Uttara — The Empty City
Chapter 1 — The Empty City
Ravana was dead, and the king who had slain him was seated upon his father’s throne in Ayodhya when the sages came out from the forests to greet him.
They entered the great hall clad in bark cloth. Rama stepped down from his throne to receive them and washed the feet of his guests. In the front rank walked Agastya, the sage from the south, his skin burned dark brown, his staff taller than his head. Long ago in his hermitage, it was that very sage who had given Rama the bow and the twin quivers that never ran dry.
The sages sat upon mats of kusha grass and deerskins embroidered with gold, and offered their congratulations. Ravana lay dead along with his sons and grandsons, Kumbhakarna whose bulk had no equal on earth had fallen, and his commanders had gone down one after another. Yet the name they lingered over longest was Ravana’s son Indrajit, who could not be slain by any creature and fought by sorcery.
Rama listened until their praises came to an end.
“Reverend Sages, why do you pass over Kumbhakarna and Ravana himself to praise his son?” He looked at Agastya. “What was his strength, that he surpassed his father? How did he conquer Indra, and whence came his boon? I do not command you. Yet if the tale may be told, I wish to hear it.”
Agastya laid his staff across his lap.
“To understand the son, you must hear of his lineage, Rama.” He tapped the floor once with the tip of his finger. “In the Krita age there lived a sage named Pulastya, a son of Brahma. He practiced austerity at the hermitage of King Trinabindu on the slopes of Mount Meru, and the king’s daughter became his wife. Their son was named Vishrava.”
Rama waited.
“Vishrava’s first son was Kubera, Ravana’s own elder brother. Before Ravana was born, Lanka once stood empty. Its walls were gold, the sea was its moat, and not a single rakshasa dwelt within it. The first to come to that empty city was Kubera himself.”
Kubera practiced austerity for a thousand years in the forest. At first he lived on water alone, then on air, and then on nothing at all. When he opened his eyes, Brahma stood before him with the gods, offering him a boon.
“I desire the power to sustain and protect living beings,” said Kubera.
Brahma smiled at the gods behind him. “There are three guardians of the world, Yama, Indra, and Varuna. You shall be the fourth, and you shall be the lord of wealth.” He pointed into the air beside the hermitage. “Take this chariot for your mount. Its name is Pushpaka.”
The chariot was already there, hovering as high as the trees, bright as the sun. The gods departed.
Kubera went before his father Vishrava and knelt in front of his hut.
“Father, I have received my boon, yet no one has appointed a dwelling place for me. Find me a place where no living creature will suffer harm on my account.”
The sage thought for a while, gazing toward the south.
“On the shore of the southern sea stands a mountain named Trikuta. Upon its peak stands the city of Lanka, which was built for the rakshasas. Its gates are gold and lapis lazuli, and a moat surrounds it. Long ago the rakshasas forsook it out of fear of Vishnu. They went down to the underworld.”
“And now?”
“Now Lanka stands empty. Go there, my son. Dwell in peace. Nothing will trouble you there.”
Kubera went to Lanka, and before long the city was filled with treasure. From time to time he mounted Pushpaka to visit his father and mother, and people looking up from below saw a second sun passing across the sky.
Rama shook his head slowly.
“Reverend Sage, we had heard that the rakshasas sprang from the line of Pulastya. Yet you say that city was built for rakshasas before Ravana was born. Were they stronger than Ravana and his brothers, or than his sons? Who was their ancestor, and what offense made Vishnu drive them out?”
Agastya answered.
“Brahma first created the waters, and then formed beings to guard them. Some cried out, we will guard them, and they became rakshasas. Others cried, we will worship, and they became yakshas.” He tapped his staff against the floor. “Now hear the tale of an infant.”
The child was born on Mount Mandara, and his skin gleamed like the autumn sun. His mother, a rakshasi, had only just given birth to him when she remembered her husband. She left the infant upon a rock and went back to take her pleasure with the man.
The infant lay alone on the slope. He put his fist into his mouth and wept softly.
Overhead a god rode past upon a white bull, with his wife seated behind him. His wife heard the crying first. She touched her husband’s shoulder, and the bull wheeled downward until they could see the baby on the stone.
That god was Shiva. He raised his hand, and upon that rock the infant grew until he was as tall as his mother, undying and able to fly wherever he wished. His wife added a boon of her own. From that day forward every rakshasi conceived in a single day and gave birth in a single day, and in a single day her child grew as tall as his mother.
That child of the rock later had three sons, the eldest of whom was named Malyavan. All three practiced austerity and asked to be invincible and faithful to one another, and Brahma granted it. For them that golden-walled city was built atop Mount Trikuta, a city no bird could climb to. From there they harried gods, sages, and sacrifices everywhere.
The gods appealed to Shiva. The rider of the bull said that he would not slay them himself, and sent the gods to Vishnu. Vishnu gave his promise.
Malyavan heard of that promise and summoned his two younger brothers. He named the enemies of the gods whom Vishnu had already slain, by the hundreds and the thousands. His youngest brother listened to the end.
“We have studied the sacred texts, offered sacrifices, and given alms,” he said. “We do not fear death.”
They marched up into the sky with the whole rakshasa host. The clouds rained bones and hot blood, and fire-mouthed vultures wheeled above the ranks. Still the rakshasas pressed on, with Malyavan striding at the very front.
Vishnu came riding upon Garuda’s back.
The youngest brother leaped from his shattered chariot and struck Garuda’s forehead with his mace. The great bird writhed and carried Vishnu back from the fray, and a roar went up from the rakshasas. Sitting askew upon the bird’s back, Vishnu turned and loosed his discus. The discus flew blazing through the air and severed the giant’s head.
Malyavan and his remaining brother fled toward Lanka. Vishnu’s arrows pursued their backs.
Malyavan halted. He wheeled around and stood in midair facing the god, his eyes red.
“Narayana, you do not know the law of warriors. You strike down foes who have ceased fighting and are filled with fear. Whoever slays an enemy who has withdrawn from battle never reaches heaven. If you still wish to fight, I stand right here. Show your strength.”
“I have promised the gods that I will uproot the rakshasas to the last stem.” Vishnu’s voice did not rise. “I will pursue you even if you flee to the lowest underworld.”
Malyavan hurled his spear. Little bells hung from its shaft, chiming all along its path through the air until the point buried itself in Vishnu’s chest.
Vishnu pulled it out and hurled it back.
The spear tore through Malyavan’s armor, and the giant lost his senses in midair. Soon he straightened again, struck Vishnu’s chest with a black iron lance, and drew back a bowshot’s distance. Garuda beat his wings, and the blast of that wind swept the rakshasas from the sky.
Malyavan returned to Lanka, though not for long. The rakshasas forsook that golden city and went down to the underworld with their wives. The gates of gold and lapis lazuli were left standing open, and the walls of Lanka stood empty above the sea.
“All those rakshasas led by Malyavan were stronger than Ravana,” said Agastya. “None could slay them save Vishnu, Narayana, who holds the conch, the discus, and the mace.”
He looked at Rama.
“And you are that eternal Narayana, Rama. You were born to sweep the rakshasas from the earth.”