarily and filling the night with a cascade of blazing sticks and fragments from the remnants of the fire Lakshman had lit, illuminating the plateau for a goodly distance for a few shocking moments.
It was a scene like nothing he had ever seen before. The ground heaved and rose and fell all around, twisting and writhing into a variety of tortured, contorted forms and planes. Like a living beast, it moved and turned and rose and fell, crushing vanars and bears here, tossing others remorselessly, sucking some down. The air was rent with the shrill screeches of vanars and the lowing rage of impotent bears. Once again, as with the wall of water, nature itself had turned against them.
He was flung so high that for an instant, he could even look over the edge of the cliff, down to the very beach itself. He glimpsed the line of greybacks, ragged and heaving in the choppy ocean. It was too brief a glimpse to tell for sure, but he thought that the ocean itself was not churning—it was only the effect of the land mass moving that was affecting the water somewhat. He glimpsed also the lines of troops still pouring onto the beach, slowed to a shocked crawl, stunned by the sudden eruption of the land. He heard the frightened cheekas of vanars on the beach, just landed and finding the solid sand suddenly exploding and imploding around them as if fired upon by invisible astras, except that even celestial weapons would not operate in such a manic, frenzied fashion. It was as if an unseen army of crabs were scurrying up out of and down into the sand of the beach, tossing some vanars and bears off their shells as they rose, sucking others down as they descended again, in an insane dance of sand and beast—and blood.
RAMAYANA Part 3_PRINCE AT WAR Page 59