The Valmiki Ramayana
2.13: Hanumān Leaps to Lanka
Hanumān flew forcefully into the morning sky. Trees, shrubs and flowers flew behind him in the wind raised by his movement, like relatives following a dear one setting out on a long journey.
Hanumān thought of Rāma. Sampati was right. Simply by remembering Rāma’s name at the end of life, anyone could cross the entire ocean of material suffering. These eight hundred miles were nothing. Hanumān felt confident of success as he soared toward Lanka. Soon he would reach Sītā and reassure Her. If any Rākṣasas tried to stop him, that would be their last act on earth. He would dispense swift justice to the Rākṣasas. Then, returning to Rāma’s presence, he would await further commands.
As the flowers following Hanumān fell into the dark blue ocean, they made the sea appear like the star-spangled firmament. The trees dropped with great splashes like meteors fallen from heaven. Hanumān’s outstretched arms looked like a pair of five-hooded serpents risen from the mountaintop. The great monkey seemed as if he were drinking up the vast ocean and swallowing the sky. His eyes blazed like two sacrificial fires and his coiled tail flew behind him like a flag. His reddish brown face shone like the sun, and the wind rushing past his armpits thundered like a cloud. He seemed like a comet moving through the heavens with its fiery tail.
Hanumān’s reflection in the blue sea appeared like a ship rocking with speed over the large waves that were raised by the wind of his flight. As the sea rose up it revealed whales, sharks and serpents, thrown about in confusion. Hanumān rushed through the sky like a winged mountain, drawing behind him white and red-hued clouds. As he entered and came out again from the clouds, he appeared like the shrouded and visible moon. Gandharvas with their wives rained flowers on him. Even the sun, honoring his service to Rāma, did not scorch him. The wind-god raced with him, fanning him with a gentle breeze. Gods and ṛṣis extolled him, along with Nāgas, Yakṣas and other celestial beings. The god of the ocean observed Hanumān flying above him. He considered how to render him a service, thereby pleasing Rāma Himself. In his depths there was a large mountain named Maināka. The ocean-god approached Maināka and asked him to rise above the waters, offering his peaks to Hanumān as a resting place. The mountain assented and began to grow upwards. It emerged from the sea with a great roar, foaming billows falling with a crash on all sides. The golden-peaked mountain rose swiftly and shone beautifully, with Nāgas and Kinnaras sporting on its slopes.
Hanumān saw the mountain ahead of him filling the whole sky, and he thought it to be an obstruction. He prepared to strike it with his chest. The mountain deity assumed a human form and stood on its peak: “O Hanumān, requested by the god of the seas who wishes to serve Rāma, I am here to offer you shelter. The sea-god was formerly rendered a service by Rāma’s ancestor, Sagara, who filled the ocean when it had been dried up by the angry Agastya Ṛṣi. I too am indebted to your father Vāyu, who once saved me from Indra.”
Maināka told Hanumān that, in a long past age, many mountains flew in the sky. Afraid of the mountains, the ṛṣis asked Indra to cut their wings with his thunderbolt. Vāyu had saved Maināka from Indra. The mountain therefore wished to repay his debt to Vāyu by serving Hanumān. He asked the monkey to alight on his peaks and rest for a while.
But Hanumān was not inclined to stop. He replied to Maināka, “I am grateful and I thank you for your offer, but the time for resting has not yet arrived. My duty is not yet done. Please forgive me. You have already rendered me service by your kind words. Now please allow me to continue.”
Hanumān respectfully touched the peak of the mountain and then rose still higher into the sky. The mountain and the sea-god both looked up at him and offered prayers and benedictions for his success.
Indra and the other gods also watched Hanumān. They were astonished to see his power. Desiring to test him and see more of his prowess they approached Surasa, the mother of the Nāgas. They asked the snake goddess to assume the form of a Rākṣasī and stand before Hanumān. Indra said, “We want to see his power, as well as further expand the fame of this great servant of Rāma. Let us see how he overcomes you, O Nāga lady, for he will be greatly tested when he reaches Lanka.”
Surasa went into the sea and suddenly rose up in front of Hanumān in the form of a vast and terrible Rākṣasī. She boomed out to Hanumān, “The gods have ordained you to be my food. O jewel among monkeys, quickly enter my mouth. Brahmā has granted me a boon that none who come before me can escape being eaten!”
Surasa opened her cavernous mouth, which was set with rows of fierce teeth. Hanumān smiled and said to the Nāga goddess, “I am on a mission to serve Rāma, the lord of creation. You should not impede me. If I must be eaten by you, then pray wait here. Once I have completed my duty I shall doubtlessly return and you may devour me then as you please.”
The Nāga replied that he would not be able to pass her by, for such was the boon given by Brahmā. She expanded her mouth even more as Hanumān came closer. Her jaws stretched for eight miles, but Hanumān quickly grew to sixteen miles. She then expanded her mouth to twenty miles and Hanumān again exceeded that size with his body. As the Nāga grew even further Hanumān suddenly contracted himself down to the size of a thumb. Entering her mouth he went inside her throat and quickly came out again. He returned to his normal size and said, “I have honored Brahmā’s boon. Now let me pass and fulfill my mission. I wish you well.”
The Nāga goddess resumed her original form and praised Hanumān, blessing him to be successful in his quest. Hanumān moved on with the speed of Garuḍa. He saw many celestial chariots drawn by lions, tigers, elephants, birds and serpents as he coursed along the heavenly airways. Gandharvas, Yakṣas, Vidhyadharas and other celestial beings were thronging the skys. Great heroes, who had lain down their lives in battle, rose upwards through the lofty region, their ethereal bodies shining like fire.
As Hanumān shot through the sky he was seen from below by a Rākṣasa woman called Simhika. She gazed hungrily upon the monkey’s enormous body. Desiring to devour him, she used her mystic power to suddenly seize his shadow as it sped over the water. Hanumān felt his progress arrested. He looked all around and saw beneath him Simhika’s hideous form rising up from the sea, her terrific mouth open wide to swallow him. She thundered like a mass of clouds. Hanumān fearlessly entered her mouth. As he entered her body the Siddhas and gods cried out, “Alas!”
But Hanumān, whose body was as hard as a diamond, began to tear the demon’s vital parts. He cleft her heart in two and burst out from the side of her body. The Rākṣasī screamed and fell dead into the sea. Seeing Hanumān unscathed and flying onwards, the gods praised him saying, “Your success is certain. He who possesses firmness, vision, understanding and skill never fails in his undertakings.”
Hanumān continued on, adored by the divine beings. Soon he saw in the distance a large island which appeared like a mass of clouds on the horizon. As he came closer he saw the shore of Lanka, skirted by forests and high mountains. Hanumān returned to his normal size in order to avoid being seen. Flying over the island he came upon the city of Lanka, which was perched on the summit of Trikuta mountain. As he climbed down the mountainside he considered how to best enter the city.
Hanumān surveyed the region. It was covered with beautiful woods filled with flowering and fruit-bearing trees of all kinds. There were meadows and lotus ponds and pleasure groves of every description. The aroma of flowers wafted on cool breezes and the sounds of various birds filled the air. Hanumān made his way to the edge of the city, which was encircled by a wide, deep moat. A golden wall ran around the city. Large pennants with small golden bells tied to them blew in the wind atop that wall. Ferocious Rākṣasas ranged on the ramparts that ran along the wall. In their hands they held formidable-looking bows and other fierce weapons.
Behind the wall Hanumān could see lofty mansions and palaces, some golden and others as white as the moon. He climbed a high tree and gazed upon the city. Hundreds of tall and impressive buildings ran along elevated white-tiled roads. In front of them were many wonderful golden archways adorned with flowering creepers. The city gave off a roaring sound and appeared like the capital of the gods. To Hanumān it seemed to be sailing in the air. Lanka, which had been constructed by the celestial architect Viśvakarmā, was inconceivably splendid and it awed Hanumān’s mind.
Reaching the northern gate Hanumān sat in thought. He looked upon Lanka, which was guarded by innumerable gallant and terrible Rākṣasas, as one might view a cave full of venomous serpents. As he gazed up at the high wall Hanumān reflected. How would the monkeys ever overpower this city? For a start, only he, Sugrīva, Aṅgada and Nīla, the monkey general, could even cross the ocean and reach there. Then they would only be four against an uncountable horde of Rākṣasas, headed by the invincible Rāvaṇa himself. What would they do?
Hanumān decided to first find Sītā and ensure that She was safe. After all, those were his instructions. Then he could consider further action. He pondered deeply how to go about searching for the princess and yet not be discovered. Having taken such a great leap over the ocean, he did not want to fail now. It would be best to enter Lanka under the cover of darkness in an inconspicuous form. Hanumān decided to wait until sunset and enter the city as a small monkey. Going from house to house, he would locate Sītā and then decide how to approach Her.
That night the full moon rose in a clear sky, appearing like a swan swimming in a lake. Hanumān stood up, ready to enter the city. As he approached the wall, however, the presiding deity of Lanka came before him. She was fierce and ugly and she gave out a horrible yell. In a discordant voice she asked Hanumān, “Who are you, trying to covertly enter this city? You shall never be allowed to pass by me, O monkey!”
Hanumān cared little for the Rākṣasa goddess. He did not reveal his name but rather asked her to first identify herself. She replied in harsh tones that she was Rāvaṇa’s servant. She guarded Lanka and would now kill Hanumān for his insolence in trying to assail the city.
Hanumān stood as firm as a mountain. He replied that he would enter the city no matter who tried to prevent him. The Rākṣasī immediately struck him with her hand. Unmoved by that blow and becoming furious, Hanumān clenched his fist and hit her but without his full force, as she was a woman. Nevertheless, struck by Hanumān, the demon goddess fell prostrate to the ground. After some moments she recovered and begged Hanumān to spare her. She revealed to Hanumān that Brahmā had told her the end of the Rākṣasas would come soon after she was overpowered by a monkey. That time had clearly arrived. The words of Brahmā could never prove false. The time for the destruction of Rāvaṇa and the Rākṣasas was nigh.
The Rākṣasī told Hanumān to proceed into the city and then she disappeared. Hanumān assumed a form no bigger than a cat. Springing up, he climbed over the outer wall and began to penetrate the city. He moved along the main road, which was lit by celestial gems studding the golden archways along its sides. The road was covered with brightly colored flowers. From the houses he heard sounds of laughter and music, as well as the tinkling of ornaments and jewels. Those houses had crystal entrances and verandas of coral and lapis lazuli. They were adorned with golden images of thunderbolts and planets, and lattice windows of gold embedded with diamonds, rubies and emeralds.
Hanumān went quickly from house to house, searching for signs of Sītā. He saw many demons engaged in amorous activities in their houses with damsels resembling Apsarās. In some places there were groups of Rākṣasas praising Rāvaṇa. In other places some Rākṣasas known as Yatudhanas were studying the scriptures and chanting sacred hymns. In public squares Hanumān beheld wrestling matches between Rākṣasas of huge proportions, roaring at each other in anger. Hanumān also saw thousands of Rākṣasa warriors, holding bows, swords and other terrible-looking weapons. As he moved unnoticed along the city streets, Hanumān, himself a military expert, could recognize Rāvaṇa’s many variously disguised spies.
Gradually he approached Rāvaṇa’s palace. In front of it was a garrison of soldiers, one hundred thousand in number. The palace itself stood on the summit of the Trikuta mountain, looking like a great white cloud. It was circled by a number of moats adorned with lotuses and lilies. Hanumān swam across the moats and, in his diminutive form, easily entered through the latticed gates in the gold brick walls. Thousands of exceptionally powerful Rākṣasas stood on guard, but they paid him no heed.
As Hanumān moved through the first courtyard he saw numerous wonderful conveyances such as golden chariots, palanquins and large aerial cars. There were thousands of horses, some as black as night, some red-hued and others as white as snow. Massive elephants bedecked with jewels stood looking like clouds with flashes of lightning.
Within the courtyard were mansions occupied by arrogant and intoxicated demons. Hanumān could hear them laughing and shouting at one another in diverse tones. He silently entered each of the mansions, looking everywhere for Sītā. Within every house he saw many women, some embracing their partners, some adorning themselves with excellent dresses, some sleeping and others, angered out of love, hissing like serpents. All of the women were highly attractive, with countenances like the full moon, and their dark eyes covered by curling lashes. Although Hanumān saw innumerable women, he did not see Sītā anywhere.
Hanumān wandered through dozens of seven-storied mansions and finally entered the inner palace building where Rāvaṇa kept his women. It was embellished everywhere with pearls and gems of great value. The scent of aloe and sandalwood incense wafted and the sound of celestial music could be heard. Hanumān padded over the highly polished marble floor, which was spread with celestial textiles. The walls were made of gold decorated with silver carvings studded with gems. Thousands of exquisitely beautiful maidens moved about, their tinkling gold ornaments sounding together like the gentle waves of the sea. Adding to that delightful sound was the deep vibration of meghas and kettledrums.
Hanumān considered Rāvaṇa’s palace to be the ornament of Lanka. In some rooms he found galleries of heavenly paintings and carvings of every kind. Sometimes the palace opened out to large grassy enclosures with ponds full of swans, surrounded by blossoming trees full of peacocks and other colorful birds. Hanumān saw sacrificial fires attended by ascetic Rākṣasas who chanted Vedic mantras. Here and there were heaps of precious stones and other collected treasures. Couches, seats and beds were all of the most wonderful design and made of gold, coral and celestial woods. With his mind awed, Hanumān moved on without stopping, intent on discovering Sītā.
He found the Pushpaka chariot lying in the center of Rāvaṇa’s palace. It resembled a large mansion and shone like the midday sun. The chariot was embellished with every kind of celestial jewel and adorned with carvings of gold and silver. Birds made of cat’s-eye, as well as others fashioned of coral and silver, decorated the chariot, along with lovely serpents made of jewels. Horses and elephants made entirely of refined gold stood on the sides of the Pushpaka. There were also large gold and crystal pleasure houses containing many excellent seats. Golden stairways led up to platforms radiant with sapphires and emeralds. Garlands and wreaths of heavenly flowers hung everywhere. Seen on the spacious central floor of the chariot was a lotus pond, in which a number of carved elephants stood, holding golden lotuses in their trunks and offering worship to a breathtakingly beautiful form of Goddess Lakṣmī.
Hanumān was astonished to see the mountain-like chariot, which hung suspended in the air. The monkey moved on quickly, searching Rāvaṇa’s apartments, which covered four miles in width and eight in length. Everywhere were powerful looking Rākṣasas who held terrible weapons and looked alertly in all directions. By his powers of illusion Hanumān kept himself invisible to all the guards. He then entered Rāvaṇa’s personal bedchambers. Its floor was covered with slabs of crystal, inlaid with figures made of ivory, pearls, diamonds, coral, silver and gold. Large pillars of gems rose up to the roof, which was studded with innumerable jewels and looked like the star-spangled sky at night. On the walls were carvings of eagles with huge outspread wings. Murals depicting the heavenly planets hung there on the walls and the floors were covered by large silk carpets embroidered with designs of mountains, forests and rivers.
The odor of celestial foods reached Hanumān’s nostrils, calling him like a loved one beckoning a dear relative. He felt all five senses being simultaneously attracted by the delights in Rāvaṇa’s palace. The monkey considered that he had entered the highest abode of Paradise. He compared it only to Indra’s palace or the abode of Brahmā himself. Fixing his mind upon his purpose, like a consummate yogī meditating on the Supreme, Hanumān continued to search for Sītā.
As he went into each separate chamber Hanumān saw many maidens looking like heavenly nymphs. They were half-dressed and lying asleep, overpowered by intoxication and lovemaking. Adorned with jeweled girdles and anklets, they emitted a fragrance like lotus flowers. Their large lips, red like copper, parted slightly showing rows of teeth that resembled pearls. Crushed garlands lay here and there, along with discarded silk raiments. The delicate-limbed ladies lay with their clothes and necklaces thrown about, and other ornaments fallen to the floor by their beds. With their large, dark-lashed eyes closed, they looked like lotuses with their petals closed at night. To Hanumān they appeared like a number of brilliant meteors fallen from heaven and united there in Rāvaṇa’s chambers.
Although Rāvaṇa’s wives, who were daughters of Gandharvas, ṛṣis and powerful demons, were beautiful beyond compare, Hanumān considered them nothing in comparison to Sītā. His mind did not waver even slightly from his mission upon seeing them. As he went by the sleeping maidens, he came to a prominent dais made of crystal and bedecked with precious stones. It appeared like a celestial structure with a large gold and ivory couch placed on it. Over the top of the brilliant couch a hung a white canopy wreathed with garlands of lotuses and red ashoka flowers.
Lying there fast asleep was Rāvaṇa himself. Hanumān saw he was extremely handsome, with a complexion like a dark cloud. He was adorned with bright flashing earrings and clad in robes of gold and crimson. His limbs were smeared with red sandal-paste and he resembled a cloud reddened by the sunset and lit by flashes of lightning. Decorated with garlands and jewels he seemed like Mount Mandara covered with clusters of trees and flowers.
Hanumān looked with disgust upon the great demon, who lay snoring like an elephant. He shrank back and gazed upon the demon from a distance. Rāvaṇa was only displaying one of his ten heads and two of his arms. To Hanumān those arms appeared to be a couple of large five-hooded serpents lying asleep in a cave on Mount Mandara. They were well-muscled and as thick as tree trunks, scarred from the many battles Rāvaṇa had fought with the gods. On his head Rāvaṇa wore a brilliant diadem, and around his neck hung a string of pearls and gold chains. As the demon breathed out, the odor of liquor mixed with mango and nutmeg filled the room.
At his feet were many youthful women. They had all fallen asleep in various positions, one of them hugging her vīṇā, another seated with a small drum under her arm, and another clutching a pair of tambourines. Next to Rāvaṇa on the couch was a lady of astounding beauty, golden-complexioned with exquisitely formed limbs decorated with the best of jewels. Seeing her lying there, endowed with celestial splendor and the exuberance of youth, Hanumān thought for a moment that she might be Sītā. Filled with delight, he leapt about, waving his arms and kissing his tail. Displaying his monkey nature, he frolicked around, climbing the pillars and dropping to the floor, pacing back and forth and flipping over again and again.
Suddenly he paused and thought, “This surely could not be Sītā. Separated from Rāma, the princess would never be able to sleep or eat or even adorn Herself. Nor would She consort with another man even in Her mind, even if he be the lord of the celestials himself. None could equal Rāma, that divine lady’s beloved husband.”
Hanumān examined the sleeping maiden by Rāvaṇa’s side closely. Her face showed no signs of grieving or sorrow. There was no doubt; this could not be Sītā. He moved on quickly, keener than ever to locate the princess.
He continued searching Rāvaṇa’s vast bedchamber. There were thousands of women lying everywhere. All of them were beautiful and adorned with blazing golden ornaments. Hanumān saw tables spread with every kind of food and drink placed in gold and crystal vessels. The floor was strewn with celestial flowers and looked most charming, shedding a bright luster into that great hall. But although he scrupulously examined every part of the room, he did not see Sītā anywhere.
As Hanumān looked upon the many semi-clad women, he felt a grave misgiving. Was this not sinful? To look upon the wives of others, especially in such a condition, was always condemned by scripture. Even looking upon the sinful Rāvaṇa, who had stolen other’s wives, was itself sinful. Hanumān felt disturbed, but he considered his mission. Where else could he find Sītā? He had to look for her among Rāvaṇa’s women. And he had not looked at them with even a slight tinge of lust. His mind was steady, firmly fixed on Rāma’s service. It was not possible that sin could overcome him in such circumstances.
Feeling reassured but simultaneously despondent at not finding Sītā, Hanumān came out of the bed chamber. Where should he look now? How could he return without finding Sītā? What would he say to Sugrīva and Rāma when they asked him, “What did you accomplish upon reaching Lanka?” Maybe that sorrowful lady had died of grief. Or perhaps the Rākṣasas had devoured Her. Hanumān could not bear such thoughts. He had to keep looking. If he could not find Sītā, then he would fast until death.
Thinking in this way he went along the paths outside the palace. As he walked he saw ahead of him the palace gardens. They had not yet been searched. Hanumān prayed to the gods that he might at last succeed in finding Sītā. He paused as he reached the gardens and thought of Rāma. Thrilled at the prospect of finding the princess, he leapt up onto the top of the surrounding wall.
From his vantage point Hanumān surveyed the lovely grove, which was lit by the moon. A sweet fragrance reached his nostrils as he looked over the large enclosure. He saw blossoming trees of every kind, as well as silvery creepers and golden shrubs. Flowers grew everywhere along the sides of immaculate lawns. Peacocks and parrots perched on the trees, along with many other varieties of colorful birds. Hanumān ran quickly along the wall, carefully examining the garden. He jumped from tree to tree and they shed their flowers, making the earth appear like a richly adorned woman. As he leapt he awoke flocks of birds who flew upwards, shaking the branches of the trees and showering Hanumān with blossoms.
Hanumān moved impetuously, anxious to find Sītā. He saw ponds of different shapes full of lotuses and sleeping swans. There were bathing pools with golden steps leading down to them and banks of fine sand made entirely of crushed pearls. Rivulets ran between silver trees covered over by flowers of gold. Fruits such as Hanumān had never seen hung from the boughs of the trees. Everywhere the monkey looked he was wonderstruck at the opulence. In the center of the garden he came upon a large simshapa tree. He climbed to its top and gazed around in all directions, eager to catch sight of Sītā. At a distance away he saw a temple situated in a large grove of ashoka trees. Those trees, with their thousands of bright red blossoms appearing in every season, seemed as though made entirely of flowers. Simply by looking upon those splendid trees, a man would feel his grief dispelled. The lofty temple amid the trees was standing on a thousand marble pillars. It looked like Mount Kailāsa, Śiva’s glorious abode. Steps of coral rose up to a large terrace of refined gold.
Hanumān spotted a woman lying near the temple. She was surrounded by Rākṣasīs and tossing about on the ground. Hanumān leapt through the trees to take a closer look. The woman was clad in soiled garments, but She was beautiful, like a diamond covered in dust. Her slender body was smeared with dirt. She lay repeatedly sighing and seemed distraught, Her face streaked with tears.
This was surely Sītā. Hanumān felt his heart leap with joy, but it was agony to see Her in such a wretched condition, appearing in every way like the eclipsed moon. Although fallen to the ground and weeping, She spread about Her a golden luster. Enmeshed in a mighty web of grief, She seemed like a flame intertwined by smoke. Her dark eyes, with their long black lashes, darted about helplessly, like those of a fawn snared by a hunter.
Hanumān gazed upon Her. He recognized the celestial yellow garment he had seen waving in the breeze when Rāvaṇa had passed over the Rishyamukha. This was undoubtedly the lady seized by that demon. The monkey gazed with sorrow at the princess. How powerful and inscrutable was destiny! Sītā was the daughter of a king and the wife of an invincible hero, yet She was now suffering torment. She was gentle, kind and always virtuous, undeserving of any pain. How then had She been placed in such terrible circumstances? It was inconceivable.
Hanumān thought of Rāma. How could he now best fulfill his Lord’s purpose? Sītā was difficult to approach because She was surrounded by hundreds of fierce Rākṣasīs. Hanumān examined them carefully. All of the Rākṣasīs were ugly and grossly misshapen. Some had one eye in their foreheads, others had huge ears that covered their bodies, some had heads like boars, tigers, buffalos, goats, deer or foxes. Some had their head sunk into their chests. They were all sizes, some very tall, others dwarf humpbacks. Some had the legs and feet of elephants, camels or horses. Some had abnormally long and twisted noses, some had large pointed ears or fierce lion-like teeth. Others had hair down to their feet and hands with claws.
The sight of the Rākṣasīs made one’s hair stand on end. They clutched various types of weapons and stood or sat about Sītā, watching in all directions. In their midst the noble princess seemed like the moon besieged by malevolent planets. Hanumān thought carefully. He remained hiding among the boughs of the tree. Dawn was approaching and the sky to the east was beginning to lighten.
Just at that time Rāvaṇa was being awakened. Musical instruments were played and poets sang his glories. The demon rose up with his hair and garments in disarray, still intoxicated by the strong liquors he had drunk the night before. Immediately he thought of Sītā. Quickly arranging his dress and adorning himself with every kind of ornament, Rāvaṇa went out of his rooms toward the gardens and made his way hastily to the ashoka grove. Behind him came one hundred beautiful maidens, their large hips and breasts swaying as they struggled to keep up with him. They carried whisks with golden handles, oil torches, pitchers of wine and pure white umbrellas. Their gold ornaments jangled together and flowers fell from their hair and garlands as they ran. Moving behind the demon they appeared like flashes of lightning following a cloud.
Although he possessed great power, the evil-minded Rāvaṇa was a slave to his lusty desires. With his mind fixed upon Sītā, he passed through the golden, gem-encrusted arches at the entrance to the ashoka grove. In a god-like human form he headed straight for the place where Sītā lay, longing to get another sight of the divine princess. As he walked he composed poetic phrases in his mind to win Sītā over.
Hanumān, concealed in his tree, heard the tinkling of ankle bells approaching. He looked around and saw Rāvaṇa making his way along the path, illumined on all sides by bright torches. The demon moved quickly with his slanted coppery eyes staring straight ahead. He was adjusting his upper garment of pure white silk embellished with flowers and pearls. Preoccupied with his thoughts of Sītā, he got his golden armlet entangled with his necklace of shining jewels, and he struggled to release it as he strode along the path.
Hanumān remained completely still as Rāvaṇa passed by the tree where he was hidden. Once the group of women had passed him, however, Hanumān leapt down and silently followed them toward Sītā. The monkey hid behind the trunk of a large tree close to Sītā and cautiously peered around it to see Rāma’s glorious consort seated on the ground, trembling at the sight of Rāvaṇa approaching Her. Her knees were drawn up to Her chest and She held them tight with Her arms.
Rāvaṇa, who appeared youthful and majestic, and who shone with a brilliant aura, stood before the princess. She looked miserable and stricken, like a rose creeper torn from a tree and thrown to the ground. She appeared like a shattered faith, or a frustrated hope, or an abandoned treasure. She was covered with dirt yet charming as a pure white lotus stained with mud. Weeping incessantly, She tossed about on the bare earth, Her mind absorbed in thoughts of Rāma.
The Rākṣasa king sought to seduce Her, as a fool would walk heedlessly toward a steep precipice. He gazed down at the forlorn Sītā, who did not even glance up at him. With Her palms folded She prayed to Viṣṇu that He might soon bring Rāma to Her presence.
Rāvaṇa said, “O most splendid jewel among women, do not be afraid of me. I am here only to render You service. Why do You lie here in a wretched condition? Rise up and enjoy with me. I shall provide You with pleasures only the gods know.”
Sītā turned Her face away in contempt, Her body wracked by sobs. Rāvaṇa had tried to win Her over each day since taking Her captive, but his attempts sickened Her. She longed for the day when Rāma would come and destroy the demon. Surely that time would soon come. She did not feel that She could take much more of Rāvaṇa’s torment.
Sītā’s resistance only made Rāvaṇa’s desire for Her the more insistent. He stared at Her incomparably beautiful form. Even though She had been fasting and had not washed since he had kidnapped Her, She was still far more lovely than any of his consorts. Indeed, if it were not for Nalakuvara’s curse. . .
The demon folded his hands in supplication. “What will you gain by lying here grieving? Your youth is passing swiftly and will soon be gone. Enjoy with me now while you can. There are none in the universe who can compare with me in virility and power. You are the finest of all women. I believe that after creating you the celebrated Brahmā must have retired, seeing his work to have reached perfection.”
Rāvaṇa offered Her the position of his principal queen. He would subjugate the entire world and offer it to her father Janaka. He had already conquered the gods in heaven and now stood unchallenged as the most powerful person in the universe. What could Rāma do against him? Sītā should stop thinking of Her puny prince, who was clad in rags and lived in a lonely forest. Perhaps, Rāvaṇa suggested, Rāma had already died. There was no chance that She would ever see Him again. And even if He should somehow find His way to Lanka, He would be immediately destroyed by Rāvaṇa, standing at the head of an unlimited number of invincible Rākṣasas.
The demon went on, his voice rising and falling melodiously as he implored Sītā. “Become my wife, O most beloved one, and enjoy life. Put on the best of garments and gold ornaments. Shake off Your grief and range freely with me in delightful groves along the seashore.”
Sītā shuddered at Rāvaṇa’s sinful suggestion. Without looking at him, and placing a symbolic blade of grass between Herself and the demon, She replied, “Give up your futile hope. You no more deserve Me than a sinful man deserves perfection. How do you expect Me to perform an act condemned by all pious women? How do you imagine that I will rest upon the arm of any other man after I have once rested upon Rāma’s arm? Do you not realize that molesting the wives of others leads only to destruction? Evidently there is no one in Lanka who knows morality. Or perhaps you have become so degraded that you are simply unable to heed good advice.”
Rāvaṇa snorted in anger. He clenched and unclenched his fists. There seemed to be no way of winning this woman. His eyes remained fixed upon Her as She continued without looking at him. “You should know Me to be as inseparable from Rāma as sunlight is inseparable from the sun. Unite Me with Rāma at once if you wish to do good for yourself and your Rākṣasa race. Make friends with Rāma. Otherwise, see your city, yourself and all the demons destroyed for good. If I am kept here, you will soon see well-aimed arrows joined end to end filling the sky. They will rain down upon Lanka like so many fire-mouthed serpents. You were able to steal Me only when Rāma and His brother were not present. Indeed, O weak one, it is not possible for you to stand in the sight of Rāma and Lakṣman any more than a dog can remain under the gaze of a pair of lions.”
Sītā rebuked Rāvaṇa further. Even if he sought shelter on the peak of Mount Meru or descended to Varuṇa’s abode, he would not escape from Rāma. By his wicked act of stealing Sītā he was already killed by his own destiny. Rāma would be the instrument to fulfill that fate. With the evil Rāvaṇa remaining their leader, the Rākṣasa race would be destroyed to their roots.
Sītā spoke harshly. “I would burn you to ashes Myself by the power of My asceticism and chastity, but I do not have My lord’s order. Nor do I wish to waste My ascetic merits on such a wretch as yourself.”
Rāvaṇa was furious. Breathing heavily he spoke slowly, his deep voice barely constraining his rage. “Because of Your insolent words You deserve to be put to death. Only my love for you prevents me from having You immediately killed. You have a few more months left of Your one-year reprieve. If by then You have not submitted to me, then my cooks will mince You up for my morning meal.”
The demon then turned away from Sītā. His eyes flamed and his tongue darted out of his mouth. His shining diadem and his broad, powerful shoulders shook with his anger. His red robes swirled about him as he walked away and his large reddish-gold earrings swung back and forth. With his dark blue waist cloth he appeared like a mountain topped with crimson oxides and lit by lightning bolts. As he left the grove he turned to the Rākṣasīs. “Use whatever means you can to change this princess’s mind. By soft words, coercion and threats, force Her to submit. Dissuade Her from thoughts of Rāma and convince Her to accept me. This will be in your own interests, O Rākṣasīs.”
With a roar of frustration Rāvaṇa left the garden, his heavy footfalls receding into the distance. As Hanumān continued to watch, the fierce Rākṣasīs began to harass Sītā, asking in rasping and grating voices why She was reluctant to accept Rāvaṇa as Her lord. The Rākṣasa king was the son of a great ṛṣi. He had vanquished the thirty-three principal gods in battle. Even Indra could not stand before him. Now that very Rāvaṇa was bowing at Her feet, begging for Her favor. He was prepared to renounce his principal consort, the chaste and beautiful Mandodari for Sītā’s sake.
Numerous Rākṣasīs cajoled Sītā in various ways. They told Her to stop pining foolishly for Rāma, a mere human. Of what consequence was Rāma when compared to Rāvaṇa? She obviously had no idea what was best for Her.
Sītā turned away from the Rākṣasīs. Their advice was useless. She could no more abandon Rāma than heat could abandon fire. She spoke with tear-filled eyes. “Devour Me if you will, I shall never become Rāvaṇa’s wife. As Śacī waits upon Indra, as Arundhati upon Vasiṣṭha and Rohini upon the moon-god, so do I always wait upon My lord.”
The Rākṣasīs were filled with rage when Sītā rejected their counsel. They resorted to harsh and threatening language. Licking their protruding lips with their dart-like tongues, they raised their axes and other weapons at Sītā. Sītā stood up and walked toward the tree were Hanumān was hiding, with a group of Rākṣasīs surrounding and intimidating Her. Seeing Her approach, the monkey quickly climbed up into the branches of the tree. As he looked down from the tree he saw Sītā severely afflicted by Her Rākṣasī guards. They spoke fiercely. “Submit to Rāvaṇa, O princess, or this very day I shall tear out Your heart and eat it!”
Brandishing a huge dart one Rākṣasī said, “For a long time I have wanted to feast on Your liver and spleen, as well as Your swollen breasts and indeed all Your limbs.”
Hanumān burned with anger. He felt the impulse to leap down amid the Rākṣasīs and immediately thrash them, but he restrained himself, intelligently waiting for an opportunity to first speak with Sītā. If he revealed himself now, there would be chaos and the chance to reassure Sītā would be lost.
Continuously tormented, Sītā fell to the ground weeping. She cried out to the Rākṣasīs, “A human woman is not fit to be the wife of the Rākṣasa king. Therefore finish Me now, Rākṣasīs. End My misery!”
Sītā embraced the tree, calling out Rāma’s name. Her face was pale and She shook with sobs. As She tossed Her head about Her long braid of hair writhed like a black snake. She wondered what kind of sin She must have committed in Her past life that She must now endure this suffering. If it were not for Her longing to again see Rāma, She would have ended Her own life. How could She endure another visit from Rāvaṇa?
Sītā turned to the Rākṣasīs, who were still threatening Her as She lay clutching the tree. “O wicked ones, I would not touch Rāvaṇa even with My left foot. That evil one should understand it now. I would not go to him even under threat of being transfixed, hacked to pieces, roasted in fire or hurled down from mountain peaks.”
The princess thought continuously of Rāma. Why had He not come to rescue Her? Surely He had not abandoned Her. Perhaps He did not know where She was. But Jatayu must have told Him. Or maybe the bird died before getting the chance. If Rāma knew Her to be in Lanka, then without doubt He would have reduced the city to ashes by now. The ocean would present no problem. Rāma’s fiery arrows would dry it up in an instant. But what if Rāma had perished from grief, being unable to find Her? Lakṣman would also die, seeing His brother gone. Maybe, after losing Her, Rāma had practiced yoga and become detached from worldy things such as love for His wife. But that could not be possible in one like Rāma; He would never become detached from His duty. Protecting one’s wife was always the duty of pious men.
Sītā lamented, thinking only of Her husband. She envied the perfect mystics who had transcended the dualities of happiness and distress. For them the loss of relatives did not cause any sorrow, nor did they long for any pleasing thing. If only She could experience their peace. As She lay absorbed in such thoughts, a Rākṣasī named Trijata stepped forward and restrained her companions. She had just risen from sleep and told them of a dream she had experienced.
“I saw a shining personality, who was surely Rāma, mounted upon a celestial chariot drawn by a thousand horses and coursing through the air. He was united with Sītā. The couple wore white robes and white garlands and were ablaze with splendor. I also saw Rāvaṇa, robed in black with a red garland and sitting on a chariot drawn by asses.”
Trijata described her dream in detail: Rāvaṇa had entered a fearful darkness, his body smeared with excrement. She saw all of Rāvaṇa’s sons and ministers with their heads shaved and bodies bathed with oil. She saw Lanka being set alight by an agile monkey and all of the Rākṣasas disappearing into a pool of cow dung.
The Rākṣasīs knew the science of interpreting dreams. It seemed from Trijata’s dream that a great calamity was about to befall Rāvaṇa. Sītā was heartened by Trijata. She sat up and as She did so She felt Her left eye throbbing and Her left arm palpitating. This was an auspicious omen. That omen, along with Trijata’s dream, gave Sītā hope. She felt that Rāma must surely be near. The Rākṣasīs fell away from Her, some of them running to report to Rāvaṇa.
2.14: Sītā is Found
In the tree Hanumān considered what to do next. He wanted to comfort Sītā and give Her Rāma’s ring, but he was not sure how to approach Her. She would likely think him to be Rāvaṇa in disguise using sorcery to trick her. She might cry out and alert the Rākṣasas. What then? He could be killed or captured. How would Rāma’s purpose be served if that happened? What other monkey could leap across the ocean and return?
Hanumān thought carefully. He decided to remain in the tree and sing praises of Rāma so that Sītā could hear. The Rākṣasīs had moved away to a distance and would not notice. Hanumān started to speak out loud. “In the city of Ayodhya there lived a great ruler named Daśaratha. That lordly king begot a valiant son named Rāma, who possesses every good quality. Going to the forest in obedience to His aged and pious father, Prince Rāma slayed in battle many violent demons.”
Hanumān related in brief Rāma’s history up until the time of Sītā’s abduction. He described what had happened to Rāma in Her absence since then, leading up to his own leap across the ocean and arrival in the ashoka grove.
Sītā was struck with wonder to hear the voice from the tree. She looked up and all around Her, feeling joy upon hearing Rāma’s activities described. As She gazed into the boughs of the tree She saw among the leaves Hanumān’s tawny figure. The small monkey sat humbly with his palms folded. Immediately She became afraid. Who was this creature? What was he doing in the tree? Was this Rāvaṇa’s trick? But remembering the auspicious omens, Sītā became thoughtful. She prayed to the gods that Hanumān’s words might prove true.
Hanumān slipped down from the tree and bowed low before Sītā with his joined palms raised above his head. “I assume You are Sītā, consort of the highly blessed Rāma. I am an envoy dispatched by Rāma to seek You, O noble lady. Along with His brother Lakṣman, Rāma waits in grief for some news of Your whereabouts.”
Sītā felt overjoyed to hear of Rāma, but She was still suspicious. What if this was Rāvaṇa? Nevertheless, upon seeing the monkey She was feeling a strange calm and peace of mind. She looked carefully at Hanumān and asked, “How can I know that you are not Rāvaṇa?”
Hanumān reassured Her. He described the features of both Rāma and Lakṣman in great detail, telling Her everything he knew about the two princes. Hanumān then told Her about himself and how he had come to meet with Rāma. He spoke confidently. “Now that I have found You I will soon return to Rāma. You will see Your lord arrive here before long, marching at the head of an unlimited number of powerful monkeys and bears.”
Hanumān showed Her the ring Rāma had given him. He handed it to Sītā and She immediately recognized it. She was now convinced by Hanumān. Standing up in excitement She felt unlimited joy. Her eyes shed tears of happiness and Her face shone brightly. She praised Hanumān. “You have achieved a great feat in crossing the wide ocean and entering this fortified city. O noble monkey, surely you are the foremost of Rāma’s servants.”
Sītā wondered why Rāma Himself had not come there. Why had He not smashed the city of Lanka and taken Her back? Was He still strong in mind and body? Was Lakṣman well? Sītā questioned Hanumān eagerly and the monkey replied, “Rāma does not know Your exact whereabouts, O godly lady, but He is well and awaiting news of You. As soon as He hears my report He will come here with His army and rid the world of Rākṣasas. There can be no doubt whatsoever.”
Hanumān assured Sītā that Rāma was always thinking of Her. Indeed, His mind was distracted by grief due to Her separation. He could not eat properly and hardly slept. Rāma sat for long periods gazing into the distance, sighing heavily. He would not even brush from His body gnats and mosquitoes, oblivious to everything as He thought of Sītā. From time to time He would call out Her name and shed tears.
Sītā felt simultaneous joy and grief as She heard of Her husband and His own grief for Her. She sat lost in thought of Rāma for some time, looking like the bright moon seen through a veil of clouds. The monkey’s words were like nectar mixed with poison. She could not tolerate hearing of Rāma’s sorrow. Her beautiful eyelids with their long black lashes fluttered as She blinked away Her tears. She spoke to Hanumān, who sat with his palms folded and head bowed. “O valiant monkey, you must quickly bring Rāma. Only a short time remains till the merciless Rāvaṇa will have Me killed. The demon will not heed any good advice and is bent on bringing about his own destruction, held as he is in the grip of Death.”
Sītā told Hanumān that She had heard how Rāvaṇa’s brother and minister, Vibhishana, had repeatedly exhorted the demon king to return Sītā. He and other wise Rākṣasas warned Rāvaṇa that keeping Sītā would result in the annihilation of the Rākṣasas. But Rāvaṇa would not listen. Sītā had heard this from Vibhishana’s wife, who had befriended the princess.
When he heard that Sītā’s life was threatened, Hanumān became alarmed. He spoke urgently. “Let me take You from this place immediately, O princess of Mithila. You may climb upon my back and I shall leap across the sea with ease. Do not be fearful. I could easily carry the whole of Lanka, Rāvaṇa and all. Therefore mount upon my back and I shall transport You to Rāma’s presence this very day.”
Sītā looked at Hanumān, who still appeared as a normal monkey less than half her size. She spoke in surprise. “Your proposal is surely quite monkey-like, O gallant one. How shall I even get on your back?”
Hanumān was piqued. This was the first time his strength and power had been questioned. Obviously Sītā was not aware of his abilities. He needed to give Her a demonstration. Hanumān began to expand his body, growing up to a huge size. He looked down at Sītā and said, “I have the capacity to lift up this entire island, with its hills, woodlands, lakes, city, defensive walls and the very lord of Lanka, Rāvaṇa himself. Be done with your hesitation, O princess, and allow me to carry You to Rāma.”
Sītā gazed up in amazement at Hanumān, who stood before Her like a tawny mountain. She was reassured of his ability, but was still doubtful about traveling on his back. She said, “You are like the wind-god himself, dear monkey. When you fly with great speed it will be difficult for Me to hold fast to you. The force of your flight will likely render Me unconscious. I will then fall into the ocean, only to be devoured by fierce aquatics.”
Sītā also feared that Hanumān would not be able to leave Lanka with Her. The Rākṣasas would spot them and give chase. They were capable of fighting in the air with powerful weapons and Hanumān would be hard-pressed to retaliate as he flew with Sītā on his back.
Sītā explained that there were still other reasons why She could not take up Hanumān’s offer. “I have vowed never to touch the body of any man other than Rāma. I am already mortified due to being grasped by the sinful Rāvaṇa. I could not voluntarily touch another man. Nor could I allow anyone other than Rāma to rescue Me, thereby diminishing Rāma’s fame. I therefore prefer to wait for My lord, confident that He will soon arrive.”
Hanumān nodded in assent to Sītā’s words. She was right. It would not be possible for Her to cling to him while he flew swiftly back. And he respected Her chastity, which was without comparison in the world. Resuming his normal size he said, “I shall now go back to Rāma. Please give me some token so that He will know that I have actually met with You.”
Sītā replied to him in a voice choked with tears. “You may give Him this token in the form of a message. Remind Him of the time when We lived together on the Chitrakuta mountain and how I was once attacked by a crow and Rāma gave Me protection.”
Sītā told Hanumān in detail about the incident. The crow in question was Indra’s son and he had wanted to witness Rāma’s prowess. He had attacked Sītā, whereupon Rāma had thrown a blade of grass at him, imbuing it with the power of the brahmāstra. The empowered grass had chased the crow across the universe and finally destroyed one of his eyes. Rāma would remember that incident and know that only Sītā could have recalled it.
Hanumān asked if Sītā had any message for Rāma. The princess replied, “You should report to Rāma My wretched condition. Although I have the invincible Rāma as My protector, I now appear like one forlorn. He should lose no time in rescuing Me. He is capable of advancing against the entire host of gods and demons united together, what to speak of Rāvaṇa.”
Sītā took from Her cloth a brilliant celestial gem which She had used to decorate Her hair. Handing the yellow jewel to Hanumān She said, “Give this gem to Rāma and say to Him, ‘Even as Viṣṇu rescued the Goddess Earth from the depths of the ocean, You should descend into the midst of the Rākṣasas and save Me.’ O monkey, deliver this message to My lord.”
Hanumān took the jewel and bowed low to Sītā. It was time to leave. But he wanted first to test the Rākṣasas’ strength. Now that he had actually penetrated into Lanka he saw his opportunity. If he could incite the Rākṣasas to fight with him, it would give him some idea of their force and power. And besides that, Hanumān wanted to do some damage to the demon forces before he left.
Thinking in this way, Hanumān, still in a vast form, began ripping up the trees and bushes in the gardens. He tore down the walls and archways and hurled them into the ponds. Moving like a tempest and roaring all the while, the Vanara created havoc in the grove. He took up a huge iron bar and stood at the entrance to the garden, eagerly awaiting the arrival of Rākṣasa troops.
The inhabitants of Rāvaṇa’s palace were terrified to hear Hanumān’s roar, along with the crash of trees and the cries of frightened animals. The Rākṣasīs, who had been buried in sleep, woke with a start. They saw Hanumān standing at the gate of the garden like a towering hill. Some of them had already noticed that Sītā was speaking to a monkey and they questioned Her about his identity.
“How should I know anything about this wonderful being?” She replied. “You are the ones skilled in sorcery and magic. Why then can you not ascertain for yourselves the nature of this creature?”
Some of the Rākṣasīs ran in fear to Rāvaṇa. They reported to him that the monkey had entirely destroyed the beautiful gardens, leaving only the large simshapa tree under which Sītā lay.
Rāvaṇa flared up. His eyes blazed and hot tears fell from them like drops of burning oil from a lamp. He thought for a moment. This attacker was probably a powerful emissary of the gods or even Viṣṇu. No one else would dare assail Lanka. Rāvaṇa ordered a select band of Rākṣasa warriors, the Kiṅkarās, to capture Hanumān. Eighty thousand of them immediately gathered and left for the garden. The massive Rākṣasas were endowed with extraordinary might, had large teeth and held fierce weapons. They rushed in a body toward the ashoka grove, keen to lay hold of Hanumān.
Seeing the colossal monkey they darted at him like moths toward a flame. They attacked Hanumān with their sharp-edged spears, maces, clubs, iron pikes and scimitars, surrounding him and shouting loudly. Waves of arrows sped toward Hanumān, rushing through the air and sounding like a roaring gale.
Hanumān assumed an even larger form. He lashed the ground with his tail and uttered a great cry. “Victory to Rāma and Lakṣman! I am Hanumān, the son of the wind-god, and I am here as Rāma’s servant. Not even a thousand Rāvaṇas can withstand me. I shall destroy Lanka and then return to my master.”
The Kiṅkarās were struck with fear upon seeing Hanumān’s size and hearing his booming voice, which shook the earth. They closed in on him in thousands. Hanumān whirled the iron bar and began striking the demons down. Bounding into the air and tearing through the Rākṣasa ranks, Hanumān swiftly annihilated them. He moved like the wind and could hardly be seen by the Rākṣasas. In a short time they were virtually wiped out. A few of them survived and ran back to Rāvaṇa.
The demon king became even more furious. He ordered one of his great generals, Jambumali, to attack Hanumān. The Rākṣasa bowed to Rāvaṇa and went out for battle clutching his golden bow. Jambumali mounted a chariot drawn by a hundred tall steeds with the heads of fiends. He twanged his bowstring, making a sound like thunder and, roaring with anger, raced toward the palace gardens.
Meanwhile Hanumān had been looking around to see what further destruction he could cause. He saw an enormous temple atop a great hill where the Rākṣasas worshipped their guardian deity. He quickly climbed the hill and scaled the side of the temple, which appeared like the sheer face of a mountain. As he went up the wall of the temple, the effulgent Hanumān resembled the rising sun. Repeatedly crying out, “Victory to Rāma!” he began tearing down the buttresses and large stone arches all around the temple. In minutes he reduced the entire edifice to a pile of rubble.
Hanumān leapt down from the hill and spotted Jambumali coming toward him. The demon was dressed in crimson robes with a garland of bright red flowers round his neck and a chaplet of red jewels on his head. Large gold earrings shone brilliantly from his blackish-blue pointed ears. He roared loudly and fired a hundred long shafts from his bow.
Hanumān also roared when he saw the demon. He stood joyfully in front of the bellowing Rākṣasa. Jambumali pierced the monkey all over with his terrible arrows. With one large crescent-headed shaft he struck Hanumān in the mouth, while with a number of barbed arrows he hit him in his arms and legs. His head stained with blood, Hanumān looked like a large red lotus in the sky. He was infuriated and he took up an immense boulder, hurling it with tremendous force at Jambumali.
The demon laughed and instantly released ten powerful arrows which smashed the flying rock into fragments. Enraged, Hanumān then uprooted a sal tree and whirled it about. Jambumali again shot his razor-sharp arrows and cut the tree to pieces. He continued to pierce Hanumān with more and more arrows.
The monkey lost his patience and again took up the great iron rod with which he had slain the Kiṅkarās. With innumerable arrows sticking from his body he rushed toward the demon. He bounded into the air and came down onto Jambumali’s chariot, bringing the rod down onto his skull. Smashed by Hanumān, the demon’s head was pressed into his body, which itself was crushed into a shapeless mass. The chariot was shattered and the demonic donkeys ran here and there, bellowing in fear.
Rāvaṇa was astounded to hear that Jambumali had been slain. He again ordered seven more of his generals to go out for battle. The Rākṣasa warriors went out to meet Hanumān shouting in joy, each of them eager to excel the others in battle. They mounted large chariots overlaid with golden armor and decked with banners and flags. Rumbling like thunderclouds, the chariots rushed toward Hanumān. The demons were expert in the use of celestial weapons and they began to release all kinds of missiles at the great monkey.
Hanumān leapt into the sky and wheeled about with his arms and legs outstretched. He dodged the arrows and missiles of the Rākṣasas, who themselves rose into the sky to fight him. As he sported with the Rākṣasas, who each held a golden bow, Hanumān looked like the powerful wind-god playing among thunderclouds with streaks of lightning. He swept down upon the demons one by one, striking them with his hands and feet. Hanumān killed all of them, and they fell to the ground like mountains struck down by Indra’s thunderbolt.
Hanumān then descended to earth and stood again at the gateway to the gardens, eager to fight with more demons. The ground was strewn with the bodies of Rākṣasas and smashed chariots. Elephants and horses cried in dissonant tones and blood flowed everywhere. In order to strike terror into the Rākṣasas and create dissension among their ranks, Hanumān shouted, “Send out your best fighters, Rāvaṇa! They will meet the same fate as these here. I am Hanumān, servant of Rāma. Soon millions of monkeys like myself will arrive here, accompanied by Rāma Himself. What use is your fighting? Release Sītā now and restore Her to Rāma!”
Rāvaṇa decided that Hanumān could not possibly be a monkey. Surely he was a divine being created by the gods. The demon had seen some mighty Vanaras, but this one seemed extraordinarily powerful. Still, surely he could be vanquished. Rāvaṇa and his warriors had overcome the gods themselves; it should not be too difficult to overpower this monkey, whoever he may be. Rāvaṇa summoned five more exceptionally powerful leaders of his army. Encouraging them by praising their strength and skill in battle, he sent them out to capture Hanumān. He had to find out who this monkey was and why he had come to Lanka.
But one after another Hanumān slew the Rākṣasa generals. He struck down the first three with his thunderbolt-like fists. The other two then assailed Hanumān from his two sides, hurling their fierce weapons with great force. Hanumān, who himself looked like a mountain, tore off the top of the nearby hill, complete with its beasts, snakes and trees. Soaring upwards with that great crag, he brought it down upon the two demons and completely crushed them.
Hanumān then began slaying thousands of other Rākṣasas who were gathered there. He killed warriors by striking them with other warriors, elephants with other elephants, and horses with horses. The ground was covered with corpses. Hanumān appeared like the Time Spirit bent upon the destruction of all created beings.
Rāvaṇa considered the situation. This being was formidable. He had wiped out a number of near invincible Rākṣasa chiefs. Nevertheless, how could anyone ever defeat Rāvaṇa? That was impossible. Admittedly the goddess Lanka had previously come screaming to him, speaking of his imminent destruction, but Rāvaṇa was still confident. If necessary he himself would deal with the monkey, but first let him contend with Rāvaṇa’s powerful sons. That should take care of him. Rāvaṇa turned to Prince Aksha, who sat by his side. Spurred on by his father’s glance, Aksha rose from his seat and went out for battle.
He mounted his golden chariot which shone like the sun. It was yoked to eight celestial steeds, all as swift as thought. A large red standard, studded with bright gems, flew from a bejeweled pole. Rows of fierce lances and javelins were arranged alongside numerous quivers of razor-headed arrows. Eight long and terrible-looking swords were fastened to the sides of the chariot in silver scabbards emblazoned with golden moons and stars. Urging on his steeds Aksha rose above the ground and swept toward the gardens, accompanied by thousands of other demons on elephants, horses and chariots.
The Rākṣasa prince arrived before Hanumān in a few moments. He paused for a minute to assess his opponent’s strength. Aksha was awestruck to see the mountainous monkey standing ready for combat. Hanumān looked to him like the blazing fire of universal dissolution. But the prince was accomplished in battle and he felt no fear. He gazed at Hanumān with his large red eyes, which resembled those of a lion. Aksha drew his great bow to its full length and sent three powerful arrows toward the monkey. The arrows struck Hanumān’s head and he bled profusely, giving him the appearance of the newly risen sun.
Hanumān, his eyes bulging in indignation, looked down at the Rākṣasa. Aksha wore a breastplate which seemed to be made entirely from gems, it shone so brilliantly. His golden armlets flashed while he worked his beautiful ornate bow. As he assailed Hanumān, Aksha seemed like a dark cloud covered by a rainbow, pouring a shower of flaming arrows onto a large mountain.
Seeing an opportunity to again display his prowess for Rāma’s cause, Hanumān roared in joy and sprang into the air. He darted about evading Aksha’s arrows with the speed of the wind. Aksha’s chariot followed him through the air like an elephant approaching a large covered well. The prince continuously fired his deadly weapons at Hanumān, who wheeled about like a firebrand.
Witnessing the fearful encounter between the Vanara and the Rākṣasa, the gods were amazed. The sun grew dim, the wind ceased blowing and the sky echoed with loud shrieks. Even the sea convulsed and the Trikuta mountain shook.
Hanumān considered that the prince was a worthy opponent, although only a boy. The Rākṣasa was growing in strength as he fought. He stuck to Hanumān wherever the monkey flew and pierced him with thousands of razor-sharp arrows. Hanumān became more and more infuriated and he made up his mind to kill Aksha. Suddenly turning as he was pursued by the prince, Hanumān struck the eight steeds with his palms and killed them outright. As his chariot descended to the earth, Aksha rose up into the air, holding his bow and sword. He resembled an effulgent ṛṣi who had quit his body through yoga and was ascending to the realm of the gods.
As the prince flew through the sky Hanumān met him and took hold of his two legs. Spinning him around violently, the monkey swiftly descended from the air and dashed him to the ground. With his bones smashed and body bathed in blood Aksha fell dead.
Hosts of ṛṣis, Yakṣas and Nāgas who ranged the stellar sphere had gathered in a body in the canopy of the sky to watch the conflict. Observing Hanumān’s stupendous feat in killing Aksha, they applauded and rained down celestial flowers.
Rāvaṇa was filled with grief and rage. He turned to his eldest son, Indrajit. This prince had earned his name, ‘the conqueror of Indra,’ by once taking captive the mighty king of the gods. He had command of all the mystic missiles, including even the infallible brahmāstra, presided over by Brahmā himself. Rāvaṇa extolled his son at length. He ordered him to go out and take Hanumān captive. The Rākṣasa king felt confident that Indrajit would succeed and he watched with affection as the obedient prince marched out for combat.
Indrajit rushed out like the sea on a full moon day. He mounted a chariot drawn by four sabre-tooth tigers of immense size. With an arrow fitted to his bow he swiftly arrived before Hanumān. Upon seeing the banner Indrajit had seized from Indra, Hanumān roared loudly in joy, realizing that he faced the famous conqueror of Indra. The crash of the wooden tom-toms and war drums which accompanied Indrajit increased Hanumān’s martial ardor. He grew even further in size and again leapt into the sky.
Indrajit fired his long-shafted arrows, which were covered in gold and had beautifully feathered ends. They screamed through the air with their steel points glowing bright red. Hanumān moved rapidly in all directions and skillfully avoided them. The Rākṣasa released more and more deadly shafts and they traveled in long lines, like streaks of lightning, but the Rākṣasa could not hit the swiftly moving monkey. Nor could Hanumān find any opportunity to take hold of Indrajit. The gods and ṛṣis were struck with wonder as they watched the two accomplished warriors wheeling about in the sky.
The Rākṣasa realized that Hanumān was formidable. But if he was a created being then he would surely succumb to the might of the creator’s weapon, the brahmāstra. Indrajit fitted to his bow the special arrow he reserved for the brahmāstra. He chanted the mantras sacred to Brahmā and released the missile. Hanumān, instantly bound by the divine force of the irresistible weapon, fell to the earth with his limbs stunned. He understood that the brahmāstra had overpowered him and considered the situation.
Hanumān had been given a boon by Brahmā that the brahmāstra would only be effective upon him for a short while. He knew he would soon be released. But this was an opportunity for him to be taken before Rāvaṇa himself. That would be useful. He could deliver a stern ultimatum to the Rākṣasa on Rāma’s behalf and then make his escape.
Having reduced his body to its normal size, Hanumān was surrounded by a large number of fierce Rākṣasas who quickly bound him with large ropes. Hitting and kicking Hanumān, they began dragging him toward Rāvaṇa’s palace on Indrajit’s order. Hanumān feigned fear and, even as the effect of the brahmāstra wore off, allowed himself to be taken to Rāvaṇa. Within his mind the monkey thought only of Rāma and how he could best serve Him now.
The demons dragged Hanumān into Rāvaṇa’s great assembly hall and threw him before the Rākṣasa king. Rāvaṇa’s fierce-looking ministers reviled Hanumān. Some said, “Let him be thrashed, roasted alive and devoured.” But Rāvaṇa was inquisitive. Who was this being? Why had he caused so much havoc in Lanka? The demon turned to his chief minister and ordered him to interrogate Hanumān. The monkey immediately said, “I am a messenger arrived from Sugrīva, king of the Vanaras. Both he and I are the servants of Rāma, the Lord of this world.”
Hanumān looked up at Rāvaṇa. He was awestruck by the demon’s opulence. Rāvaṇa sat upon a vast crystal throne studded with gems and raised on a platform of gold. On his head he wore a brilliant diadem set with priceless jewels and encircled by strings of pearls. His limbs were decorated with numerous gold ornaments inlaid with diamonds. He wore valuable silk robes and was adorned with crimson sandal-paste, painted with peculiar designs. His ruddy eyes were at once terrible and yet as attractive as large lotus petals. With his twenty powerful arms he looked like a mountain infested by five-hooded serpents. On both sides he was being fanned by elegantly adorned young women. Next to him sat his four principal advisors, who leaned across to him offering advice and reassurance.
Hanumān gazed intently upon Rāvaṇa, admiring his power and opulence. Surely the demon could have been the leader of the gods and the protector of the universe were he not given to violent and sinful acts. If this demon were enraged, he could doubtlessly turn the entire world into one large ocean.
Prahasta, Rāvaṇa’s chief minister, was doubtful about Hanumān’s identity and he questioned him. “Take heart, O monkey. We will soon release you. But first tell us who you really are. Are you an envoy of Viṣṇu, thirsty as He is for conquest over the demons? Perhaps you are sent by Indra or one of the other gods. Speak the truth! We do not hold you to be a monkey, for your power is very great indeed.”
Hanumān responded that he was indeed a monkey. He again declared himself to be Sugrīva’s messenger. “We are Rāma’s servants. He cannot be conquered by any being in all the worlds. Take heed of the advice I shall now offer you for your own good, O Rāvaṇa.”
Hanumān told Rāvaṇa the history of Rāma and his exile to the forest, leading right up to the assembling of the Vanara hordes at Kishkinda. All these monkeys, Hanumān warned, were as swift and powerful as Hanumān himself. No one could resist them in battle. Seeking to create fear and dissension among the Rākṣasas, Hanumān spoke boldly. “You should immediately release Sītā before it is too late. Otherwise you will soon see an ocean of monkeys and bears descend upon Lanka. Rāma and Lakṣman will stand at their heads, loosing arrows which are as powerful as Indra’s thunderbolt. Not even all the gods united together could keep the princess of Mithila from Rāma. If you value your life, restore Her to Rāma today.”
Hanumān then described Rāma’s prowess. Rāma could dissolve the universe with His arrows and immediately create it anew. Not even Brahmā or Śiva could not stand before Rāma in battle. Lanka and its Rākṣasas would not present even the smallest obstacle to Him. Rāvaṇa had placed the noose of death around his neck when he stole Sītā. His only hope now was to go before Rāma and beg for forgiveness and mercy.
Rāvaṇa was overcome with wrath. Opening his eyes wide he exclaimed, “Kill this insolent monkey!”
Hearing this command, Rāvaṇa’s brother and counselor Vibhishana immediately objected. “It is never acceptable to kill a messenger. No virtuous ruler would even consider such an action. If necessary the monkey can be punished in some other way.”
Rāvaṇa angrily replied that Hanumān had acted sinfully. He had destroyed the ashoka grove and killed many Rākṣasas. But Hanumān replied that he had acted only in self-defense. He was only a monkey. His monkey nature had made him playfully tear down the gardens, and he had then been attacked by many fierce warriors. What could he do but fight back?
When Hanumān stopped speaking, Vibhishana continued to argue against his execution. Rāvaṇa’s eyes blazed with fury. He always found his brother’s advice hard to accept. But Vibhishana was wise; that much Rāvaṇa could accept. The demon king decided to inflict another punishment upon Hanumān. “Monkeys are fond of their tails,” Rāvaṇa said with a smile. “Set his tail alight. Then parade him around the streets of Lanka. After that, if he survives, he can return home in a wretched and mutilated state.”
The Rākṣasas quickly carried out Rāvaṇa’s command. They tied oil-soaked cloths around Hanumān’s tail and set them alight. Hanumān furiously expanded his body and began lashing the demons around him. Cursing, they dragged him from the hall and out into the streets of Lanka. His tail ablaze, the giant monkey marched behind his captors, carefully surveying the city. After all, this was an opportunity for further reconnaissance so he could advise Rāma how the city could best be attacked.
Some of the Rākṣasīs reported to Sītā that Hanumān was being paraded through the city with his tail alight. Upon hearing this news Sītā felt aggrieved. She prayed mentally to the fire-god, Agni, “If I possess any merit from service to My husband and if I am truly devoted to Rāma, then please prove cool to Hanumān.”
At once Hanumān felt the fire on his tail to be cold. He wondered how that could be possible. Surely it was due to Rāma’s power, or perhaps it was due to Sītā’s mercy. Rāma’s god-like spouse is dear to all beings, Hanumān thought. The fire-god would certainly try to please those devoted to Her service.
As Hanumān went along Lanka’s streets he was derided and abused by the demons. The monkey decided to make his escape. He was tied around his torso with thick ropes that bound his arms to his body. Hanumān suddenly reduced his size and slipped free of those ropes. With a shout of “Victory to Rāma!” he sprang into the air. He bounded across the rooftops and made his way toward the city’s northern gate. As he leapt he set fire to the mansions of the Rākṣasas with his flaming tail. Assisted by his father Vāyu and by Agni himself, Hanumān soon had a large part of Lanka blazing.
Hanumān again assumed his colossal size and roared like the thundercloud that appears at the time of universal dissolution. Many buildings in Lanka cracked and fell, blazing, to the ground. Rākṣasas ran and flew in all directions, shouting in terror. Seeing Hanumān standing like a mountain they considered that Agni himself had come to destroy Lanka. Rākṣasas fell from the high windows of their mansions, their blazing bodies resembling meteors. Molten gold and silver flowed in rivulets carrying sparkling gems of every description. It seemed as if the whole of the Trikuta mountain was ablaze. Huge scarlet and orange flames leapt up and dense palls of black smoke hung like clouds around the mountain.
Some of the powerful Rākṣasas attacked Hanumān. He took up a massive club and smashed them, killing thousands. “Here is the mighty and vengeful Indra!” some cried. “Surely this is Yamarāja meting out his awful punishments!” said others. Still others considered that Śiva had come there blazing with fury. Indeed, it might be any powerful deity, for the sinful Rāvaṇa had angered them all at different times. Perhaps it was even the infallible and unassailable Viṣṇu, Lord of the entire creation.
Hanumān stood on the northern rampart and looked around at the blazing city. Scenes of chaos and turmoil met his eyes on all sides. He felt satisfied with his work and decided that it was time to return to the mainland. In the sky above him the gods and ṛṣis had assembled and were extolling him with choice poems.
But a sudden apprehension seized Hanumān. What about Sītā? Surely the princess had been burned alive in this immense conflagration. How had he been so impetuous? Hanumān cursed himself for falling a victim to anger. Under the impulse of anger a person could kill his elders or rebuke those worthy of worship. He had let himself come fully under the sway of his fury with no thought of the terrible consequences. What would happen now if Sītā were killed? The monkey felt gripped by despondency.
Even as Hanumān thought this, however, he heard from the sky the Cāraṇas saying, “Hanumān has achieved a great and marvelous feat. This city of Lanka, thickly crowded with demons, has been burnt on all sides. It now stands as if shrieking and yet the gentle Sītā has not been harmed in the least.”
Reassured by their words, Hanumān decided then to depart. He leapt across to the Arista mountain on the northern shore of Lanka. As he ascended the mountain, which reached up to the clouds, large rocks broke under his feet and scattered down the mountainside. Deer and lions started and fled in fear. Large trees were crushed beneath Hanumān’s tread, making a loud cracking sound. On the summit of Arista, Hanumān crouched down, ready to leap across the ocean once more.
Shouting Rāma’s name, Hanumān leapt into the air. Again the pressure of his leap pressed the mountain down into the earth. All its trees shook and shed their blossoms. Vidhyadharas, Kinnaras and Gandharvas, who were sporting on the mountain slopes, rose into the air as the mountain vibrated violently. Thousands of lions living in the mountain caves roared together with a terrific noise.
Hanumān rose high into the sky and soared away from Lanka, his mission accomplished.
Part Three
3.1: The Army Sets Off
Hanumān sailed across the firmament feeling overjoyed at his success. He would soon see Sugrīva and Rāma and give them the good news that Sītā had been found. Leaving Lanka in a state of confusion, he moved with the speed of the wind. No Rākṣasas gave chase, as they were all engaged in trying to save their afflicted city.
Out of fear of Rāvaṇa, the fire-god had not burned his palace. The Rākṣasa king fumed as he gazed out at his blazing city. He should have killed the monkey when he had the chance. Without doubt Rāma and His troops would soon arrive in Lanka, and there would be a great battle. Rāvaṇa thought of his boon from Brahmā. The demon had no immunity from humans. Would this human king Rāma be the cause of his death? Was He Viṣṇu incarnate? He would need to be, mused Rāvaṇa. Let the fight go ahead. We will soon see Rāma’s power. Rāvaṇa would not cower before anyone. Death would be preferable. Indeed, death at Viṣṇu’s hands was no shame. Some even said that such a death awarded one the highest regions of bliss. But under no conditions would he surrender Sītā. Rāma would have to take Her by force or not at all. The demon stood lost in reverie.
Hanumān sped through the sky like an arrow loosed from a mighty bow. Within an hour, he again saw Mount Mahendra looming large in the distance. The monkey roared again and again, filling the sky with the thunder of his voice. Aṅgada and the others heard his roar and stood on the seashore gazing up at the sky, relieved to realize that Hanumān’s roar indicated success. Overpowered by happiness, they leapt and sprang about on the beach, shouting with joy.
Within a few minutes they saw Hanumān bursting through the clouds, appearing like Garuḍa in full flight. The Vanaras stood with joined palms in respect and appreciation of their compatriot as he descended upon the Mahendra mountain, which shook with the force of his landing. Hanumān quickly descended from the mountain and, again assuming his normal size, ran toward his friends. The monkeys surrounded him, raising cries of joy. They offered Hanumān roots and fruits and laughingly embraced him with tearful eyes.
Taking Aṅgada by the hand, Hanumān sat down in a wooded grove near the beach to tell him everything that had happened. “I have seen the godly Sītā. She sits pining for Her lord, surrounded by fierce Rākṣasīs and constantly harassed by Rāvaṇa. We should lose no time in rescuing the princess.”
Hearing of Hanumān’s success the monkeys sent up great shouts. Some roared like lions and others bellowed like bulls. Some raised ululations while dancing around and waving their long curly tails. In the midst of the foremost monkeys, Aṅgada said to Hanumān, “Your feat is without compare. You have saved our lives and rendered a great service to Rāma, who will soon be freed of His grief. What marvelous determination and valor you have displayed, dear Hanumān!”
Aṅgada and Hanumān sat encircled by powerful Vanaras, even as Indra and Sūrya are surrounded by the other gods. As Aṅgada questioned him, Hanumān described in detail all the events that had occurred since he left. The monkeys were delighted to hear how he had killed so many powerful Rākṣasas and wrought havoc in Lanka, but they were horrified to learn of Rāvaṇa’s terrible threat to Sītā. Aṅgada decided that immediate action was required. “How can we report to Rāma that Sītā lies in such a sorry state? We must recover Her from Lanka. Here are monkeys as powerful as the gods. We shall all of us proceed swiftly to Lanka. Let us destroy that city, kill the evil Rāvaṇa and rescue Sītā. Then we can return to Sugrīva and Rāma.”
Jambavan did not agree with Aṅgada. “Your suggestion is not wise, O mighty monkey. We were not enjoined to kill Rāvaṇa or bring back Sītā; we have been asked only to locate Her and report to Rāma of Her whereabouts. That prince has vowed to rescue Her Himself. Even if we should somehow succeed without Rāma, we would falsify His vow.”
The monkeys accepted Jambavan’s advice. The old king of the bears was always wise and he considered everything carefully. He was right. It was better to report back to Kishkindha. Then they could go to Lanka united with all the other monkeys, headed by Rāma and Lakṣman. There would be plenty of opportunities for fighting at that time.
The monkeys got up and immediately set out toward Kishkindha. With Hanumān at their head they bounded back as fast as they could. Within a few days they reached the Madhuvan forest, which lay not far from Kishkindha. The forest was extensive and filled with trees loaded with fruits and honeycombs. The monkeys took Aṅgada’s permission to drink the honey, which was actually meant for Sugrīva, and they consumed it in large quantities. They became intoxicated and danced merrily here and there. Some of them sang loudly while others laughed hysterically. Some leaned unsteadily upon one another and still others lay flat on the ground. They rolled about and slapped their sides. Rolling the beeswax into balls they pelted one another in sport. They ripped down boughs from the trees and whirled them around in mock fights. Leaping from tree to tree they raised a great tumult in the forest.
The Madhuvan forest was guarded by a Vanara general named Dadhimukha. When he saw that thousands of monkeys were tearing down the trees and taking the honey he became infuriated. He dispatched a number of his guards to stop them. Accosted by the guards, the monkeys in Aṅgada’s party laughed and fought with them. They took hold of the guards by their legs and dragged them about. Others they tossed into the air and slapped around with their palms.
When even Dadhimukha himself was beaten by Aṅgada, he decided to go and inform Sugrīva of the situation. Dadhimukha told the monkey king how Aṅgada and Hanumān, along with thousands of other monkeys, were wrecking the king’s personal orchard and stealing his honey. However, upon hearing this report, the intelligent Sugrīva became joyful. He turned and spoke to Lakṣman, who was by his side. “There can be no doubt that Aṅgada’s party has returned successful. O noble Lakṣman, my guess is that Hanumān has found Sītā. These monkeys would not make so bold with my grove and its honey had they failed in their mission.”
Lakṣman rejoiced and ran to tell Rāma the news. Sugrīva told Dadhimukha that he should tolerate the misbehavior of the search party and send the monkeys into Kishkindha.
Dadhimukha bowed to Sugrīva and left at once. Realizing that Hanumān had accomplished a great service to the king he felt gladdened. As he raced back to the Madhuvan with Sugrīva’s message he forgot all about the beating he had received. Back in the orchard he saw all the monkeys, who by now had become sober, standing about urinating on the trees. He sought out Aṅgada and bowed before him. “Please forgive me, O prince. I should not have tried to restrain you. Sugrīva very much desires to see you and Hanumān. Please go there with all speed.”
Aṅgada spoke kindly to Dadhimukha. Then he raised his arm and shouted to the other monkeys, “All right. Let us now go to Kishkindha! Sugrīva and Rāma are expecting us!”
Sugrīva awaited their arrival eagerly. He was sure that they had succeeded. It had been almost three months since their departure. There was no possibility that Aṅgada would have returned if he had failed. The monkey king reassured Rāma, who was experiencing deep anxiety over Sītā. Rāma looked up with tear-stained eyes at Sugrīva. This was their last chance. All the other parties had returned without success. What if Aṅgada’s group had also failed? Rāma sat by Sugrīva, anxiously waiting Aṅgada’s news.
Suddenly they heard cries in the distance and saw a cloud of dust rising upwards as Aṅgada and his party rushed toward Kishkindha. Sugrīva stretched and curled his tail in joy. He saw Aṅgada and Hanumān at the head of the party, bounding swiftly toward him. They appeared like thundering clouds driven along by the wind. Within a few minutes they had arrived and were prostrating themselves before Sugrīva and Rāma. Hanumān sat before Rāma with folded palms. “My lord, Sītā has been found,” he said.
Tears sprang to Rāma’s eyes. He jumped up and said eagerly, “Tell Me everything about that godly lady, O gallant one. Is She well? Where is She? Where indeed is that wicked wretch Rāvaṇa?”
With Aṅgada’s permission, Hanumān related everything to Rāma and Sugrīva, describing in detail how he had jumped across the ocean and wrought havoc in Lanka. He told them how Sītā was pining for Rāma and would not even look at Rāvaṇa. He then gave Sītā’s message to Rāma, along with Her ornament.
Rāma took Sītā’s yellow jewel from Hanumān. He pressed it to His bosom and wept softly. Comforted by Lakṣman He said, “Even as a cow sheds milk upon seeing its calf, so My heart melts upon seeing this jewel. It originally belonged to Indra and was given to Sītā by King Janaka. By seeing this brilliant gem I have directly gained sight of My noble father-in-law as well as My beloved wife Sītā.”
Rāma asked Hanumān to repeat Sītā’s speech again and again. He was pained to learn of Her sorry plight and felt Her words to be His only consolation. The monkey narrated to Rāma his entire conversation with Sītā. When he stopped speaking Rāma sat silently for some time absorbed in thoughts of Sītā. At last He said to Hanumān, “You have accomplished a great deed, dear Hanumān. None but Garuḍa or the wind-god himself could have achieved this feat. Who could leap across the expansive ocean? Who, having once entered Lanka as an enemy, could ever hope to emerge alive? You are a first-class servant, O monkey. You have achieved all that was asked of you and more.”
Praising Hanumān in various ways, Rāma lamented that He could not repay the monkey for the service he had rendered. All He could offer him was His embrace. “O Hanumān, that is all I can call My own at this time,” Rāma said as He took hold of Hanumān and tightly hugged him.
Rāma then began to consider how to recover Sītā. How could He and millions of monkeys cross the ocean? He again felt despondent and asked Sugrīva if he had any ideas. The monkey replied, “In my opinion, a bridge should be constructed across the ocean. There is no need to lament. We now know Sītā’s whereabouts, and we have amassed an army that is more than capable of annihilating the demons. I am confident, for I perceive many good omens and my mind feels delighted.”
After hearing Sugrīva speak, Rāma became determined. He said to the monkeys, “I am surely able to cross this sea, either by the mystic power I have acquired through asceticism, by throwing a bridge over it, or by drying it up with My fiery arrows. O Hanumān, tell us of Lanka’s fortifications and defenses, for we shall soon arrive there for battle.”
Hanumān described everything he had seen in Lanka. The city was atop a great mountain thickly covered with forests. At the edge of the city was a wide moat infested with alligators. All around Lanka were vast ramparts with steel-barred drawbridges and gates. Hordes of Rākṣasas prowled about the ramparts, holding spiked clubs which could kill a hundred warriors with a single blow. Great catapults were lined along the defensive walls, as well as machines which could fire blazing iron darts to a distance of ten miles. Rāvaṇa’s forces were all but unlimited in number. They were highly trained and could use every kind of weapon, and they remained constantly alert to any danger. They had already had enough time to repair the damage caused by Hanumān and would now be especially vigilant, expecting Rāma’s attack.
When Hanumān finished speaking, Rāma said fearlessly, “Without delay I shall destroy this great city of Lanka. Let us immediately prepare to depart. It is the auspicious midday hour. Favorable constellations augur our success. Having abducted Sītā, the despicable Rāvaṇa shall not escape with his life.”
Sugrīva warmly applauded Rāma, who then began issuing orders. He asked Sugrīva’s commander of troops, Nīla, to lead an advance party out of Kishkindha. They should prepare the way for the whole army, ensuring that no hostile troops lay in ambush. Only the most powerful monkeys should go, as a difficult task lay ahead. Rāma personally named the best monkey warriors: Gaja, Gavaya, Gandhamādana, Rishabha, Dwivida, Mainda and others. Then he said, “Mounting Hanumān’s back, I myself shall go, even as Indra rides upon his elephant Airāvata. I shall march in the center of the army cheering the troops as they rush like a flood. Lakṣman should mount Aṅgada’s back, as Kuvera would ride upon the elephant Sarvabhauma, who guards the eastern quarter of the universe.”
Sugrīva bowed to Rāma and then gave detailed instructions to his monkeys. Gradually, the many millions of powerful monkeys moved off in a southerly direction. Springing and bounding in joy they proceeded swiftly like masses of clouds driven by a gale. They roared and shouted their determination, “We will slaughter Rāvaṇa and the Rākṣasas. Not one shall survive!”
The monkeys sportingly lifted and tossed each other around. They leapt up trees and hills and jumped upon one another’s backs. As they pressed forward they roared like the tumultuous ocean. At the rear of the monkeys came Jambavan and his contingent of bears. In the midst of them all were Rāma and Lakṣman, seated upon the backs of Hanumān and Aṅgada. They looked like the sun and moon conjoined with Jupiter and Venus and surrounded by innumerable stars.
Lakṣman spoke to His elder brother. “The omens are all good, Rāma. A gentle breeze follows us and the sun shines brightly. The beasts and birds run and fly along with us. This army of monkeys and bears are roaring in joy and they are ablaze with splendor. In the night skies I have observed numerous auspicious portents. Undoubtedly Your success is imminent, dear brother.”
Rāma smiled as He rocked about on the back of Hanumān, who was racing ahead with swift steps. The vast party raised an enormous dust cloud which screened the sky. They were like a continuous line of clouds covering the heavens. When they crossed rivers, the currents flowed backwards for many miles. Bounding through lakes, they caused them to overflow and flood the surrounding land. They broke down trees and smashed rocks, haughtily vaunting their prowess to one another. Traveling by day and by night they quickly approached the southern shore of the sea.
When they reached the ocean Rāma spoke to Sugrīva. “Here lies the vast sea, O valiant monkey. This lord of the rivers cannot be crossed easily. Some device is required. Let us camp here and deliberate upon our next course of action.”
When the army came down onto the beach it stretched for miles like a second ocean. It created a noise that drowned out the roar of the sea as the monkeys discussed how to reach Lanka. None was capable of emulating Hanumān’s incredible leap. The Vanaras and bears stared out at the tossing waves, wondering what Rāma and Sugrīva would decide to do next.
3.2: Panic in Lanka
In Lanka, Rāvaṇa had assembled his ministers for a full council meeting. Seeing the terrible carnage and destruction wrought by Hanumān, the demon spoke to his advisors. “This city, which we previously thought unassailable, has been penetrated and wrecked by a mere monkey. My gardens are destroyed, our temple has been outraged and some of the topmost Rākṣasas have been slain, including my own son Prince Aksha. Indeed, that wretched monkey has single-handedly turned the city upside down.”
Rāvaṇa looked around at his advisors. He asked them to carefully deliberate and then decide on their next course of action. The demon king was apprehensive. He was sure that Rāma and His army would somehow cross the ocean before long. And Hanumān’s demonstration of strength and power had been astonishing. If the rest of the monkeys were like him…
Rāvaṇa continued, “I am depending upon your advice, O Rākṣasas. It is said that he is a wise person who, before an undertaking, seeks the counsel of learned persons versed in the scripture. However, he who simply acts without due consideration and advice will quickly come to ruin.”
The demon king’s generals were all powerful, but they lacked intelligence and political wisdom. Without understanding the full extent and power of the Vanara forces they spoke of them derisively. The Rākṣasas boasted of their own prowess, dismissing Rāma and His army as being of no consequence. They reminded Rāvaṇa how he had defeated the gods, Gandharvas, Yakṣas, Nāgas, Daityas, Dānavas and other foes in battle. Rāvaṇa had even repulsed Death himself. What fear could he have of an army of humans and animals?
One of the mightiest Rākṣasas, Prahasta, stood up and, with his palms folded toward Rāvaṇa, spoke in a voice that boomed like thunder. “We were caught unawares by Hanumān, who sneaked into Lanka. Had I been prepared for him, then that monkey would not have left this city alive. Indeed, I can sweep the entire globe clean of monkeys in no time at all. Simply command me, O lord.”
Another powerful Rākṣasa named Virupaksha stood up and spoke furiously, holding aloft his frightful iron bludgeon which was stained with flesh and blood. “How can we tolerate this monkey’s affront? Order me and I shall leave this very hour! I will smash Rāma and Lakṣman with my iron club and crush the entire monkey army. Even if they flee into the dread deep or take refuge in the heavens, they shall not escape my wrath.”
One Rākṣasa suggested that they employ trickery, disguising themselves as humans and infiltrating Rāma’s army. They could pretend to be a contingent dispatched by Rāma’s brother Bharata. Once they entered his army, the rest of the Rākṣasas could attack from the air. The Vanara army would then be torn to be pieces by a two-pronged assault both from within and without.
One after another, each of the leading Rākṣasas declared that he alone could defeat Rāma and His troops. Rāvaṇa should remain peacefully in Lanka. The demon forces would swiftly cross the ocean and annihilate the monkeys before they could even approach the city. Standing together, the Rākṣasa generals raised a great tumult in Rāvaṇa’s assembly hall. They grasped their bows, arrows, spears, pikes, javelins and iron maces and asked Rāvaṇa for his order to depart for battle.
Vibhishana, Rāvaṇa’s younger brother, then stood up. As the clamor of the other demons died down he spoke to Rāvaṇa. “The wise declare that force should only be used after other methods of achieving one’s aim have failed. Furthermore, force is said to be likely to succeed only when the enemy is weaker, devoid of virtue or condemned by their own adverse fate. Rāma is ever alert and possesses boundless might. He is virtue incarnate and is assisted by every divine power. No one who knows what is best would counsel an attack upon Rāma.”
Vibhishana was not like the other Rākṣasas. He did not share their inclination for wanton living and violent behavior. Although he was Rāvaṇa’s blood brother, Vibhishana was given to meditation and the practice of virtue. He also realized Rāma’s divine nature. He spoke gravely, intent on his brother’s welfare. “Have you forgotten how Rāma disposed of Khara and his troops? Think carefully about Hanumān’s feat in leaping across the ocean and wrecking Lanka. Do not underestimate the power of Rāma and His servants.”
Vibhishana advised Rāvaṇa to give Sītā back to Rāma. If he did not do so, then before long he would witness the total destruction of Lanka. All the heroic Rākṣasas would perish like moths entering a fire. Rāvaṇa should pursue the path of righteousness if he wanted to see his city and his followers survive.
Rāvaṇa listened to his brother without comment. He did not like Vibhishana’s advice, but it made him somewhat circumspect. The demon king then dismissed his assembly saying he would decide the next day what should be done.
The following day at dawn, Vibhishana again approached Rāvaṇa. As he passed through the long, wide passageways of Rāvaṇa’s palace he heard the sound of Vedic hymns being chanted by the Yatudhanas, blessing the Rākṣasa king that he might attain victory. Vibhishana knew that Rāvaṇa was not going to achieve victory against Rāma. He had to avert the total devastation of his people, which he now saw as imminent.
Vibhishana entered Rāvaṇa’s chambers and greeted his brother with gentle and soothing words. Rāvaṇa glanced over at an ornate golden seat and Vibhishana sat down looking intently upon his brother. Vibhishana had studied all the codes of religion. He knew what was right in every circumstance and he now tendered beneficial advice to Rāvaṇa. “Ever since Sītā was abducted, there have been numerous bad omens in Lanka. The sacrificial fire emits sparks and is enveloped by smoke. The cows’ milk has dried up. Horses neigh dolefully even though well-fed and tended. Crows swarm about, uttering harsh cries. Jackals howl ominously day and night.”
Vibhishana described many other types of evil portents and again asked Rāvaṇa to return Sītā to Rāma. “This action alone will save you, all the other Rākṣasas, and this city from destruction,” Vibhishana said. “Even if you find me in some way self-motivated you should not ignore my advice, for doing so will have terrible consequences.”
Rāvaṇa sat shaking his head. He grunted contemptuously and replied to his brother. “How can Rāma stand before me in battle? Under no circumstances shall I return Sītā. Today in council I shall issue orders for battle.”
Vibhishana shook his head sorrowfully. It was hopeless. Rāvaṇa seemed bent upon his own destruction.
Rāvaṇa dismissed Vibhishana and sat brooding for a while. He had to have Sītā. For the last ten months he had tried everything to win Her over and was not going to give up now. If he could only kill Rāma, then surely She would be won. But this Rāma was no ordinary man; that much was obvious. And if the monkeys were all like Hanumān, then he had a real battle on his hands. No matter. There was no question of an ignominious surrender. A fight to the last was the only thing acceptable. If Rāma were a mere mortal man, then He would certainly succumb to the might of the Rākṣasas. And if He were Viṣṇu Himself? Well, defeat at the hands of a powerful foe was never shameful.
Rāvaṇa would not be cowed by any enemy. He would fight. The demon rose up and swept toward his assembly hall followed by bards who uttered poems in his praise. Coming from his inner chambers he mounted a golden chariot and sped down the wide road that led to the hall. He was surrounded on all sides by Rākṣasas attired in diversely styled robes and adorned with every kind of jewel. These powerful Rākṣasas, capable of contending single-handedly with tens of thousands of warriors, roared loudly. They held upraised weapons of every sort in their hands.
As Rāvaṇa and his generals approached the hall, trumpets blared and conch shells blasted. Innumerable kettledrums were beaten as the demon king went through the great doorway into his hall. Rāvaṇa strode across the golden floor of the hall toward his crystal throne, which was spread with the skins of the priyaka deer. After taking his seat he ordered that a full council of war be assembled.
Immediately swift messengers flew off to every part of the city, calling for all the Rākṣasa leaders. Hearing Rāvaṇa’s order, the mighty Rākṣasas rushed toward the assembly hall from all directions. Some mounted great chariots, some rode elephants, and others ran on foot. They quickly entered the assembly hall as lions might enter a rocky mountain cave. After prostrating themselves before Rāvaṇa, they took their seats, each according to his rank. As they sat gazing on their ruler’s face, they appeared like the Vasus surrounding Indra.
Vibhishana took his seat next to Rāvaṇa on a throne of gold. When Rāvaṇa saw that everyone was present and sitting silently he turned to Prahasta and spoke. “You should issue orders to ensure that Lanka’s defenses are fortified. All four kinds of troops should be made ready, for a great fight is at hand.”
Prahasta immediately rose and gave orders to his key Rākṣasas. Within a short time he returned to Rāvaṇa and said, “It is done.”
Rāvaṇa then addressed the entire assembly. “All of you know well your duty in all circumstances. My undertakings executed through all of you have never proved futile. I wish to enjoy the royal fortune forever, ruling over Lanka with justice and compassion. However, we now stand threatened by Rāma and His army for the sake of Sītā, whom I abducted. I cannot part with that lovely lady, smitten as I am by the shafts of love. Although She has not yet submitted to my advances, She has promised me that after one year has passed She will be mine. Therefore I must by all means repulse Rāma’s attack. O Rākṣasas, tell me if this meets with your approval or not.”
Rāvaṇa lied about Sītā. She had never indicated that She would accept him at any time. He gazed around the assembly with his ten heads, looking for his subjects’ agreement. Except perhaps for Vibhishana, he did not expect that any would argue with him. But suddenly his powerful brother Kumbhakarna stood up in a rage.
“O Rākṣasa, you now seek our counsel, but what advice did you ask when you stole Sītā from Rāma?” he thundered. “Actions taken without due consideration of their righteousness and without recourse to proper counsel lead only to grief. On an impulse alone you abducted Sītā from Rāma, and now you face a severe consequence. Fortunately, however, you have me as your well-wisher. I shall make good your foolish action by standing against Rāma and Lakṣman on the battlefield. Give up your fear and rest at ease. The two human brothers will not return with life once they face me.”
Kumbhakarna was as powerful as Rāvaṇa, but he had once been tricked by the gods into asking a boon from Brahmā that he might enjoy six months of sleep at a time. Brahmā had thus said he would remain awake for only one day every six months. The day of the council happened to be his one day of wakefulness. The following day he would again fall into a deep slumber. He was nevertheless devoted to his brother and was prepared to do whatever he could to help him. Kumbhakarna was wise and he knew Rāma was a formidable foe. He wanted to fight Him and either attain a glorious victory or, as was more likely, die gloriously at Rāma’s hands. But first he would need to be awakened.
Although smarting from his brother’s admonishment, Rāvaṇa thanked Kumbhakarna for his support. Then Mahaparsva, a leader of some of Rāvaṇa’s troops, stood and asked him a question. “My lord, having secured the beautiful Sītā, why do you not simply enjoy Her by force? Who can prevent you or do anything about it?”
Rāvaṇa then told them of the long-past incident with Rambha. “This is a secret I have never revealed,” he said. “Nalakuvara’s curse was reinforced by the words of Brahmā himself. Indeed, the powerful creator, upon whom my own strength rests, said that if I ever again violate a woman, my life will end immediately.”
Rāvaṇa looked around the assembly. The Rākṣasas were dedicated to him and ready to fight with any enemy on his behalf. They sat awaiting his command. The demon king boasted to them of his power. “Surely Rāma has not seen me in battle, as furious as the raging ocean and as swift as the wind. Otherwise, He would not be so foolish as to march on Lanka. He has not seen arrows like flaming serpents with forked tongues loosed in millions from my bow. Rāma wants to face Death himself standing enraged on the battlefield. I shall consume Rāma in no time. I will disperse His army as a the sun disperses a morning mist.”
Rāvaṇa railed on for some time. When he at last became silent, Vibhishana stood up to speak. He knew it was more or less hopeless—Rāvaṇa was already set on battle—but he had to make one last attempt to make his brother see sense. His voice echoed around the silent hall as everyone listened to his words. “By whom has the immense and highly venomous serpent, known as Sītā, been tied around your neck? That serpent has for its sharp fangs Sītā’s sweet smiles. Her bosom is its coils, Her five fingers are its five hoods and Her thoughts of Rāma are its deadly poison. O Rāvaṇa, do not destroy your race. Before we see monkeys like great mountains bounding toward Lanka and arrows like thunderbolts falling on the heads of our warriors, return Sītā to Rāma.”
Vibhishana tried at length to convince Rāvaṇa of his folly. Although he was rebuked by various Rākṣasas he insisted that the only way to save Lanka was to return Sītā. He made it clear that it was his duty as a counselor to tender advice conducive to the interests of his master. He would not neglect that duty out of weakness or fear, nor out of a desire to say something pleasing. Even if advice were distasteful, it should still be given by a counselor who properly understood his duty. And a wise leader was he who was able to hear both palatable and unpalatable advice, giving equal consideration to both.
Indrajit became impatient and agitated upon hearing Vibhishana speak. He retorted. “How do you call yourself a Rākṣasa, O weak uncle? Surely you are devoid of courage, virility, prowess, heroism and spirit. These two men can be slain by any Rākṣasa, even the most insignificant among us. Why then do you tremble in fear?”
Indrajit bragged about his own strength. He had overcome hosts of gods headed by Indra riding upon the celestial elephant Airāvata. He vowed that he would kill Rāma and Lakṣman personally. Vibhishana rebuked him with strong words. “Being a mere boy, your intelligence is not mature. You cannot see what is right or wrong, dear child. Although called a son, you are actually your father’s enemy. You are evil-minded and deserve death, for your counsel will lead only to the death of all those who listen to you. You are indiscriminate, dull-witted, wicked and ignorant. You do not understand Rāma’s power. There are none among the gods, Daityas, Dānavas or Rākṣasas who can withstand the flaming arrows Rāma will loose in combat.”
Rāvaṇa had heard enough. He would not accept Vibhishana’s advice. All he wanted now was to get on with the fight that lay ahead. He spoke furiously. “It is better to live with an enraged serpent than a person who, although pretending to be a friend, is actually in league with the enemy. It is a fact that kinsfolk usually despise their chief even though he may be carrying out all his duties. The greatest danger lies in one’s own relatives, O disgrace of our race, for they may turn on one at any time. Although a brother, you are unworthy of my affection. Indeed, one bestowing love upon the unworthy obtains only grief.”
Rāvaṇa vented his anger, insulting Vibhishana in various ways. He told him that had he not been his brother he would surely have killed him for his words.
Vibhishana realized that there was nothing he could do to help the proud demon king. Along with his four ministers, who were his close followers and friends, he rose up into the air. Stationed in space, with mace in hand, he spoke to Rāvaṇa. “You who have addressed me with harsh words, O king, are deluded. Say what you will, for your intelligence is lost. Those speaking pleasant words can easily be found, O Rāvaṇa, but one who speaks unpalatable truth is rare. One fallen under Death’s Sway does not heed the words of wisdom offered by a well-wisher. I have tried my best, wishing to save you from certain destruction. Now be happy in my absence. I can no longer tolerate your abusive speech, even though you are my elder. Farewell. I shall now depart.”
Vibhishana soared away from the assembly hall, accompanied by his four friends. Rāvaṇa made no attempt to stop him and was glad to see him go. Now there were none who would oppose his desires. He issued orders to prepare for battle.
3.3: Rāma Confronts the Ocean
Vibhishana had decided to join Rāma. He crossed the ocean and arrived at Rāma’s camp in less than an hour. The intelligent Rākṣasa stayed in the air and asked to see the leader of the monkeys. Sugrīva quickly appeared. Seeing the five huge Rākṣasas in the sky wearing armor and adorned with celestial jewels, he was apprehensive. He thought carefully. Had the Rākṣasas come to attack the monkeys? Perhaps this was some kind of cunning trick, of which Rākṣasas were so fond. Sugrīva looked closely at Vibhishana. The Rākṣasa looked like a mountain or a cloud and vied with Indra in splendor. All five Rākṣasas were holding various weapons.
Sugrīva spoke to Hanumān. “Surely these Rākṣasas have some malicious intentions at heart. Let us take up rocks and trees. Leaping into the air we shall quickly finish them before they can execute their plan.”
As Sugrīva spoke, Vibhishana addressed him from the sky. “There is an evil Rākṣasa by the name of Rāvaṇa. I am his brother Vibhishana. He has carried away Rāma’s consort by using trickery and deceit. Although I repeatedly advised him to return the princess, the demon would not listen. I have thus come here to seek Rāma’s shelter.”
Vibhishana asked the monkeys to inform Rāma of his presence. Sugrīva was still highly suspicious. He ran up to Rāma and said, “One of the enemy has suddenly made his appearance here. No doubt he seeks an opportunity to kill us when we are unaware. Perhaps he is a spy. There may be other invisible Rākṣasas around. No trust should ever be reposed in these demons. Please tell us how we should deal with this one.”
Sugrīva told Rāma Vibhishana’s name and who he was, as well as what he said. The monkey king was sure that Vibhishana had evil intentions and had been sent there by Rāvaṇa himself. He suggested that the Rākṣasa and his followers be killed immediately. Rāma listened carefully. He looked around at the other monkey chiefs who sat with him. “You have heard Sugrīva’s suggestion. What do the rest of you think?”
Each of them gave their opinion. They all felt that Vibhishana was to be treated with the utmost caution and suspicion, that he should be interrogated and tested before they placed any trust in him.
Rāma then turned to Hanumān and asked his opinion. The monkey had studied all the scriptures, and bowing to Rāma he replied, “Although You are well able to ascertain for Yourself this Rākṣasa’s intentions, You nevertheless seek our opinion out of humility and kindness. I shall therefore speak my feelings in this regard. In my view we should accept Vibhishana as our own. I do not think he has any devious purpose.”
Hanumān said that he had not detected any deceit in the speech or expression of Vibhishana. If a person has ill motives, then it is always revealed in their expression. Hanumān felt that Vibhishana had wisely decided that Rāma’s cause was superior to Rāvaṇa’s. It appeared that the Rākṣasa was moral and desired to assist Rāma.
Having given his opinion, which differed from that of his companions, Hanumān asked Rāma for His view. Rāma thanked all of them for their suggestions and then said, “I cannot refuse to receive a person who has sought My shelter. Whatever his intentions I must accept a supplicant. This is never condemned in the eyes of good people.”
Sugrīva was alarmed by Rāma’s statement. He was still convinced that Vibhishana was inimical. The monkey king tried again to convince Rāma. “What does it matter whether his intentions are good or bad?” Sugrīva argued. “After all, he is a Rākṣasa and will always revert to his own nature. Furthermore, if he can abandon even his own brother, then how can we ever trust him as our friend?”
Sugrīva wanted Vibhishana to be taken captive and perhaps even killed. The Rākṣasa was Rāvaṇa’s brother. His allegiance to Rāma would never exceed his deeper attachment to his own people. Sugrīva looked anxiously at Rāma, who smiled and replied gently, “Your concerns are well-founded, O noble Vanara, but I have given it careful thought. Even if this demon is malevolent, what harm can he do? I can annihilate the entire horde of Rākṣasas with My fingertip. We should not have any fear. And we should always abide by the instructions of the Vedas.”
Rāma explained that even an enemy must be received with hospitality according to scriptural rules. If a person comes seeking shelter, then one must offer him protection even at the cost of one’s own life. No consideration should be made of his intentions, good or bad. If a supplicant is turned away and perishes as a result, then he takes all the pious merits of the man who turned him away. Great sin is incurred by such neglect. Rāma concluded, “If a person comes to Me saying, ‘I am Yours’ only once, then I shall give him courage and protection from all danger forever after. This is My solemn vow made here before you all. Even if Rāvaṇa himself came to Me, I would not refuse him shelter. Bring Vibhishana here, for I have already granted him safety.”
Everyone present was moved deeply by Rāma’s speech. With tears flowing from his eyes Sugrīva said, “It is no wonder that You should speak in this way, O Rāma. You are the best knower of what is right and are always devoted to virtue. My doubts are gone. Let Vibhishana enjoy our friendship on an equal level with all of us.”
Sugrīva gave Vibhishana Rāma’s message. Feeling reassured, the Rākṣasa descended to the earth along with his devoted followers. He went before Rāma and lay flat on the ground with his bejeweled hands touching Rāma’s feet. Getting up onto his knees, he addressed Rāma respectfully. “I am Vibhishana, the younger half-brother of Rāvaṇa. Insulted by him, I have come here, abandoning my family, friends and home. O Rāma, You are the only shelter of all beings. My very life now depends upon You.”
Rāma glanced affectionately at Vibhishana. He spoke soothingly to the Rākṣasa, welcoming him. Rāma then asked him about Rāvaṇa’s strengths and weaknesses. “Please tell me in truth all that you know about Rāvaṇa and Lanka.”
Vibhishana told Rāma about Rāvaṇa’s boon. He described the power of Rāvaṇa’s chief warriors—Kumbhakarna, Indrajit, Prahasta, Mahodara and others. All of them were capable of facing the mightiest fighters even among the gods. Accompanied by them, Rāvaṇa had given battle to the four guardians of the universe, all of whom he routed.
Rāma replied to Vibhishana, “I have indeed heard of all these exploits of Rāvaṇa which you have truthfully related. Hear me now! After killing in battle the ten-headed Rāvaṇa along with all his followers, I shall crown you king of Lanka. There need be no doubt whatsoever. I swear by My three brothers that I shall not return to Ayodhya without slaying Rāvaṇa with his sons, kinsfolk and people.”
Vibhishana again bowed to Rāma and promised to render Him every assistance in the upcoming battle. Rāma ordered Lakṣman to go at once and fetch some seawater. With that water Rāma immediately consecrated Vibhishana as the ruler of Lanka. Witnessing this display of grace all the monkeys leapt about joyfully, roaring and shouting, while Vibhishana sat with his head bowed.
Hanumān then approached Vibhishana and asked how the army could possibly cross the ocean. After thinking for some while, Vibhishana suggested that Rāma personally ask the ocean-god to reveal some means of crossing. The ocean had been excavated by a great king in Rāma’s line and thus the deity would no doubt wish to render Him some service in return. Rāma was pleased with Vibhishana’s advice and He spread a seat of kusha grass on the seashore. He sat there and began to pray to the god to reveal himself.
As Rāma sat on the beach Rāvaṇa’s spy flew over the Vanara army. He determined its size and power and returned with all speed to Rāvaṇa. Falling before the demon king the spy submitted, “Like another sea, a deep and immeasurable flood of monkeys and bears is moving toward Lanka. They are spread out for one hundred miles in all directions. At their head are the two powerful princes, Rāma and Lakṣman. Even now they are camped on the seashore, determining some means of crossing over it.”
Rāvaṇa became perturbed. He ordered a demon named Suka to carry a message to Sugrīva. “Tell the monkey that he has nothing to gain by assaulting Lanka,” he ordered. “I have never done him any harm. What does it matter to him if I have carried off Sītā?”
Rāvaṇa told Suka to warn Sugrīva off. It would not be possible for monkeys and bears to defeat Rākṣasas. Not even the gods could overpower Lanka; what then could a few mere mortal creatures do? They had best return peacefully to their own country.
The powerful Suka turned himself into a large bird and flew swiftly across the sea. He swooped over the monkey army and found Sugrīva. From the air the Rākṣasa delivered Rāvaṇa’s message, but even as he was speaking the monkeys suddenly sprang up and dragged him down. They began to beat him violently. Suka cried out to Rāma for mercy. “Only an envoy who has spoken his own view rather than his master’s message deserves death. O Rāma, I have faithfully related Rāvaṇa’s message and should therefore not be slain.”
Rāma ordered the monkeys to let Suka go. The demon again rose into the air and asked for Sugrīva’s reply to Rāvaṇa. The monkey king said to the demon, “Rāvaṇa should be informed that I am neither his friend nor his well-wisher. Indeed, he has formed an enmity with Rāma and is thus my sworn enemy as well. For stealing Sītā from Rāma the demon deserves death at my hands, and that he shall receive in due course.”
Sugrīva sent a message that Rāvaṇa would not escape even if he sought shelter in the furthermost part of the universe. He would certainly be killed along with his entire demon force. The Rākṣasa was no match for Rāma and his army. Rāvaṇa obviously lacked prowess because he stole Sītā when Rāma was absent. He now faced a terrible calamity in the shape of Sugrīva and his army.
After Suka had left, Rāma sat with a concentrated mind at the edge of the sea. He meditated on the sea-god Samudra and waited patiently for him to appear. Three days and nights passed as Rāma sat motionless on the beach, but still the ocean deity did not come. Rāma became enraged and He spoke to Lakṣman. “Just see the vanity of this god. Although I have sat here humbly beseeching his audience, he has not appeared. Alas, forbearance, gentleness and politeness of speech are construed as weaknesses by the wicked. The world regards with respect only those who are arrogant, harsh and given to meting out strong punishments. O Lakṣman, neither fame, nor victory, nor even popularity can be won by conciliation. I shall therefore stand with My bow and flaming arrows. I shall dry up the ocean this very day. The monkeys may go on foot to Lanka. Watch now as I exhibit My prowess.”
Rāma was furious with Samudra. Feeling insulted, He stood firmly on the beach, forcibly stringing His great bow. His eyes were red and He blazed like the fire of universal destruction. He instantaneously released hundreds of fleet arrows toward the sea. The ocean began to roar and rise up in massive billows. Clouds of steam covered its surface as the flaming arrows entered the water. Long, writhing sea serpents and great dark whales were thrown about. Waves resembling the Mandara mountain were seen to rise up one after another. Even far beneath the ocean the Dānavas and Nāgas felt disturbed and cried out in distress.
Lakṣman rushed toward Rāma and held onto His bow. “There is no need for this display, dear brother!” He exclaimed. “Men of Your caliber never give way to anger. Your purpose will surely be achieved without such violence.”
In the sky invisible ṛṣis called out, “O Rāma. Hold! Be at peace!”
But Rāma’s anger did not abate. He placed upon His bow a large golden arrow and began thinking of the mantras to invoke the brahmāstra. Stretching His bow with vehemence He gazed furiously at the raging sea. Suddenly the heavens were enveloped by darkness and fierce winds blew. Large bolts of lightning were seen and the earth itself shook. The ocean surged back a distance of ten miles and rose up to a tremendous height. Rāma stood immovable with his arrow trained on the waters.
Then suddenly before everyone’s sight, Samudra appeared. Rising up from the ocean, he seemed like the bright sun at dawn. He shone like a glossy black gem and was adorned with brilliant gold ornaments. Clad in red robes with a garland of red flowers, he had eyes like large lotuses. A wreath of celestial flowers crowned his head. On his chest was a prominent jewel which shed a white luster all around. Surrounded by many river goddesses he came before Rāma and placed before Him a large heap of shining jewels taken from the ocean depths. He spoke in a sonorous voice.
“Every element has its natural state, O Rāma. My nature is to be fathomless and unaffordable. I did not wish to deviate from my constitutional position, neither from infatuation nor from fear. Nevertheless, I shall tell You the means by which I may be crossed by Your army. The monkey named Nala is a son of Viśvakarmā, the heavenly architect. He can construct a bridge over me which I will sustain.”
Samudra assured Rāma that He would be able to cross him without fear. The deity would ensure that the fierce creatures inhabiting his depths would not be aggressive. Rāma still stood with His arrow at the ready on His bow. However, He was now pleased with the sea-god and He said, “This unfailing shaft must be released. Tell Me, O abode of Varuṇa, where I should send this arrow?”
Samudra asked Rāma to fire the arrow upon a part of his waters to the north. There were numerous sinful demons inhabiting that region and Samudra did not like his waters being polluted by this touch. Rāma assented and shot His fiery arrow to the north, drying up that whole section of the ocean. Samudra then disappeared from view.
Nala was enlivened by the task that faced him. He informed Rāma that he had been granted a boon by Viśvakarmā, the gods’ engineer, who decreed that Nala’s abilities would equal his own. Nala was confident that he could build the bridge. He ordered the monkeys to fetch the necessary materials. The monkeys leapt about joyfully, applying themselves to the work with great energy.
Soon there were thousands of trees and massive heaps of rocks piled on the beach. Nala had them thrown in the sea and they sent up huge splashes of water. Using lengths of creepers to measure and make straight lines Nala gradually constructed his bridge over the sea. The ocean allowed even great rocks to float on his waters. Binding together tree trunks, rocks and reeds, the monkeys built the bridge toward Lanka. On the first day they covered over one hundred miles. Becoming even more enthusiastic, they built one hundred and fifty miles on the second day and nearly two hundred on the third. In this way the bridge was completed in only five days and reached right across the ocean to the shores of Lanka. On the southern shore of Lanka stood Vibhishana and his ministers, maces in hand, ready to repulse any Rākṣasas who tried to attack the bridge.
The gods and Gandharvas, along with the celestial ṛṣis, all stood in amazement as they gazed upon the bridge. It was eighty miles wide and eight hundred miles long. The monkeys and bears swarmed onto it shouting and roaring in joy. Like a great flood they swept toward Lanka. In their forefront were Rāma and Lakṣman mounted upon the backs of Hanumān and Aṅgada. They soon reached Lanka and ordered the army to encamp on the shore.
Rāma sat with Lakṣman and Sugrīva. He told the monkey king to have his troops ready for battle at any time. He spoke of evil portents he had witnessed. “Winds full of dust are blowing. The earth is quaking and trees are falling. Dark clouds are thundering and giving forth drops of blood. On all sides there are ferocious beasts uttering fierce screams as they face the sun.”
Rāma described many omens and said that they foretold the destruction of both armies. “Eminent heroes among the Vanaras, bears and Rākṣasas will soon be killed,” Rāma said gravely.
Sugrīva had the army arrayed in battle formation. They spread out and surrounded the city of the Rākṣasas from the eastern to the western side. As they approached Lanka they heard a deafening clamor of war drums from within. The monkeys rejoiced at hearing that hair-raising sound and they roared loudly, drowning out the drums. Hearing the terrifying roars, the demons clasped their weapons more tightly.
Rāma looked upon Lanka and felt a pang of separation from Sītā. Here She was at last. The vile Rāvaṇa also lay within this city tormenting the anguished princess. Rāma was anxious to face the demon. He spoke to Lakṣman. “Here is the splendid city of Lanka, built long ago by Viśvakarmā. It looks like the sky filled with white clouds.”
Rāma had the army deployed in a human-shaped formation with its arms reaching around the city. The most powerful monkeys were stationed at the various key points. Rāma Himself, along with His brother, stood at the head of the formation. The monkeys took up gigantic trees and rocks, saying to one another, “Let us dash this city to pieces!”
3.4: Rāvaṇa’s Evil Trickery
In Lanka, Rāvaṇa received reports from his spies that the monkeys were amassed outside the city. The terrified Suka told him that Rāma’s army was inestimable in size and power. He recommended that Rāvaṇa immediately return Sītā to Rāma. Suka’s suggestion infuriated Rāvaṇa. “I would not give back Sītā even if the entire host of gods now stood outside Lanka!” he bellowed. “Oh, when shall my arrows dart toward Rāma like bees toward flowers in spring? I shall eclipse His army even as the rising sun obscures the stars.”
Rāvaṇa bragged of his power at length. He had no intention of making peace with Rāma. The demon arrogantly asserted that his power was without compare. It would be a one-sided fight.
The demon king was nevertheless impressed by the fact that the army had crossed the ocean by building a great bridge. He needed to more carefully assess their power and he ordered Suka and another Rākṣasa, Sāraṇa, to enter the enemy ranks. “Disguise yourselves well and ascertain the exact size of this army. Find out who are the generals and who are Rāma’s counselors. Tell me who is their commander-in-chief.”
Suka and Sāraṇa disguised themselves as monkeys and penetrated deep into Rāma’s army, but they could not find the end of his troops. The monkey forces occupied woods, mountains, rivers and flatland for as far as could be seen. It stretched back across the bridge all the way to the opposite shore, still moving toward Lanka. The sound of Rāma’s army was tumultuous, and it struck fear into the hearts of the Rākṣasas.
As the two spies wandered amid Rāma’s soldiers, Vibhishana detected them. He had them captured and brought before Rāma. The monkeys kicked and pummeled them as they were dragged toward Rāma, and the Rākṣasas were terrified and afraid for their lives. They joined their palms and implored Rāma, “Dear sir, we are two spies sent by Rāvaṇa to find out everything about your army. Please spare us.”
Rāma laughed heartily and replied, “You need have no fear for your lives, O night-rangers. If you have seen the entire army, then return to Rāvaṇa at once. If not, then I shall have Vibhishana show you whatever you wish to see. Then you may deliver the following message to your king.”
Rāma wanted Rāvaṇa to be fully informed of the immensity of the forces that now surrounded his city. Perhaps the foolish demon would see sense. Rāma asked the spies to tell Rāvaṇa to display all his strength. The next day he would see his city with its defensive walls and arches broken down by Rāma’s arrows. At daybreak, Rāma said, He would let loose His terrible anger on the Rākṣasas.
The two spies were released and they sped back into the city. They went trembling before Rāvaṇa and spoke. “It seems to us that Rāma and Lakṣman alone could uproot Lanka with its walls, palaces and the entire host of Rākṣasas. The glory and power of these brothers is limitless. They are united with an army of Vanaras who appear frightful and who are bellowing joyfully at the prospect of war. O lord, abandon your policy of antagonism while there is still time. Return Sītā to Rāma.”
Rāvaṇa roared angrily. Again his weak-hearted followers were suggesting something to which he could never agree. Again he said that Lanka was impenetrable even by the denizens of heaven, never mind a few monkeys. The spies were obviously afraid because they had been beaten by the monkeys, but Rāvaṇa would never give way to fear under any circumstances. Followed by Suka and Sāraṇa he went up to the top of his palace, wanting to see for himself the monkey army.
Standing atop his snow-white palace, which was as high as dozens of tall palm trees, Rāvaṇa gazed around. Near the walls of the city he saw an ocean of dark-colored monkeys and bears. He focused his gaze upon the head of the army and asked Sāraṇa the names of the chief monkeys. Sāraṇa replied, “That colossal monkey who stands facing Lanka and roaring like a furious bull is Sugrīva, their king. The one by his side who looks and thunders like a dark storm cloud is Nīla, his commander. Near him the massive monkey who is pacing about and repeatedly yawning in fury is Aṅgada, the crown prince. And there is Hanumān, who single-handedly laid waste to Lanka. You have already met him.”
Sāraṇa went on to describe all of the powerful monkey generals, pointing them out one by one. The awestruck Rākṣasa praised the power of Rāma’s army, which he felt was unassailable.
Rāvaṇa looked carefully at the foremost monkeys. They were all standing firm with their faces toward the city. Brandishing thick trees and rocks resembling mountain peaks, they shouted and roared, eager for the battle to commence. Behind them stretched the vast army covering every visible part of the island of Lanka. Rāvaṇa saw Rāma with Lakṣman, shining together like the sun and the moon. Near them Vibhishana stood, holding his mace and surrounded by his four ministers.
The demon king, agitated at heart and indignant, spoke harshly and angrily to his two spies, who stood with their heads bent low. “How have you dared to glorify in my presence the enemy forces? No wisdom or good sense exists in either of you. Indeed, the load of ignorance is borne by you both alone. By sheer good luck I have been able to retain the sovereignty of Lanka with stupid ministers like yourselves. I should have you both put to death at once. My anger is hardly abated even when I think of all your past services. Get out of here! I do not want to see your faces again.”
Rāvaṇa ordered that some other spies be quickly brought. He told them to go among Rāma’s army and try to ascertain their exact battle plan. They should discover everything about Rāma: when He slept, when He ate, what were His habits. Equipped with this knowledge, Rāvaṇa felt confident he could repulse his enemy.
The spies, headed by a demon named Sardula, quickly left in obedience to Rāvaṇa’s command. Reaching the top of the Suvala mountain they gazed around at the army of monkeys. The Rākṣasas were beside themselves with fear as they scanned Rāma’s vast forces. As they moved toward the army they were again discovered by Vibhishana, who was constantly on the lookout for Rāvaṇa’s emissaries. The monkeys beat the demons severely and dragged them before Rāma, but the compassionate prince again ordered their release.
The spies returned hastily to Lanka. Panting and stupefied with terror they fell before Rāvaṇa. The demon king said to Sardula, “You appear somewhat off-color, O mighty Rākṣasa. I trust you did not fall into the hands of enraged enemies.”
Sardula replied in a faint voice. “O lord, it is simply not possible to spy upon this army. They are guarded on all sides by monkeys like mountains and are headed by the invincible Rāma. There is no possibility of even asking them a single question. I had hardly penetrated the army before I was arrested and brought before Rāma. The monkeys paraded me about, having me march back and forth in various unusual gaits. They attacked me with knees, fists, palms and teeth, throwing me before Rāma in a wretched state.”
Sardula described to Rāvaṇa the enormous bridge over the sea and how it was filled with monkeys and bears still pouring into Lanka. Like the other spies before him the Rākṣasa recommended that Rāvaṇa hand back Sītā; but the demon king remained resolute. He would not give up Sītā even if threatened by all the worlds joined together.
Rāvaṇa dismissed the spies and went into his rooms thinking of Sītā. Perhaps there was now an opportunity to win Her over. If he could somehow convince Her that Rāma was dead, She might succumb. It was worth a try. And in any event, perhaps, just perhaps, he may end up losing Her to Rāma. Now might be his last chance to gain Her favor. The demon decided to play a trick upon Sītā. He summoned a Rākṣasa named Vidyujiva, an expert magician, and ordered him to create a head that looked exactly like Rāma’s head, and a bow resembling Rāma’s own.
Saying, “So be it,” Vidyujiva soon produced the head and bow, and showed them to Rāvaṇa. The demon king was pleased and he handed the magician a priceless necklace of gems. Rāvaṇa then told Vidyujiva to accompany him to the ashoka grove to see Sītā.
He found Sītā lying beneath a tree, sighing repeatedly, still guarded by numerous Rākṣasīs. With Vidyujiva close behind him Rāvaṇa went before Her and began to speak. “Your husband, on whose account You have rebuked me, now lies killed. O blessed lady, Your roots are torn out and Your vanity is crushed. Of what use to You now is Your dead spouse? Become mine today. I shall be a better protector to you than any other. Let me tell You how Rāma and His army were slain.”
Rāvaṇa fabricated a whole story about how the army of monkeys was annihilated by the Rākṣasas. He told Sītā they had been wiped out during the night as they slept, exhausted from their journey across the sea. All of the principal monkeys, including even Hanumān, were now dead. Rāma’s head had been severed by the commander of the Rākṣasas. Rāvaṇa had Vidyujiva show Her the trick head. The magician placed the head on the ground in front of Sītā. He handed the bow he had created to Rāvaṇa and then promptly vanished from the spot.
Throwing down the bow next to the head, Rāvaṇa said, “Look now upon Your husband. There is His famed bow, fetched here by Prahasta after he had disposed of that mortal being during the night.”
Sītā looked at the head. It resembled Rāma closely with the same large eyes and the same splendid jewel in His hair. The princess burst into a wail and fell to the ground. She cried out, censuring Kaikeyi. “O cruel woman, be now satisfied with your work! See what you have done to the noble house of Raghu. How can I continue to live? Everything is finished. The death of a husband before his wife is declared to be a catastrophe.”
Sītā lamented at length. How had this happened? The royal astrologers had predicted that Rāma would live a long life and rule over the earth. “The Time Spirit is irresistible to all beings,” cried Sītā. “O Rāma! Surely You are now reunited with Your father. But what of Me? Do you not recall the solemn vow You made at Our wedding? You declared You would always protect Me and take Me to the next world with You. How have You deserted Me now?”
The princess was torn apart. She thought of Kaushalya and Sumitra. They would both die immediately upon hearing the terrible news. Considering that She was the cause of Rāma’s death, Sītā condemned Herself. She said to Rāvaṇa, “Kill Me at once, O demon. Lay My dead body on top of Rāma and unite a husband with his wife.”
While Sītā was wailing in this way a messenger came to Rāvaṇa. He called the demon aside and told him that he was needed urgently in the council chamber. Prahasta had arrived and was awaiting orders to commence the battle.
Rāvaṇa turned away from Sītā. There was no time to lose. Rāma’s formidable forces had to be checked at once. The demon immediately left the ashoka grove and walked swiftly toward his chambers. As soon as he left, a Rākṣasī named Sarama, the wife of Vibhishana, came toward Sītā. Taking Her away from the other Rākṣasī guards, she reassured the distraught princess. “I heard what Rāvaṇa said to you, but You should not believe him. He is a great trickster and a liar. O gentle princess, be fully restored to confidence. Rāma is not dead. Even now the demon king is making plans to defend the city from the monkey forces, headed by Your unconquerable husband and His brother.”
Sarama spoke with affection to Sītā. The Rākṣasī was as pious as her husband and she had often comforted the grieving princess. She assured Sītā that Rāma’s so-called head was an illusion conjured up by Rāvaṇa and his henchman.
As Sarama and Sītā spoke they heard the crash of war drums as well as the clamor of troops and the blare of countless trumpets. It was obvious that a battle was about to commence.
Sarama had heard from her husband all about Rāma. She said to Sītā, “This mighty fight will result in the complete destruction of the demons. Rāvaṇa will undoubtedly be slain by Rāma. No other outcome is possible. Dear Sītā, I am certain You will soon be reunited with Your husband.”
After gladdening Sītā, Sarama asked if there was any service she could do for the princess. She offered to carry a message to Rāma. “If You wish, I can go invisibly through the skies and reassure Rāma of Your safety,” she suggested. But Sītā instead asked to be informed of Rāvaṇa’s plans. She wanted to know if Rāvaṇa had any intention of releasing Her or of even killing Her before Rāma came. If so, then perhaps a message should be taken to Rāma.
Sarama went unobserved into Rāvaṇa’s chambers and listened to the discussions. After some hours she returned again to Sītā and informed Her what was happening. “Rāvaṇa has been exhorted by his own dear mother to return You to Rāma,” Sarama said. “Along with one of his elderly and affectionate counselors, she tried at length to make him see sense. Other wise ministers have also put forward a case for Your return. They warned Rāvaṇa that battle with Rāma and the monkeys will have a disastrous result for the Rākṣasas. But Rāvaṇa will no more let You go than a miser would leave his hold on treasure. He is not prepared to release You until he has laid down his life in combat, O godly one.”
Sītā thanked Sarama for her kindness and friendship. Feeling reassured that Her husband would soon arrive to rescue Her, She sat beneath the simshapa tree, absorbing Herself in thoughts of Rāma.
* * *
In his council chamber Rāvaṇa gazed around at his ministers. They all sat mutely looking at one another. Rāma’s feat in crossing the ocean with an unlimited number of bears and monkeys was astonishing. And that was on top of the incredible display by a single monkey in Lanka. Surely battle with Rāma would be foolhardy. Seeing the timidity of his advisors, Rāvaṇa spoke in a voice which rang around the silent chamber. “I have heard everything about Rāma and His prowess. I feel that we will be able to overcome Him in battle. I know the Rākṣasas to be unfailing and resolute. You should entertain no fears.”
An elderly counselor named Malayavan, Rāvaṇa’s maternal grandfather, replied, “O king, there are different ways to deal with a hostile enemy. Battle is only one and it is only recommended in situations where the enemy is clearly weaker or where every other means of diplomacy has failed. You have not explored any other avenues with Rāma. Let us first try to make an alliance. Give Sītā back to Rāma. The outcome of battle is always unsure; there must be a loser. On the other hand, O intelligent Rākṣasa, negotiations can produce a favorable result for both parties.”
Malayavan spoke strongly. Rāvaṇa had abandoned virtue. He would now be swallowed up by evil. Rāma however was devoted to virtue and His cause was just. The gods and ṛṣis whom Rāvaṇa had assaulted were all supporting Rāma. Furthermore, Rāvaṇa had no immunity from humans and animals. Nor was Rāma an ordinary human. He was surely Viṣṇu Himself. Therefore peace should be secured by any means.
Having delivered his sagacious advice, Malayavan fell silent, eyeing the ruler of Lanka and awaiting his response. Rāvaṇa knitted his brows. He breathed heavily in anger. Clenching, his fists he replied furiously, “How have you uttered such harsh and ill-considered words? Surely you have come under the sway of the enemy. On what basis do you hold as powerful the wretched Rāma, a mere human who has been abandoned by His father and has as His support only a band of monkeys? See Him struck down by me in a short while! Having somehow crossed the sea and reached Lanka, He will nevertheless not return with His life. There is no doubt whatsoever.”
Malayavan made no reply. It seemed that Rāvaṇa was bent on his own ruin. After uttering benedictions wishing him victory, the old minister left for his own residence.
Rāvaṇa set about making all arrangements for Lanka’s defense. He posted powerful generals at each of the city’s four gates, all of them equipped with a force of hundreds of thousands of fierce Rākṣasas. Rāvaṇa himself would visit each gate in turn. Satisfied that everything was secure, the demon then retired to his own chambers.
3.5: The War Begins
Outside Lanka, Rāma held counsel with His chiefs. They discussed how to assail the city. Vibhishana reported that his four ministers had entered the city in the form of birds. They had carefully surveyed everything. Vibhishana described the defensive arrangements. “At the eastern gate stands Prahasta, the commander-in-chief. At the southern gate is Mahaparshwa and Mahodara, two almost invincible Rākṣasas. Stationed at the western gate is Rāvaṇa’s cunning and fearful son Indrajit, who is highly dangerous in battle. At the northern gate is Rāvaṇa himself.”
Vibhishana told Rāma how many Rākṣasas they faced. They numbered tens of millions, all of them equipped with fierce weapons of every description. It was not going to be an easy fight.
Rāma smiled. He issued orders detailing different monkeys to attack each gate. Sugrīva, Jambavan and Vibhishana should remain at the center of the army. Nīla would assault the eastern side, Aṅgada the south, Hanumān the west, and Rāma Himself would attack the northern gate. He wanted to waste no time in confronting Rāvaṇa directly. Rāma ordered that the monkeys should fight in their natural forms only. This would be their distinguishing mark. Rāma expected that the demons would try trickery and assume different forms. The monkeys would have the best chance of recognizing each other if they remained in their own forms.
Evening was approaching. The battle would commence the next day. Rāma decided to ascend the Suvela mountain and spend the night there. As He climbed the mountain He spoke with Lakṣman. “We shall be able to survey Lanka from this vantage point. I long now for the battle to begin. My anger toward Rāvaṇa is growing at every moment. The whole Rākṣasa race will perish on account of their mean-minded and stubborn king.”
Rāma reached the top of Mount Suvela along with hundreds of the foremost monkey warriors. They gazed at Lanka, which glowed red in the light of the setting sun. Along its defensive wall, which appeared like a sheer cliff face, there seemed to be another dark wall in the shape of a compact row of Rākṣasas. No gap could be seen anywhere in the lines of heavily armed demons. The monkeys roared in anticipation. As they stared at their enemy, the sun set and a full moon rose. Rāma and the monkeys alertly watched for any signs of a treacherous night assault by the Rākṣasas.
After sunrise the following day the monkeys closely surveyed Lanka again. Atop the Trikuta mountain the city appeared charming with its towering white gates and gold and silver fortifications. Mansions and palaces and tall, golden-domed temples crowded the city. The monkeys saw various devices lined up along the outer wall ready for the battle. As the Rākṣasas readied themselves for battle the thunder of drums and the blowing of conches and trumpets was tumultuous.
As Rāma and the monkeys looked across at Lanka they saw in the distance Rāvaṇa himself. The demon appeared at the top of the city gate, clad in red robes and adorned with shining scarlet gems. He was being fanned on all sides and a large white parasol was held over his head.
Seeing him there, Sugrīva became impetuous. He immediately sprang from the mountaintop and with one mighty bound landed near the demon king. He rushed up to him and said, “I am a friend and servant of Rāma, ruler of this world. Display your power, O Rākṣasa, for I shall not spare you today.”
With that, Sugrīva leapt upon Rāvaṇa and dashed his shining diadem to the ground. The Rākṣasa shook him off and stood for the fight. He spoke harshly. “Today I will break your beautiful neck, O monkey.”
Rāvaṇa caught hold of Sugrīva and threw him forcefully to the ground, but the monkey bounced up like a ball. He closed on Rāvaṇa and grasped him tightly. As they pummeled, kneed and scratched one another they appeared like two tall trees intertwined together and shaken by a gale. Their limbs were bathed in blood and perspiration as they locked together, grunting furiously. Both were endowed with extraordinary might and they fought with tremendous power. They fell to the ground and rolled over, dropping from the flat roof of the gate to the ground below, still violently belaboring each other. As both were experts at wrestling, they employed various maneuvers with great skill. They appeared like a lion and a tiger engaged in a furious fight to the death. Breaking apart, they moved around in a circle, each rebuking the other with harsh words.
They stood in diverse postures and moved about in many ways-now rushing, now wheeling, now leaping high and now crouching. As they struck and dodged one another with blinding speed they appeared graceful, but neither could overpower the other. Becoming tired of the bout, Rāvaṇa decided to exhibit his supernatural power. Sugrīva realized this and immediately sprang high, landing again on the roof of the gate. Taking another great bound he soared across to the Suvela mountain. Rāvaṇa was left standing angrily on the ground. Seeing that he had returned to the side of Rāma and Lakṣman, the demon decided not to pursue the monkey. The battle with the prince would come soon enough.
Rāma embraced Sugrīva and examined the wounds Rāvaṇa had inflicted upon him. Feeling a little annoyed with the monkey, Rāma admonished him out of love. “Kings should not act in such rash ways, O mighty one. If anything had happened to you, then what would have become of Me? If you had been slain, then I surely would not have survived. Please do not be so impetuous again.”
Sugrīva bowed to Rāma and replied, “Seeing that disgusting demon who has borne away Your wife, I lost control of myself. I had to give him a beating. I am sorry.”
Rāma praised Sugrīva’s courage and strength and then turned to Lakṣman. “O valiant brother, the time for battle has arrived. We should array our forces in preparation. Many terrible omens are visible, boding massive destruction and death. The earth will soon be covered with rocks, darts, arrows and swords, hurled by monkeys and Rākṣasas. Soon a thick morass of flesh and blood will spread on all sides. Surrounded by monkeys and bears, We should immediately march on Lanka.”
Rāma rapidly descended the mountain, followed by His brother. Upon reaching the foot of the mountain He reviewed the army. Then, with Sugrīva’s assistance, He marshalled the troops ready for the battle. At an auspicious moment He ordered them to advance. The army moved off sending up a roar which made the earth shake and the walls of Lanka vibrate. The different Vanara commanders soon reached their respective positions at the gates of Lanka. Rāma Himself stood at the northern gate. Sugrīva remained at a distance from the city. Along with Lakṣman and Vibhishana he detailed divisions of troops to support each of the commanders.
Seizing hold of fully grown trees and massive boulders, the monkeys rushed forward. Their long tails raised in anger and their terrible teeth bared. Their eyes were bloodshot and their faces contorted with fury. As they bounded high in the air, they seemed like a swarm of locusts. The growls and roars of the fierce bears led by Jambavan sounded like the rush of a mighty ocean.
The army quickly surrounded the city of Lanka, making it difficult even for the wind to approach. Looking out from the walls, the Rākṣasas were filled with wonder upon seeing the flood of monkeys and bears. They ran about in all directions, making ready to defend their city.
Rāma summoned Aṅgada and asked him to carry a message to Rāvaṇa. This was the demon’s last chance. If he returned Sītā now, then a battle could be averted. Rāma said to Aṅgada, “You should approach the ten-headed monster on My behalf. Tell him that his cup of sins has now overflowed. Fierce retribution will shortly ensue for all his acts of violence against the ṛṣis, gods, Gandharvas, Apsarās, Yakṣas and others-what to speak of his depraved act of stealing Sītā from Me. His arrogance born of Brahmā’s boon will shortly be smashed by Me. Soon he will see his city rent asunder and the Rākṣasas lying lifeless upon the ground. Standing firm in battle, I will soon force him to throw down his body.”
Rāma offered Rāvaṇa the opportunity to surrender. He could return Sītā now and the army would leave peacefully. Otherwise, the world would soon be rid of Rākṣasas, barring those who sought Rāma’s shelter.
Aṅgada leapt high and crossed over the walls of Lanka. Confounding the demons by his speed and movement, he swiftly arrived before Rāvaṇa. He stood a short distance from the Rākṣasa and announced himself to be Rāma’s messenger. He then delivered the message exactly as he had heard it from Rāma.
Rāvaṇa was seized by fury. He commanded his ministers to capture and kill Aṅgada. Four huge demons immediately took hold of Aṅgada by his arms. The monkey, who blazed like a fire, allowed the Rākṣasas to hold him. Taking all four of them still clinging to his arms, he leapt up onto a high ledge. He then dashed the demons together and they fell senseless to the ground. The monkey let out a great shout proclaiming his name and roaring, “Victory to Rāma!” With a great leap he returned to Rāma, smashing down the wall from which he jumped. Rāvaṇa’s reply to Rāma was clear enough.
Witnessing this display of power, Rāvaṇa became morose. He foresaw his own destruction. The demon sat sighing amid his ministers, but still he gave no thought to the possibility of surrender.
Rāma affectionately received Aṅgada back. Hearing then of Rāvaṇa’s cruel response, He resolved to fight and immediately gave the order to charge. Mounted upon the back of a monkey, Rāma led the attack Himself. The entire earth around Lanka was rendered brown by the mass of monkeys and bears. They filled the moats and completely covered the defensive walls as they rapidly scaled them. The air was filled with cries of “Victory to Rāma and Sugrīva!” Many mighty monkeys rose quickly to the tops of the walls, screaming ferociously. They poured onto the ramparts and tore into the Rākṣasas with their teeth and nails.
Rāvaṇa ordered his troops to rush against the enemy. A great clamor was raised. Thousands of drums were beaten with golden sticks, creating a terrible din. Rākṣasas of hideous features blew conches and trumpets and rallied Rāvaṇa’s vast forces to the fight. With their dark limbs adorned with brilliant jewels the Rākṣasas seemed like so many clouds lit by lightning. They joyfully rushed forth like the waves of an ocean swollen with the rains of universal destruction. The trumpeting of elephants, the neighing of horses, the clatter of chariots and the shouts of demons made the earth and sky resound.
The Rākṣasas struck the monkeys with their flaming maces, javelins, pikes and axes. The monkeys grasped hold of the demons with their powerful arms and hauled them down from the walls. They aimed terrible blows at the Rākṣasas with their fists and feet. The demons replied with darts and arrows. As they fought, they shouted out their respective names. All around Lanka there were monkeys, bears and Rākṣasas locked in fierce combat. The earth quickly became covered with a mire of flesh and blood.
Great heroes among the Rākṣasas mounted brilliant chariots and came out of the city. With their dazzling coats of mail they shone like fire. Others sallied forth on the backs of gigantic elephants, while others charged out on great steeds. They were supported by tens of thousands of Rākṣasas on foot, their frightening faces twisted in fury. Shouting, “Victory to the king,” the Rākṣasas issued out for battle like a black river gushing out of the city gates. Some of them took to the air and swooped down upon Rāma’s army wheeling huge scimitars. Others fought on foot, raising their frightful weapons and screaming in anger. The Vanaras met them, surging toward them with shouts of joy. The two armies appeared like heaven and earth colliding in the sky.
Great duels took place between the heroes on both sides. Aṅgada fought with Indrajit even as Śiva had contended with the demon Andhaka. Hanumān fought a furious battle with the huge Rākṣasa Sharabha, while Vibhishana battled with a violent Rākṣasa called Suparshwa. Sugrīva closed with Praghasha and Lakṣman with Durmukha. Four of the most powerful Rākṣasas charged Rāma, who stood on the battlefield, shining like a smokeless fire.
A fierce and confused fight raged. All of the combatants sought a quick victory and they fought with tremendous force. A stream of blood flowed across the ground floating dead bodies that looked like logs with hair resembling weeds. Heads, arms, legs and trunks rolled about. The clamor of the fight was deafening. It struck terror in the hearts of all those who were not heroes in battle.
Sharabha hurled at Hanumān a blazing lance which pierced the monkey in the breast. Not tolerating the attack, Hanumān sprang onto the demon’s chariot and with his bare hands smashed it along with the Rākṣasa himself. Sugrīva took up a massive sal tree and brought it down upon Praghasha’s chariot, killing the Rākṣasa outright. A fierce and notorious demon named Pratapana rushed yelling toward Nala and lacerated him with hundreds of sharp arrows. With one of those arrows Nala bounded onto the demon’s chariot and gouged out his eyes. With a hail of arrows Lakṣman overwhelmed Durmukha, and with one swift shaft He pierced the demon in the heart. Rāma quickly lopped off the heads of the four Rākṣasas who surrounded Him.
The powerful Mainda, a commander among the monkeys, leapt into the sky and fought the Rākṣasas who flew overhead. Catching hold of the powerful demon named Vajramusti he smashed him to the ground along with his chariot and four great steeds. Nikhumbha, the son of Kumbhakarna, shot a hundred swift arrows at Nīla. The monkey took up a chariot wheel and rushed toward the Rākṣasa who stood laughing in his chariot. Nikhumbha loosed another hundred fierce shafts at the advancing Nīla. Not minding the arrows, Nīla whirled the iron wheel and jumped onto the Rākṣasa’s chariot. Even as Viṣṇu severs the heads of demons with His Chakra, Nīla cut off the head of Nikhumbha, as well as that of his charioteer.
Vidyunmali, a leader among the Rākṣasas, attacked Sushena with his gold-encrusted arrows. Roaring again and again he pierced the monkey with hundreds of sharp arrows. In a rage Sushena took up a mountainous boulder and hurled it at the demon. Vidyunmali hastily leapt from his chariot as the boulder descended and smashed it to pieces. The demon stood on the ground, mace in hand. Sushena seized a huge rock and darted toward the Rākṣasa, who swung his fierce mace at the monkey and caught him on the breast. Unmoved by the blow Sushena brought the rock down upon the demon’s head with the force of a thunderbolt. Vidyunmali fell lifeless to the ground like a tree smashed in a storm.
Many valiant Rākṣasas were crushed in this way by mighty heroes among the monkeys and bears. The battlefield was strewn with spears and maces, as well as javelins, lances and arrows. Smashed chariots lay amid the carcasses of horses and elephants. The headless trunks of Rākṣasas and monkeys bounded here and there, spurting blood and finally falling to the ground. Vultures and jackals moved about the field, feasting on flesh and blood.
As night fell, the Rākṣasas felt their strength and enthusiasm increase. The fight continued into the night with the combatants hardly able to recognize one another. Voices were heard to call out, “Are you a monkey or a Rākṣasa?” Shouts of “Stand and fight!” and “Why do you flee?” mixed with the cries of wounded and dying soldiers. The monkeys could see the golden armor of the Rākṣasas glinting in the moonlight, and they sprang upon them, tearing them with their sharp teeth and pounding them with their fists. Powerful monkeys dragged down the elephants and horses mounted by demons. Monkey heroes picked up Rākṣasas, crushed them in their embrace and then dropped them lifeless to the ground to be devoured by jackals.
Rāma and Lakṣman stood together like two brilliant gods. They killed numerous Rākṣasas with swift arrows, including those who ranged invisible through the sky. Not even the heroes among the Rākṣasas could approach the two princes as They fought in the midst of the battle.
A terrible sound arose as the Rākṣasas beat countless kettledrums and large wooden tom-toms and blew thousands of conches and trumpets. This sound, mixed with roars of pain and the clash of weapons, created a horrifying uproar. It was difficult to move across the ground due to the countless corpses lying there. Monkeys and Rākṣasas lay on the battlefield with lances and arrows protruding from their lifeless bodies. That first night of battle was like the night of universal dissolution. Millions of warriors were slain. Ghosts and nocturnal fiends ranged about the battlefield, reveling in the scenes of carnage and death.
The Rākṣasas rallied, and headed by six of their mighty chiefs riding in a line, they rushed in a body toward Rāma and Lakṣman. Rāma released thousands of flaming arrows which lit up the ground like flares. Almost instantaneously He struck down the six foremost Rākṣasas with six straight-flying arrows. With other golden-feathered arrows He tore to pieces hundreds of other Rākṣasas who came near Him. Lakṣman stood behind Him and fended off the treacherous demons who attacked Rāma from His rear. The demons that approached the princes perished like moths entering a fire.
Aṅgada fought a furious battle with Indrajit. With a rock that looked like a mountain peak he smashed the demon’s chariot. Indrajit rose into the air and became invisible. Fatigued from the fight he retreated.
Seeing Aṅgada besting Indrajit, the gods and ṛṣis praised him. Rāma and Lakṣman also praised the valor of the monkey prince. They called out, “Well done! Bravo!”
Hearing his enemy praised, Indrajit fell into a terrible rage. Remaining invisible, the demon loosed sharp arrows which shone like lightning. They seemed to appear out of nowhere and sped toward Rāma and Lakṣman, piercing them all over. The Rākṣasa used his supernatural power to send arrows like venomous snakes which caught and bound Rāma and Lakṣman. The two princes fell to the ground enmeshed in a tight network of writhing serpents with glowing ethereal bodies.
Rāma immediately ordered ten monkeys to search out Indrajit. Hanumān, Aṅgada and eight other Vanara general bounded into the air and darted about, whirling trees and maces, but they could not locate the demon who continuously fired at them his swift iron arrows bedecked with buzzard feathers. Laughing all the while and keeping out of sight, Indrajit shot hundreds of arrows into the bodies of Rāma and Lakṣman. No part of Their bodies remained visible. Blood flowed profusely from Their wounds and They appeared like trees giving forth red blossoms in spring. Indrajit shouted to Them, “Even the ruler of the gods, Indra, could not discern me as I fight invisibly. What then of You two humans? I shall now dispatch You to the abode of Yamarāja with my sharp arrows.”
The demon continued firing his arrows at the two bound brothers who felt distressed and afflicted. They lay upon the ground with Their bows fallen from Their hands. Arrows with the heads of axes, others with razor heads and others with heads shaped like calves’ teeth whistled toward Them from the sky. Seeing Them lying there bathed in blood, the monkeys screeched in agony and fear. They surrounded the fallen princes and shed tears, giving way to despondency.
Indrajit considered his enemy defeated. He joyfully left the battlefield and went toward Lanka to give the happy news to his father.
The monkeys felt hopeless. They stood beating their breasts and crying in anguish. As they gazed around at the sky, fearing further attacks from the invisible Indrajit, they saw Vibhishana coming toward them. Some of the monkeys mistook the Rākṣasa for Indrajit and they fled here and there, but Vibhishana reassured them. Looking around with his occult vision he could discern that Indrajit had left. He told the monkeys not to worry and knelt down by Rāma’s side.
Vibhishana spoke to Sugrīva with pain in his voice. “These two brothers who always depend on virtue have been struck down by Indrajit’s treachery. The wicked demon cannot face Them in a fair fight. Therefore he resorts to sorcery and cowardice.”
Vibhishana told the monkeys that Rāma and Lakṣman had been bound by a mystical weapon which Indrajit had received as a boon from Brahmā. Even the gods would not be able to release Them. This made the monkeys even more anguished. Sugrīva lamented loudly. “All Rāma’s hopes have been dashed today. Our efforts are in vain and everything is lost. What shall we do now?”
Vibhishana took hold of Sugrīva’s arm and reassured him. “Take heart, O monkey king. Conflicts are always of this nature. Victory is never certain. Heroes do not lament when faced with setbacks. Rather, they exert themselves with even more energy. My feeling is that these two princes will recover. Somehow They will shake off these bonds, I am sure. Be strong, for the fear of death should never haunt those devoted to truth and piety.”
Vibhishana dipped his hand in cool water and wiped Sugrīva’s eyes. He told him to look closely at Rāma and Lakṣman. They were still breathing and Their bodies were lustrous. It was clear They were only in a temporary faint. Vibhishana felt sure They would soon return to consciousness and find a way out of Their predicament. He left with Jambavan to reassure and rally the rest of the army, as the news of Rāma’s fall had spread quickly. Sugrīva, along with Hanumān and the other leading monkeys, stood by Rāma’s side waiting for Him to awaken.
(Continued ...)
(My humble salutations to the lotus feet of Brahmasree Krishna Dharma and I am most grateful to Swamyjis, Philosophic Scholars and Ascetic Org. for the collection of this great and wornderful Epic of the world. )
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