Prem Purana

by Usha Narayanan

  ‘Foolish monkeys!’ Ravana called out in challenge. ‘Did you think you could fight with sticks and stones against an army of rakshasas bristling with weapons? Are your hairy arms and fists, your big teeth and chattering tongues sufficient to vanquish the lord of the realms? Indeed, I fear that my glory will be tarnished by confronting such feeble foes.’

  Along with Ravana came his commander Prahastha, in a chariot that had iron scythes mounted on its axle hubs, and was drawn by hideous green snakes. Their monstrous army streamed out of the city gates like the flood at the end of time. Hordes of demons armed with gleaming swords and shields fell upon the monkeys who fought back with boulders and branches of trees.

  Hanuman charged at the Lankeshwara who attacked him furiously, remembering that his son Aksha had died by this vanara’s hand. Hanuman struck him fiercely with an uprooted tree, but Ravana smote back with his mace and stunned him. When Hanuman rose again, the golden chariot had vanished and the vanara roared in anger at having lost sight of his foe. Angada, brave Vali’s son, spotted the demon’s chariot in another corner of the field and charged forward. Ravana reeled back from the force of his blows but recovered soon to drive Angada away and slay a thousand vanaras in revenge. The vanara leaders converged on him, but he vanished quickly from sight, using his powers of sorcery.

  Angered by the rakshasa’s devious attacks, Lakshmana set out to confront him. ‘Do not flee from us, Ravana!’ he roared in challenge. ‘Stand and fight if you are a warrior.’ Ravana replied, not with words, but with serpent astras that hissed through the air. However, Lakshmana’s arrows cut away their burning heads so that they became powerless. Lakshmana then broke the bow that Ravana wielded, provoking the demon to invoke a howling Shakti astra. Lakshmana swooned under its power and Ravana descended on him to kill him. Hanuman flew between them like a shrieking tornado and drove off the rakshasa with fierce blows. He carried the warrior in his arms to Rama who healed him with his divine touch.

  ‘I will destroy Ravana myself,’ swore Rama. ‘He will pay for all this bloodshed, for wounding Lakshmana and for abducting my precious Sita.’

  ‘Allow me to be your chariot,’ said Hanuman and the two rose in the air like a whirlwind. Ravana saw the enormous vanara flying through the sky and aimed his occult arrows at him, knowing that Hanuman had to be killed if he wished to defeat the enemy. The arrows flew thick and furious, obscuring the noonday sun for a while, making it appear as if night had fallen. But the mighty son of Vayu remained unharmed by the shafts. An angry Ravana directed his arrows at the vanara army, laughing uproariously as the monkeys fell in droves, screaming piteously. Flushed with triumph, the demon turned his attention to the man seated on Hanuman’s back.

  The vanara may be impervious to my arrows, but not the weakling mortal on his back, he thought as he strung his bow in readiness. He stared intently at the man Sita pined for—the one who stood between him and happiness. He would destroy him and make him regret the day he had set foot on the sacred soil of Lanka.

  Hanuman flew closer. Ravana’s eyes met those of Rama. He saw the luminous face, the furious gaze, the splendid body and the powerful arms holding a bow that glittered like Shiva’s Pinaka. The rakshasa’s vision blurred, blood rushed to his head and his heart raced uncontrollably. He heard a loud ringing in his ears that made him shriek in pain. He pressed his hands down on his ears and shut his eyes tight, unable to bear the onslaught. The noise died suddenly and was replaced by a sepulchral silence. Ravana opened his eyes in fear. It appeared as if the earth had split apart and swallowed all life in the few moments when he had been paralysed. He could see no battlefield, no warriors, no Hanuman—nothing but the piercing gaze of his foe. The two of them appeared to be locked in a duel that had no beginning or end. Ravana’s legs folded under him and he held on to the chariot’s sides for support. Sweat broke out on his brow, and the arrow in his hand dropped without his volition. His spine seemed to be broken, weighed down by the burden of his sin.

  ‘Face your death, rakshasa!’ shouted Rama, sending ten arrows flying from his bow. The arrows flashed with a fire that put to shame the Kalagni, the fire of the final day. They tore off the diadems Ravana wore on his ten heads, proclaiming to the world that the asura’s reign was coming to an end. Ravana’s faces grew dark now, like a night without the moon. More arrows flew from Rama’s bow, the Kodanda, and grievously wounded the rakshasa’s horses and his charioteer. Still Ravana stood motionless, watching his foe in a daze. Rama’s arrows carried away his enemy’s bow and shattered the canopy of his chariot. Another fusillade broke the wheels of the chariot, leaving it just an empty shell. The vaahana sank to the ground with no one to guide it. The demon’s guards, shocked to see their master’s plight, flew to him and sheltered him from Rama’s attack. Hanuman descended as well so that Rama could confront the demon on land.

  Rama’s arrows cut a crimson swathe through Ravana’s guards and soon the Lankapati was revealed standing all alone, still staring at his foe. Rama drew one last arrow from his quiver.

  The earth hushed. The skies filled with devas and rishis come to witness this epochal moment. Rama fitted the arrow to his bow. The rakshasa remained frozen, making no attempt to defend himself. Thunder split the skies and a fierce downpour drenched the two combatants. Was Indra celebrating the imminent death of his hated enemy? wondered Hanuman. And why was Rama hesitating to kill the rakshasa who had stolen his wife?

  Then, Rama inexplicably returned his arrow to his quiver and lowered his bow. He stared silently at Ravana for what seemed to be an endless moment. Then both armies heard what he said in the jagged silence: ‘You are tired after a long day of battle, Ravana. Go home and return tomorrow.’

  Ravana reeled in shock, his heart riven by the words as they never could be by an arrow. He was broken, distraught, humiliated. His ego lay shattered and he stood defenceless before the world. Unable to reply or to even stand erect, the emperor turned away to return to his palace.

  Lankeshwara. Lankapati. Trilokadipati. All the names used to eulogize him were now meaningless. Overturned by one man who had humbled him in front of all his people. What force had paralysed him when he had needed to act, to fight, to slay his foe? It had to be the curse on his head. Nay, the many curses that he had incurred. His ten heads murmured among themselves. ‘Nandi cursed me when I laughed at his animal head and Vedavati when I laid rough hands on her. Nalakubara predicted my doom when I ravished Rambha. Ages ago, King Anaranya said that a scion of his solar dynasty would kill me and Rama is his descendant.’

  The central head, the one in which his ego resided, spoke up. ‘Stop moaning like a wretched woman. Have you forgotten your most potent weapon, the supreme warrior whose roar threatens to shatter the earth and the skies?’ The other heads nodded, baring their fangs in glee. ‘We must wake up Kumbhakarna!’ they shouted. ‘Bring on the deathless hero!’

  Ravana sent slaves armed with conches and drums to wake up his brother, who spent half the year in deep slumber. Kumbhakarna feasted on enormous amounts of food and slaked his lust with numerous young women before striding to his brother’s court.

  ‘Greetings, adored brother!’ he said to Ravana. ‘Tell me who I must kill for you—devas or nagas, danavas or Yama kinkaras.’

  ‘Brahma’s boon protects me from them all, brother,’ replied Ravana. ‘It is a human prince named Rama, his brother Lakshmana and their army of monkeys that you must fight. They seek to rescue Rama’s wife Sita whom I abducted from their ashram in Dandaka. When you were lost in slumber, our foes wrought great havoc on our army, killing my precious Aksha, Prahastha and many thousand rakshasas.’

  Kumbhakarna’s face grew sombre. ‘How calmly you speak of a colossal tragedy caused solely by your lust and pride! Were these not the vices grandsire Pulastya warned you against? Did wise Vibhishana not advise you that we cannot win a war waged in support of wrongdoing? However, it is not too late. Surrender Sita to her husband, brother. Reclaim the nobility that I know resides deep in y
ou.’

  Ravana could not bear his brother’s harangue and flew into a rage. ‘Cowardly Vibhishana has joined hands with my enemies,’ he shouted. ‘Do you wish to do the same, Kumbhakarna? Where is the valour in asking me to surrender to my foes? I sought your help as I thought we shared an understanding that is beyond time. But it appears as if you are afraid to take up the challenge. Do not fret, brother! Go back to your women, your wine and your feasting. If you will not fight, I will myself. I swear by the sacred throne of Lanka that the great Ravana will not lose! He will fight for what he desires to his last breath.’

  The courtiers trembled as they watched their king rage. But Kumbhakarna stood unmoved, his eyes unflinching. Ravana glared at him for a moment and then looked away. His nine heads withdrew into one. His voice was low as he whispered, ‘I became numb when I saw Rama, my brother. Dasaratha’s son denuded me of my weapons, my chariot, my pride. And as a crowning insult, he advised me to return to the field the next day when I had recovered from my defeat. Imagine the imperious Ravana standing crestfallen before an army of men and monkeys! Dishonoured, diminished, debased . . .’ He stopped, choking on the words. He sighed and continued to speak. ‘And yet, I cannot bear to let go of Sita, Kumbhakarna. She is my heaven, my earth, my life and perhaps my death as well. Gladly will I give up my kingdom if she will grant me just one smile. I am tied to her by a bond that I cannot untie, however hard I try. O, first of rakshasas! Only you can fight for me and restore the glory of our people.’

  Kumbhakarna could hardly believe that his invincible brother had been humbled by a mere human. And that an emperor famed for his prowess with women had been spurned. He felt compassion arise where earlier there had been anger. He said gently, ‘Adored Ravana! I swear by my love for you that I will kill Rama this very day. And I will kill his brother and their vanara hordes. Then, the woman you desire will come to you herself so that you may be together forever.’

  Ravana’s eyes were moist as he rose to embrace his brother and kiss his cheek. He placed around his neck a massive gold chain with a giant ruby that he had brought from patala. The warrior took his brother’s blessings and resolved to slay the kshatriya brothers or give up his own life.

  Kumbhakarna stepped over the high ramparts of the fortress city and uttered a war cry that was so fierce and unnatural that the vanaras fled, buffeted by the sound. He strode forward, trishul in hand, looking like Yama himself. The earth lurched under his feet, shuddering in fear. ‘Where are you hiding, foolish prince?’ he bellowed. ‘Come before me and fight. Or flee from the field before I kill you!’

  ‘It is my brother Kumbhakarna,’ whispered Vibhishana to Rama and Sugriva. ‘His hunger is insatiable and he will devour you and the entire vanara army if he is not stopped!’

  Sugriva led the attack with a fierce war cry and his vanaras converged on the giant, armed with rocks and trees. Kumbhakarna’s trident spewed fire in one hand, reducing them to ashes, while with the other hand he grabbed and thrust them into his mouth and devoured them. Hanuman hurried to divert Kumbhakarna’s attention and almost collapsed when the rakshasa struck his chest with his trishul. However, he recovered quickly, grabbed the trishul and broke it on his knee. Now Rama confronted the rakshasa and his arrows sheared off his foe’s right arm and shredded his armour. Kumbhakarna took up a massive sword in his other hand but Rama unleashed a typhoon of arrows that broke the sword and tore off the arm holding it. Two more arrows shot off his legs. ‘Onward for Ravana! Onward for Lanka!’ cried Kumbhakarna, his torso still advancing like a mountain, with blood pouring in torrents from his severed limbs.

  Ravana’s brother knew that his death was moments away, yet the blaze in his eyes remained undimmed. He fixed his eyes on the radiant face of Rama and whispered a plea: ‘Take my life, great one, but do not let the world lay eyes on my shattered visage. Send my head whirling to the depths of the ocean with your final arrow.’

  Rama nodded and sent forth Vayu’s astra, which tore through the air, carrying off the rakshasa’s head that still roared in defiance and plunged it into the depths of the ocean. The giant’s body crashed to the ground, heaving still in defiance. The rakshasa army wailed at his loss while the vanaras hushed in reverence to the indomitable warrior.

  The news was quickly carried to Ravana who at first refused to believe it and then broke down in grief. Mandodari came to her husband and looked pleadingly up at him, a silent question in her eyes. But it seemed as if Ravana had decided to follow his path to its inevitable end, whatever that may be.

  Ravana’s son Atikaya took the field next, looking like another Kumbhakarna in his lightning-swift chariot. He fought bravely, reaping the lives of his foes like a whirlwind let loose on the field. He rebuffed Lakshmana’s astras with his own flaming arrows, leaving the kshatriya totally spent. Night was falling and Lakshmana decided to use the Shakti astra to put an end to the brave youth. Mandodari’s dauntless son tried to shatter its blazing power with a hundred arrows of his own, but fell lifeless as it struck his chest and consumed him with its fierce power.

  Ravana sat alone through the night, grieving for his brother and the sons he had lost, horrified that this war could claim such a monstrous price. Dawn broke, but it seemed that even the sun could not lighten the darkness that prevailed. Vultures and other birds of ill omen circled Ravana’s fortress as if sensing that corpses would soon be littering the streets of the capital. The city walls were crumbling and echoed with the wails of the rakshasis who had lost their husbands and their sons.

  It was at this hour of dismal gloom that mighty Indrajit came to his father who sat dazed, with his head buried in his hands. Ravana’s tears were spent, his heart was emptied of all emotion. His course was set; he knew that disaster and death awaited him, but he would not retreat.

  Indrajit strode confidently forward, his courage reinforced by the thousand battles he had won. His gaze was fiery and his face fixed in grim resolve. ‘Do not despair, father,’ he said, his voice thunderous like the skies on a stormy night. ‘Though our foes have killed mighty Kumbhakarna, though the skies may fall and the seas rise to heaven, I swear that I will not return unless I bring you the heads of Rama and Lakshmana.’

  Ravana saw a shadow move behind Indrajit and saw that it was Mandodari. She joined her hands to him in prayer and sent out a silent plea: ‘Spare me my firstborn. Do not send my Meghanada into battle. Do not sacrifice him too, my king.’

  Her prayer was in vain. Ravana would not grant her this wish. He raised his hands in blessing over Indrajit’s bowed head. ‘Victory be yours, my son!’ he whispered, holding back the tears that threatened to flow from his eyes.

  From the shadows rose a piteous wail, a sound of primeval grief. Indrajit heard it too and turned to see his mother standing there, her eyes blank and unseeing. He touched her feet to seek her blessing, his mind engaged already in devising battle plans that would ensure his victory. Mandodari could not speak, but clasped his wide shoulders in her arms and clung to him. She knew that she should not dishearten her son when he strode out to face his enemies. They would not listen to her, father or son. She would have to stand by and watch the final scenes unfold. She watched him go, the last of her sons, until she could see him no more.

  She hurried away then, bent over in grief, unwilling to say anything to her husband who appeared broken too. Had he also realized that he would never see his brave Indrajit alive again? If he had, then why had he let him go? There were no answers. Even her questions appeared futile. She could not speak to Ravana. She had no comfort to offer him. The reality was that she could not even bear to look at him. Their love appeared now to be a mirage, a dream that she had woken from. She would take refuge in Vishnu, her god, the protector of the universe. But how could the great lord of Vaikunta protect her son from Rama, believed to be Vishnu himself?

  Ravana watched her go, his heart wracked with pain. Mandodari had given up on him when she never had before, though he had wounded her many times with his actions. He want
ed to explain to her why he did what he did. But could any explanation be sufficient when it entailed sacrificing your sons, your country, your love? The ghastly train of events had been set in motion when Surpanakha had told him of Sita’s beauty. His fate had been determined when Rama had shorn him of weapons and sent him home, shamed before the eyes of the world. Events had progressed too far now to be remedied.

  Do not ask me anything. Just say that you love me still, Mandodari. Tell me that you will stay with me no matter what. That we are in this together . . . Stand with me, my love, for you are all I have in my darkest hour.

  But he would not say this to her. At best, it would make her look at him with pity. And he could not bear to have her pity the husband who had promised to lay the world at her feet.

  Indrajit burst into the field roaring, threatening, laughing, terrifying. Ravana watched from the ramparts as his son rained havoc on the monkeys that ran screeching for cover. His arrows flamed blue and green and scarlet as he took on Rama and Lakshmana. Maybe he would win. Maybe he would survive. Maybe he would have a son still to call him father . . .

  Mandodari’s son flashed like a comet trailing fire and destruction. He conjured up a monstrous cloud from which erupted a hundred thousand arrows like molten lava. Rama and Lakshmana quickly intervened to draw the arrows towards themselves, thus lessening their impact on their army. But the power of Indrajit’s sorcery was so great that all the vanaras slumped to the ground in a deep sleep, as did Lakshmana.

  Then Rama too fell unconscious. And with him swooned the gods—as well as virtue, truth and compassion. Mother Earth wept and a gentle rain fell from the skies, in an attempt to revive Kaushalya’s divine son.