Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

Two khaki policemen of the local constabulary wandered along here and there to ensure that the monkey and demon hordes kept to the agreed geographical limits, but since the monkeys and demons were far swifter than the forces of the law, they gave up after a while, stopped at a paan-shop, and demanded free paans instead. Round and round the policemen, in and out of the square, past their own parents who could barely recognize them, and through the lanes ran the monkeys and demons, past the small general store, the two temples, the small mosque, the bakery, the astrologer’s house, the public urinal, the electrical junction, and the doorways of the houses; sometimes they were chased into the open courtyards of houses, and chased out again by the Ramlila organizers. Their swords and lances and arrows got stuck in the coloured streamers overhanging the lane, and ripped the overhead banner that read in Hindi: The Ramlila Welfare Committee heartily welcomes you. Finally, exhausted, the two armies gathered in the square and glared and growled at each other.

The army of monkeys (with a few bears thrown in) was led by Rama, Lakshman and Hanuman. They had tried to hunt down Ravana, while the twelve-year-old boy playing the beautiful, abducted Sita watched from a balcony above with — so it appeared from his expression — supreme indifference. Ravana, pestered and harried by the monkeys and shot at by his arch-enemy Rama, was on the run and demanded to know where his brother Kumbhkaran had got to — why was he not defending Lanka? When he heard that Kumbhkaran was still sunk in a gluttonous stupor, he demanded that he be woken. The demons and imps did their best, passing food and sweets over the huge, supine form until the scent aroused him from his sleep. He roared, stretched, and gobbled up what was offered to him. Several demons polished off some of the sweets themselves. Then the battle began in earnest.

In the rhyming verse of Tulsidas, which could hardly be heard on the pandit’s megaphone above the clamour:

‘Having feasted on the buffaloes and drunk off the wine, Kumbhkaran roared like a crash of lightning. . The moment the mighty monkeys heard this, they rushed forth crying with joy. They plucked up trees and mountains and hurled them against Kumbhkaran, gnashing their teeth all the while. The bears and monkeys threw myriads of mountain-peaks at him each time. But neither did he feel daunted in spirit nor did he stir from his position in spite of the best efforts on the part of the monkeys to push him back, even like an elephant pelted with the fruits of the sun-plant. Thereupon Hanuman struck him with his fist and he fell to the earth, beating his head in great confusion. Rising again, he hit Hanuman back and the latter whirled round and immediately dropped to the ground. . The monkey host stampeded; in utter dismay none dared face him.’

Even Bhaskar, who was playing Angad, was knocked down by the mighty Kumbhkaran and lay groaning piteously underneath the pipal tree where he used to play cricket.

Despite the arrows of Rama, the wounded monster was undeterred. ‘He burst into a terrible roar and, seizing millions and millions of monkeys, dashed them to the ground like a huge elephant, swearing by his ten-headed brother.’ The monkeys cried to Rama in distress; he drew his bow and fired yet more arrows at Kumbhkaran. ‘Even as the arrows struck him, the demon rushed forth, burning with rage; the mountains staggered and the earth shook as he ran.’ He tore up a rock; but Rama cut off the arm that bore it. He then rushed forward with the rock in his left hand; but the Lord struck off even that arm and it fell to the ground. . ‘Uttering a most terrible shriek, he rushed on with wide open mouth. The saints and gods in the heavens cried out in their terror, “Alas! Alas!”’

Seeing the distress of the very gods, the All-merciful Rama finally cut off Kumbhkaran’s head with another arrow, and let it fall to the ground in front of his horrified brother Ravana. The trunk still ran madly on, until it was cut down. It then fell to the ground, crushing beneath it monkeys, bears, and demons alike.

The crowd yelled and cheered and clapped. Maan cheered with them; Bhaskar stopped groaning, got up and shouted with joy. Even the subsequent deaths in battle of Meghnad and the arch-enemy himself could not match the delight everyone felt at the death of Kumbhkaran, who was a seasoned actor of many years’ standing and had mastered the art of terrifying both antagonists and audience. Finally, when all the actor-demons lay dead in the dust, and ‘Jai Shenker!’ was heard no more, it was time for the pyromania.

A red carpet of about five thousand small firecrackers was laid out in front of the demon effigies, and lit with a long fuse. The racket was deafening, truly enough to make saints and gods cry out, ‘Alas! Alas!’ The fire, the sparks, the ash reached the balcony above and made Mrs Mahesh Kapoor wheeze and choke before the unbreathable acrid air was borne away by the wind. Rama fired an arrow at each of Kumbhkaran’s arms and they dropped away, manipulated from behind by the prop-man. Again the audience gasped. But instead of striking off his head, the handsome blue figure in his leopard-skin now took a rocket out of his quiver, and aimed it at Kumbhkaran’s armless body. The rocket hit the corpse; it lit up in flames, and was consumed in a series of thunderous explosions. Kumbhkaran had been stuffed with fireworks, which now whizzed about him; a green bomb on his nose went off in a fountain of coloured sparks. His huge frame collapsed, the organizers of the Ramlila beat the remnants down to ash, and the crowd cheered Rama on.

After Lakshman had dispatched the effigy of Meghnad, Rama finished off the evil Ravana for the second time in the evening. But to the alarm of the crowd the paper, straw and bamboo with which he had been stuffed refused to burn. There was a sense of alarm now, as if this did not augur well for the forces of good. It was only with the addition of a bit of kerosene that Ravana was finally done away with. And again, with a few strokes of the organizers’ lathis and a thorough dousing with pots and pans of water poured down by cheering people from the balconies above, the once-malevolent ten-headed effigy was reduced to ash and charred cane.

Rama, Lakshman, and Hanuman had retired to one side of the square when a rather mocking voice in the crowd reminded them that they had forgotten to rescue Sita after all. Back they hurried over the black-ashed ground, across the scorched-paper residue of five thousand firecrackers. Sita, clad in a yellow sari, and still looking fairly bored with the proceedings, was handed down to them from her balcony without much ceremony and restored to her husband.

Now, with Rama, Lakshman, Sita and Hanuman all together at last, and the forces of evil finally vanquished, the crowd responded enthusiastically to the pandit’s prompting:

‘Raghupati Shri Ramchandra ji ki—’

‘Jai!’

‘Bol, Sita Maharani ki—’

‘Jai!’

‘Lakshman ji ki—’

‘Jai!’

‘Shri Bajrangbali ki—’

‘Jai!’

‘Kindly remember, good people,’ continued the pandit, ‘that the ceremony of Bharat Milaap will take place tomorrow at the time announced on the posters, in Rama’s capital of Ayodhya, which for our purposes is the small square near the temple in Misri Mandi. That is where Rama and Lakshman will embrace their long-separated brothers Bharat and Shatrughan — and fall at the feet of their mothers. Please don’t forget. It will be a very moving performance and will bring tears to the eyes of all true devotees of Shri Rama. It is the true climax of the Ramlila, even more than the darshan you have had tonight. And please tell everyone who has not had the fortune to be present here to go to Misri Mandi tomorrow night. Now where is the photographer? Mela Ram ji, kindly step forward.’