Rama saw him coming and knew that he could not stall this fight or delay it any longer. But before he faced Indrajit, he wished to give a few vital orders to the generals, especially the ones on the flanks who were hard pressed by an outflanking movement of Lankan troops and needed reinforcements badly.
‘Rama,’ Lakshman said as he saw the great black chariot coming across the battlefield. It was still a mile away but approaching at a steady, relentless pace, slowed only by the piles of corpses and mangled metal and flesh and bone that obstructed its way. It would take several minutes more, but it would reach them.
‘I see it,’ Rama replied, then continued with the message he had been giving to the angadiya.
‘Rama,’ Lakshman said again, as Indrajit covered another hundred-odd yards.
Rama did not reply, but finished the message he had been giving, and only when the messenger scampered away with a cheeka to warn his own warriors that he was coming through, did he turn and join Lakshman, who was standing and staring at the oncoming chariot, his sword dripping blood steadily.
‘Use your weapons,’ Lakshman said. ‘Use them now.’
Rama did not answer.
Lakshman looked at him sideways, flicking the blood and gristle off his sword with a practised twitch of his wrist, an action he had repeated several hundred times that day alone. ‘Rama, this is no time for arguments.’
‘You are right, this is no time,’ Rama replied. ‘Let’s concentrate on fighting this rakshasa.’
‘Rama, this is no ordinary rakshasa,’ Lakshman almost shouted. ‘This is Indrajit, son of Ravana. He has the shakti of the devas themselves on his side. Remember what Hanuman told us? How he was able to capture him so easily? And what Vibhisena said? Indrajit cannot be defeated by mortal weapons alone! The devas gave him his powers and only the greater devas can destroy him. You must use the Bow of Vishnu and the Arrow of Shiva to counter the shakti of the other lesser devas that he uses. Do it now, Rama!’
Rama looked at his brother, unmindful of the chariot now bearing down upon them, only a few hundred yards distant and closing fast, or as fast as could be managed over that body-strewn field. ‘I have already used them, remember?’
Lakshman stared at him, uncomprehending. ‘But they are inexhaustible! You can surely use them again!’
‘I can, Lakshman. But when I used them yesterday, I used them not as a weapon to kill, only as a means of uncloaking the sorcery that Ravana had cast over the whole of Lanka to conceal his own use of asura maya. And for one other thing.’
Lakshman eyed the chariot, bouncing over bodies and living soldiers alike in its haste to get to them. ‘It would be nice if you told me what that one other thing is, Rama. I am in no state of mind to guess right now.’
‘I used them to create a shield against asura maya, my brother,’ Rama said. ‘That is why Ravana was forced to resort to honest warfare and called his son out to lead his armies against us here. Due to the maha-shakti of the Bow and the Arrow, I negated Ravana’s asura maya and shielded our own forces against its use. That is why we are in the process of winning this war today, and will win it decisively very shortly.’
Lakshman glanced around briefly. He did not seem convinced that they were winning anything that day, let alone the war, but he took in Rama’s words with a frown. ‘Even so, Rama, how does that prevent you from using the astras again? Employ them against Indrajit, destroy him, and we can go on and win the war.’
‘That is the one thing I cannot do,’ said his brother. ‘For the moment I use them again, Ravana will be free to work his sorcery once more, and he will crush our soldiers with it before we can recover. I cannot sacrifice so many lives in order to save our own.’
‘But you will sacrifice our lives in order to save theirs?’ cried Lakshman in disbelief.
‘If need be,’ Rama replied.
And then the time for talk was past. For Indrajit’s chariot was now within easy firing distance of their position.
NINE
Sita watched with bated breath as the black chariot reeled to a halt before Rama’s position. Her heart hammered in her chest like a dhol-drum as she watched Indrajit take up his bow and put an arrow to the cord. Why was Rama simply standing there? Why did Lakshman not do something? She saw the two brothers exchanging words and would have given anything in the world to hear what they said but all she could do was look on, and at such a time it was more frustrating than not seeing and not knowing. For at least then, she knew, she could not do anything. Watching from here, so close and yet so impossibly far, she felt like doing something, anything. But what?
What was it she heard a great sage say once—or had it been her own father? Yes, it was Maharaja Janak of Vaideha who
had said it. The opposite of action is not inaction, it is waiting. They also serve the purpose of Ka who only watch and wait.
She watched and she waited now, as Indrajit raised his bow, took aim, and loosed a single shot at the two men standing a hundred yards away.
The arrow seemed to take for ever to reach its destination. She blamed her own debilitated condition for the seeming lapse of time, then she realised with a shock that it was not her alone: the arrow was indeed taking unnaturally long. For she could turn her head and see vanars and rakshasas fighting over there in real time, and look back and see the arrow still travelling slowly, sluggishly, like a pebble dropped into a jar of honey. And it was elongating and expanding as it went, growing in length as well as thickness and curving sinuously. She peered at it in disbelief, unable to comprehend the evidence of her eyes. What manner of arrow was that, to bend and wave and curve thus, and to move so slowly, like … like …
Like a snake across grass.
Then she saw it clearly.
It was a snake. Not just one now, but an entire mass of them, writhing and spitting and hissing as they flew through the air. And with each yard they travelled, at an impossibly slow pace, they multiplied in number, until by the time they had covered the hundred yards’ distance between their source and their destination, there must have been several hundreds of them, slithering sinuously through the air like water snakes through a swamp.
She saw the morass of snakes strike Rama first, then, a moment later, Lakshman. Saw the snakes go through Rama, just like any arrow would, but wind and curve and slither as a snake does, and penetrate his body. She saw the fangs of scores of snakes pierce Rama’s flesh, saw blood spurt, saw venom spray, saw flesh rend and the heads of the serpents pass into that flesh, that precious flesh, and delve deep within, saw the tails of serpents wriggling, saw their bodies buried deep inside the body of her beloved, the is their body of the father of her unborn children. She saw the same process repeated with Lakshman, saw both the men on whom her very life depended drop to their knees, then pitch face forward on the blood-and-gore-splattered grass of the mound, and lie still. The snakes that had entered their bodies writhed and wriggled and wrapped themselves around tightly, until every inch of their flesh was covered with the wriggling black and green and red and yellow creatures, and they appeared to be human no longer. And no longer alive.
***
The word spread like wildfire, like lightning, for not only the vanars and bears, but even the rakshasas of Lanka were aghast to hear of the news of Rama and Lakshman’s deaths. Those rakshasas who admired them were aghast because they had longed for the honour of pitting themselves against those mortal champions in order to seek either the destruction of their lawful enemy or their own release from fleshly ties at the hands of such a venerated foe; those who genuinely hated them—and most rakshasas still hated them bitterly, blaming them for everything wrong in their nation and history, including their own fistulae and diseases—were aghast because now they would not have the pleasure of killing the two brothers themselves. The vanars were dumbstruck, the bears stricken. Not one soul on that field at that midnight hour between the third and fourth day of the war in Lanka were left unmoved by the news that Rama and Lakshman were no more. Not
one heart was left untouched.
The fighting ceased at once. A truce was called at once, neither ordered by the commanders, nor voiced aloud, but simply enforced through the exchange of glances, the lowering of weapons and claws and talons, the lowering of eyes, the slumping of shoulders, and the walking away back in the direction of one’s own lines. Slowly, with shuffling feet, like a crowd at a funeral procession, the rakshasas retreated to the Lankan side of the battlefield, the vanars and bears returned to the northern side. Even in the city, where the bear army of Jambavan had emerged from the cave tunnels to take charge of the centre of the capital, and was fighting in the streets for control of key sections of Lanka, the fighting ceased by mutual consent and both sides subsided.
On the mound where the two heroes had fallen, a ring was formed. By the time Angad and Sugreeva and Nala and Hanuman and all the other generals made their way to the spot, the entire strength of Rama’s armies was standing around, staring inwards with numb disbelief.
Hanuman bent low and sought to touch Rama’s body, but the serpents writhed and hissed violently and wrapped themselves even tighter around their victim. So completely were the two bodies covered by the sinuous creatures that not a hair on their heads or a tip of a fingernail was visible: it was as if a thousand snakes had knotted themselves around one another.
The vanar’s lips parted in a snarl and he moved as if to tear the snakes off Rama’s body, but Vibhisena, who had hurried to the spot as fast he could from his vantage point on a nearby overlooking hill, caught his arm and stopped him.
‘No, my friend, this is the work of Takshak, the lord of snakes. Indrajit has called upon his potent power and used it against your master and his brother. You may tear out every last tail, but the heads will remain buried in their bodies, and if that happens then you will never be able to remove them.’
‘Then what are we to do?’ Hanuman bellowed in anguish, his body expanding and contracting without his conscious knowledge, for he was sorely agitated and unable to comprehend what must be done. This was not a situation that he had ever thought would come to pass. He had no contingency ready to deal with Rama’s death. The possibility had never even crossed his mind.
‘There is nothing we can do,’ said Vibhisena, after examining the bodies as closely as he could. ‘I do not know of any mantra or astra that can counter the weapon of Takshak. The only one who might possess the power to counter it is Rama himself, who lies there bound inextricably and as one dead.’
‘But are they truly dead?’ asked Sugreeva gravely, tears running down his cheeks. For the question begged asking. ‘Or are they only rendered unconscious by the venom of the serpents and bound by them?’
Vibhisena looked at the vanar king sadly. ‘What difference does it make? We cannot remove the serpents, so they are as good as dead.’
‘As good as is not the same as,’ said an ancient voice. Vibhisena and Sugreeva turned to see the aged vanar, Plaksa, being brought forward, supported by two muscular Jatarupas, his great-grandsons. ‘If they are alive within that nest of snakes, then there may yet be a way to revive them.’
‘How so, Gurudev?’ asked Sugreeva.
‘During the great war between the devas and the asuras after the churning of the ocean of milk, the asuras thwarted the devas by disappearing and returning again and again, for they were immortal and although they could be killed, they possessed the ability to return to life from the netherworld. The devas, while immortal themselves, could not die at all, so they remained on the battlefield, suffering grievous wounds and unable to leave for even a moment, while the asuras continued to die and disappear and then return again, while other asuras continued to wage war against the devas. Finally the devas were as ones dead, from countless wounds sustained over the course of the millennia-long war, and could barely continue fighting. At this time, Brihaspati, guru of the devas, brought vital medicinal herbs and tended to the devas, while chanting mantras all the while. In this fashion he revived them, healed every last one of their wounds no matter how grievous, and restored them to their full fighting strength.’
Hanuman looked at the aged vanar, joining his hands together. Tears streamed down his snout. ‘Mahadev, where might these miraculous herbs be found? Tell me, that I may go seek them out at once.’
The oldun sighed. ‘Alas, if I but knew that, I would be the greatest healer in all the three worlds. All I know is that they grow only on the mountains Candra and Drona, which are to be found in the ocean of milk where the legendary amrit nectar was churned.’
‘But that is a place of myth and lore,’ Angad said, looking even more distressed. ‘How may we find such a place?’
‘Aye, Mahadev,’ Hanuman said passionately. ‘But guide me to its location and I will bring back all the herbs you ask for. If I cannot recognise them, I shall uproot and bring back both the mountains you speak of, one upon each shoulder, that you may pick whichever and as many of the herbs as you deem necessary. But we cannot leave any stone unturned so long as there is any hope of reviving my lords. I do not believe they can be slain when we are so close to victory.’
‘Do not fear, my brave champion,’ Sugreeva said with a look like fire in his vanar eyes. ‘No matter what happens, I will see to it that the war is completed successfully, Lanka destroyed, and Sita rescued. This war is no longer Rama’s alone, it is a war of dharma and we will see it through to the end.’
‘I fear you may have to do so, my king,’ said the wise oldun, his hands trembling regretfully as he contemplated the twin bundles of writhing serpents. ‘For nobody has known the location of the ocean of milk or the mountains of herbs since the Satya Yuga, and I do not know of anyone who can guide our brave Hanuman there. All the strength and power in the world is useless if one does not have knowledge, and I regret to admit that in the age that we live in, knowledge of such true things is already fading. The devas alone know what will happen when the Kali Yuga comes and the desire for knowledge itself departs from the world. But for now I can only say that I am not possessed of that knowledge, and I do not know of anyone who is.’
Hanuman stared at the face of the guru, then at his king, then at the rakshasa Brahmin, in despair and disbelief. ‘But without knowing the location, how can I—’ He broke off, then tightened his jaw. ‘No matter. I will go seek it out even if it takes me to the end of the Kali Yuga itself. I will not return until I have found the mountains of herbs and brought them back here. As long as there remains a means of saving my lord, I will not rest.’
And with a fierce shout as intense as a battle cry, he flew up into the air and was gone.
‘Hanuman,’ cried Sugreeva. ‘Wait—’ But it was too late, the vanar had already gone. The king of Kiskindha shook his head in anger and frustration. ‘Where will he go? How will he find them? At least while he remains here he can aid us in the war against Lanka. For now more than ever it is imperative we press on and show the enemy that he may kill one or more of us, but in the end we will triumph against all odds, for ours is the just fight and the true cause.’
But nobody around him said a word, for all were silent and still shocked to the core by the sight of Rama and Lakshman lying bound head to toe by the snake arrows of Indrajit, their flesh permeated and poisoned by the heads and bodies of those wriggling creatures.
***
Sita cried out again.
‘It is another of your tricks. Sorcery! Rama cannot be killed. He is a champion of dharma. You have used your asura maya to create an illusion to deceive me, because you know that I will never accede to your demands. I am not fooled. Rama is still alive, and he will rise up again and resume his war and grind your faces into the ground.’
Ravana looked at her with several varying expressions of morose sympathy. None of his heads was grinning or even smiling, and that unnerved her more than if he had simply laughed aloud and mocked her. Instead, he seemed to be genuinely sorrowful, and that disturbed her intensely. ‘Your husband was a great warrior, Princess,’ he said quietly
. ‘But he is no more. Grieve for him as you will, I will not trouble you until you are done with your period of shok. After it is over, and you are ready to speak with me once more, I will come to you and we will discuss how best to continue.’
And he turned away and gestured. The Pushpak, which had been hovering in mid-air for nigh on two nights and a day, began moving again, speeding towards the high vaulting ramparts of Mount Nikumbhila, from which point, she knew, it could enter the vast subterranean palace of Ravana. She did not understand how the palace could be in Lanka as well as in the mountain several yojanas away, but it was, and in any case, at a time like this, it hardly mattered how Ravana deployed his sorcery.
But it does matter, she heard a part of her mind say vehemently. For this too is his sorcery at work. Just as he can create an illusion so immense—placing a palace in two locations at once—so it would be child’s play for him to create the illusion of Rama and Lakshman struck down by snake-arrows.
But the larger part of her mind hesitated. Over the course of the past two nights and a day, she had watched with her own eyes and seen Hanuman dispatch so many rakshasa challengers. Then she had seen the battle joined and many more vanars and bears and rakshasas killed. Had all those deaths been illusions as well? If so, then why would Ravana have wasted so much time? He could simply have created this particular illusion the previous day, and pretended then and there that Indrajit had killed Rama. And what of Hanuman and the other vanars and bears gathered around the fallen two? What of the whole army collected there weeping visibly in distress? What of the hordes of rakshasas who had retreated like kicked dogs? If it were truly an illusion, then surely Ravana’s forces would have continued their attack, pressing home the advantage of their enemy’s shocked state to turn the tide and win the war. Why would they retreat and give Rama’s forces time to grieve and recoup?
Most of all, she knew that Indrajit was indeed endowed by the devas, as was Ravana himself. And she knew that while much of Ravana’s sorcery consisted of illusions, many were as real as anything born of mortal flesh and blood.
RAMAYANA Part 3_PRINCE AT WAR Page 83