Hanuman Obhong : Stigma

The Moon continued, 'When he was borught into Ravana's presence, Hanuman opened his eyes, which he had screwed shut as if in pain as he was hauled along the smooth floors of the palace. He saw Ravana looming above him: tall and darkly gallant. A golden crown on his head reflected shafts of light from pearl, diamond and ruby. The Rakshasa wore the same flowing white silk Hanuman had seen him in one morning. He sat very still on his throne above the vanara at his feet.

The scent of sandalwood-paste, with which Ravana’s body was anointed, filled his sabha. Noble, wise and terrible, as well, were the Demon’s eyes; they now searched Hanuman’s face curiously, fiercely. Ravana wore a necklace of pearls around his neck, some big as a pigeon’s eggs, and around his rippling arms he wore heavy bracelets of gold and coral. He sat on his throne of black crystal with his ministers around him, Prahastha, Nikumbha and the others.

The rakshasas of Indrajit’s guard had dragged Hanuman here roughly. But when he lay at Ravana’s feet and looked up at the gallant that was this luxurious Rakshasa, the vanara was dazzled. He stared at the Demon and, unable to tear his eyes from the king of Lanka, Hanuman stared on. He thought, ‘What cool, what handsome! Yet, he is evil. If he had not taken the path of night, the left-hand way, this Rakshasa could have been king of the devas if he wanted. I have never seen such presence, such power. But then, he is cruel and ruthless. He is a creature of darkness and his heart knows no mercy.’

Ravana, who had his name because he made the Triloka tremble, gazed down into Hanuman’s tawny eyes, gauging him shrewdly and swiftly, so the monkey felt his very soul being scrutinized. The Rakshasa felt a stab of fear, and thought, ‘Is this Siva’s Bull come to Lanka, as he swore he would when I hefted Mahadeva’s mountain? Is this Nandi come as a monkey to announce my death? Or is it Banasura come to kill me?’

Slowly, the fire that slumbered in the depths of his eyes blazed up to their surface. In a fearful glower, Ravana turned ten heads at his minister Prahastha, who had also just lost a son to Hanuman. Sibilantly, the king said, ‘Who is he? Where has he come from? What does he want, that he destroyed my asokavana and killed so many of my warriors? That he killed my son. Ask him.’

Prahastha turned to Hanuman who lay trussed on the floor, ‘Answer without fear, monkey. You will not be harmed, if you tell the truth. Did Indra send you here as his spy, or was it Vaisravana, Kubera or Yama? Or perhaps Vishnu, the enemy of our people, sent you? You are not just a monkey. That much is obvious from your courage. Tell us who you are.’

But Hanuman was not about to answer a mere minister. He indicated that he wished to stand. When he was helped to his feet, he turned addressed Ravana, ‘Not Yama, Kubera or Varuna sent me. Not at Vishnu’s command did I come. This is no disguise but my true form, for I am a vanara. I wanted to meet you face to face, Lord of the rakshasas, and so I razed the asokavana. Your soldiers I slew only to defend myself, because they came to kill me.

‘No astra may bind me, Ravana; for Brahma himself has given me that power. I allowed myself to be bound with these puny ropes, because I wanted to speak to you. Listen to what I have to say, and it may profit you, O Emperor.’

Ravana said nothing. He only stared at the monkey, waiting for him to continue. Hanuman said, ‘Ravana of Lanka, I have come to your city at the command of my king Sugriva of the vanaras. He wishes you well and asks you to pay heed to the message he sends. This is Sugriva’s message:

'There was a noble king in the House of Ikshvaku, whose valour and dharma were immaculate, and his name was Dasaratha. Rama is his eldest son. Rama is a kshatriya and a prince of truth. To keep his father’s honour he came to the Dandaka vana, to an exile of fourteen years. With Rama, came his wife Sita and his brother Lakshmana. One day Janaka’s daughter Sita was lost in the jungle. In anguish, Rama came to Rishyamooka. There he met Sugriva, who had been driven from his kingdom by his brother Vali. Rama and Sugriva swore a covenant that Rama would restore his kingdom to Sugriva, and that in return, Sugriva would find Sita, wherever she was.'

Ravana listened, twenty ferocious eyes turned unwinkingly on Hanuman. The monkey went on without pausing, ‘Ravana of Lanka has surely heard of the valour of Vali of the vanaras. Rama killed that same Vali with one arrow from his unearthly quiver, and set Sugriva on the ebony throne of Kishkinda. To honour their pact, Sugriva sent out an army of vanaras to find Sita; north and east, west and south, he sent them. They are not the result of Darwin's delusions theory, but mighty monkeys of the race wayang purwa. Some fly through the air like Garuda, and others as swiftly as Vayu. I am Hanuman, the wind’s son by Anjana, and I leapt across the ocean in quest of Sita.

Imagine my surprise, great king, knower of dharma, when I saw the lovely Sita grieving in your asokavana. I thought, how can one so noble and renowned as Ravana of the rakshasas, Ravana of matchless tapasya, hold another man’s wife against her will? You are a person of superior intelligence; you should never have become entangled in such shame. Which deva or danava, asura or rakshasa, Lord of Lanka, shall stand against the astras of Rama and Lakshmana?’

Ravana still said nothing. Hanuman stared straight into his eyes in cool defiance, as no one ever dared to. The vanara said, ‘I saw Sita. I am surprised that a king of your wisdom harbours a serpent in your palace with such tender affection. Like the choicest food mixed with poison, even though she is not good at playing drama queen drama, but she will prove more than you can digest. Ravana, she will be your undoing. Heed what I say; return her to Rama who pines for her. Give her back today, she is dangerous.

You are a tapasvin. For one who sat for as long as you did in penance, what is a woman, even the most beautiful one? I have been told it was incomparable dhyana that blessed you with invincibility against deva and asura; and you vanquished Indra and Kubera. But Ravana, you forget that Sugriva is neither a deva of light, nor an asura of darkness. He is not a gandharva, a yaksha or pannaga. Great Rakshasa, Sugriva is a monkey and Rama is a man. Are you invincible against these two?

Think well, before it is too late and nemesis comes hunting you. Long have you enjoyed the fruit of your tapasya; but the time to pay for your sins is near. Will you be able to withstand the human princes and the vanaras, or will they bring you your death? I appeal to your wisdom, Ravana of Lanka. Remember how Vali died; think back on Janasthana and the slaughter of Khara’s army. Think of today, and what I have done to your garden and your army. I say to you, even I, who am just one small monkey, could raze your fabled Lanka. For I am on the side of dharma, while you are on the other.’

Ravana’s eyes were eloquent with fury; but he said nothing. Hanuman went on bravely, and calmly still, only quiet reason in his voice. ‘You think of Rama’s wife as being just another woman. But she is the deep and dark night that will eclipse the glory of Lanka; she will prove to be the end of all your majesty. She is the noose you have tied around your own neck, as if death is dearer to you than life. She is the fire of truth, which you kindle close to your deluded heart. Rakshasa, she will make ashes of you and your city.

Rama is he who can incinerate the universe. He can put out the stars with his arrows and create them again. Save yourself from his wrath. Save your people, your women and children; save this beautiful Lanka. When Rama comes, what I did in your asokavana shall seem as a trifle compared to what he will do. Not Brahma, Indra, or three-eyed Rudra will save you then.’

Ravana’s eyes flashed. Like some unthinkable beast of prey, the Rakshasa growled low in his throat. Softly, he said, ‘Kill him.’

But his brother Vibheeshana cried, ‘My lord, to kill the monkey is against the dharma of kings. Don’t let your anger get the better of you; you must not kill a messenger. Think of a less drastic punishment for him.’

But Ravana snarled, ten heads at once, his eyes on fire, ‘There is no sin in killing a despoiler and a murderer. Hasn’t he killed Jambumali, Aksha and ten thousand others? Hasn’t he desolated my asokavana? Haven’t I sat here listening to his taunts and his abuse, which no king would tolerate?’

Vibheeshana said quietly, ‘On no account should a messenger be killed. He is our enemy and he must pay for what he has done. Whip him, maim him, even; shave his head and scar his body with your wrath. But do not have him killed; the law of kings does not permit it. Moreover, he is just a lowly messenger. If you have him put to death, all you gain will be an evil name for yourself. Send an army against the human princes whose emissary he is. That is just; and not the wise will censure you, but say that Ravana kept his temper even when he was gravely provoked.’ The ten heads nodded slowly. But in his heart, Ravana wondered, ‘Is this Vishnu who has come as this monkey to kill me? Or is it Brahma, or the incarnate Parabrahmam?’ With some effort, the Demon of Lanka curbed his anger.

Calming himself, Ravana said to his brother, 'You are right, Vibheeshana; I will not have the monkey killed. But I must punish him for the havoc he has brought to our city.’

The heads whispered evilly among themselves; then, as they had an idea to stigma the vanara, a slow smile wreathed the central face. Ravana said, ‘Nothing is more precious to a monkey than his tail. Let this monkey’s fine tail be set on fire. Let him be sent back with a burnt stump behind him to show that he crossed my path. Yes, let the monkey’s tail be lit and let him be marched through the streets of Lanka. Let my people mock him for what he did today.’"

The Moon said, "But wait, I want to highlight the word 'stigma.' So, we'll pause the story for a moment. Thus, why stigma? ‘Stigma’, is a figurative noun that means a ‘distinguishing mark or characteristic (of a bad or objectionable kind)’ and a ‘mark of disgrace or infamy; a sign of severe censure or condemnation, regarded as impressed on a person or thing’. Everyday uses of the word ‘stigma’ draw on both these definitions; we employ ‘stigma’ to describe the degrading marks that are affixed to particular bodies, people, conditions, places, such as race, ethnicity, religion, ideology, etc. within humiliating social interactions.

When people use the term ‘stigma’ today, they also tend to use it experientially, to describe the debilitating psychological effects of being stigmatised, with a particular emphasis on how the shame induced by stigma corrodes well-being and damages your sense of self. However, psychological understandings of stigma often focus on individual experiences of being stigmatised in ways that occlude an understanding of stigma as a material force, a structural and structuring form of power. Stigma develops a more psycho-political understanding of stigma, reconceptualising stigma as a form of power that is written on the body and gets under the skin.

In the foreword to the 2016/2017 Amnesty International Report on the state of the world’s human rights, Amnesty’s Secretary General Salil Shetty warned that we are witnessing ‘a global trend towards angrier and more divisive politics’ in which ‘the idea of human dignity’ is ‘under vigorous and relentless assault from powerful narratives of blame, fear and scapegoating, propagated by those who sought to take or cling on to power’. ‘Across the world’, he writes, ‘leaders and politicians wagered their future power on narratives of fear and disunity, pinning blame on the 'other' for the real or manufactured grievances of the electorate.’

Stigma, the machinery of inequality, has many bad consequences. Stigma is the ‘vigorous and relentless assault’ upon human dignity that is a major characteristic of the current global authoritarian turn. Stigma is propagated as a governmental technology of division and dehumanisation. 'Stigma politics' plays a role in producing the toxic climate of fear and hatred that is enveloping and dividing societies and communities. Stigma power is crafted and cultivated as a means of leveraging political capital. This divisive politics gets under the skin of those it subjugates; this state-cultivated stigma changes the ways in which people think about themselves and others—corroding compassion, crushing hope, weakening social solidarity.'

Now, when I pressed the play button, Sundara Kanda would play again.

Rahwana nodded to his guards, and they ran out to fetch a length of cloth. They wound the fabric tightly round Hanuman’s tail. At first, Hanuman glowered; he bared his fangs and snarled at his captors. But then, he thought, ‘If I allow myself to be paraded through the streets of Lanka, I will be able to see the city by daylight. What I observe will be useful later, when we bring our army against Ravana.’

He allowed his tail to be wrapped, dipped in oil and set alight. He let Ravana’s guards drag him out of the palace, and into the dazzling sun. They hauled him through the city, while the rakshasas lined the streets, jeering and taunting him. Hanuman went quietly, as if no fight was left in him; his tail blazed, though he felt no pain yet.

The rakshasis of the asokavana ran to Sita, and cried triumphantly, ‘Your friend the red-faced monkey is being paraded through our streets, with his tail on fire!’

Tears springing in her eyes, Sita turned away from them. She began to pray. ‘If it is true that I have been faithful to Rama, true that I have kept my vows and that my mind has always been pure, then don’t let Hanuman, who leapt across the sea to find me, who braved every danger to bring Rama’s message to me, be burned by the flames. Let it touch upon his tail be as cool as the caress of his father Vayu.’

Hmm, this part, is similar to the story of Prophet Ibrahim, peace be upon him, when he was about to be burned by Nimrod. In conclusion, if someone is trying to burn your heart and head, don't be mad or sad, but pray to the One Who created the fire, to cool them, and to help you.

At once, the fire was soft as sandalwood-paste on Hanuman’s tail, and Vayu blew gently around his heroic son. The vanara wondered why the flames that leapt around his golden tail did not hurt him at all. He thought, ‘My tail burns fiercely, yet I feel only a wonderful coolness, as if someone anointed me with tender sandal. Oh, this is even more marvellous than the mountain who rose from the waves. But why should I marvel? Varuna of the ocean is so devoted to Rama that he bade Mainaka receive me. Why should I wonder thatthe fire has decided not to burn my tail, when he knows whom I serve?’

Then, his wise heart informed him, ‘Sita prays for me!’

He felt he had seen all there was to see in Lanka. He gave a roof-rattling roar and, in a blink, Hanuman was as tall as the loftiest tower in that city. The next moment he was the little monkey of the asokavana again, small as a cat, and he leapt nimbly on to the nearest rooftop. The ropes that bound him fell away from his body in a useless pile. He leapt down into the street again, growing as he came, bigger than he had yet been in Lanka. Pulling up a pillar that stood at an intersection of streets, he struck out at the rakshasas who attacked him, felling a hundred; the rest fled. Great Hanuman stood roaring at the heart of wonderful Lanka and his tail blazed behind him like a quenchless torch.

Then, Hanuman sprang from roof to roof, setting Lanka on fire with his burning tail, while the wind billowed around him fanning the flames. Houses caught and blazed, and the palaces of the nobles, as the conflagration spread. Hanuman, roaring in delight, raced all over the city, touching it alight with his tail as if he lit a thousand incredible lamps. Rakshasa men, women and children poured out of their homes. All the city echoed with their cries as their fabulous dwellings, created by Viswakarman, crackled and burned. And everything within them, the spoils of a hundred wars, was consumed by Hanuman’s inferno. Priceless silks, brocades and tapestries were ashes. The gold of Lanka melted and flowed into the livid streets, and the hearts of precious jewels were snuffed out in the flames that enveloped Ravana’s capital. Their pillars cracking in the incendiary heat, mansions came crashing down.

When he had put much of Lanka to torch, Hanuman leapt high into the air and landed with a mighty tremor on the roof of Ravana’s palace. The vanara ran across that roof, big itself as a city, touching every corner ablaze with his raging tail. Ravana’s palace caught fire and burned like straw. The agni in the monkey’s tail was fierce, and exhilarant the breath with which his father, the wind, fanned the flames. The harems disgorged their delectable women, screaming above the roar of the fire and the howl of the wind.

Thereafter, he leapt down on to the white beach below, the cries of the stunned rakshasas still ringing in his ears. He dipped his tail hissing into the waves and put out the exceptional fire, which had not singed a hair of him.

He then decided he would see Sita once more before he left Lanka. One great leap and he landed in her presence. Her face lit up, and she cried, ‘Oh, Hanuman! You alone are enough to wipe Lanka from the face of the earth. You are mightier than I imagined. But fly now, good vanara, fly to Rama with my message.’

Hanuman said, ‘Don’t be anxious, Devi. Rama will be here in a few days with the vanara army. Until then, Devi!'

Sita said, ‘Fly Hanuman, fly to my beloved!’

Hanuman leapt back on to the Trikuta’s summit, and from there on to another mountain called Arishta. Now he grew tall as he had been upon Mahendra across the sea; he towered into the sky like one mountain standing on another. As he paced the hilltop, seeking a hard place to launch himself from, Hanuman crushed the rocks under his feet to dust and Arishta shook just as Mahendra had. Facing north, the golden vanara stared for a moment at the foaming tide far below. He crouched down, every muscle taut for the leap. With a cry that made the ocean quail, Hanuman launched himself into the air, and Lanka shook as if with an earthquake. As his body took off from the earth and began to hover in the air, Hanuman hummed,

Born free

As free as the wind blows

As free as the grass grows

Born free to follow your heart

Live free

And beauty surrounds you

The world still astounds you

Each time you look at a star

Stay free

Where no walls divide you

You're free as a roaring tide so there's no need to hide

Born free

And life is worth living

But only worth living

'Cause you're born free *)

Like an arrow, the vanara flew north over the waves, flashing back towards Bharatavarsha.

Citations & References:
- Ramesh Menon, The Ramayana: A modern Translation, HarperCollins
- Bibeck Debroy, The Valmiki Ramayana, Penguin Books
- Imogen Tyler, Stigma, Zed Books
*) "Born Free" written by John Barry & Don Black.
[Part 17]
[Part 15]

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