After all the monkeys had assembled in Kishkindha under King Sugriva, Rama, Hanuman, Andaga and Lakshmana made inspiring speeches to them and exactly described their coming march to Lanka. Last of all spoke Sugriva, urging them to uphold the honour of the monkey race no matter where or how.
“On the morrow,” the King concluded, “we march to Kanya Kumari (Cape Comorin) the southernmost point of India. Now go home and say farewell properly to your families. Report for duty before the first sunwing rises again above the gloom in the east!”
And the following day just as the eagle of dawn had begun to preen his golden pinions, with the clamour of a thousand storms the monkeys set out for Lanka. They leaped over many trees with the agility of hawks. They cleared the rolling hills as goats clear broken fences. They drank, bathed, and swam tawny rivers. They passed as locusts spread over autumn fields. Distances vanished under their feet like sugar into the mouth of a child. Rama and Lakshmana were carried on the backs of large monkeys who worked in relays. And ere the first day was done they had covered a twentieth part of their journey.
No sooner had the sun risen and set seven times three than the cohorts of Rama stood like clamorous forests on the edge of Cape Comorin. They roared and shouted so loudly with joy that the “surge and thunder” of the Indian Ocean was drowned as a sparrow’s chirp is stilled by the wind whistling in an eagle’s wing. There they stood, two men surrounded by untold apes and baboons. Before them mile upon mile unfurled the blue banners of the sea. Wherever they peered the waste of waters stretched into forbidding immensity.
After sunset as soon as the bivouacs had been lighted and all the soldiers had been comfortably settled in their separate camps, Rama, Lakshmana, Sugriva, Jambuban, Angada and Hanuman held a council of war. “How to span the ocean?” they questioned one another again and again. Rama said, “We cannot leap over the ocean like thee, Hanuman. Only a few treedwellers have thy skill and strength. There is naught for us to do but to build a bridge.”
“A bridge on a vast ocean!” exclaimed Jambuban and Sugriva. But the young, such as Angada and Lakshmana, said, “It will take a long time to make. By the time it is completed Sita and most of us will have grown old and died.”
Hanuman cried, “Why do I not leap over to Sita and bring her back on my neck. That will rescue her quickly and save us a long task of bridge-making.’ Rama smiled at them all and said, ‘It is not only for Sita’s rescue that we have come, but also to put an end to Ravana and his demon-race. Sita is but one woman amongst many who are exposed to attack by the Rakshasas. It is not enough that we rescue her alone. We must destroy all Lanka and free all womanhood from the menace of Ravana. In order to do our task completely we must have a vast army at Lanka’s door. Sita must wait until we build a bridge on which our cohorts can cross and annihilate the Rakshasas utterly.”
“Sadhu, well spoken,” shouted all his listeners. But Jambuban the bear-headed monkey who was Sugriva’s Dewan counselled, “With all the monkeys working every day every hour it will take ten years to build that bridge to Ceylon. Ten years without fighting will undermine the heart of every soldier. Bridge-building will make pacifists of our warriors. O Rama, set not out upon thy plan to span the sea.”
A sombre and profound pause followed. As if it were unbearable Sugriva broke the silence. “I have pledged you, O Rama, that we shall rescue Sita for you. But I see no reason why we should toil to free all humanity from the menace of Ravana.”
Lakshmana answered, “King Sugriva, it is your head, not your heart that speaks so. Prudence is a dweller in the house of reason, a miserly tenant in a narrow home. But what Rama wishes is the truth. We should slay Ravana. Let us save not only Sita but all womanhood by slaughtering the demon vipers no matter how long it takes.”
Then shouted Angada and Hanuman, “Thy words have converted us, O Lakshmana. We are devotees at the shrine of thy truth. Let the bridge be built.”
“But ten years of civilian work will dry up the spring of our enthusiasm,” reiterated Jambuban. “An army of civilians cannot fight demons. Ferocious soldiers are needed for that.”
Another pause more depressing than the previous one followed. The monkeys turned their faces towards Rama. Their instinct told them that he had a noble idea in his mind. That tiger-silencing one spoke softly like a mother to her children:
“The bridge can be built in two years. We may have to besiege Lanka for at least ten years after that.” Sugriva grumbled, “How canst thou say that?”
“I have the means by which to do it,” rejoined Dasaratha’s eldest-born. “Let us rest for the night with perfect peace. On the morrow, friends, we shall commence the building of the bridge.”
The force behind Rama’s simple words was so great that the meeting broke up without further discussion, and each monkey softly walked away to his camp to bed. Only the two men stayed together. Then, without speaking, Rama signed Lakshmana to meditate.
The two princes folded their legs and sat still praying and meditating. The stars strode across the sky and faded. The giants of the jungle roamed and clamoured while the vast army of tree-dwellers slept. But the two men prayed for the help of Heaven, for the aid of all four-footed beasts, and for the cooperation of birds. They sought also the assistance of the Sun, the moon and the seasons. Each by each the souls of the sleeping birds and beasts answered, “Yes, we will help.” The heavenly bodies, too, answered, “We come, Rama, to aid you as you ask.” So while the world slept, its waking soul pledged Rama to be his slave. Such is the power that prayer and meditation can create! And because Rama was fighting to save not only his own bride but all humanity the whole universe was glad to espouse his cause.
Thus that memorable night was spent. And long before the red wheel of the Sun had churned the ocean into scudding gold, purple and amber birds were swarming with stones in their beaks, leopards and lions were flinging skulls and bones of their prey into the deep, monkeys row upon row were pulling down trees and rocks, elephants were ploughing up earth with their tusks and flinging it with their trunks, even Makara (Leviathan) and his sea-concealed family rose to assist Rama in his bridge-building.
Last of all came the chipmunks. They begged to be of service. Rama with sweet thanks said, “Dip your bodies in the sea, roll yourselves in the sand, then go and shake the sand between the stones that the apes are joining together. Go, make mortar for me.” The chipmunks busied themselves at once. Lo, hardly a few minutes passed when their chief crawled up to Rama’s lap and said, “Some monkey flung a rock the wrong way and hit me. O Rama, I am dying.” But Rama said, “I will heal you,” and he stroked the chipmunk three times with his hand. The previous night’s meditation had given Rama so much power that healing passed out of him and made the little beast whole in a trice. But Rama’s fingers left their marks on his body so that even now India’s chipmunks wear coats of three stripes. Those are the finger marks that their ancestors received at the building of the Rama-setu or Rama-causeway to Ceylon.
The sea rose and fell but it was no longer heard; the sharp chirp of stones falling from bird-beaks, the crash and smash of rock and timber, the hissing of the surf, the hammering of boulder on boulder, the sinking of mammoth granite shafts in the deep, and the singing of those who worked and enjoyed work because they could sing, drowned all else. Thus toil became a joy, and joy a serenity of the soul.
The day ended and the night was no less like day, for the moon poured effulgence from above in answer to the prayer of Rama. So the beasts of night toiled as had done those of the day. Hammering of stone on stone rang louder than the storm smiting the “sapphire-silver” sea. So numerous were the beasts at work that they wrought with “thunder-stilling” fury. Though Rama slumbered his friends toiled at night. Since they were not his slaves they forged the stone chain on the sea without regard to his presence or his absence. Toil became their joy. They loved him, hence they toiled, not lashed by overseers, nor cursed by leaders.
Excerpted with permission from Rama the King, Dhan Gopal Mukherji, Talking Cub.
