Prem Purana

by Usha Narayanan

  Vibhishana looked in horror at the fallen army. He himself was protected from Indrajit’s maya by the power of his tapasya. But all would be lost if he could not rouse the kshatriyas from their torpor.

  He saw a solitary figure rushing towards him, crying out for help. ‘What shall we do now?’ sobbed Hanuman. ‘How will we live when all those we love are dead?’

  11

  A Mother’s Grief

  ‘Not dead. Not dead!’ said a feeble voice. Hanuman turned eagerly to see who offered them such hope. ‘You can save them, Hanuman. Only you!’ the voice said again.

  He hurried closer and saw that the voice belonged to Jambavan, mighty king of the Himalayas, who had been born as a bear in order to assist Rama in his battle. ‘Bring the healing herbs that grow on the mountaintop that rises between Kailasa and Meru,’ said Jambavan. ‘They will rouse all those who lie here in a swoon that resembles death.’

  Meanwhile, the rakshasas rejoiced, hailing Indrajit as the conquering hero and carried him proudly on their shoulders to his father. Ravana embraced his son, delighted that Indrajit had wiped away his father’s shame and reaffirmed their supremacy. Mandodari hurried to the temple to make offerings of thanksgiving.

  The great Hanuman flew across the oceans and over land until he reached the snow-capped mountains of the north. Unable to identify the plants that Jambavan had described, he wrenched the whole mountain from the earth and carried it to the battlefield. The magical fragrance of the herbs was sufficient to revive Rama, Lakshmana and the vanaras—not just those who were in a daze but those who had lost their lives as well.

  The vanaras turned in unison towards Ravana’s city to attack their enemies who were celebrating their apparent victory with dance and drink. They swiftly set mansions and gardens aflame, awakening those who were sunk in a drunken stupor. The rakshasas panicked when they saw what they believed were vengeful spirits and fled.

  Indrajit marshalled the troops and led them in an attack against the intruders. Gradually, the rakshasas reclaimed the ground they had lost and set up guard posts to ensure that the vanaras did not slip in again.

  When the sun rose the next day, Lakshmana set out to slay Indrajit. Indrajit’s arrows were like flaming madness, but Lakshmana mocked them saying that they were like frail lotus stems. He broke Indrajit’s bow in two with one mighty arrow and then assailed him with many more that pierced his face and body, covering him in a swirl of crimson. Finally, Lakshmana took up the Aindraastra and invoked the power of Indra.

  ‘I worship you in the name of dharma,’ he said. ‘I invoke you in the name of my righteous brother Rama!’

  Lakshmana released the astra which flamed through the air and removed Indrajit’s head from his neck. Meghanada’s thunderous voice would be heard no more. The rakshasas wailed in grief as their prince’s body crashed to the ground.

  The waves attacked the shore, again and again. The moon was dimmed by sinister clouds. Mandodari sat alone on the dark sands, wanting to throw herself into the maw of the sea. She would gratefully embrace the waters for it seemed as if her daughter was calling to her from its depths. The gods had already punished her by taking away her sons. Now she had nothing to live for. Her dying here at the very spot where she had abandoned her child would be the final price she would pay for her sins.

  She had lost so much over the last few days. If she could only stop Time . . . rather, reverse it. Maybe this time Ravana would listen to her counsel. He would realize that the wise thing to do would be to send back the viper that he harboured in the ashokavana. But alas! Time stopped for no one, least of all for the ill-fated mother of three sons who had been sacrificed for their father’s lust.

  ‘Sita!’ she exclaimed, hatred pulsating in the two syllables. What did my king see in you that he did not find in me or in his other wives? Her heart filled with anger at the woman she had refused to meet all these months. But her avoiding Sita had not helped in any way to deflect the danger to Lanka. Proud Ravana had been reduced to a desperate supplicant seeking the favours of a captive. It was Mandodari’s duty to help her husband that kept her on the shore when her heart yearned to end it all.

  It seemed as if her thoughts had reached out to him, for Ravana came looking for her. Looking at the stubborn set of his jaw, Mandodari realized that he was not ready to back down. She refused to rise to greet him as she always did or offer him comfort with her soft words and gentle touch. Ravana noticed the marks left on her cheeks by her tears; he noted the rigidly clenched jaw and the fierce challenge in her eyes. He was silent, waiting for her to speak her mind.

  ‘Indrajit, the last of my sons, my firstborn, the fruit of our love—bloodied, beheaded and forfeited for your lust. Is she worth the sacrifice, my lord? Is your Sita worth the price of your brother, your people, your sons? And soon, your kingdom and your life? What remains then, my king? Is this the meaning of the eternal love you swore? You said that it was the rakshasa custom to take other women to your bed. But there would be room in your heart for me alone. Alas, you have killed my love, Ravana. You have destroyed me. But I will do my duty still, counsel you as a righteous wife, plead with you to repent. Do not hold another man’s wife against her will; do not immolate your people in the fire of your desire. Surrender now to the divine Rama, who I am convinced is Vishnu born on earth. Return his wife to him and beg his forgiveness. It is not too late, my lord. We will perform penances together to redeem ourselves and our land from our sins.’

  Her words shook the Lankapati. It was true what she’d said. He had broken his promises to her, yet she remained true to him. He had snatched away her precious sons, yet she was willing to fight for his soul. However, he could not surrender. Not now. He could not forfeit his dignity and the fame he had won over many years and battles. He chose to die the way he had lived, with his head held high.

  Ravana spoke gently and persuasively. ‘If what you say is true and Rama is a god, remember that my boon from Brahma protects me from all devas. On the other hand, if Rama is merely a fierce kshatriya, remember that I am the mightiest of warriors, undefeated in war. Either way, I am invincible, protected by the moon sword that Shiva gave me. Give up your baseless fears, my love, and I promise to slay my enemies and return unharmed. And if Sita still remains obstinate, I will have her killed and consume her flesh at my victory feast. Support me in my quest, my queen.’

  Mandodari stared at him aghast and then slowly rose to her feet. ‘Ahankara—a monstrous ego!’ she whispered. ‘It is your conceit that hastens your doom, O king. You have wasted your whole life seizing treasures, subduing people and tyrannizing the three realms. Your quest has always been to impress everyone with your wealth, your learning and your strength. Do you know what your grandsire Pulastya said to me soon after our marriage? He said that I must help free you from the hold of the ten vices that control your actions. Lust, anger, attachment, greed, pride, envy, selfishness, injustice, cruelty and finally, the worst of them all—ego. You now have one last chance to rise above these and realize the divinity within you. Take my hand, my lord, so that we may step away from our doom. Take my hand . . .’

  Her voice shook. Her hand rose towards him in a desperate plea. Would he listen? Would he allow love to win over his ego?

  Ravana gazed deeply into her eyes, a profound sadness in his own. ‘I must go,’ he said. ‘I must summon my occult powers before I enter the battlefield. Farewell, my love.’

  As he turned away, he heard a deep sigh behind him. It was the sound of a body relinquishing its soul, giving up its breath to death. Would he ever see his Mandodari in this life again?

  Ravana began a fierce ritual, invoking Chamunda, who held dire weapons in her twelve hands and was adorned with skulls and serpents. The dreaded goddess lived in cremation grounds and was accompanied by fiends and goblins. She was the rakshasa’s guardian deity, the mistress of tantra and the occult arts. She was the one whose blessings he needed to complete his mission. He fed more ghee to the sacrificial fire and inte
nsified his prayers.

  Far away in the enemy camp, Vibhishana felt the reverberations set up by Ravana’s sinister chants. He shuddered as he sensed the evil vortex being created by his brother’s dark prayers.

  Vibhishana summoned Vali’s fierce son Angada to him. ‘My brother has begun a potent sacrifice that will make him impossible to defeat,’ he said. ‘If Rama is to win against Ravana, it is essential that you stop Ravana from completing his ritual. Hurry to his palace at once, for our fate hangs in the balance!’

  Angada hastened with his sena to disrupt the sacrifice. His monkeys created havoc in the palace, bringing down pillars, driving out Ravana’s guards and harassing his queens. However, they could not enter the circle of fire within which Ravana sat, closing his mind to everything except his tapasya. The monkeys dragged the women in his harem before the king and threatened to carry them away, but still, Ravana remained focused on his chants. Finally, Angada pounced on Mandodari herself and dragged her by her hair before Ravana.

  ‘You abducted Rama’s wife. Now see what I do to your queen,’ he jeered. ‘Your Mandodari—so pure, so chaste, so beautiful—is now in my power!’

  Ravana stuttered for a moment, then continued relentlessly on. He needed just a little more time to complete the prayers that would make him invincible. Angada grew agitated as Ravana’s chants began rising to a crescendo. He could see the dark shape of a demon with many arms and eyes of fire emerging from the altar. He had only moments before the monster came to life. Angada howled fiercely and tore at Mandodari’s clothes in an attempt to shock Ravana. ‘I will ravish her before your eyes, Ravana!’ he screamed.

  ‘Save me, my king. Do you not see my desperate plight?’ the queen cried. Ravana opened his eyes and saw how his beloved Mandodari struggled in the hold of the giant vanara. He closed his eyes again, speeding up his chants that were now close to completion.

  ‘O Ravana! Is this how you show your love for your wife?’ she screamed again. ‘You are a coward then unlike Rama who fights fiercely to rescue his Sita!’

  Her gibe struck Ravana to the core, but he continued with the sacrifice, his twenty arms flashing in his haste to complete his oblations.

  ‘Beloved Meghanada! Valiant Indrajit! Would you have let your mother be abused in this way?’ she wailed. ‘Come back to me from your warrior’s heaven, sweet prince. Save your mother who has no one. No one but you.’

  Her plea to her dead son stirred Ravana as nothing else could. He rose with a dark oath, spun away from the altar and grabbed his sword. ‘I will kill you, monkey!’ he howled. ‘I will slice off the arms that torment my queen.’ His sword flashed out like an arc of fire, slashing Angada’s arm deeply. The vanara shrieked in pain and bounded away, with the others following in his wake. Ravana let them escape as he had something more important to do. He gathered his weeping wife in his arms and stroked her head gently. ‘My queen, my Mandodari,’ he sobbed. ‘Forgive me, forgive me.’

  Her weeping quietened. Ravana’s face grew grim again. He had to leave now to complete what he had started. The sun was already rising in the east. He would kill the invaders that day or die. His arms dropped and he stepped away from his wife.

  ‘No, my lord. No!’ she screamed, discerning his intention. But he was gone, with not a single glance back at her. He had left without seeking her prayers for his success and long life.

  Mandodari wept. She stormed at fate. ‘O Shiva! Bless your devotee. Protect him on the battlefield,’ she cried out. And then she turned her steps towards the woman she blamed for all that had happened. Sita. The object of her hatred. The embodiment of Lanka’s doom.

  She would strangle her with her own hands.

  Mandodari hurried to the ashokavana, stumbling in her haste. The rakshasis guarding Sita moved hastily away at their queen’s imperious gesture. The angry queen saw the woman in a tattered saree, sitting on the ground with her head bowed in her hands, the very picture of despair. Her hair hung unkempt and loose, covering her face. Her body was frail, as if it would disintegrate in a puff of wind. For a moment, even Mandodari’s heart filled with pity for the captive’s plight. Sita had been snatched away roughly from the man she loved. Surely, she must have expected to live a long, fulfilling life by his side. Instead, she had been brought to this alien land where she lived among foul rakshasis. Mandodari felt a reluctant admiration stir in her heart for this woman who had stood firm against a mighty king.

  And then, the queen came to herself with a start. A horrific image flashed into her mind—that of a bloodied simha kundala, an earring shaped like a lion’s head. She had had it made especially for her ‘little lion’, for that was what she had called her youngest son. The earring was all that remained after Hanuman had dashed Aksha’s head against a stone wall and smashed it. Before her eyes now was the woman who had caused Aksha’s death and Atikaya’s and Indrajit’s. This frail-looking woman was not an object of pity. She was deadly, like the halahala poison that lay hidden in the ocean of nectar. When Sita had arrived in Lanka, she had brought with her death, disaster and the end of Ravana’s love for his queen.

  A bitter laugh escaped Mandodari’s lips. ‘What did he see in you?’ she hissed and saw Sita’s body jerk in shock. Tear-filled eyes looked up for a moment before her hair covered her face again. ‘The apsaras of Indra’s court dance for my king. Princesses from distant kingdoms pine for him. And then he brought you home to consume everything that is fruitful in our land. I have lost all that I cherished!’ Her voice rose then in rage. ‘Look at my face, Sita. Look at Ravana’s queen Mandodari. Tell me what you have that I do not. You are still an unformed girl, with neither experience nor wisdom to equal mine. I have survived immense travails and emerged stronger in love and life to be a worthy partner to the king. Did you think that you could come and take over my king and my kingdom?’

  The figure sat motionless, as if turned to stone. Mandodari continued to speak, her voice hoarse now and agonized. ‘I thought that Ravana would return to me as he had many times earlier, once his obsession with you was past. But that was not to be. He declares that he will die rather than give you up. Do not think however that your Rama, a mere boy, will succeed in defeating Ravana, the king of kings, however hard he may try.’

  Her mockery of Rama aroused Sita from her dejection as the queen’s earlier anger could not. ‘How dare you compare my valorous prince to a debased demon?’ she retorted, glaring at Mandodari. ‘Your king and his hordes will certainly be crushed by my Rama. Why, I myself could have burned Ravana in the fire of my chastity.’

  ‘You speak glibly, woman, for words cost nothing. If your virtue endows you with such power, why did you not burn him when he abducted you? Or when he attempted to force you into his bed?’ stormed the queen. ‘If you had killed him, I would have gladly died with him, for at least my people would have been saved. My kingdom would have prospered under my son Indrajit. What held you back, Sita? Your presence here has brought my mighty kingdom to its knees. Your allure has destroyed my glorious island with its mansions spangled with gems, and its gardens bursting with flowers. You are responsible, Sita, for the death of my sons and for my losing the king’s love. And you must pay the price for it. I will kill you with my own hands, crushing your head like we crush the head of a poisonous serpent! Say your prayers, Sita, and bid goodbye to your Rama.’

  Mandodari rushed at Sita in a frenzied attack. Sita tried to back away from her but it was too late. The queen grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her. Her eyes glared madly and her hands rose as if to throttle the prisoner. The earth shook under their feet as if it were being torn apart. Was this how the battle would end, with Sita being killed by Mandodari, thereby taking away the very purpose for which the armies fought?

  12

  The Secret

  Sita tore herself free from Mandodari’s grasp and almost fell, weakened by her fast during her captivity, when she had eaten merely what was needed to keep her alive. But then she drew strength from her defiance.


  ‘What depths will you plumb, rakshasi?’ she cried out. ‘Can you not understand a wife’s love or her husband’s sacred duty to protect her? The rakshasa you call the king of kings insulted my prince by abducting his wife. Rama must avenge the insult by fighting and killing his foe himself.’

  ‘Are you a prize then to be won in the war?’ Mandodari ranted. ‘Does it gratify you that our husbands fight over you?’ But even as she spoke, the queen felt a strange unease that prevented her from engaging fully in the war of words. Was Sita a sorceress perhaps that she could cast a spell on anyone who approached her? Mandodari forced herself to focus on the need of the hour. A terrible tragedy was unfolding even as she wasted time in futile arguments. She appealed again to this frail yet fierce woman.

  ‘I beg you Sita to help me save the ones I love,’ she pleaded, joining her hands together in prayer. ‘I do not know why fate brought you to our shores. Maybe you are the fruit of all the curses Ravana incurred with his sins. Or perhaps you are Vedavati reborn to take vengeance on my husband. I do not care about the past, but wish merely to stop the ghastly bloodshed. We have suffered too much—yes, both of us. You are held captive by rakshasis and separated from your Rama. I have lost my husband’s love, my three sons and countless subjects. Listen to me now and I will help you escape. I will send my own personal guard to escort you to your prince. It is in our power to stop this war, for we women are wise and have the zeal to do anything to protect those we love. I pray to you, Sita, have mercy upon us . . . have mercy!’

  Sita drew closer to the woman whose manner had changed from arrogant to humble. She touched her shoulder with compassion as Mandodari sobbed uncontrollably.

  ‘I cannot accept your offer, my queen, though my heart aches for you,’ she whispered, stroking her head. ‘If I had wanted to escape, I would have done so when Hanuman offered to carry me on his back to my glorious Rama. But I have come to realize that I am but an instrument to destroy the demonic burden on earth. It is my duty to stand by Rama as he completes his mission. And yours is to try and save your husband from the doom that he is determined to embrace.’