Both fighters stood like statues in a tableau. Like one of the enormous stone statues Sita recalled seeing in the Suryavansha palace at Ayodhya, depicting scenes featuring Rama’s ancestors.
Then, slowly, the rakshasa’s feet began to move.
Just a fraction at first, but the motion was unmistakable.
Then a little more, perhaps an inch. Then another inch.
He was sliding backwards, losing his grip.
Realising this, the rakshasa roared once, loudly, then pushed upwards with both his hands, his great back muscles now standing out in relief as he exerted all his considerable strength to attempt to push the vanar back, or tilt him off-balance at the very least.
Instead Hanuman raised his head, opened his mouth, and spoke a single phrase, loudly and clearly enough to be heard by both armies.
‘Jai Siyaram,’ he said.
And brought the mace down on the head of its owner with a force so swift, so sudden, so powerful, that the head of the weapon was driven through the crown of the rakshasa’s skull, through his brain, through his spine, shattering each in succession, all the way down to his hip, which shattered like fragile chalkstone, and down until it struck the ground itself and disappeared several feet inside, to lie buried in a veritable grave with the pulped remains of all that was left of the Lankan challenger.
***
The stony silence that met the death of the Lankan champion was broken by a great roar of rage from the rakshasa hordes. Several rakshasas broke free of their lines and ran forward, unable to curb their anger. Some were lashed by kumbhas but others were methodically shot down by arrows from Indrajit’s chariot. The acting commander of the Lankan army showed no hesitation in cutting down his own warriors; abjuring from wounding them in the legs, he aimed to kill, dropping a dozen-odd rakshasas dead in their tracks before the first of them could reach even halfway across the no-man’s-land. Shouted orders by the kumbhas sent grumbling rakshasas out in pairs and trios to drag back the bodies of the insubordinates. After that, the rakshasa hordes settled for howling and roaring and spewing noxious fluids into the air, but none dared break their ranks.
Rama watched as Indrajit lowered his bow and gestured with a fist. A flurry broke out behind him, and then a chariot rode forward. Rakshasas scattered to make way for it, the charioteer giving no heed to whether or not he ran down his own countrymen, and the vehicle drove through to the buffer space. Then, without pausing, it swung around in a dusty arc and wheeled straight towards Hanuman.
Cheekas of protest broke out in the vanar ranks, for Hanuman, despite his powers, was still unarmed. But the Lankan chariot charged at the vanar without pause, its wheels trundling more silently than any chariot Rama had seen until now. In its cupola was a rakshasa with so much armour and cladding that he could scarcely discern the creature’s face. Only two ruby-red eyes glowed from within the slit in the helm, and a maw that might have been its mouth issued an unsettling banshee scream. From the manner in which even the front-line kumbhas stepped back hurriedly as the chariot rode past them, he understood that this new champion was greatly feared by Lankans as well. Someone in Indrajit’s formation started a cheer that was reluctantly repeated by the rest of the Lankan army—or most of them at any rate, for the new challenger was clearly not loved by all of his own people. The cry that rang out this time was ‘Akampana!’
Hanuman stood impassively as the chariot hurtled towards him. The charioteer, a sneering fellow with a thin, reedy trunk like a poor imitation of an elephant’s, whipped the broken-sur team with vicious glee, adding his own tinny voice to the Lankan cheer: ‘Akampana! Akampana!’
The Lankan began firing arrows when he was a mere two hundred yards from the lone vanar. His aim was unerring despite the speed of the chariot. Rama saw an arrow strike Hanuman’s right shoulder, the next his left shoulder, the third his chest, the fourth his abdomen … By the time the chariot came within striking distance, fourteen arrow shafts were stuck in the vanar’s bare body, one in every major part of him, with three in his chest alone. Hanuman seemed not to take notice of these missiles and remained standing with the same impassive calm as the chariot bore down on him at the greatest speed its driver could muster from the frothing team.
Rama saw the leading kumbha-sur lower its cloven head to strike Hanuman, even as the vanar did the same with his own head, bending down and forward at the last instant. The beast and vanar skulls impacted together with a sound like dried parchment crumpled in an angry fist. The entire broken-sur team ploughed into Hanuman with the force of a wooden box striking a granite boulder, and flesh, bone and blood, crumpled like sticks and waterbags, destroyed on impact and exploding into a shower of grisly blood-rain that poured down on the dusty plain as far away as the first lines of the nearest Lankan horde. The chariot followed, ploughing into the steadfast vanar even as it upended and flipped over. Hanuman raised his arms, catching the overturning chariot, and crumpled it with his bare hands until it folded and refolded into a splintered mess of metal debris. He threw the remains at the Lankan lines, to land just before the front ranks. The rakshasas scuttled backwards, tripping over their fellows behind, several collapsing like a heap of startled toddlers. The crumpled remains of the chariot crashed down and slid across the dusty ground, stopping inches from the popping eyes of a kumbha-rakshasa lieutenant too proud to step back out of its way. It resembled a child’s plaything stepped on by an elephant’s foot.
The charioteer had been mashed to pulp within his vehicle, Rama noted, but the Lankan within had leaped free even as the vehicle overturned, landing several yards to one side. As Hanuman straightened up after tossing the chariot aside, the rakshasa charged the vanar, swinging a metal mace with chains attached to its head, and studded iron balls on the ends of the chains. He whipped it around with expert ease, till the balls were whirling blurs in the fading sunset light, and with the same banshee sound he had made earlier, attacked Hanuman.
Making no attempt to bend or dodge the swinging weapon, the vanar put his hand directly in the path of the whirling chains and balls. As if by magic, the entire thing wrapped itself around his bare fist, an arrow still sticking out of the forearm which still bled lightly. Yanking once, he pulled the mace towards him— along with the rakshasa holding it. The Lankan, thrown off his feet, flew straight into the vanar’s other fist, which connected with his chest with a squelching impact. His banshee wail ceased at once, and he stared down at the vanar’s arm, embedded so deeply in his chest that the fist attached to it had emerged from the rakshasa’s back, clutching a dripping, still-pounding heart. Rama watched as Hanuman’s fist squeezed the beating heart till it was the consistency of oatmeal porridge, then shoved the rakshasa away. The second challenger’s corpse landed with a thud in the dust beside the crumpled remains of the chariot in which he had ridden so proudly only moments ago.
***
Rama had expected that Indrajit might lose patience after seeing the fate of the two challengers, and simply roar and order the rest of the army to charge his lines. But the rakshasa was evidently a person well versed in battle etiquette and tradition. He displayed an admirable restraint in the face of the enraged roars of his army, and opted to send in another challenger against Hanuman—and then another, and yet another. Staring across the distance that divided them, Rama saw the son of Ravana gazing coldly at him, in a manner unlike any other rakshasa he had seen before, and he knew that he was facing an enemy who was a master of the art of warcraft, a rakshasa whose prowess was comparable only to that of his father. Small wonder that Ravana had chosen to let his scion command the army of Lanka while he himself watched from the high vantage of the Pushpak.
Angad and some of the other generals, unfamiliar with the ancient war customs of the Aryas and rakshasas and other warfaring races, grew impatient. After Hanuman had killed the fourth challenger and was waiting for the fifth to ride out on a trumpeting kumbha-sur, Angad asked impatiently, ‘Is he such a craven, this son of Ravana, that he dares not order
his army to charge us? He must know by now that Hanuman can crush any opponent he sends against him. So why does he waste time sending more fools to their death?’
Lakshman answered on Rama’s behalf. ‘He seeks to show the world—both our armies, as well as the observers who watch from a distance,’ indicating the Pushpak above and the high ramparts of Lanka in the distance, ‘that he is a fair and just commander, cleaving to the rules of war. So that when the history of this war is written, it will record that Lanka fought fairly and according to the code of warriors.’
‘But that is a lie!’ said the young vanar prince. ‘What of the devilish sorceries employed earlier? What of the spies, the subterfuge, the use of killing stones and fog and other devices that are not lawful by the rules of warrior conduct?’
Lakshman and Rama exchanged an understanding glance with the vanar prince. ‘Those he will probably blame on us, I suspect,’ Lakshman said matter-of-factly. ‘He might well spread the story that Rama the sorcerer was the one responsible for all the unnatural things that have happened up to now.’
‘Rama the sorcerer?’ Angad asked disbelievingly.
Lakshman nodded laconically. ‘And being innocent of the true workings of the dark arts, most will believe his lies. We have already heard from Hanuman who heard from my sisterin-law about the elaborate web of deceit Ravana has already spun to justify his war against terror, even though he himself is the creator of that very terror.’
Angad swore in vanar phrases that Rama was almost glad he did not comprehend. As Angad subsided, he added quietly, ‘But I suspect there is another reason for all this charade of honourable warfare.’
‘Aye,’ King Sugreeva said, nodding with the wisdom of his age. ‘I see it as well.’
Angad frowned. ‘What is that, Rama?’
‘He seeks also to show Hanuman’s indestructibility, so that when he himself attacks our friend and defeats him in single combat, his own power will appear god-like, immeasurable. And then, when he kills Hanuman and leads his army against ours, their morale will be unassailable.’
Angad stared at Rama. ‘But that … you mean he actually believes he will be able to kill Bajrangbali?’
Rama nodded grimly. ‘Not just believes, he may well be capable of doing so in reality.’
Angad had no response to that statement.
SEVEN
The roll-call of challengers continued all through the night. After the first three or four encounters, the light faded completely, leaving both armies blanketed in darkness, with only the lights of Lanka itself visible. Indrajit ordered braziers to be set up in the no-man’s-land, illuminating the front lines with garish highlights. Some more time-wasting formalities followed, and finally, when the single combat challenges continued, it went on much as before, except that Hanuman now began to take a little more time before dispatching each new champion. The hordes, so belligerent and arrogant to start with, grew furious when they saw their first several champions dispatched with such nonchalant ease, but as the night wore on, and the number of dead Lankan fighters mounted, they grew quieter and quieter, until by the time first light began to break on the horizon, they seemed stupefied. Rama saw several of them staring with glazed eyes at Hanuman as he swung a hefty four-footed rakshasa with tusks as long and curved as an elephant’s, round and round, before releasing him. Such was the force of Hanuman’s swinging that the rakshasa was thrown miles away, arching high in the air over the plains of southern Lanka, before falling back to earth out of sight—probably in the ocean yojanas away.
At that, the rakshasas, who had been staring with glazed eyes, came alive, salivating and making curious low noises, their wet muzzles rising and falling in an action Rama had not seen any rakshasa make till now. Seeing their response, the kumbha sergeants came with whips flashing and lashed them bitterly, but even after lowering their snouts submissively, they still continued gazing at the vanar standing alone and unconquered in the centre of the field.
‘They have turned admirers,’ Rama said. ‘For when confronted by an opponent so powerful that one cannot hope to defeat by any means, the mind of a warrior resorts to only one of two choices: either to refuse to accept his superiority and risk one’s life in a final suicidal assault, or to acknowledge his superiority and offer oneself in surrender to his greater power. The rakshasas of Lanka have begun to admire and respect our Anjaneya, it seems.’
‘I wonder if Indrajit and his father knew this would happen when they decided to play this charade,’ Lakshman said, smiling.
Rama glanced up at the Pushpak. The celestial vehicle had hovered in the same place for the entire night. Now, as the first rays of the sun caught the burnished surface of the vahan, sending golden shards of splintered sunlight in all directions, creating a rainbow-like seven-hued refraction, he found his heart crying out at Sita’s plight. How was she enduring this test of tests? To be so close to him, within sight, and yet unable to come to him. If she felt anything akin to what he himself felt, then her heart must be weeping blood. It took every ounce of his self-control not to raise his celestial weapons and use them to end this elaborate charade that Ravana had laid out, end this wretched war, and take his wife home. But thinking along these lines bred anger within his breast, the epic anger that he had restrained for so long through so many travails and struggles and disappointments. He shut his eyes tightly, breathing deeply to dispel the ghosts and demons that threatened to turn him once again into a killing machine. Once that Rama Chandra was unleashed, there could be no muzzling him.
Lakshman’s eyes were on him when he reopened his eyes. ‘Patience, bhai. It will not be long now. Let Ravana have his day. We will have ours.’
‘Yes,’ Rama said. ‘Dharma will triumph in the end, as it always does.’ He paused. ‘It is the long and painful waiting until that day arrives that tests the mettle of us mortals.’
***
The bouts of single combat ended suddenly.
First, shouts broke out on the ramparts of Lanka, followed by a great hullabaloo from the direction of the city. Shortly after, a rider emerged with great haste from the gates of Lanka. He rode up to Indrajit’s chariot and delivered a message. After listening to him Indrajit nodded and dismissed him, then called upon his herald. The herald was given instructions and sent out towards Rama’s army. Taking great care to steer clear of the vanar champion standing alone in mid-field, the herald announced that he had a message for Rama’s ears alone. With Rama’s permission, he was brought to where the leaders of the invading army had assembled. Looking notably nervous, yet haughty, as heralds are wont to be, he spoke in a clear tenor, using classical Sanskrit highspeech that revealed him to be highly cultured and educated.
‘It has come to my lord Indrajit’s notice that some faction of your army has infiltrated the city of Lanka using devious means and undoubted sorcery. These demons in disguise are being repelled by our forces. My lord wishes you to know that while they shall not succeed in their devilish endeavour, he finds such treachery repugnant. It is an affront to the rules of warfare, and to any warrior with a sense of honour.’
To emphasise his meaning, the herald arched his thin stalk-like neck sideways and spat. At this, Angad and several of the other generals swore and surged forward. Rama raised his hand, halting them.
The herald eyed them carefully, then seeing that they were not likely to attack, resumed his ornately decorative style of address: ‘Under the circumstances, the single combat duel is called off and we withdraw our champions at once. It would be dishonourable for us to continue fighting a foe who indulges in such unlawful practices and insults the rules of warfare, shaming the very varna of Kshatriyahood itself. My lord wishes you to be warned that he proposes to assault your lines, drive you back into the sea whence you came using your sorcerous aids. If you desire to leave this field alive, do so at once, desist in your campaign and retreat post-haste. If you are not gone within the hour-watch, you shall face the might of Lanka’s hordes, and my lord has no doubt that wh
en confronted with an honest battle, your devilish monsters so cleverly disguised will be routed and massacred to the last man. I bid you on his lordship’s behalf farewell and call you to arms, to arms, to arms.’
With those final words, delivered in a proud, sneering, nasal tone, the herald turned his back on Rama and rode towards his lines once more.
This time, when Angad swore he was echoed by several other vanars. ‘What did that pompous ass mean? Why did he keep referring to disguises all the time? Who is disguised here?’
‘You are, according to him,’ Rama replied thoughtfully. ‘The Lankans now believe, or pretend to believe, that you are in fact mortals that I have somehow disguised as vanars and bears through sorcery.’
This time, even King Sugreeva swore. ‘He will know the truth soon enough when he feels my talons ripping his vitals and my jaws upon his throat!’
‘That he will, I have no doubt,’ Rama said. ‘But those are merely words and words can be woven cleverly into ingenious lies. That is why Indrajit uses a mediator, and Ravana in turn uses Indrajit. They are merely a means to spread disinformation and conceal the truth. We must not be moved by them one whit. What is of import is the news that Jambavan and his bear army have successfully traversed the underground caverns and reached the city itself. We have forced Ravana’s hand at last, and now we can put this charade behind us and finish the war we came here to wage.’
At his words, everyone subsided. King Sugreeva nodded sagely, showing that his newly acquired battle aggression had not entirely replaced his kingly wisdom and sense of justice. ‘Aye, Rama, you speak truly. This is yet another clever subterfuge of the dark lord of Lanka to confuse and provoke us. See how he toys with us: first using sorcerous stones and the earth of Lanka itself, then sending hybrid creatures out of some hellish realm to attack us under cover of sorcerous darkness, and when he sees that his forces are losing the day, he pulls them back and changes tactics at once. But this time he will not cheat us of our goal. We are at the walls of Lanka, and our forces are already breaching their capital city. We must push through and secure the city now, and after that, there will be nothing left for Ravana to fight us for.’
RAMAYANA Part 3_PRINCE AT WAR Page 81