Ravana flinched as he saw a spectral form standing behind her—that of his wise grandfather. He heard Pulastya echo her warning. ‘Alas, your lust and pride hasten your ruin, Ravana,’ the sage whispered to him. His grandfather loved him deeply as did Mandodari. Was he erring in flouting their counsel?
Ravana was disturbed, but not enough to retract his plan. Rama and Lakshmana had attacked his sister and mocked his prowess. If he were to return the woman to them now, the world would taunt him and say that he was afraid. If Dasaratha’s son was so brave, he could come to Lanka and rescue his wife.
‘I will rip out Rama’s entrails and hang them on our fortress gates as a warning to those who defy me,’ he swore to Mandodari. ‘Maybe then you too will realize your husband’s might, for you insult me every day with your doubts.’
‘Be careful not to allow your arrogance to blind you to reality, my king. I remind you again that your boon does not protect you from men.’
‘Whatever you may say, I will not step back!’ he roared, annoyed by her persistence. ‘Sita may protest at first but will soon succumb either to my lures or to my threats. Come with me now to see her and you will realize that her presence in our kingdom is not a curse but a blessing. She is the crown jewel of my conquest, and by abducting her I have delivered a killing blow to Rama.’
‘Snatching a woman by force or stealth is not an act of valour, Ravana. She is not an object of lust or a means to settle scores with your enemy. Your foolish act endangers not just you but all our people as well. You have invited the wrath of a colossus among men, and this can only lead to horrific bloodshed.’ Mandodari’s voice was loud and clear. She would speak the truth regardless of consequences. It was a risk she had to take for Ravana and her people.
‘Speak respectfully, woman,’ barked the Lankapati, his face red with rage. ‘If anyone else had spoken to me in this manner, I would have struck off their head in a trice. Do not forget your wifely duties to honour and obey your master, Mandodari. Remember that an ideal wife is one who serves her husband faithfully while he lives, and becomes a Sati, burning herself on his pyre when he dies!’
Mandodari’s face was grim as she replied. ‘A Sati is one who follows dharma, not one who worships at her husband’s feet and kills herself at his death. The first Sati was Shiva’s wife, who immolated herself when her father Daksha insulted her husband. She did this because she no longer wished to live on as Daksha’s daughter. She was born again as Parvati, the daughter of Himavan, and married Shiva again. Another Sati whom we revere is Savitri, who followed her husband Satyavan to the netherworld when he died and persuaded Yama to restore him to life. These women are goddesses to be worshipped, not sacrifices offered to the fire. The scriptures you have studied prescribe that a noble wife is to be honoured for her wisdom. Even if you refuse to accept my advice, I will speak the truth, for it is my duty as a queen to prevent carnage.’
But Ravana was not listening to her, as his mind was filled with a vision of Sita. ‘Her face, her eyes, her magnetic voice!’ he exclaimed. ‘I no longer consider her a conquest but as the breath that sustains my life. Her radiance pervades every particle of my body. I will be her slave and carry out her every desire—except to restore her to her wretched husband.’
‘So what should I do now?’ asked Mandodari, her voice rising. ‘Should I welcome another man’s wife into our bed and tell her that I would be delighted to share my husband with her? Perhaps you expect me to convince her that this was what was meant to be. Will you marry her now by the rites of gandharva vivaha where a man and a woman marry for love, though their families disapprove? But wait. That would need Sita’s consent. Do you have it?’
Mandodari laughed out loud as if she had lost control of her senses. Perhaps she had. She felt deranged, broken and dead—except for the pain that twisted her heart and spread its tentacles to every part of her body. Her eyes were pools of pain. She had grown gaunt with grief and the endless fasts she’d been observing to try and stop her husband’s sinful behaviour.
He could hear the anger in her voice and the underlying heartbreak. But he was helpless.
Mandodari had grown calm, and her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I have shared a lifetime of love with you, my king—perhaps even two lifetimes if we count the exquisite moments in Kailasa when we thought that we were created for each other. And because of that, I will still do my duty and counsel you whether you accept it or not. Let Sita stay in the ashokavana until she comes to you willingly, my king. Do not let the curses take you from me and our sons.’ She bowed her head and tottered away in grief.
Would Ravana, obsessed with the exquisite Sita, listen to her?
9
Vayu’s Son
Months passed. Sita remained obstinate, impervious to both threat and lure. Ravana found himself strangely unable to take her by force. Was it because he feared the many curses cast upon him? No, the great Ravana feared nothing. Perhaps it was because even a rakshasa like him could not bear to coerce her. Sita made him remember his younger, purer days under the tutelage of Pulastya. Why, she even made him recall his early, idyllic years with Mandodari when he had been content to be the lofty soul of her dreams. Sita was perfect, an ideal that his nobler self urged him towards. She made him yearn for a world of peerless beauty from an exalted time. Further, even his occult powers warned him not to violate the fierce shield that her chastity had cast around her.
However, Ravana still came to see Sita every day. His heart leapt each time he glimpsed her radiance in the middle of the dark rakshasis, like a flash of lightning among black clouds. Would she ever turn to him like the bright sunflower that smiles in the light of the sun alone?
‘He seems tender. Can a monster be tender?’ whispered Trijata, a rakshasi whose heart was pure though she served a demon. ‘She flouts him, yet he remains gentle. He threatens her and then finds excuses for her obstinacy. His wrath appears to be newly tempered with humility.’
Trijata saw Ravana pleading with Sita once more. ‘Give up your loyalty to the outcast who can never match me in wealth or splendour,’ he said. The woman merely turned her head away in answer. ‘I lay my head at your feet, my goddess,’ he whispered then, matching his action to his words. The rakshasis gasped as they saw how the tyrant king abased himself before the mortal woman.
Sita sprang backwards in horror, unwilling to allow even his breath to touch her. ‘How can you compare yourself to my Rama?’ she asked in anger. ‘You are a vile creature who stole me by stealth, whereas my lord is pure and will free me with his valour. The more I see of you, the more I understand why all this had to happen. The righteous prince of Ayodhya was born to defeat evil and establish dharma. My suffering is merely an offering in the yagna that he performs to save the world.’
Ravana sprang to his feet and glared impotently at her. He had humbled himself to no avail. Why was he pleading with a woman who represented everything that was opposed to his own inclinations? It was time to put an end to her insolence.
‘I give you one more month to submit to me!’ he roared. ‘At the end of that time, I swear that I will have you cut into pieces and feast on your flesh.’ He stalked away, his hands clenched and his face grim. Sita buried her face in her hands and wept, wondering if she would ever be united with her Rama again.
The war of words was witnessed by Hanuman, the mighty son of the wind god Vayu, from his perch on a tree in the ashokavana. Hanuman was the wisest of the vanaras in the retinue of the monkey king Sugriva who had allied with Rama. Vayu’s son had crossed the seas to Lanka looking for the luminous Sita whom Rama had described in worshipful terms.
‘The silver moon is sullied by spots and the rose by its thorns, but Sita’s wondrous form is unmarred,’ Rama had said to him. ‘And her voice is sweeter than the warbling of the parrot and the koel.’
Hanuman had looked high and low for Sita in the fortress city of Lanka but had failed to find her. He had seen the bejewelled Mandodari asleep on a canopied bed and wondere
d if this were Sita, for her beauty was as flawless as Rama had described. But he had realized that Rama’s wife would never sleep so peacefully in captivity and had continued his search. Had Ravana killed her because she refused to submit to him or devoured her in a rage? he wondered. Or perhaps he held her captive in another realm. Finally, his prayers guided him to the ashokavana where he saw her surrounded by rakshasi guards while the rakshasa king stood in front of her.
Vayu’s son came before Sita after Ravana had left, bringing her hope that she would soon be rescued by her lord. ‘Tell my Rama that I have but one month to live,’ sobbed Sita. The vanara then set out to destroy the vana, uprooting all the trees and shrubs, until only the tree under which she rested remained upright. The rakshasis fled to their king to tell him of this potent intruder, and he sent his palace guard commanded by his son Aksha to capture the monkey.
Prince Aksha, who was just sixteen years old, wielded his bow like Indra and shot endless arrows that struck his foe like thunderbolts. However, Hanuman was impervious to all weapons due to Brahma’s boon and shrugged them off his body with ease. Aksha fought on relentlessly, even winning the admiration of his foe. But Hanuman knew that he must end the battle with the dauntless prince if he wished to complete his mission. So when Aksha flew into the air and raised his mace to attack Hanuman, the vanara snatched him up in one giant arm and smashed his head against a stone wall. ‘Bless your brave heart, young prince!’ he murmured as the rakshasas set up a fierce wail mourning the loss of their bright star.
When Mandodari’s guard brought the awful news of her son’s death, she let out a piercing shriek and fainted. Her maids revived her, and she finally opened her eyes with a moan. She saw a sombre Ravana standing before her, with nine of his ten heads having gone into hiding.
‘Take comfort, my queen, that Aksha died a hero’s death, fighting the enemy valiantly,’ he said, his voice hoarse with grief, yet trying to maintain a brave face.
‘Yes, I am comforted that my sweet Aksha, whose smile brightened my days, lies with his head shattered!’ she said, excoriating him with her mockery. ‘I am delighted that I will no longer hear his clear voice regaling me with his latest exploits. What a triumph for you that he died facing foes whom you dismissed as puny! No, I forget. He did not face the “weakling” Rama or Lakshmana but their vanara messenger who was himself powerful enough to kill our son and our troops. Nevertheless, I am comforted that my dauntless Aksha gave up his life for a father who has dharma on his side!’ She broke down then, weeping as if her heart would break.
Ravana struggled to think of arguments to counter her disdain, but then walked away with his head lowered. His thoughts flew to Pulastya and he imagined how outraged he would be when he heard that Dashanan had sacrificed his half-grown son to satisfy his lust. For a moment, he wondered if Surpanakha had set him on a disastrous path because she was envious of his good fortune. After all, he was a powerful king living amidst adoring wives and sons while she herself lived alone in the forest. Perhaps her visit that day to tell him about Sita’s charms had been part of an elaborate plan to cause his downfall . . .
No. He shook his head in denial. His sister was no match for him in intelligence. Nor could the great Lankeshwara be defeated by a mortal. He would triumph as he always did. Aksha’s death would fuel his rage and help him decimate his enemies. Surpanakha too would die if he discovered that she had plotted against him.
Ravana strode to his court showing no signs of grief over his dead son. He summoned his firstborn Indrajit and ordered him to capture the monkey that had killed his brother. ‘Bring him to me alive,’ he said. ‘I know that it will be a simple task for the one who defeated Indra.’
Indrajit smote his chest with a powerful fist, swore to seize the creature and sallied forth to confront Hanuman, who was seated atop a giant tree waiting to complete the mission he had been sent on. A fierce war erupted between the two. Hanuman flung huge rocks and missiles at the prince, only to have them shot to dust by a tempest of arrows. Indrajit finally let loose an astra given to him by Brahma. Hanuman knew that the astra had the power to hold him for only a moment. However, he allowed himself to be bound, as he wanted to be taken before Ravana. After that, he would return to Rama and convey the news of Sita’s imprisonment. He would tell him that Sita remained resolute despite Ravana’s pleas and threats.
Indrajit hauled the vanara, trussed up in the coils of the astra, before his father. Hanuman took in the glittering crowns on Ravana’s ten heads, his powerful shoulders and his mien of dominance. He heard the verses the priests sang in praise of the king, describing the boons he had received from Shiva and Brahma.
‘Who are you? Why are you here?’ Ravana growled, his hands itching to take the monkey’s throat between his hands and squeeze his life out of him. ‘Speak now or face my wrath.’
The vanara stared at him without answering and Ravana rose from his throne and raised his foot, ready to kick the creature senseless.
‘Stop!’ shouted a voice he knew well. It was his weakling brother Vibhishana, who was always quoting the scriptures to him. ‘We are bound by dharma to treat our enemy’s messenger with respect,’ said Vibhishana.
‘Respect!’ growled Ravana. ‘I will show this creature respect by killing him!’ Before that, he would slice off the vanara’s ears and nose as a fitting reply to Lakshmana’s assault on Surpanakha. He bent threateningly over the monkey with his sword raised. Then he flew back in shock as the binding coils of the astra vanished and the monkey vaulted to his feet and bared his teeth. Some courtiers tittered when they saw the king’s shock and Hanuman joined them, chattering in glee. Mandodari rushed into the court to see the vanara that had killed her son, and stood watching with a deep unease.
Ravana signalled to his guards to drag out and kill those who had dared laugh at their king. Then, ignoring Vibhishana’s cry of protest, he raised his sword over the vanara’s head.
Hanuman sprang back with a light step and laughed again. ‘Listen to me, rakshasa,’ he said. ‘Know that I am not an ordinary vanara that you can kill easily. I am Hanuman, the servant of Rama, born on earth to vanquish you. No astra can hold me, for I am blessed by Brahma himself.’
Ravana grew still, waiting to discover what he could about his enemy before making his next move. Hanuman continued to speak. ‘I belong to Vali’s clan. Yes, the same Vali who pinioned you under his arm and carried you effortlessly over land and sea. Rama killed this magnificent vanara with a single arrow and made Vali’s brother Sugriva the king. Dasaratha’s sons will soon be here with Sugriva and his army if you do not release Sita. When a single Hanuman can cause so much devastation, imagine an army of many thousand vanaras, each more valorous than I am! If Rama’s humble servant can cause such havoc, envision the plight of your people when he himself comes to fight you! How will you counter his astras that killed your fiercest demons?’
Hanuman looked at Ravana’s intent face and continued persuasively. ‘Mighty king, I have come to ask you to restore Sita to her husband. She is the flame of truth, the fire of chastity. She could also be the instrument of your doom. Give her up now and the merciful Rama will spare your life. Return to the glories of your days when you worshipped Shiva and Brahma, and imbibed the scriptures at the feet of Pulastya. The punya you earned through righteousness has been exhausted and you must now face the consequences of your lust and ego. Do not invite doom upon your island of jade, proud rakshasa,’ he said.
Ravana glared at the vanara, his dark aura twisting and pulsing over his head. ‘I tamed the elephants that bear the earth aloft,’ he said. ‘I uprooted mighty Kailasa, home to three-eyed Shiva. Do you think I will tremble now before monkeys and men?’
Hanuman was moved to pity by the rakshasa’s foolhardiness. ‘If you think Brahma’s boon will protect you, remember that you did not seek protection from humans or animals, as you considered them too lowly to pose a threat. But now, these two have joined forces against you. Turn away from sin, rakshasa. Re
lease Rama’s noble wife. Or you will face certain death!’ Hanuman’s voice rang out sonorously. But Ravana’s ego overwhelmed his powers of reasoning.
‘Kill the monkey!’ he snarled. His guards ran to capture the intruder. Hanuman soared to the ceiling to evade them. Vibishana argued again against killing an emissary and Ravana modified his command. He ordered his servants to set the monkey’s tail on fire.
Vayu’s son allowed the men to catch him and carry out the command. He then vaulted out of the royal court and set Ravana’s mansions, his gardens and his palaces ablaze with his burning tail.
The prelude was over. The blistering war would now begin.
10
Carnage
Rama had crossed the seas and arrived in Lanka. Mandodari was afraid, for she had seen the losses they had suffered at the hands of one vanara. Now there was an ocean of monkeys at their gates, clamouring to lay rough hands on their people and their wealth. She attempted once more to convince Ravana to let Sita go. ‘The woman refuses to accept you, despite all your pleas and threats. Why court death for someone who has no regard for you or your valour?’ she asked, but her husband merely turned his face away. ‘Rama is no ordinary mortal, not when he has shown such prowess,’ she tried again, but Ravana turned on her in fury and cursed all women.
Soon afterwards, the Lankapati donned the golden armour created by Brahma that he had snatched from Indra. On his feet he wore anklets whose sound made the worlds tremble as they knew that savage Ravana was near. He swaggered out of his palace to mount his massive chariot and lead his army to battle. His war banner bore the emblem of a human skull, showing his contempt for the human race and warning his mortal foes to keep away. Ravana was a formidable sight, with a body that was adamantine like a mountain. His arrows flew like a molten river, while his mocking laugh thundered in their ears. He looked like three-eyed Shiva surrounded by his ganas, come to destroy the world.
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