किंकरवधः

At the clamour of the birds and the crash of breaking trees, all the people of Laṅkā were thrown into terror and confusion. Beasts and birds fled in fear, crying out, and dreadful portents appeared to the rākṣasas, ill omens of the ruin to come. Their sleep broken, the rākṣasīs with their misshapen faces saw the wrecked grove and that heroic great monkey. Seeing them, the mighty-armed monkey, great in courage and strength, took on an enormous form that struck terror into them. At the sight of that monkey, huge as a mountain and immensely strong, the rākṣasīs questioned Janaka's daughter: "Who is he? Whose is he? Where has he come from, and why? How is it that you have been talking with him? Tell us, large-eyed one; don't be afraid, lucky lady. What was it he said to you, dark-eyed one?" Then the virtuous Sītā, lovely in every limb, said: "What way have I of knowing rākṣasas who can take any form they please? You yourselves should know who he is and what he will do. Only a snake knows a snake's feet, beyond doubt. I am terrified too; I do not know who he is. I take him to be a rākṣasa who has come here in some form of his own choosing." Sītā's cleverness here is delightful: she told no lie, but she hid the truth. The rākṣasas were themselves masters of illusion, so with "you should know" she turned the question back on them. The saying about the snake means that a snake's feet are invisible and only a snake knows them; so only a shape-shifting rākṣasa could see through another's disguise. In this way she protected Hanumān, and herself too. The rākṣasīs tried to wheedle the secret out of her with sweet words like "don't be afraid", but Sītā was not taken in. Hanumān's taking on his great form had a purpose too: to frighten the rākṣasīs so that the news would reach Rāvaṇa quickly. The dreadful portents are the first omen of Laṅkā's ruin. The sarga follows from the last: the uproar caused by the wrecking of the grove spreads through all Laṅkā, first frightening the beasts and birds, then waking the rākṣasīs, and soon reaching Rāvaṇa himself, so the news grows step by step. The rākṣasīs' four questions, who, whose, from where, and why, are the traditional questions put to an envoy. Sītā's answer was short, but her intelligence and composure are plain in it.

Hearing Vaidehī's words, the rākṣasīs scattered in haste; some stayed where they were, and some went to report to Rāvaṇa. Coming before Rāvaṇa, the misshapen rākṣasīs told him of the misshapen, terrible monkey. "King, in the middle of the Aśoka grove there is a monkey of terrible body and boundless prowess, who has been talking with Sītā. And Janaka's daughter, the doe-eyed Sītā, will not tell us anything about that monkey, though we questioned her again and again. He may be a messenger of Indra or of Kubera, or he may have been sent by Rāma, eager to find Sītā. With that extraordinary form of his he has laid waste your delightful pleasure grove, full of every kind of creature. There is no part of it he has not destroyed, except the place where the lady Jānakī is; that he has left alone. Whether it was to protect Jānakī or because he was tired is not clear; but then what could tire such a creature? It was her he was protecting. The tall śiṃśapā tree, rich in lovely shoots and leaves, where Sītā herself stays, that too he has spared. You should order a fierce punishment for that fierce creature who has spoken with Sītā and destroyed the grove. Lord of the rākṣasa hosts, who would dare speak to Sītā, whom you have taken to your heart, unless he had given up all care for his life?" Their report had three main points: their guess at who the monkey was, Indra's messenger, Kubera's or Rāma's; the destruction of the grove; and the sparing of Sītā's shelter. The last is especially important: the whole grove was wrecked and only Sītā's śiṃśapā tree left safe, so it was clear the monkey was on her side. "What could tire such a creature?" shows the rākṣasīs correcting their own guess: one so strong could not have been tired, so protecting Sītā must have been his aim. At the end they touched Rāvaṇa's pride, "who would dare speak to the woman you have taken to your heart?", to set his anger ablaze. There is guile in their report too: they did not repeat Sītā's answer, only that she "would not tell", so that Sītā too might fall under suspicion. Their guess that he was a messenger was close to the truth; they knew he was no ordinary monkey. That some stayed and some went shows their fear: not all of them ran, some stayed to guard Sītā. The many words they used for Hanumān, terrible, boundless in prowess, extraordinary, fierce, reflect their own fright. "Your delightful pleasure grove" reminded Rāvaṇa that it was his, so that its destruction would seem an insult to him. And "one who has given up all care for his life" declared the monkey's death certain: whoever spoke to Rāvaṇa's beloved had already thrown his life away.

Hearing the rākṣasīs, Rāvaṇa, lord of the rākṣasas, blazed up like a funeral fire, his eyes rolling with rage. From the eyes of that furious king tears fell, like drops of oil falling, still burning, from two blazing lamps. The mighty one ordered rākṣasas as strong as himself, heroes called the Kiṅkaras, to seize Hanumān. Eighty thousand of those swift Kiṅkaras went out from his palace carrying hammers and iron clubs. Big-bellied, long-tusked, dreadful to look at and immensely strong, all eager for battle and bent on capturing Hanumān, they came upon the monkey standing at the gateway and hurled themselves at him with great speed, like moths into a flame. With wondrous maces, with iron bars bound in gold and with arrows bright as the sun, they attacked the best of monkeys. The funeral fire shows how terrible Rāvaṇa's anger was: a pyre burns the dead, and his anger foretold death. The tears of rage falling like burning oil from a lamp is a striking image. "As strong as himself" means the Kiṅkaras were Rāvaṇa's equals in might, and eighty thousand shows the vast army set against one Hanumān. The moths rushing into the flame foretell the Kiṅkaras' destruction, for moths that fly at fire are burnt. Heroism and terror are mingled in this passage. Rāvaṇa acted without thinking: he did not ask who the messenger was but simply ordered him seized, and "to seize" suggests that at first he wanted the monkey captured, not killed. The Kiṅkaras, big-bellied, long-tusked, dreadful, and their hammers and clubs are described, while "standing at the gateway" shows Hanumān's steadiness: he did not run, but waited at the gate. Their weapons were many; their enemy was one.

With hammers, spears, tridents, lances and javelins in their hands, they surrounded Hanumān and suddenly stood before him. Hanumān too, glorious and splendid, huge as a mountain, lashed the ground with his tail and let out a mighty roar. Taking on an enormous body, the son of the Wind slapped his tail, filling Laṅkā with the sound. At that great echoing sound birds fell from the sky, and he proclaimed aloud: "Victory to Rāma of surpassing strength, and to mighty Lakṣmaṇa! Victory to King Sugrīva, protected by Rāghava! I am the servant of Rāma, lord of Kosala, whose deeds are done without effort. I am Hanumān, son of the Wind, slayer of enemy armies. Not a thousand Rāvaṇas could match me in battle when I strike with rocks and trees by the thousand. I will crush the city of Laṅkā, pay my respects to Maithilī, and go, my purpose achieved, while all the rākṣasas look on." At the sound of his roaring they were seized with fear, and they saw Hanumān towering like a cloud at twilight. Hanumān's proclamation is famous: he began his self-introduction with his masters' victory, and though he said "I am a servant", he said it with pride, for service to Rāma was his glory. "Whose deeds are done without effort" describes Rāma as one who accomplishes things with ease. "Not a thousand Rāvaṇas could match me" was not mere bragging but a tactic of war, to sow fear in the enemy's mind. "While all the rākṣasas look on" means before the eyes of all of them, to shame them. Notice the order of his proclamation: first Rāma's victory, then Lakṣmaṇa's, then Sugrīva's, and only at the end his own name, so he placed his masters' glory before his own. "Sugrīva, protected by Rāghava" announced to the rākṣasas the alliance of Rāma and Sugrīva: their enemy was not one monkey but one with an army behind him. Slapping the tail is the monkeys' challenge to battle, and that birds fell at its sound shows how dreadful it was. The twilight cloud fits: at dusk a cloud glows red, and so did Hanumān's huge copper-coloured body. The aim of this passage was to put fear into the rākṣasas and to fix Rāma's name in Rāvaṇa's mind.

Then those rākṣasas, now sure who he was from the name of his master, attacked the monkey from every side with many kinds of terrible weapons. Surrounded on all sides by those warriors, the mighty one seized a terrible iron bar that stood against the gateway. With it he struck down the night-rangers, like Garuḍa, son of Vinatā, seizing a writhing serpent. Grasping it, the heroic son of the Wind ranged through the sky and slaughtered them, as thousand-eyed Indra slew the daityas with his thunderbolt. When he had slain the Kiṅkaras, the heroic son of the Wind, eager for more fighting, took his stand again at the gateway. A few rākṣasas who escaped that terror reported to Rāvaṇa that all the Kiṅkaras had been killed. Hearing that the great army of rākṣasas had been slain, the king, his eyes rolling, ordered the son of Prahasta, peerless in valour and hard to overcome in battle, into the fight. Garuḍa holding a serpent in his claws as he moves through the sky, Indra slaying the daityas with his thunderbolt: both images are divine, and Hanumān's valour is like a god's. Because Hanumān had named his master Rāma, the rākṣasas knew beyond doubt who he was. Rāvaṇa's rolling eyes are the sign of his anger. The closing verse, in a different metre, prepares for the next battle. The iron bar had stood at the gateway itself, so Hanumān killed his enemies with their own weapon. His fighting through the sky is remarkable: he struck not from the ground but ranging through the air, as befits the Wind's son. "Eager for more fighting, he took his stand again at the gateway": after one battle he wanted no rest but waited for the next. So Rāvaṇa's first attempt failed, and in the sargas that follow greater and greater heroes are sent one after another.