The Ramayana · 338 of 493

Sundara Kānda (The Beautiful Book): Canto 1 — Hanumán’s Leap

Thus Rávaṇ’s foe resolved to trace The captive to her hiding-place Through airy pathways overhead Which heavenly minstrels visited. With straining nerve and eager brows, Like some strong husband of the cows, In ready might he stood prepared For the bold task his soul has dared. O’er gem-like grass that flashed and glowed The Vánar like a lion strode. Roused by the thunder of his tread, The beasts to shady coverts fled. Tall trees he crushed or hurled aside, And every bird was terrified. Around him loveliest lilies grew, Pale pink, and red, and white, and blue, And tints of many a metal lent The light of varied ornament. Gandharvas, changing forms at will, And Yakshas roamed the lovely hill, And countless Serpent-Gods were seen Where flowers and grass were fresh and green. As some resplendent serpent takes His pastime in the best of lakes, So on the mountain’s woody height The Vánar wandered with delight. Then, standing on the flowery sod, He paid his vows to saint and God. Svayambhu(788) and the Sun he prayed, And the swift Wind to lend him aid, And Indra, sovereign of the skies, To bless his hardy enterprise. Then once again the chief addressed The Vánars from the mountain crest: “Swift as a shaft from Ráma’s bow To Rávaṇ’s city will I go, And if she be not there will fly And seek the lady in the sky; Or, if in heaven she be not found, Will hither bring the giant bound.”

Context

You are entering the Sundara Kāṇḍa, the Beautiful Book, the fifth of the Rāmāyaṇa's seven books and the one Hindu tradition has held most beloved. In a great deal of devotional practice across India, this single Kāṇḍa is recited weekly in temples and homes, and is often read straight through by lay families during illness or distress as a complete spiritual exercise on its own. The reason is who its protagonist is. Rāma and Sītā are present only at the edges of these chapters; the book belongs to Hanumān, the monkey messenger, and his flight across the ocean to Laṅkā. For hundreds of millions of modern Hindus, Hanumān is the daily figure of devotion, the perfect servant whose love for Rāma is the model for how a soul loves God. The book is called Beautiful for the leap itself, for the night-city of Laṅkā, for Sītā in the Aśoka grove, and for the meeting that the entire epic has been waiting for.On the Sundara Kāṇḍa's devotional centrality: Philip Lutgendorf, Hanuman's Tale: The Messages of a Divine Monkey (Oxford 2007), ch. 1. On recitation practice: Lutgendorf, The Life of a Text: Performing the Rāmcaritmānas of Tulsidas (California 1991).

He ceased; and mustering his might Sprang downward from the mountain height, While, shattered by each mighty limb, The trees unrooted followed him. The shadow on the ocean cast By his vast form, as on he passed, Flew like a ship before the gale When the strong breeze has filled the sail, And where his course the Vánar held The sea beneath him raged and swelled. Then Gods and all the heavenly train Poured flowerets down in gentle rain; Their voices glad Gandharvas raised, And saints in heaven the Vánar praised. Fain would the Sea his succour lend And Raghu’s noble son befriend. He, moved by zeal for Ráma’s sake, The hill Maináka(789) thus bespake: “O strong Maináka, heaven’s decree In days of old appointed thee To be the Asurs bar, and keep The rebels in the lowest deep. Thou guardest those whom heaven has cursed Lest from their prison-house they burst, And standest by the gates of hell Their limitary sentinel. To thee is given the power to spread Or spring above thy watery bed. Now, best of noble mountains, rise And do the thing that I advise. E’en now above thy buried crest Flies mighty Hanumán, the best Of Vánars, moved for Ráma’s sake A wonderous deed to undertake. Lift up thy head that he may stay And rest him on his weary way.”

Insight

The leap itself is one of the most quoted set-pieces in Sanskrit literature. The Hanumān Chalisa, the forty-verse devotional poem written by Tulsidas in Awadhi around the close of the sixteenth century and now recited daily by hundreds of millions of Hindus, returns again and again to this single moment. The verse that begins yuga sahasra yojana par bhānū is read by tradition as a meditation on the distance the leap covered, with the sun and the ocean treated as units of measurement for what love can carry the body across. When you read modern Indian devotional literature you encounter the leap as a settled symbol rather than a story. It is what a soul does when it is sent for the beloved.Tulsidas, Hanumān Chalisa, traditional Awadhi text c. late 16th c.; analysis in Lutgendorf, Hanuman's Tale, ch. 4 on the Chalisa's reception.

He heard, and from his watery shroud, As bursts the sun from autumn cloud, Rose swifty, crowned with plant and tree, And stood above the foamy sea.(790) There with his lofty peaks upraised Bright as a hundred suns he blazed, And crest and crag of burnished gold Flashed on the flood that round him rolled. The Vánar thought the mountain rose A hostile bar to interpose, And, like a wind-swept cloud, o’erthrew The glittering mountain as he flew. Then from the falling hill rang out A warning voice and joyful shout. Again he raised him high in air To meet the flying Vánar there, And standing on his topmost peak In human form began to speak:(791) “Best of the Vánars’ noblest line, A mighty task, O chief, is thine. Here for a while, I pray thee, light And rest upon the breezy height. A prince of Raghu’s line was he Who gave his glory to the Sea,(792) Who now to Ráma’s envoy shows High honour for the debt he owes. He bade me lift my buried head Uprising from my watery bed, And woo the Vánar chief to rest A moment on my glittering crest. Refresh thy weary limbs, and eat My mountain fruits for they are sweet. I too, O chieftain, know thee well; Three worlds thy famous virtues tell; And none, I ween, with thee may vie Who spring impetuous through the sky. To every guest, though mean and low. The wise respect and honour show; And how shall I neglect thee, how Slight the great guest so near me now? Son of the Wind, ’tis thine to share The might of him who shakes the air; And,—for he loves his offspring,—he Is honoured when I honour thee. Of yore, when Krita’s age(793) was new, The little hills and mountains flew Where’er they listed, borne on wings More rapid than the feathered king’s.(794) But mighty terror came on all The Gods and saints who feared their fall. And Indra in his anger rent Their pinions with the bolts he sent. When in his ruthless fury he Levelled his flashing bolt at me, The great-souled Wind inclined to save, And laid me neath the ocean’s wave. Thus by the favour of the sire I kept my cherished wings entire; And for this deed of kindness done I honour thee his noble son. O come, thy weary limbs relieve, And honour due from me receive.” “I may not rest,” the Vánar cried; “I must not stay or turn aside. Yet pleased am I, thou noblest hill, And as the deed accept thy will.”

Thus as he spoke he lightly pressed With his broad hand the mountain’s crest, Then bounded upward to the height Of heaven, rejoicing in his might, And through the fields of boundless blue, The pathway of his father, flew. Gods, saints, and heavenly bards beheld That flight that none had paralleled, Then to the Nágas’ mother(795) came And thus addressed the sun-bright dame: “See, Hanumán with venturous leap Would spring across the mighty deep,— A Vánar prince, the Wind-God’s seed: Come, Surasá, his course impede. In Rákshas form thy shape disguise, Terrific, like a hill in size: Let thy red eyes with fury glow, And high as heaven thy body grow. With fearful tusks the chief defy, That we his power and strength may try. He will with guile thy hold elude, Or own thy might, by thee subdued.”

Pleased with the grateful honours paid, The godlike dame their words obeyed, Clad in a shape of terror she Sprang from the middle of the sea, And, with fierce accents that appalled All creatures, to the Vánar called: “Come, prince of Vánars, doomed to be My food this day by heaven’s decree. Such boon from ages long ago To Brahmá’s favouring will I owe.”

She ceased, and Hanumán replied, By shape and threat unterrified: “Brave Ráma with his Maithil spouse Lodged in the shade of Daṇḍak’s boughs, Thence Rávan king of giants stole Sítá the joy of Ráma’s soul. By Ráma’s high behest to her I go a willing messenger; And never shouldst them hinder one Who toils for Daśaratha’s son. First captive Sítá will I see, And him who sent and waits for me, Then come and to thy will submit, Yea, by my truth I promise it.” “Nay, hope not thus thy life to save; Not such the boon that Brahmá gave. Enter my mouth,” was her reply, “Then forward on thy journey hie!”(796)

“Stretch, wider stretch thy jaws,” exclaimed The Vánar chief, to ire inflamed; And, as the Rákshas near him drew, Ten leagues in height his stature grew. Then straight, her threatening jaws between, A gulf of twenty leagues was seen. To fifty leagues he waxed, and still Her mouth grew wider at her will. Then smaller than a thumb became, Shrunk by his power, the Vánar’s frame.(797) He leaped within, and turning round Sprang through the portal at a bound. Then hung in air a moment, while He thus addressed her with a smile: “O Daksha’s child,(798) farewell at last! For I within thy mouth have passed. Thou hast the gift of Brahmá’s grace: I go, the Maithil queen to trace.” Then, to her former shape restored, She thus addressed the Vánar lord: “Then forward to the task, and may Success and joy attend thy way! Go, and the rescued lady bring In triumph to her lord and king.”

Then hosts of spirits as they gazed The daring of the Vánar praised. Through the broad fields of ether, fast Garuḍ’s royal self, he passed, The region of the cloud and rain, Loved by the gay Gandharva train, Where mid the birds that came and went Shone Indra’s glorious bow unbent, And like a host of wandering stars Flashed the high Gods’ celestial cars. Fierce Sinhiká(799) who joyed in ill And changed her form to work her will, Descried him on his airy way And marked the Vánar for her prey. “This day at length,” the demon cried, “My hunger shall be satisfied,” And at his passing shadow caught Delighted with the cheering thought. The Vánar felt the power that stayed And held him as she grasped his shade, Like some tall ship upon the main That struggles with the wind in vain. Below, above, his eye he bent And scanned the sea and firmament. High from the briny deep upreared The monster’s hideous form appeared, “Sugríva’s tale,” he cried, “is true: This is the demon dire to view Of whom the Vánar monarch told, Whose grasp a passing shade can hold.” Then, as a cloud in rain-time grows His form, dilating, swelled and rose. Wide as the space from heaven to hell Her jaws she opened with a yell, And rushed upon her fancied prey With cloud-like roar to seize and slay. The Vánar swift as thought compressed His borrowed bulk of limb and chest, And stood with one quick bound inside The monstrous mouth she opened wide. Hid like the moon when Ráhu draws The orb within his ravening jaws. Within that ample cavern pent The demon’s form he tore and rent, And, from the mangled carcass freed, Came forth again with thought-like speed.(800) Thus with his skill the fiend he slew, Then to his wonted stature grew. The spirits saw the demon die And hailed the Vánar from the sky: “Well hast thou fought a wondrous fight Nor spared the fiend’s terrific might, On, on! perform the blameless deed, And in thine every wish succeed. Ne’er can they fail in whom combine Such valour, thought, and skill as thine.”

Pleased with their praises as they sang, Again through fields of air he sprang, And now, his travail wellnigh done, The distant shore was almost won. Before him on the margent stood In long dark line a waving wood, And the fair island, bright and green With flowers and trees, was clearly seen, And every babbling brook that gave Her lord the sea a tribute wave. He lighted down on Lamba’s peak Which tinted metals stain and streak, And looked where Lanká’s splendid town Shone on the mountain like a crown.