The Moon resumed, "Jatayu saw the chariot drawn by glowing mules fly above him, with a woman in it screaming for help. Languidly, the lord of birds flapped into the air and flew alongside the wizardly ratha. Sita saw him, and cried, ‘Jatayu, save me! Tell Rama that Ravana carried me away.’Jatayu warned the Evil One, ‘Rama is the Lord of the earth. You fly the way of death, Rakshasa.’ But Ravana shot an arrow at the great bird and singed his wing. With the ululating cry of a fighting eagle, Jatayu attacked the Demon. Jatayu was old and nearly blind, but he was willing to die to stop the Rakshasa from carrying Sita away.Like light, the eagle raked the Rakshasa’s hide with his talons. Ravana howled and his dark blood fell down to the earth below. Ravana shot ten searing arrows at Jatayu, who dodged them and rose high above the chariot. He swooped down like a fishing eagle for its silver prey beneath the waves. He snatched Ravana’s jewelled bow out of his hands with his beak and snapped it.Jatayu flew at the green mules. He fell on them with wings like swords. He raked their eyes with his talons, blinding them. He killed them in the air and the chariot hurtled down to the earth. Just before it shattered on the ground, Ravana snatched Sita up in his arms and leapt out.He set her down. Baleful eyes on fire, roaring dreadfully, the Demon drew his great curved sword. Jatayu swooped on him again; but tiredly now, he was too old for this. With two strokes of his weapon Ravana hewed off Jatayu’s wings. The eagle fell, blood spouting from his wounds, his life leaking out.With a scream, Sita ran to the fallen Jatayu. She embraced him and his blood drenched her clothes. She kissed him, again and again, crying, ‘Oh Jatayu, you have died for me.’Growling like a tiger, Ravana seized her again. Now with just his own power, he flew up into the air and home towards Lanka.At Panchavati, Rama ran towards the asrama in panic ‘Grave danger waits for me!’ he thought, and plunged along the twisting trail. Around the next corner, he ran straight into Lakshmana running towards him: they both cried out and drew their swords. Rama saw his brother was sobbing and took him in his arms. When the younger prince was a little calmer, Rama said gently, as he might to a child, ‘You were right; the golden deer was Maricha.’They arrived in the asrama, and no Sita came out to greet them. They ran to the river, but she was nowhere on its banks. Then some deer, which had been friendly with Sita, came and nuzzled their heads in Rama’s hands. He caressed them blindly, crying, ‘Look at their eyes: they have something to tell us!’In quaint chorus, the deer pointed their long faces to the southern sky, to show where Sita had gone. Quickly they turned their heads, to show that she had been borne away like the wind. Numb with grief, Rama did not understand at first. But Lakshmana cried, ‘South! She was taken south and through the air. Rama, we must go that way.’ They did not pause to think any more. Rama embraced the deer and the brothers set off towards the south.Lakshmana walked ahead towards Janasthana. His eyes scoured the bushes, the ground and the trees for any sign that might help them, any sign at all of Sita. Suddenly, he gave a shout; they had come to a clearing where Jatayu lay dying. He was like a little hillock, drenched in crimson. His blood was everywhere, seeping vividly into the earth. Quick as thinking, Rama drew an arrow and would have killed Jatayu had Lakshmana not caught his arm. ‘It is the rakshasa who killed Sita!’ cried Rama. ‘He is bathed in her blood.’ But Lakshmana said, ‘It is Jatayu and he is dying.’Rama ran forward and took the eagle in his arms. Jatayu bent his head to ask the prince to listen to him. He could barely speak, and he had hung on by a last thread of his life, just so he could see Rama before he died. His eyes were bright with death, and blood flowed from his beak as he spoke in an agonized whisper. ‘Don’t waste your time in this forest, Rama; the one who killed me has taken Sita far from here. It was Ravana who took her when you were away.’Rama wept; tenderly he stroked the great bird’s face. ‘Jatayu, noblest friend, you are dying for my misfortune. Why did Ravana take Sita? I have done him no wrong. Who is Ravana, Jatayu? What does he look like? Where does he live?’ Jatayu said, gasping, ‘He was like a black tempest and he carried her through the sky. He went south, child, south.' The eagle’s eyes closed in exhaustion. Opening them again, he said, ‘Hold me in your arms, Rama. My eyes have lost their vision and I am going now.’ He paused, breathless, then said, ‘It was the hour of vinda when Ravana carried Sita away. Anything lost at that time will always be found again. You will have Sita back from the rakshasa. You will kill him and have her back. He is Visravas’ son, Kubera’s brother…’ Then life had gone from Jatayu; he was dead in Rama’s arms.They went south and began the adventure. They came to the jungle called Krauncharanya. This was a black forest. They saw a cave before them, and at its mouth stood a rakshasi, Ayomukhi, gazing at them with interest. In fact, she stared just at Lakshmana. Ayomukhi wanted him, but he refused and overcame her.Morning came and they marched on. Thus they went for many days, until one midmorning they arrived on the banks of a great lake at the foot of a mountain. They walked around the lake and came to its western bank. There they saw what they had been looking for: a small asrama nestled in a cool grove of fruit trees. Shabari had sure intuition of their arrival and came out to welcome them, her wizened face wreathed in smiles. But not long after entertaining them, Shabari died.Next adventure at Kishkinda, the Vanaras Kingdom, they helped Sugriva defeat Vali, and reclaim Sugriva's throne. Sugriva sent Vinata to the west, Hanuman to the south, with Angada to lead that expedition. He sent Sushena, to the east, with a teeming force, and Shatabali to the north. Then Sugriva called Hanuman to him alone. ‘Wherever she may be, there is no one more likely to find Sita than you. The Rakshasa took her south that day. While all the others may fail, I know that you, Hanuman, will find Rama’s Sita for him.’On the mountain behind the vanaras, in a cave swept by ocean winds, lived Sampati, the eagle. He was hungry, and when he saw the monkeys on the beach below his roost, he said to himself, ‘Fate is kind to me today. I don’t have to go in search of my next meal: it has come to my cave-mouth.’ But Sampati was so old, and deaf as well, that he spoke aloud to himself. The wind, which blew at this hour from land to sea, carried what he said into Angada’s sharp ears. Angada was so distraught he began to babble: ‘All the birds and beasts of the jungle loved Rama. Why, Jatayu gave his life for the prince of light. And for Rama’s sake, we will also be devoured by death. But Jatayu was fortunate; the Rakshasa killed him and he didn’t have to face Sugriva’s wrath. But if you think of why we are about to die, Uncle Hanuman, it is because of Kaikeyi. She is the root of all this misfortune.’As he came nearer, for his dinner, Sampati heard everything Angada said. In his gravelly voice, Sampati called, ‘Who speaks of Jatayu? Who says Jatayu is dead? It is a thousand years since I heard my brother’s name. Who is the rakshasa that killed him? Who is Rama? I am old and weak, and I can hardly climb down this mountain. Help me, someone. Help me down to the ground and tell me about my brother.’At first, the vanaras did not trust the eagle. But Angada went nearer and began the story of Rama again for Sampati’s benefit. The ancient bird wept, when he heard how Jatayu sacrificed his life for Sita. The eagle, who had wanted to make his meal of them, now said gently, ‘Jatayu was my little brother. If I were young I would have flown to Ravana’s city to have revenge. But, alas, I am too old and infirm now.’Angada said, ‘You say that if you were younger and could fly, you would have attacked Ravana in his city. Do you know where the Rakshasa lives?’ Sampati said, ‘Indeed I know where Ravana lives; I know the place well. I belong to the eldest race of eagles; Garuda is my kinsman. Our kind can see a mouse from the moon if we set our minds to it, for we hunt from the air. Though I am old and my vision is not what it used to be, at a hundred yojanas I can still see the lustful eyes on Ravana’s ten heads, and the tears in Sita’s, soft as lotuses. and he said, ‘Help me to the water’s edge. I must offer tarpana to my brother.’When he finished offering solemn tarpana, he came back to the waterline of dry sand. He glowed with some ineffable joy. Angada, who saw this, cried, ‘O Sampati, a great light is upon your feathers! Can you tell us how we can reach Lanka in the sea?’But the eagle shook his head. ‘My part in this adventure is over.' Even as he spoke, a golden lambency was upon the eagle’s body and he shone like a piece of sun on that dusky shore. As the vanaras watched, Sampati’s wings sprouted fresh young plumage before their eyes. His stooped back grew erect; his sunken eyes blazed again. He cried his shrill hunting cry in the ecstasy of his transformation, and the beach echoed with it. When the uncanny illumination left his body, it left Sampati young again and his wings whole once more.‘It is done!’ he cried, dancing for joy. ‘Vanaras, look at me: nothing is impossible with faith. You will surely find Lanka, if only you believe you will.’Then, launching himself with a few running steps, he spread his splendid new wings and, crying out rapturously, flew up into the darkening sky and vanished.The Vanaras cheered Sampati on his way into the sky. He had not flown in for a thousand years. They jumped up and down on that shore. Even when he had circled above them once and disappeared, flashing away like an astra, their joy did not wane. For they also celebrated the news Sampati had given them. At last, they knew where Sita was; even if they did not yet know how to cross the dark sea that lay between themselves and her.Angada said to the vanaras, ‘Peering at the sea will serve no purpose. Our answer doesn’t lie there, but within ourselves. We are tired. The day has been a long one and we have knocked at death’s door. Night is upon us and this sand will serve as a soft bed tonight. When we wake up in the morning, we will think again of how to cross the ocean. Good night, my sweet Vanaras. Sleep in peace tonight, because fortune finally smiles on our enterprise.’One by one, lulled by the drone of the waves, the vanaras fell asleep. Past midnight, when the moon was at his zenith, Angada, Hanuman and the other chieftains also fell asleep. The beach presented a strange spectacle as Somadeva passed above: wrapped in his spectral light, a teeming army of monkeys covered the white sands.Next morning, a story similar to Solomon when he was about to send his envoy to the Queen Bilqis' palace, happened. The vanaras rose with the sun’s first rays slanting across their faces. Angada raised his arms to call his people to him. When they thronged around him, he said to them, ‘I want to know who among you can leap across this yawning sea, find Sita and leap back again? A hundred yojanas [1 yojana = +/- 8 miles] and death by drowning if you fail! Who can do it? Which of the vanaras will make the leap of faith?’Only the dawn waves, washing ashore, answered him. Angada’s call echoed there and the sea seemed to mock him. Gaja of the monkey-folk, raised his voice above the ocean’s ceaseless roar, ‘I can leap ten yojanas!’ Gavaksha shouted, ‘With my ancestors’ blessing, I can leap twenty!’ Another vanara cried, ‘And I, thirty!’ Thus they shouted their abilities, one after another. Until one of the mightiest of them, Dwividha, cried, ‘I can jump seventy yojanas!’Jambavan, the old king of the reekshas, the black bears, had journeyed from Kishkinda with the monkey force. Now he cried, ‘For Rama I will leap at least ninety yojanas.’ He paused in doubt. ‘But a hundred, I wonder if I can leap a hundred. But if need be I can try!’ Then Angada himself cried, ‘I can cross the hundred yojanas easily!’ His monkeys broke into loud cheers. He held up a hand for silence, ‘But I don’t know if I can cross back again.’ Jambavan said, ‘Angada, my child, I am certain you can cross to Lanka and back. Why, I am sure you could fly a thousand yojanas. For aren’t you great Vali’s son? But this task is not yours. It is not for a crown-prince to risk his life, leaping into a strange land ruled by a rakshasa.’At once, Angada’s eyes welled up. He said gently, ‘I thank you for your love, Jambavan. But who else will make this gravest leap? And you know it must be made. What is our solution, wise one? You think of a way.’ Jambavan said quietly, ‘I shall, my prince.’ He turned to where a solitary vanara sat upon a smooth rock, outside the throng of monkeys around their leaders. Hanuman sat all alone, gazing out over the implacable waves.Jambavan said to the moody Hanuman, 'Why, o son of the wind, do you doubt yourself so much? But it is the curse of all the greatest. Those who cannot do a tenth of what you can, those who haven’t a shadow of your strength, stand up and boast about their prowess. While you sit here listening to them and say nothing. Hanuman, we need a hero to leap across the sea and bring glory to the vanaras.’ But Hanuman was so inconfident, he said with a nervous laugh, ‘You have too much regard for me, good Jambavan.’‘Do I indeed? Have you forgotten who you are, Vayuputra? Let me remind you of your ancestry, and let these monkeys hear who our modest Hanuman truly is. Once, Anjana, the apsara of heaven, was born as a vanari. She was so beautiful the wild wind was smitten by her. She could not resist him either, for their love was destined.’Jambavan grew thoughtful, ‘Yes, just as it was destined that one day you would sit here on this shore, doubting yourself with all your heart. Even as Anjana lay in Vayudeva’s coiling embrace, a voice spoke to her out of the sky, 'Anjana, a soul of matchless glory will be born as your son. He will have no equal in goodness or valour, wisdom or strength. Being his father’s son, he will fly more swiftly than Garuda!”‘You have forgotten who you are, Hanuman. You have forgotten how, when you were just a child, you leapt into the sky because you thought the sun was a fruit you could eat. You flew three hundred yojanas into the air. Indra thought you were arrogant, and flung his thunderbolt of a thousand joints at you. But, Son of the wind, the awesome weapon merely grazed your cheek: for Brahma had blessed you to be immune to every ayudha. When the vajra fell away tamely, your people named you Hanuman: Invincible One.‘Vayu was incensed at Indra and he would not blow at all through the three worlds. At last, Indra realized it was only a child’s fancy and not arrogance which had made you leap up like that. He was so charmed by your leaping for the sun that, laughing aloud at the thought, he also blessed you. He blessed you that you can summon your own death, like a servant, whenever you choose!’Hanuman had risen beside Jambavan on that golden beach. Every word the king of bears said seemed to sever a link in the chain that bound his spirit. His eyes shone; his back was very erect. Hanuman smiled, and his doubts left him like mist before the sun. Jambavan continued, ‘We stand not just on the shore of a sea, but at the brink of despair. You are Vayu’s son, powerful as the wind himself. Don’t hesitate, Hanuman: fate is calling you to make your name immortal. You are our hope; only you can save us all from death. Shed your inconfidence, your moment of glory has arrived.’Hanuman grew bigger, and bigger still! As he grew, his expression also changed: from despondency to one of imperturbable joy. Now grown into a gigantic saviour of his race, he smiled benignly down at the astounded vanaras. He was tall as a hill; he was bright as the morning. He growled deep in his throat and shook his body like some unimaginable lion. The vanaras clutched at one another for comfort. They no longer saw Sugriva’s wise and gentle, faithful and quiet minister Hanuman. This was another elemental being who towered over them, his great eyes glowing. This was Hanuman, the wind’s magnificent son; and the challenge of the sea was no longer as daunting as it had seemed.He was titanic already. Still he grew, until it seemed to the monkeys, dwarfed at his feet, that the sun would ignite his mane. He was like some great flame, and he bowed to the monkey elders and to his prince Angada. When he spoke to them, his voice was thunder.‘I am that Vayu’s son. No one can leap as far as I can. I can fly a thousand times around Mount Meru. I can fly around the world with the moon! Do you know the strength of these arms with the sinews of the wind in them? I can thrust the mountains down into the earth and plunge the jungles into the sea. I can crush the greatest peaks into dust with my hands. And I, Hanuman, serve my Rama! And now I will fly across this little sea to find Sita. I will cross the waves in a moment and carry her back to safety. If need be, I will draw Lanka up by its roots and bring it to Rama. I go now, I go!’Jambavan, who alone was old enough not to be overwhelmed, cried, ‘We will wait upon this shore for you, Son of the wind. Remember our lives are in your hands.’Hanuman smiled, ‘Fear not, uncle, great Jambavan. My prince Angada, give me leave: I go now to find Sita in Lanka. But the soft ground will be riven if I leap from here. I must climb to the top of Mahendra where the rock is firm for a thousand hands. From there I will fly and cause the earth no injury.’With a few strides, climbing nimbly as monkeys, he gained the summit he sought; his people stood on the beach below, watching him. He waved from his height, and it seemed to them he was bigger than the mountain. Far away were the eyes of the son of Anjana and the wind: in his mind, he had already reached Lanka and discovered Sita. With each foot on a different peak, he straddled Mahendra. Hanuman stood, swaying in his father’s lofty gusts, whistling around him in exhilaration. Back and forth he swayed, readying himself for the leap of a hundred yojanas across the plumbless sea."
Citations & References:
- Ramesh Menon, The Ramayana:A modern Translation, HarperCollins
- Bibeck Debroy, The Valmiki Ramayana, Penguin Books
