A story · Ramayana · The War

The Healing Herbs

Valmiki Ramayana 6.73 · read aloud in the app

The story · English

In Lanka, Ravana sat sunk in grief and fear, and his son Indrajit, fierce and bold, came to comfort him. “Put away this grief and this dread, my king,” he said. “Fight off this sorrow that numbs you. Indrajit is still alive, and no one in battle can stand against the fury of my right arm. Today, father, you will see the sons of Raghu killed by my hand.” Then he took his leave. Drums and conch shells roared, swords and harness clashed, and he sprang into his chariot. With his rakshasas close behind him, he rode out through Lanka's gate onto the plain. There he stepped down, set a band of giants to guard the chariot, and began, with every proper rite, to worship the Lord of Fire.

Into the flame he poured the sacred oil, as the texts command, with garlands of scented flowers and grain, each in its due order. On the ground around him lay spears and blades, leaves shaped like arrowheads, firewood, a deep iron ladle, and robes dyed the colour of blood. A black goat stood beside him, and he seized it by the throat. At once the fire gave its signs of victory. It curled to the right and leapt up willingly, clear of smoke, red-gold as it fed on the offering. While the flame still glowed they brought him the dart that Brahma's grace had given him, and every weapon he carried was charmed with sacred words. Burning fiercer than ever, he turned his chariot toward the enemy, and his followers charged behind him, maces raised, howling.

The battle grew worse, and then worse again. Rocks and trees and arrows filled the air. Indrajit's arrows came down like rain, and the vanaras fell by the thousands. Sugriva, Angada and Nila were wounded. His arrows drank Gaya's blood. Hanuman staggered, and Mainda went down. The darts flashed like sunlight, and no one could escape them. Then the sons of Raghu themselves were caught in the net of arrows he wove, and they struggled against it in vain. Hard pressed, Rama spoke to his brother. “Look. First this warrior tore through our vanara friends, and now his arrows are closing a net around us. He owes this power to Brahma's grace, and mortal strength can do nothing against someone Brahma himself protects. So let us keep our hearts steady and bear this storm.”

“Soon we will lose our senses,” Rama said, “and then he will hurry to his father's hall to tell him his enemies have fallen.” He said no more. Overwhelmed by arrow and spell, the sons of Raghu reeled and fell. Indrajit stood looking down at their bodies while his followers shouted around him, and then he sped back to Lanka to tell Ravana, in his hall, what had become of the princes. Night came down and hid the field. Hanuman and Vibhishana each took a blazing torch and walked slowly, anxiously, among the dying and the dead. Wherever the light fell it showed them slaughter. Huge vanaras lay with heads and limbs cut away. Arms, legs and fingers were scattered everywhere, the earth was wet with blood, and the dark was full of groans and screams.

There lay Sugriva, still and cold. There lay Angada, once so brave, and Jambavan, and Vegadarsi with his eyes closed, and proud Nala in the dust, and Dvivida beside Mainda. They searched for Jambavan, the wise old king of the bears, and found him, his strength slowly failing, pierced by countless arrows. They hurried to his side, and Vibhishana said, “King of the bears, we have come looking for you. If you are still alive, speak.” The old chief answered slowly, sighing between the words. “Arrows have torn every limb. My strength is gone and my sight is dim. I can barely lift my eyes, but I know your voice. While I can still hear you, tell me one thing. Is Hanuman alive?”

“Why ask about the Wind-God's son, who is lower in rank?” Vibhishana said. “Have you forgotten the prince of Raghu's line? Don't King Sugriva and Angada, his heir, matter to you?” “Hanuman is dearer to me than my noblest friends,” the old chief said, “because all our hope rests on him. If he lives, then all of us, though dead, are alive. If he is gone, we are dead though we still breathe.” Then Hanuman came, bowed low, and said his name. Seeing that face, the wounded chief came alive again. “Go,” he said. “Only your strength can save us. Cheer the frightened bears and vanaras. Save Raghu's sons. Fly over the sea to the Himalaya. Between Kailasa and golden Rishabha stands a mountain covered in rare herbs. On its crest grow four shining plants. One draws out arrows, one brings breath back to the dead, one heals every wound, one returns colour to pale faces. Bring them.”

Hanuman leapt into the air and flew like Vishnu's discus. He crossed the sea, passing over mountains bright with birds, lakes and lonely valleys, and fields with people working. Then the snowy Himalaya rose before him, its peaks white as summer clouds, waterfalls thundering out of the trees. He saw the retreats of gods and sages: where Brahma lives apart, where Rudra loosed his arrow, the homes of Vishnu, Indra and Kubera. And there was the mountain where the herbs glowed. But when he reached for them, they hid themselves. In anger he spoke to the hill: “If you show no pity in Raghu's son's great need, my arm will take its revenge.” He tore off the mountain's whole summit, with its snakes, elephants and gold, and carried it back over hill and sea to the astonished vanaras. The herbs' scent alone gave the army new strength. Free of every arrow, wound and pain, the sons of Raghu lived again, and the dead and dying vanaras, healed, rose strong from the battlefield.

कथा · हिन्दी

In this book

• Before: Kumbhakarna · Valmiki Ramayana 6.60
• Next: Lakshmana's Fall · Valmiki Ramayana 6.100
• All of Ramayana · Ask Krishna about it

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